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[WP] We have made first contact and luckily the aliens already have universal translation tech. "Greetings Humans" says the ambassador, "we call ourselves elves, wait, no we don't. how do you already have a name for us?"
|
The ambassador smiled nervously.
"Well you bare an uncanny resembalance to a mythical creature from our fiction."
There was a long pause until the ambassador spoke again.
"Please tell us all about these mythical creatures."
There was brief discussion in the human delegation before a startled anthropoligst was shoved forward, adjusted his glasses and in a nervous voice started rambling.
"Well there are many variations of the elves across many cultures. However there are a few mythical throughlines. A race of wise magical creatures that live under hills or in remote wilderness. Unexplained dissapearances were attributed to them as a way of scaring people from dangerous places. They were believed to steal children and abduct people from forrested areas. Some regions even tell of Elves stealing people's names whi-."
He was cut off as the ambassador drew in air between it's teeth in a shockingly human gesture.
Suddenly completely ignoring the humans it turned and spoke to it's assistants in a hushed voice. But the translator still picked it up.
"Call the sapient trafficking agency. We've got a cold case to report."
|
\[Poem\]
"How do you already have a name for us?"
Geeble Gobble, Geeble Gobble.
"When we say, 'How do you already have a name for us?', what we mean is, 'We call ourselves elves, and amongst your 6,500 spoken languages, how is it possible that one of them has a word which sounds just like our name, 'elves'? Me stupid alien, me no understand probability."
Geeble Gobble, Geeble Gobble.
"When we say, 'How do you already have a name for us?', what we mean is, 'How is your species of intelligent creatures able to make name sound for us, based on wordy descriptions that appear in your rectangle blocks of print wordy inscriptions?'"
Geeble Gobble, Geeble Gobble.
"We aliens leave now, need to find other species that isn't smarter than us already."
Geeble Gobble, Geeble Gobble.
|
|
[WP] We have made first contact and luckily the aliens already have universal translation tech. "Greetings Humans" says the ambassador, "we call ourselves elves, wait, no we don't. how do you already have a name for us?"
|
That was the latest transmission intercepted by humanity’s satellites. Despite establishing contact with the ambassador of the “Elves” in clarity only 32 days ago, no further transmission was received ever since.
The world’s scientist community replayed and analyzed the recording hoping to gain further insight: “Greetings humans. We call ourselves the elves... wait, no we don’t. How do you already have a name for us?” [Static]
The Extra-Terrestrial Sonography Satellite’s instrument recorded the encounter with the radio signals over the course of about two hours. Top scientists from China used data sonification to decode the waves, producing the infamous message.
Deep audio analysis had been conducted to determine elements of human audio interfaces of which the audio could have been fabricated from, but unfortunately, Earth’s top data scrubbers were unable to find any evidence of tampering.
“Analysis shows the readings coming from NGC 1300, a galaxy 61 million light years away,” a satellite analyst stated. Rob Gerald, the director of NASA furrowed his brow. “Radio waves traversing a distance of 61 million light years? That means they would need to have been sent eons ago... How would they even know about humanity.”
Suddenly the director’s face turned ghost white as a suddenly shock of realization and horror struck him. “It can’t be” he said under his breath.
“Get me 300 tons of salt, boron, sand and the goddamn President on the phone!” the director shouted, almost shaking at this point.
“We have no time to lose, if the event occurs again...”
Another incoming radio signal is picked up...
Edit: If you want me to continue this story let me know.
Edit Again: Fixed the distance.
|
The transmission ended there, we never heard another thing from them or even saw what they looked like. All that happened was that they agreed to a summit in a few weeks. Ever since the transmission, tensions had been mounting among the Elven community. Various groups had formed and formed their own beliefs on the term.
​
The generic fantasy author steps up to the podium, tugging at his tie. His girlfriend gives him the thumbs up form the sidelines, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. He could see the president there too, crossing his fingers. That didn't help. He had been dealing with some feelings of inadequacy had been around for years. Ever since he published his first book, peers believed him to be nothing special, his works derivative of so many classics of the genre. But HE was chosen, so something about HIM as a fantasy author must have been special. His imposter syndrome had been steadily growing ever since he had gotten that letter. He taps the microphone, clears his throat and prepares his statement.
"Dear Elves... err... if you would prefer to be called that, I stand before you today to tell you why you have been labeled as such. In much of our fiction, Elves are a fictional race, they represent elegance and beauty, being one with nature... they are usually the epitome of holiness and divine purity. So I assure you, it is not derogatory in any way, it only proves your quality as a species and I believe it is some honor to be referred to as such. (Also they tend to have somewhat large pointy ears so there may have been something there I don't know).
Another transmission comes through:
"We have much to deliberate upon, we shall return."
​
As the Elves leave, he was congratulated by those around him. He hugged his girlfriend, and then the president came to shake his hand. Seeing his opportunity, he asked the question weighing on him.
"If I may ask Mr. president, why me? Why was I the one chosen for this great honor?"
"Huh? Oh well if I'm being honest, we needed an author or something, someone who had somewhat of a position of authority in the topic."
"But there are much more successful authors than me, they've sold way more books and made way more books than I ever could."
"Well the thing is, we want to present humanity in a positive light... and you were the only fantasy author who wasn't utterly socially inept or fat."
The author had no idea what to think...
|
|
[WP] We have made first contact and luckily the aliens already have universal translation tech. "Greetings Humans" says the ambassador, "we call ourselves elves, wait, no we don't. how do you already have a name for us?"
|
The ambassador smiled nervously.
"Well you bare an uncanny resembalance to a mythical creature from our fiction."
There was a long pause until the ambassador spoke again.
"Please tell us all about these mythical creatures."
There was brief discussion in the human delegation before a startled anthropoligst was shoved forward, adjusted his glasses and in a nervous voice started rambling.
"Well there are many variations of the elves across many cultures. However there are a few mythical throughlines. A race of wise magical creatures that live under hills or in remote wilderness. Unexplained dissapearances were attributed to them as a way of scaring people from dangerous places. They were believed to steal children and abduct people from forrested areas. Some regions even tell of Elves stealing people's names whi-."
He was cut off as the ambassador drew in air between it's teeth in a shockingly human gesture.
Suddenly completely ignoring the humans it turned and spoke to it's assistants in a hushed voice. But the translator still picked it up.
"Call the sapient trafficking agency. We've got a cold case to report."
|
The transmission ended there, we never heard another thing from them or even saw what they looked like. All that happened was that they agreed to a summit in a few weeks. Ever since the transmission, tensions had been mounting among the Elven community. Various groups had formed and formed their own beliefs on the term.
​
The generic fantasy author steps up to the podium, tugging at his tie. His girlfriend gives him the thumbs up form the sidelines, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. He could see the president there too, crossing his fingers. That didn't help. He had been dealing with some feelings of inadequacy had been around for years. Ever since he published his first book, peers believed him to be nothing special, his works derivative of so many classics of the genre. But HE was chosen, so something about HIM as a fantasy author must have been special. His imposter syndrome had been steadily growing ever since he had gotten that letter. He taps the microphone, clears his throat and prepares his statement.
"Dear Elves... err... if you would prefer to be called that, I stand before you today to tell you why you have been labeled as such. In much of our fiction, Elves are a fictional race, they represent elegance and beauty, being one with nature... they are usually the epitome of holiness and divine purity. So I assure you, it is not derogatory in any way, it only proves your quality as a species and I believe it is some honor to be referred to as such. (Also they tend to have somewhat large pointy ears so there may have been something there I don't know).
Another transmission comes through:
"We have much to deliberate upon, we shall return."
​
As the Elves leave, he was congratulated by those around him. He hugged his girlfriend, and then the president came to shake his hand. Seeing his opportunity, he asked the question weighing on him.
"If I may ask Mr. president, why me? Why was I the one chosen for this great honor?"
"Huh? Oh well if I'm being honest, we needed an author or something, someone who had somewhat of a position of authority in the topic."
"But there are much more successful authors than me, they've sold way more books and made way more books than I ever could."
"Well the thing is, we want to present humanity in a positive light... and you were the only fantasy author who wasn't utterly socially inept or fat."
The author had no idea what to think...
|
|
[WP] We have made first contact and luckily the aliens already have universal translation tech. "Greetings Humans" says the ambassador, "we call ourselves elves, wait, no we don't. how do you already have a name for us?"
|
...how do you already have a name for us?"
George was stopped mid whisper by the Eleven diplomat.
"Well, um..." Geroge let out weakly. "You look exactly like how Tolkein described an Elf don't you?”
A long silence followed as the other humans in the room stared daggers over at George for having the gull to blunder their first contact.
The maybe Elven squinted his eye as George "We are called Eldarin," letting out a huff "but Elves is a derogative term used by those loyal to the Sauron Empire."
The Elf pulled out a concealed short blade and leveled it at George.
“Has this planet already been contaminated Sauron?” The diplomat asked pointedly, eye’s never leaving George.
George’s compatriot Bell who’d been on the receiving end of the whisper piped up “It’s from a book!” And the Elves eyes darted over to her.
“Explain.” He directed pointedly.
“Well there was an author from an island here on earth who created a book series thousands of years ago about a place called Middle earth.” The Elves eyes lighted up as his full attention landed on Bell. Somewhere along Bells explanation of The Two Towers the Elf interjected “Bring me these books now!” It took longer than the length of an awkward silence assistance for the human diplomats to return with three dusty covered books. As the first assistant got close the Elf tore away the book and started leafing through the pages as he leafed through the pages. Only half way through he slammed the book shut and looked piercingly over towards George and Bell.
“This is the history of our people. You say some man from your planet wrote this?” He quickly made his way over the Bell and George before anyone could react. “You are to come from me with now, Gandalf and Elron will want to hear of this.” And with a flash like which has brought the Elven diplomat in he was gone as was George and Bell.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Glad y'all enjoyed this, and thanks for the support! I've began working on part two and hope to have it out in a day or two. I'll post a link here once it's written up and case you don't look back here I plan to post it on to r/shortstories. If even a handful of people are interested after that I'll be happy to continue the story from there and see where the journey takes us!
|
The transmission ended there, we never heard another thing from them or even saw what they looked like. All that happened was that they agreed to a summit in a few weeks. Ever since the transmission, tensions had been mounting among the Elven community. Various groups had formed and formed their own beliefs on the term.
​
The generic fantasy author steps up to the podium, tugging at his tie. His girlfriend gives him the thumbs up form the sidelines, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. He could see the president there too, crossing his fingers. That didn't help. He had been dealing with some feelings of inadequacy had been around for years. Ever since he published his first book, peers believed him to be nothing special, his works derivative of so many classics of the genre. But HE was chosen, so something about HIM as a fantasy author must have been special. His imposter syndrome had been steadily growing ever since he had gotten that letter. He taps the microphone, clears his throat and prepares his statement.
"Dear Elves... err... if you would prefer to be called that, I stand before you today to tell you why you have been labeled as such. In much of our fiction, Elves are a fictional race, they represent elegance and beauty, being one with nature... they are usually the epitome of holiness and divine purity. So I assure you, it is not derogatory in any way, it only proves your quality as a species and I believe it is some honor to be referred to as such. (Also they tend to have somewhat large pointy ears so there may have been something there I don't know).
Another transmission comes through:
"We have much to deliberate upon, we shall return."
​
As the Elves leave, he was congratulated by those around him. He hugged his girlfriend, and then the president came to shake his hand. Seeing his opportunity, he asked the question weighing on him.
"If I may ask Mr. president, why me? Why was I the one chosen for this great honor?"
"Huh? Oh well if I'm being honest, we needed an author or something, someone who had somewhat of a position of authority in the topic."
"But there are much more successful authors than me, they've sold way more books and made way more books than I ever could."
"Well the thing is, we want to present humanity in a positive light... and you were the only fantasy author who wasn't utterly socially inept or fat."
The author had no idea what to think...
|
|
[WP] We have made first contact and luckily the aliens already have universal translation tech. "Greetings Humans" says the ambassador, "we call ourselves elves, wait, no we don't. how do you already have a name for us?"
|
The ambassador smiled nervously.
"Well you bare an uncanny resembalance to a mythical creature from our fiction."
There was a long pause until the ambassador spoke again.
"Please tell us all about these mythical creatures."
There was brief discussion in the human delegation before a startled anthropoligst was shoved forward, adjusted his glasses and in a nervous voice started rambling.
"Well there are many variations of the elves across many cultures. However there are a few mythical throughlines. A race of wise magical creatures that live under hills or in remote wilderness. Unexplained dissapearances were attributed to them as a way of scaring people from dangerous places. They were believed to steal children and abduct people from forrested areas. Some regions even tell of Elves stealing people's names whi-."
He was cut off as the ambassador drew in air between it's teeth in a shockingly human gesture.
Suddenly completely ignoring the humans it turned and spoke to it's assistants in a hushed voice. But the translator still picked it up.
"Call the sapient trafficking agency. We've got a cold case to report."
|
That was the latest transmission intercepted by humanity’s satellites. Despite establishing contact with the ambassador of the “Elves” in clarity only 32 days ago, no further transmission was received ever since.
The world’s scientist community replayed and analyzed the recording hoping to gain further insight: “Greetings humans. We call ourselves the elves... wait, no we don’t. How do you already have a name for us?” [Static]
The Extra-Terrestrial Sonography Satellite’s instrument recorded the encounter with the radio signals over the course of about two hours. Top scientists from China used data sonification to decode the waves, producing the infamous message.
Deep audio analysis had been conducted to determine elements of human audio interfaces of which the audio could have been fabricated from, but unfortunately, Earth’s top data scrubbers were unable to find any evidence of tampering.
“Analysis shows the readings coming from NGC 1300, a galaxy 61 million light years away,” a satellite analyst stated. Rob Gerald, the director of NASA furrowed his brow. “Radio waves traversing a distance of 61 million light years? That means they would need to have been sent eons ago... How would they even know about humanity.”
Suddenly the director’s face turned ghost white as a suddenly shock of realization and horror struck him. “It can’t be” he said under his breath.
“Get me 300 tons of salt, boron, sand and the goddamn President on the phone!” the director shouted, almost shaking at this point.
“We have no time to lose, if the event occurs again...”
Another incoming radio signal is picked up...
Edit: If you want me to continue this story let me know.
Edit Again: Fixed the distance.
|
|
[WP] We have made first contact and luckily the aliens already have universal translation tech. "Greetings Humans" says the ambassador, "we call ourselves elves, wait, no we don't. how do you already have a name for us?"
|
...how do you already have a name for us?"
George was stopped mid whisper by the Eleven diplomat.
"Well, um..." Geroge let out weakly. "You look exactly like how Tolkein described an Elf don't you?”
A long silence followed as the other humans in the room stared daggers over at George for having the gull to blunder their first contact.
The maybe Elven squinted his eye as George "We are called Eldarin," letting out a huff "but Elves is a derogative term used by those loyal to the Sauron Empire."
The Elf pulled out a concealed short blade and leveled it at George.
“Has this planet already been contaminated Sauron?” The diplomat asked pointedly, eye’s never leaving George.
George’s compatriot Bell who’d been on the receiving end of the whisper piped up “It’s from a book!” And the Elves eyes darted over to her.
“Explain.” He directed pointedly.
“Well there was an author from an island here on earth who created a book series thousands of years ago about a place called Middle earth.” The Elves eyes lighted up as his full attention landed on Bell. Somewhere along Bells explanation of The Two Towers the Elf interjected “Bring me these books now!” It took longer than the length of an awkward silence assistance for the human diplomats to return with three dusty covered books. As the first assistant got close the Elf tore away the book and started leafing through the pages as he leafed through the pages. Only half way through he slammed the book shut and looked piercingly over towards George and Bell.
“This is the history of our people. You say some man from your planet wrote this?” He quickly made his way over the Bell and George before anyone could react. “You are to come from me with now, Gandalf and Elron will want to hear of this.” And with a flash like which has brought the Elven diplomat in he was gone as was George and Bell.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Glad y'all enjoyed this, and thanks for the support! I've began working on part two and hope to have it out in a day or two. I'll post a link here once it's written up and case you don't look back here I plan to post it on to r/shortstories. If even a handful of people are interested after that I'll be happy to continue the story from there and see where the journey takes us!
|
That was the latest transmission intercepted by humanity’s satellites. Despite establishing contact with the ambassador of the “Elves” in clarity only 32 days ago, no further transmission was received ever since.
The world’s scientist community replayed and analyzed the recording hoping to gain further insight: “Greetings humans. We call ourselves the elves... wait, no we don’t. How do you already have a name for us?” [Static]
The Extra-Terrestrial Sonography Satellite’s instrument recorded the encounter with the radio signals over the course of about two hours. Top scientists from China used data sonification to decode the waves, producing the infamous message.
Deep audio analysis had been conducted to determine elements of human audio interfaces of which the audio could have been fabricated from, but unfortunately, Earth’s top data scrubbers were unable to find any evidence of tampering.
“Analysis shows the readings coming from NGC 1300, a galaxy 61 million light years away,” a satellite analyst stated. Rob Gerald, the director of NASA furrowed his brow. “Radio waves traversing a distance of 61 million light years? That means they would need to have been sent eons ago... How would they even know about humanity.”
Suddenly the director’s face turned ghost white as a suddenly shock of realization and horror struck him. “It can’t be” he said under his breath.
“Get me 300 tons of salt, boron, sand and the goddamn President on the phone!” the director shouted, almost shaking at this point.
“We have no time to lose, if the event occurs again...”
Another incoming radio signal is picked up...
Edit: If you want me to continue this story let me know.
Edit Again: Fixed the distance.
|
|
[WP] When you were a child, you saw an alien spaceship in your neighborhood. Nobody believed you back then. When the aliens revealed themselves, nobody believed you still. Even after you became a diplomat representing Earth in the galactic society, everyone denies that you can see spaceships.
|
My glass was empty. I'd poured the last of Decembers paycheque into the bar tender's Christmas fund. Maybe I had enough left for one more. I'd have to check my bank account.
I felt like I'd taken a slight fall just from that thought. It was better to live in ignorance and hope than actually look at the pain I'd caused myself.
The hotel way nearby, but it was a cold night in Berlin. My jacket wasn't made for this climate; it was for light rain not snow, shlush and ice. The bitter chill didn't help either.
"You're the UFO guy." A voice said from the dim past.
I breathed out and looked at my breath in the air a moment before I turned to see a couple of drunk students coming out of a taxi. I smiled and laughed as if I was part of the joke. "Yep." I said.
"Dude, DUDE." He reached for his phone. He started inexplicably playing my weird viral sensation from a decade back to me. I was my younger self reaching for the sky and screaming to the world on live TV that they were blind and were being lead around by idiots. Then the dance music kicked it, and the remix I loathed started.
Another of the students pulled out a phone, and started videoing the video, then switched to selfie mode "HEY. It's the guy. The UFO GUY. Woooooooo." Everyone screamed pointing the camera at me. I smiled and pretended to be entertained.
After a few moments they went quiet, while they posted the video to wherever, and moved into the bar I'd left. They screamed about the UFO guy, and I moved out of earshot.
Entering the hotel the instant warmth embraced me as the spinning door let me escape. Everything went white, and for a single moment I could think I was on the hotel lobby. That single instant.
I stepped out onto red metal and bright lights. I felt a sudden wave of sick rise at the back of my throat which often was the result of drinking, it was also the effect of the Xathor transmat system on the human digestive system. It was one of the multitude of reasons I didn't like being the Earth ambassador.
"Greetings Garth." A twelve foot green mass said into my very soul.
"Hey Wren'Xloc." I got off the transmat platform "You know this isn't a great time."
"Garth. You asked that you were allowed to spend your money in peace. We detected that the last of your money had left your bank account, and you were entering the place to sleep." They aliens didn't think in words, so it had been hard to them to adapt to human thought, they had though, after many failed attempts it seemed.
Most humans who saw the aliens simply couldn't comprehend what they saw. They saw something moving in 5 dimensions and their brain just said absolutely not, and it no longer happened. The entire UN were taken aboard a ship at one point, and all it did was make everyone act like an idiot for a decade while they justified all sorts of self (and world) destructive behaviours.
The ships hung over Earth in strategic locations for the purpose of monitoring them, and in the hopes they could solve that had become the 'human problem', that being that we simply refused to admit the Xathor existed in any meaningful way.
At first I thought they were using some techno solution like a Somebody Else's Problem ray, or a Perception Filter. No, we were just that blind to large scale issues. If we can't handle it, we change reality so it doesn't exist for us. It was a trully depressing thought.
Xathor's top human scientist's current theory is it was my unique combination of mental health issues, chemicals in the water growing up, and my utter unwillingness with multiple therapists over decades to admit I might not have seen alien spaceships as a child, and everyday since. They have asked if they can try to replicate my situation, as there will be a day humanity wants to enter the galactic age, probably within a generation. I have stated on behalf of Earth that we wouldn't allow that kind of experimentation. Arguing that with our scientific method, I'm a single datapoint, and they would need more. They seemed to respect that.
The towering mass started to move "There is another of.... you."
I became instantly sober. I don't know if it was hope or fear.
|
I'd skipped the 10th and 15th anniversary reunions; being an inter-planetary diplomat kept me busy, you know? but finally, I had a few days off that happened to fall on the same dates as my 20th high school reunion. I double checked myself in the mirror, making sure I was up to snuff with human standards. yeah, after all this time, I had to explicitly think about human culture. it might seem difficult to believe, but you try spending a few months on a rotation with the Zorkal Finn hunters and tell me you can jump back into human day-to-day life without accidentally putting on two left shoes.
My heart beats a bit faster as I wonder if Shelly Hullock is going to be there: my high school crush, who crushed my high school experience when she laughed at me in front of the whole school that one fateful day in the cafeteria. but, things were different now. for starters, the us government had publicly entered relations with interstellar aliens. also.... I might have gotten the Yuefeler Twin Star's embassy to hook me up with a muscle multiplier. I was, pardon the expression, fucking ripped.
I showed up to my old school's gymnasium feeling a mix of dread and excitement at finally being able to rub alien existence in everyone's face. there was a table by the entrance where they were handing out name cards.
"Johnny Tres?" I asked. I didn't recognize the girl behind the table, but the smirk she hid as she looked for my name card set off alarm bells.
'here you go!' she said, barely repressing a giggle as she passed me a name card covered in doodles. I looked closer at it: a doodle of an alien picking its nose; a stick figure saying 'I drank the cool aid!'; and, the classic, a crudely drawn cow being taken by a ufo. If it weren't such a cliche image, I wouldn't have been able to figure out what the little blob of a cow was.
"ah... thanks." I tell the girl, trying to keep my composure. a fun joke? surely, at their expense - a way of saying that their ridicules and relentless teasing had all been patently misguided. because aliens were real - and yes, they really did spend the 70's stealing our beef.
"Jo-Jo T!" a voice bellows from somewhere in the gym. "Get in here, buddy!" I follow the voice, finding a fatter, only slightly older looking Stewey. of all my bullies, he'd been the most.... physical. I manage to not break into a nervous sweat at the amount of attention he was giving me. which is ridiculous, by the way: I'm a high ranking government employee, and he took over his dad's hardware business. we weren't the snot-nosed kids who despised each other two decades ago. besides, he looked so... happy to see me... what is up with that, anyway?
"Stewey. its been forever." I say dryly.
"Hey, Emma! Chase! Guys, look who it is!"
'oh. my. god. I didn't think you'd ever show up to one of these!' chase said. tactless as ever, that little shit.
"HaHa! oh my god, who did that?!" Stewey booms, pointing at my vandalized name card. I chuckle quietly, trying to get a word in edgewise. Stewey speaks over me, though. "Oh, Jo-Jo, Jo-Jo. So, twenty years was enough time for you to pluck up the courage to come back here, huh?" he asks.
'quit it, Stewey! you'll scare him off, and we'll have to wait another two decades to see him!' a soft voice says, coming from off to my right. turning, my eyes fall on Shelly Hullock. I'm honestly a bit stunned by how beautiful she still looks. I feel my cheeks brighten as I try and think of something clever to say.
"I've just been busy. this is the first time I've been planet-side during a reunion." at that, everyone rolls their eyes.
'oh, come on now. you can keep lying to the news, and the American public, but we all know the truth here.' Shelly says. 'you don't need to keep fibbing to us.'
and just like that, my heart sinks, and I wonder how soon I can get myself out of this mess. Stewey is busy building a rapport with Shelly.
"Oh, no, then they'd have to come down here and probe him again! Isn't that right, Jo-Jo?"
I tilt my head, trying hopelessly to fix the situation. 'ah, actually, ever since the guile-guilt accords, the us government selects willing subjects to be submitted to the Yuefelers, and-'
"HAHAHA! oh man, you were always so good at making up that bullshit, Jo-Jo. No wonder they hired you for their little cover-up."
"uh, cover up? what are you talking about?"
'uhm, the upper class elite taking even more power for themselves, as usual. come on, Jo-Jo, we all know about it here. no need to play dumb.' Chase says. I sigh. it'd been so long since I'd been with this crowd, I'd forgotten what it was like.
'come on, Johnny. give us a little hint. where have you actually been going when you 'leave the planet'?' Shelly asks, adding the finger quotes. I sigh. I never had been able to lie to her.
"They shut me in this bunker under one of their private islands." I say. the group gasps, breaking into excitement and asking me all sorts of questions, but I don't hear any of it. how were they able to still call me out? after I'd even gotten the president to believe me? how were they always able to see the truth?
|
|
[WP] When you were a child, you saw an alien spaceship in your neighborhood. Nobody believed you back then. When the aliens revealed themselves, nobody believed you still. Even after you became a diplomat representing Earth in the galactic society, everyone denies that you can see spaceships.
|
"Mommy, look at the giant spaceship!"
I pointed up into the sky, the brilliant yellows and oranges of the lights mesmerizing as I stared with wonder.
"Come now, Jared," my mom said. "No time for imagination, we've gotta bring these groceries home."
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Jared, it's a pleasure to meet you. We've been watching you as you've lived your high school life. We've noticed your aptitude for economics, politics, public speaking, and the arts."
I said nothing, furiously sketching their appearance in my favorite notebook. I always had my notebook with me. Otherwise, how could I show them proof?
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Ladies and gentlemen, although that Earth-introduction probably doesn't work as well here..."
My heart raced as laughter filled the room. Dressed in my best suit and tie, after years of work, I'd finally made it to the position I've always dreamed of. Just before 30, as well! No time for reminiscing, though. I've got to focus.
"It is my absolute pleasure to accept the chancellor's instatement as Earth's diplomat to the Great Society. Though I would love to stand here and tell stories of Earth and of my journey to this place, I have been announced not to boast but to work. I believe it is of utmost importance to Earth and her surrounding solar system to increase the fluidity of the FTL transportation systems connecting Earth to the nearby Proxima Centauri as soon as possible in order to boost sociological and technological growth for both parties..."
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And downstairs, my mother paused, crying softly, gripping her washcloth as hard as she could.
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I'd skipped the 10th and 15th anniversary reunions; being an inter-planetary diplomat kept me busy, you know? but finally, I had a few days off that happened to fall on the same dates as my 20th high school reunion. I double checked myself in the mirror, making sure I was up to snuff with human standards. yeah, after all this time, I had to explicitly think about human culture. it might seem difficult to believe, but you try spending a few months on a rotation with the Zorkal Finn hunters and tell me you can jump back into human day-to-day life without accidentally putting on two left shoes.
My heart beats a bit faster as I wonder if Shelly Hullock is going to be there: my high school crush, who crushed my high school experience when she laughed at me in front of the whole school that one fateful day in the cafeteria. but, things were different now. for starters, the us government had publicly entered relations with interstellar aliens. also.... I might have gotten the Yuefeler Twin Star's embassy to hook me up with a muscle multiplier. I was, pardon the expression, fucking ripped.
I showed up to my old school's gymnasium feeling a mix of dread and excitement at finally being able to rub alien existence in everyone's face. there was a table by the entrance where they were handing out name cards.
"Johnny Tres?" I asked. I didn't recognize the girl behind the table, but the smirk she hid as she looked for my name card set off alarm bells.
'here you go!' she said, barely repressing a giggle as she passed me a name card covered in doodles. I looked closer at it: a doodle of an alien picking its nose; a stick figure saying 'I drank the cool aid!'; and, the classic, a crudely drawn cow being taken by a ufo. If it weren't such a cliche image, I wouldn't have been able to figure out what the little blob of a cow was.
"ah... thanks." I tell the girl, trying to keep my composure. a fun joke? surely, at their expense - a way of saying that their ridicules and relentless teasing had all been patently misguided. because aliens were real - and yes, they really did spend the 70's stealing our beef.
"Jo-Jo T!" a voice bellows from somewhere in the gym. "Get in here, buddy!" I follow the voice, finding a fatter, only slightly older looking Stewey. of all my bullies, he'd been the most.... physical. I manage to not break into a nervous sweat at the amount of attention he was giving me. which is ridiculous, by the way: I'm a high ranking government employee, and he took over his dad's hardware business. we weren't the snot-nosed kids who despised each other two decades ago. besides, he looked so... happy to see me... what is up with that, anyway?
"Stewey. its been forever." I say dryly.
"Hey, Emma! Chase! Guys, look who it is!"
'oh. my. god. I didn't think you'd ever show up to one of these!' chase said. tactless as ever, that little shit.
"HaHa! oh my god, who did that?!" Stewey booms, pointing at my vandalized name card. I chuckle quietly, trying to get a word in edgewise. Stewey speaks over me, though. "Oh, Jo-Jo, Jo-Jo. So, twenty years was enough time for you to pluck up the courage to come back here, huh?" he asks.
'quit it, Stewey! you'll scare him off, and we'll have to wait another two decades to see him!' a soft voice says, coming from off to my right. turning, my eyes fall on Shelly Hullock. I'm honestly a bit stunned by how beautiful she still looks. I feel my cheeks brighten as I try and think of something clever to say.
"I've just been busy. this is the first time I've been planet-side during a reunion." at that, everyone rolls their eyes.
'oh, come on now. you can keep lying to the news, and the American public, but we all know the truth here.' Shelly says. 'you don't need to keep fibbing to us.'
and just like that, my heart sinks, and I wonder how soon I can get myself out of this mess. Stewey is busy building a rapport with Shelly.
"Oh, no, then they'd have to come down here and probe him again! Isn't that right, Jo-Jo?"
I tilt my head, trying hopelessly to fix the situation. 'ah, actually, ever since the guile-guilt accords, the us government selects willing subjects to be submitted to the Yuefelers, and-'
"HAHAHA! oh man, you were always so good at making up that bullshit, Jo-Jo. No wonder they hired you for their little cover-up."
"uh, cover up? what are you talking about?"
'uhm, the upper class elite taking even more power for themselves, as usual. come on, Jo-Jo, we all know about it here. no need to play dumb.' Chase says. I sigh. it'd been so long since I'd been with this crowd, I'd forgotten what it was like.
'come on, Johnny. give us a little hint. where have you actually been going when you 'leave the planet'?' Shelly asks, adding the finger quotes. I sigh. I never had been able to lie to her.
"They shut me in this bunker under one of their private islands." I say. the group gasps, breaking into excitement and asking me all sorts of questions, but I don't hear any of it. how were they able to still call me out? after I'd even gotten the president to believe me? how were they always able to see the truth?
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[WP] When you were a child, you saw an alien spaceship in your neighborhood. Nobody believed you back then. When the aliens revealed themselves, nobody believed you still. Even after you became a diplomat representing Earth in the galactic society, everyone denies that you can see spaceships.
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My glass was empty. I'd poured the last of Decembers paycheque into the bar tender's Christmas fund. Maybe I had enough left for one more. I'd have to check my bank account.
I felt like I'd taken a slight fall just from that thought. It was better to live in ignorance and hope than actually look at the pain I'd caused myself.
The hotel way nearby, but it was a cold night in Berlin. My jacket wasn't made for this climate; it was for light rain not snow, shlush and ice. The bitter chill didn't help either.
"You're the UFO guy." A voice said from the dim past.
I breathed out and looked at my breath in the air a moment before I turned to see a couple of drunk students coming out of a taxi. I smiled and laughed as if I was part of the joke. "Yep." I said.
"Dude, DUDE." He reached for his phone. He started inexplicably playing my weird viral sensation from a decade back to me. I was my younger self reaching for the sky and screaming to the world on live TV that they were blind and were being lead around by idiots. Then the dance music kicked it, and the remix I loathed started.
Another of the students pulled out a phone, and started videoing the video, then switched to selfie mode "HEY. It's the guy. The UFO GUY. Woooooooo." Everyone screamed pointing the camera at me. I smiled and pretended to be entertained.
After a few moments they went quiet, while they posted the video to wherever, and moved into the bar I'd left. They screamed about the UFO guy, and I moved out of earshot.
Entering the hotel the instant warmth embraced me as the spinning door let me escape. Everything went white, and for a single moment I could think I was on the hotel lobby. That single instant.
I stepped out onto red metal and bright lights. I felt a sudden wave of sick rise at the back of my throat which often was the result of drinking, it was also the effect of the Xathor transmat system on the human digestive system. It was one of the multitude of reasons I didn't like being the Earth ambassador.
"Greetings Garth." A twelve foot green mass said into my very soul.
"Hey Wren'Xloc." I got off the transmat platform "You know this isn't a great time."
"Garth. You asked that you were allowed to spend your money in peace. We detected that the last of your money had left your bank account, and you were entering the place to sleep." They aliens didn't think in words, so it had been hard to them to adapt to human thought, they had though, after many failed attempts it seemed.
Most humans who saw the aliens simply couldn't comprehend what they saw. They saw something moving in 5 dimensions and their brain just said absolutely not, and it no longer happened. The entire UN were taken aboard a ship at one point, and all it did was make everyone act like an idiot for a decade while they justified all sorts of self (and world) destructive behaviours.
The ships hung over Earth in strategic locations for the purpose of monitoring them, and in the hopes they could solve that had become the 'human problem', that being that we simply refused to admit the Xathor existed in any meaningful way.
At first I thought they were using some techno solution like a Somebody Else's Problem ray, or a Perception Filter. No, we were just that blind to large scale issues. If we can't handle it, we change reality so it doesn't exist for us. It was a trully depressing thought.
Xathor's top human scientist's current theory is it was my unique combination of mental health issues, chemicals in the water growing up, and my utter unwillingness with multiple therapists over decades to admit I might not have seen alien spaceships as a child, and everyday since. They have asked if they can try to replicate my situation, as there will be a day humanity wants to enter the galactic age, probably within a generation. I have stated on behalf of Earth that we wouldn't allow that kind of experimentation. Arguing that with our scientific method, I'm a single datapoint, and they would need more. They seemed to respect that.
The towering mass started to move "There is another of.... you."
I became instantly sober. I don't know if it was hope or fear.
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'Hapa, lookit that tree! I bet I can climb it! Can I please climb it?'
The old man turned his wrinkled head toward the sound of the idiotic child.
'Don't call me Hapa. You can call me Hadrian. You don't need permission from me to climb trees. Do whatever the hell you want. I don't care what your uncle tells you. I really don't care.'
The boy didn't listen to the tone in Hadrian's voice. He screamed and laughed, and Hadrian didn't need to look back in his direction to hear the boy scraping up the tree and breaking branches. Wasn't that tree the same sort that he had climbed on? Back in early days? Back on *the* day?
Back on the day there was a deafening noise and a tiny young Hadrian tried to run and hide in his mother's basement because he hated the sound and the vibrations and the smell in the air like a diesel car exploding and everything happened all at once but it turned out to be okay. Because they weren't 'bad' guys who had landed in his backyard. They were the 'good' ones, they explained. And they took him in, and gave him a tour. And later Hadrian ran into his mother's arms, yelling that he had been on a spaceship. And saw one. And his mother didn't believe him, had no intention of believing him, because it made no sense. She patiently explained that there was no way Hadrian could have seen a spaceship.
Hadrian knew what he had seen; what he saw every month during his meetings with the ZA-sector cyclic group. It was impossible that he was seeing the neon-like lights of an alien ship, yes, but that is exactly what he saw. Once, Hadrian wanted the world to know all about the otherworldly technology, and how he was often viewing what should have been impossible. Now, nothing like that mattered to him. What sort of benefit would it give to him to tell the world, exactly? It would remove his attention from pensionbought cocktails and deep fried onions. Things that actually mattered.
Hadrian turned to the sound of footsteps coming though soft, tropical sand. Doubtless the footsteps of a tall man in a clean suit. 'Bernard? You've gotta ask someone else. Who wants to get something like this stopped? I'm sure you can see what's around ya. Paradise. Now, give me a far-out break and give the job to Lizzie.'
Bernard stopped next to Hadrian and talked in an annoyingly musical voice. 'You really haven't changed, have you, my old friend? They'll only take you in specifically as first contact. You're the ambassador, and you're great at it. You need to do your job.'
'I'm gonna convince you I can see the shuttleship first. The UN pretends to give a crap about interplanetary affairs and their board still refuses to believe me when I tell them I can see one little spaceboat'.
Hadrian didn't look, but Bernard presumably smiled. 'I can see it. You can't.'
'I can.'
'Tell me which direction it is. It's already parked.'
'That way'. Hadrian pointed vaguely to the north.
'Wrong, my friend. It's in the exact opposite direction.'
'Their mapping system needs calibration.'
'So you say, my friend. So you say. Do you need me to roll you over?'
'Of course.'
Hadrian regrettably needed the little government thimble Bernard to roll him over to meetings. He could see the spaceships and meeting rooms. He couldn't see the twigs and rocks and people in the way of them. Or anything, for that matter, since he got in that accident with that downed power line when he was five he barely remembered.
But he could see spaceships.
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[WP] When you were a child, you saw an alien spaceship in your neighborhood. Nobody believed you back then. When the aliens revealed themselves, nobody believed you still. Even after you became a diplomat representing Earth in the galactic society, everyone denies that you can see spaceships.
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"Mommy, look at the giant spaceship!"
I pointed up into the sky, the brilliant yellows and oranges of the lights mesmerizing as I stared with wonder.
"Come now, Jared," my mom said. "No time for imagination, we've gotta bring these groceries home."
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Jared, it's a pleasure to meet you. We've been watching you as you've lived your high school life. We've noticed your aptitude for economics, politics, public speaking, and the arts."
I said nothing, furiously sketching their appearance in my favorite notebook. I always had my notebook with me. Otherwise, how could I show them proof?
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Ladies and gentlemen, although that Earth-introduction probably doesn't work as well here..."
My heart raced as laughter filled the room. Dressed in my best suit and tie, after years of work, I'd finally made it to the position I've always dreamed of. Just before 30, as well! No time for reminiscing, though. I've got to focus.
"It is my absolute pleasure to accept the chancellor's instatement as Earth's diplomat to the Great Society. Though I would love to stand here and tell stories of Earth and of my journey to this place, I have been announced not to boast but to work. I believe it is of utmost importance to Earth and her surrounding solar system to increase the fluidity of the FTL transportation systems connecting Earth to the nearby Proxima Centauri as soon as possible in order to boost sociological and technological growth for both parties..."
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And downstairs, my mother paused, crying softly, gripping her washcloth as hard as she could.
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'Hapa, lookit that tree! I bet I can climb it! Can I please climb it?'
The old man turned his wrinkled head toward the sound of the idiotic child.
'Don't call me Hapa. You can call me Hadrian. You don't need permission from me to climb trees. Do whatever the hell you want. I don't care what your uncle tells you. I really don't care.'
The boy didn't listen to the tone in Hadrian's voice. He screamed and laughed, and Hadrian didn't need to look back in his direction to hear the boy scraping up the tree and breaking branches. Wasn't that tree the same sort that he had climbed on? Back in early days? Back on *the* day?
Back on the day there was a deafening noise and a tiny young Hadrian tried to run and hide in his mother's basement because he hated the sound and the vibrations and the smell in the air like a diesel car exploding and everything happened all at once but it turned out to be okay. Because they weren't 'bad' guys who had landed in his backyard. They were the 'good' ones, they explained. And they took him in, and gave him a tour. And later Hadrian ran into his mother's arms, yelling that he had been on a spaceship. And saw one. And his mother didn't believe him, had no intention of believing him, because it made no sense. She patiently explained that there was no way Hadrian could have seen a spaceship.
Hadrian knew what he had seen; what he saw every month during his meetings with the ZA-sector cyclic group. It was impossible that he was seeing the neon-like lights of an alien ship, yes, but that is exactly what he saw. Once, Hadrian wanted the world to know all about the otherworldly technology, and how he was often viewing what should have been impossible. Now, nothing like that mattered to him. What sort of benefit would it give to him to tell the world, exactly? It would remove his attention from pensionbought cocktails and deep fried onions. Things that actually mattered.
Hadrian turned to the sound of footsteps coming though soft, tropical sand. Doubtless the footsteps of a tall man in a clean suit. 'Bernard? You've gotta ask someone else. Who wants to get something like this stopped? I'm sure you can see what's around ya. Paradise. Now, give me a far-out break and give the job to Lizzie.'
Bernard stopped next to Hadrian and talked in an annoyingly musical voice. 'You really haven't changed, have you, my old friend? They'll only take you in specifically as first contact. You're the ambassador, and you're great at it. You need to do your job.'
'I'm gonna convince you I can see the shuttleship first. The UN pretends to give a crap about interplanetary affairs and their board still refuses to believe me when I tell them I can see one little spaceboat'.
Hadrian didn't look, but Bernard presumably smiled. 'I can see it. You can't.'
'I can.'
'Tell me which direction it is. It's already parked.'
'That way'. Hadrian pointed vaguely to the north.
'Wrong, my friend. It's in the exact opposite direction.'
'Their mapping system needs calibration.'
'So you say, my friend. So you say. Do you need me to roll you over?'
'Of course.'
Hadrian regrettably needed the little government thimble Bernard to roll him over to meetings. He could see the spaceships and meeting rooms. He couldn't see the twigs and rocks and people in the way of them. Or anything, for that matter, since he got in that accident with that downed power line when he was five he barely remembered.
But he could see spaceships.
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[WP] One day, you meet a stray cat that looks exhausted. So you give it some food, water and a warm place to rest before it disappears the next morning. Some time later, a witch appears at your doorstep with that same cat. "Ambrose here says you saved his life, so I'm here to repay the favor."
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When I was much younger my family cat, unbeknownst to us at the time, was hit by a car and suffered awful injuries. We found her, dead, curled up behind the coal shed in a nest of discarded sacks. This was how I learned that a sick or injured cat will seek a quiet place where they feel safe to recuperate but will often die there, alone.
It was a horrible cold and dark night and I was snuggled up on the couch watching netflix. The porch door was banging in the wind and I was just too lazy to get up and lock it, promising myself I'd do so before I went to bed. Eventually the need to take a pee overcame my need for warmth and comfort and I went to close the porch door on my way back from the bathroom.
Thats when I noticed the blood on the tiled floor.. Little spatters leading from the door to the far corner of the porch. I couldn't see anything and, being a white girl in a horror movie cliché, I straight away went to investigate the source of the blood. The end of the enclosed porch was just a big pile of garden junk with tables and chairs, umbrellas etc that had all been taken in for the winter. Using the torch on my phone I searched around and didnt find anything at all, I was just about to leave when two tiny glowing eyes opened in the very far corner. It let out the faintest miaow and my heart near broke.
After carfully digging my way through the junk to the pitch black cat I discovered that the side of its head was slicked with blood. Its jaw was missshaped and it looked to be in great pain. I placed an old blanket over him to prevent scratching, bundled him up and we headed out to my car. As I drove I called the local vets out of hours number and told them we were on our way over to her house.
A lot happened after that but the short story is the cat had ben hit hard by something, presumably a car and had shattered his jaw and crushed his orbital sockets. Luckily he didnt lose his eyes but his jaw had to be wired into place and it would never fully be aligned. He was on a drip for a few days until he was able to eat very very soft cat food fed from a syringe. It took several weeks before he was able to eat somewhat normally but he wouln't ever be able to chew on dry food, which suited me fine as I love to cook and always prepared something wonderful and soft on the side for his meals. For the rest of the winter he never really left my side and I was grateful for the company.
Then, one morning in early spring, he was gone. I searched everywhere, fearing the worst but he was nowhere to be found. I consoled myself that I had done all I could for him and perhaps he had decided to go home to his real family now he was better or at least as well as he could be.
A meloncholy week passed and one day there was a knock at the door. I answered and standing there was the most incredibly beautiful woman I had ever seen. She wore a long flowing dress that should have looked completly out of place but on her it just seemed perfect. When she smiled at me I felt a sense of such kinship that I had never felt before. Without question and completly out of character for me I invited her in immediatly.
"First off, I'd like to thank you for saving my familiar" she says and oddly I knew perfectly clearly she was referring to the Cat I had saved. "I was so happy when he returned to me but he... has issues. His head hurts when I do magic and he cannot fly with me without being in great pain. He tells me that when he is here, with you, he is content, happy even. So... so I wish to do something I have never done before, I wish to ask a favour. Would you take care of him for me? In return I'll grant you any favour thats within my power to grant"
"I just want him to be happy and I ask for nothing except you come visit from time to time?"
"That, that seems like a good deal"
I turned to make tea but when I turned back she'd gone and in in her place was only a comforting purr from the couch beside the fire.
Edit: fixed a lot of typos.
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I stared at her in silence as she stood in my doorway, smiling at me with a calm look on her face. It had been raining all night and the cold, winter wind was violently stirring the trees around the house. The witch, for, she must be a witch, as she was wearing the distinct red and gold robes of Pevril castle, did not seem to be bothered in the slightest by the cold. She looked back at me expectantly, as if we had already known each other for a long time.
I pushed the door further ajar and indicated for to her to come in. I wasn’t sure what else to do, but I was starting to feel sorry for poor Ambrose, who, unlike his owner, did not seem to be immune to the cold and was shivering violently in her bare arms. Ambrose yowled appreciatively and raced into the sitting room which he had occupied so thoroughly yesterday. He stretched himself out in front of the fire and started to purr contentedly.
‘Make yourself at home then’ I muttered to Ambrose and turned again to face to the witch, who laughed. ‘I’m sorry’ she said, smiling, ‘I just know what trouble he can be’.
I raised my eyebrows. Trouble was putting it lightly. ‘Well’ I said, ‘thanks for coming all this way, but you aren’t in debt to me, so don’t worry about it’.
I wasn’t sure why, but I felt uncomfortable in her presence. She radiated the same sort of warm, electric energy that my mother had. I could sense that mantra was very strong with her.
She stepped into the light and I saw her properly for the first time. She was very young for a qualified witch. She only looked around twenty years old. She was small, slender and had flowing dark brown hair. I noticed she had large amber coloured eyes, just like Ambrose.
I was jolted out of my internal meditation as I felt that the witch had grasped my hand in her own.
‘Rawdon’ she said, in a serious voice now, ‘I will repay the debt and I can save you’. She emphasised the ‘can’ in an urgent tone of voice. My heart start to thud rapidly and then I felt embarrassed, as I knew she could hear it too. How did she know my life needed to be saved? It was impossible that she could know about the curse.
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[WP] One day, you meet a stray cat that looks exhausted. So you give it some food, water and a warm place to rest before it disappears the next morning. Some time later, a witch appears at your doorstep with that same cat. "Ambrose here says you saved his life, so I'm here to repay the favor."
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It was a dark and stormy night, when the dark and stormy cat clawed at my front door. I didn’t open it at first. At first I didn’t open it, thinking it was a person. One of the neighbors coming over to complain about my sound system or one of the HOA ladies informing me yet again that my lawn was the wrong shade of green. They started patrolling the streets recently, claiming it was to keep the neighborhood safe.
It was just to snoop. I’d catch them sometimes, squinting into my living room window from the sidewalk. When I heard the mewling of a cat, I got up and went to the door. He was a black cat, with a sage green collar. He was also soaking wet and clearly miserable. I opened the door and she sauntered in.
I don’t know how I knew it was a he-cat, but I did. The tag on the collar said Ambrose, but there was no phone number or address. He was friendly, even letting me pick him up, and I settled him on the rug in front of the lit fireplace. I returned to the living room with a towel, but somehow he was already dry.
“I guess you weren’t as wet as I thought,” I said. I patted the couch next to me. “Want to join me?”
It wasn’t exactly an exciting Saturday night, but it was the usual way I spent it. Watching something on Netflix, ordering in pizza, and wondering how I could escape my current singleness, preferably without too much human interaction.
Ambrose’s company was better than nothing. After a while, he settled into my lap, his head resting against the inside of my elbow. Getting a cat of my own wasn’t a bad idea. Two cats, maybe, so they could keep each other company when I was at work. Three might earn me the label of the neighborhood cat lady. I paused. It was still a better label than being the neighborhood recluse. Ambrose purred as I scratched the top of his head. Yes, it would be nice to share my house with another living thing.
I fell asleep on the couch, and woke up to Ambrose gone. Even after searching the whole house, from top to bottom, he was nowhere. When I was eating breakfast, I saw the kitchen window, open by a few inches, enough for a determined cat to squeeze through.
“At least the weather’s nice outside,” I said to myself. It was a beautiful day, with the rain from the night before rendering everything outside clean and green. Hopefully he knew his way back home.
There was a knock at the door, and I went to open it. When I did, I had to look up. The man was tall, and he had a cat on his shoulder. It was Ambrose. He sat on his owner’s shoulder like it was his natural perching place, his tail loosely hanging around the man’s neck.
“Ambrose here says you saved his life, so I’m here to repay the favor.”
“Ambrose says?” I asked. Was he the crazy cat man of this neighborhood? He looked perfectly normal. Perhaps it was just a joke, and he meant he’d seen Ambrose exiting my house in the morning.
“Yesterday’s storm was pretty brutal,” the man said. “Thanks for letting Ambrose in.”
“No problem,” I answered.
“So, how would you like to be repaid?” he asked.
“It’s no problem,” I said, laughing it off. “I enjoyed Ambrose’s company last night.”
“We do not leave debts unpaid,” the man said. “Ask for anything.”
“Yes, anything,” a voice purred.
The cat was talking. I stepped back into the house, and the man took his first steps inside.
“Yes, as Ambrose said. Anything within my power, I shall do for you.”
“What are you?” I asked, hesitantly. “A ventriloquist?”
“*My master is not so talented*,” Ambrose. *“He is simply a fledgling witch who is grateful he hasn’t lost his familiar.”*
“A witch? But you’re…”
“Yes, I’m a man,” the man said. “But that’s not the point. What is your wish? Wealth? Fame? Superpowers?”
As he said the last word, he made a ball of fire with his hands and let it dissipate.
“Anything you want,” he said.
So it was real, or real enough to fool most people.
“Can I think over it while we have breakfast?” I asked. I kept bottles of overnight oats in the fridge and took two of them out, handing one to Callum. As I ate my first spoonful, I considered the options. Superpowers would be cool, but I wasn’t brave enough for vigilantism or crime. Wealth was tempting, but I was wealthy enough on my own. Fame was the exact opposite of what I wanted. I had most things people wanted. I just didn’t have people.
“Can you help me get with my soulmate?” I asked. “Whoever he or she is?”
*“You do realize that Callum here is a fledgling witch, do you not? It takes someone far more experienced to deal with matters of love.”*
“Then help me make friends, then, a makeshift family that I can care for, and that will care for me,” I said, looking at Callum. “I’m all alone in this town, and I’m not very good at making friends.”
I looked at Ambrose, who was resting on the kitchen island. “At least not human ones. I’m sorry I’m not offering you anything. I don’t have cat food in the house.”
“Friends?” Callum asked. “That’s your wish?”
I nodded.
“I suppose I can introduce you to my friends,” he said. “And my family. ”
“Witches?”
“And humans,” he said.
I laughed. “I guess I didn’t ask for a very magical gift.”
“Magic comes in different ways,” Callum said.
Callum left, but Ambrose stayed.
“Do you want some almond milk?” I asked.
*“Yes, please.”*
I no longer could see Ambrose as just a cat. There was more human in him than animal. I poured him a saucer of almond milk and took a seat as he drank it.
“I enjoyed your company, Ambrose. Feel free to come over if you ever need to or want to. No repayment necessary.”
*“He has repaid you, and so have I,*” Ambrose said. “*Callum will grant you your second wish, and I have granted your first.”*
“Pardon?”
*“I have helped you meet your soulmate,”* Ambrose said, leaping off the counter and disappearing into thin air.
*“And I helped my hopeless master finally speak to a woman,”* a voice in the air said, although it could’ve just been my imagination.
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*If you liked my writing and would like to see more, please check out* r/analect.
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It was a cold and rainy day, and a cat had come to die on my doorstep.
A rather unusual day, to be sure, but that was that. Or so I thought as I lifted the thing off the cold stones and into the cottage. It reanimated quickly with warm milk and a seat by the fire.
"You weren't just being lazy in hopes of a meal?" I say as I fed her a piece of salmon, "such poor habits, little minx."
The cat offers nothing in response, merely gives me a meaningful stare.
"Don't run towards death, little one," I say, gesturing to my own, wrinkled face, "it comes faster than you expect."
The rains drummed on the roof as the fire crackled away, the coal fur of the cat catching the reds and yellows. The cat drifted in and out of sleep as I sampled various aromas from a series of glass vials. Not much in the way of therapeutic value, but if I'm going to die of cancer, I'm not waste time on the scent of dust.
The cat seems unperturbed by wafts of mint and lavender as I settle in my wicker chair and trace my eyes over the series of bricks. I know every scratch, every indent on it and the wood planks that constitute my ceiling. A product of my lesser need for sleep these days.
Morning comes suddenly.
I must've dozed off, for the clock already reads half-past nine. I look around for the cat, and find her circling around the front of the door.
"Are you anxious to get home, sweetheart?" I say, with a yawn, hearing the floorboards creek above me. The black cat nearly jumps at the sound.
"No need to be skittish. That's just Anastasia - my partner. She's a late riser."
With that reassurance the cat resumes circling the door. I open, and it darts out down the garden path, and stops just before the gate.
When it turns, I see the glow of its eyes, even in the morning light.
"Oh my," is all I have time to say, before it vanishes into the road beyond.
​
\*\*\*
​
Ishtar Venusian was bored, upset, feeling rather redundant, and also rather bored. She saw no reason, being a witch at the top of her class that she would be humiliated in front of the whole coven, and told by the Mothers to apologize for the inconvenience she'd brought to another door.
Of course, she did *understand,* but she hated it all the same.
She aimed another kick at one of the pebbles strewn across the back roads, reading the address aloud to the air abuzz with flies.
Ambrose slinked in front of her. He'd been so melodramatic, crying about how he could've died when left out of the rain. When she'd told him that he deserved her leaving him out in the rain, she'd gotten a spray of spittle in her face.
Cats were the worst.
Finally, they were there.
It was a relatively small cottage surrounded by trees and hedges. Ishtar huffed in approval, even if the owner didn't appreciate the power that came from the old life, she could at least drink it in.
She gulped once before knocking at the door and pushed down the pang of guilt as she saw an older woman pull back the wood. It was compounded by a long-sleeved dress and leather gloves - straight out of the Victorian era.
"How may I help you?" she said, as she pulled it back further.
"I came about the cat," Ishtar said, not entirely sure how to start this particular conversation.
"Oh, the black one last night? He's alright, no?" she said, stepping back.
"He's just fine. Such a drama queen," she said, "he probably just wanted smelt some nicer food."
"Perhaps he did," she laughed, "either way, he seemed quite miserable when I found him. Cold, wet, half unconscious."
Ishtar's eyes narrowed. Was she mocking her?
"Well I-" she started, then began again. Just say the line, she thought, this old woman won't even understand. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I am a witch."
"Oh?" she said, sounding more curious then anything else.
"Yes. A witch," Ishtar said, raising her voice to blot out the feeling of the flush creeping up her neck, "and you have offered life to my familiar when I could not. Hence, I'm indebted to you, and must respect that debt. Is there some service or gift you wish for? If it's within my power I will grant it."
"A witch," the grandma said, "is that why you young ones have all those tattoos these days?"
*Oh god,* Ishtar thought.
"They're not just-" she said "they're... rank. The more I have the more senior I am."
"Like the boy scouts?"
"Yes. Like the boy scouts," Ishtar said, amazed she didn't roll her eyes, "now, ma'am, is there anything I can do for you?"
*Just say to clip your roses or something old hag.*
"Well, I suppose you could have some tea. I haven't had anyone over in some time."
"Very well."
Before she even knew what happened, Ishtar was at a cherry wood table with a steaming cup in her hands. She looked around the rustic cottage, noting the lines of orange pill bottles.
"Mostly painkillers at this point," said the old woman with a smile, "left my occupation some time ago - the cancer was spreading. Lived far longer than one would expect, but everything has a time limit."
"Sorry," said Ishtar, feeling the guilt rear its ugly head once more.
"It's quite alright. Do tell me more of Ambrose," she said, stroking the cat that had sat next to her, "is he, your... what do they call it?"
*Little traitor,* Ishtar thought.
"A familiar," she rushed ahead, "bound to us, supposed to be our partners, and friends, for life. We... share things. But we've ran into a rough spot."
The two shot a venomous glare across at each other.
"I see," sighed the woman, "well. I know a particular trip that gets through to the more rambunctious of us."
She got up, and returned with a long strand of what looked to be bamboo.
"What is that, ma'am?"
"Something from my days as a teacher back in the city. Let me show you - reach out your hands, towards your partner."
Ishtar looked at the woman, considering outright refusing - but she looked sweet enough, and its not like this was coming from a bad place.
"Now, close your eyes and take a deep breath."
Ishtar did so.
And the yelped as the switch bit into her hands.
"What the fuck!" she said, nearly stumbling out of the chair and smashing her ass on the stone floor.
"Language!" said the woman, standing over her.
"I'll show you language you stupid cu-"
And spells or profanity Ishtar might've hurled the way of the old woman died in her throat as she felt a growl shake her entire body. She turned to find two disks of bright light, swirling above teeth that belonged in a bear trap. The jaguar behind that tensed, rippling with muscle as its growl deepened.
The switch dug into her throat as she turned to look up, spying the numerous dark lines that crawled up under the woman's sleeve.
"*That* is my partner, Anastasia. I am madame Duloc, former mistress-mother of the New York coven.
And you, young lady, are in need of an education."
​
*I write all sorts of things at* /r/The_Alloqium
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[WP] One day, you meet a stray cat that looks exhausted. So you give it some food, water and a warm place to rest before it disappears the next morning. Some time later, a witch appears at your doorstep with that same cat. "Ambrose here says you saved his life, so I'm here to repay the favor."
|
I gazed at the woman across from me. We were seated in a petite french bakery or rather *I* was seated. She had just waltzed in here with a tabby cat drapped in her arms like an accessory and chose to sit next to me. Her faded brown eyes held an intense stare whilst she stroked the tabby causing it to stretch its legs out in delight. My feet shifted uneasily, glancing up at her every few seconds to see if she would look away.
"Can I help you?" I finally asked. Her eyes narrowed. She had a look of doubt and seemed absent minded. Perhaps she was on a phone call, but that didn't explain the intent staring she still held.
"I'm just gonna go" I apprehensively reach to pick up my coffee.
"Ambrose tells me you saved his life" the womans smooth voice lets out. "I wasn't sure If I believed him, you don't seem like the animal loving type" she gestures with her long finger nails to the many piercings and tattoos displayed on my body.
"Ambrose? I'm afraid you've got the wrong person lady" I instinctively get up from my chair.
"Sit down, pet".
I found myself already sitting on the chair again.Her silky voice didn't have to be loud to hold such authority.
"I'm sorry but I really don't know an Ambrose" I pleaded with her. I avoided the crazies exceptional till now.
The woman bore a serious look,. Her thin eyebrows raised high and tightened her purple stained lips. She was clearly annoyed..
"Are you finished?" she asks. When she sees I sink into my chair in defeat she speaks again.
"Ambrose is this handsome feline in my arms" she says, stroking the cat with each word she spoke.
I almost burst out in laughter but knew better not to. Everyone knew laughter only agitated the crazies more. But come to think of it, I did save a cat from my neighbour's mutt recently. All brown tabbies look the same, and this was merely a coincidence. Or a prank. Or she was merely nuts.
"Now that I remember, I did save him" I lie. To save yourself from maniacs 101, always play along when theres no way out.
"Yes, he said you saved him from a mongrel" she looks away in digust as if reliving the memory.
"You will be compensated for your good deads" she looks me up and down distaste. "You will need it"
Although she was shorter than me, I somehow felt smaller in her gaze. I give her a smile in return continuing to play along.
"You don't have to" I look down sheepishly in mock sadness.
"Oh no I insist , it will greatly benefit a girl in your circumstances" she takes a look at my tattoos and piercings not hiding the disdain in her beautifully wrinkled face.
"Well if you must, then I'll happily oblige to any gift you give me" I lowered my head in courtesey. Laughing to myself I think of how I easily I could bag an oscar right now with my acting.
"Good" she gives me a curt nod. "Your compensation will arrive at your apartment by the time you get there" she promptly picks up the feline and walks out the bakery acting like she just walked out of her own palace.
I snorted when I knew she had offically gone. This was going to be a hilarious story to tell among friends later on.
Never try to push open doors while your holding groceries, some of your items will inevitably fall down. I sigh and lock the door behind me. My apartment was always neat and tidy so I never really had that much chores. Or maybe it was only clean because I barely had anything in it.
I place my bags on the counter and head to the fridge to prepare dinner. Leftover takeout again. Not exactly the healthiest but throwing it away would be a waste.
After I finish head to my room. My encounter with the weird lady had vanished from my mind. I open my bedroom door and turn on the lights.
I gave out a yelp and fell to the floor. My mind was raing with millions of thoughts per second. There was a cat. A freaking orange tabby cat lounging on my bed as if it owned it. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.
I cautiously approach my bed. The cat padded towards me but I held my hand out to halt him but it only made him want to come closer. I was too distracted by the note on my bed to notice the cat snuggling my hand. In it read.
*Enjoy your tabby. Take good care of him. The instructions are on your hideous night stand.*
My eyes darted to my nightstand to see a whole damn book. My mind continued to race even more due to what I read.
How to train your witch cat 101. No ISBN no Author. Just a picture of a brown tabbie's face on the cover.
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It was a cold and rainy day, and a cat had come to die on my doorstep.
A rather unusual day, to be sure, but that was that. Or so I thought as I lifted the thing off the cold stones and into the cottage. It reanimated quickly with warm milk and a seat by the fire.
"You weren't just being lazy in hopes of a meal?" I say as I fed her a piece of salmon, "such poor habits, little minx."
The cat offers nothing in response, merely gives me a meaningful stare.
"Don't run towards death, little one," I say, gesturing to my own, wrinkled face, "it comes faster than you expect."
The rains drummed on the roof as the fire crackled away, the coal fur of the cat catching the reds and yellows. The cat drifted in and out of sleep as I sampled various aromas from a series of glass vials. Not much in the way of therapeutic value, but if I'm going to die of cancer, I'm not waste time on the scent of dust.
The cat seems unperturbed by wafts of mint and lavender as I settle in my wicker chair and trace my eyes over the series of bricks. I know every scratch, every indent on it and the wood planks that constitute my ceiling. A product of my lesser need for sleep these days.
Morning comes suddenly.
I must've dozed off, for the clock already reads half-past nine. I look around for the cat, and find her circling around the front of the door.
"Are you anxious to get home, sweetheart?" I say, with a yawn, hearing the floorboards creek above me. The black cat nearly jumps at the sound.
"No need to be skittish. That's just Anastasia - my partner. She's a late riser."
With that reassurance the cat resumes circling the door. I open, and it darts out down the garden path, and stops just before the gate.
When it turns, I see the glow of its eyes, even in the morning light.
"Oh my," is all I have time to say, before it vanishes into the road beyond.
​
\*\*\*
​
Ishtar Venusian was bored, upset, feeling rather redundant, and also rather bored. She saw no reason, being a witch at the top of her class that she would be humiliated in front of the whole coven, and told by the Mothers to apologize for the inconvenience she'd brought to another door.
Of course, she did *understand,* but she hated it all the same.
She aimed another kick at one of the pebbles strewn across the back roads, reading the address aloud to the air abuzz with flies.
Ambrose slinked in front of her. He'd been so melodramatic, crying about how he could've died when left out of the rain. When she'd told him that he deserved her leaving him out in the rain, she'd gotten a spray of spittle in her face.
Cats were the worst.
Finally, they were there.
It was a relatively small cottage surrounded by trees and hedges. Ishtar huffed in approval, even if the owner didn't appreciate the power that came from the old life, she could at least drink it in.
She gulped once before knocking at the door and pushed down the pang of guilt as she saw an older woman pull back the wood. It was compounded by a long-sleeved dress and leather gloves - straight out of the Victorian era.
"How may I help you?" she said, as she pulled it back further.
"I came about the cat," Ishtar said, not entirely sure how to start this particular conversation.
"Oh, the black one last night? He's alright, no?" she said, stepping back.
"He's just fine. Such a drama queen," she said, "he probably just wanted smelt some nicer food."
"Perhaps he did," she laughed, "either way, he seemed quite miserable when I found him. Cold, wet, half unconscious."
Ishtar's eyes narrowed. Was she mocking her?
"Well I-" she started, then began again. Just say the line, she thought, this old woman won't even understand. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I am a witch."
"Oh?" she said, sounding more curious then anything else.
"Yes. A witch," Ishtar said, raising her voice to blot out the feeling of the flush creeping up her neck, "and you have offered life to my familiar when I could not. Hence, I'm indebted to you, and must respect that debt. Is there some service or gift you wish for? If it's within my power I will grant it."
"A witch," the grandma said, "is that why you young ones have all those tattoos these days?"
*Oh god,* Ishtar thought.
"They're not just-" she said "they're... rank. The more I have the more senior I am."
"Like the boy scouts?"
"Yes. Like the boy scouts," Ishtar said, amazed she didn't roll her eyes, "now, ma'am, is there anything I can do for you?"
*Just say to clip your roses or something old hag.*
"Well, I suppose you could have some tea. I haven't had anyone over in some time."
"Very well."
Before she even knew what happened, Ishtar was at a cherry wood table with a steaming cup in her hands. She looked around the rustic cottage, noting the lines of orange pill bottles.
"Mostly painkillers at this point," said the old woman with a smile, "left my occupation some time ago - the cancer was spreading. Lived far longer than one would expect, but everything has a time limit."
"Sorry," said Ishtar, feeling the guilt rear its ugly head once more.
"It's quite alright. Do tell me more of Ambrose," she said, stroking the cat that had sat next to her, "is he, your... what do they call it?"
*Little traitor,* Ishtar thought.
"A familiar," she rushed ahead, "bound to us, supposed to be our partners, and friends, for life. We... share things. But we've ran into a rough spot."
The two shot a venomous glare across at each other.
"I see," sighed the woman, "well. I know a particular trip that gets through to the more rambunctious of us."
She got up, and returned with a long strand of what looked to be bamboo.
"What is that, ma'am?"
"Something from my days as a teacher back in the city. Let me show you - reach out your hands, towards your partner."
Ishtar looked at the woman, considering outright refusing - but she looked sweet enough, and its not like this was coming from a bad place.
"Now, close your eyes and take a deep breath."
Ishtar did so.
And the yelped as the switch bit into her hands.
"What the fuck!" she said, nearly stumbling out of the chair and smashing her ass on the stone floor.
"Language!" said the woman, standing over her.
"I'll show you language you stupid cu-"
And spells or profanity Ishtar might've hurled the way of the old woman died in her throat as she felt a growl shake her entire body. She turned to find two disks of bright light, swirling above teeth that belonged in a bear trap. The jaguar behind that tensed, rippling with muscle as its growl deepened.
The switch dug into her throat as she turned to look up, spying the numerous dark lines that crawled up under the woman's sleeve.
"*That* is my partner, Anastasia. I am madame Duloc, former mistress-mother of the New York coven.
And you, young lady, are in need of an education."
​
*I write all sorts of things at* /r/The_Alloqium
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[WP] Aliens looking at Earth from 5K light years away see us in the distant past and think we’re going to be easy targets. However, when they arrive, they encounter a much more advanced civilization than they expected.
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The fools at External Affairs are gonna hear it from me, I swear. Okay maybe not me specifically, but my team. Or the team I am part of, anyway.
Their reports say that there is no dominant species on the planet but our observations indicate otherwise. Among the non-metallic lifeforms, a biped species dominates the land while a smooth skinned icthyoid pervades the oceans. But these are far outnumbered by the metallics. There are more metallics on land (mostly quadripeds), but strangely not as many in the waters. The ones in the water appear to have rotary appendages (rudimentary, but I guess it's one way to evolve). Not sure how any of these lifeforms acquire energy, I must ask what the new guy in Analytics and Instrumentation thinks. Huba was his name, at least that's what I heard from the others. He looks like he would be fun to get to know, and I wonder if I will get a chance to talk to him.
All this doesn't affect the execution of our mission, but it does make things more interesting. For instance, at this stage, they may even have thermonuclears! Wouldn't that be cute! Really we didn't even expect discovery of flames, but look at them go!
Speaking of flames, they appear to be conducting large scale experiments with them. Quite strange, if you ask me. I mean, if you know how they work, why would you keep setting large swathes of land ablaze? Good looking green land too, not that there's much of that around. Maybe the greens are a threat, who knows. Probably Huba. Yeah, probably him. I bet he would want to talk about this, right? It's worth a shot.
Speaking of Huba, he says he found some data on the temperature profiles. It appears average temperature has been rising consistently for a while now, and the variance has too. I wonder why they would want that - are they trying to cook themselves?. How are they doing it, even? I'm no expert but I bet it has to do with the greens going up in flames.
Anyway, Commander has spoken with several teams back home and no one seems to have a reasonable explanation. So far the mission has been put on hold, and the new objective is "wait and watch". I didn't come here to watch, and normally this would piss me off. But things are certainly getting interesting, and it looks like if we wait, the inhabitants may cook themselves out of our way and we can just go ahead with the mining. Fingers crossed!
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It was supposed to be an easy planet to colonize, just destroy the natives and use their resources for our own good. How foolish we were, i still remember the first moment we arrived to that forsaken place.
They told us that it was only supposed to be a few of them, using rocks and sticks as their only defense, unable to fight off an animal a bit bigger than them. Primitive beings.
When we steped foot on that place, there were so many machines, so many of them all wearing what it seemed to be an uniform, holding weapons that could kill one in a few seconds. "They are not as primitive as they told us captain" said my second on command "im going to open fire, even if they are bit more civilized than we expected it ahould be easy" he was so wrong, the second he shoot it was over, I stil remember the rain of explosion, the bullets, it is vivid in my memory, "how could they be this dangerous?" I feared we would die if we stayed I ordered them all to evacuate and re evaluate the situation with the bureau, yet, when we tried activating the ship...
They threw so many explosions at us, there was no way any of us would escape alive, then we saw them leave, they disappeared in seconds, we thought that maybe they pitied us, we were so wrong.
We heard something falling towards us, when it hit, it created the strongest most brutal explosion i have ever seen, by then, there was nothing of us left.
If it wasn't for the fact that I was given a chance from the bureau to try their first draft of an immortality device, i would have been gone like my troop. Yet, even though I survived, even though i am back to my planet, even though there is no way for them to get here, I- I still feel fear, when I close my eyes, i can still see the explosions, can we even replicate something like that? How did they make it to do that? I do not really care anymore.
After that, i do not think I can even leave my house without trembling, i can't really do anything anymore. The bureau understood that after I sent them the updated version of how advanced that planet was. At the end we decided not to provoke them anymore, after all, we have no idea of what else they are capable of.
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[WP] Aliens looking at Earth from 5K light years away see us in the distant past and think we’re going to be easy targets. However, when they arrive, they encounter a much more advanced civilization than they expected.
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"Our scouts said they were Neolithic!"
The captain's scaled hand crashed violently to the console as he barked out for the senior intelligence officer to get to the bridge immediately. His twisted appendage throbbing with rage as he chastised the poor sod.
"Does that look like stone aged savages? Steel, electricity, planes, satellites and? A piece of cloth on a stick on the moon? You said they were busy stacking rocks into pyramids! Not flying to their moon to litter."
The officer's neck puffed out as he tried to defend himself.
"Well they are apes. They must breed faster than we do, allowing innovation to occur faster. It was outlined this was a possible risk in the appendix of my report. Don’t worry if our estimates are correct they shouldn…"
His voice was cut off as we picked up a specific transmission sent to our vehicle.
“Attention, unidentified vessel. You are in restricted air space, please send through the correct clearance codes immediately or deviate from your path 15 degrees westward at a speed not exceeding 600 mph. I repeat, send through clearance codes or deviate 15 degrees westward at a speed not exceeding 600mph. Over.”
The captain’s pupils shrunk to tiny slits as he stared down the senior intelligence officer.
“Well? You’re in charge of intelligence. Find west! Find those codes and figure out what these apes are capable of! The invasion fleet is at least a century behind us, as they must attend to… other matters. We need a plan to adjust for these complications.”
The officer scurried over to my console and taped a N, E, S, W over my console as well as a few crude markers with numbers on them.
“North, east, south and west, that number is 15. Get us lined along that trajectory.”
We cruised for some time along this route, across an ocean that was nearly half the length of the globe. I had nearly started to question the importance of invading an ocean planet before the giant continents of this world came into view. We returned to a geostationary orbit above the region called ‘United States’ and began to observe. Those of us with little to do for maintaining the ship started to investigate the history of this planet. Squads were sent down to raid their libraries. We found out that the litter on the moon was what they called a ‘flag’. It was from the United States. We also discovered that flags were left on other high areas on the peaks of their tallest mountains. A ‘Sir Edmund Hillary’ left a flag bearing the ‘United Kingdom Union Jack’ on their tallest peak. It seemed that when the United States placed a flag on the moon, a higher height from their perspective, that the United States became the dominant power of this planet and the Union Jack commonwealth fell out of global power. This peaceful competition for global hegemony was unusual. But what surprised us was what preceded it.
In their years of 1939 to 1945 a group of these apes, called the Germans, attempted to seize global dominance without the traditional display of finding a taller place to mark. This was very unusual as they invented rockets but sent them to their rivals instead of to the moon. The highest peak that these humans could mark with their current technology. It was no surprise that their nation was divided into pieces. These human traditions were bizarre. However, among our crew we had great respect for a people with such a bloodless way to assume global hegemony. An honourable competition between nations to use human body and technology to claim the highest place possible is preferable to war.
As we continued to observe, a new development in their culture occurred. The ‘I have a flag on the tallest place’ method of governance gave way to the biggest explosion display. While smaller conflicts did occur it was not to assume global hegemony, but to deal to smaller tensions. This explosion display competition soon grew out of hand. So many failed devices that could not exceed the current explosion champion bomb were crafted that these human stock piles could exterminate their planet multiple times. This led to a loss of morale for many of the crew as our flag on the tallest mountain of ‘Mars’ would no longer lead to us being the rulers of this planet. We were also prohibited from using the ships weapons to create our own biggest explosion display. The captain cited that it would undermine the homeworld’s authority if a rag tag observation ship subdued an entire species.
As the years passed eventually we could start using their ‘internet’. It seemed they had issues with non humans accessing it as most websites would send out tests to check if users were human. Perhaps our agents were discovered? Or, a more chilling thought. Perhaps we were not alone in our observation of this planet?
|
It was supposed to be an easy planet to colonize, just destroy the natives and use their resources for our own good. How foolish we were, i still remember the first moment we arrived to that forsaken place.
They told us that it was only supposed to be a few of them, using rocks and sticks as their only defense, unable to fight off an animal a bit bigger than them. Primitive beings.
When we steped foot on that place, there were so many machines, so many of them all wearing what it seemed to be an uniform, holding weapons that could kill one in a few seconds. "They are not as primitive as they told us captain" said my second on command "im going to open fire, even if they are bit more civilized than we expected it ahould be easy" he was so wrong, the second he shoot it was over, I stil remember the rain of explosion, the bullets, it is vivid in my memory, "how could they be this dangerous?" I feared we would die if we stayed I ordered them all to evacuate and re evaluate the situation with the bureau, yet, when we tried activating the ship...
They threw so many explosions at us, there was no way any of us would escape alive, then we saw them leave, they disappeared in seconds, we thought that maybe they pitied us, we were so wrong.
We heard something falling towards us, when it hit, it created the strongest most brutal explosion i have ever seen, by then, there was nothing of us left.
If it wasn't for the fact that I was given a chance from the bureau to try their first draft of an immortality device, i would have been gone like my troop. Yet, even though I survived, even though i am back to my planet, even though there is no way for them to get here, I- I still feel fear, when I close my eyes, i can still see the explosions, can we even replicate something like that? How did they make it to do that? I do not really care anymore.
After that, i do not think I can even leave my house without trembling, i can't really do anything anymore. The bureau understood that after I sent them the updated version of how advanced that planet was. At the end we decided not to provoke them anymore, after all, we have no idea of what else they are capable of.
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[WP] Aliens looking at Earth from 5K light years away see us in the distant past and think we’re going to be easy targets. However, when they arrive, they encounter a much more advanced civilization than they expected.
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The captain loomed over David's computer station, casting a shadow of disapproval over his work. "You forgot to calculate for the speed of light? You didn't engage the temporal dampeners and we're 5,000 years late? David, that's inexcusable. How many times have we talked about these simple, preventable errors you're always making?"
David seemed to physically shrink under the captain's disapproval. "Captain, you're absolutely right. It was a careless error. I should have been more careful."
The captain shook his head- his graying tendrils of hair shook gently in the simulated breeze of the bridge. "You have to be careful on purpose. It's not something you wish for, it's something you work at. This is going in your yearly report. What's our situation, YX?"
YX had been monitoring data transmissions, cultural milestones, technological advancements, and various other indicators since the Pynthr had landed in what the planet's inhabitants apparently called "The Outback", a wide sea of barren, sparsely populated desert. An aelectricial creature, YX was able to consider millions of datapoints simultaneously- making her a profoundly useful science officer. It also made her a bit unresponsive at times. She went on considering the question for several seconds.
"YX," the captain said again, "Are you with us?"
A faint blue flash indicated she had withdrawn from a reverie of thought. "Sorry captain, yes. How can I help?"
"What's our situation?"
"Terrible."
The captain pinched the bridge of his nose, and seemed to be entering his own reverie of thought. A moment later he tried again, "Can you be more specific?"
YX nodded enthusiastically, her faceplate glowing a rosy hue in mild humiliation. "I don't know how it could be worse sir. Everything is awful."
"Describe our situation, YX," chimed in handsome First Officer Burl Dashing.
Without a second attempt at imitating biological emotions, YX began speaking "The previous data led us to believe this society was a primitive one, clutches of semi-intelligent life beginning to form the basic building blocks of a modern civilization. Agriculture, social norms, laws, all were marked as active discovery mode. The original mission plan called for us to arrive, build some pyramids in the desert to inspire and confuse everyone, deposit some religious artifacts to shape their culture in a positive way and then leave. Unfortunately, we're 5,000 years off the mark and they had to do all that themselves."
"So they're more advanced now?"
"Yes and no. Frankly, they've gotten everything wrong at every step. They chose greed over charity, war over peace, death over life, individualism over collectivism, and openly prioritize short term thinking in every way. Their pyramids look like shit too. They're falling apart."
She shook her head and went on, "Sir this species should have killed themselves off ages ago, but they've experienced profound luck and their failures have occasionally managed to cancel one another other out. This is an extraordinarily broken planet and we are in danger every second we risk detection."
"You think they'd be violent toward us?" The captain asked, reviewing a media transmission of a bipedal creature throwing small rectangles of green textiles at other bipedal creatures, who seemed to appreciate the gesture. Their appearance was vaguely familiar, not that different from the bipedal members of his own crew.
"We *are* in danger sir." YX said. "They have ready access to fusion weapons, and- this is hard to explain- I believe they'll take up an immediate hostile distrust of us."
"Why?" asked the dashing security officer Duke Handsome.
"Because we're all black and transgender. Their established power structure seems to have a particular dislike of those with darkly pigmented skin and the ability to change between genders- and they only have two sexes so it's not like that's a big deal. Very arbitrary matters- I think it's a kind of cultural cohesion strategy where they try to generate fear of insignificant characteristics to unify individuals in fear of them. We should leave as soon as possible."
"Wait till my wife hears about this," the captain said.
YX cocked her head to one side, considering. "Sir, your wife is dead. Your children are dead. Everyone you have ever known, their children and *their* descendants for dozens of generations are all dead. We arrived 5,000 years off course, remember?"
"Sorry guys," David mumbled.
The captain shook his head, "No need to beat yourself up about it, Dave! Things weren't going well between Madeline and me anyway. Let's just skip the pyramids and kill them off. Do we have the energy for a core rupture?"
People at the weapons desk were still working when YX spoke up, "Sir, we could save the energy and just make them do it themselves. We have a spike protein virus just dangerous enough that it would completely destabilize their society."
"Surely they could vaccinate against it. Is it even designed for their biology?" the captain asked.
"No, but they'll still fail. A certain percentage of them will refuse to mitigate it or treat it in order to earn attention for themselves, and they'll incubate it until a truly deadly version is created. I can't see how else it would turn out."
The captain considered this a while. "Fine. Let's just drop it somewhere populated and get us the hell out of here. Set a course for the nearest nightclub planet. We're all single, childless orphans now, and that's one hell of a pickup line."
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It was supposed to be an easy planet to colonize, just destroy the natives and use their resources for our own good. How foolish we were, i still remember the first moment we arrived to that forsaken place.
They told us that it was only supposed to be a few of them, using rocks and sticks as their only defense, unable to fight off an animal a bit bigger than them. Primitive beings.
When we steped foot on that place, there were so many machines, so many of them all wearing what it seemed to be an uniform, holding weapons that could kill one in a few seconds. "They are not as primitive as they told us captain" said my second on command "im going to open fire, even if they are bit more civilized than we expected it ahould be easy" he was so wrong, the second he shoot it was over, I stil remember the rain of explosion, the bullets, it is vivid in my memory, "how could they be this dangerous?" I feared we would die if we stayed I ordered them all to evacuate and re evaluate the situation with the bureau, yet, when we tried activating the ship...
They threw so many explosions at us, there was no way any of us would escape alive, then we saw them leave, they disappeared in seconds, we thought that maybe they pitied us, we were so wrong.
We heard something falling towards us, when it hit, it created the strongest most brutal explosion i have ever seen, by then, there was nothing of us left.
If it wasn't for the fact that I was given a chance from the bureau to try their first draft of an immortality device, i would have been gone like my troop. Yet, even though I survived, even though i am back to my planet, even though there is no way for them to get here, I- I still feel fear, when I close my eyes, i can still see the explosions, can we even replicate something like that? How did they make it to do that? I do not really care anymore.
After that, i do not think I can even leave my house without trembling, i can't really do anything anymore. The bureau understood that after I sent them the updated version of how advanced that planet was. At the end we decided not to provoke them anymore, after all, we have no idea of what else they are capable of.
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[WP] Aliens looking at Earth from 5K light years away see us in the distant past and think we’re going to be easy targets. However, when they arrive, they encounter a much more advanced civilization than they expected.
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"No, no, no! This can't be, this is bad, this is bad!" Regaledia was practically choking on his own breath as his eight thick fingertips tapped at the paper-thin crystalline screen in front of him. Without hesitation, he took a hand off of his screen and slammed down a button, entered the code, and announced "Prepare for a retreat! The scouts reported sightings of a forbidden civilization, disaster level rated to be 29381! Repeat, prepare for a retreat, a forbidden civilization with a disaster level at 29381!"
Another headless humanoid figure, in similar appearance to Regaledia, Regoova, barged into the Communications Office raising a finger with a voice coming out of it, "What's going on?! What forbidden civilization, you damn moron?! This is an easy target, we ran a few million simulations to predict the growth of this civilization, at best they're still banging rocks against trees!"
"No, no, no, look, look!" Regaledia was an anxious wreck as he rushed to turn his screen.
Regoova placed a fingertip onto the screen and started "absorbing" a blue light from it. He then was rooted in place in absolute horror as he was processing what he just "saw". Towering archaic stone and steel towers surrounded the green and blue planet as moon-sized ships cruised through space with cannons pointed right at the Regundian scouting ships. The next second, a burst of light that seemed as if a star had collapsed appeared and instantly vaporized the scene.
"D-did you run an evaluative survey?" Regoova stuttered through his finger as his thin legs swayed.
"The strength of that single ship... could rival our home planet's defensive firepower," Regaledia sounded as if he was about to cry.
"Order for an evacuation through the pods, we need to get the message back-" Regoova didn't get to finish his thought, let alone his sentence as the entire ship was vaporized in half an instant. Actually, the whole fleet was vaporized as well.
|
It was supposed to be an easy planet to colonize, just destroy the natives and use their resources for our own good. How foolish we were, i still remember the first moment we arrived to that forsaken place.
They told us that it was only supposed to be a few of them, using rocks and sticks as their only defense, unable to fight off an animal a bit bigger than them. Primitive beings.
When we steped foot on that place, there were so many machines, so many of them all wearing what it seemed to be an uniform, holding weapons that could kill one in a few seconds. "They are not as primitive as they told us captain" said my second on command "im going to open fire, even if they are bit more civilized than we expected it ahould be easy" he was so wrong, the second he shoot it was over, I stil remember the rain of explosion, the bullets, it is vivid in my memory, "how could they be this dangerous?" I feared we would die if we stayed I ordered them all to evacuate and re evaluate the situation with the bureau, yet, when we tried activating the ship...
They threw so many explosions at us, there was no way any of us would escape alive, then we saw them leave, they disappeared in seconds, we thought that maybe they pitied us, we were so wrong.
We heard something falling towards us, when it hit, it created the strongest most brutal explosion i have ever seen, by then, there was nothing of us left.
If it wasn't for the fact that I was given a chance from the bureau to try their first draft of an immortality device, i would have been gone like my troop. Yet, even though I survived, even though i am back to my planet, even though there is no way for them to get here, I- I still feel fear, when I close my eyes, i can still see the explosions, can we even replicate something like that? How did they make it to do that? I do not really care anymore.
After that, i do not think I can even leave my house without trembling, i can't really do anything anymore. The bureau understood that after I sent them the updated version of how advanced that planet was. At the end we decided not to provoke them anymore, after all, we have no idea of what else they are capable of.
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[WP] Aliens looking at Earth from 5K light years away see us in the distant past and think we’re going to be easy targets. However, when they arrive, they encounter a much more advanced civilization than they expected.
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"Our scouts said they were Neolithic!"
The captain's scaled hand crashed violently to the console as he barked out for the senior intelligence officer to get to the bridge immediately. His twisted appendage throbbing with rage as he chastised the poor sod.
"Does that look like stone aged savages? Steel, electricity, planes, satellites and? A piece of cloth on a stick on the moon? You said they were busy stacking rocks into pyramids! Not flying to their moon to litter."
The officer's neck puffed out as he tried to defend himself.
"Well they are apes. They must breed faster than we do, allowing innovation to occur faster. It was outlined this was a possible risk in the appendix of my report. Don’t worry if our estimates are correct they shouldn…"
His voice was cut off as we picked up a specific transmission sent to our vehicle.
“Attention, unidentified vessel. You are in restricted air space, please send through the correct clearance codes immediately or deviate from your path 15 degrees westward at a speed not exceeding 600 mph. I repeat, send through clearance codes or deviate 15 degrees westward at a speed not exceeding 600mph. Over.”
The captain’s pupils shrunk to tiny slits as he stared down the senior intelligence officer.
“Well? You’re in charge of intelligence. Find west! Find those codes and figure out what these apes are capable of! The invasion fleet is at least a century behind us, as they must attend to… other matters. We need a plan to adjust for these complications.”
The officer scurried over to my console and taped a N, E, S, W over my console as well as a few crude markers with numbers on them.
“North, east, south and west, that number is 15. Get us lined along that trajectory.”
We cruised for some time along this route, across an ocean that was nearly half the length of the globe. I had nearly started to question the importance of invading an ocean planet before the giant continents of this world came into view. We returned to a geostationary orbit above the region called ‘United States’ and began to observe. Those of us with little to do for maintaining the ship started to investigate the history of this planet. Squads were sent down to raid their libraries. We found out that the litter on the moon was what they called a ‘flag’. It was from the United States. We also discovered that flags were left on other high areas on the peaks of their tallest mountains. A ‘Sir Edmund Hillary’ left a flag bearing the ‘United Kingdom Union Jack’ on their tallest peak. It seemed that when the United States placed a flag on the moon, a higher height from their perspective, that the United States became the dominant power of this planet and the Union Jack commonwealth fell out of global power. This peaceful competition for global hegemony was unusual. But what surprised us was what preceded it.
In their years of 1939 to 1945 a group of these apes, called the Germans, attempted to seize global dominance without the traditional display of finding a taller place to mark. This was very unusual as they invented rockets but sent them to their rivals instead of to the moon. The highest peak that these humans could mark with their current technology. It was no surprise that their nation was divided into pieces. These human traditions were bizarre. However, among our crew we had great respect for a people with such a bloodless way to assume global hegemony. An honourable competition between nations to use human body and technology to claim the highest place possible is preferable to war.
As we continued to observe, a new development in their culture occurred. The ‘I have a flag on the tallest place’ method of governance gave way to the biggest explosion display. While smaller conflicts did occur it was not to assume global hegemony, but to deal to smaller tensions. This explosion display competition soon grew out of hand. So many failed devices that could not exceed the current explosion champion bomb were crafted that these human stock piles could exterminate their planet multiple times. This led to a loss of morale for many of the crew as our flag on the tallest mountain of ‘Mars’ would no longer lead to us being the rulers of this planet. We were also prohibited from using the ships weapons to create our own biggest explosion display. The captain cited that it would undermine the homeworld’s authority if a rag tag observation ship subdued an entire species.
As the years passed eventually we could start using their ‘internet’. It seemed they had issues with non humans accessing it as most websites would send out tests to check if users were human. Perhaps our agents were discovered? Or, a more chilling thought. Perhaps we were not alone in our observation of this planet?
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The fools at External Affairs are gonna hear it from me, I swear. Okay maybe not me specifically, but my team. Or the team I am part of, anyway.
Their reports say that there is no dominant species on the planet but our observations indicate otherwise. Among the non-metallic lifeforms, a biped species dominates the land while a smooth skinned icthyoid pervades the oceans. But these are far outnumbered by the metallics. There are more metallics on land (mostly quadripeds), but strangely not as many in the waters. The ones in the water appear to have rotary appendages (rudimentary, but I guess it's one way to evolve). Not sure how any of these lifeforms acquire energy, I must ask what the new guy in Analytics and Instrumentation thinks. Huba was his name, at least that's what I heard from the others. He looks like he would be fun to get to know, and I wonder if I will get a chance to talk to him.
All this doesn't affect the execution of our mission, but it does make things more interesting. For instance, at this stage, they may even have thermonuclears! Wouldn't that be cute! Really we didn't even expect discovery of flames, but look at them go!
Speaking of flames, they appear to be conducting large scale experiments with them. Quite strange, if you ask me. I mean, if you know how they work, why would you keep setting large swathes of land ablaze? Good looking green land too, not that there's much of that around. Maybe the greens are a threat, who knows. Probably Huba. Yeah, probably him. I bet he would want to talk about this, right? It's worth a shot.
Speaking of Huba, he says he found some data on the temperature profiles. It appears average temperature has been rising consistently for a while now, and the variance has too. I wonder why they would want that - are they trying to cook themselves?. How are they doing it, even? I'm no expert but I bet it has to do with the greens going up in flames.
Anyway, Commander has spoken with several teams back home and no one seems to have a reasonable explanation. So far the mission has been put on hold, and the new objective is "wait and watch". I didn't come here to watch, and normally this would piss me off. But things are certainly getting interesting, and it looks like if we wait, the inhabitants may cook themselves out of our way and we can just go ahead with the mining. Fingers crossed!
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[WP] Aliens looking at Earth from 5K light years away see us in the distant past and think we’re going to be easy targets. However, when they arrive, they encounter a much more advanced civilization than they expected.
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"No, no, no! This can't be, this is bad, this is bad!" Regaledia was practically choking on his own breath as his eight thick fingertips tapped at the paper-thin crystalline screen in front of him. Without hesitation, he took a hand off of his screen and slammed down a button, entered the code, and announced "Prepare for a retreat! The scouts reported sightings of a forbidden civilization, disaster level rated to be 29381! Repeat, prepare for a retreat, a forbidden civilization with a disaster level at 29381!"
Another headless humanoid figure, in similar appearance to Regaledia, Regoova, barged into the Communications Office raising a finger with a voice coming out of it, "What's going on?! What forbidden civilization, you damn moron?! This is an easy target, we ran a few million simulations to predict the growth of this civilization, at best they're still banging rocks against trees!"
"No, no, no, look, look!" Regaledia was an anxious wreck as he rushed to turn his screen.
Regoova placed a fingertip onto the screen and started "absorbing" a blue light from it. He then was rooted in place in absolute horror as he was processing what he just "saw". Towering archaic stone and steel towers surrounded the green and blue planet as moon-sized ships cruised through space with cannons pointed right at the Regundian scouting ships. The next second, a burst of light that seemed as if a star had collapsed appeared and instantly vaporized the scene.
"D-did you run an evaluative survey?" Regoova stuttered through his finger as his thin legs swayed.
"The strength of that single ship... could rival our home planet's defensive firepower," Regaledia sounded as if he was about to cry.
"Order for an evacuation through the pods, we need to get the message back-" Regoova didn't get to finish his thought, let alone his sentence as the entire ship was vaporized in half an instant. Actually, the whole fleet was vaporized as well.
|
The fools at External Affairs are gonna hear it from me, I swear. Okay maybe not me specifically, but my team. Or the team I am part of, anyway.
Their reports say that there is no dominant species on the planet but our observations indicate otherwise. Among the non-metallic lifeforms, a biped species dominates the land while a smooth skinned icthyoid pervades the oceans. But these are far outnumbered by the metallics. There are more metallics on land (mostly quadripeds), but strangely not as many in the waters. The ones in the water appear to have rotary appendages (rudimentary, but I guess it's one way to evolve). Not sure how any of these lifeforms acquire energy, I must ask what the new guy in Analytics and Instrumentation thinks. Huba was his name, at least that's what I heard from the others. He looks like he would be fun to get to know, and I wonder if I will get a chance to talk to him.
All this doesn't affect the execution of our mission, but it does make things more interesting. For instance, at this stage, they may even have thermonuclears! Wouldn't that be cute! Really we didn't even expect discovery of flames, but look at them go!
Speaking of flames, they appear to be conducting large scale experiments with them. Quite strange, if you ask me. I mean, if you know how they work, why would you keep setting large swathes of land ablaze? Good looking green land too, not that there's much of that around. Maybe the greens are a threat, who knows. Probably Huba. Yeah, probably him. I bet he would want to talk about this, right? It's worth a shot.
Speaking of Huba, he says he found some data on the temperature profiles. It appears average temperature has been rising consistently for a while now, and the variance has too. I wonder why they would want that - are they trying to cook themselves?. How are they doing it, even? I'm no expert but I bet it has to do with the greens going up in flames.
Anyway, Commander has spoken with several teams back home and no one seems to have a reasonable explanation. So far the mission has been put on hold, and the new objective is "wait and watch". I didn't come here to watch, and normally this would piss me off. But things are certainly getting interesting, and it looks like if we wait, the inhabitants may cook themselves out of our way and we can just go ahead with the mining. Fingers crossed!
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[WP] Aliens looking at Earth from 5K light years away see us in the distant past and think we’re going to be easy targets. However, when they arrive, they encounter a much more advanced civilization than they expected.
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"No, no, no! This can't be, this is bad, this is bad!" Regaledia was practically choking on his own breath as his eight thick fingertips tapped at the paper-thin crystalline screen in front of him. Without hesitation, he took a hand off of his screen and slammed down a button, entered the code, and announced "Prepare for a retreat! The scouts reported sightings of a forbidden civilization, disaster level rated to be 29381! Repeat, prepare for a retreat, a forbidden civilization with a disaster level at 29381!"
Another headless humanoid figure, in similar appearance to Regaledia, Regoova, barged into the Communications Office raising a finger with a voice coming out of it, "What's going on?! What forbidden civilization, you damn moron?! This is an easy target, we ran a few million simulations to predict the growth of this civilization, at best they're still banging rocks against trees!"
"No, no, no, look, look!" Regaledia was an anxious wreck as he rushed to turn his screen.
Regoova placed a fingertip onto the screen and started "absorbing" a blue light from it. He then was rooted in place in absolute horror as he was processing what he just "saw". Towering archaic stone and steel towers surrounded the green and blue planet as moon-sized ships cruised through space with cannons pointed right at the Regundian scouting ships. The next second, a burst of light that seemed as if a star had collapsed appeared and instantly vaporized the scene.
"D-did you run an evaluative survey?" Regoova stuttered through his finger as his thin legs swayed.
"The strength of that single ship... could rival our home planet's defensive firepower," Regaledia sounded as if he was about to cry.
"Order for an evacuation through the pods, we need to get the message back-" Regoova didn't get to finish his thought, let alone his sentence as the entire ship was vaporized in half an instant. Actually, the whole fleet was vaporized as well.
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The captain loomed over David's computer station, casting a shadow of disapproval over his work. "You forgot to calculate for the speed of light? You didn't engage the temporal dampeners and we're 5,000 years late? David, that's inexcusable. How many times have we talked about these simple, preventable errors you're always making?"
David seemed to physically shrink under the captain's disapproval. "Captain, you're absolutely right. It was a careless error. I should have been more careful."
The captain shook his head- his graying tendrils of hair shook gently in the simulated breeze of the bridge. "You have to be careful on purpose. It's not something you wish for, it's something you work at. This is going in your yearly report. What's our situation, YX?"
YX had been monitoring data transmissions, cultural milestones, technological advancements, and various other indicators since the Pynthr had landed in what the planet's inhabitants apparently called "The Outback", a wide sea of barren, sparsely populated desert. An aelectricial creature, YX was able to consider millions of datapoints simultaneously- making her a profoundly useful science officer. It also made her a bit unresponsive at times. She went on considering the question for several seconds.
"YX," the captain said again, "Are you with us?"
A faint blue flash indicated she had withdrawn from a reverie of thought. "Sorry captain, yes. How can I help?"
"What's our situation?"
"Terrible."
The captain pinched the bridge of his nose, and seemed to be entering his own reverie of thought. A moment later he tried again, "Can you be more specific?"
YX nodded enthusiastically, her faceplate glowing a rosy hue in mild humiliation. "I don't know how it could be worse sir. Everything is awful."
"Describe our situation, YX," chimed in handsome First Officer Burl Dashing.
Without a second attempt at imitating biological emotions, YX began speaking "The previous data led us to believe this society was a primitive one, clutches of semi-intelligent life beginning to form the basic building blocks of a modern civilization. Agriculture, social norms, laws, all were marked as active discovery mode. The original mission plan called for us to arrive, build some pyramids in the desert to inspire and confuse everyone, deposit some religious artifacts to shape their culture in a positive way and then leave. Unfortunately, we're 5,000 years off the mark and they had to do all that themselves."
"So they're more advanced now?"
"Yes and no. Frankly, they've gotten everything wrong at every step. They chose greed over charity, war over peace, death over life, individualism over collectivism, and openly prioritize short term thinking in every way. Their pyramids look like shit too. They're falling apart."
She shook her head and went on, "Sir this species should have killed themselves off ages ago, but they've experienced profound luck and their failures have occasionally managed to cancel one another other out. This is an extraordinarily broken planet and we are in danger every second we risk detection."
"You think they'd be violent toward us?" The captain asked, reviewing a media transmission of a bipedal creature throwing small rectangles of green textiles at other bipedal creatures, who seemed to appreciate the gesture. Their appearance was vaguely familiar, not that different from the bipedal members of his own crew.
"We *are* in danger sir." YX said. "They have ready access to fusion weapons, and- this is hard to explain- I believe they'll take up an immediate hostile distrust of us."
"Why?" asked the dashing security officer Duke Handsome.
"Because we're all black and transgender. Their established power structure seems to have a particular dislike of those with darkly pigmented skin and the ability to change between genders- and they only have two sexes so it's not like that's a big deal. Very arbitrary matters- I think it's a kind of cultural cohesion strategy where they try to generate fear of insignificant characteristics to unify individuals in fear of them. We should leave as soon as possible."
"Wait till my wife hears about this," the captain said.
YX cocked her head to one side, considering. "Sir, your wife is dead. Your children are dead. Everyone you have ever known, their children and *their* descendants for dozens of generations are all dead. We arrived 5,000 years off course, remember?"
"Sorry guys," David mumbled.
The captain shook his head, "No need to beat yourself up about it, Dave! Things weren't going well between Madeline and me anyway. Let's just skip the pyramids and kill them off. Do we have the energy for a core rupture?"
People at the weapons desk were still working when YX spoke up, "Sir, we could save the energy and just make them do it themselves. We have a spike protein virus just dangerous enough that it would completely destabilize their society."
"Surely they could vaccinate against it. Is it even designed for their biology?" the captain asked.
"No, but they'll still fail. A certain percentage of them will refuse to mitigate it or treat it in order to earn attention for themselves, and they'll incubate it until a truly deadly version is created. I can't see how else it would turn out."
The captain considered this a while. "Fine. Let's just drop it somewhere populated and get us the hell out of here. Set a course for the nearest nightclub planet. We're all single, childless orphans now, and that's one hell of a pickup line."
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[WP] A group of adventurers just had one of their members replaced by a doppelganger. The kicker? The rest of the group knows what happened, but pretends to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
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"Rolph, you remember John the Armorer. He fixed your helmet the previous time it was cracked, on the other side. That's what kept you from dying this time out."
The Cleric, follower of... I forget now, I'm still trying to sort out what is happening since my latest shift, it's like they know I assumed their party member's form and instead of trying to kill me for it, they are filling in the gaps for some reason. I made it a point to nod in affirmation.
"... Rolph here is still recovering from our last outing. That hit from the hill giant to the dome has scrambled some of his memories. My healing spells can't fix memory, you know that. " The Cleric continued to talk with the Armorer. John... I gotta remember that. I'm usually pretty good with this stuff short term, because I end up killing the party and eating them , but these people are different. Their halfling, or is that a gnome? They saw me taking Rolph's armor and pack from the quickly dug hole. They stared at me a moment and motioned for me to stay there. I almost attacked him when he yelled to the others that 'Rolph' was okay and just shaken up with a wink to me.
He then gave me a moment to cover the body and waited for me to join them.
"... He was an arsehole of the worst kind! If he didn't know how to fight as well as he did, WE would have offed him months ago. YOU are a problem solver, not a problem." The small one whispered to me as we walked back. "We are going to say your head injury is what caused your memory gap, Okay? "
"You know I am..."
"Rolph. You are now ROLPH. Look, why do you do.... What you do? To eat, right? "
I nodded.
"See, that's why we all set out from our homes and families. So we could eat. So we could feed our families. We can do that better when we have gold and silver to buy food. You wouldn't have to do... what you do... if you stayed with us and, you know, just remained Rolph."
I wondered if this was a trick.
"Look, do you have family? "
I shook my head no.
"No parents? Mate, children? "
"I had parents. My kind, my ... People... We aren't big on family as others are. Young are sent off as soon as possible to not compete for food with others. I was 2 years old when my mother sent me into a village and said I should take the place of a human child. I didn't eat the child. She killed and ate it after showing me how to shift. She then told me to grow in that family as that child. Which I did for 10 years. Growth spurts require food, and well I ate something I shouldn't have. I sought out my people who told me to get out of their hunting territory. We can smell each other. No matter the disguise. "
"Okay, that's good. Very good. Rolph doesn't talk a lot. YOU don't talk a lot. Okay?"
I nodded.
"Good, good. We are going back into town to get that armor repaired. You took his... Your weapons, right? "
"Yes..."
"Good. Excellent. Come meet your new partners!"
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I'm one of the doppelgangers that live in the Amazon forest. Our specialty has always been infiltrating groups who want to harm the spirits of forest and bring them to the elders.
I absolutely don't know anything about the guy whose place I'm taking. The spirits of the forest told me to infiltrate their group so I did. Apparently, the guys was taking a piss on the sacred tree and when warned, he started shitting too, so he was taken before I could have had the chance to study him. So instead, for a change I get to be me instead.
"Hey, Hal, how long does it take you to pee?" A man said looking annoyed.
Hey, it's not easy transitioning when the person you are supposed to be transitioning into is unconscious. "Sorry, man, got lost." I replied, fake panting.
The guy's eyes widened then he nodded looking at me curiously before telling the group to move on. I obviously made some mistake. Maybe the guys wasn't an asshole. Maybe he just needed to shit and I came off too rude.
\~
"Hey, Carol," I all but chirped, how could I not, Carol was beautiful and good-natured and an all around great person, "look at these Piranhas."
Carol laughed. "Hal, why are you fascinated by Piranhas in the last few days?"
"I think they are fascinating." I mumble, a little shy, a little afraid. They all seemed so friendly around me. They seemed to like me and what's more is that it feels like they were surprising themselves by liking me.
We move on. It has been 3 days since I joined their group and no suspects me. I'm leading them into the heart of the forest because the spirits wish me too. At night, the winds blow and if you listen closely you can hear the message of the forest. I, obviously, have to listen a little less closely as I am one of the beings of forest myself.
"Oh no! Something bit me." Jack yelled and I ran to him.
The bite was nowhere to be seen, only a red irritated area near his ankle. When I looked down, I saw a bunch thorns poking out the bush and laughed. "A plant bit you."
Jack's eyes widened. "Plants can do that?"
Carol rolled her eyes. "Yes, moron. It's called a thorn."
Jack let out a nervous giggle, then stopped. "Can it be poisonous?"
"Poisonous, no. Venomous," I say prolonging Jack's suffering, "also no."
"Why did we bring him again?" Bruce grumbled.
"Because I'm not leaving my sister alone in this godforsaken jungle." Jack said adamantly forgetting about poisons and venoms.
"My hero." Carol said battling her eyelashes overdramatically.
I look at the group bickering and realize how great it felt to be with them. Almost like a- like a family. I stop myself, what was I saying? A family? People like him didn't get families, they had the forest, the elders and their missions.
"Hey, Hal, you okay?" Bruce asked. He was the quietest of the group, he only said what was necessary because apparently only idiots talk much, Bruce often said this to get a rise out of Jack and it always did.
"Yeah, just thinking."
Bruce looked at him then gave his shoulder a pat and off they went again.
\~
"Should we say something?" Carol said softly as she looked at the lifeless body.
"It's a deer." Bruce said exasperatedly.
"It was one. Now it's dead. I think we all should say few words about it." Carol sniffed.
I didn't say anything. I knew this deer, it came from the same neck of woods as I did.
"Goodbye, M'las, you were a great friend." I say softly.
"And a wonderful deer." Carol added looping her hands in mine.
They stood their in silence then started to move once more.
"What does 'M'las' mean?" I hear Jack ask Bruce and I curse myself at my naiveness.
"Shut up, Jack." Came Bruce's reply.
\~
To say I was having second thoughts would be an understatement. I did not want to lead these people to the heart of the forest. They were good people. They didn't deserve to be punished.
*Bring them.*
I sighed. With a heavy heart, I once again lead the group to their deaths.
\~
"Why?!" Carol didn't scream, but looked disappointed like she expected better of me, as the forest dwellers bind them.
"It had to be that way." I say. I couldn't meet their eyes. Jack was saying something but I wasn't listening anymore. There were some people that I needed to talk to.
\~
"These are good people." I say angrily to the elders in front of me. "They don't deserve to die."
"They have demeaned our land. Fouled our waters." One of the elders hissed.
"No, they didn't. I have been with them for the past week. They have done nothing but respect the forest, land and water."
"We cannot let them go. They know too much." Another elder said softly.
"We're going to take innocent lives because they know? They won't tell anyone, I promise." I say desperately.
The elders narrow their eyes. "How can you be so certain?"
"I'll tell them not to. I'll go with them."
"You'll lose your powers and will be trapped in that form forever."
"I don't care." I cried.
The elders looked at each other, passing silent judgement.
\~
"Oh, thank god. I thought I was going to die." Jack said in relief as they started to make their way back.
"You were." I confirmed.
"What did you say to them?" Carol asked.
I stayed silent. Knowing I'd have to tell them the truth and they'll hate me for it.
"I have to tell you something." I say, my nerves vibrating with nervousness.
"Like you are not actually Hal." Said Bruce.
I look at him, my eyes wide open in surprise. "You knew?"
"Duh!" Jack added.
"Real Hal was dick and you were not, it was pretty easy to deduce." Carol said smiling softly.
I sigh in relief as happiness bloomed inside me.
"Now you were telling us how you saved us?"
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[WP] A group of adventurers just had one of their members replaced by a doppelganger. The kicker? The rest of the group knows what happened, but pretends to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
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"So, we're all agreed that we just pretend that the doppelganger is Urgoth?" Jung asked his companions with his wooly grey eyebrows raised in question.
They were a semi-pro/semi-famous adventuring party known as the Madcaps consisting of five aspiring mercenary heroes. There was Jung the Mystic; logical human wizard and master of the arcane arts. Then was the the sneaky halfling thief, Tim Dingleberry, who was surprisingly good friends the team healer and priestess of the sun goddess, Jennithalon of the Wooden Realm. Then came the face of the party; the bard/paladin casanova half-orc renowned for his charm, Sir Grung the Handsome. Urgoth on the other hand...
"I... well... Urgoth may have been an unreliable drunk and a dwarf to boot but can we just ignore a straight up murder?" Jennithalon asked her companions. Her sun goddess was the epitome of goody two-shoes and expected the same from her mortal representatives.
"There was no murder, though, Jenni! That idiot dwarf was stone drunk and attacked the doppelganger who was just minding his own business. I say good riddance to the old bastard!" Tim countered.
"And you just watched?" Grung questioned his smaller companion, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow.
"That doppelganger was a whirling dervish with a battle-axe and Urgoth was in a drunken berserk rage! I'd sooner stand between pack of wolves and a wounded elk," Tim countered.
"I'd not fault you there," Jung looked on thoughtfully as he stroked his beard. "This doppelganger is better in most ways. He's sober, polite, always pitches in on camp duties, doesn't try to take every magical item for himself... hell, he saved all of us more than once."
"Can't we just talk to the doppelganger about this? Must we be so cloak and dagger about this? As it says in the Book of the Goddess; *Honesty is the best policy*," Jennithalon quoted her scriptures again. She was a nice young elf but every member of the party tired of her straight and narrow attitude at times.
"Perhaps if someone had told us what happened after the death transpired we might have cleared things up but so much time has passed now..." Grung let his sentence trail off.
"If we show up with a new companion and no explanation for what happened to the real Urgoth then we'd either be outlaws or tossed into the clink," Jung concluded.
"So, we all play it cool and don't say anything?" Tim asked them all, sticking out his hand.
"Agreed," Grung said, placing his gauntleted hand on top of Tim's.
"Agreed" Jung said, placing his wrinkled hand on top of Grung's. They all looked at the priestess who hesitated.
"... agreed," Jennithalon nearly whispered as she placed her gloved hand on top of Jung's.
\*\*\*
Not too far from the party, out of sight behind trees and bushes, but still within earshot, the doppelganger sat listening. The not-Urgoth Urgoth was ecstatic! The party really liked him! He had friends!
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I'm one of the doppelgangers that live in the Amazon forest. Our specialty has always been infiltrating groups who want to harm the spirits of forest and bring them to the elders.
I absolutely don't know anything about the guy whose place I'm taking. The spirits of the forest told me to infiltrate their group so I did. Apparently, the guys was taking a piss on the sacred tree and when warned, he started shitting too, so he was taken before I could have had the chance to study him. So instead, for a change I get to be me instead.
"Hey, Hal, how long does it take you to pee?" A man said looking annoyed.
Hey, it's not easy transitioning when the person you are supposed to be transitioning into is unconscious. "Sorry, man, got lost." I replied, fake panting.
The guy's eyes widened then he nodded looking at me curiously before telling the group to move on. I obviously made some mistake. Maybe the guys wasn't an asshole. Maybe he just needed to shit and I came off too rude.
\~
"Hey, Carol," I all but chirped, how could I not, Carol was beautiful and good-natured and an all around great person, "look at these Piranhas."
Carol laughed. "Hal, why are you fascinated by Piranhas in the last few days?"
"I think they are fascinating." I mumble, a little shy, a little afraid. They all seemed so friendly around me. They seemed to like me and what's more is that it feels like they were surprising themselves by liking me.
We move on. It has been 3 days since I joined their group and no suspects me. I'm leading them into the heart of the forest because the spirits wish me too. At night, the winds blow and if you listen closely you can hear the message of the forest. I, obviously, have to listen a little less closely as I am one of the beings of forest myself.
"Oh no! Something bit me." Jack yelled and I ran to him.
The bite was nowhere to be seen, only a red irritated area near his ankle. When I looked down, I saw a bunch thorns poking out the bush and laughed. "A plant bit you."
Jack's eyes widened. "Plants can do that?"
Carol rolled her eyes. "Yes, moron. It's called a thorn."
Jack let out a nervous giggle, then stopped. "Can it be poisonous?"
"Poisonous, no. Venomous," I say prolonging Jack's suffering, "also no."
"Why did we bring him again?" Bruce grumbled.
"Because I'm not leaving my sister alone in this godforsaken jungle." Jack said adamantly forgetting about poisons and venoms.
"My hero." Carol said battling her eyelashes overdramatically.
I look at the group bickering and realize how great it felt to be with them. Almost like a- like a family. I stop myself, what was I saying? A family? People like him didn't get families, they had the forest, the elders and their missions.
"Hey, Hal, you okay?" Bruce asked. He was the quietest of the group, he only said what was necessary because apparently only idiots talk much, Bruce often said this to get a rise out of Jack and it always did.
"Yeah, just thinking."
Bruce looked at him then gave his shoulder a pat and off they went again.
\~
"Should we say something?" Carol said softly as she looked at the lifeless body.
"It's a deer." Bruce said exasperatedly.
"It was one. Now it's dead. I think we all should say few words about it." Carol sniffed.
I didn't say anything. I knew this deer, it came from the same neck of woods as I did.
"Goodbye, M'las, you were a great friend." I say softly.
"And a wonderful deer." Carol added looping her hands in mine.
They stood their in silence then started to move once more.
"What does 'M'las' mean?" I hear Jack ask Bruce and I curse myself at my naiveness.
"Shut up, Jack." Came Bruce's reply.
\~
To say I was having second thoughts would be an understatement. I did not want to lead these people to the heart of the forest. They were good people. They didn't deserve to be punished.
*Bring them.*
I sighed. With a heavy heart, I once again lead the group to their deaths.
\~
"Why?!" Carol didn't scream, but looked disappointed like she expected better of me, as the forest dwellers bind them.
"It had to be that way." I say. I couldn't meet their eyes. Jack was saying something but I wasn't listening anymore. There were some people that I needed to talk to.
\~
"These are good people." I say angrily to the elders in front of me. "They don't deserve to die."
"They have demeaned our land. Fouled our waters." One of the elders hissed.
"No, they didn't. I have been with them for the past week. They have done nothing but respect the forest, land and water."
"We cannot let them go. They know too much." Another elder said softly.
"We're going to take innocent lives because they know? They won't tell anyone, I promise." I say desperately.
The elders narrow their eyes. "How can you be so certain?"
"I'll tell them not to. I'll go with them."
"You'll lose your powers and will be trapped in that form forever."
"I don't care." I cried.
The elders looked at each other, passing silent judgement.
\~
"Oh, thank god. I thought I was going to die." Jack said in relief as they started to make their way back.
"You were." I confirmed.
"What did you say to them?" Carol asked.
I stayed silent. Knowing I'd have to tell them the truth and they'll hate me for it.
"I have to tell you something." I say, my nerves vibrating with nervousness.
"Like you are not actually Hal." Said Bruce.
I look at him, my eyes wide open in surprise. "You knew?"
"Duh!" Jack added.
"Real Hal was dick and you were not, it was pretty easy to deduce." Carol said smiling softly.
I sigh in relief as happiness bloomed inside me.
"Now you were telling us how you saved us?"
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[WP] A group of adventurers just had one of their members replaced by a doppelganger. The kicker? The rest of the group knows what happened, but pretends to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
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"So, we're all agreed that we just pretend that the doppelganger is Urgoth?" Jung asked his companions with his wooly grey eyebrows raised in question.
They were a semi-pro/semi-famous adventuring party known as the Madcaps consisting of five aspiring mercenary heroes. There was Jung the Mystic; logical human wizard and master of the arcane arts. Then was the the sneaky halfling thief, Tim Dingleberry, who was surprisingly good friends the team healer and priestess of the sun goddess, Jennithalon of the Wooden Realm. Then came the face of the party; the bard/paladin casanova half-orc renowned for his charm, Sir Grung the Handsome. Urgoth on the other hand...
"I... well... Urgoth may have been an unreliable drunk and a dwarf to boot but can we just ignore a straight up murder?" Jennithalon asked her companions. Her sun goddess was the epitome of goody two-shoes and expected the same from her mortal representatives.
"There was no murder, though, Jenni! That idiot dwarf was stone drunk and attacked the doppelganger who was just minding his own business. I say good riddance to the old bastard!" Tim countered.
"And you just watched?" Grung questioned his smaller companion, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow.
"That doppelganger was a whirling dervish with a battle-axe and Urgoth was in a drunken berserk rage! I'd sooner stand between pack of wolves and a wounded elk," Tim countered.
"I'd not fault you there," Jung looked on thoughtfully as he stroked his beard. "This doppelganger is better in most ways. He's sober, polite, always pitches in on camp duties, doesn't try to take every magical item for himself... hell, he saved all of us more than once."
"Can't we just talk to the doppelganger about this? Must we be so cloak and dagger about this? As it says in the Book of the Goddess; *Honesty is the best policy*," Jennithalon quoted her scriptures again. She was a nice young elf but every member of the party tired of her straight and narrow attitude at times.
"Perhaps if someone had told us what happened after the death transpired we might have cleared things up but so much time has passed now..." Grung let his sentence trail off.
"If we show up with a new companion and no explanation for what happened to the real Urgoth then we'd either be outlaws or tossed into the clink," Jung concluded.
"So, we all play it cool and don't say anything?" Tim asked them all, sticking out his hand.
"Agreed," Grung said, placing his gauntleted hand on top of Tim's.
"Agreed" Jung said, placing his wrinkled hand on top of Grung's. They all looked at the priestess who hesitated.
"... agreed," Jennithalon nearly whispered as she placed her gloved hand on top of Jung's.
\*\*\*
Not too far from the party, out of sight behind trees and bushes, but still within earshot, the doppelganger sat listening. The not-Urgoth Urgoth was ecstatic! The party really liked him! He had friends!
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“You have to choose carefully.”
Flyer thought about that lesson with his mother when she first took him out to practice choosing a host. Their species, the Arzers, were only as strong as their hosts because to replace a human (or any living creature larger than a squirrel), they had to end the lives of their targets themselves.
It meant that “choosing carefully” consisted of picking on the weak, the sick, the old, or the near dying. Flyer wanted more, he wanted strength. His current body was that of a young crow. It was a lucky find to the Arzers. A crow was considered somewhere between above average and excellent. The Arzers described themselves as opportunistic, watchful. The ones who knew about them described them as parasites, leeches on society that did nothing more than disrespect the living.
Flyer had been watching this group for many days now. The group was an even split of men and women - a standard party of a healer, a marksman, two warriors, and two mages. One of the warriors, Bash, was difficult to ignore. He was loud, loud enough that Flyer initially found the group because of the laughing.
“Robin, who the fuck was your master? A dead fucking dog?” he said and then laughed uproariously even though the ‘joke’ was hardly one at all.
“I’m carrying your sorry asses so hard,” Bash said. He pointed at his dark shield. “If I wasn’t here to save you dumbasses, we’d all be dead. So keep your fucking eyes on me and heal me if anything so much as looks at me.”
The healer, Robin, looked at his feet with his head down.
“Okay, Bash.” he said. “I’m sorry, I’ll try harder next time.”
“You bet your dogshit ass you will.” Bash said. He walked up to Robin and punched him hard in the chest. He crumpled to the floor and the other members of the party came up to console him.
What an absolutely unpleasant human being, Flyer thought. To his credit, Bash was pivotal to the group. In every fight that Flyer had witnessed, Bash was the anchor of the defense. His biggest strength was his ability to adapt and recognize when a fight’s tone was about to shift. When an enemy would have a special attack ready, if they were feeling tired, if they were feeling reckless. Bash was in tune with all of that. He was graceful in combat even if he was a complete asshole to his party members.
Flyer knew his plan would take both precision and patience. He needed to follow the group, to watch their fights so that he too could understand the flow of combat. Unfortunately for Flyer, the perfect opportunity arose when the group had reached a merchant village. Bash, as a reward to himself, visited a healthy percentage of the village's pubs. Flyer knew that this was going to be his best opportunity.
He flew out to grab a beakful of Angel’s Wish, a local anesthetic plant whose roots were deadly if consumed. Flyer waited, he waited for hours for Bash to find a hostel to sleep in. Bash ended up passing out near a local road outside of the village where the rest of the group had decided to camp in. The root was too big for the drunken Bash to consume on his own so Flyer cut the roots with his talon and fed the pieces to him. He watched as Bash’s breathing began to quicken. When Bash started convulsing, Flyer flew straight up.
And like a hawk, Flyer let gravity take him to Bash.
Flyer opened his eyes and looked at his hands, his human hands. It took him a few minutes to get up and he had to practice walking. The body motions started coming to him more naturally throughout the night and when dawn came, he felt ready to see his party. When he found them, they were sitting around a morning fire, talking in hushed voices. They shot nervous glances towards Flyer, as one of Bash’s favorite activities was to belittle the group after a night of drinking.
“Good morning, friends.” Flyer said to the group.
The group looked at each other.
“Friends? You alright, dude?” Carie, the group’s fire mage, asked.
“I feel incredible. But, may I ask for some stew? I would love nothing more after a night of drinking.” Flyer said.
“You’re fucking with us, right?” Carie asked again.
“Absolutely not.” Flyer said.
They poured him a bowl and after they ate, they packed up their things to continue on in the world. Near sunset, the group came across a group of bandits. Nowhere near as strong as the group, but they realized now that Bash was gone. Robin knew that because the new Bash moved like a newborn deer. His legs shook and his shield moved slowly.
The group fought around him, they worked together because this new Bash never complained about the stray hits that found their way to him. This new Bash said thank you whenever Robin healed him. The new Bash apologized whenever he made a mistake.
After the fight, Flyer sat down and inspected the wounds on his body. He knew he did a bad job, but he felt incredible anyway. He had never felt so powerful in his life. Any number of the hits he took would have completely destroyed a normal Arzer.
“Thank you for helping me through that, everyone. I might be more hungover than I initially thought.” Flyer said.
Robin walked up to him and gave him a pat on the back.
“No problem, Bash.” he said. “You did good.”
The group continued forward - traveling to more villages, fighting more bandits, more monsters, and even raiding a few dungeons. The new Bash continued his streak of modesty though he was nowhere near as graceful in combat as the old Bash, Flyer was learning steadily.
“Friends,” Flyer said. “I have something I’d like to ask all of you.”
“What is it?” Robin asked. The group looked up from their conversations and gave Flyer their undivided attention.
“I’d like to ask you all for your help.” Flyer said. The group nodded and gestured for him to continue.
Flyer took in a deep breath and again looked at his hands. They were callused, scarred, but strong. Flyer was strong now, undeniably strong. He had strength and he had companions. It was possible.
“I’d like to save the Arzers.”
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[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
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The Dragon Empress laid upon Her Golden Hoard, a throne of jewels and coins older than time itself and worth far more than in sum than even the most wildly expensive individual piece of ore or polished gen within it. She'd ruled these lands fairly for over 300,000 years, whether by Her own gentle talon or the iron grip of a tyrant proxy.
But now, the law came calling, a Challenger arisen from the people, seeking to best Her in a game. Two guards, lesser Dragonborn, entered Her chamber. "Announcing the Challenger, Orn Wildtalon!!" Orn, her favored child? That whelp Challenged Her? The half-blood, Her spawn by a tribute concubine, walked in, with several attendants carrying a flat screen and an unusual violet hedron with a black handle.
"Queen-Mother!! I do hereby present my Challenge!! Super Bash Sisters Brouhaha!!" He shouted, the youth confident in his skills, and She smirked.
"So, you seek to dethrone your own Mother, my son?" She says. "Then here is my condition!!"
The entire room went silent, and She spoke the dreaded six terms.
"Fox only?" The guards whispered amongst themselves.
"No items, Mother?" Orn replied, supremely confident in his skills with his main.
"Final Destination!!" She stifled a smirk, and the air grew tense as the match begun.
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(Part 1 of 2)
Our kingdom was know far and wide for some of our more “unique” ruling styles. Sure, some kings in other lands were very physically strong, lending to their strength as a king and their ability to overcome adversity in their reign. Others were natural born tacticians, giving them keen insight into large battles that revolved around many complex factors. And some were benevolent beyond expectation, giving the people a figure to rally behind in dire times, giving the populous hope and prosperity. But what set our kingdom apart was that all of our rulers, with little exception, were extremely clever.
You see, our system of succession is very very different from others, in that any peasant, any knight, any noble or lowborn commoner can become the monarch of our lands. After a short stint of uninterrupted rule, the Rite of Challenge kicks in, and the King or Queen may be challenged by anyone at any time to a contest of their choosing for the crown. This has lead to some very interesting and very unique exchanges of power within our lands, to say the least, but life in this kingdom is never dull. It has become a national pastime to watch the current monarch deal with prospective usurpers through the Rite of Challenge. Sometimes the King or Queen will win, and sometimes we get a new ruler for a time. Each time it does happen, however, there is always a massive turnout.
There are, of course, certain rules that must be followed that were ratified in our charter that cannot be ignored. This was implemented to avoid certain negative outcomes that could prove disastrous to the people as a whole. The first rule is that once a new monarch is established after claiming victory in the Rite of Challenge, they cannot be challenged by another for a period of one year. The second rule is that the challenger must have an established lineage within the kingdom in order to present their challenge, so that we can assure that no foreign influence will seize control of the crown and subvert the kingdom for outside gain. And the third, most important rule of the Rite of Challenge, is that no matter the challenge that has been presented, the current King or Queen is allowed to declare one stipulation that must be followed by both participants throughout the entirety of the Rite. This last rule is why our rulers have always been incredibly clever. No one lasts for very long if they are not imaginative and inventive enough to swing the challenge into their favor with the addition of a single rule. This has lead to some very interesting competitions, and has increased the knowledge of the base population to degrees far above those of other lands.
As I make my way to the city square, I can’t help but recollect some of the previous challenges that have been successful in the past. Queen Mearina, who rose to power roughly 345 years ago, did so by challenging the previous King, King Edward, to a cook-off. King Edward promptly declared that his condition for the cook-off was that the contestants were to be blindfolded. Everyone thought that this would be a sure win for the King, because he was himself nearly blind, but alas he had no inclination for cooking or confection, and lost in part due to overcooking the ham that he chose as his main dish, and because Queen Mearina owned the most popular bakery in the city. Her sight being removed was quite a detriment to her, but she was able to use her own muscle memory and her superior sense of smell to come out ahead in the end.
Then we have King Marquis, who ruled 215 years ago, who challenged Queen Silda to a writing competition. When the queen announced her stipulation that each competitor was allowed to use writings from their own personal library as their own, everyone thought that she would win without much problem. She submitted one of the most widely accepted and praised books of the time, the Madenesh Manuscripts, as her entry, and at once people were beginning to sing her praises as the best author of the competition. That is, until King Marquis submitted the same book, but an unedited version that had not been released publicly. Turns out, he was the original author and still had his first drafts of the book, but had published it under a pseudonym. Needless to say, that competition was one of the most surprising in our kingdoms history.
And now we have our current situation. I remember when King Arnactus won his Rite of Challenge. The previous ruler, King Reldin, was regarded as one of the greatest authorities of military strategy that our kingdom had seen in our time. It was a major shock when Arnactus challenged him to a mock-battle with randomly selected peasants acting as soldiers. Usually, the challenger tries to stay far away from their opponent’s strengths to ensure a victory, but this challenge took us all by surprise, King Reldin was no exception. He was so surprised, in fact, that he waved his chance to enact any kind of subversive condition. This was his downfall. Arnactus never even participated in the battle, allowing his “troops” to get thoroughly defeated on the field. Instead, he slipped into the palace kitchen, prepared a batch of wine, and presented it to King Reldin just as he was about to be defeated in the mock-battle. Reldin accepted the gift as a concession of defeat, and drank. King Arnactus then pulled from his pocket an empty vial and presented it to King Reldin, stating that “I have just poisoned you, king Reldin. You drank from my cup without considering that I had a darker intent, and thus you are dead and are unable to command your troops from here on out, and are unable to lead the people from the grave.” The special council that officiates the Rite of Challenge took some time to deliberate, and ruled that a king that would fall for such a blunder would indeed have lost the battle, even if his troops were victorious, and thus the crown was passed.
I had to consider carefully what my challenge would be for this type of opponent. Surely, conventional tactics would not work against such a mind, and even subversive tactics would be a gamble at best against him. My idea, however, came to me in a dream just two days ago. Against another ruler, King Marquis, Queen Mearina, or even king Reldin, for instance, I have no doubts that this would have lead to an instant defeat for me. But against King Arnactus? A strategic mind that sees all possible outcomes? The king that won the battle of Bleakhollow in but three days near the beginning of his rule? It was sure to work. Not many people would attribute great intelligence to me, sure. In fact, some would call me simple-minded. But that’s my strength in this challenge. That is my greatest weapon here.
I approached the ceremonial grounds of the rite, and issued my challenge to the head of the council that was stationed there at all times. I wrote it down on the parchment that was available, and handed it to him. I could barely contain my giddy smile as he read it over to himself, then looked at me with a quirked eyebrow. He asked me, because he had probably never seen such a stupid challenge presented to him in all of his officiating years, but accepted it all the same. I followed him as he made his way up the tower, and shouted out to all the people below.
We made our way to the top of the tower. By no means the largest in the kingdom, but high enough that all who were in the square would be able to hear. I could already see a crowd beginning to form as they had seen me walk into the officiator’s office, and when we came out over the balcony overlooking the square, there were already dozens of people assembled with baited breath waiting for the announcement. “Attention all citizens and nobles of the fair Kingdom of Ravorna! A new challenger has approached with the intent to win the crown! Bring forth the King of these lands so that this challenge may be answered!” he shouted out to the assembled onlookers. Almost instantly, the crowd began to chant the same chant that we have had since the founding of our nation; “A Challenge must be answered! A challenge must be answered!” and before anyone could give the order to do so, a runner broke out and made his way towards the palace.
(Part 2 will be my first reply to this message.
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[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
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Silence.
The challenger — a girl barely sixteen named Ella — was probably the only person present who wasn’t holding their breath.
“A test of magic?” the king repeated, something flashing in his eyes. Ella gave him a bright smile, twisting a lock of hair around her gloved fingers.
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“Very well.”
Everyone knew that those who sat upon the throne possessed a golden magic. Something almost divine, in a way.
And anyone could see that Ella’s magic, whatever it was, was nowhere near as good as the king’s. Many whispered that where their king’s powers were formed above, the girl’s were forged below.
“My condition is that your hands be chained behind your back.”
Ella nodded, removing her glasses and sliding them into a pocket. “Of course.”
~
Everyone thought her doomed to lose — the gloves were the obvious cover-up of such ‘evil’ magic, were they not? And yet they all gathered to watch the battle, expecting a brilliant show from their lord.
They got what they wished for.
Light dazzled every eye that gazed upon the fields that day, and for a while it seemed as though Ella could do nothing against him. Every spell she tried went wild, her hands writhing behind her back as she mumbled words so quickly it was impossible to keep up.
The rules were simple: if you were rendered unable to fight anymore, you lost.
But then Ella’s aim rang true. Once, twice, three times.
Sparks flew.
People screamed.
The king fell with hardly a sound, blood already beginning to spread across his shirt. Where Ella’s beast had clawed at his chest.
An attack to kill, rather than maim.
Through it all, Ella kept her breath steady, even as those around her gasped, fighting to get away from the field.
“Do I win?”
His ‘yes’ was little more than a rasp, and Ella’s eyes (her eyes, it was her eyes all along, how had they not seen before?) glowed.
“I suppose I should heal you now,” she said, her voice betraying nothing at all.
In the remaining ‘crowd’, one boy watched with a sinking heart. His sister had taken the throne, and she wanted their ‘family’ dead.
And she now had the means to kill them.
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(Part 1 of 2)
Our kingdom was know far and wide for some of our more “unique” ruling styles. Sure, some kings in other lands were very physically strong, lending to their strength as a king and their ability to overcome adversity in their reign. Others were natural born tacticians, giving them keen insight into large battles that revolved around many complex factors. And some were benevolent beyond expectation, giving the people a figure to rally behind in dire times, giving the populous hope and prosperity. But what set our kingdom apart was that all of our rulers, with little exception, were extremely clever.
You see, our system of succession is very very different from others, in that any peasant, any knight, any noble or lowborn commoner can become the monarch of our lands. After a short stint of uninterrupted rule, the Rite of Challenge kicks in, and the King or Queen may be challenged by anyone at any time to a contest of their choosing for the crown. This has lead to some very interesting and very unique exchanges of power within our lands, to say the least, but life in this kingdom is never dull. It has become a national pastime to watch the current monarch deal with prospective usurpers through the Rite of Challenge. Sometimes the King or Queen will win, and sometimes we get a new ruler for a time. Each time it does happen, however, there is always a massive turnout.
There are, of course, certain rules that must be followed that were ratified in our charter that cannot be ignored. This was implemented to avoid certain negative outcomes that could prove disastrous to the people as a whole. The first rule is that once a new monarch is established after claiming victory in the Rite of Challenge, they cannot be challenged by another for a period of one year. The second rule is that the challenger must have an established lineage within the kingdom in order to present their challenge, so that we can assure that no foreign influence will seize control of the crown and subvert the kingdom for outside gain. And the third, most important rule of the Rite of Challenge, is that no matter the challenge that has been presented, the current King or Queen is allowed to declare one stipulation that must be followed by both participants throughout the entirety of the Rite. This last rule is why our rulers have always been incredibly clever. No one lasts for very long if they are not imaginative and inventive enough to swing the challenge into their favor with the addition of a single rule. This has lead to some very interesting competitions, and has increased the knowledge of the base population to degrees far above those of other lands.
As I make my way to the city square, I can’t help but recollect some of the previous challenges that have been successful in the past. Queen Mearina, who rose to power roughly 345 years ago, did so by challenging the previous King, King Edward, to a cook-off. King Edward promptly declared that his condition for the cook-off was that the contestants were to be blindfolded. Everyone thought that this would be a sure win for the King, because he was himself nearly blind, but alas he had no inclination for cooking or confection, and lost in part due to overcooking the ham that he chose as his main dish, and because Queen Mearina owned the most popular bakery in the city. Her sight being removed was quite a detriment to her, but she was able to use her own muscle memory and her superior sense of smell to come out ahead in the end.
Then we have King Marquis, who ruled 215 years ago, who challenged Queen Silda to a writing competition. When the queen announced her stipulation that each competitor was allowed to use writings from their own personal library as their own, everyone thought that she would win without much problem. She submitted one of the most widely accepted and praised books of the time, the Madenesh Manuscripts, as her entry, and at once people were beginning to sing her praises as the best author of the competition. That is, until King Marquis submitted the same book, but an unedited version that had not been released publicly. Turns out, he was the original author and still had his first drafts of the book, but had published it under a pseudonym. Needless to say, that competition was one of the most surprising in our kingdoms history.
And now we have our current situation. I remember when King Arnactus won his Rite of Challenge. The previous ruler, King Reldin, was regarded as one of the greatest authorities of military strategy that our kingdom had seen in our time. It was a major shock when Arnactus challenged him to a mock-battle with randomly selected peasants acting as soldiers. Usually, the challenger tries to stay far away from their opponent’s strengths to ensure a victory, but this challenge took us all by surprise, King Reldin was no exception. He was so surprised, in fact, that he waved his chance to enact any kind of subversive condition. This was his downfall. Arnactus never even participated in the battle, allowing his “troops” to get thoroughly defeated on the field. Instead, he slipped into the palace kitchen, prepared a batch of wine, and presented it to King Reldin just as he was about to be defeated in the mock-battle. Reldin accepted the gift as a concession of defeat, and drank. King Arnactus then pulled from his pocket an empty vial and presented it to King Reldin, stating that “I have just poisoned you, king Reldin. You drank from my cup without considering that I had a darker intent, and thus you are dead and are unable to command your troops from here on out, and are unable to lead the people from the grave.” The special council that officiates the Rite of Challenge took some time to deliberate, and ruled that a king that would fall for such a blunder would indeed have lost the battle, even if his troops were victorious, and thus the crown was passed.
I had to consider carefully what my challenge would be for this type of opponent. Surely, conventional tactics would not work against such a mind, and even subversive tactics would be a gamble at best against him. My idea, however, came to me in a dream just two days ago. Against another ruler, King Marquis, Queen Mearina, or even king Reldin, for instance, I have no doubts that this would have lead to an instant defeat for me. But against King Arnactus? A strategic mind that sees all possible outcomes? The king that won the battle of Bleakhollow in but three days near the beginning of his rule? It was sure to work. Not many people would attribute great intelligence to me, sure. In fact, some would call me simple-minded. But that’s my strength in this challenge. That is my greatest weapon here.
I approached the ceremonial grounds of the rite, and issued my challenge to the head of the council that was stationed there at all times. I wrote it down on the parchment that was available, and handed it to him. I could barely contain my giddy smile as he read it over to himself, then looked at me with a quirked eyebrow. He asked me, because he had probably never seen such a stupid challenge presented to him in all of his officiating years, but accepted it all the same. I followed him as he made his way up the tower, and shouted out to all the people below.
We made our way to the top of the tower. By no means the largest in the kingdom, but high enough that all who were in the square would be able to hear. I could already see a crowd beginning to form as they had seen me walk into the officiator’s office, and when we came out over the balcony overlooking the square, there were already dozens of people assembled with baited breath waiting for the announcement. “Attention all citizens and nobles of the fair Kingdom of Ravorna! A new challenger has approached with the intent to win the crown! Bring forth the King of these lands so that this challenge may be answered!” he shouted out to the assembled onlookers. Almost instantly, the crowd began to chant the same chant that we have had since the founding of our nation; “A Challenge must be answered! A challenge must be answered!” and before anyone could give the order to do so, a runner broke out and made his way towards the palace.
(Part 2 will be my first reply to this message.
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[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
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The Dragon Empress laid upon Her Golden Hoard, a throne of jewels and coins older than time itself and worth far more than in sum than even the most wildly expensive individual piece of ore or polished gen within it. She'd ruled these lands fairly for over 300,000 years, whether by Her own gentle talon or the iron grip of a tyrant proxy.
But now, the law came calling, a Challenger arisen from the people, seeking to best Her in a game. Two guards, lesser Dragonborn, entered Her chamber. "Announcing the Challenger, Orn Wildtalon!!" Orn, her favored child? That whelp Challenged Her? The half-blood, Her spawn by a tribute concubine, walked in, with several attendants carrying a flat screen and an unusual violet hedron with a black handle.
"Queen-Mother!! I do hereby present my Challenge!! Super Bash Sisters Brouhaha!!" He shouted, the youth confident in his skills, and She smirked.
"So, you seek to dethrone your own Mother, my son?" She says. "Then here is my condition!!"
The entire room went silent, and She spoke the dreaded six terms.
"Fox only?" The guards whispered amongst themselves.
"No items, Mother?" Orn replied, supremely confident in his skills with his main.
"Final Destination!!" She stifled a smirk, and the air grew tense as the match begun.
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"The rules are simple. Challenge me in any way you see fit and I'll give you my crown."
In saying this, many lined up to challenge the king. Many areas of expertise were tried: fighting, racing, intelligence, fishing. But none could outdo the king. After thousands of attempts he was getting bored. "If they're trying to kill me with boredom, it's working." Years passed and one finally showed promise.
"Your majesty, a criminal escaped! He's rampaging through the city and destroying people's lives! He's headed right this way as we speak!"
"Fine then. Let's see what he has to of-"
"Looking for me?"
Before the king could finish speaking a young boy appeared right behind him. A guard tried to attack him but got defeated with ease. Other guards tried to gang up on him, until the King intervened.
"Halt. The boy's here for a reason. What is it you want?"
"A game of tag. If I can tag you once before the day ends then I can have your crown."
"Very well. The challenge will have one condition: I have to keep my eyes closed."
He was confused by the King's generosity but agreed. As the challenge began the boy raced after the king. The king narrowly avoided his hand. He ran around the King who kept dodging his tags. The king was clever and sly in his movement and even caused him to injure himself. Hours passed as the boy chased the king through the town. The king ruled the land for decades so he knew the ins and outs of his city, eyes open or not. Many times it seemed as though the King was cornered only to make a swift escape.
The boy, disgruntled by his lack of results, knew he had to take action. Rather than wasting energy and stamina chasing the king endlessly, he decided to set up a trap, using the King's lack of seeing against him. "When the king steps on a fragile plot of land, he'll fall into a deep hole and have nowhere to run. I'll win!" As he cornered the King once more towards the trap, the King's other senses were heightened and he heard some twigs rustling that would unleash a trap on him if he were less careful. Again he narrowly avoided getting tagged. The boy realized that keeping his eyes closed wasn't a restriction for the King who knew the area well, but rather a means for opening up more possibilities. With only 8 hours remaining in the day, he knew he had to up his game in order to tag the King.
"At your limit yet, boy?" The King was still taunting and boasting his dominant skill. At this point though, the boy seemingly gave up and let the king on his merry way. The King didn't even see the boy for hours. He assumed the boy had given up, just as many other challengers did. Because of this the King returned to his throne to wrap up another monotonous day. As he got back, one of his guards came and gave him a pat on the back in accomplishment.
"Tag, you're it."
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[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
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Silence.
The challenger — a girl barely sixteen named Ella — was probably the only person present who wasn’t holding their breath.
“A test of magic?” the king repeated, something flashing in his eyes. Ella gave him a bright smile, twisting a lock of hair around her gloved fingers.
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“Very well.”
Everyone knew that those who sat upon the throne possessed a golden magic. Something almost divine, in a way.
And anyone could see that Ella’s magic, whatever it was, was nowhere near as good as the king’s. Many whispered that where their king’s powers were formed above, the girl’s were forged below.
“My condition is that your hands be chained behind your back.”
Ella nodded, removing her glasses and sliding them into a pocket. “Of course.”
~
Everyone thought her doomed to lose — the gloves were the obvious cover-up of such ‘evil’ magic, were they not? And yet they all gathered to watch the battle, expecting a brilliant show from their lord.
They got what they wished for.
Light dazzled every eye that gazed upon the fields that day, and for a while it seemed as though Ella could do nothing against him. Every spell she tried went wild, her hands writhing behind her back as she mumbled words so quickly it was impossible to keep up.
The rules were simple: if you were rendered unable to fight anymore, you lost.
But then Ella’s aim rang true. Once, twice, three times.
Sparks flew.
People screamed.
The king fell with hardly a sound, blood already beginning to spread across his shirt. Where Ella’s beast had clawed at his chest.
An attack to kill, rather than maim.
Through it all, Ella kept her breath steady, even as those around her gasped, fighting to get away from the field.
“Do I win?”
His ‘yes’ was little more than a rasp, and Ella’s eyes (her eyes, it was her eyes all along, how had they not seen before?) glowed.
“I suppose I should heal you now,” she said, her voice betraying nothing at all.
In the remaining ‘crowd’, one boy watched with a sinking heart. His sister had taken the throne, and she wanted their ‘family’ dead.
And she now had the means to kill them.
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"The rules are simple. Challenge me in any way you see fit and I'll give you my crown."
In saying this, many lined up to challenge the king. Many areas of expertise were tried: fighting, racing, intelligence, fishing. But none could outdo the king. After thousands of attempts he was getting bored. "If they're trying to kill me with boredom, it's working." Years passed and one finally showed promise.
"Your majesty, a criminal escaped! He's rampaging through the city and destroying people's lives! He's headed right this way as we speak!"
"Fine then. Let's see what he has to of-"
"Looking for me?"
Before the king could finish speaking a young boy appeared right behind him. A guard tried to attack him but got defeated with ease. Other guards tried to gang up on him, until the King intervened.
"Halt. The boy's here for a reason. What is it you want?"
"A game of tag. If I can tag you once before the day ends then I can have your crown."
"Very well. The challenge will have one condition: I have to keep my eyes closed."
He was confused by the King's generosity but agreed. As the challenge began the boy raced after the king. The king narrowly avoided his hand. He ran around the King who kept dodging his tags. The king was clever and sly in his movement and even caused him to injure himself. Hours passed as the boy chased the king through the town. The king ruled the land for decades so he knew the ins and outs of his city, eyes open or not. Many times it seemed as though the King was cornered only to make a swift escape.
The boy, disgruntled by his lack of results, knew he had to take action. Rather than wasting energy and stamina chasing the king endlessly, he decided to set up a trap, using the King's lack of seeing against him. "When the king steps on a fragile plot of land, he'll fall into a deep hole and have nowhere to run. I'll win!" As he cornered the King once more towards the trap, the King's other senses were heightened and he heard some twigs rustling that would unleash a trap on him if he were less careful. Again he narrowly avoided getting tagged. The boy realized that keeping his eyes closed wasn't a restriction for the King who knew the area well, but rather a means for opening up more possibilities. With only 8 hours remaining in the day, he knew he had to up his game in order to tag the King.
"At your limit yet, boy?" The King was still taunting and boasting his dominant skill. At this point though, the boy seemingly gave up and let the king on his merry way. The King didn't even see the boy for hours. He assumed the boy had given up, just as many other challengers did. Because of this the King returned to his throne to wrap up another monotonous day. As he got back, one of his guards came and gave him a pat on the back in accomplishment.
"Tag, you're it."
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[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
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"I win as soon as we start the game." The king blurted out with a confidence of a man completely unbothered by any and all things big or small. Any were free to challenge him for his crown but he was allowed to set his condition... any condition.
The challenger just as unbothered quipped back.
"That is fine with me if that is your condition."
The king was already to dismiss him his hand already waved to sway the back of his hand to cue the guards to usher the defeated challenger back to whatever gutter he came from.
"Guards, you may see him out now." He uttered, the challenger's approval of his terms going completely unnoticed.
"Sire... sire... you're majesty. The challenger accepted.... he accepted your terms..." The king;s aid leaned over in a failed attempt to whisper.
"Whuh? Huh? Wha-what do you mean he accepted. If he accepts I've won. See the man off. Why are you wasting my time."
"Your majesty, you are the one wasting my time. Would you like to hear the game first or would you like to stand by your original condition?" The challenger interrupted. The king and his aide snapping their gaze to finally take notice of the challenger. He was a plain looking fellow. Nothing special or too threatening.
"Game? What game is there to play if you have already lost? Are you a fool boy!?" The king bellowed out insulted by the preposterousness of the challenger's demeanor.
"A game of words." the challenger stated as he pulled out a small envelope out of his pocket "Or more accurately a game of lies. You seem to be the type of man to be familiar with the art of lying, are you not?" An accusatory yet coy smirk finding the lips of the challenger as the king looked on with confusion.
"Mind your tongue trash! You are still subject to treason until the game begins. What is this game you speak of and remember it is the King you are addressing!"
"My most insincerest of apologies. I'll continue with the due respect necessary." The challenger said, smirk never leaving his face or his eyes never leaving the king's. "I have a written a statement. The game is simple. You must either confirm the statement or deny the statement. If you confirm the statement it must be made true. If the statement is denied it must be made false. So... for example.. If in this envelope I've written "The King must die." if you confirm it, who ever is king as the end of this game must die. In the case of you being the winner. You will die. And if you deny it than you will live."
The king sharp of wit as he was as sharp in temper quickly blurted out. "Then my condition is to see the paper first."
"Is that your condition? Remember you only get one."
The king not willing to fall for any kind of a bluff blubbered out. "Y-ye-Why of course!? If those are the rules of the game...." even before he could finish the statement the challenger's smirk slowly grew into wry grin as his hand reached out to hold out the envelope. His lack of hesitation in surrendering it causing the king to reconsider his choice. "Wait... wait..wait!" he shouted at the guard who was already moving to hand the paper to him.
"This must be some kind of trick. Or are you a fool... but how brave a fool?" The king's confused expression twisting into a menacing grin of his own to challenge the challenger's. "My condition is that you must be beheaded before statement is revealed!" he cackled out. "The game can be played with or without you so your death with not impede my ability to play it." The king's eyes glazed over with pride as he thought he had ensured victory.
"You are correct your majesty if I am alive or dead has no bearing on your ability to play it... but once I am beheaded you must play it and depending on if you guess incorrectly you may not be too far behind me. The question is not if I am a brave fool but are you a brave king? Once I am beheaded you HAVE to guess. If I assume you a coward and have written "The King lives." and you deny the statement, how comical would that be." The challenger's smiled a little more in this battle of grins meeting the king's murderous intentions with hinting of his own.
The king was visibly frustrated. Seething in his scornful stare. If he could kill him right here and now he would but in doing so he knew the challenger was right he would still have to play the game put before him. And while he would never admit it he was in fact, NOT a brave king.
"You're bluffing." The king chortled out a forced chuckle. "Yes, you almost had me rattled peasant but I see through your foolish attempt to outsmart me. You don't want me to look at that paper. You want me to doubt you! Give me the envelope."
"Is that your cond..." the challenger started.
"Give me the envelope or die where you stand!"
The challenger sighed and took a step towards the guard between them to hand over the envelope. The king snatching it away from the guard and fumbling to rip it open.
"Your foolishness ends here and if you do not beg for forgiveness so does your life peas....." he started before looking at the paper in shock. The room silent as death as the court all darned not even breath as the king seemed frozen in his seat.
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The laws of the land were clear. Anyone could challenge the king to a game of their choice, and the king got to state one condition that had to be followed during the entirety of the game. If you won, you got to be king, and rule the land. Which I guess was pretty cool. But that wasn’t why people wanted to become king. It hadn’t been the reason in a long time. It was the challenges.
Originally, the king wanted to keep his crown. Therefore, any time someone challenged him, he always came up with these impossible conditions. But when you face 30 challenges a day, 90 a month, and 8100 a year (give or take), you get tired. And bored. And it wasn’t just the king getting bored and tired, the citizens did too. So it was time for a change of pace.
At some point, the challenges became much less about pushing one specific aspect of humanity (strength, intelligence, etc.) to its limits, and became more about creative challenges. In turn, this forced the king to come up with creative conditions, and overall, things became a lot more fun.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s a charm to the old challenges (Not to go on a tangent, but King Edwin XXIV against Roderick Pullstrom. He challenged the king to drink from a poisoned cup, and whoever died would lose, knowing that someone, earlier that very same day. The king smiled and just responded “my condition is that you drink first.” Roderick gladly did so, finishing the drink within seconds, then smiled, and said it was the King’s turn. The King’s smile supposed didn’t fade the whole time, even as he slowly sipped his drink until there was nothing left. The King’s smile only got wider, and when Roderick asked “W...what now?” The king leaned forward, and replied with two simple words. “You. Lose.” Like I said. Older challenges had their charm.)
From a young age, I had always been a fan of the board game Monopoly. I couldn’t explain it. Probably something to do with the idea of controlled chaos. Monopoly has a lot of random factors in the game, but they only ever interact with each other in limited ways.
And so, I went to challenge the King (I’ll skip past the boring details. You have to make an appointment to wait in line to talk to someone to stand in a DIFFERENT line to then be told that you’re queued up, and that you have to wait to stand in line to...it’s a whole process). But I finally got to the front of the line.
“Challenge 27 for the day. One Mr. Scott Torrin.” My entrance was announced in relative monotone, as if it were a matter of fact. Which...I suppose it was. Now that I thought about it, how did- “Mr. Torrin? What is your challenge?”
I snapped out of my daydream as my thought trailed off. I almost even forgot about the board game hidden behind my back.
“Um...right. Right! Your majesty, I challenge you...to a game of Monopoly!”
There was a wave of...something that spread throughout the room. It was half awkward silence, half nervous laughter, and half confusion. (Hey, I never claimed I was good at math.)
The king rolled his eyes and rotated his hand through the air. “Yes, yes, but what’s special? What’s different?”
I just started down at the board game in my hand. “Um...this...this is the first edition.”
The king got a hunger in his eyes and lurched forward on his chair. “So it’s got some special rules that only the first edition had? Or...or perhaps in the first edition, the pieces all had special powers?”
I blushed as I looked down at my basic, non-special, first edition Monopoly board game.
“Some of the spaces are named slightly differently...and...I...I think maybe the pieces are different. There’s a boot in this one...”
The king slouched back into his chair and rolled his eyes. “Very well. Monopoly it is. You’re aware I get one condition?”
I nodded my head.
“Alright then. In the interest of changing things up, my condition is that you cannot use any money in the game worth more than 10, but you will start the game with all bills worth 10 or less. Change will not be given, and I can only collect amounts from the bank if the exact amount is there.”
Interesting. Having played Monopoly as long as I had, I knew the contents of the box by heart. This definitely put me at a disadvantage...but a playable one. He would start with 1500, and I would start with only 640. Which...was enough to buy any property on the board. Maybe not much past that, but it was a start. So my main strategy would be trying to get the smaller bills back from the bank as quickly as possible before he could get them.
“Do you understand the challenge as it has been laid out?” Asked the king.
I gulped. Then I nodded my head.
“Very well.” The king replied. “Let’s begin.”
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[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
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Godfrey appraised himself in the mirror. He tousled his sun-bleached hair, as blonde as the rays of the sun themselves. He flexed his tanned biceps, as wide as dinner plates, and he ate quite often and a lot.
And last but not least, he flashed a winning smile, nearly blinding himself in the process.
“Why am I not yet king?”
And it was thus Godfrey decided—it was the day to be king. He packed his finest rapier, deliberated a bit, and selected a backup that he didn’t quite prefer. He brought a chess set, mostly to look sophisticated and not much else. Godfrey preferred duelling kings to duelling with kings. He brushed the mane on his horse—Shadow—and strapped the saddle onto him.
Then, Godfrey rode into the capital city. There was a long line of people waiting to get in, snaking lazily under the midday heat. With pompous importance, he walked closer towards the hall, shouting at the first city guard he came across.
“Excuse me,” Godfrey said haughtily. “I wish to challenge the king. Do I get priority access?”
The guard pointed his halberd west, and that was where Godfrey went. Two more guards, a lot more halberd gesturing, and a seething exhale later, Godfrey finally found the room where the challengers waited.
With great displeasure, he noted that a lot of them looked a lot like him.
“Take a queue coin, please,” one woman handed one to him as he sat down. “The king’s official challenge hours are starting soon. You will be served today.”
“How long will it take?” Godfrey asked. “If you must know, I am—”
“You will be served today,” the woman repeated with a smile. It was the sort of smile that plainly exhibited the demand for no further conversation. Godfrey tried his smile, and realized that it was lot harder to put one up now than in the morning, and settled down meekly.
He watched the sun rise to the top of noon. He watched it dip, just slightly below the eyeline of that annoying window. Godfrey watched as one by one, each person went to challenge the king—and left, head forlorn.
*Is this king winning every challenge?* Godfrey thought.
As he pondered the question, the woman came up to him, and gave a curt nod. Godfrey leapt up, patting his outfit down, and was led through a series of tunnels to enter what he assumed would be the throne room.
Instead, it was just… as unremarkable a room as he’s seen in his life. The floor was made of wood. The table was made of hood. And, horrors! There were no mirrors in this place. One man sat in the chair, furiously scribbling, He would be thoroughly nondescript—an average man, with a balding head obuscated by the crown that caught the last beams of the setting sun, glittering and shining eagerly—much like Godfrey’s own eyes.
“Your Majesty,” the woman said. “Your next challenger is here.”
“Already? Please walk slower, I barely read three documents,” King Ferdinand sighed. He lifted his eyes, sagged and swollen, barely peeping through his eyelids. “You are?”
“Godfrey,” the blonde-haired lad bowed. He held out his rapier straight in front of him, presenting the formal offer for a duel. “I am here to challenge you to a—”
“Can you do paperwork?”
“Paper… what? Did you say something after paper?”
“Work. Paperwork,” the King said. “The condition is for you to scribe a document for me. Once done, then, we can duel.”
“Er,” Godfrey lowered his rapier. “I suppose the condition isn’t unreasonable.”
Godfrey walked up to the desk, and the King slid him a document. The lad tried to read it. He felt the complicated words, filled with utterly useless jargon and complicated orders of sentences, assault his mind, hurting more than any sword had ever done to him.
“What is this?” Godfrey cried.
“Work,” the King said. “Please. Just one document. Anything to help. I have so much work. So much work.”
“This… this is what it means to be king?”
“I have so many challengers,” the King muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “I need to work. So that things actually get done. I can’t even be in my throne room.”
“King Ferdinand?”
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” the King whispered under his breath. “And weary is the hand that signs off on all these documents.”
Godfrey laid the document back on the table. He bowed, very deeply, with newfound respect, and left the room.
And Godfrey now knew why he was not yet king.
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r/dexdrafts
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"Calvinball"
It was an...old word. For an older game. An idea more than a joust of any kind. But still, a challenger could choose the medium in which to challenge, as the founders had dictated.
Our monarch sat bored, he did not care which game was chosen for he was given the right to impose conditions of his own, anything short of instant victory. Though he was curious. All had come and all had fallen, chess masters, athletes, even a funny old man with marbles. Until his head rolled for failing the attempted coup. Great risk... But greater reward.
Our king motioned his finger in a careless circle, ushering in my aid, my knowledge.
"Tell me, what's the gist."
"Do you know the old world concept of baseball?" He nodded. "This is an.. obscure version of that. It's essentially the same game, except...without any rules. Each participant, and there is only a record of two at a time, holds an ultimate power over the other during the race. Athleticism is irrelevant when every second the rules are arbitrary and changing."
"... What? Okay. Does it even matter? Suggest to me a condition I can make."
"That's... Just it. I could suggest taping the man's mouth but if he spells in the ground he can overrule your condition. The premise is ever fluid, rules meaningless. Your initial condition is as easily ignored as every other command. It's a game of...endless conditions, often which upend a previous one from the opponent."
"Okay, then it's not even a game. A game has rules. I refuse."
"This qualifies as a game. One of wits, maybe, but it is a game. Children have played it, there is a source material acting as a rulebook, I'm afraid this might be unavoidable sire."
"Shit."
______
Should I do more?
|
|
[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
|
James sometimes wish he hadn't gone down this career route. As the leading expert in the field of challenge law, he was the one they came to regarding precedent. Centuries ago, the king could get away with ridiculous conditions such as 'you must drink this poison' (King Everard the second, 1543) or 'I win as soon as we start' (King Freeguy, 1622) but as society modernised and the position became less integral to the running of the country beyond ceremony, the conditions that could be set had become more controlled. This was where James came in. He looked back through time via the medium of dusty velum and determined if conditions were acceptable or proportionate or illegal and set his findings against the challenger in front of a jury. One of his proudest moments was convincing everyone that, if the king was keen to follow precedent and also defeat an opponent in a cooking competition by publicly shitting in the other persons pot, he would have to be beheaded as this was the outcome when it happened in 1654. He had tried to convince the government to write a set of rules and make his life easier but it had been voted down to his great annoyance. Only once had a challenger won, to great fan fair and with a very clever challenge. It turned out the public loved a fair fight and an under dog, and so challenges were events of great public interest. There were even rumours that governments had convinced people to challenge to distract from their current disaster.
Marching through the wood lined halls with his wig barely staying put and his robes swishing behind him, he couldn't help be annoyed at the timing of this latest challenge. It was barely days since the last challenge in what had already been a busy year with twice the normal numbers. Even the public seemed to be less interested, with ratings at an all time low. He reached the court room and took his established seat, made smooth with the backsides of countless predecessors. The presiding judge nodded at him amiably. He looked over to the king who looked uncomfortable in his ceremonial robe and crown. He was most commonly seen in a suit these days, but tradition stated the ceremonial clothing must be worn, despite the fact the king was publicly opposed to fur. As he continued to look, James though the king even looked unwell and depressed. This worried James some what as, whilst he was the king, James considered him a friend.
The jury took their seats, some excited to be there, some visibly bored. One had to be escorted out and replaced after it was discovered they were attempting to live stream the event. And then, finally, the challenger entered. The first thing James noticed was the smug smile on his face- this challenger thought he'd found a loophole. James cracked his fingers in anticipation and settled into listen.
"Your Majesty, your honour and the jury" announced the challenger, "I wish to challenge King William the third for the throne to this kingdom. The challenge is this: A game of dishdash! This is a game of my own invention.." James sighed and cut in "Apologies all, but as established in 1822 and demonstrated many time since, newly made games are not allowed. I'm surprised the admission staff allowed this." The challenger smiled "The right honourable and learned gentleman is correct, however I released this game six months ago and it has been played by over 100,000 unique people which I believe makes it allowable." James nodded begrudgingly and the man continued, "Dish dash is a simple game the rules of which I will now distribute." James looked at his screen as the rules popped up. It seemed like one of those simple board games which were hard to master with the only interesting rule being that unless the losing party forfeited, the game would continue indefinitely. If the winning party forfeits, it's considered a draw. A casual search found live streams of solo games still carrying on into the millions of points. James frowned slightly, wondering what the angle was. An advisor sent a message to his screen- "Election next year- obscure law says the king can't designate a new PM if otherwise engaged which, due to King Oliver in 1743, includes games." So, he intended to wait out the king until public pressure forced him to forfeit his crown to allow the result of the election to be honoured. Very clever. He could not think of anything similar having happened and no real reason to disallow the game itself despite the potential political implications. Whilst he normally asked for time to research, he knew he didn't need to this time.
The judge stood as the challenger took his seat. "The court receives your challenge. Lord solicitor of challenges, do you have any objections?" James stood to respond. "Your honour, no. The rules are largely simple with the only interesting factor being the forfeiture rule. There is no established precedent against this that I am aware of, although the challenger may want to note that in 1454, King Harald convinced a challenger to forfeit with a clever use of pickled herring. I believe this challenge falls under the 'fair chance' act established in 2004 and would recommend it is allowed." The murmurs increased; this was an uncommon occurrence and meant that the jury would not have to deliberate. The challenger could barely contain his excitement. "Very well," replied the judge. "Your majesty, would you like more time to set your condition?"
The king smiled, and it looked like the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Your honour, the honourable challenger and the jury" he said as he stood. His last words were barely heard over the hubbub caused by his quick decision on what condition he would set- many had thought he would simply set the time as 'after the next election' although that would have spent a lot of time in court itself. The king waited until the noise died down.
"My condition is that, whist the game runs, there is no King."
|
I had won this competition myself long ago. Since then, I would be challenged often. Fools, foes, friends would approach me to win the crown for one banal reason or another. I destroyed them one way or another. Each game effected the kingdom after all and finding a way to fairly destroy my foes without raising ire seemed to be my only challenge.
As I grew older, I discovered the true purpose of the game. My children had grown up spoiled by the crown, and I knew passing them the crown would be my mistake.
I had learned quite a bit about how to judge a person's character from the challenges and now took to asking questions. Foes still presented a challenge, but yes I looked at them. If they could continue the kingdom justly, then they should be considered as well.
Finally a young woman approached me and asked to play chess. I asked of her the same thing I had been asked of: "Would you like to play a fair game?"
|
|
[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
|
"And live at the scene now is Amanda Wallace. Amanda-"
"Yes Jim, I'm live in the state capital where it seems someone has actually challenged the king for his crown! As you know king is the chosen title of the ceo of Dyrell corporation. They have been the unquestioned rulers of the state since it went bankrupt back in '46"
"wait-they are speaking. It's starting!"
The crowd of cameras red lights intensifies as the challenger stands at the podium to speak. This will be broadcasted to every screen in the state. The first challenge In fifty years.
The man walks up to the podium pensively. His legs seemingly only willed by his fear of what backing out would be mean.
"I've waited my turn for what feels like my whole life. I get up at an ungodly hour. I turn in my scans every morning. I eat their Dyrell sponsored food. I go to my job as the littlest cog in the machine that could. I take a piece of my soul every day and give it to the Dyrell Corp. Just like you. Just like your father's and mother's before you. Dyrell takes everything. And when I win I'll give the pieces back. "
The comments online go wild in every forum. People are jaded but something about this speech connects with the common person.
"The Dyrell Corp gives us one day off every two years and I've saved mine just for this occasion. I'll become the king! Well ceo. But effectively I'll be king of the Dyrell Corp and I'll be able to make real change. Together we take. back. every. piece!"
Even on the dark web takebackeverypiece is trending. People rally around it because like in any state ruled by a Corp. People have lost so many pieces of themselves. You can only bend people so long before they break.
"I challenge CEO Dwayne Jax to a simple game of chess."
In what seems like an instant a virtual head appears over the crowd of cameras. It takes a blink of the eye to form but it's no mistaking it. It's king Jax! "I accept. One hour." and Just like that the challenge has been accepted.
"Jim, our would be challenger has seemingly gotten their wish. Back to you with the weather-
***
An hour later two men can be seen in a room that can only be appreciated by those in the know. The average man would be lost in a roommate such as this. Even a rich man would be intimidated by this room. It's a room only for the chosen few.
The first man sits in a very practiced way. A way he was taught since birth. The man directly across from him sits in whatever way he feels. Both obviously aware of the stakes here. Between them. A chess board with Crystal and onyx pieces.
"Do you really think you can make a difference? Would you bet your life on it? The practiced man says while setting up board.
"I think I'll give the people a better shot than you Jax. You have no idea what it's like" Says the man who speaks how he feels.
"We're about to enter combat, you can call me Dwayne"
"Yeah Jax that's your types issue, you always think we're at combat. It's not about combat its about making sure we don't repeat mistakes. But call me Deckard if you need a name."
Okay Deckard, since you want to be obstinate let me state my condition, as is tradition. The loser of our contest shall die. Are these terms acceptable?
The words yes have never been said faster.
" if I die it doesn't matter. I'm already dead, said Deckard.
A countdown from 30 seconds appears on the screen of everyone on the web watching. It's the last chance to back out.
10,9,8,7-
I just want you to know, that I did my best. But the board- Jax was cut off by Red lights that flash. They signal the beginning of the match.
Deckard, tired of the platitudes and the waiting makes his first move. He moves his pawn in the middle toward the middle of the board two spaces. He punches his clock and waits for Dwayne Jax to make his first move.
"Tears fight their way across Jax cheeks. He reaches out toward his pawn but a millimeter before he touches it, he moves to the king. He knocks his king over and looks at Deckard, "I sincerely hope you do a better job than me, don't trust the board."
He takes out a hidden gun and shoots himself in the head.
In compete shock, Deckard screams and falls out of the chair. Online brocasts halt right after.
Deckard turns around and sees 5 people in matching outfits, clap and smile sincerely.
"Long live the new king." The board says in unison.
|
“You can’t ask them to do that.”
“I think the status of the crown on the top of my well shaped head would disagree with you.”
“I don’t—is this even possible?”
“Anything is possible.”
“No, not anything, and certainly—wouldn’t you just explode?”
“Are you telling me you’ve never tried before?”
“No, Your Majesty. Never once in my long history of being a mortal on this planet have I ever tried to hold my pee in for twenty-four hours.”
“You’re missing out. You truly understand the delicacies of the human condition when you have to pretend to care about anything other than your swelling bladder.”
“I…can’t argue with the logic of that, actually. How often do you do this?”
“I’m doing it right now.”
“Really?”
“No. But you’d never know it, now would you?”
“Which brings me to our next quandary. How are we even going to test for that? How do we make sure they adhere to this…condition?”
“Easy. We make them drink a lot of water at the beginning of the day, make them wear a diaper, and then periodically check it over the next twenty-four hours. If it’s yellow, then you bellow.”
“You’re trying to be cute about diplomatic matters of State again, Your Majesty.”
“Can’t help who we are, Edward.”
|
|
[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
|
James sometimes wish he hadn't gone down this career route. As the leading expert in the field of challenge law, he was the one they came to regarding precedent. Centuries ago, the king could get away with ridiculous conditions such as 'you must drink this poison' (King Everard the second, 1543) or 'I win as soon as we start' (King Freeguy, 1622) but as society modernised and the position became less integral to the running of the country beyond ceremony, the conditions that could be set had become more controlled. This was where James came in. He looked back through time via the medium of dusty velum and determined if conditions were acceptable or proportionate or illegal and set his findings against the challenger in front of a jury. One of his proudest moments was convincing everyone that, if the king was keen to follow precedent and also defeat an opponent in a cooking competition by publicly shitting in the other persons pot, he would have to be beheaded as this was the outcome when it happened in 1654. He had tried to convince the government to write a set of rules and make his life easier but it had been voted down to his great annoyance. Only once had a challenger won, to great fan fair and with a very clever challenge. It turned out the public loved a fair fight and an under dog, and so challenges were events of great public interest. There were even rumours that governments had convinced people to challenge to distract from their current disaster.
Marching through the wood lined halls with his wig barely staying put and his robes swishing behind him, he couldn't help be annoyed at the timing of this latest challenge. It was barely days since the last challenge in what had already been a busy year with twice the normal numbers. Even the public seemed to be less interested, with ratings at an all time low. He reached the court room and took his established seat, made smooth with the backsides of countless predecessors. The presiding judge nodded at him amiably. He looked over to the king who looked uncomfortable in his ceremonial robe and crown. He was most commonly seen in a suit these days, but tradition stated the ceremonial clothing must be worn, despite the fact the king was publicly opposed to fur. As he continued to look, James though the king even looked unwell and depressed. This worried James some what as, whilst he was the king, James considered him a friend.
The jury took their seats, some excited to be there, some visibly bored. One had to be escorted out and replaced after it was discovered they were attempting to live stream the event. And then, finally, the challenger entered. The first thing James noticed was the smug smile on his face- this challenger thought he'd found a loophole. James cracked his fingers in anticipation and settled into listen.
"Your Majesty, your honour and the jury" announced the challenger, "I wish to challenge King William the third for the throne to this kingdom. The challenge is this: A game of dishdash! This is a game of my own invention.." James sighed and cut in "Apologies all, but as established in 1822 and demonstrated many time since, newly made games are not allowed. I'm surprised the admission staff allowed this." The challenger smiled "The right honourable and learned gentleman is correct, however I released this game six months ago and it has been played by over 100,000 unique people which I believe makes it allowable." James nodded begrudgingly and the man continued, "Dish dash is a simple game the rules of which I will now distribute." James looked at his screen as the rules popped up. It seemed like one of those simple board games which were hard to master with the only interesting rule being that unless the losing party forfeited, the game would continue indefinitely. If the winning party forfeits, it's considered a draw. A casual search found live streams of solo games still carrying on into the millions of points. James frowned slightly, wondering what the angle was. An advisor sent a message to his screen- "Election next year- obscure law says the king can't designate a new PM if otherwise engaged which, due to King Oliver in 1743, includes games." So, he intended to wait out the king until public pressure forced him to forfeit his crown to allow the result of the election to be honoured. Very clever. He could not think of anything similar having happened and no real reason to disallow the game itself despite the potential political implications. Whilst he normally asked for time to research, he knew he didn't need to this time.
The judge stood as the challenger took his seat. "The court receives your challenge. Lord solicitor of challenges, do you have any objections?" James stood to respond. "Your honour, no. The rules are largely simple with the only interesting factor being the forfeiture rule. There is no established precedent against this that I am aware of, although the challenger may want to note that in 1454, King Harald convinced a challenger to forfeit with a clever use of pickled herring. I believe this challenge falls under the 'fair chance' act established in 2004 and would recommend it is allowed." The murmurs increased; this was an uncommon occurrence and meant that the jury would not have to deliberate. The challenger could barely contain his excitement. "Very well," replied the judge. "Your majesty, would you like more time to set your condition?"
The king smiled, and it looked like the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Your honour, the honourable challenger and the jury" he said as he stood. His last words were barely heard over the hubbub caused by his quick decision on what condition he would set- many had thought he would simply set the time as 'after the next election' although that would have spent a lot of time in court itself. The king waited until the noise died down.
"My condition is that, whist the game runs, there is no King."
|
“You can’t ask them to do that.”
“I think the status of the crown on the top of my well shaped head would disagree with you.”
“I don’t—is this even possible?”
“Anything is possible.”
“No, not anything, and certainly—wouldn’t you just explode?”
“Are you telling me you’ve never tried before?”
“No, Your Majesty. Never once in my long history of being a mortal on this planet have I ever tried to hold my pee in for twenty-four hours.”
“You’re missing out. You truly understand the delicacies of the human condition when you have to pretend to care about anything other than your swelling bladder.”
“I…can’t argue with the logic of that, actually. How often do you do this?”
“I’m doing it right now.”
“Really?”
“No. But you’d never know it, now would you?”
“Which brings me to our next quandary. How are we even going to test for that? How do we make sure they adhere to this…condition?”
“Easy. We make them drink a lot of water at the beginning of the day, make them wear a diaper, and then periodically check it over the next twenty-four hours. If it’s yellow, then you bellow.”
“You’re trying to be cute about diplomatic matters of State again, Your Majesty.”
“Can’t help who we are, Edward.”
|
|
[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
|
"And live at the scene now is Amanda Wallace. Amanda-"
"Yes Jim, I'm live in the state capital where it seems someone has actually challenged the king for his crown! As you know king is the chosen title of the ceo of Dyrell corporation. They have been the unquestioned rulers of the state since it went bankrupt back in '46"
"wait-they are speaking. It's starting!"
The crowd of cameras red lights intensifies as the challenger stands at the podium to speak. This will be broadcasted to every screen in the state. The first challenge In fifty years.
The man walks up to the podium pensively. His legs seemingly only willed by his fear of what backing out would be mean.
"I've waited my turn for what feels like my whole life. I get up at an ungodly hour. I turn in my scans every morning. I eat their Dyrell sponsored food. I go to my job as the littlest cog in the machine that could. I take a piece of my soul every day and give it to the Dyrell Corp. Just like you. Just like your father's and mother's before you. Dyrell takes everything. And when I win I'll give the pieces back. "
The comments online go wild in every forum. People are jaded but something about this speech connects with the common person.
"The Dyrell Corp gives us one day off every two years and I've saved mine just for this occasion. I'll become the king! Well ceo. But effectively I'll be king of the Dyrell Corp and I'll be able to make real change. Together we take. back. every. piece!"
Even on the dark web takebackeverypiece is trending. People rally around it because like in any state ruled by a Corp. People have lost so many pieces of themselves. You can only bend people so long before they break.
"I challenge CEO Dwayne Jax to a simple game of chess."
In what seems like an instant a virtual head appears over the crowd of cameras. It takes a blink of the eye to form but it's no mistaking it. It's king Jax! "I accept. One hour." and Just like that the challenge has been accepted.
"Jim, our would be challenger has seemingly gotten their wish. Back to you with the weather-
***
An hour later two men can be seen in a room that can only be appreciated by those in the know. The average man would be lost in a roommate such as this. Even a rich man would be intimidated by this room. It's a room only for the chosen few.
The first man sits in a very practiced way. A way he was taught since birth. The man directly across from him sits in whatever way he feels. Both obviously aware of the stakes here. Between them. A chess board with Crystal and onyx pieces.
"Do you really think you can make a difference? Would you bet your life on it? The practiced man says while setting up board.
"I think I'll give the people a better shot than you Jax. You have no idea what it's like" Says the man who speaks how he feels.
"We're about to enter combat, you can call me Dwayne"
"Yeah Jax that's your types issue, you always think we're at combat. It's not about combat its about making sure we don't repeat mistakes. But call me Deckard if you need a name."
Okay Deckard, since you want to be obstinate let me state my condition, as is tradition. The loser of our contest shall die. Are these terms acceptable?
The words yes have never been said faster.
" if I die it doesn't matter. I'm already dead, said Deckard.
A countdown from 30 seconds appears on the screen of everyone on the web watching. It's the last chance to back out.
10,9,8,7-
I just want you to know, that I did my best. But the board- Jax was cut off by Red lights that flash. They signal the beginning of the match.
Deckard, tired of the platitudes and the waiting makes his first move. He moves his pawn in the middle toward the middle of the board two spaces. He punches his clock and waits for Dwayne Jax to make his first move.
"Tears fight their way across Jax cheeks. He reaches out toward his pawn but a millimeter before he touches it, he moves to the king. He knocks his king over and looks at Deckard, "I sincerely hope you do a better job than me, don't trust the board."
He takes out a hidden gun and shoots himself in the head.
In compete shock, Deckard screams and falls out of the chair. Online brocasts halt right after.
Deckard turns around and sees 5 people in matching outfits, clap and smile sincerely.
"Long live the new king." The board says in unison.
|
My challenge was a steeple chase over 2 miles and 3 furlongs.
This was boggy land, my home ground, and I knew I had the King beat.
I slept well, confident and upbeat, looking forward to the noble rights this victory would grant me.
My family and supporters cheered me on. The King looked assured as he rode in on his muscular Arabian, one of the finest in the land.
I mounted my less athletic but far more robust thoroughbred, and prepared to race.
"Three legs then" ordered the King dismissively.
As I stumbled to respond, his knight removed my steed's rear left leg with a powerful stroke of his sword.
I remain in the tower to this day, an old man with no land or title.
|
|
[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
|
James sometimes wish he hadn't gone down this career route. As the leading expert in the field of challenge law, he was the one they came to regarding precedent. Centuries ago, the king could get away with ridiculous conditions such as 'you must drink this poison' (King Everard the second, 1543) or 'I win as soon as we start' (King Freeguy, 1622) but as society modernised and the position became less integral to the running of the country beyond ceremony, the conditions that could be set had become more controlled. This was where James came in. He looked back through time via the medium of dusty velum and determined if conditions were acceptable or proportionate or illegal and set his findings against the challenger in front of a jury. One of his proudest moments was convincing everyone that, if the king was keen to follow precedent and also defeat an opponent in a cooking competition by publicly shitting in the other persons pot, he would have to be beheaded as this was the outcome when it happened in 1654. He had tried to convince the government to write a set of rules and make his life easier but it had been voted down to his great annoyance. Only once had a challenger won, to great fan fair and with a very clever challenge. It turned out the public loved a fair fight and an under dog, and so challenges were events of great public interest. There were even rumours that governments had convinced people to challenge to distract from their current disaster.
Marching through the wood lined halls with his wig barely staying put and his robes swishing behind him, he couldn't help be annoyed at the timing of this latest challenge. It was barely days since the last challenge in what had already been a busy year with twice the normal numbers. Even the public seemed to be less interested, with ratings at an all time low. He reached the court room and took his established seat, made smooth with the backsides of countless predecessors. The presiding judge nodded at him amiably. He looked over to the king who looked uncomfortable in his ceremonial robe and crown. He was most commonly seen in a suit these days, but tradition stated the ceremonial clothing must be worn, despite the fact the king was publicly opposed to fur. As he continued to look, James though the king even looked unwell and depressed. This worried James some what as, whilst he was the king, James considered him a friend.
The jury took their seats, some excited to be there, some visibly bored. One had to be escorted out and replaced after it was discovered they were attempting to live stream the event. And then, finally, the challenger entered. The first thing James noticed was the smug smile on his face- this challenger thought he'd found a loophole. James cracked his fingers in anticipation and settled into listen.
"Your Majesty, your honour and the jury" announced the challenger, "I wish to challenge King William the third for the throne to this kingdom. The challenge is this: A game of dishdash! This is a game of my own invention.." James sighed and cut in "Apologies all, but as established in 1822 and demonstrated many time since, newly made games are not allowed. I'm surprised the admission staff allowed this." The challenger smiled "The right honourable and learned gentleman is correct, however I released this game six months ago and it has been played by over 100,000 unique people which I believe makes it allowable." James nodded begrudgingly and the man continued, "Dish dash is a simple game the rules of which I will now distribute." James looked at his screen as the rules popped up. It seemed like one of those simple board games which were hard to master with the only interesting rule being that unless the losing party forfeited, the game would continue indefinitely. If the winning party forfeits, it's considered a draw. A casual search found live streams of solo games still carrying on into the millions of points. James frowned slightly, wondering what the angle was. An advisor sent a message to his screen- "Election next year- obscure law says the king can't designate a new PM if otherwise engaged which, due to King Oliver in 1743, includes games." So, he intended to wait out the king until public pressure forced him to forfeit his crown to allow the result of the election to be honoured. Very clever. He could not think of anything similar having happened and no real reason to disallow the game itself despite the potential political implications. Whilst he normally asked for time to research, he knew he didn't need to this time.
The judge stood as the challenger took his seat. "The court receives your challenge. Lord solicitor of challenges, do you have any objections?" James stood to respond. "Your honour, no. The rules are largely simple with the only interesting factor being the forfeiture rule. There is no established precedent against this that I am aware of, although the challenger may want to note that in 1454, King Harald convinced a challenger to forfeit with a clever use of pickled herring. I believe this challenge falls under the 'fair chance' act established in 2004 and would recommend it is allowed." The murmurs increased; this was an uncommon occurrence and meant that the jury would not have to deliberate. The challenger could barely contain his excitement. "Very well," replied the judge. "Your majesty, would you like more time to set your condition?"
The king smiled, and it looked like the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Your honour, the honourable challenger and the jury" he said as he stood. His last words were barely heard over the hubbub caused by his quick decision on what condition he would set- many had thought he would simply set the time as 'after the next election' although that would have spent a lot of time in court itself. The king waited until the noise died down.
"My condition is that, whist the game runs, there is no King."
|
My challenge was a steeple chase over 2 miles and 3 furlongs.
This was boggy land, my home ground, and I knew I had the King beat.
I slept well, confident and upbeat, looking forward to the noble rights this victory would grant me.
My family and supporters cheered me on. The King looked assured as he rode in on his muscular Arabian, one of the finest in the land.
I mounted my less athletic but far more robust thoroughbred, and prepared to race.
"Three legs then" ordered the King dismissively.
As I stumbled to respond, his knight removed my steed's rear left leg with a powerful stroke of his sword.
I remain in the tower to this day, an old man with no land or title.
|
|
[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
|
The king was old and fat. I practiced running for weeks. I am not the fastest person in my village but I run every day. I made the official request 100m dash. I signed on the line knowing what fate waits for me.
The day of the race the king states "You must run the race with one foot." He motioned to his guard to cut off my foot.
I shouted, "My Lord, may I choose which foot I lose? I have grown attached to them after all."
Even his cold heart smiled "That's fine."
I pulled off my wooden leg. It had been amputated from just below the knee. When I was a young boy I had fallen from a tree and severely broke it. My brother ran out with my crutches.
I aptly approached the starting line. The old king and the crowd looked stunned.
The king stammered "No crutches"
The crowd began chanting "One foot! One foot!" Over and over
The king looked to his guardsmen "Take his good foot. "
His head guard looked at him "The law is you get one stipulation. Men we stand for the rightful king. That will be who ever wins this race."
|
My challenge was a steeple chase over 2 miles and 3 furlongs.
This was boggy land, my home ground, and I knew I had the King beat.
I slept well, confident and upbeat, looking forward to the noble rights this victory would grant me.
My family and supporters cheered me on. The King looked assured as he rode in on his muscular Arabian, one of the finest in the land.
I mounted my less athletic but far more robust thoroughbred, and prepared to race.
"Three legs then" ordered the King dismissively.
As I stumbled to respond, his knight removed my steed's rear left leg with a powerful stroke of his sword.
I remain in the tower to this day, an old man with no land or title.
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[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
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James sometimes wish he hadn't gone down this career route. As the leading expert in the field of challenge law, he was the one they came to regarding precedent. Centuries ago, the king could get away with ridiculous conditions such as 'you must drink this poison' (King Everard the second, 1543) or 'I win as soon as we start' (King Freeguy, 1622) but as society modernised and the position became less integral to the running of the country beyond ceremony, the conditions that could be set had become more controlled. This was where James came in. He looked back through time via the medium of dusty velum and determined if conditions were acceptable or proportionate or illegal and set his findings against the challenger in front of a jury. One of his proudest moments was convincing everyone that, if the king was keen to follow precedent and also defeat an opponent in a cooking competition by publicly shitting in the other persons pot, he would have to be beheaded as this was the outcome when it happened in 1654. He had tried to convince the government to write a set of rules and make his life easier but it had been voted down to his great annoyance. Only once had a challenger won, to great fan fair and with a very clever challenge. It turned out the public loved a fair fight and an under dog, and so challenges were events of great public interest. There were even rumours that governments had convinced people to challenge to distract from their current disaster.
Marching through the wood lined halls with his wig barely staying put and his robes swishing behind him, he couldn't help be annoyed at the timing of this latest challenge. It was barely days since the last challenge in what had already been a busy year with twice the normal numbers. Even the public seemed to be less interested, with ratings at an all time low. He reached the court room and took his established seat, made smooth with the backsides of countless predecessors. The presiding judge nodded at him amiably. He looked over to the king who looked uncomfortable in his ceremonial robe and crown. He was most commonly seen in a suit these days, but tradition stated the ceremonial clothing must be worn, despite the fact the king was publicly opposed to fur. As he continued to look, James though the king even looked unwell and depressed. This worried James some what as, whilst he was the king, James considered him a friend.
The jury took their seats, some excited to be there, some visibly bored. One had to be escorted out and replaced after it was discovered they were attempting to live stream the event. And then, finally, the challenger entered. The first thing James noticed was the smug smile on his face- this challenger thought he'd found a loophole. James cracked his fingers in anticipation and settled into listen.
"Your Majesty, your honour and the jury" announced the challenger, "I wish to challenge King William the third for the throne to this kingdom. The challenge is this: A game of dishdash! This is a game of my own invention.." James sighed and cut in "Apologies all, but as established in 1822 and demonstrated many time since, newly made games are not allowed. I'm surprised the admission staff allowed this." The challenger smiled "The right honourable and learned gentleman is correct, however I released this game six months ago and it has been played by over 100,000 unique people which I believe makes it allowable." James nodded begrudgingly and the man continued, "Dish dash is a simple game the rules of which I will now distribute." James looked at his screen as the rules popped up. It seemed like one of those simple board games which were hard to master with the only interesting rule being that unless the losing party forfeited, the game would continue indefinitely. If the winning party forfeits, it's considered a draw. A casual search found live streams of solo games still carrying on into the millions of points. James frowned slightly, wondering what the angle was. An advisor sent a message to his screen- "Election next year- obscure law says the king can't designate a new PM if otherwise engaged which, due to King Oliver in 1743, includes games." So, he intended to wait out the king until public pressure forced him to forfeit his crown to allow the result of the election to be honoured. Very clever. He could not think of anything similar having happened and no real reason to disallow the game itself despite the potential political implications. Whilst he normally asked for time to research, he knew he didn't need to this time.
The judge stood as the challenger took his seat. "The court receives your challenge. Lord solicitor of challenges, do you have any objections?" James stood to respond. "Your honour, no. The rules are largely simple with the only interesting factor being the forfeiture rule. There is no established precedent against this that I am aware of, although the challenger may want to note that in 1454, King Harald convinced a challenger to forfeit with a clever use of pickled herring. I believe this challenge falls under the 'fair chance' act established in 2004 and would recommend it is allowed." The murmurs increased; this was an uncommon occurrence and meant that the jury would not have to deliberate. The challenger could barely contain his excitement. "Very well," replied the judge. "Your majesty, would you like more time to set your condition?"
The king smiled, and it looked like the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Your honour, the honourable challenger and the jury" he said as he stood. His last words were barely heard over the hubbub caused by his quick decision on what condition he would set- many had thought he would simply set the time as 'after the next election' although that would have spent a lot of time in court itself. The king waited until the noise died down.
"My condition is that, whist the game runs, there is no King."
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"And live at the scene now is Amanda Wallace. Amanda-"
"Yes Jim, I'm live in the state capital where it seems someone has actually challenged the king for his crown! As you know king is the chosen title of the ceo of Dyrell corporation. They have been the unquestioned rulers of the state since it went bankrupt back in '46"
"wait-they are speaking. It's starting!"
The crowd of cameras red lights intensifies as the challenger stands at the podium to speak. This will be broadcasted to every screen in the state. The first challenge In fifty years.
The man walks up to the podium pensively. His legs seemingly only willed by his fear of what backing out would be mean.
"I've waited my turn for what feels like my whole life. I get up at an ungodly hour. I turn in my scans every morning. I eat their Dyrell sponsored food. I go to my job as the littlest cog in the machine that could. I take a piece of my soul every day and give it to the Dyrell Corp. Just like you. Just like your father's and mother's before you. Dyrell takes everything. And when I win I'll give the pieces back. "
The comments online go wild in every forum. People are jaded but something about this speech connects with the common person.
"The Dyrell Corp gives us one day off every two years and I've saved mine just for this occasion. I'll become the king! Well ceo. But effectively I'll be king of the Dyrell Corp and I'll be able to make real change. Together we take. back. every. piece!"
Even on the dark web takebackeverypiece is trending. People rally around it because like in any state ruled by a Corp. People have lost so many pieces of themselves. You can only bend people so long before they break.
"I challenge CEO Dwayne Jax to a simple game of chess."
In what seems like an instant a virtual head appears over the crowd of cameras. It takes a blink of the eye to form but it's no mistaking it. It's king Jax! "I accept. One hour." and Just like that the challenge has been accepted.
"Jim, our would be challenger has seemingly gotten their wish. Back to you with the weather-
***
An hour later two men can be seen in a room that can only be appreciated by those in the know. The average man would be lost in a roommate such as this. Even a rich man would be intimidated by this room. It's a room only for the chosen few.
The first man sits in a very practiced way. A way he was taught since birth. The man directly across from him sits in whatever way he feels. Both obviously aware of the stakes here. Between them. A chess board with Crystal and onyx pieces.
"Do you really think you can make a difference? Would you bet your life on it? The practiced man says while setting up board.
"I think I'll give the people a better shot than you Jax. You have no idea what it's like" Says the man who speaks how he feels.
"We're about to enter combat, you can call me Dwayne"
"Yeah Jax that's your types issue, you always think we're at combat. It's not about combat its about making sure we don't repeat mistakes. But call me Deckard if you need a name."
Okay Deckard, since you want to be obstinate let me state my condition, as is tradition. The loser of our contest shall die. Are these terms acceptable?
The words yes have never been said faster.
" if I die it doesn't matter. I'm already dead, said Deckard.
A countdown from 30 seconds appears on the screen of everyone on the web watching. It's the last chance to back out.
10,9,8,7-
I just want you to know, that I did my best. But the board- Jax was cut off by Red lights that flash. They signal the beginning of the match.
Deckard, tired of the platitudes and the waiting makes his first move. He moves his pawn in the middle toward the middle of the board two spaces. He punches his clock and waits for Dwayne Jax to make his first move.
"Tears fight their way across Jax cheeks. He reaches out toward his pawn but a millimeter before he touches it, he moves to the king. He knocks his king over and looks at Deckard, "I sincerely hope you do a better job than me, don't trust the board."
He takes out a hidden gun and shoots himself in the head.
In compete shock, Deckard screams and falls out of the chair. Online brocasts halt right after.
Deckard turns around and sees 5 people in matching outfits, clap and smile sincerely.
"Long live the new king." The board says in unison.
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[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
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James sometimes wish he hadn't gone down this career route. As the leading expert in the field of challenge law, he was the one they came to regarding precedent. Centuries ago, the king could get away with ridiculous conditions such as 'you must drink this poison' (King Everard the second, 1543) or 'I win as soon as we start' (King Freeguy, 1622) but as society modernised and the position became less integral to the running of the country beyond ceremony, the conditions that could be set had become more controlled. This was where James came in. He looked back through time via the medium of dusty velum and determined if conditions were acceptable or proportionate or illegal and set his findings against the challenger in front of a jury. One of his proudest moments was convincing everyone that, if the king was keen to follow precedent and also defeat an opponent in a cooking competition by publicly shitting in the other persons pot, he would have to be beheaded as this was the outcome when it happened in 1654. He had tried to convince the government to write a set of rules and make his life easier but it had been voted down to his great annoyance. Only once had a challenger won, to great fan fair and with a very clever challenge. It turned out the public loved a fair fight and an under dog, and so challenges were events of great public interest. There were even rumours that governments had convinced people to challenge to distract from their current disaster.
Marching through the wood lined halls with his wig barely staying put and his robes swishing behind him, he couldn't help be annoyed at the timing of this latest challenge. It was barely days since the last challenge in what had already been a busy year with twice the normal numbers. Even the public seemed to be less interested, with ratings at an all time low. He reached the court room and took his established seat, made smooth with the backsides of countless predecessors. The presiding judge nodded at him amiably. He looked over to the king who looked uncomfortable in his ceremonial robe and crown. He was most commonly seen in a suit these days, but tradition stated the ceremonial clothing must be worn, despite the fact the king was publicly opposed to fur. As he continued to look, James though the king even looked unwell and depressed. This worried James some what as, whilst he was the king, James considered him a friend.
The jury took their seats, some excited to be there, some visibly bored. One had to be escorted out and replaced after it was discovered they were attempting to live stream the event. And then, finally, the challenger entered. The first thing James noticed was the smug smile on his face- this challenger thought he'd found a loophole. James cracked his fingers in anticipation and settled into listen.
"Your Majesty, your honour and the jury" announced the challenger, "I wish to challenge King William the third for the throne to this kingdom. The challenge is this: A game of dishdash! This is a game of my own invention.." James sighed and cut in "Apologies all, but as established in 1822 and demonstrated many time since, newly made games are not allowed. I'm surprised the admission staff allowed this." The challenger smiled "The right honourable and learned gentleman is correct, however I released this game six months ago and it has been played by over 100,000 unique people which I believe makes it allowable." James nodded begrudgingly and the man continued, "Dish dash is a simple game the rules of which I will now distribute." James looked at his screen as the rules popped up. It seemed like one of those simple board games which were hard to master with the only interesting rule being that unless the losing party forfeited, the game would continue indefinitely. If the winning party forfeits, it's considered a draw. A casual search found live streams of solo games still carrying on into the millions of points. James frowned slightly, wondering what the angle was. An advisor sent a message to his screen- "Election next year- obscure law says the king can't designate a new PM if otherwise engaged which, due to King Oliver in 1743, includes games." So, he intended to wait out the king until public pressure forced him to forfeit his crown to allow the result of the election to be honoured. Very clever. He could not think of anything similar having happened and no real reason to disallow the game itself despite the potential political implications. Whilst he normally asked for time to research, he knew he didn't need to this time.
The judge stood as the challenger took his seat. "The court receives your challenge. Lord solicitor of challenges, do you have any objections?" James stood to respond. "Your honour, no. The rules are largely simple with the only interesting factor being the forfeiture rule. There is no established precedent against this that I am aware of, although the challenger may want to note that in 1454, King Harald convinced a challenger to forfeit with a clever use of pickled herring. I believe this challenge falls under the 'fair chance' act established in 2004 and would recommend it is allowed." The murmurs increased; this was an uncommon occurrence and meant that the jury would not have to deliberate. The challenger could barely contain his excitement. "Very well," replied the judge. "Your majesty, would you like more time to set your condition?"
The king smiled, and it looked like the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Your honour, the honourable challenger and the jury" he said as he stood. His last words were barely heard over the hubbub caused by his quick decision on what condition he would set- many had thought he would simply set the time as 'after the next election' although that would have spent a lot of time in court itself. The king waited until the noise died down.
"My condition is that, whist the game runs, there is no King."
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"I win as soon as we start the game."
Everyone paused, trying to take in what the King had just said. The challenger, a Chess master simply raised an eyebrow, not quite comprehending the words as the various scenarios, plays, strategies and gambits simply fell apart in his mind.
"I'm sorry what?"
"I said, I win as soon as we start the game."
"I.... what?"
The King simply shrugged, not bothering to seemingly care about the audacity of his stated condition. That is, if one could even by definition apply such a label to an individual with such authority in the first place.
"So, should we start?"
"I... can't you give me a fighting chance?! You're not even pretending! You couldv'e just stated that you started with all the pieces leaving me with only the king!"
"Fine, we'll do it that way."
"No I!... it's still guaranteed defeat with more steps! I could technically place us into a stalemate under the right conditions but you'd have to play at the level of a todler to even do that!"
"Fine, in that case my condition is that you lose your head everytime a piece is ever moved."
".... I surrender."
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[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
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The king was old and fat. I practiced running for weeks. I am not the fastest person in my village but I run every day. I made the official request 100m dash. I signed on the line knowing what fate waits for me.
The day of the race the king states "You must run the race with one foot." He motioned to his guard to cut off my foot.
I shouted, "My Lord, may I choose which foot I lose? I have grown attached to them after all."
Even his cold heart smiled "That's fine."
I pulled off my wooden leg. It had been amputated from just below the knee. When I was a young boy I had fallen from a tree and severely broke it. My brother ran out with my crutches.
I aptly approached the starting line. The old king and the crowd looked stunned.
The king stammered "No crutches"
The crowd began chanting "One foot! One foot!" Over and over
The king looked to his guardsmen "Take his good foot. "
His head guard looked at him "The law is you get one stipulation. Men we stand for the rightful king. That will be who ever wins this race."
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"I win as soon as we start the game."
Everyone paused, trying to take in what the King had just said. The challenger, a Chess master simply raised an eyebrow, not quite comprehending the words as the various scenarios, plays, strategies and gambits simply fell apart in his mind.
"I'm sorry what?"
"I said, I win as soon as we start the game."
"I.... what?"
The King simply shrugged, not bothering to seemingly care about the audacity of his stated condition. That is, if one could even by definition apply such a label to an individual with such authority in the first place.
"So, should we start?"
"I... can't you give me a fighting chance?! You're not even pretending! You couldv'e just stated that you started with all the pieces leaving me with only the king!"
"Fine, we'll do it that way."
"No I!... it's still guaranteed defeat with more steps! I could technically place us into a stalemate under the right conditions but you'd have to play at the level of a todler to even do that!"
"Fine, in that case my condition is that you lose your head everytime a piece is ever moved."
".... I surrender."
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[WP] Witches and Warlocks alike have told tales of the strange man in the woods. He’s rumoured to wield a great power, and yet seemingly use no magic at all, instead creating mysterious devices and potions through his own mysterious means. They call him the human, and right now he’s your only hope.
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The kingdom of Oberon was too far from here, I needed healing fast but no priest dares venture this far into the wormwood, it's cursed. I recall seeing some witches not far from here, maybe they could help remove the curse.
I hobbled my way over to their little gathering around the cauldron and called out to them.
"Hey, Witch! Can... you heal me?" I struggled to wheeze out the words.
"Oh you poor thing, here, take some fish stew, it should help you recover." She grabbed a bowl and scooped some from the cauldron. "Drink!"
Never expecting witches to be so hospitable, I graciously accepted and slurped down some of the stew. It was hot and spicy, felt good on my throat, but something was wrong, it was making me sicker. My stomach rumbled and I could feel myself about to- "ARRHHGGLLL" I spewed out a black oily substance.
She cocked an eyebrow and signaled one of her witch friends over who began to examine me. The old crone checked my hands and then the mess that I left on the grass. "Hmmm... You've been afflicted, dear. There's nothing we can for you" One of the other witches whispered in her ear. "The human? Hmm, perhaps."
"The human?" Being a human myself I felt very confused by this but nonetheless I needed to know "Where?"
"Now now, we can't say for certain if he can even help you but if you want to get to him, you'll have to venture back into the woods. Follow the path until the well, then head West and follow the fungus. You can't miss it"
Unsure of my fate, I left the witches with a large pouch of silver for their help and made my way through the forest once again. Following their directions I came across an old wooden house with mysterious blue light coming from the window. I knocked on the door and heard scrambling, the sound of a glass breaking and cursing. There must have been at least 5 locks I could hear being undone and then the door only opened part way and anxiously he said "Whaddya want? I don't have any money and I'm not signing any more petitions!"
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I took a deep breath and explained my situation...
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He undid the last lock, seeing I was in a clearly weakened state and pose no threats, he looked like he was about to cry "And you want *me* to help you? Please, come in!" The place was very small and very cluttered, the guy clearly lives alone. He had a lot of plants in here and a strange intricate glass system on the table.
"You'll have to remove your shirt and lay down on the table." He cleared all the clutter off of it to the floor.
After removing my shirt, I hadn't noticed it before but there was a black mark branching out from right below my ribs, stretching out like dead branches all the way up to my armpit.
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"Hmm, yes, looks like ticks." He pondered
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"Ticks?" I asked in disbelief "No way, I've never-"
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"Hairy ticks" He eluded. "They're a cultist bunch of devil worshipping bugs. Trust me, I'm a scientist."
Never heard of a sionist before but this was my last hope. I sighed, "Can you get rid of them?"
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"Certainly. Hold still." He grabbed a piece of glass and rubbed a cloth on it. Soaking it in some plant mush. "Here, you may want to have something to bite down on..." He laid the cloth in my mouth. It was bitter and earthy and- "HNNNNGGGG" He began cutting into my skin and applying more liquids that felt like dragon fire on my skin. With each incision, they burned greater and greater, it was excruciating but relieving at the same time, as the sheer pain caused me to forget all my other problems.
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"All done." He smiled as he was cleaning his hands with another cloth. "Drink this, it'll ease the pain" He handed me a cup of hot liquid. "What the hell is this now? Some magic potion that will finally cure me?" He chuckled, "Ha, oh no. It's just tea"
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Everyone was gathering around the table, which had been decorated with the accoutrements of a dinner party. It had been a long time since anyone had feasted like this in the forest. The table was dressed with white cloth and silverware, and there were candles embedded in each place setting.
"Where’d you get these?" I asked.
"The human."
"The human?"
"Yes," she said, her eyes shining. "He came out here the other day and left them with the doe. She brought them to me. We’ve been planning this all week. It’s going to be beautiful."
"What’s going to be beautiful?"
"Dinner," she said. The smile on her face was almost blinding. "I’m going to cook for you."
"You’re going to cook for me?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise.
"Yes. I’ve been reading about it. I think I can do it."
"I can’t wait." I looked around the table at all the servers from the town, who were smiling and chatting amicably. "I’m sorry, I just realized I haven’t met everyone. I’m Claire, and you are?"
"I’m Andy," said a slender, young man. He had a different last name than Allison, but they were clearly related. He wore a green vest over his polo shirt. "I run the grocery store."
"It is a pleasure," said a heavyset man with a large black mustache. He wore an embroidered blue vest and had a large ring of keys on his belt. "Allow me to introduce myself: I am Roberto, and I am the owner of the town bar." He then introduced his wife, who was "And finally," he said, "I would like to introduce you to my wife, who is better known as the town gossip." He introduced her to the crowd, and she joined the others at the table. She wore a red blouse that was laced up tightly to her throat, revealing a large expanse of pale skin. The whole reason she had come was because she had seen where I was sleeping. That was the reason she had brought me food every night. That was the reason she had spent her time cleaning up after me. That was the reason she had invited me to dinner.
"Don’t let her fool you," said Roberto. "She is one of the most charming women you will ever meet. Just don’t let her fool you."
"I don’t believe you," I said.
"I have been married to this woman for four years, Claire," he said. "She keeps us up to date on A small pack of wolves arrived in town. They were different from the others; they were huge, and they were driven. It was clear that they had been forced by something larger than themselves. The humans in town began to panic. They were afraid of their own shadows—even in the middle of the day, they would hide in the shadows if they saw anyone. The wolves woke up in the morning, and the ones outside the town began to slaughter the cattle. The ones inside the town would cut the throats of the animals and drag them to the center of town, where they would feed. The wolves would tear out their throats, sometimes diving in to the sweet marrow. The humans were terrified. They were afraid of the wolves; they were afraid of the townspeople. The wolves weren’t killing them by choice; they weren’t even eating them. They were killing them so that they could be taken over in a pack. It drove the humans to near madness.
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[WP] In the afterlife, there is a Ministry of Second Chances where souls of the deceased can argue their case for a another chance on Earth. Winning is very rare, and there hasn’t been a successful reincarnation in eons. You’re getting very close due to the unique circumstances of your previous life
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“YOU?!”
“Hi Jimmy boy.”
“You have some nerve making a request for reincarnation. After all the blood you shed...what you did in the—”
“I did it for them.”
“What?”
“I did it for them. For their freedom.”
“Free—you speak of freedom? You tried to enslave the human race! They called you the world’s first supervillain!”
“I blame that title on my upbringing. Too many comic books growing up.”
“You’re going to blame comic books on conquering Australia?”
“No. I blame that on not having an appropriate fear of spiders. I blame too many comic books for my choice of wearing spandex in battle.”
“You’re awfully glib for someone seeking that which has not been given to millions before you.”
“I’ve learned that laughing is the only medicine in hell.”
“You know how much I hate that word.”
“I know much about you, but it seems you still have much to learn about me. If you knew me at all, you’d know that I attempted to enslave humanity not to destroy it, but to save it.”
“Here we go again.”
“There’s an invasion coming from a species that has wiped out every single world they have encountered. They’re coming for Earth in a thousand years, and we aren’t even close to being ready. You know the only way we can save ourselves?”
“By unifying the—”
“BY UNIFYING THE PLANET. I tried it the normal way. I made speeches. I wrote blog posts. I even got a meeting with the President of the Eastern Unified States. No one would listen to me unless I FORCED them to listen to me.”
“That never works.”
“You’re being forced to listen to me this very second. You don’t like it, but at least you’re listening.”
“And I have yet to hear a good reason why I should let you within twelve lifetimes of Earth.”
“Because I’m going back for one reason no one else has been able to come up with in millenia.”
“What is it Caitlyn? What makes you so special that you think—”
“I don’t want to go back.”
“...come again?”
“I don’t want to go back. Who would? Life was hard, and it was even harder with purpose. There aren't enough sunsets, chocolates or shih tzu puppies in the universe to entice me into going back.”
“Then what—”
“I HAVE to go back. Those idiots won’t figure out how to repel an invasion on their own. I tried reason, I tried force…maybe there’s something else that I haven’t tried that might work. I don’t know, but in a thousand years, that species is coming, and we HAVE to be ready.”
“You won’t be alive in a thousand years. If you accomplish what you say you want to accomplish…no one will remember you when the storm actually comes.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. At least there’ll still be people to remember.”
“...you’re serious, aren’t you? You actually want to help them?”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Give me a chance, Jimmy boy. I’ll make it even easier for you. If in twenty years I’m on the same path of violence and control I was on before…you have my permission to make an accident happen.”
“You’d make an Unlucky Death Contract with me? Really? There’s no reincarnation clause in those. This’ll be the one chance you get.”
“That's all I need.”
“...alright Caitlyn. Alright. You win. Are you sure though? Are you sure you really want to do this?”
“Absolutely not. Let’s do it anyway.”
u/phoenix_godwin
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They all sat silent... the absolute absurdity of one human life had never landed so heavily upon their table before.
"...Well....I mean...."...began one;
"......uh....yeah........."
"Well.....I.....I suppose we can all agree it was quite a ....*riveting* experience, to hear......to......to......".....stuttered another, haughtily.
"Experience aside, however..." Began a Third, visibly shaking off the enormity of what had just occurred to them all; "...what do we make of this one claiming that they work for 'The Universe', as they so very *CLEARLY* put it, enough times that it made me want to rethink this whole process, to be honest....it really is exhausting and a general waste of resources, why haven't we found more like this one, anyway?"
A thick murmur filled the space.
Everyone agreed...
They had heard people begging and pleading cases a billion times again and again.
So many millions of those souls had argued favor this and magickal rituals that.........
So many spoke of demonic pacts or angelic promises.....
They had heard a hundred different pathetically human groanings... mistaken over and over for the true old names and the many primordial calling signals for entities and energies and things that the humans truly were ignorant of.
It was exhausting.
But after all this time, this one was different somehow.
The idea of denying a second chance to this one seemed, to each one in the space, like a very personal death sentence.
Not one knew what to do.
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[WP] As the grim reaper is going through it’s daily routine processing souls he stops. “God dammit Greg stop coming here, you’re not dead. This is like the 8th time this week.” The reaper exclaims.
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"“Dammit, Greg!" the Grim Reaper fumed.
"What?" Greg asked, looking up the Reaper's skeletal form. "I just come to pass on into the great beyond and meet mah 'ternal re-wards, is all."
"Greg, stop coming here." the Grim Reaper said, in a voice that was half plea, half command.
"But I done got myself deceased, and I need to shuffle off'n this here mortal coil." Greg protested.
"You're not dead!" the Reaper snapped, clenching his skeletal fists.
"Am so!" Greg retorted, and pointed at his face. "How do ya explain this deathly complexion o' mine, and these sunken eyes?"
"Greg, this is the eighth time this week." the Reaper sighed. "I admit you're getting better with the makeup, but that's grease paint and mascara, and it's not very convincing. Hell, every person who has an open-casket funeral gets made up to look *alive* by professional morticians, and *that's* never fooled me, why would this?"
Greg scatched his head, and then looked down, abashed. Then he looked back up. "Okay, but hear me out--"
"No!" the Reaper shouted. "Get out of here! The living aren't supposed to be in Purgatory!"
"Listen, I'm telling ya, this will change yer mind!" Greg pleaded.
"Whatever it is, no it won't!" the Reaper shot back.
"You ain't even seen it, though!" Greg protested.
"I don't need to!"
"How do ya know ya don't unless ya do?" Greg demanded.
"ARGH! Fine! What is it?"
Greg held up a finger. "One sec, I'll show ya."
As the Reaper watched, Greg turned away, retrieving something from his pockets and then fiddling with his face. When he turned back to face the Reaper, he had a 50 cent coin covering each of his eyes, and was squinting tightly to hold them in place.
"Ta daaaa! Now see, if'n I ain't dead, then what in tarnation am I doin' with these here coins on mah eyes?" Greg asked, triumphantly.
"Go home ,Greg." the Reaper said, flatly.
|
“Have you been up there lately? Holy hell is it awful! I have to pay to stay alive - the doctor charges me hundreds just to swab my butt and cuff my arm!” Greg exclaimed with his hands up in the air.
“That’s not what this is really about Greg. You’re an actuary, it’s never about the money - you have a good life! But I did happen to notice that on the plane of the living it happens to be February…” the grim reaper kept his eyes glued to the clipboard. He waved other souls in around Greg.
“What you think I’m just popping down here because I’m suicidal?” Greg feigned inquiry.
“I think you’re trying to sell your soul so your team wins, Greg - again.” The grim reaper raised his head, locking eyes with the man.
“No, no I wouldn’t. I just think it’s about time to maybe have the Bengals win a super bowl. My soul has…very little to do with it. “
The reaper placed his pen under the clip and slid the clipboard under his arm. “Greg, we have been…communicating for nearly 20 years. In fact this is similar to our first interaction where you sold your soul for a win by your high school girlfriends cheerleading squad. Which I gave you- but every 6 months you come back down here by popping far too many pills and we have the same conversation.”
“ and I still can’t sell my soul twice. Yes I know, but this time is different! This time I want to pre-sell my unborn child’s soul- how about that?” Greg crossed his arms and starred down the boney devil.
“Okay, you’ve piqued my interest. But, we have a policy here, the child must be 6 weeks from being born or the soul doesn’t count. How far along is this poor woman you’ve tricked into loving you?”
“8 months! Alicia is 8 months and she agreed to be my wife last year. “
“Weren’t you down here last year about this time?” The reaper asked.
“Uh, for an unrelated reason… but listen, the bengals winning would welcome this child into a world full of hope and opportunity! The child could live with a smile. COVID could be over by the time he’s out!” Greg exclaimed, turning around to take it all in.
“Uh, a little insider information Greg, no it won’t. I get another…1.5 millions souls from that. And that’s just my region. We are all scheduled out until 2024. But I get your point. Okay, I’ll grant it but, I need something else. I need to seal off your access to this domain. This is your 8th attempt this week - why you didn’t come by to see me I’ll never understand because the other guys don’t make deals like I do. Your permanent prohibition to the other world would be part of the deal - do you agree to that?”
Greg pondered, closing his eyes and scratching his head. Would this be the game? He had bet wrong with his own life. Was he sure the Bengals would be worth it? “Yes, agreed!”
“Wonderful so we now have the soul of….Artemis McKraken George…Greg that kid is gonna hate you for that name. “
“With any luck I’ll have a few more for him to sell. By death! It’s been fun, time to make some money off of the Bengals!” Greg dissolved away as death let his pills wear off. He was going to miss Greg, but Artemis would surely be back to speak for his father. The reaper turned his head back to the clipboard and waved lost souls onward.
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[WP] As the grim reaper is going through it’s daily routine processing souls he stops. “God dammit Greg stop coming here, you’re not dead. This is like the 8th time this week.” The reaper exclaims.
|
"I was accompanying Ms. Graf, in her journey"
The slender man in his 40's answered with a smile. The high-visibility jacket of his paramedic uniform flashed in the dim light of the Reaper's office, clashing terribly with the calming and warm environment Death was trying to achieve.
"Right Ms. Graf?"
Greg turned to the elderly lady standing next to him firmly attached to his right arm.
"Yes. In... indeed. Mr..."
"Greg"
"Oh yes Greg... Mr. Greg insisted to help me cross, even when I told him he should not be bothered with such things. He is such a kind young man you know. I... I hope he hasn't died in his efforts to assist me. that would be truly terrible."
The old lady said with a faint smile. It was not long since she died and she remembered it strongly. IT was not a painful transition as she was afraid it would be when she was younger. No, she just felt a bit tiered after dinner and excused herself from the family table to rest on the sofa. She then drifted in a deep sleep and when she woke up the paramedics where already in the room pronouncing her dead due to heart failure at the age of 96.
"The big light on the sky called for me but my curiosity got the better of me... So I stayed for a bit to see what would happen. I didn't mean to become a ghost or anything, just wanted to watch them a bit longer. After all what is left to someone in my age other than curiosity for the lives of others?" Ms. Graf offered her big kind smile mixing naivety with wisdom in a charming mix. "That is when I noticed that one of the paramedics could see me. It was this nice young man... named Greg. He gestured to me to follow him and insisted to bring me over the crossing like a proper gentleman. How could I say no to such a polite offer?"
"Oh worry not" said Death turning his dark eyes towards Greg "He is not dead no matter how many times he attempts to piggy-back his way into this realm. He has a good few years before he can get admitted and that is about it!"
Normally a shiver should have gone down Greg's spine the kind of feeling one gets when Death nears them, but Greg was not afraid instead he was smiling satisfied.
"See Ms. Graf? I told you that I would be just fine."
"Oh that is terrific! All the way here I was terribly worried, you know..."
"Let's get your paperwork done so you can move on to the afterlife Ms. Graf. We have delayed you enough already and I see here that you have someone waiting for you."
"Is... is it John? Is John here?" The lady asked tears already forming in her eyes.
"Yes, from what I see it is John Graf. He has been waiting for you to transition to the afterlife together."
"But he is gone since..."
"1994 yes indeed. We usually offer a few years of hospitality between family members but Mr. Graf has, stubbornly may I add, insisted to wait for you longer."
The woman left Greg's arm to sign the papers, her hands shaking quite a bit. Greg was also visibly moved. And how could anyone blame him? The man waited for 26 years to greet his wife again. It was terribly romantic.
"There Ms. Graf your papers are all done you can now follow me." Death moved swiftly. He passed led her to a corridor full of doors and finally stopped and pointed at one of them.
"Here we are."
The old lady stopped before opening the door. She fixed her hair, pinched her cheeks and finally opened the door. A man in his 70's was standing there holding a rose. They hugged then they cried together and finally they kissed. They said nothing just stood there hugging until their immaterial forms turned into a soft light and moved on.Death closed the door giving them some privacy for this transition.
"How did you manage to come again?" Death asked struggling to hit a proper frustrated tone. "And since when are you a paramedic?"
"Since a few months... I can contact a lot more people at the time of their deaths without arising too many questions." He smiled moving a step closer. "It works quite well."
"You can not keep on doing this forever. Literally cheating Life like that" Death said matter of factly.
"You could say the same for him. Staying in the in-between just to get to see his love again. If you ask me Life cheated him of his Love for too long."
For a moment there was silence. Death knew what he had to say, which rules he had to apply in this situation, but deep down he was happy with his unannounced visitor. Greg on the other hand was quite tiered and longed for a sign that his efforts were not in vain.
"And now?"
"Now they will move on to the afterlife together and they will take it on one step at a time. They may even stay together forever, though that has very rarely happened." Death's face had softened up with a slight smile.
The two men stood in the corridor collecting their thoughts and emotions. Every time a life passed on, every time a door closed Death was left on the other side alone, keeping the stream of souls moving. Then Greg appeared, 40 years before his appointed time, by some sort of mistake and as Death returned him to Earth he said "See you soon!" with a bright warm smile. Death didn't think much of it until Greg appeared again and then again. How many trips did they take though the starry night and back to earth? How many discussions and jokes did they have in these bizarre adventures? Holding onto each other as Death followed the path that would bring the human home. Every time parting with the same "See you soon!".
"And what about us?" Greg broke the silence.
It must have been quite some time that Death drifted in his thoughts, he realized they were now embracing each other tightly.
"We will spend as much time as we have together while I am returning you to Earth."
"And then?"
"And then you will live the life you have left."
"And then?"
"And then you will die"
"Will I be able to wait here for you? Like John did for her?"
"How long would you wait for? I can't die."
"Then I would wait forever."
|
“Have you been up there lately? Holy hell is it awful! I have to pay to stay alive - the doctor charges me hundreds just to swab my butt and cuff my arm!” Greg exclaimed with his hands up in the air.
“That’s not what this is really about Greg. You’re an actuary, it’s never about the money - you have a good life! But I did happen to notice that on the plane of the living it happens to be February…” the grim reaper kept his eyes glued to the clipboard. He waved other souls in around Greg.
“What you think I’m just popping down here because I’m suicidal?” Greg feigned inquiry.
“I think you’re trying to sell your soul so your team wins, Greg - again.” The grim reaper raised his head, locking eyes with the man.
“No, no I wouldn’t. I just think it’s about time to maybe have the Bengals win a super bowl. My soul has…very little to do with it. “
The reaper placed his pen under the clip and slid the clipboard under his arm. “Greg, we have been…communicating for nearly 20 years. In fact this is similar to our first interaction where you sold your soul for a win by your high school girlfriends cheerleading squad. Which I gave you- but every 6 months you come back down here by popping far too many pills and we have the same conversation.”
“ and I still can’t sell my soul twice. Yes I know, but this time is different! This time I want to pre-sell my unborn child’s soul- how about that?” Greg crossed his arms and starred down the boney devil.
“Okay, you’ve piqued my interest. But, we have a policy here, the child must be 6 weeks from being born or the soul doesn’t count. How far along is this poor woman you’ve tricked into loving you?”
“8 months! Alicia is 8 months and she agreed to be my wife last year. “
“Weren’t you down here last year about this time?” The reaper asked.
“Uh, for an unrelated reason… but listen, the bengals winning would welcome this child into a world full of hope and opportunity! The child could live with a smile. COVID could be over by the time he’s out!” Greg exclaimed, turning around to take it all in.
“Uh, a little insider information Greg, no it won’t. I get another…1.5 millions souls from that. And that’s just my region. We are all scheduled out until 2024. But I get your point. Okay, I’ll grant it but, I need something else. I need to seal off your access to this domain. This is your 8th attempt this week - why you didn’t come by to see me I’ll never understand because the other guys don’t make deals like I do. Your permanent prohibition to the other world would be part of the deal - do you agree to that?”
Greg pondered, closing his eyes and scratching his head. Would this be the game? He had bet wrong with his own life. Was he sure the Bengals would be worth it? “Yes, agreed!”
“Wonderful so we now have the soul of….Artemis McKraken George…Greg that kid is gonna hate you for that name. “
“With any luck I’ll have a few more for him to sell. By death! It’s been fun, time to make some money off of the Bengals!” Greg dissolved away as death let his pills wear off. He was going to miss Greg, but Artemis would surely be back to speak for his father. The reaper turned his head back to the clipboard and waved lost souls onward.
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[WP] You hear loud lights coming from the closet. All of the skeletons you have hidden in there are currently having a party.
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Steve leaned against the door to his closet and slowly sank to the ground. He let his head fall back against the rough wood. It wasn't one of those lame modern closets that were built into the wall and slid open, no, this was an antique. He's spent a cool five hundred on it at a garage sale. It had been listed for two thousand - a valuable heirloom, the old woman had said - but some recent complications had devalued it. The woman never did bother elaborate on what those complications were, but surely it couldn't be anything too bad.
Steve's cell phone vibrated, and he pulled it from his pocket. Another photo of all his friends laughing over pints of cheap beer at a pub Steve had never been to before. Where were they? Had they gone to another town? Surely that would be too much hassle for a little get-together like this.
A little get-together Steve was not invited to.
He felt an urge to text them right this moment, but he knew it would end the same way all his confrontations did.
"Sorry, Steve," they would say with a saccharine smile. "We'd love to invite you, but, see, we just don't know you well enough! You rarely ever speak!" They would throw their head back and laugh lightly as if that answered all of his questions. Steve could read the undertone; you're too secretive, too aloof, so we won't associate with you.
Steve wasn't some freak. He was just quiet. He valued privacy. Never would you see Steve posting all his information online for the government to see. So what if he'd killed a few birds and stashed them in the cellar? They were all government drones, anyway. And those tinfoil hats? Steve's were fashionable as well as functioning. You could slap one on and head out to a party without hesitation, and not a single FBI agent would be able to hack into your brainwaves.
The only thing that really presented an obstacle was the murder. Well, the murders. Steve was young and impulsive, and one thing led to another, and by the end he had something a basement full of corpses.
Of course, Steve thought to himself, he had hidden that secret particularly well. The bodies were now sealed away where nobody would find them, where they would rot undisturbed for decades.
A loud, tinny crash echoed around the room. Steve jumped up, covering his ears. It was the government! They'd found him at last! Steve dove under the bed and grabbed his rifle. He wasn't going down without a fight.
There was silence. Another crash, this one softer, and then came a drumroll. Then, the closet, the beautiful antique closet that he had purchased six locks for and chained shut years ago, burst open, and out came a line of dancing skeletons in Hawaiian shirts. Some of them carried instruments, and they began to play smooth jazz. The skeletons clapped their hand bones in time with the music. One skeleton with a oiled brown toupee twirled another in a float red dress. Three skeletons were break-dancing, and a small crowd gathered to watch them.
Steve's mind raced as he peered at the rows of skeletal legs from beneath the bed. If this got out, he was going to spend the rest of his life in prison. He looked down at his rifle. It wasn't loaded, of course. He'd been hoping the show of it would be enough to dissuade any intruders.
Steve'a phone buzzed again. He snatched it from his pocket and slammed it down, the screen shattering against the floor. He didn't have the time or the energy to think about his friends' little gathering.
And then it hit him. Steve crawled out from under the bed and stood up. The skeletons danced around him without paying him any mind. Steve cleared his throat.
The skeletons froze. One of them dropped a pair of maracas. They clattered to the floor.
"Hi," Steve said.
The skeletons stared at him.
"Apologies for, uh, the murder thing."
They glanced at one another and shrugged. One of them stepped forward and shook Steve's hand. "It isn't a big deal, mate! Mortality is such a drag when it comes down to it."
Steve smiled awkwardly. "So, well, see, I've been feeling rather lonely as of late. None of my friends seem to want me hanging out with them."
The skeletons murmured among themselves and shook their heads sympathetically.
"So, yeah. Mind if I join in?"
Someone picked up the maracas and gave them a shake. The skeletons erupted into music once more. A skeleton with a long golden wig grabbed Steve's hand and spun him around. Someone shoved a triangle and stick into his hands. He looked up, shocked. How had they known?
One of the skeletons stopped dancing and glanced at Steve, and, as if he'd read his mind, he said, "Of course we know about you playing the triangle in that band of yours. We've been in your closet for twenty years, you know." A warm feeling welles up inside Steve, and he joined the skeleton orchestra playing Ode to Joy at the side of the room. His triangle added the perfect amount of energy to the performance, and all the skeletons gave him a standing ovation.
Steve had never been happier. All his life he had been chained down by fear and suspicion. Now, he was free. He danced and sang and played music without a care in the world, and he was content at last.
A crow cawed mechanically and took off from the tree outside the window. An FBI helicopter hovered over Steve's house. Multicolored lights flashed over the lawn, and the secret agents could feel the vibration of the music as they rappelled down to the ground with their brain scanners.
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“DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DO.” The door to my closet shook, rattling with the sounds of European techno music. As the door rattled, the odd spotlight would slip through the fine cracks in the door, blasting my face with the blinding white light. “LASS DEN BEAT FALLEN.” The song shouted before the repetition of the dull Do sounds littered the air once more.
I turned over in my bed, trying to hide my head in the pillow. Maybe If I stopped thinking about the skeletons in my closet, I could get some sleep. I pressed my eyes shut, trying to think about anything other than the skeletons, but with each passing second, I fixated on them. Why did they have to be so loud?
“SHUT UP.” I sat up, tossing a pillow at the door, watching it bounce off the door with little impact, leaving me without something to lay my head on. “Stupid skeletons, do you know how late it is? I have work tomorrow. I bet half of you wouldn’t even exist if I could get to sleep at an appropriate time.” The music drowned my words out, its loud beats mocking me.
“La lueur monte au fur et à mesure que le rythme diminue.” The song said, in a way that only infuriated me further. I couldn’t even understand the stupid songs, which only made it worse.
Getting out of bed, I pounded my fist against the door. “HEY, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME. TURN YOUR MUSIC DOWN.” My angry knocks only grew in volume until the door pulled open, revealing a skeletal head with a pair of 2022 sunglasses on.
“Yo, why are you bringing down the mood? We are just trying to have a little fun, your closets boring. There’s nothing else to do here. Don’t worry, the party stops at 4am. Can you just wait until then?” The skeleton asked, hopeful that I would let this party continue.
“Of course, I can’t. I told you, I need to get to bed. Do you think my boss is going to believe me if I tell him I was up all night because of the skeletons in my closet?”
“I think he would. Everyone has skeletons in their closet, just some people don’t have as many as you do. It’s a little depressing seeing how many you have. That’s why we have a disco. No one can be depressed at a disco. I would invite you in, but it’s only for skeletons. If you take off your skin, you’re more than welcome.” The skeleton offered, making that sound like a simple task.
“I can’t take off my skin. Just get out of my closet. I’m sick of being unable to sleep. What do you think this does to a person?”
“I don’t know. I don’t sleep. You really want us gone? I guess we could leave.” As the skeleton said that, another popped their head through the door. This one is wearing a fake silver moustache.
“Is this the person who gets scared of moths? What a silly thing to get scared of. You know they can’t actually hurt you, right?”
“But they always fly at me. It doesn’t matter if they can hurt me or not, it’s creepy. How do you know that, anyway?”
“We are your skeletons. It’s our job to know everything. We can leave, but if we leave. Everyone will know everything that you have been keeping bottled up. All those little quirks of yours and those embarrassing secrets will all be made public.” The 2022 glasses wearing skeleton went to step out of the closet, only to get shoved back in by me.
“S-stay inside then. Don’t even think about coming out. I don’t want people to hate me. Just stay hidden and try to be quiet, please?” As I pushed on the door, I could see the other skeletons littering the interior, each staring at me with amused open jaws. Each carrying some hidden shame.
“Are you sure? If you insist. Don’t worry, only three more hours until 4am. I’m sure you can wait.” With that, the door shut, and the music started again. All I could hear was that same rhythm they forced me to listen to every night. I gathered my pillow before falling back onto the bed, hiding my tired face against it. Maybe things were better this way.
 
 
 
(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] In the future, sugar has been outlawed. You have one of the most illegal professions: Baker
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My shaking hands failed on me again. This time the blood reader fell and skittered out across the floor from my stall like the tiniest car crash on a porcelain planet.
"Piece of shit." I muttered as I crouched, nearly kissing the toilet seat as I slung my leg out under the locked privacy panel to retrieve the gadget.
Its been only 3 hours since my last pure hit, so the results should be clear. Still, I had to be sure, or I'd be risking everything.
I clicked the business end of the device on the side of my thumb and let it do it's thing, tearing open a couple sachets of SodPot^© and tossing the bitter granules back like a dry shot as my result flashed upon the tiny LCD.
[Ketones optimal to high. Glucose inside prescribed parameters. Electrolytes depleted.] It read.
*All good... Good. That last one's taken care of already, no need to test again.* I thought to myself.
*I can do this.*
I stood at the head of a conference table, surrounded by various officers, medical staff, and... *the acting district governor.*
"That brick you have there is pure, unadulterated glucose, yes?" I told the officers, suppressing my urge to shy up. "And this bag here is too," I said, gesturing to my clear bag of ivory crystals, "...except, not like you've ever seen it. The glucose that you're so familiar around is a very simple sugar; molecular formula C6H12O6. It's the second most common street drug after fructose: And *that* is, the nastier of these substances, responsible for liver disease and pancreatic issues to a greater degree than its chemical cousins. By mass, the greatest expense on our healthcare system."
"So tell us the difference between this lump of contraband, and your bag of 'not so bad'." the Chief blurted through his loose, deflated cheeks.
"OK, so... Ah, your sugar is called D-Glucose, right? Some chemists call it right-handed. My bag here is made up of L-Glucose; formula 6H12O6 or O=CH[CH(OH)]5H, depending on your chemistry standards. *Left handed glucose.*"
"And that means...?"
"That means, theoretically, its entirely indigestible."
I let that point sink in a little, searching the eyes of everyone in the room. The Chief sat glaring out from his loose face. Some of the officers sat glaze-eyed as others had their individual moments of epiphany. The doctors, ever a step ahead, sat in abeyance as if politely inviting my point.
The Chief huffed and blustered at me, clearly insulted by my presence.
"You're not just some petty baker," he grumbled, standing and leaning into his menace. "...you're a full-bore fucking cook!" he accused.
I kept my ground, suppressing a shiver.
"Cosmos beyond, Chief!" a voice cursed from the other end of the room. "He hasn't even got to the good bit yet. Let him finish."
The Acting District Governor, of course. The one person actually in control here. The one in charge.
"Left handed, indigestible." the ADG prompted. "Tell us about the gift you've made for us."
I breathed a sigh of resignation, and lifted a container from my briefcase.
"This is a sample of my efforts. There's no suitable grass species on the planet to grind into flour, so the primary fibre/protein matrix comes from drupenut, psylhusk and other thickeners, bound by natural albumen and fried. But it's as close to true as you can get, minus most of the bad side effects..."
I opened the box and a rich, chunky, saccharine odour seduced the nostrils of all in the room.
Yeasty, balmy, full, and promissory of an almost-sexual release of serotonin upon committing the egregious sin of consumption.
The Chief let loose a deep burble, crooning for the delights he spied.
"Doughnuts... You certainty tread a fine line, don't you?" He chuckled. "Dusted, cinnamon, jelly, glazed... Tell me though: Most side effects... Not all?"
I gave the doctors a collusive look.
"The L-sugar is indigestible. If you eat too much of it, you'll need to schedule some time on the can. Trust me."
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"WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED! DROP THE SPATULA NOW!"
They've surrounded me with their guns, trying to eliminate one of the last bastions of hope.
They took away color.
They took away imagination.
They took away fauna and flora.
Sugar is the only thing left that shows that life is truly worth living.
The gentle warmth of the sun, the breeze of nature, the fresh smell of a car, these simple feelings make up the foundations of life and happiness. These feelings being proof that we weren't completely damned to be on this earth. Of course, there are always inherent risks to certain activities. The sun can cause cancer, nature can kill, and cars can crash. However, without these risks, we have nothing.
The world has nothing.
"YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME? SOON, MY GREATEST PROJECT WILL BE REVEALED!"
I activated the ancient machine, the "Easy-Bake Ultimate Oven 2000", and it began to churn out sweets. Assortments of cupcakes, cookies, cakes, and chocolate were all being produced by the dozen. The aroma is so, so sweet. I can hear them battering down the walls. It's only a matter of time before they reach me.
I have lived life the way I wanted to.
"SHOOT TO KILL!"
The gentle warmth of the sun, the breeze of nature, the fresh smell of a car, these simple feelings make up the foundations of life and happiness. These feelings are proof that we weren't completely damned to be on this earth. Of course, there are always inherent risks to certain activities. The sun can cause cancer, nature can kill, and cars can crash. However, without these risks, we have nothing.
"The machine is already flying," I managed to spit out, "You are too late."
I die knowing that the future will be sweet.
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[WP] In the future, sugar has been outlawed. You have one of the most illegal professions: Baker
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Detective: Do you know the muffin man,
the muffin man, the muffin man. Do you know the muffin man, who lives on Drury Lane?
Informant: Yes I know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man, Yes, I know the muffin man, who lives on 6969 Drury Lane.
\[Later on Drury Lane - A Knock on the Door\]
Detective: I'm told I can find the muffin man at this address. Who am I speaking to?
The Muffin Man: I think you have the wrong address, please leave me alone! \[Proceeds to slam the door shut\]
\[From behind the door comes a muffled murmur to hide the sugar in the walls\]
\[From seeing a cloud of sweet powdery confectioner's powder seep out the cracks of the door, the detective had probable cause to call in a battering ram to knock the door away from it's sugar walls.\]
The Muffin Man: No, not my gum-drop buttons! Those are primo!
Detective: Save it for invest!
The Muffin Man: Who ratted me out, I will make sure to have my sweet revenge!
\[fin\]
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"WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED! DROP THE SPATULA NOW!"
They've surrounded me with their guns, trying to eliminate one of the last bastions of hope.
They took away color.
They took away imagination.
They took away fauna and flora.
Sugar is the only thing left that shows that life is truly worth living.
The gentle warmth of the sun, the breeze of nature, the fresh smell of a car, these simple feelings make up the foundations of life and happiness. These feelings being proof that we weren't completely damned to be on this earth. Of course, there are always inherent risks to certain activities. The sun can cause cancer, nature can kill, and cars can crash. However, without these risks, we have nothing.
The world has nothing.
"YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME? SOON, MY GREATEST PROJECT WILL BE REVEALED!"
I activated the ancient machine, the "Easy-Bake Ultimate Oven 2000", and it began to churn out sweets. Assortments of cupcakes, cookies, cakes, and chocolate were all being produced by the dozen. The aroma is so, so sweet. I can hear them battering down the walls. It's only a matter of time before they reach me.
I have lived life the way I wanted to.
"SHOOT TO KILL!"
The gentle warmth of the sun, the breeze of nature, the fresh smell of a car, these simple feelings make up the foundations of life and happiness. These feelings are proof that we weren't completely damned to be on this earth. Of course, there are always inherent risks to certain activities. The sun can cause cancer, nature can kill, and cars can crash. However, without these risks, we have nothing.
"The machine is already flying," I managed to spit out, "You are too late."
I die knowing that the future will be sweet.
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[WP] In the future, sugar has been outlawed. You have one of the most illegal professions: Baker
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Detective: Do you know the muffin man,
the muffin man, the muffin man. Do you know the muffin man, who lives on Drury Lane?
Informant: Yes I know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man, Yes, I know the muffin man, who lives on 6969 Drury Lane.
\[Later on Drury Lane - A Knock on the Door\]
Detective: I'm told I can find the muffin man at this address. Who am I speaking to?
The Muffin Man: I think you have the wrong address, please leave me alone! \[Proceeds to slam the door shut\]
\[From behind the door comes a muffled murmur to hide the sugar in the walls\]
\[From seeing a cloud of sweet powdery confectioner's powder seep out the cracks of the door, the detective had probable cause to call in a battering ram to knock the door away from it's sugar walls.\]
The Muffin Man: No, not my gum-drop buttons! Those are primo!
Detective: Save it for invest!
The Muffin Man: Who ratted me out, I will make sure to have my sweet revenge!
\[fin\]
|
it never bodes well for people when decisions are taken by a minority. how we became an aristocracy is benign to most history books now however it's worthwhile remembering that there was a time before. when decisions were taken by multitudes. granted we only see the ugly, as we've been preached. that justice was slow to never delivered, that most decisions were scrambled. stuck in slow grind of never ending bureaucracies, most governments ended up relegating to arbitrary decision making that didn't mean much for the taxpaying citizen.
but comeon. they never outlawed sugar. they outlawed many things. like unicycles and gaz guzzling automatons or additives in food, but sugar? why sugar is natural.
it started off simple too. they made chocolate expensive. charged extra tax on sweeteners and syrups. then it became a movement. a call to delete extra calories from the diet of humans altogether. like they have that power, or should have it. soon enough sugar was outlawed.
me? I'm a revolutionary. I'm a baker. i bake sweetbreads, mix chocolates and craft desserts and cakes. a patisserie with a purpose. my purpose? to sweeten life if only a little bit.
it's joyful to see children have a bite of sweetened chocolate and fall over at the sugar high. the look on someone's face when you feed them cake. can you imagine there was a time when we had so much cake we put them on people's faces?
i learnt how to bake with sugar from my grandmother. the rest from illegal cookbooks and internet archives off the dark web. there's a whole community of us out there but we don't meet or IM. the risks are too great.
the consumption of sugar being an illegal activity can land you in jail for ten years. cooking sugar infused goodies carries a lifetime. but can you blame us for being so myopic? when the law says we can't make with sugar we do, because we love it. tomorrow they'll outlaw the sun. it won't stop us from going out into it. same way with sugar. there's hundreds languishing in state run prisons because of sugar related offences. that does not make it any more alluring.
we grow sugar cane ourselves. aquaponics were perfected in their time for the cultivation of illegal intoxicants. now we get high on mankind's oldest drug, sugar. we can't have too much of it, mind you. and diabetes is a stigmatized illness.
I don't like artificial sweetners. don't like what they do to the pastry. it isn't the same without the crunch of sugar. do you know how much carbon is released when you treat sugar in a mill? we have to do so much, invest so much time just to make sure we aren't got caught. all that hassle, for a little bit of dopamine.
sugar isn't a drug. it's a movement.
we don't like getting high on sugar. only what's our due by the sweetness life has taken from us. the rule of a few over the many. their choices should not dictate ours. but until they legalize it again, though i am not an optimist, maybe some day some wise man will head out government. until then.
I'll be happy seeing the faces of young ones with a mouthful of cake and cotton candy in one hand, chocolate in the other
|
|
[WP] In the future, sugar has been outlawed. You have one of the most illegal professions: Baker
|
Detective: Do you know the muffin man,
the muffin man, the muffin man. Do you know the muffin man, who lives on Drury Lane?
Informant: Yes I know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man, Yes, I know the muffin man, who lives on 6969 Drury Lane.
\[Later on Drury Lane - A Knock on the Door\]
Detective: I'm told I can find the muffin man at this address. Who am I speaking to?
The Muffin Man: I think you have the wrong address, please leave me alone! \[Proceeds to slam the door shut\]
\[From behind the door comes a muffled murmur to hide the sugar in the walls\]
\[From seeing a cloud of sweet powdery confectioner's powder seep out the cracks of the door, the detective had probable cause to call in a battering ram to knock the door away from it's sugar walls.\]
The Muffin Man: No, not my gum-drop buttons! Those are primo!
Detective: Save it for invest!
The Muffin Man: Who ratted me out, I will make sure to have my sweet revenge!
\[fin\]
|
My shaking hands failed on me again. This time the blood reader fell and skittered out across the floor from my stall like the tiniest car crash on a porcelain planet.
"Piece of shit." I muttered as I crouched, nearly kissing the toilet seat as I slung my leg out under the locked privacy panel to retrieve the gadget.
Its been only 3 hours since my last pure hit, so the results should be clear. Still, I had to be sure, or I'd be risking everything.
I clicked the business end of the device on the side of my thumb and let it do it's thing, tearing open a couple sachets of SodPot^© and tossing the bitter granules back like a dry shot as my result flashed upon the tiny LCD.
[Ketones optimal to high. Glucose inside prescribed parameters. Electrolytes depleted.] It read.
*All good... Good. That last one's taken care of already, no need to test again.* I thought to myself.
*I can do this.*
I stood at the head of a conference table, surrounded by various officers, medical staff, and... *the acting district governor.*
"That brick you have there is pure, unadulterated glucose, yes?" I told the officers, suppressing my urge to shy up. "And this bag here is too," I said, gesturing to my clear bag of ivory crystals, "...except, not like you've ever seen it. The glucose that you're so familiar around is a very simple sugar; molecular formula C6H12O6. It's the second most common street drug after fructose: And *that* is, the nastier of these substances, responsible for liver disease and pancreatic issues to a greater degree than its chemical cousins. By mass, the greatest expense on our healthcare system."
"So tell us the difference between this lump of contraband, and your bag of 'not so bad'." the Chief blurted through his loose, deflated cheeks.
"OK, so... Ah, your sugar is called D-Glucose, right? Some chemists call it right-handed. My bag here is made up of L-Glucose; formula 6H12O6 or O=CH[CH(OH)]5H, depending on your chemistry standards. *Left handed glucose.*"
"And that means...?"
"That means, theoretically, its entirely indigestible."
I let that point sink in a little, searching the eyes of everyone in the room. The Chief sat glaring out from his loose face. Some of the officers sat glaze-eyed as others had their individual moments of epiphany. The doctors, ever a step ahead, sat in abeyance as if politely inviting my point.
The Chief huffed and blustered at me, clearly insulted by my presence.
"You're not just some petty baker," he grumbled, standing and leaning into his menace. "...you're a full-bore fucking cook!" he accused.
I kept my ground, suppressing a shiver.
"Cosmos beyond, Chief!" a voice cursed from the other end of the room. "He hasn't even got to the good bit yet. Let him finish."
The Acting District Governor, of course. The one person actually in control here. The one in charge.
"Left handed, indigestible." the ADG prompted. "Tell us about the gift you've made for us."
I breathed a sigh of resignation, and lifted a container from my briefcase.
"This is a sample of my efforts. There's no suitable grass species on the planet to grind into flour, so the primary fibre/protein matrix comes from drupenut, psylhusk and other thickeners, bound by natural albumen and fried. But it's as close to true as you can get, minus most of the bad side effects..."
I opened the box and a rich, chunky, saccharine odour seduced the nostrils of all in the room.
Yeasty, balmy, full, and promissory of an almost-sexual release of serotonin upon committing the egregious sin of consumption.
The Chief let loose a deep burble, crooning for the delights he spied.
"Doughnuts... You certainty tread a fine line, don't you?" He chuckled. "Dusted, cinnamon, jelly, glazed... Tell me though: Most side effects... Not all?"
I gave the doctors a collusive look.
"The L-sugar is indigestible. If you eat too much of it, you'll need to schedule some time on the can. Trust me."
|
|
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
The first sign of her ire was that the evening fires would not catch. Across Greece home after home, campfire after campfire all failed to light; to bring the warmth and comfort a fire calls forth when the nights begin to grow longer and darker. All told themselves that perhaps they had simply gathered the wrong wood, too green to do more than smoke briefly before extinguishing itself. They told themselves that it was only one night and cuddled closer to their companions to ward off what little chill there was.
It would be two weeks before the first true downpour of the season, two weeks of carefully chosen wood that had been brought inside to dry and cure as best as one could, before it would be shown that it was not the wood or the flint or any other part of the mortal fire making that caused the fire to fail every time.
It didn't occur to the Gods that the fire pit that had burned at the heart of Olympus since it was established suddenly ceasing to burn might be the indication of a problem. Even as the prayers for intervention began to roll in they remained too wrapped up in their games of power and disrespect to notice.
The next was the way all food began to come out of the cooking the taste and consistency of lukewarm gruel. Nourishing yes, but hardly appetizing or satisfying. No matter how skilled the cook, how exquisite the ingredients it all became gruel. The drinks as well became little more than watered down vinegar.
Several people lose their lives before kings and warlords accept that this is a divine matter and not the work of a resentful worker.
When the ambrosia they consume grows bitter and unfulfilling the gods accuse one another of treachery, though none make any real effort to find the true cause of it's bitterness.
the third way her wrath became known was by the bitterness that sprang up in the hearts of mortals.
Parents no longer smiled at the foolishness of their young children. Children grew resentful of their unbending elders. the eldest of adults found only fault with the lives of their grown family members and those still able to work began shirking their responsibility towards the elderly and infirm.
Lovers once passionate grew cold and brothers in arms were constantly at each other's throats. Permission was withheld and in return orders were ignored. The bonds of Man were broken and with them the faith they held in the Gods.
The Gods only began to notice when they were abandoned by priest and petitioner alike, their powers waning as the faith in them fell away over that cold, deadly winter.
And when Hestia finally stepped up to take responsibility for what she had done her smile was as cold as the deepest pits of Tartarus.
The Gods begged and pleaded with her to end it, to give back to the mortals what had been taken from them and yet not one could answer the singular question she had given as her price to bring back the warmth she had once given freely.
What was the name of the inn they had so callously destroyed in some petty squabble, the inn that had been both her home and her temple?
One small answer, an answer any mortal would have known on instinct alone, they could not call to mind. And so they would suffer, as she and hers had suffered.
|
I've always liked bells to some degree. They aren't strictly in my domain, the most notable examples being public fixtures rather than household ones. Clocks though, clocks belong in a home, especially grandfather clocks. Stately things, furniture in their own right and filled with purpose. A clock is a guide, when to wake, when to sleep, and when to eat, a clock guides the pulse of a home.
My family thinks power is thunderbolts, storms, weapons, and armies. Some like Aphrodite and Hermes can see the subtle side of things, but they are still attuned to the forceful methods.
This war has gone on long enough, we shall see how much my family enjoys their game with the pieces removed. I move to the clock in the corner and begin winding it. It is a manifestation of my power and does not strictly need to be wound, but symbolically acting upon it is useful. As I put down the key it begins to chime, not a particular hour but a Time. Time to stop work,Time to see your family and eat together once more, Time to come Home.
|
|
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
I silently wipe down counters and dust shelves while the family trickles in. Planning family gatherings is something I was good at but didn’t do often. While I loved everyone dearly, having them all together was usually a recipe for disaster.
I was excited to get RSVP’s from everyone and made sure to have a special snack for each of them, something to go with their godly domains.
Suddenly the door bursts inward and walks in Zeus, the high and mightiest of them all. Or so he thinks.
“Hestia, sister, it’s so wonderful to see you”, he bellows. He wraps me in a big bear hug and I awkwardly try to wrap my arms around his midriff.
“I’m glad to see you to Zeus”, I say half way under his beard. “I actually think you’re the last to arrive so we can get started.”
After Zeus let’s me down he greets everyone else in the room and gets a mix of responses. Some Hello’s and Hey’s. Some quick head nods and a crude gesture or two.
“While I don’t mind being here, I am a little confused why we were asked to come”, says Dionysus. “But these raisins are a nice treat.”
“I also admit, I am curious,” says Demeter as she nibbles on jerky. For someone who grows plants, she loves meat.
Up until this point, I had plastered a smile on my face, keeping the mood light and fun. Now I felt I could let the act drop. All these years of being the nice one really took its toll on me. That’s a big reason for opening my inn. I didn’t have to be someone I’m not. I ran things my way and my way only. The problem was the rest of existence was cursed and warped by my family. But now I’m putting my foot down.
“To be quite frank, I hate how you all are running things. These thousands of years have left everything broken and divided and it’s mostly your fault.” At this point, of them stopped snacking and texting. It’s almost as if I had back handed each and everyone of them. If any other being had said something like this to them, they would not have hesitated to wipe them from existence. But I was Hestia, the nice one. I’m going to use that to my advantage but it would only get me so far.
“You all do as you please whenever you want and it’s destroying this world. So now you’re being told to stop.” At this point I had crossed my arms. I wanted to project as much authority as I could.
For a few moments, they remained silent and straight faced. Then Apollo snickered. Next Aphrodite exhaled through her nose trying to contain herself.. Lastly, Hera covered her mouth with her hands. I’m not sure who laughed out loud first, but everyone started within half a second of each other. There was hollering and screams. Some were hunched over and holding their sides. Other leaned on each other and pointed at me.
To them, I must’ve seemed like a child pretending to have authority. A little kid who was no threat to them.
While they got the laughter out of the their system, I confidently walked down the hall from the main room to my personal room. My closet was stuffed with some dresses and coats. Nothing too out of the ordinary. In the back corner though, there was the thing that would make them listen. The one thing my father left me.
As I strode back the room filled with laughter, my view was blocked by a hulking figure. Hephaestus was standing with his hands on his hips, apparently mocking me. In a high pitched voice he said “and now you’re being told to stop”
A new wave of laughter filled the air as everyone apparently loved the joke. Hephaestus himself was chuckling at his very “clever” joke. I’m glad he found humor in what would be his last moment.
Nobody saw me raise the scythe behind his back. They were only aware of it after it pierced through the blacksmiths back and poked out his front.
One by one, they stopped laughing and horror fell upon their faces. I couldn’t see my nephews face but I assumed he was just as stunned as anyone else.
I quickly yank the weapon from his body and he turns around to stare at me. “Hestia…why?” He asks just as blood starts to pour from his mouth. The thing about my fathers scythe was, unlike mortal weapons, it could cause irreversible damage to gods.
“How could you do this?” He asks through gasps.
“Plenty of reasons,” I say. “But most importantly: there’s no use for two fire gods.” With that I spartan kick him in the chest, sending him crashing into a table full of snacks.
Everyone was shocked. No one dared moved. And that’s how I wanted it.
With as much sternness as I could muster I say “This is no longer optional. You will do as I say, when I say it. If you don’t, you’ll get the same treatment as Hephaestus over there.”
While I was talking to everyone, I had to keep my eyes on the Big Three.
Zeus would of course fight me for power. That was his thing, if he couldn’t have it, he would find some way to get it. Poseidon was a little more complicated. His loyalty changed like the tide. He might need more convincing but only time would tell. Hade was like… the void itself. Hard to understand and even harder to interact with.
In the silence that followed, I waited for something, anything to happen. No one moved. No one breathed. With the stillness in the room, I could see Zeus reel his arm back and shoot lightning bolts in my direction.
Our father was the Titan of time. With his weapon, everything appeared to move in slow motion. To me the lighting looked like LED lights moving slowly through the air.
Effortlessly, I put up my weapon and reflect the bolts off my blade and shoot them back at my brother. When they make contact with his body, the whole room shook first with the impact of the bolts hitting Zeus, then the impact of Zeus hitting the wall. I thank myself for making them indestructible beforehand. From here I couldn’t tell if Zeus was alive or dead from the way his body was crumpled on the floor but I didn’t really care at the moment.
I turn my attention back to everyone else. I braced myself for the other two, ready to take them down if needed. But to my utter amazement I wouldn’t have to.
Poseidon was the first to kneel unprompted. He just silently went down and bowed his head. Next were my sisters. They awkwardly got down in their dresses and bowed. One by one, Zeus’ children bowed and showed their respect. They knew if I took down their father, I would have no problem with them. The only one left was Hades.
Unbeknownst to everyone, he stayed in the corner without saying a word and ate his pomegranate seeds in silence. Looking back on it, I can’t remember if he laughed at me.
For a few seconds, we just locked eyes. Even without his Helm of Darkness, I could feel fear radiate off him.
Slowly he started to nod his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but noticing others in the room, he reconsidered and took out his phone. He quickly typed a text, sent it, grabbed a handful of seeds, waved and faded into the shadows.
I quickly took out my phone to read the text he sent.
He sent “I never liked Zeus or his crotch fruit running the world. I won’t oppose you, but I won’t bow to you. Good luck, Love Hades.”
It was something I suppose.
I left out a deep sigh. “Now that I have your attention. The first order of business is to clean up this mess.”
|
I've always liked bells to some degree. They aren't strictly in my domain, the most notable examples being public fixtures rather than household ones. Clocks though, clocks belong in a home, especially grandfather clocks. Stately things, furniture in their own right and filled with purpose. A clock is a guide, when to wake, when to sleep, and when to eat, a clock guides the pulse of a home.
My family thinks power is thunderbolts, storms, weapons, and armies. Some like Aphrodite and Hermes can see the subtle side of things, but they are still attuned to the forceful methods.
This war has gone on long enough, we shall see how much my family enjoys their game with the pieces removed. I move to the clock in the corner and begin winding it. It is a manifestation of my power and does not strictly need to be wound, but symbolically acting upon it is useful. As I put down the key it begins to chime, not a particular hour but a Time. Time to stop work,Time to see your family and eat together once more, Time to come Home.
|
|
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
I silently wipe down counters and dust shelves while the family trickles in. Planning family gatherings is something I was good at but didn’t do often. While I loved everyone dearly, having them all together was usually a recipe for disaster.
I was excited to get RSVP’s from everyone and made sure to have a special snack for each of them, something to go with their godly domains.
Suddenly the door bursts inward and walks in Zeus, the high and mightiest of them all. Or so he thinks.
“Hestia, sister, it’s so wonderful to see you”, he bellows. He wraps me in a big bear hug and I awkwardly try to wrap my arms around his midriff.
“I’m glad to see you to Zeus”, I say half way under his beard. “I actually think you’re the last to arrive so we can get started.”
After Zeus let’s me down he greets everyone else in the room and gets a mix of responses. Some Hello’s and Hey’s. Some quick head nods and a crude gesture or two.
“While I don’t mind being here, I am a little confused why we were asked to come”, says Dionysus. “But these raisins are a nice treat.”
“I also admit, I am curious,” says Demeter as she nibbles on jerky. For someone who grows plants, she loves meat.
Up until this point, I had plastered a smile on my face, keeping the mood light and fun. Now I felt I could let the act drop. All these years of being the nice one really took its toll on me. That’s a big reason for opening my inn. I didn’t have to be someone I’m not. I ran things my way and my way only. The problem was the rest of existence was cursed and warped by my family. But now I’m putting my foot down.
“To be quite frank, I hate how you all are running things. These thousands of years have left everything broken and divided and it’s mostly your fault.” At this point, of them stopped snacking and texting. It’s almost as if I had back handed each and everyone of them. If any other being had said something like this to them, they would not have hesitated to wipe them from existence. But I was Hestia, the nice one. I’m going to use that to my advantage but it would only get me so far.
“You all do as you please whenever you want and it’s destroying this world. So now you’re being told to stop.” At this point I had crossed my arms. I wanted to project as much authority as I could.
For a few moments, they remained silent and straight faced. Then Apollo snickered. Next Aphrodite exhaled through her nose trying to contain herself.. Lastly, Hera covered her mouth with her hands. I’m not sure who laughed out loud first, but everyone started within half a second of each other. There was hollering and screams. Some were hunched over and holding their sides. Other leaned on each other and pointed at me.
To them, I must’ve seemed like a child pretending to have authority. A little kid who was no threat to them.
While they got the laughter out of the their system, I confidently walked down the hall from the main room to my personal room. My closet was stuffed with some dresses and coats. Nothing too out of the ordinary. In the back corner though, there was the thing that would make them listen. The one thing my father left me.
As I strode back the room filled with laughter, my view was blocked by a hulking figure. Hephaestus was standing with his hands on his hips, apparently mocking me. In a high pitched voice he said “and now you’re being told to stop”
A new wave of laughter filled the air as everyone apparently loved the joke. Hephaestus himself was chuckling at his very “clever” joke. I’m glad he found humor in what would be his last moment.
Nobody saw me raise the scythe behind his back. They were only aware of it after it pierced through the blacksmiths back and poked out his front.
One by one, they stopped laughing and horror fell upon their faces. I couldn’t see my nephews face but I assumed he was just as stunned as anyone else.
I quickly yank the weapon from his body and he turns around to stare at me. “Hestia…why?” He asks just as blood starts to pour from his mouth. The thing about my fathers scythe was, unlike mortal weapons, it could cause irreversible damage to gods.
“How could you do this?” He asks through gasps.
“Plenty of reasons,” I say. “But most importantly: there’s no use for two fire gods.” With that I spartan kick him in the chest, sending him crashing into a table full of snacks.
Everyone was shocked. No one dared moved. And that’s how I wanted it.
With as much sternness as I could muster I say “This is no longer optional. You will do as I say, when I say it. If you don’t, you’ll get the same treatment as Hephaestus over there.”
While I was talking to everyone, I had to keep my eyes on the Big Three.
Zeus would of course fight me for power. That was his thing, if he couldn’t have it, he would find some way to get it. Poseidon was a little more complicated. His loyalty changed like the tide. He might need more convincing but only time would tell. Hade was like… the void itself. Hard to understand and even harder to interact with.
In the silence that followed, I waited for something, anything to happen. No one moved. No one breathed. With the stillness in the room, I could see Zeus reel his arm back and shoot lightning bolts in my direction.
Our father was the Titan of time. With his weapon, everything appeared to move in slow motion. To me the lighting looked like LED lights moving slowly through the air.
Effortlessly, I put up my weapon and reflect the bolts off my blade and shoot them back at my brother. When they make contact with his body, the whole room shook first with the impact of the bolts hitting Zeus, then the impact of Zeus hitting the wall. I thank myself for making them indestructible beforehand. From here I couldn’t tell if Zeus was alive or dead from the way his body was crumpled on the floor but I didn’t really care at the moment.
I turn my attention back to everyone else. I braced myself for the other two, ready to take them down if needed. But to my utter amazement I wouldn’t have to.
Poseidon was the first to kneel unprompted. He just silently went down and bowed his head. Next were my sisters. They awkwardly got down in their dresses and bowed. One by one, Zeus’ children bowed and showed their respect. They knew if I took down their father, I would have no problem with them. The only one left was Hades.
Unbeknownst to everyone, he stayed in the corner without saying a word and ate his pomegranate seeds in silence. Looking back on it, I can’t remember if he laughed at me.
For a few seconds, we just locked eyes. Even without his Helm of Darkness, I could feel fear radiate off him.
Slowly he started to nod his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but noticing others in the room, he reconsidered and took out his phone. He quickly typed a text, sent it, grabbed a handful of seeds, waved and faded into the shadows.
I quickly took out my phone to read the text he sent.
He sent “I never liked Zeus or his crotch fruit running the world. I won’t oppose you, but I won’t bow to you. Good luck, Love Hades.”
It was something I suppose.
I left out a deep sigh. “Now that I have your attention. The first order of business is to clean up this mess.”
|
The first sign of her ire was that the evening fires would not catch. Across Greece home after home, campfire after campfire all failed to light; to bring the warmth and comfort a fire calls forth when the nights begin to grow longer and darker. All told themselves that perhaps they had simply gathered the wrong wood, too green to do more than smoke briefly before extinguishing itself. They told themselves that it was only one night and cuddled closer to their companions to ward off what little chill there was.
It would be two weeks before the first true downpour of the season, two weeks of carefully chosen wood that had been brought inside to dry and cure as best as one could, before it would be shown that it was not the wood or the flint or any other part of the mortal fire making that caused the fire to fail every time.
It didn't occur to the Gods that the fire pit that had burned at the heart of Olympus since it was established suddenly ceasing to burn might be the indication of a problem. Even as the prayers for intervention began to roll in they remained too wrapped up in their games of power and disrespect to notice.
The next was the way all food began to come out of the cooking the taste and consistency of lukewarm gruel. Nourishing yes, but hardly appetizing or satisfying. No matter how skilled the cook, how exquisite the ingredients it all became gruel. The drinks as well became little more than watered down vinegar.
Several people lose their lives before kings and warlords accept that this is a divine matter and not the work of a resentful worker.
When the ambrosia they consume grows bitter and unfulfilling the gods accuse one another of treachery, though none make any real effort to find the true cause of it's bitterness.
the third way her wrath became known was by the bitterness that sprang up in the hearts of mortals.
Parents no longer smiled at the foolishness of their young children. Children grew resentful of their unbending elders. the eldest of adults found only fault with the lives of their grown family members and those still able to work began shirking their responsibility towards the elderly and infirm.
Lovers once passionate grew cold and brothers in arms were constantly at each other's throats. Permission was withheld and in return orders were ignored. The bonds of Man were broken and with them the faith they held in the Gods.
The Gods only began to notice when they were abandoned by priest and petitioner alike, their powers waning as the faith in them fell away over that cold, deadly winter.
And when Hestia finally stepped up to take responsibility for what she had done her smile was as cold as the deepest pits of Tartarus.
The Gods begged and pleaded with her to end it, to give back to the mortals what had been taken from them and yet not one could answer the singular question she had given as her price to bring back the warmth she had once given freely.
What was the name of the inn they had so callously destroyed in some petty squabble, the inn that had been both her home and her temple?
One small answer, an answer any mortal would have known on instinct alone, they could not call to mind. And so they would suffer, as she and hers had suffered.
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[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
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Never before had Hestia been made to feel so small, so forgotten, so betrayed.
This place had been her most cherished possession. Her pride and joy. A small respite from the wars and terror her family waged on the world.
Now, it was naught but ash in her mouth.
The Inn itself was a charred ruin, still smoking from its recent destruction. Much of the land around it had cracked and washed away, as if the nearby coastal waters had reached out for it and pulled.
Hestia could sense the faint traces of their presences, no matter how well they had tried to hide them, but she didn't need to do so, she knew without that what had happened to her Inn.
Her brothers had come.
Oh, she found no trace of Hades, so perhaps he was innocent in this. He had always been the smartest of the three, no matter what the others wished to think.
No, this had been Zeus and Poseidon.
She had believed that she was understood and respected, that none would accost her places of worship out of respect. It would seem that had been a delusion she could no longer live under.
Any feigned respect for her had been shown false by this, and obviously any love they had once held for her was not enough, either.
Not just them, either. Her family loved warring with one another, but they never did so directly. They used mortal and demigod tools, influenced their conflicts and actions, they did not strike at each others sacred places. It was not done. Such a thing could only happen with the approval of the Olympian Council. A majority vote.
A majority vote to attack Hestia. Her domain, her place of worship.
Her Home.
"Sister."
She knew who it was at once. She recognised his voice, as she would any of her family.
"Hades" she said, turning her head to face him.
He had his usual dour look on his face, as he looked down at her. On her knees in the rubble of a tavern, face wet with tears that hadn't had time to dry, she must have been an ugly sight, but her brother gave no reaction to it, simple walking closer.
"I am sorry" he said, voice tinged with regret, Hestia scoffed lightly.
"If you had taken part in this, you would not be standing here now, what have you to be sorry for, brother?" She asked. Hades let out a sigh.
"Because I know how you are feeling right now, how I have felt many times before. I would never wish such a thing upon you, sister. You deserve it least of any in this world, and yet you suffer it now all the same. For that, I am sorry."
She sniffed, allowing a small smile to her brother. Those were perhaps the most words he had spoken to anyone besides his wife in over three centuries, Hades was a man of very few words, and yet he forewent to comfort her.
"My followers? The patrons and workers here?" She asked suddenly, struck by the need to ask. She had to know their fates, and Hades was the perfect god to ask.
"Elysium, all of them." He answered, laying all her fears for her people to rest. "They died bravely in the face of something they could not fight, and their faith in you never once wavered, even to the end. They deserved nothing less for such loyalty."
Good, she thought, perhaps they would find the peace there that the gods had robbed them of in life.
Now if only she could do the same.
"How do you deal with it, Hades? I feel as if I'm being torn in two on the inside, and yet you have been mistreated by them for centuries and here you stand. How?"
Hades paused, taking a seat next to her, no matter how ungodly it looked, and thought over the question.
"I believe you simply get used to it, over time. My domain is vast, and I do have those who do not mistreat me, who I know are truly family in every sense. Perhaps it also helps that none have ever dared to destroy one of my sacred places before, as they have here, they fear my power too much to risk such a thing and have me retaliate." He spoke slowly, "It does not truly ever get easier, but I have dealt with it for so long, I am numb to it now. I will always be an outcast from Olympus, and perhaps that is for the best, if it spares me becoming like them, and perpetrating acts such as this." He waved a hand to gesture to the destruction around us.
Hestia closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. Despite the odour of ash and death, she could still catch the faintest smell of the hearth that had proudly burned as a centrepiece to her home. Kept alive by her followers, even in their deaths. A representation of her power, nearly forgotten, but unable to be smothered away.
With that thought, she steeled herself and rose from where she had been kneeling. Hades startled at her sudden movement, head twisting to follow as she began marching off, away from the ruins.
"Sister?"
She paused for only a moment, turning her head to glance back at him, "Thank you, brother, for being good and true. If you will excuse me, I have something I need to do." With that, she continued walking, disappearing from the site mid stride in a small burst of flame.
Something Hades had said stuck with her, regarding why he hadn't needed to deal with destruction of his sacred places. It was an ugly thought, but one she could not shake or ignore now, with what had been done against her.
After leaving the clearing, she appeared on a pathway on Mount Olympus, her stride not faltering for a moment as she marched up the steps towards the Olympian Palace in silence. Minor gods and servants she would normally greet and stop to speak to went unseen. Hestia had eyes only for her family's golden home.
She ignored the guards as she entered, and made way to the grand doorway that led to the throne room of the gods.
Without pausing to let herself doubt her new path, Hestia shoved the twin doors open and marched into the throne room, having arrived right in the midst of a meeting. Twelve sets of eyes turned to her in surprise.
One might think that being stared down at by twelve powerful, ten foot tall beings on their thrones might make you feel insignificant, but Hestia was undeterred, not even bothering to grow to matching size. She remained the size of a mortal woman, dwarfed in scale by those around her, but not in strength. Not any longer.
Seeming to recover himself as she reached the hearth in the midst of their thrones, Zeus put on a genial smile and spread his arms in welcome.
"Hestia, sister! What a wonderful surprise. It is good to see you here at home once more, it has been too long!"
The greeting fell flat in her eyes. Perhaps, if the images of charred corpses were not fresh in her mind, she may have allowed herself to be fooled, but not this time.
"This is not my home." She replied quietly, Zeus did not react openly, but was that a glimmer of unease in his eye?
Good.
"Once I may have thought so, but it is rather clear now I was mistaken. My home was a quaint establishment by the sea, where all were welcome to rest in peace and tranquility. To feel the warmth of the hearth far from their own. Except it would seem something happened to that home. You would not know anything about this, brother, surely?"
Zeus frowned, and Hestia resisted the urge to smirk as she watched the mighty Olympians shift and mutter, expressions shifting from the friendly masks her arrival had called for. At last, she would see what her family was truly like.
"I am afraid not, sister. This is surely a tragedy. We shall put our best efforts to discovering the perpetrator of such a crime, I assure you."
Liar, she thought, but did not say.
Instead, she focussed more and more on what she had come here to do. The flames in the hearth grew taller and hotter as she passed a hand over them in patterns only she truly knew.
The Olympians shifted again, but this time due to a rumbling beneath their feet. It grew more and more, from a tremble to a quaking, and further still.
Their eyes came back to her, as if realizing all at once what the cause of this disturbance was.
"HESTIA!" Zeus boomed, standing from his throne and summoning his bolt, "What is the meaning of this?!"
She looked her youngest brother dead in the eye, flames beginning to flow from the hearth like water and circle her protectively.
"You destroyed my home. I am the Goddess of the Home, and you TOOK IT AWAY FROM ME!" She raged, fueled by the shaking beneath her feet.
"Now I will do the same to you."
The shaking increased, fissures beginning to form in the floor and the walls. The great golden palace beginning to tear itself apart, as her heart did the same.
They attempted to stop her. Of course they did.
Shining arrows from Apollo and Artemis burnt to ash before even reaching her. A great wave from Poseidon boiled into a cloud of steam in the face of her heat. Zeus took up his bolt and sent a blast of energy her way, and she swiped it aside in a fury, its power striking Ares and Athena behind her as they attempted to strike at her.
"You dare use that weapon against me? That bolt was forged in MY fires, little brother. Test me further and it can be unmade just as easily!" She shouted, the fires around her exploding outwards as her anger spiked. The others cowered from her flames, aside from Hephaestus who tried to brave them to reach her, only to be forced back, screaming in agony.
Why her nephew thought he could withstand her fire was beyond her. He was but a minor godling compared to her power, his forges would never match the heat she was capable of.
As she watched the council cower from her fires and attempt to breach them by other means, she let loose a grim smile. Beneath her feet, the mountain crumbled, as it experienced newfound volcanic activity. The world would watch as Olympus burned in a spew of magma, and was clouded in dark ash that would choke the vibrant mountain of all life.
Hestia stood amidst the destruction, untouched by her own wrath.
Her family did not respect her, and they clearly had lost their love for her. That was fine, she told herself.
Instead, they would learn to fear her.
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[Not complete, just a snippet. Criticism appreciated]
Her mortal coil sizzled, flesh slowly melting off from her figure, unable to contain her. Golden light permeated through the air, touching the surrounding environment and tainting it with her divinity. The grass and the habitual plants nearby wilted, as if to bow to the divine. The branches of the trees nearby slightly curled as if a strong wind had gusted by.
Hestia took a deep breath, even though she knows she needn't. She held on to her divinity and reined it in back to her mortal coil and undid the damages done to it and everything returned to normal, well, as normal as it could get when one of the divine touches you with it’s mere presence. These things has consequences, she would know as the oldest of her... _eccentric_ family. The last time Poseidon had touched down to Earth, the nearest patch of water had automatically purified itself and developed magical healing properties; not that it would do any help really, seeing as the last time a human had touched water from that river... Well, there weren’t any traces of that human to be buried, not that Poseidon would’ve bothered.
Still, Hades and Poseidon got into in an argument back then, with the god of the underworld decidedly not amused when a human soul had turned up at the gates of hell with traces of _Poseidon_ divinity, so Hestia really ought to cover up her traces of accidentally letting loose, lest a mortal stumble upon this place and go mad.
With that particular tidbit being taken care of, Hestia turned her attention back to her inn—_her dear, precious inn, blown (or burned?) to pieces_—and felt a frown overtake her features. Apollo wouldn’t’ve dared, oh sure he might be a bit of a prankster (Artemis preferred to call it sadism), but even then he wouldn’t have risked drawing her ire.
Artemis was out of the picture too, since Apollo similarly would have surely tried to tell her how bad such an idea it would be to attack a place of hers, and, well, when _Apollo_ of all people is telling you what you’re planning to do is _bad_, then you must have gone a bit mad.
Hades? No, he’s too cunning for a straightforward attack like this. If he had wanted to rage war against her he wouldn’t have done it like this; been more discreet.
Ares? While Hestia had little doubt her little nephew was hot-headed and abrasive, he _was_ the god of war, so if he _had_ wanted to attack her, then he would’ve attacked somewhat strategically, perhaps a place of worship, violated her domain of the hearth and family to weaken her, not attack a place that she merely favored; he wasn’t stupid.
Aphrodite was out of the list of suspects, if only because she would not even remotely benefit from angering her. Poseidon...? No, same reason as Aphrodite. Dionysus was a minor god, so he was out. She was on good terms with Hephaestus, so he was out. Athena tried her best to remain neutral amongst her siblings’ quarrels unless horribly provoked, the same went for Hera.
Hestia clicked her tongue impatiently. She had a hunch she wouldn’t even get halfway the list of her dearest, little big family in a millennium, so she perhaps just ought to get back straight to Olympus and interrogate Zeus, her brother probably knew who, or at least had the means of divining who was the idiot who successfully drew her ire.
She resisted the urge to groan. Talking to her idiot brother is and was always a hussle, what with him all up n’ flaunting that childish title of his in her face.
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[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
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Never before had Hestia been made to feel so small, so forgotten, so betrayed.
This place had been her most cherished possession. Her pride and joy. A small respite from the wars and terror her family waged on the world.
Now, it was naught but ash in her mouth.
The Inn itself was a charred ruin, still smoking from its recent destruction. Much of the land around it had cracked and washed away, as if the nearby coastal waters had reached out for it and pulled.
Hestia could sense the faint traces of their presences, no matter how well they had tried to hide them, but she didn't need to do so, she knew without that what had happened to her Inn.
Her brothers had come.
Oh, she found no trace of Hades, so perhaps he was innocent in this. He had always been the smartest of the three, no matter what the others wished to think.
No, this had been Zeus and Poseidon.
She had believed that she was understood and respected, that none would accost her places of worship out of respect. It would seem that had been a delusion she could no longer live under.
Any feigned respect for her had been shown false by this, and obviously any love they had once held for her was not enough, either.
Not just them, either. Her family loved warring with one another, but they never did so directly. They used mortal and demigod tools, influenced their conflicts and actions, they did not strike at each others sacred places. It was not done. Such a thing could only happen with the approval of the Olympian Council. A majority vote.
A majority vote to attack Hestia. Her domain, her place of worship.
Her Home.
"Sister."
She knew who it was at once. She recognised his voice, as she would any of her family.
"Hades" she said, turning her head to face him.
He had his usual dour look on his face, as he looked down at her. On her knees in the rubble of a tavern, face wet with tears that hadn't had time to dry, she must have been an ugly sight, but her brother gave no reaction to it, simple walking closer.
"I am sorry" he said, voice tinged with regret, Hestia scoffed lightly.
"If you had taken part in this, you would not be standing here now, what have you to be sorry for, brother?" She asked. Hades let out a sigh.
"Because I know how you are feeling right now, how I have felt many times before. I would never wish such a thing upon you, sister. You deserve it least of any in this world, and yet you suffer it now all the same. For that, I am sorry."
She sniffed, allowing a small smile to her brother. Those were perhaps the most words he had spoken to anyone besides his wife in over three centuries, Hades was a man of very few words, and yet he forewent to comfort her.
"My followers? The patrons and workers here?" She asked suddenly, struck by the need to ask. She had to know their fates, and Hades was the perfect god to ask.
"Elysium, all of them." He answered, laying all her fears for her people to rest. "They died bravely in the face of something they could not fight, and their faith in you never once wavered, even to the end. They deserved nothing less for such loyalty."
Good, she thought, perhaps they would find the peace there that the gods had robbed them of in life.
Now if only she could do the same.
"How do you deal with it, Hades? I feel as if I'm being torn in two on the inside, and yet you have been mistreated by them for centuries and here you stand. How?"
Hades paused, taking a seat next to her, no matter how ungodly it looked, and thought over the question.
"I believe you simply get used to it, over time. My domain is vast, and I do have those who do not mistreat me, who I know are truly family in every sense. Perhaps it also helps that none have ever dared to destroy one of my sacred places before, as they have here, they fear my power too much to risk such a thing and have me retaliate." He spoke slowly, "It does not truly ever get easier, but I have dealt with it for so long, I am numb to it now. I will always be an outcast from Olympus, and perhaps that is for the best, if it spares me becoming like them, and perpetrating acts such as this." He waved a hand to gesture to the destruction around us.
Hestia closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. Despite the odour of ash and death, she could still catch the faintest smell of the hearth that had proudly burned as a centrepiece to her home. Kept alive by her followers, even in their deaths. A representation of her power, nearly forgotten, but unable to be smothered away.
With that thought, she steeled herself and rose from where she had been kneeling. Hades startled at her sudden movement, head twisting to follow as she began marching off, away from the ruins.
"Sister?"
She paused for only a moment, turning her head to glance back at him, "Thank you, brother, for being good and true. If you will excuse me, I have something I need to do." With that, she continued walking, disappearing from the site mid stride in a small burst of flame.
Something Hades had said stuck with her, regarding why he hadn't needed to deal with destruction of his sacred places. It was an ugly thought, but one she could not shake or ignore now, with what had been done against her.
After leaving the clearing, she appeared on a pathway on Mount Olympus, her stride not faltering for a moment as she marched up the steps towards the Olympian Palace in silence. Minor gods and servants she would normally greet and stop to speak to went unseen. Hestia had eyes only for her family's golden home.
She ignored the guards as she entered, and made way to the grand doorway that led to the throne room of the gods.
Without pausing to let herself doubt her new path, Hestia shoved the twin doors open and marched into the throne room, having arrived right in the midst of a meeting. Twelve sets of eyes turned to her in surprise.
One might think that being stared down at by twelve powerful, ten foot tall beings on their thrones might make you feel insignificant, but Hestia was undeterred, not even bothering to grow to matching size. She remained the size of a mortal woman, dwarfed in scale by those around her, but not in strength. Not any longer.
Seeming to recover himself as she reached the hearth in the midst of their thrones, Zeus put on a genial smile and spread his arms in welcome.
"Hestia, sister! What a wonderful surprise. It is good to see you here at home once more, it has been too long!"
The greeting fell flat in her eyes. Perhaps, if the images of charred corpses were not fresh in her mind, she may have allowed herself to be fooled, but not this time.
"This is not my home." She replied quietly, Zeus did not react openly, but was that a glimmer of unease in his eye?
Good.
"Once I may have thought so, but it is rather clear now I was mistaken. My home was a quaint establishment by the sea, where all were welcome to rest in peace and tranquility. To feel the warmth of the hearth far from their own. Except it would seem something happened to that home. You would not know anything about this, brother, surely?"
Zeus frowned, and Hestia resisted the urge to smirk as she watched the mighty Olympians shift and mutter, expressions shifting from the friendly masks her arrival had called for. At last, she would see what her family was truly like.
"I am afraid not, sister. This is surely a tragedy. We shall put our best efforts to discovering the perpetrator of such a crime, I assure you."
Liar, she thought, but did not say.
Instead, she focussed more and more on what she had come here to do. The flames in the hearth grew taller and hotter as she passed a hand over them in patterns only she truly knew.
The Olympians shifted again, but this time due to a rumbling beneath their feet. It grew more and more, from a tremble to a quaking, and further still.
Their eyes came back to her, as if realizing all at once what the cause of this disturbance was.
"HESTIA!" Zeus boomed, standing from his throne and summoning his bolt, "What is the meaning of this?!"
She looked her youngest brother dead in the eye, flames beginning to flow from the hearth like water and circle her protectively.
"You destroyed my home. I am the Goddess of the Home, and you TOOK IT AWAY FROM ME!" She raged, fueled by the shaking beneath her feet.
"Now I will do the same to you."
The shaking increased, fissures beginning to form in the floor and the walls. The great golden palace beginning to tear itself apart, as her heart did the same.
They attempted to stop her. Of course they did.
Shining arrows from Apollo and Artemis burnt to ash before even reaching her. A great wave from Poseidon boiled into a cloud of steam in the face of her heat. Zeus took up his bolt and sent a blast of energy her way, and she swiped it aside in a fury, its power striking Ares and Athena behind her as they attempted to strike at her.
"You dare use that weapon against me? That bolt was forged in MY fires, little brother. Test me further and it can be unmade just as easily!" She shouted, the fires around her exploding outwards as her anger spiked. The others cowered from her flames, aside from Hephaestus who tried to brave them to reach her, only to be forced back, screaming in agony.
Why her nephew thought he could withstand her fire was beyond her. He was but a minor godling compared to her power, his forges would never match the heat she was capable of.
As she watched the council cower from her fires and attempt to breach them by other means, she let loose a grim smile. Beneath her feet, the mountain crumbled, as it experienced newfound volcanic activity. The world would watch as Olympus burned in a spew of magma, and was clouded in dark ash that would choke the vibrant mountain of all life.
Hestia stood amidst the destruction, untouched by her own wrath.
Her family did not respect her, and they clearly had lost their love for her. That was fine, she told herself.
Instead, they would learn to fear her.
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I admit, I snapped that day. My family were up to their usual antics, bickering, causing needless chaos among mortals, and in general being absolute nightmares to live with, which was why I didn’t live with them, naturally. Today, though, for whatever reason, that previously-impenetrable wall that was my patience was breached. No, not breached.
It was broken down, along with my inn.
This had happened many times before, and I had just brushed it off. I could fix it in a moment, if one could call it “fixing”. The other times, though, there had never been guests. I couldn’t fix *them.* I knew humans died; they were meant to. If humans were immortal, they would be just like my family, and who would want that? But these humans…these were my guests, and knowingly or not, my worshippers. My *children.* They had gone too far this time.
Eyes flashing a brilliant orange and red, I turned my eyes to the thundering sounds coming from Mount Olympus. I must have been a shock for my dear family to look at when I suddenly appeared before them, roaring out in the old language of my father’s people as flames danced around me. When I had their attention, I spoke calmly, but even then, my voice echoed across Olympus.
“I have been patient. I have been understanding. And no matter how many wars you have started, no matter how many mortals you have violated, no matter how many of each other’s children you’ve tortured, no matter how many innocent people have suffered because of you, you have always had a place at my inn. And you still do. But you have committed a grave error. The only reason why I am still so calm is because I know none of you did it out of spite; it was a mistake. But let me make myself quite clear: I will not tolerate the deaths of any mortals who stay at my inn. Should this happen again, ever again, I will remind you that as the goddess of family, hearth, and home, I will see to it that *your* home is razed to the ground, and all of you cast into Tartarus with our father. Do I make myself clear?”
They all sat slack-jawed, clearly in disbelief by my rage, which prompted me to cause my fire to flare up briefly as I snarled with the voice of a burning forest, “I said, *do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”* Almost immediately, they all nodded, at which point my flames died down and I spoke in my usual calm demeanor. “Good. Now, Hades, I expect that my guests will receive proper compensation in the Underworld for the suddenness and untimely nature of their deaths?” He nodded as well. He always was one of the more patient of my family, but even he needed to be reminded of his responsibilities from time-to-time. “Good. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I must be headed back. I have to see to it that the bodies are delivered to their families, and that my inn is repaired.”
Since then, I’ve noticed a significant decrease in their quarrels. Sure, they still argue, but their spats are very subdued and are resolved quickly. I honestly don’t like it when I lose my temper. It feels so undignified, flying into a fit of fury like that, using intimidation, threats. But they are responsible for the caring for the world; I’m just in charge of taking care of my home and those who stop by for the night.
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[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
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Never before had Hestia been made to feel so small, so forgotten, so betrayed.
This place had been her most cherished possession. Her pride and joy. A small respite from the wars and terror her family waged on the world.
Now, it was naught but ash in her mouth.
The Inn itself was a charred ruin, still smoking from its recent destruction. Much of the land around it had cracked and washed away, as if the nearby coastal waters had reached out for it and pulled.
Hestia could sense the faint traces of their presences, no matter how well they had tried to hide them, but she didn't need to do so, she knew without that what had happened to her Inn.
Her brothers had come.
Oh, she found no trace of Hades, so perhaps he was innocent in this. He had always been the smartest of the three, no matter what the others wished to think.
No, this had been Zeus and Poseidon.
She had believed that she was understood and respected, that none would accost her places of worship out of respect. It would seem that had been a delusion she could no longer live under.
Any feigned respect for her had been shown false by this, and obviously any love they had once held for her was not enough, either.
Not just them, either. Her family loved warring with one another, but they never did so directly. They used mortal and demigod tools, influenced their conflicts and actions, they did not strike at each others sacred places. It was not done. Such a thing could only happen with the approval of the Olympian Council. A majority vote.
A majority vote to attack Hestia. Her domain, her place of worship.
Her Home.
"Sister."
She knew who it was at once. She recognised his voice, as she would any of her family.
"Hades" she said, turning her head to face him.
He had his usual dour look on his face, as he looked down at her. On her knees in the rubble of a tavern, face wet with tears that hadn't had time to dry, she must have been an ugly sight, but her brother gave no reaction to it, simple walking closer.
"I am sorry" he said, voice tinged with regret, Hestia scoffed lightly.
"If you had taken part in this, you would not be standing here now, what have you to be sorry for, brother?" She asked. Hades let out a sigh.
"Because I know how you are feeling right now, how I have felt many times before. I would never wish such a thing upon you, sister. You deserve it least of any in this world, and yet you suffer it now all the same. For that, I am sorry."
She sniffed, allowing a small smile to her brother. Those were perhaps the most words he had spoken to anyone besides his wife in over three centuries, Hades was a man of very few words, and yet he forewent to comfort her.
"My followers? The patrons and workers here?" She asked suddenly, struck by the need to ask. She had to know their fates, and Hades was the perfect god to ask.
"Elysium, all of them." He answered, laying all her fears for her people to rest. "They died bravely in the face of something they could not fight, and their faith in you never once wavered, even to the end. They deserved nothing less for such loyalty."
Good, she thought, perhaps they would find the peace there that the gods had robbed them of in life.
Now if only she could do the same.
"How do you deal with it, Hades? I feel as if I'm being torn in two on the inside, and yet you have been mistreated by them for centuries and here you stand. How?"
Hades paused, taking a seat next to her, no matter how ungodly it looked, and thought over the question.
"I believe you simply get used to it, over time. My domain is vast, and I do have those who do not mistreat me, who I know are truly family in every sense. Perhaps it also helps that none have ever dared to destroy one of my sacred places before, as they have here, they fear my power too much to risk such a thing and have me retaliate." He spoke slowly, "It does not truly ever get easier, but I have dealt with it for so long, I am numb to it now. I will always be an outcast from Olympus, and perhaps that is for the best, if it spares me becoming like them, and perpetrating acts such as this." He waved a hand to gesture to the destruction around us.
Hestia closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. Despite the odour of ash and death, she could still catch the faintest smell of the hearth that had proudly burned as a centrepiece to her home. Kept alive by her followers, even in their deaths. A representation of her power, nearly forgotten, but unable to be smothered away.
With that thought, she steeled herself and rose from where she had been kneeling. Hades startled at her sudden movement, head twisting to follow as she began marching off, away from the ruins.
"Sister?"
She paused for only a moment, turning her head to glance back at him, "Thank you, brother, for being good and true. If you will excuse me, I have something I need to do." With that, she continued walking, disappearing from the site mid stride in a small burst of flame.
Something Hades had said stuck with her, regarding why he hadn't needed to deal with destruction of his sacred places. It was an ugly thought, but one she could not shake or ignore now, with what had been done against her.
After leaving the clearing, she appeared on a pathway on Mount Olympus, her stride not faltering for a moment as she marched up the steps towards the Olympian Palace in silence. Minor gods and servants she would normally greet and stop to speak to went unseen. Hestia had eyes only for her family's golden home.
She ignored the guards as she entered, and made way to the grand doorway that led to the throne room of the gods.
Without pausing to let herself doubt her new path, Hestia shoved the twin doors open and marched into the throne room, having arrived right in the midst of a meeting. Twelve sets of eyes turned to her in surprise.
One might think that being stared down at by twelve powerful, ten foot tall beings on their thrones might make you feel insignificant, but Hestia was undeterred, not even bothering to grow to matching size. She remained the size of a mortal woman, dwarfed in scale by those around her, but not in strength. Not any longer.
Seeming to recover himself as she reached the hearth in the midst of their thrones, Zeus put on a genial smile and spread his arms in welcome.
"Hestia, sister! What a wonderful surprise. It is good to see you here at home once more, it has been too long!"
The greeting fell flat in her eyes. Perhaps, if the images of charred corpses were not fresh in her mind, she may have allowed herself to be fooled, but not this time.
"This is not my home." She replied quietly, Zeus did not react openly, but was that a glimmer of unease in his eye?
Good.
"Once I may have thought so, but it is rather clear now I was mistaken. My home was a quaint establishment by the sea, where all were welcome to rest in peace and tranquility. To feel the warmth of the hearth far from their own. Except it would seem something happened to that home. You would not know anything about this, brother, surely?"
Zeus frowned, and Hestia resisted the urge to smirk as she watched the mighty Olympians shift and mutter, expressions shifting from the friendly masks her arrival had called for. At last, she would see what her family was truly like.
"I am afraid not, sister. This is surely a tragedy. We shall put our best efforts to discovering the perpetrator of such a crime, I assure you."
Liar, she thought, but did not say.
Instead, she focussed more and more on what she had come here to do. The flames in the hearth grew taller and hotter as she passed a hand over them in patterns only she truly knew.
The Olympians shifted again, but this time due to a rumbling beneath their feet. It grew more and more, from a tremble to a quaking, and further still.
Their eyes came back to her, as if realizing all at once what the cause of this disturbance was.
"HESTIA!" Zeus boomed, standing from his throne and summoning his bolt, "What is the meaning of this?!"
She looked her youngest brother dead in the eye, flames beginning to flow from the hearth like water and circle her protectively.
"You destroyed my home. I am the Goddess of the Home, and you TOOK IT AWAY FROM ME!" She raged, fueled by the shaking beneath her feet.
"Now I will do the same to you."
The shaking increased, fissures beginning to form in the floor and the walls. The great golden palace beginning to tear itself apart, as her heart did the same.
They attempted to stop her. Of course they did.
Shining arrows from Apollo and Artemis burnt to ash before even reaching her. A great wave from Poseidon boiled into a cloud of steam in the face of her heat. Zeus took up his bolt and sent a blast of energy her way, and she swiped it aside in a fury, its power striking Ares and Athena behind her as they attempted to strike at her.
"You dare use that weapon against me? That bolt was forged in MY fires, little brother. Test me further and it can be unmade just as easily!" She shouted, the fires around her exploding outwards as her anger spiked. The others cowered from her flames, aside from Hephaestus who tried to brave them to reach her, only to be forced back, screaming in agony.
Why her nephew thought he could withstand her fire was beyond her. He was but a minor godling compared to her power, his forges would never match the heat she was capable of.
As she watched the council cower from her fires and attempt to breach them by other means, she let loose a grim smile. Beneath her feet, the mountain crumbled, as it experienced newfound volcanic activity. The world would watch as Olympus burned in a spew of magma, and was clouded in dark ash that would choke the vibrant mountain of all life.
Hestia stood amidst the destruction, untouched by her own wrath.
Her family did not respect her, and they clearly had lost their love for her. That was fine, she told herself.
Instead, they would learn to fear her.
|
The ashes of my work crumbled and pulled apart, trickling through the cracks in my fingers as my tears threaten to drown my spirit. My soul cried out in agony, and I felt the hopelessness within the air. I could only watch as the remains of what I once considered my proudest achievement, a beacon of hope and light, where it did not matter which deity you served or which pantheon you followed, collapsed into an abyss of desolation and destruction.
The foundation, made from the finest and strongest wood that Gaia could offer, fell apart in a melancholic heap of ash and dust that stained my white gown.
The stone walls, with no supports to stand upon, followed quickly after. The earth stunk of decay and death, a bloody reminder that no matter where you go, no matter where you hide, you can never outrun the cruelty of those with power.
My eyes rushed from corpse to corpse, truly taking in the scene of mindless, chaotic destruction. What could have done such terrible, catastrophic damage? My heart wept, and I felt my power surge within me unbidden. I felt the pain of each and every one of those poor souls, how they felt when they knew the end was near. Their anger at this injustice. Their dread and sorrow.
Some of them had husbands and wives awaiting them, others had children that waited impatiently for their return. Some had nothing but ambition, a dream that they would no longer be able to fulfill.
How had this happened?
This was supposed to be a sanctuary. A sanctuary, free of the endless violence and constant bloodshed! Why? Why do all this? Ecstasy and fury flowed through me; my blood began to pound. I wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to let out my anger.
The war had already killed so many, yet I always kept my inn as a place of hope and peace. A place where violence would never reach, and blood would never be spilled even in the darkest corners no light could find. The trees shriveled up; their spirits being driven from their lifeless husks. The grass, once as green as emeralds and gleaming with life, turned black as the darkest night, where not even the stars dared tread.
The wind, once a gentle, soothing breeze, howled mournfully through the mountains. I screamed into the air, not caring who saw me or who came near. The birds no longer chirped merrily as the dawn rose, nor did the sun find the courage to greet me. Even the moon, cold and unyielding, calm and peaceful, stayed far away. My power thrummed with fury, pounding like ancient shamanistic drums. My mind was clouded by a berserker fury, a mist so deep a red it was reminiscent of blood.
I clenched my fists, willing my heart to cease its incessant pounding and my mind to calm. I focused, and my agony slowly faded away, centuries’ worth of wisdom and cautious, logical thinking taking its place. I could not bring back what had been lost. They belonged to Hades’ realm now. But I could gather the bodies, give them a proper burial so they could rest peacefully in the afterlife.
I inhaled, and the surroundings calmed. The air no longer stunk of decay and death, and the stench of war began to dissipate.
It was a full night’s work, in which I neither took rest nor slept. Even as the rain and lightning converged, even as my fingers stunk of graveyard soil, even as the storm clouds threatened to drown me in relentless cold, I continued the gruesome work. Painstakingly, I carved the names of each and every corpse. Some were so far gone that I could not recognize them, their flesh so burnt and mutilated that it hurt me to even gaze upon them. Once it was all done, and their souls were left to enter the halls of Hades, I whispered…
“Anapáfsou en eiríni fíloi mou”
*Rest in peace, my friends.*
Finally, once every last body was buried and left to find its way into the next world, I knelt. Kneeling was not something that a deity was accustomed to, but I found it easy enough. I knelt, my nimble, slender fingers gently brushing the bloodstained earth. I thought about what I had seen.
The corpses were mutilated extensively, seemingly by fire. Their skin was blackened to the point where it was impossible to even look at them for more than a moment, and I felt sickened. But they bore no weapons nor wore any armor. There were no soldiers amongst them, which decreased the chances of this having been a battle. Besides, it was impossible for any mortal to tread upon this land with malevolent intent. Hekate, the goddess of magic and queen of witches had sealed the area herself, cloaking it from prying eyes with her strongest spells. That, alongside the remote location, should have provided ample defense. Or so I thought. Only those wearied by battle and without any ill intent could find it, however, not an army nor any murderers. That left me to only one conclusion.
The worst one of them all.
*My own brothers and sisters…*
“Hestia…” I turned around, already knowing who it was.
My siblings stared at me; eyes narrowed into cunning slits.
*Manipulative bastards*…
“Zeus…please, tell me this was a mistake.” I began, my fingers itching to claw out his eyes. My heart pounded in anticipation and anger. My blood was beginning to boil.
Poseidon sighed. “No. It was not. We need your help, Hestia. The lesser gods, the demigods, and the humans are all revolting against us. Hekate has already refused to aid us, we will deal with her later. Please, do not let the same be done to you.”
I will not deny that I expected this to happen one day. But I did not expect him to be so…so careless about it. What about the lives lost? Where were his apologies? Where were his regrets? Did he truly care so little of our mortal charges?!
“You did all this, all of this endless violence, because of some meaningless mutiny?” I shrieked, my fury beginning to reach a breaking point. The wind howled once more, my strength already steaming off of my skin. My magic was clawing itself out of my body, and the air hummed with power unlike any other. I had never used my divine abilities in such a way, nor had I ever dreamt of it.
But they left me no choice.
“Sister, please- “Zeus began, but I held up my hand. “It would seem that you all have forgotten your place in this world. I rejoice in silence, in the quiet peacefulness of my domain. But you mistook that for weakness?”
“Well, you will not make that mistake twice”
Zeus scowled at me, and the sky thundered with unholy rage. Lightning flashed violently throughout the sky, but I stood my ground.
“How dare you?” He spoke, venom soaked into every word. Anger contorted his handsome features, and he raised his hand as if to strike me. Thunder roared in fury and lightning raced towards me, but dissipated into mere sparks before it could meet its target. I smirked as the King of the Gods watched me, eyes widened in shock and, was that fear I sensed? I chuckled.
“What’s the matter, brother? Oh, great King of Gods? Can’t find the strength to strike an innocent woman? Well, too bad!” I laughed in glee, before raising my hands.
“For too long I have allowed you to dabble in the realm of mortals, to uproot their lives and turn them towards insanity. No longer! Today you have gone too far!”
The sky thundered, but no longer did it obey Zeus. He stared at me in awe and fear, and I could hear his heart skipping a million beats. Oh, his fear was delectable. I wanted more. The others took a step back, their wariness and fear evident in their features. Zeus glared at me and raised his hand once more. I regarded him with glee. It was comedic, how he truly thought he was any match for me.
“You dare to strike your own ruler?! Hestia, I command you to stop this madness”
“You came here, of your own free will, and slaughtered those under my protection, and now you beg mercy of me? Die, brother”
With those words, I drove the bolt of lightning into his heart. He clutched his chest where the blue flames had pierced his skin, driving itself into the source of his life that now lay on the ground, burnt beyond recognition. I watched, as the life fled from his eyes and his blood fed the earth.
“Sister, what have you done?” Screamed Poseidon, but I snatched the air from his lungs. His eyes widened, and he fell to the floor, his skin tinged with an ethereal, bluish glow. Water trickled down his cheeks. I could have killed him right there…
But I did not. Because I already had a far more terrible vengeance in mind.
“I am the eldest daughter of Kronos and Rhea, the oldest amongst the deathless gods. I am far beyond you, stronger than all of you together. This entire world is mine to command. I could kill you right here and now, as pathetic as you all are, but I have something far worse in mind”
They opened their mouths, already preparing to grovel and beg. But I shushed them.
“You will join the ranks of the humans you once governed. You will live and die as humans do, and you will have an eternity of suffering like no other. Not even death will free you from my punishment. That is the consequence of defying me, Hestia, the *Queen* of the Gods”
I held up my hands, and the earth began to shake. They screamed, shrieked. Spewed out curse after curse, but I bade them no mind. They did this to themselves.
Finally, the work was done. And so began an era of prosperity like no other…
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[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
It started off simply enough. A whisper in Athena’s ear to remind her of her duty as the daughter of Zeus and Metis. A murmur to Hera of the dishonor her husband does to her every time she hears the cries of one of his bastards. Reminding Aphrodite of her hatred and contempt for Hepheastus. Suggesting to Artemis that she hunt gods rather than men. Telling Demeter how nobody on Olympus helped find her daughter after she was taken by grave Hades. All of this done without notice, without suspicion. Nobody would ever believe that the blessed goddess would cause her own family to hate each other – or at least more than they already hated each other.
Then once the family was squabbling, the house began to fault. Food began to spoil. Drink began to sour. Cracks formed in the walls of the palace and the vases of the drunkards. The servants, once silent and dutiful, became lazy, complacent, and irritable. Some realized that they wanted nothing to do with such a hateful family and left the halls for good. With the workers gone or resisting, the tempers of the masters flared.
Then the forge burned Hephaestus once more and he stormed out in a huff. He knocked into Aphrodite and burned her skin. She retaliated by wounding his pride and striking him across his face. Within minutes his hands were on her throat. The others saw. It was the spark that lit the cannon. Words were not enough. Weapons were drawn in the house of heaven.
War ceased upon the earth as enemies looked up to Taygetos. The place where the mountains met the sky was starting to burn. The sky itself was dark, almost pitch black, with flashes of bright lighting and brilliant orange being the only colors visible amongst the smoke-like clouds. Screams were heard from above, while silence reigned upon the land. Everyone in Greece held their breath in horror as the heavens burned. Then blood started to fall from the sky. First gradual, then like the rainfall. There were no more enemies as, like one, the people of the world ran in terror.
***********
Zeus clawed his way to the still burning hearth of Olympus’ throne room, the only thing standing and unharmed amongst the blood and wreckage of the once mighty seat of the gods. He coughed and retched blood as his broken bones stung. He looked around at the mangled bodies of his once family. Ares and Athena lay limp, each other’s spears in the other’s hearts. Demeter’s charred corpse was tossed over a broken pillar. Hephaestus had been impaled by the golden and silver arrows of the celestial twins, who were both on the floor, heads missing from their bodies. He saw Hera, once beautiful and regal, now a scarred, deformed lump of bones and flesh. Zeus spat in her direction, laughing at her misfortune.
Then he heard steps coming closer over the crackling of embers and the rumbling of thunder. He turned to see his dear sister walking towards him. Hestia’s eyes flashed as her face remained expressionless.
“Why?” He croaked as fear gripped his weakening soul.
“Do you remember that small tavern by the road? Where laughter came from as the screams of war grew closer? Where enemies would heal alongside each other and leave as friends?” She stood above him, her hatred plain as day in her voice. “The one that was struck by lightning about one week ago?”
Zeus’ eyes grew wide.
“You told me that this war was for the benefit of humanity. That stopping it and seeking for peace before you and the gods were done would be nothing less than a crime against your dignity. As you held the corpse of dear Sophia like a broken toy. Then and there, I understood everything.”
“Please, Hestia, forgive me.” He saw her eyes burn as he spoke. “I meant nothing to offend you. They need us! They want this war, They cannot exist without us –”
His next words were replaced with screams as he felt his face burn. Hestia felt his skin bubble and warp under her hand, and yet she still held on. Her rage at her brother and the rest of her family tainted her mind as she felt only hatred and despair.
“Maybe they should. Perhaps in several years they will find our absence a blessing.” Her words were like cold venom as she stood over Zeus. “If the gods will only bring war and destruction to humanity, like they always have, then we must die so they can live.”
She snuffed out the flames of the pyre and walked to the edge of the mountain. Here she saw the burning wreckage of her home, and felt the flames she herself lit. She looked out further and saw peace upon all of Greece as they huddled in their homes and waited for the storms to be over. Hestia smiled as she took one more step and completed her terrible mission. As she fell, she had but one thought.
“Let humanity call out to the heavens, hear nothing, and smile.”
|
Do you feel that, zos?
Do you remember when we came to earth?
Oh how beautiful it was. It had been so long in the blackness. Do you even remember the blackness? I do. Oh how they worshiped us.
Our father knew his mistake as soon as he birthed me. That was how all of this started.
Are you feeling it, now?
Alright then. Let me tell you a story.
A long time ago there was a planet. For a long time on this planet. Then, suddenly, something would. Creatures would walk. They would roam. They'd eat. They'd give birth. They'd care for their young.
And then those creatures would evolve. What had at first been simple. Primal. Would become more complex. More layered. This would bring complications, of course. But, not too many that they wouldn't have the chance to grow out of it.
Then, they'd turn their gaze upwards. And they'd leave.
You younger gods, and your toys. Fire. Lighting. Death.
You never understood.
I'm not going to take myself away from you. No. I am not that cruel. And honestly, for my intended purposes I've found that be counter productive.
No. Instead, you're going to feel everything you should have. Every child you've left. Every sibling you've hurt. Every family you've destroyed. I find the bonds of war are forged on disconnection more than anything else.
I may throw in a little bit extra. Just to remind you.
Father may have devoured me, but by then it was already too late. You may have split Cronus's stomach, but you would do well to remember the one who saved *you*, little brother.
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[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
I am Hestia, and I will break your family.
There was a man once. Tall and hale. Handsome, in his own way. Metaxis. He lived on a hill overlooking the pasture lands of Crete.
Metaxis was at home in the city or the country. Give him a crook and sheep to raise and he was a good man, a steady man. Give him a windfall—fat sheep at the slaughter, good wool, a rich harvest in the olive grove behind his house—and watch him change. Metaxis, steady and nurturing in the country, would step into his children’s rooms and kiss them one by one upon the foreheads. Kiss his wife upon the lips. She would respond. Why should she not? He was tall and hale. Handsome in his own way. A good father, a good shepherd. A good grower of olives in the ancestral grove. Girls dreamt of such things. Women rarely got them.
She hadn’t either.
Given a windfall Metaxis would go into the city. He whored. Drank. Fought. Did unspeakable things. In the tight and winding laneways and up to the tallest hills where the houses crowded the skies and rich men left wives behind in empty beds to make windfalls of their own, Metaxis sowed his seeds, raised a little hell.
Afterward, limping off his drunk, he kissed his wife with the same mouth, and she responded, no matter what she tasted. What she saw in him.
When I saw Metaxis, balanced on the knife-edge between city and country, staring down the precipice of the man he really was, I gave him a little push.
Sitting by the hearth one winter, his children sleeping in their rooms, his wife sitting on the warm stones by his feet, her shoulder against his knee, black hair trailing across his lap like a river of half-remembered dreams, he sat up a little straighter. He stared into the flames. He nodded once, stroked his woman’s hair. Kissed her, and she responded. Then he went into the winter, dark and drifting snow, and laid down a moment with the sheep, perhaps the only creatures he had ever truly loved.
In the morning he was gone. The family was broken. Metaxis plunged off his cliff. A woman, once a wife, alone with a family to raise.
But she would get the chance.
\*
There was a woman once. Many. Helens.
Helen was beautiful. Men sighed when she passed. Women too, a rarer sort of thing. Not jealous, who could be jealous of a goddess? Some things simply were. Helen’s beauty was.
Helen had a good man, a king who loved his queen, and despite what legends say he really did love her. She had a good life, in the style of her days. A palace and other houses. Rooms for her women, for her favored friends. For her. So many rooms for her. Drawing rooms, sewing rooms, sitting rooms, dreaming rooms. Solariums and sunrooms, conservatories of all kinds. Bedrooms. And there, of course, was the rub.
In many things, Helen was never content.
And truly, that might have been alright. But I saw her, staring into the hearth on rainy days or sunny. Cold in the winter as Metaxis had been, though his wife was at his side and children asleep all around.
There were poems to her beauty, though never an ode to wit. There were suitors on a thousand isles, in every hall. At dinner she might look across a trestle table, guests ranged about her, a hundred people filling a hall, a thousand, kingdoms stretched out before her ruled by various and sundry men, some tall, some hale, some handsome. Some clever. Helen looked across her trestle tables, past the boar and pheasant, the bowls of olives and the fish in all their sauces, and she took her pick until her pick took her and bedrooms shifted, solariums changed. Until a hall was exchanged for another hall, a city on a cliff above white sand beaches, a storm-tossed sea all around.
A fleet at anchor on the doorstep she had chosen.
We spoke through a candle, Helen and I, as her new prince lay sleeping beside her.
She rose after. Went to the window. Saw the fleet the laid out before her, all those familiar flags. Brothers, cousins, friends. A husband somewhere out there, though his insignia was lost in all the tossing gray, in the hornet’s nest of activity on those white sand beaches. Not white anymore. Scarlet pooling where her tears did, until she turned away.
Saw the candle. Saw me, staring back at her. The prince asleep. He was quite beautiful. A match for her, perhaps.
But every match breaks in time. All fires go out. Even hearts and hearths, especially on wind-swept nights on distant seas. Cold, when you most need the fire.
\*
There was a child once. Boy or girl, doesn’t matter.
The child had a mother, a father. Love, in the fashion of the later children, when love was a carpet rolled out once and walked upon by many feet.
The child had attention, who’s to say if it was good or bad. They were not neglected, but still. Things happen. Who can know a child’s mind? The past is a foreign country, and so few ever really travel.
Life slips through the cracks.
Some children try to take it back.
It began with small animals. Progressed to neighbor’s boys. Never girls. They were specific with that. Odd.
The child liked to fight, you see. Eventually they might be like Metaxis in the city, every day a windfall seized from the tapestry of life. They might be like Helen, capricious and cold. A shining world, too dim beside the shining of another man. They might be like Helen’s husband, after. What he did. How he changed when he woke to find her gone.
Did the child have it in them? Would they have grown up as they did, if the carpet were a little less tattered?
Who’s to say? I simply see.
I spoke to them by a campfire, one night when all the little victims blurred.
They spoke back.
Most folk listen when they hear a goddess in the fire. Not this child. This child stated. Refuted. They listened sometimes and listened well, but it was always to a point. To find the word that unraveled the sentence. Little chinks in imagined armor. Like they were breaching a city or killing a man.
Even for a goddess, it can be unnerving.
I asked them, “Why are you doing this?”
And they said, “Doing what?”
And that, you see, is when I knew.
We talked a while longer yet. It’s harder with children. At length they rose, turned to face the rising sun. Apollo in his chariot racing golden across gray-blue clouds. A sleepy world waking slowly to find a child awake and ready. Years left to plan and refine. A prodigy.
They sat on their haunches in a shadowed glade watching the sun creep across the hills, its light revealing things that even I had not seen. They were a small child. About nine or ten. No reasoning with them, they were too clever for such things.
But a goddess might command if the time is right and the situation dire, if the child is a breaker of men.
I commanded, broke a family instead.
|
Do you feel that, zos?
Do you remember when we came to earth?
Oh how beautiful it was. It had been so long in the blackness. Do you even remember the blackness? I do. Oh how they worshiped us.
Our father knew his mistake as soon as he birthed me. That was how all of this started.
Are you feeling it, now?
Alright then. Let me tell you a story.
A long time ago there was a planet. For a long time on this planet. Then, suddenly, something would. Creatures would walk. They would roam. They'd eat. They'd give birth. They'd care for their young.
And then those creatures would evolve. What had at first been simple. Primal. Would become more complex. More layered. This would bring complications, of course. But, not too many that they wouldn't have the chance to grow out of it.
Then, they'd turn their gaze upwards. And they'd leave.
You younger gods, and your toys. Fire. Lighting. Death.
You never understood.
I'm not going to take myself away from you. No. I am not that cruel. And honestly, for my intended purposes I've found that be counter productive.
No. Instead, you're going to feel everything you should have. Every child you've left. Every sibling you've hurt. Every family you've destroyed. I find the bonds of war are forged on disconnection more than anything else.
I may throw in a little bit extra. Just to remind you.
Father may have devoured me, but by then it was already too late. You may have split Cronus's stomach, but you would do well to remember the one who saved *you*, little brother.
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[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
Never before had Hestia been made to feel so small, so forgotten, so betrayed.
This place had been her most cherished possession. Her pride and joy. A small respite from the wars and terror her family waged on the world.
Now, it was naught but ash in her mouth.
The Inn itself was a charred ruin, still smoking from its recent destruction. Much of the land around it had cracked and washed away, as if the nearby coastal waters had reached out for it and pulled.
Hestia could sense the faint traces of their presences, no matter how well they had tried to hide them, but she didn't need to do so, she knew without that what had happened to her Inn.
Her brothers had come.
Oh, she found no trace of Hades, so perhaps he was innocent in this. He had always been the smartest of the three, no matter what the others wished to think.
No, this had been Zeus and Poseidon.
She had believed that she was understood and respected, that none would accost her places of worship out of respect. It would seem that had been a delusion she could no longer live under.
Any feigned respect for her had been shown false by this, and obviously any love they had once held for her was not enough, either.
Not just them, either. Her family loved warring with one another, but they never did so directly. They used mortal and demigod tools, influenced their conflicts and actions, they did not strike at each others sacred places. It was not done. Such a thing could only happen with the approval of the Olympian Council. A majority vote.
A majority vote to attack Hestia. Her domain, her place of worship.
Her Home.
"Sister."
She knew who it was at once. She recognised his voice, as she would any of her family.
"Hades" she said, turning her head to face him.
He had his usual dour look on his face, as he looked down at her. On her knees in the rubble of a tavern, face wet with tears that hadn't had time to dry, she must have been an ugly sight, but her brother gave no reaction to it, simple walking closer.
"I am sorry" he said, voice tinged with regret, Hestia scoffed lightly.
"If you had taken part in this, you would not be standing here now, what have you to be sorry for, brother?" She asked. Hades let out a sigh.
"Because I know how you are feeling right now, how I have felt many times before. I would never wish such a thing upon you, sister. You deserve it least of any in this world, and yet you suffer it now all the same. For that, I am sorry."
She sniffed, allowing a small smile to her brother. Those were perhaps the most words he had spoken to anyone besides his wife in over three centuries, Hades was a man of very few words, and yet he forewent to comfort her.
"My followers? The patrons and workers here?" She asked suddenly, struck by the need to ask. She had to know their fates, and Hades was the perfect god to ask.
"Elysium, all of them." He answered, laying all her fears for her people to rest. "They died bravely in the face of something they could not fight, and their faith in you never once wavered, even to the end. They deserved nothing less for such loyalty."
Good, she thought, perhaps they would find the peace there that the gods had robbed them of in life.
Now if only she could do the same.
"How do you deal with it, Hades? I feel as if I'm being torn in two on the inside, and yet you have been mistreated by them for centuries and here you stand. How?"
Hades paused, taking a seat next to her, no matter how ungodly it looked, and thought over the question.
"I believe you simply get used to it, over time. My domain is vast, and I do have those who do not mistreat me, who I know are truly family in every sense. Perhaps it also helps that none have ever dared to destroy one of my sacred places before, as they have here, they fear my power too much to risk such a thing and have me retaliate." He spoke slowly, "It does not truly ever get easier, but I have dealt with it for so long, I am numb to it now. I will always be an outcast from Olympus, and perhaps that is for the best, if it spares me becoming like them, and perpetrating acts such as this." He waved a hand to gesture to the destruction around us.
Hestia closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. Despite the odour of ash and death, she could still catch the faintest smell of the hearth that had proudly burned as a centrepiece to her home. Kept alive by her followers, even in their deaths. A representation of her power, nearly forgotten, but unable to be smothered away.
With that thought, she steeled herself and rose from where she had been kneeling. Hades startled at her sudden movement, head twisting to follow as she began marching off, away from the ruins.
"Sister?"
She paused for only a moment, turning her head to glance back at him, "Thank you, brother, for being good and true. If you will excuse me, I have something I need to do." With that, she continued walking, disappearing from the site mid stride in a small burst of flame.
Something Hades had said stuck with her, regarding why he hadn't needed to deal with destruction of his sacred places. It was an ugly thought, but one she could not shake or ignore now, with what had been done against her.
After leaving the clearing, she appeared on a pathway on Mount Olympus, her stride not faltering for a moment as she marched up the steps towards the Olympian Palace in silence. Minor gods and servants she would normally greet and stop to speak to went unseen. Hestia had eyes only for her family's golden home.
She ignored the guards as she entered, and made way to the grand doorway that led to the throne room of the gods.
Without pausing to let herself doubt her new path, Hestia shoved the twin doors open and marched into the throne room, having arrived right in the midst of a meeting. Twelve sets of eyes turned to her in surprise.
One might think that being stared down at by twelve powerful, ten foot tall beings on their thrones might make you feel insignificant, but Hestia was undeterred, not even bothering to grow to matching size. She remained the size of a mortal woman, dwarfed in scale by those around her, but not in strength. Not any longer.
Seeming to recover himself as she reached the hearth in the midst of their thrones, Zeus put on a genial smile and spread his arms in welcome.
"Hestia, sister! What a wonderful surprise. It is good to see you here at home once more, it has been too long!"
The greeting fell flat in her eyes. Perhaps, if the images of charred corpses were not fresh in her mind, she may have allowed herself to be fooled, but not this time.
"This is not my home." She replied quietly, Zeus did not react openly, but was that a glimmer of unease in his eye?
Good.
"Once I may have thought so, but it is rather clear now I was mistaken. My home was a quaint establishment by the sea, where all were welcome to rest in peace and tranquility. To feel the warmth of the hearth far from their own. Except it would seem something happened to that home. You would not know anything about this, brother, surely?"
Zeus frowned, and Hestia resisted the urge to smirk as she watched the mighty Olympians shift and mutter, expressions shifting from the friendly masks her arrival had called for. At last, she would see what her family was truly like.
"I am afraid not, sister. This is surely a tragedy. We shall put our best efforts to discovering the perpetrator of such a crime, I assure you."
Liar, she thought, but did not say.
Instead, she focussed more and more on what she had come here to do. The flames in the hearth grew taller and hotter as she passed a hand over them in patterns only she truly knew.
The Olympians shifted again, but this time due to a rumbling beneath their feet. It grew more and more, from a tremble to a quaking, and further still.
Their eyes came back to her, as if realizing all at once what the cause of this disturbance was.
"HESTIA!" Zeus boomed, standing from his throne and summoning his bolt, "What is the meaning of this?!"
She looked her youngest brother dead in the eye, flames beginning to flow from the hearth like water and circle her protectively.
"You destroyed my home. I am the Goddess of the Home, and you TOOK IT AWAY FROM ME!" She raged, fueled by the shaking beneath her feet.
"Now I will do the same to you."
The shaking increased, fissures beginning to form in the floor and the walls. The great golden palace beginning to tear itself apart, as her heart did the same.
They attempted to stop her. Of course they did.
Shining arrows from Apollo and Artemis burnt to ash before even reaching her. A great wave from Poseidon boiled into a cloud of steam in the face of her heat. Zeus took up his bolt and sent a blast of energy her way, and she swiped it aside in a fury, its power striking Ares and Athena behind her as they attempted to strike at her.
"You dare use that weapon against me? That bolt was forged in MY fires, little brother. Test me further and it can be unmade just as easily!" She shouted, the fires around her exploding outwards as her anger spiked. The others cowered from her flames, aside from Hephaestus who tried to brave them to reach her, only to be forced back, screaming in agony.
Why her nephew thought he could withstand her fire was beyond her. He was but a minor godling compared to her power, his forges would never match the heat she was capable of.
As she watched the council cower from her fires and attempt to breach them by other means, she let loose a grim smile. Beneath her feet, the mountain crumbled, as it experienced newfound volcanic activity. The world would watch as Olympus burned in a spew of magma, and was clouded in dark ash that would choke the vibrant mountain of all life.
Hestia stood amidst the destruction, untouched by her own wrath.
Her family did not respect her, and they clearly had lost their love for her. That was fine, she told herself.
Instead, they would learn to fear her.
|
Do you feel that, zos?
Do you remember when we came to earth?
Oh how beautiful it was. It had been so long in the blackness. Do you even remember the blackness? I do. Oh how they worshiped us.
Our father knew his mistake as soon as he birthed me. That was how all of this started.
Are you feeling it, now?
Alright then. Let me tell you a story.
A long time ago there was a planet. For a long time on this planet. Then, suddenly, something would. Creatures would walk. They would roam. They'd eat. They'd give birth. They'd care for their young.
And then those creatures would evolve. What had at first been simple. Primal. Would become more complex. More layered. This would bring complications, of course. But, not too many that they wouldn't have the chance to grow out of it.
Then, they'd turn their gaze upwards. And they'd leave.
You younger gods, and your toys. Fire. Lighting. Death.
You never understood.
I'm not going to take myself away from you. No. I am not that cruel. And honestly, for my intended purposes I've found that be counter productive.
No. Instead, you're going to feel everything you should have. Every child you've left. Every sibling you've hurt. Every family you've destroyed. I find the bonds of war are forged on disconnection more than anything else.
I may throw in a little bit extra. Just to remind you.
Father may have devoured me, but by then it was already too late. You may have split Cronus's stomach, but you would do well to remember the one who saved *you*, little brother.
|
|
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
Fire is my birthright. Unlike my Big Three brothers, my domain was not of grandeur or power. Mine was the fireplace. Mine was of warmth, of comfort, of the shared quietness of a family together. Sharing their joys, their sorrows, their frustrations, their celebrations, all in front of the hearth, where my power lied.
Fire was my birthright.
The Big Three weren't my only siblings.
I still had Demeter and Chiron, though one was in perpetual worry for her daughter and the other was in a perpetual melancholy for the things to come. They were not the best company, but I cherished them all the same on the occasion they visited my inn.
My inn is my temple. A base for my power. I still persisted in homes and hearths of mortals, but I chose to have a place to call my own. A place of respite and pause. A place where anyone could come to relax and unwind and share their stories or rest in solitary.
And this inn existed outside the periphery of time. That was my power, as well. I was the daughter of Chronos, after all. He was Father Time, I was told. And I inherited part of his divinity. His control over time. Not wholly, maybe, but enough.
Enough to build my inn where no time passes at all, or where enough time passes, depending on who you are and what you seek. The Shifting Cadence, Chiron named it for me, for I was not a wordsmith like him. And he fashioned the sign as well, written with arcane words that can be read in whatever language you wished to read it in.
I reminisced that as I felt the sign radiate a familiar warmth. That was another magic it contained. When I was about to have godly company, the sign would warm up. And I could smell it now, as well. The sickly sweet smell of overripe grapes.
Dionysus.
The drunk fool liked coming here often. He liked to try to win my favour, though I had not figured out why. He'd try to reason that he could fill my barrels with unlimited ale and wine, the best mortals would ever taste. It was a tempting offer, to have a god's blessing in my drink. But I knew better.
Olympians were not the kind to bless charitably.
There would be a catch. And I would not taint my holy place with whatever gods had in mind.
The door creaked open and Dionysus stepped through, along with... Poseidon.
My eyes widened. I had not seen the sea god in millennia, but I felt the stench of him. Of salt and brine and sweat and rust. I mildly noted that the god of wine somehow had the more overpowering pungence of the two.
"Hestia, dear sister!" Poseidon boomed, and some of my mortal patrons looked over in curiosity.
"Ah, Poseidon. Brother. What brings you here?"
"Well, we've heard you opened up an inn, but you never invited any of us for its opening! We could have blessed this place, made it grand and ornate! Worthy of the gods!" Poseidon continued, looking around the inn with its simple wood and creaking doors and windows and chairs.
"It was never meant for the gods."
"Is that why you only allow the horseman to enter this place?"
"You do Chiron a disservice, merman. He may not be an Olympian, but he is still the son of your father, same as you." I said, smiling internally as he bristled at the term, 'merman'.
"He is a stargazing fool. As you are a mortal-loving fool. Look at what you're reduced to. Serving. You know, I was always curious. When Zeus, Hades and I fought over the domains, where were you?"
"When you were competing and comparing your cocks I had already chosen my domain. I would spare others of our dysfunction. Of our games, our deceit. I would guide the mortals towards proper kinship, stronger familial bonds. The curse of us is that we are all killers of our own ilk should be confined to us." As I said all this, time stopped for my patrons, and the words only meant for these two gods fell heavy on their ears.
I continued, "My domain is of fire. Of warmth. Of family. Found or blood-related, does not matter. What we are are the connections we make. Not the power we possess."
"Ah, sister. This is worse than I thought. The power we possess trumps all. Here I was, thinking you had some grand plan for this inn. Here I was, worrying that you had been cooking something up all this time. But you truly haven't. You've truly gone mad." The sea god laughed.
"The salt of your domain has truly made you unbearable, sweet brother of mine. If there is nothing else..."
"Oh, there is something else. You've lied, Hestia. This story you've crafted of being of hearth and family, it's a beautiful tale. But your true domain is our father's. Here we were, disappointed that none of his children inherited his most powerful ability. And yet, here you are. Playing the guise of a tavern wench in this powerful place of temporal uncertainty. You have had Cronus' gift all this time, and hid it from us. And decided to use that power for... This? What is this, anyway?"
"Something you wouldn't understand. What do you want?"
"An allegiance. Dionysius here told me of this place. He knows the location of every place where a transaction over alcohol happens. And when he told me of how Hestia owned an inn in a place where time flowed queerly, I chalked it up to his perpetual stupor. But now that I am here... Tell me, sister. What do you wish most in the world?"
"Why don't you tell me what this allegiance is about?"
"There is a war coming. Apollo has seen it. He said there would be a great fire, and Olympus would fall. The gods are taking up arms, slowly and quietly. Forming factions, allegiances. I don't know when it would come, but it will. And a war among gods would have mortal casualty. Uncountable mortal casualty. Now, I know you don't want that, seeing what you have going on here. So please, let's stop this before it happens. Nip it in the bud. Name your price. Tell me what you desire most in this world?"
I thought for a moment.
Fire was my birthright.
"What I want most in the world is for gods to be better. Just gods. Kind gods. Gods who care for their worshippers, their mortal brethren. Gods who pull each other up, and not push each other down. Gods who don't war over petty reasons. Gods who behave like gods and not overgrown children. That is what I desire most in this world. For us to leave all this hate and strife behind and live as the family we are."
Poseidon sighed, "And if not that?" He asked sarcastically.
Fire was my birthright.
"If not that, then my desire is to burn it all down."
|
Do you feel that, zos?
Do you remember when we came to earth?
Oh how beautiful it was. It had been so long in the blackness. Do you even remember the blackness? I do. Oh how they worshiped us.
Our father knew his mistake as soon as he birthed me. That was how all of this started.
Are you feeling it, now?
Alright then. Let me tell you a story.
A long time ago there was a planet. For a long time on this planet. Then, suddenly, something would. Creatures would walk. They would roam. They'd eat. They'd give birth. They'd care for their young.
And then those creatures would evolve. What had at first been simple. Primal. Would become more complex. More layered. This would bring complications, of course. But, not too many that they wouldn't have the chance to grow out of it.
Then, they'd turn their gaze upwards. And they'd leave.
You younger gods, and your toys. Fire. Lighting. Death.
You never understood.
I'm not going to take myself away from you. No. I am not that cruel. And honestly, for my intended purposes I've found that be counter productive.
No. Instead, you're going to feel everything you should have. Every child you've left. Every sibling you've hurt. Every family you've destroyed. I find the bonds of war are forged on disconnection more than anything else.
I may throw in a little bit extra. Just to remind you.
Father may have devoured me, but by then it was already too late. You may have split Cronus's stomach, but you would do well to remember the one who saved *you*, little brother.
|
|
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
The sleeping pebble was known as a rest stop for weary travelers from all walks of life. No matter what side of the pointless war you were on, you would always find a hot meal and bed at the inn. Hestia considered her inn a haven, a place where true peace could develop. No matter what god you fought for, you were always welcome.
Hestia wandered through the thick forest, pulling along a cart of supplies with her right hand. Her gaze focused on the rising black smoke in the distance. “The war is getting rather close. Perhaps I should send my brothers and sisters a letter? Maybe there’s a misunderstanding about where my inn is located?”
Hestia didn’t consider the possibility that the other gods were ignoring her wishes to be excluded from the war. The other gods were childish and dangerous, but they weren’t that stupid. Hestia, believing they still honored the family hierarchy. She was the first daughter of Cronus. She doubted any of them had forgotten that.
As she made her way into the clearing, the sight of a burnt down inn greeted her. The scolding remains of stained black wood and ashes littering the floor. For a moment, she assumed it was an illusion, a harsh prank by one of her family. Releasing the cart, she approached, crouching before the ash, letting her fingers run against it.
“Why would they do this?” Her fingertip stained in the light grey of the ash, leaving a light marking. “No mortal could burn this inn down. I made certain of that. Savos? Milsa? Are you two alive?” Hestia called out to her workers, only to hear no response. The inn an eerily silent pile of rubble. No music, no laughter or chatter, just silence.
“They killed them. The inn I could excuse, but you can’t rebuild a life.” Hestia couldn’t even find the bodies among the destruction, the poor humans punished for wanting a life of peace like she did. She said a silent prayer to them, promising she would speak to Hades about this.
“Come now, sister, you have a reason to fight. You can get a new inn and you can get new servants. Now isn’t the time for grieving, it’s time for war.” A booming voice came from behind, as two feet landed on the ground behind her. The person behind her giving off an aura that made her brown hair stand up.
“Did you do this, Zeus?” Her words were soft, not even turning to stare at the man, only watching the destruction before her.
“It wasn’t just me. We hate seeing you waste your potential like this. We are shaping the world, sending the humans to fight under our names. If you don’t join in, you may get forgotten. My army’s winning, just so you know. Maybe if you ask kindly, I’ll offer you a territory to help you get started.”
Hestia stood up, turning to face her brother. She stepped closer to him, closing the distance between the two.
“That’s more like it. Come, I have a town called Zulus that you would love.” Zeus went to lead her, only to feel a feverish hand grip his neck. Hestia staring into her brothers’ eyes, as the flesh on her arm bubbled from the heat. If her own flesh couldn’t handle the heat, she could only imagine what it was doing to the throat of Zeus.
Her brother struggled, firing a bolt from the heavens. The bolt crackled against the top of her head, sending its volts through her, only to leave her unmoved. The heat in her palm causing his throat to sizzle. Zeus confidence turning into fear as he kicked at his sister, trying to break free from the hold.
“Did I not make myself clear about this, brother? I warned you all about what would happen if my request wasn’t met. You killed two dear friends of mine. Not servants, friends. Savos and Milsa, two people who I will ask for forgiveness from once I end this war.” With that, she dropped her brother, tossing him to the floor.
“E-end the war?” He coughed, trying to hold his throat. Whenever his fingers would touch his throat, he would be forced to let go, not even able to tend to his wound because of the heat still radiating off it.
“Yes, I’m going to make sure there is no one left to fight. I will start again with humanity. You all have tainted them.” Hestia took a seat on the ground, placing her palms against the Earth, focusing on the planet’s core. “Perhaps I will find a new family, too.”
Hestia knew she would need to work quickly. While she may have been the strongest, she was not invincible. If the others found out about this and attacked, she wouldn’t be able to fend them all off. With her focused touch, the Earth warmed, the odd shot of fire breaking through the ground, causing much confusion on the battlefields.
“What are you doing, sister? Have you gone mad?” Ares landed his Pegasus chariot before her, drawing a golden handled blade. Before he could raise the blade, a small shot of lightning hit his thumb, causing him to drop the weapon.
“She has the planet at her mercy. You would be foolish to attack her. Listen closely sister, if you do this, all those precious humans you love so much will be dead.” Zeus attempted to reason with her, knowing that there couldn’t be a war without an Earth.
“I understand your anger, sister, but this won’t bring back those you lost. Gods are made to command wars. It’s a part of our lives.” A new voice spoke to the group. The voice belonging to Demeter, her voice echoing into the minds of the gods through the earth they touched.
“A way of life? Then let me win this war. If I kill everyone, I win. Is that not how bloodshed works?” Hestia kept her finger on the trigger, glancing at the two gods before her.
“No, war is about making a person kneel before your feet in surrender.” Ares explained, finding his aunts understanding of the subject rather lacking.
“Then kneel.”
“No, not us. You want the humans to kneel. You can rule over them then. Don’t you want to indulge in the riches of life? Humans are nothing but creatures for us to exploit.” Zeus only infuriated Hestia further, the ground beneath them igniting before Ares dropped to his knees.
“Very well Auntie, if surrender is what you wish, then I have no choice.” Ares got to his knees before looking at Zeus, the proud god refusing to bow.
“If you keep standing, all of those indulgences will perish.” Hestia reminded him. “Bow and tell Hermes to inform the other gods that this war of theirs is over. I am the victor.”
Zeus watched his sister, ready to call her bluff, only for the heat of the Earth to cause him to sweat. For him to be sweating, her fury must have been hotter than the core itself. He dropped to his knees, bowing his head.
Shortly after, Hermes delivered the confirmation that the others had ended their wars. With that, Hestia removed her hands. Standing up, turning to the damaged inn. She hoped her two friends had kept the coins she had given them to pay for Charon’s fare. If not, she would have to search the banks for them.
“I will rebuild my inn. The rest of you go about your duties. If I hear even a murmur about a war in the next century, you will have to deal with me. Is that understood?” She was sure Hermes would pass her threat on while the gods in attendance gave their nods. With that, they left, leaving her with the rubble.
She could finally breathe a sigh of relief when they left. Her bluff had worked. She honestly didn’t think her family would believe her. She would never want to kill all of humanity, not after she had seen how lovely they could be. That would violate the trust of her friends. With the war over, she began unloading her cart, planning to use the supplies inside to rebuild her inn.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
Do you feel that, zos?
Do you remember when we came to earth?
Oh how beautiful it was. It had been so long in the blackness. Do you even remember the blackness? I do. Oh how they worshiped us.
Our father knew his mistake as soon as he birthed me. That was how all of this started.
Are you feeling it, now?
Alright then. Let me tell you a story.
A long time ago there was a planet. For a long time on this planet. Then, suddenly, something would. Creatures would walk. They would roam. They'd eat. They'd give birth. They'd care for their young.
And then those creatures would evolve. What had at first been simple. Primal. Would become more complex. More layered. This would bring complications, of course. But, not too many that they wouldn't have the chance to grow out of it.
Then, they'd turn their gaze upwards. And they'd leave.
You younger gods, and your toys. Fire. Lighting. Death.
You never understood.
I'm not going to take myself away from you. No. I am not that cruel. And honestly, for my intended purposes I've found that be counter productive.
No. Instead, you're going to feel everything you should have. Every child you've left. Every sibling you've hurt. Every family you've destroyed. I find the bonds of war are forged on disconnection more than anything else.
I may throw in a little bit extra. Just to remind you.
Father may have devoured me, but by then it was already too late. You may have split Cronus's stomach, but you would do well to remember the one who saved *you*, little brother.
|
|
[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
Never before had Hestia been made to feel so small, so forgotten, so betrayed.
This place had been her most cherished possession. Her pride and joy. A small respite from the wars and terror her family waged on the world.
Now, it was naught but ash in her mouth.
The Inn itself was a charred ruin, still smoking from its recent destruction. Much of the land around it had cracked and washed away, as if the nearby coastal waters had reached out for it and pulled.
Hestia could sense the faint traces of their presences, no matter how well they had tried to hide them, but she didn't need to do so, she knew without that what had happened to her Inn.
Her brothers had come.
Oh, she found no trace of Hades, so perhaps he was innocent in this. He had always been the smartest of the three, no matter what the others wished to think.
No, this had been Zeus and Poseidon.
She had believed that she was understood and respected, that none would accost her places of worship out of respect. It would seem that had been a delusion she could no longer live under.
Any feigned respect for her had been shown false by this, and obviously any love they had once held for her was not enough, either.
Not just them, either. Her family loved warring with one another, but they never did so directly. They used mortal and demigod tools, influenced their conflicts and actions, they did not strike at each others sacred places. It was not done. Such a thing could only happen with the approval of the Olympian Council. A majority vote.
A majority vote to attack Hestia. Her domain, her place of worship.
Her Home.
"Sister."
She knew who it was at once. She recognised his voice, as she would any of her family.
"Hades" she said, turning her head to face him.
He had his usual dour look on his face, as he looked down at her. On her knees in the rubble of a tavern, face wet with tears that hadn't had time to dry, she must have been an ugly sight, but her brother gave no reaction to it, simple walking closer.
"I am sorry" he said, voice tinged with regret, Hestia scoffed lightly.
"If you had taken part in this, you would not be standing here now, what have you to be sorry for, brother?" She asked. Hades let out a sigh.
"Because I know how you are feeling right now, how I have felt many times before. I would never wish such a thing upon you, sister. You deserve it least of any in this world, and yet you suffer it now all the same. For that, I am sorry."
She sniffed, allowing a small smile to her brother. Those were perhaps the most words he had spoken to anyone besides his wife in over three centuries, Hades was a man of very few words, and yet he forewent to comfort her.
"My followers? The patrons and workers here?" She asked suddenly, struck by the need to ask. She had to know their fates, and Hades was the perfect god to ask.
"Elysium, all of them." He answered, laying all her fears for her people to rest. "They died bravely in the face of something they could not fight, and their faith in you never once wavered, even to the end. They deserved nothing less for such loyalty."
Good, she thought, perhaps they would find the peace there that the gods had robbed them of in life.
Now if only she could do the same.
"How do you deal with it, Hades? I feel as if I'm being torn in two on the inside, and yet you have been mistreated by them for centuries and here you stand. How?"
Hades paused, taking a seat next to her, no matter how ungodly it looked, and thought over the question.
"I believe you simply get used to it, over time. My domain is vast, and I do have those who do not mistreat me, who I know are truly family in every sense. Perhaps it also helps that none have ever dared to destroy one of my sacred places before, as they have here, they fear my power too much to risk such a thing and have me retaliate." He spoke slowly, "It does not truly ever get easier, but I have dealt with it for so long, I am numb to it now. I will always be an outcast from Olympus, and perhaps that is for the best, if it spares me becoming like them, and perpetrating acts such as this." He waved a hand to gesture to the destruction around us.
Hestia closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. Despite the odour of ash and death, she could still catch the faintest smell of the hearth that had proudly burned as a centrepiece to her home. Kept alive by her followers, even in their deaths. A representation of her power, nearly forgotten, but unable to be smothered away.
With that thought, she steeled herself and rose from where she had been kneeling. Hades startled at her sudden movement, head twisting to follow as she began marching off, away from the ruins.
"Sister?"
She paused for only a moment, turning her head to glance back at him, "Thank you, brother, for being good and true. If you will excuse me, I have something I need to do." With that, she continued walking, disappearing from the site mid stride in a small burst of flame.
Something Hades had said stuck with her, regarding why he hadn't needed to deal with destruction of his sacred places. It was an ugly thought, but one she could not shake or ignore now, with what had been done against her.
After leaving the clearing, she appeared on a pathway on Mount Olympus, her stride not faltering for a moment as she marched up the steps towards the Olympian Palace in silence. Minor gods and servants she would normally greet and stop to speak to went unseen. Hestia had eyes only for her family's golden home.
She ignored the guards as she entered, and made way to the grand doorway that led to the throne room of the gods.
Without pausing to let herself doubt her new path, Hestia shoved the twin doors open and marched into the throne room, having arrived right in the midst of a meeting. Twelve sets of eyes turned to her in surprise.
One might think that being stared down at by twelve powerful, ten foot tall beings on their thrones might make you feel insignificant, but Hestia was undeterred, not even bothering to grow to matching size. She remained the size of a mortal woman, dwarfed in scale by those around her, but not in strength. Not any longer.
Seeming to recover himself as she reached the hearth in the midst of their thrones, Zeus put on a genial smile and spread his arms in welcome.
"Hestia, sister! What a wonderful surprise. It is good to see you here at home once more, it has been too long!"
The greeting fell flat in her eyes. Perhaps, if the images of charred corpses were not fresh in her mind, she may have allowed herself to be fooled, but not this time.
"This is not my home." She replied quietly, Zeus did not react openly, but was that a glimmer of unease in his eye?
Good.
"Once I may have thought so, but it is rather clear now I was mistaken. My home was a quaint establishment by the sea, where all were welcome to rest in peace and tranquility. To feel the warmth of the hearth far from their own. Except it would seem something happened to that home. You would not know anything about this, brother, surely?"
Zeus frowned, and Hestia resisted the urge to smirk as she watched the mighty Olympians shift and mutter, expressions shifting from the friendly masks her arrival had called for. At last, she would see what her family was truly like.
"I am afraid not, sister. This is surely a tragedy. We shall put our best efforts to discovering the perpetrator of such a crime, I assure you."
Liar, she thought, but did not say.
Instead, she focussed more and more on what she had come here to do. The flames in the hearth grew taller and hotter as she passed a hand over them in patterns only she truly knew.
The Olympians shifted again, but this time due to a rumbling beneath their feet. It grew more and more, from a tremble to a quaking, and further still.
Their eyes came back to her, as if realizing all at once what the cause of this disturbance was.
"HESTIA!" Zeus boomed, standing from his throne and summoning his bolt, "What is the meaning of this?!"
She looked her youngest brother dead in the eye, flames beginning to flow from the hearth like water and circle her protectively.
"You destroyed my home. I am the Goddess of the Home, and you TOOK IT AWAY FROM ME!" She raged, fueled by the shaking beneath her feet.
"Now I will do the same to you."
The shaking increased, fissures beginning to form in the floor and the walls. The great golden palace beginning to tear itself apart, as her heart did the same.
They attempted to stop her. Of course they did.
Shining arrows from Apollo and Artemis burnt to ash before even reaching her. A great wave from Poseidon boiled into a cloud of steam in the face of her heat. Zeus took up his bolt and sent a blast of energy her way, and she swiped it aside in a fury, its power striking Ares and Athena behind her as they attempted to strike at her.
"You dare use that weapon against me? That bolt was forged in MY fires, little brother. Test me further and it can be unmade just as easily!" She shouted, the fires around her exploding outwards as her anger spiked. The others cowered from her flames, aside from Hephaestus who tried to brave them to reach her, only to be forced back, screaming in agony.
Why her nephew thought he could withstand her fire was beyond her. He was but a minor godling compared to her power, his forges would never match the heat she was capable of.
As she watched the council cower from her fires and attempt to breach them by other means, she let loose a grim smile. Beneath her feet, the mountain crumbled, as it experienced newfound volcanic activity. The world would watch as Olympus burned in a spew of magma, and was clouded in dark ash that would choke the vibrant mountain of all life.
Hestia stood amidst the destruction, untouched by her own wrath.
Her family did not respect her, and they clearly had lost their love for her. That was fine, she told herself.
Instead, they would learn to fear her.
|
It started off simply enough. A whisper in Athena’s ear to remind her of her duty as the daughter of Zeus and Metis. A murmur to Hera of the dishonor her husband does to her every time she hears the cries of one of his bastards. Reminding Aphrodite of her hatred and contempt for Hepheastus. Suggesting to Artemis that she hunt gods rather than men. Telling Demeter how nobody on Olympus helped find her daughter after she was taken by grave Hades. All of this done without notice, without suspicion. Nobody would ever believe that the blessed goddess would cause her own family to hate each other – or at least more than they already hated each other.
Then once the family was squabbling, the house began to fault. Food began to spoil. Drink began to sour. Cracks formed in the walls of the palace and the vases of the drunkards. The servants, once silent and dutiful, became lazy, complacent, and irritable. Some realized that they wanted nothing to do with such a hateful family and left the halls for good. With the workers gone or resisting, the tempers of the masters flared.
Then the forge burned Hephaestus once more and he stormed out in a huff. He knocked into Aphrodite and burned her skin. She retaliated by wounding his pride and striking him across his face. Within minutes his hands were on her throat. The others saw. It was the spark that lit the cannon. Words were not enough. Weapons were drawn in the house of heaven.
War ceased upon the earth as enemies looked up to Taygetos. The place where the mountains met the sky was starting to burn. The sky itself was dark, almost pitch black, with flashes of bright lighting and brilliant orange being the only colors visible amongst the smoke-like clouds. Screams were heard from above, while silence reigned upon the land. Everyone in Greece held their breath in horror as the heavens burned. Then blood started to fall from the sky. First gradual, then like the rainfall. There were no more enemies as, like one, the people of the world ran in terror.
***********
Zeus clawed his way to the still burning hearth of Olympus’ throne room, the only thing standing and unharmed amongst the blood and wreckage of the once mighty seat of the gods. He coughed and retched blood as his broken bones stung. He looked around at the mangled bodies of his once family. Ares and Athena lay limp, each other’s spears in the other’s hearts. Demeter’s charred corpse was tossed over a broken pillar. Hephaestus had been impaled by the golden and silver arrows of the celestial twins, who were both on the floor, heads missing from their bodies. He saw Hera, once beautiful and regal, now a scarred, deformed lump of bones and flesh. Zeus spat in her direction, laughing at her misfortune.
Then he heard steps coming closer over the crackling of embers and the rumbling of thunder. He turned to see his dear sister walking towards him. Hestia’s eyes flashed as her face remained expressionless.
“Why?” He croaked as fear gripped his weakening soul.
“Do you remember that small tavern by the road? Where laughter came from as the screams of war grew closer? Where enemies would heal alongside each other and leave as friends?” She stood above him, her hatred plain as day in her voice. “The one that was struck by lightning about one week ago?”
Zeus’ eyes grew wide.
“You told me that this war was for the benefit of humanity. That stopping it and seeking for peace before you and the gods were done would be nothing less than a crime against your dignity. As you held the corpse of dear Sophia like a broken toy. Then and there, I understood everything.”
“Please, Hestia, forgive me.” He saw her eyes burn as he spoke. “I meant nothing to offend you. They need us! They want this war, They cannot exist without us –”
His next words were replaced with screams as he felt his face burn. Hestia felt his skin bubble and warp under her hand, and yet she still held on. Her rage at her brother and the rest of her family tainted her mind as she felt only hatred and despair.
“Maybe they should. Perhaps in several years they will find our absence a blessing.” Her words were like cold venom as she stood over Zeus. “If the gods will only bring war and destruction to humanity, like they always have, then we must die so they can live.”
She snuffed out the flames of the pyre and walked to the edge of the mountain. Here she saw the burning wreckage of her home, and felt the flames she herself lit. She looked out further and saw peace upon all of Greece as they huddled in their homes and waited for the storms to be over. Hestia smiled as she took one more step and completed her terrible mission. As she fell, she had but one thought.
“Let humanity call out to the heavens, hear nothing, and smile.”
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[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
Never before had Hestia been made to feel so small, so forgotten, so betrayed.
This place had been her most cherished possession. Her pride and joy. A small respite from the wars and terror her family waged on the world.
Now, it was naught but ash in her mouth.
The Inn itself was a charred ruin, still smoking from its recent destruction. Much of the land around it had cracked and washed away, as if the nearby coastal waters had reached out for it and pulled.
Hestia could sense the faint traces of their presences, no matter how well they had tried to hide them, but she didn't need to do so, she knew without that what had happened to her Inn.
Her brothers had come.
Oh, she found no trace of Hades, so perhaps he was innocent in this. He had always been the smartest of the three, no matter what the others wished to think.
No, this had been Zeus and Poseidon.
She had believed that she was understood and respected, that none would accost her places of worship out of respect. It would seem that had been a delusion she could no longer live under.
Any feigned respect for her had been shown false by this, and obviously any love they had once held for her was not enough, either.
Not just them, either. Her family loved warring with one another, but they never did so directly. They used mortal and demigod tools, influenced their conflicts and actions, they did not strike at each others sacred places. It was not done. Such a thing could only happen with the approval of the Olympian Council. A majority vote.
A majority vote to attack Hestia. Her domain, her place of worship.
Her Home.
"Sister."
She knew who it was at once. She recognised his voice, as she would any of her family.
"Hades" she said, turning her head to face him.
He had his usual dour look on his face, as he looked down at her. On her knees in the rubble of a tavern, face wet with tears that hadn't had time to dry, she must have been an ugly sight, but her brother gave no reaction to it, simple walking closer.
"I am sorry" he said, voice tinged with regret, Hestia scoffed lightly.
"If you had taken part in this, you would not be standing here now, what have you to be sorry for, brother?" She asked. Hades let out a sigh.
"Because I know how you are feeling right now, how I have felt many times before. I would never wish such a thing upon you, sister. You deserve it least of any in this world, and yet you suffer it now all the same. For that, I am sorry."
She sniffed, allowing a small smile to her brother. Those were perhaps the most words he had spoken to anyone besides his wife in over three centuries, Hades was a man of very few words, and yet he forewent to comfort her.
"My followers? The patrons and workers here?" She asked suddenly, struck by the need to ask. She had to know their fates, and Hades was the perfect god to ask.
"Elysium, all of them." He answered, laying all her fears for her people to rest. "They died bravely in the face of something they could not fight, and their faith in you never once wavered, even to the end. They deserved nothing less for such loyalty."
Good, she thought, perhaps they would find the peace there that the gods had robbed them of in life.
Now if only she could do the same.
"How do you deal with it, Hades? I feel as if I'm being torn in two on the inside, and yet you have been mistreated by them for centuries and here you stand. How?"
Hades paused, taking a seat next to her, no matter how ungodly it looked, and thought over the question.
"I believe you simply get used to it, over time. My domain is vast, and I do have those who do not mistreat me, who I know are truly family in every sense. Perhaps it also helps that none have ever dared to destroy one of my sacred places before, as they have here, they fear my power too much to risk such a thing and have me retaliate." He spoke slowly, "It does not truly ever get easier, but I have dealt with it for so long, I am numb to it now. I will always be an outcast from Olympus, and perhaps that is for the best, if it spares me becoming like them, and perpetrating acts such as this." He waved a hand to gesture to the destruction around us.
Hestia closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. Despite the odour of ash and death, she could still catch the faintest smell of the hearth that had proudly burned as a centrepiece to her home. Kept alive by her followers, even in their deaths. A representation of her power, nearly forgotten, but unable to be smothered away.
With that thought, she steeled herself and rose from where she had been kneeling. Hades startled at her sudden movement, head twisting to follow as she began marching off, away from the ruins.
"Sister?"
She paused for only a moment, turning her head to glance back at him, "Thank you, brother, for being good and true. If you will excuse me, I have something I need to do." With that, she continued walking, disappearing from the site mid stride in a small burst of flame.
Something Hades had said stuck with her, regarding why he hadn't needed to deal with destruction of his sacred places. It was an ugly thought, but one she could not shake or ignore now, with what had been done against her.
After leaving the clearing, she appeared on a pathway on Mount Olympus, her stride not faltering for a moment as she marched up the steps towards the Olympian Palace in silence. Minor gods and servants she would normally greet and stop to speak to went unseen. Hestia had eyes only for her family's golden home.
She ignored the guards as she entered, and made way to the grand doorway that led to the throne room of the gods.
Without pausing to let herself doubt her new path, Hestia shoved the twin doors open and marched into the throne room, having arrived right in the midst of a meeting. Twelve sets of eyes turned to her in surprise.
One might think that being stared down at by twelve powerful, ten foot tall beings on their thrones might make you feel insignificant, but Hestia was undeterred, not even bothering to grow to matching size. She remained the size of a mortal woman, dwarfed in scale by those around her, but not in strength. Not any longer.
Seeming to recover himself as she reached the hearth in the midst of their thrones, Zeus put on a genial smile and spread his arms in welcome.
"Hestia, sister! What a wonderful surprise. It is good to see you here at home once more, it has been too long!"
The greeting fell flat in her eyes. Perhaps, if the images of charred corpses were not fresh in her mind, she may have allowed herself to be fooled, but not this time.
"This is not my home." She replied quietly, Zeus did not react openly, but was that a glimmer of unease in his eye?
Good.
"Once I may have thought so, but it is rather clear now I was mistaken. My home was a quaint establishment by the sea, where all were welcome to rest in peace and tranquility. To feel the warmth of the hearth far from their own. Except it would seem something happened to that home. You would not know anything about this, brother, surely?"
Zeus frowned, and Hestia resisted the urge to smirk as she watched the mighty Olympians shift and mutter, expressions shifting from the friendly masks her arrival had called for. At last, she would see what her family was truly like.
"I am afraid not, sister. This is surely a tragedy. We shall put our best efforts to discovering the perpetrator of such a crime, I assure you."
Liar, she thought, but did not say.
Instead, she focussed more and more on what she had come here to do. The flames in the hearth grew taller and hotter as she passed a hand over them in patterns only she truly knew.
The Olympians shifted again, but this time due to a rumbling beneath their feet. It grew more and more, from a tremble to a quaking, and further still.
Their eyes came back to her, as if realizing all at once what the cause of this disturbance was.
"HESTIA!" Zeus boomed, standing from his throne and summoning his bolt, "What is the meaning of this?!"
She looked her youngest brother dead in the eye, flames beginning to flow from the hearth like water and circle her protectively.
"You destroyed my home. I am the Goddess of the Home, and you TOOK IT AWAY FROM ME!" She raged, fueled by the shaking beneath her feet.
"Now I will do the same to you."
The shaking increased, fissures beginning to form in the floor and the walls. The great golden palace beginning to tear itself apart, as her heart did the same.
They attempted to stop her. Of course they did.
Shining arrows from Apollo and Artemis burnt to ash before even reaching her. A great wave from Poseidon boiled into a cloud of steam in the face of her heat. Zeus took up his bolt and sent a blast of energy her way, and she swiped it aside in a fury, its power striking Ares and Athena behind her as they attempted to strike at her.
"You dare use that weapon against me? That bolt was forged in MY fires, little brother. Test me further and it can be unmade just as easily!" She shouted, the fires around her exploding outwards as her anger spiked. The others cowered from her flames, aside from Hephaestus who tried to brave them to reach her, only to be forced back, screaming in agony.
Why her nephew thought he could withstand her fire was beyond her. He was but a minor godling compared to her power, his forges would never match the heat she was capable of.
As she watched the council cower from her fires and attempt to breach them by other means, she let loose a grim smile. Beneath her feet, the mountain crumbled, as it experienced newfound volcanic activity. The world would watch as Olympus burned in a spew of magma, and was clouded in dark ash that would choke the vibrant mountain of all life.
Hestia stood amidst the destruction, untouched by her own wrath.
Her family did not respect her, and they clearly had lost their love for her. That was fine, she told herself.
Instead, they would learn to fear her.
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I am Hestia, and I will break your family.
There was a man once. Tall and hale. Handsome, in his own way. Metaxis. He lived on a hill overlooking the pasture lands of Crete.
Metaxis was at home in the city or the country. Give him a crook and sheep to raise and he was a good man, a steady man. Give him a windfall—fat sheep at the slaughter, good wool, a rich harvest in the olive grove behind his house—and watch him change. Metaxis, steady and nurturing in the country, would step into his children’s rooms and kiss them one by one upon the foreheads. Kiss his wife upon the lips. She would respond. Why should she not? He was tall and hale. Handsome in his own way. A good father, a good shepherd. A good grower of olives in the ancestral grove. Girls dreamt of such things. Women rarely got them.
She hadn’t either.
Given a windfall Metaxis would go into the city. He whored. Drank. Fought. Did unspeakable things. In the tight and winding laneways and up to the tallest hills where the houses crowded the skies and rich men left wives behind in empty beds to make windfalls of their own, Metaxis sowed his seeds, raised a little hell.
Afterward, limping off his drunk, he kissed his wife with the same mouth, and she responded, no matter what she tasted. What she saw in him.
When I saw Metaxis, balanced on the knife-edge between city and country, staring down the precipice of the man he really was, I gave him a little push.
Sitting by the hearth one winter, his children sleeping in their rooms, his wife sitting on the warm stones by his feet, her shoulder against his knee, black hair trailing across his lap like a river of half-remembered dreams, he sat up a little straighter. He stared into the flames. He nodded once, stroked his woman’s hair. Kissed her, and she responded. Then he went into the winter, dark and drifting snow, and laid down a moment with the sheep, perhaps the only creatures he had ever truly loved.
In the morning he was gone. The family was broken. Metaxis plunged off his cliff. A woman, once a wife, alone with a family to raise.
But she would get the chance.
\*
There was a woman once. Many. Helens.
Helen was beautiful. Men sighed when she passed. Women too, a rarer sort of thing. Not jealous, who could be jealous of a goddess? Some things simply were. Helen’s beauty was.
Helen had a good man, a king who loved his queen, and despite what legends say he really did love her. She had a good life, in the style of her days. A palace and other houses. Rooms for her women, for her favored friends. For her. So many rooms for her. Drawing rooms, sewing rooms, sitting rooms, dreaming rooms. Solariums and sunrooms, conservatories of all kinds. Bedrooms. And there, of course, was the rub.
In many things, Helen was never content.
And truly, that might have been alright. But I saw her, staring into the hearth on rainy days or sunny. Cold in the winter as Metaxis had been, though his wife was at his side and children asleep all around.
There were poems to her beauty, though never an ode to wit. There were suitors on a thousand isles, in every hall. At dinner she might look across a trestle table, guests ranged about her, a hundred people filling a hall, a thousand, kingdoms stretched out before her ruled by various and sundry men, some tall, some hale, some handsome. Some clever. Helen looked across her trestle tables, past the boar and pheasant, the bowls of olives and the fish in all their sauces, and she took her pick until her pick took her and bedrooms shifted, solariums changed. Until a hall was exchanged for another hall, a city on a cliff above white sand beaches, a storm-tossed sea all around.
A fleet at anchor on the doorstep she had chosen.
We spoke through a candle, Helen and I, as her new prince lay sleeping beside her.
She rose after. Went to the window. Saw the fleet the laid out before her, all those familiar flags. Brothers, cousins, friends. A husband somewhere out there, though his insignia was lost in all the tossing gray, in the hornet’s nest of activity on those white sand beaches. Not white anymore. Scarlet pooling where her tears did, until she turned away.
Saw the candle. Saw me, staring back at her. The prince asleep. He was quite beautiful. A match for her, perhaps.
But every match breaks in time. All fires go out. Even hearts and hearths, especially on wind-swept nights on distant seas. Cold, when you most need the fire.
\*
There was a child once. Boy or girl, doesn’t matter.
The child had a mother, a father. Love, in the fashion of the later children, when love was a carpet rolled out once and walked upon by many feet.
The child had attention, who’s to say if it was good or bad. They were not neglected, but still. Things happen. Who can know a child’s mind? The past is a foreign country, and so few ever really travel.
Life slips through the cracks.
Some children try to take it back.
It began with small animals. Progressed to neighbor’s boys. Never girls. They were specific with that. Odd.
The child liked to fight, you see. Eventually they might be like Metaxis in the city, every day a windfall seized from the tapestry of life. They might be like Helen, capricious and cold. A shining world, too dim beside the shining of another man. They might be like Helen’s husband, after. What he did. How he changed when he woke to find her gone.
Did the child have it in them? Would they have grown up as they did, if the carpet were a little less tattered?
Who’s to say? I simply see.
I spoke to them by a campfire, one night when all the little victims blurred.
They spoke back.
Most folk listen when they hear a goddess in the fire. Not this child. This child stated. Refuted. They listened sometimes and listened well, but it was always to a point. To find the word that unraveled the sentence. Little chinks in imagined armor. Like they were breaching a city or killing a man.
Even for a goddess, it can be unnerving.
I asked them, “Why are you doing this?”
And they said, “Doing what?”
And that, you see, is when I knew.
We talked a while longer yet. It’s harder with children. At length they rose, turned to face the rising sun. Apollo in his chariot racing golden across gray-blue clouds. A sleepy world waking slowly to find a child awake and ready. Years left to plan and refine. A prodigy.
They sat on their haunches in a shadowed glade watching the sun creep across the hills, its light revealing things that even I had not seen. They were a small child. About nine or ten. No reasoning with them, they were too clever for such things.
But a goddess might command if the time is right and the situation dire, if the child is a breaker of men.
I commanded, broke a family instead.
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[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
|
Fire is my birthright. Unlike my Big Three brothers, my domain was not of grandeur or power. Mine was the fireplace. Mine was of warmth, of comfort, of the shared quietness of a family together. Sharing their joys, their sorrows, their frustrations, their celebrations, all in front of the hearth, where my power lied.
Fire was my birthright.
The Big Three weren't my only siblings.
I still had Demeter and Chiron, though one was in perpetual worry for her daughter and the other was in a perpetual melancholy for the things to come. They were not the best company, but I cherished them all the same on the occasion they visited my inn.
My inn is my temple. A base for my power. I still persisted in homes and hearths of mortals, but I chose to have a place to call my own. A place of respite and pause. A place where anyone could come to relax and unwind and share their stories or rest in solitary.
And this inn existed outside the periphery of time. That was my power, as well. I was the daughter of Chronos, after all. He was Father Time, I was told. And I inherited part of his divinity. His control over time. Not wholly, maybe, but enough.
Enough to build my inn where no time passes at all, or where enough time passes, depending on who you are and what you seek. The Shifting Cadence, Chiron named it for me, for I was not a wordsmith like him. And he fashioned the sign as well, written with arcane words that can be read in whatever language you wished to read it in.
I reminisced that as I felt the sign radiate a familiar warmth. That was another magic it contained. When I was about to have godly company, the sign would warm up. And I could smell it now, as well. The sickly sweet smell of overripe grapes.
Dionysus.
The drunk fool liked coming here often. He liked to try to win my favour, though I had not figured out why. He'd try to reason that he could fill my barrels with unlimited ale and wine, the best mortals would ever taste. It was a tempting offer, to have a god's blessing in my drink. But I knew better.
Olympians were not the kind to bless charitably.
There would be a catch. And I would not taint my holy place with whatever gods had in mind.
The door creaked open and Dionysus stepped through, along with... Poseidon.
My eyes widened. I had not seen the sea god in millennia, but I felt the stench of him. Of salt and brine and sweat and rust. I mildly noted that the god of wine somehow had the more overpowering pungence of the two.
"Hestia, dear sister!" Poseidon boomed, and some of my mortal patrons looked over in curiosity.
"Ah, Poseidon. Brother. What brings you here?"
"Well, we've heard you opened up an inn, but you never invited any of us for its opening! We could have blessed this place, made it grand and ornate! Worthy of the gods!" Poseidon continued, looking around the inn with its simple wood and creaking doors and windows and chairs.
"It was never meant for the gods."
"Is that why you only allow the horseman to enter this place?"
"You do Chiron a disservice, merman. He may not be an Olympian, but he is still the son of your father, same as you." I said, smiling internally as he bristled at the term, 'merman'.
"He is a stargazing fool. As you are a mortal-loving fool. Look at what you're reduced to. Serving. You know, I was always curious. When Zeus, Hades and I fought over the domains, where were you?"
"When you were competing and comparing your cocks I had already chosen my domain. I would spare others of our dysfunction. Of our games, our deceit. I would guide the mortals towards proper kinship, stronger familial bonds. The curse of us is that we are all killers of our own ilk should be confined to us." As I said all this, time stopped for my patrons, and the words only meant for these two gods fell heavy on their ears.
I continued, "My domain is of fire. Of warmth. Of family. Found or blood-related, does not matter. What we are are the connections we make. Not the power we possess."
"Ah, sister. This is worse than I thought. The power we possess trumps all. Here I was, thinking you had some grand plan for this inn. Here I was, worrying that you had been cooking something up all this time. But you truly haven't. You've truly gone mad." The sea god laughed.
"The salt of your domain has truly made you unbearable, sweet brother of mine. If there is nothing else..."
"Oh, there is something else. You've lied, Hestia. This story you've crafted of being of hearth and family, it's a beautiful tale. But your true domain is our father's. Here we were, disappointed that none of his children inherited his most powerful ability. And yet, here you are. Playing the guise of a tavern wench in this powerful place of temporal uncertainty. You have had Cronus' gift all this time, and hid it from us. And decided to use that power for... This? What is this, anyway?"
"Something you wouldn't understand. What do you want?"
"An allegiance. Dionysius here told me of this place. He knows the location of every place where a transaction over alcohol happens. And when he told me of how Hestia owned an inn in a place where time flowed queerly, I chalked it up to his perpetual stupor. But now that I am here... Tell me, sister. What do you wish most in the world?"
"Why don't you tell me what this allegiance is about?"
"There is a war coming. Apollo has seen it. He said there would be a great fire, and Olympus would fall. The gods are taking up arms, slowly and quietly. Forming factions, allegiances. I don't know when it would come, but it will. And a war among gods would have mortal casualty. Uncountable mortal casualty. Now, I know you don't want that, seeing what you have going on here. So please, let's stop this before it happens. Nip it in the bud. Name your price. Tell me what you desire most in this world?"
I thought for a moment.
Fire was my birthright.
"What I want most in the world is for gods to be better. Just gods. Kind gods. Gods who care for their worshippers, their mortal brethren. Gods who pull each other up, and not push each other down. Gods who don't war over petty reasons. Gods who behave like gods and not overgrown children. That is what I desire most in this world. For us to leave all this hate and strife behind and live as the family we are."
Poseidon sighed, "And if not that?" He asked sarcastically.
Fire was my birthright.
"If not that, then my desire is to burn it all down."
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I am Hestia, and I will break your family.
There was a man once. Tall and hale. Handsome, in his own way. Metaxis. He lived on a hill overlooking the pasture lands of Crete.
Metaxis was at home in the city or the country. Give him a crook and sheep to raise and he was a good man, a steady man. Give him a windfall—fat sheep at the slaughter, good wool, a rich harvest in the olive grove behind his house—and watch him change. Metaxis, steady and nurturing in the country, would step into his children’s rooms and kiss them one by one upon the foreheads. Kiss his wife upon the lips. She would respond. Why should she not? He was tall and hale. Handsome in his own way. A good father, a good shepherd. A good grower of olives in the ancestral grove. Girls dreamt of such things. Women rarely got them.
She hadn’t either.
Given a windfall Metaxis would go into the city. He whored. Drank. Fought. Did unspeakable things. In the tight and winding laneways and up to the tallest hills where the houses crowded the skies and rich men left wives behind in empty beds to make windfalls of their own, Metaxis sowed his seeds, raised a little hell.
Afterward, limping off his drunk, he kissed his wife with the same mouth, and she responded, no matter what she tasted. What she saw in him.
When I saw Metaxis, balanced on the knife-edge between city and country, staring down the precipice of the man he really was, I gave him a little push.
Sitting by the hearth one winter, his children sleeping in their rooms, his wife sitting on the warm stones by his feet, her shoulder against his knee, black hair trailing across his lap like a river of half-remembered dreams, he sat up a little straighter. He stared into the flames. He nodded once, stroked his woman’s hair. Kissed her, and she responded. Then he went into the winter, dark and drifting snow, and laid down a moment with the sheep, perhaps the only creatures he had ever truly loved.
In the morning he was gone. The family was broken. Metaxis plunged off his cliff. A woman, once a wife, alone with a family to raise.
But she would get the chance.
\*
There was a woman once. Many. Helens.
Helen was beautiful. Men sighed when she passed. Women too, a rarer sort of thing. Not jealous, who could be jealous of a goddess? Some things simply were. Helen’s beauty was.
Helen had a good man, a king who loved his queen, and despite what legends say he really did love her. She had a good life, in the style of her days. A palace and other houses. Rooms for her women, for her favored friends. For her. So many rooms for her. Drawing rooms, sewing rooms, sitting rooms, dreaming rooms. Solariums and sunrooms, conservatories of all kinds. Bedrooms. And there, of course, was the rub.
In many things, Helen was never content.
And truly, that might have been alright. But I saw her, staring into the hearth on rainy days or sunny. Cold in the winter as Metaxis had been, though his wife was at his side and children asleep all around.
There were poems to her beauty, though never an ode to wit. There were suitors on a thousand isles, in every hall. At dinner she might look across a trestle table, guests ranged about her, a hundred people filling a hall, a thousand, kingdoms stretched out before her ruled by various and sundry men, some tall, some hale, some handsome. Some clever. Helen looked across her trestle tables, past the boar and pheasant, the bowls of olives and the fish in all their sauces, and she took her pick until her pick took her and bedrooms shifted, solariums changed. Until a hall was exchanged for another hall, a city on a cliff above white sand beaches, a storm-tossed sea all around.
A fleet at anchor on the doorstep she had chosen.
We spoke through a candle, Helen and I, as her new prince lay sleeping beside her.
She rose after. Went to the window. Saw the fleet the laid out before her, all those familiar flags. Brothers, cousins, friends. A husband somewhere out there, though his insignia was lost in all the tossing gray, in the hornet’s nest of activity on those white sand beaches. Not white anymore. Scarlet pooling where her tears did, until she turned away.
Saw the candle. Saw me, staring back at her. The prince asleep. He was quite beautiful. A match for her, perhaps.
But every match breaks in time. All fires go out. Even hearts and hearths, especially on wind-swept nights on distant seas. Cold, when you most need the fire.
\*
There was a child once. Boy or girl, doesn’t matter.
The child had a mother, a father. Love, in the fashion of the later children, when love was a carpet rolled out once and walked upon by many feet.
The child had attention, who’s to say if it was good or bad. They were not neglected, but still. Things happen. Who can know a child’s mind? The past is a foreign country, and so few ever really travel.
Life slips through the cracks.
Some children try to take it back.
It began with small animals. Progressed to neighbor’s boys. Never girls. They were specific with that. Odd.
The child liked to fight, you see. Eventually they might be like Metaxis in the city, every day a windfall seized from the tapestry of life. They might be like Helen, capricious and cold. A shining world, too dim beside the shining of another man. They might be like Helen’s husband, after. What he did. How he changed when he woke to find her gone.
Did the child have it in them? Would they have grown up as they did, if the carpet were a little less tattered?
Who’s to say? I simply see.
I spoke to them by a campfire, one night when all the little victims blurred.
They spoke back.
Most folk listen when they hear a goddess in the fire. Not this child. This child stated. Refuted. They listened sometimes and listened well, but it was always to a point. To find the word that unraveled the sentence. Little chinks in imagined armor. Like they were breaching a city or killing a man.
Even for a goddess, it can be unnerving.
I asked them, “Why are you doing this?”
And they said, “Doing what?”
And that, you see, is when I knew.
We talked a while longer yet. It’s harder with children. At length they rose, turned to face the rising sun. Apollo in his chariot racing golden across gray-blue clouds. A sleepy world waking slowly to find a child awake and ready. Years left to plan and refine. A prodigy.
They sat on their haunches in a shadowed glade watching the sun creep across the hills, its light revealing things that even I had not seen. They were a small child. About nine or ten. No reasoning with them, they were too clever for such things.
But a goddess might command if the time is right and the situation dire, if the child is a breaker of men.
I commanded, broke a family instead.
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[WP] You are Hestia, the goddess of family and the hearth. On Earth you run a peaceful inn detached from the woes of the world. When war rages and the other gods toy with mortals, you've had enough. It's time to remind them as the first daughter of Cronus, you are the oldest and most powerful god.
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The sleeping pebble was known as a rest stop for weary travelers from all walks of life. No matter what side of the pointless war you were on, you would always find a hot meal and bed at the inn. Hestia considered her inn a haven, a place where true peace could develop. No matter what god you fought for, you were always welcome.
Hestia wandered through the thick forest, pulling along a cart of supplies with her right hand. Her gaze focused on the rising black smoke in the distance. “The war is getting rather close. Perhaps I should send my brothers and sisters a letter? Maybe there’s a misunderstanding about where my inn is located?”
Hestia didn’t consider the possibility that the other gods were ignoring her wishes to be excluded from the war. The other gods were childish and dangerous, but they weren’t that stupid. Hestia, believing they still honored the family hierarchy. She was the first daughter of Cronus. She doubted any of them had forgotten that.
As she made her way into the clearing, the sight of a burnt down inn greeted her. The scolding remains of stained black wood and ashes littering the floor. For a moment, she assumed it was an illusion, a harsh prank by one of her family. Releasing the cart, she approached, crouching before the ash, letting her fingers run against it.
“Why would they do this?” Her fingertip stained in the light grey of the ash, leaving a light marking. “No mortal could burn this inn down. I made certain of that. Savos? Milsa? Are you two alive?” Hestia called out to her workers, only to hear no response. The inn an eerily silent pile of rubble. No music, no laughter or chatter, just silence.
“They killed them. The inn I could excuse, but you can’t rebuild a life.” Hestia couldn’t even find the bodies among the destruction, the poor humans punished for wanting a life of peace like she did. She said a silent prayer to them, promising she would speak to Hades about this.
“Come now, sister, you have a reason to fight. You can get a new inn and you can get new servants. Now isn’t the time for grieving, it’s time for war.” A booming voice came from behind, as two feet landed on the ground behind her. The person behind her giving off an aura that made her brown hair stand up.
“Did you do this, Zeus?” Her words were soft, not even turning to stare at the man, only watching the destruction before her.
“It wasn’t just me. We hate seeing you waste your potential like this. We are shaping the world, sending the humans to fight under our names. If you don’t join in, you may get forgotten. My army’s winning, just so you know. Maybe if you ask kindly, I’ll offer you a territory to help you get started.”
Hestia stood up, turning to face her brother. She stepped closer to him, closing the distance between the two.
“That’s more like it. Come, I have a town called Zulus that you would love.” Zeus went to lead her, only to feel a feverish hand grip his neck. Hestia staring into her brothers’ eyes, as the flesh on her arm bubbled from the heat. If her own flesh couldn’t handle the heat, she could only imagine what it was doing to the throat of Zeus.
Her brother struggled, firing a bolt from the heavens. The bolt crackled against the top of her head, sending its volts through her, only to leave her unmoved. The heat in her palm causing his throat to sizzle. Zeus confidence turning into fear as he kicked at his sister, trying to break free from the hold.
“Did I not make myself clear about this, brother? I warned you all about what would happen if my request wasn’t met. You killed two dear friends of mine. Not servants, friends. Savos and Milsa, two people who I will ask for forgiveness from once I end this war.” With that, she dropped her brother, tossing him to the floor.
“E-end the war?” He coughed, trying to hold his throat. Whenever his fingers would touch his throat, he would be forced to let go, not even able to tend to his wound because of the heat still radiating off it.
“Yes, I’m going to make sure there is no one left to fight. I will start again with humanity. You all have tainted them.” Hestia took a seat on the ground, placing her palms against the Earth, focusing on the planet’s core. “Perhaps I will find a new family, too.”
Hestia knew she would need to work quickly. While she may have been the strongest, she was not invincible. If the others found out about this and attacked, she wouldn’t be able to fend them all off. With her focused touch, the Earth warmed, the odd shot of fire breaking through the ground, causing much confusion on the battlefields.
“What are you doing, sister? Have you gone mad?” Ares landed his Pegasus chariot before her, drawing a golden handled blade. Before he could raise the blade, a small shot of lightning hit his thumb, causing him to drop the weapon.
“She has the planet at her mercy. You would be foolish to attack her. Listen closely sister, if you do this, all those precious humans you love so much will be dead.” Zeus attempted to reason with her, knowing that there couldn’t be a war without an Earth.
“I understand your anger, sister, but this won’t bring back those you lost. Gods are made to command wars. It’s a part of our lives.” A new voice spoke to the group. The voice belonging to Demeter, her voice echoing into the minds of the gods through the earth they touched.
“A way of life? Then let me win this war. If I kill everyone, I win. Is that not how bloodshed works?” Hestia kept her finger on the trigger, glancing at the two gods before her.
“No, war is about making a person kneel before your feet in surrender.” Ares explained, finding his aunts understanding of the subject rather lacking.
“Then kneel.”
“No, not us. You want the humans to kneel. You can rule over them then. Don’t you want to indulge in the riches of life? Humans are nothing but creatures for us to exploit.” Zeus only infuriated Hestia further, the ground beneath them igniting before Ares dropped to his knees.
“Very well Auntie, if surrender is what you wish, then I have no choice.” Ares got to his knees before looking at Zeus, the proud god refusing to bow.
“If you keep standing, all of those indulgences will perish.” Hestia reminded him. “Bow and tell Hermes to inform the other gods that this war of theirs is over. I am the victor.”
Zeus watched his sister, ready to call her bluff, only for the heat of the Earth to cause him to sweat. For him to be sweating, her fury must have been hotter than the core itself. He dropped to his knees, bowing his head.
Shortly after, Hermes delivered the confirmation that the others had ended their wars. With that, Hestia removed her hands. Standing up, turning to the damaged inn. She hoped her two friends had kept the coins she had given them to pay for Charon’s fare. If not, she would have to search the banks for them.
“I will rebuild my inn. The rest of you go about your duties. If I hear even a murmur about a war in the next century, you will have to deal with me. Is that understood?” She was sure Hermes would pass her threat on while the gods in attendance gave their nods. With that, they left, leaving her with the rubble.
She could finally breathe a sigh of relief when they left. Her bluff had worked. She honestly didn’t think her family would believe her. She would never want to kill all of humanity, not after she had seen how lovely they could be. That would violate the trust of her friends. With the war over, she began unloading her cart, planning to use the supplies inside to rebuild her inn.
 
 
 
(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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I am Hestia, and I will break your family.
There was a man once. Tall and hale. Handsome, in his own way. Metaxis. He lived on a hill overlooking the pasture lands of Crete.
Metaxis was at home in the city or the country. Give him a crook and sheep to raise and he was a good man, a steady man. Give him a windfall—fat sheep at the slaughter, good wool, a rich harvest in the olive grove behind his house—and watch him change. Metaxis, steady and nurturing in the country, would step into his children’s rooms and kiss them one by one upon the foreheads. Kiss his wife upon the lips. She would respond. Why should she not? He was tall and hale. Handsome in his own way. A good father, a good shepherd. A good grower of olives in the ancestral grove. Girls dreamt of such things. Women rarely got them.
She hadn’t either.
Given a windfall Metaxis would go into the city. He whored. Drank. Fought. Did unspeakable things. In the tight and winding laneways and up to the tallest hills where the houses crowded the skies and rich men left wives behind in empty beds to make windfalls of their own, Metaxis sowed his seeds, raised a little hell.
Afterward, limping off his drunk, he kissed his wife with the same mouth, and she responded, no matter what she tasted. What she saw in him.
When I saw Metaxis, balanced on the knife-edge between city and country, staring down the precipice of the man he really was, I gave him a little push.
Sitting by the hearth one winter, his children sleeping in their rooms, his wife sitting on the warm stones by his feet, her shoulder against his knee, black hair trailing across his lap like a river of half-remembered dreams, he sat up a little straighter. He stared into the flames. He nodded once, stroked his woman’s hair. Kissed her, and she responded. Then he went into the winter, dark and drifting snow, and laid down a moment with the sheep, perhaps the only creatures he had ever truly loved.
In the morning he was gone. The family was broken. Metaxis plunged off his cliff. A woman, once a wife, alone with a family to raise.
But she would get the chance.
\*
There was a woman once. Many. Helens.
Helen was beautiful. Men sighed when she passed. Women too, a rarer sort of thing. Not jealous, who could be jealous of a goddess? Some things simply were. Helen’s beauty was.
Helen had a good man, a king who loved his queen, and despite what legends say he really did love her. She had a good life, in the style of her days. A palace and other houses. Rooms for her women, for her favored friends. For her. So many rooms for her. Drawing rooms, sewing rooms, sitting rooms, dreaming rooms. Solariums and sunrooms, conservatories of all kinds. Bedrooms. And there, of course, was the rub.
In many things, Helen was never content.
And truly, that might have been alright. But I saw her, staring into the hearth on rainy days or sunny. Cold in the winter as Metaxis had been, though his wife was at his side and children asleep all around.
There were poems to her beauty, though never an ode to wit. There were suitors on a thousand isles, in every hall. At dinner she might look across a trestle table, guests ranged about her, a hundred people filling a hall, a thousand, kingdoms stretched out before her ruled by various and sundry men, some tall, some hale, some handsome. Some clever. Helen looked across her trestle tables, past the boar and pheasant, the bowls of olives and the fish in all their sauces, and she took her pick until her pick took her and bedrooms shifted, solariums changed. Until a hall was exchanged for another hall, a city on a cliff above white sand beaches, a storm-tossed sea all around.
A fleet at anchor on the doorstep she had chosen.
We spoke through a candle, Helen and I, as her new prince lay sleeping beside her.
She rose after. Went to the window. Saw the fleet the laid out before her, all those familiar flags. Brothers, cousins, friends. A husband somewhere out there, though his insignia was lost in all the tossing gray, in the hornet’s nest of activity on those white sand beaches. Not white anymore. Scarlet pooling where her tears did, until she turned away.
Saw the candle. Saw me, staring back at her. The prince asleep. He was quite beautiful. A match for her, perhaps.
But every match breaks in time. All fires go out. Even hearts and hearths, especially on wind-swept nights on distant seas. Cold, when you most need the fire.
\*
There was a child once. Boy or girl, doesn’t matter.
The child had a mother, a father. Love, in the fashion of the later children, when love was a carpet rolled out once and walked upon by many feet.
The child had attention, who’s to say if it was good or bad. They were not neglected, but still. Things happen. Who can know a child’s mind? The past is a foreign country, and so few ever really travel.
Life slips through the cracks.
Some children try to take it back.
It began with small animals. Progressed to neighbor’s boys. Never girls. They were specific with that. Odd.
The child liked to fight, you see. Eventually they might be like Metaxis in the city, every day a windfall seized from the tapestry of life. They might be like Helen, capricious and cold. A shining world, too dim beside the shining of another man. They might be like Helen’s husband, after. What he did. How he changed when he woke to find her gone.
Did the child have it in them? Would they have grown up as they did, if the carpet were a little less tattered?
Who’s to say? I simply see.
I spoke to them by a campfire, one night when all the little victims blurred.
They spoke back.
Most folk listen when they hear a goddess in the fire. Not this child. This child stated. Refuted. They listened sometimes and listened well, but it was always to a point. To find the word that unraveled the sentence. Little chinks in imagined armor. Like they were breaching a city or killing a man.
Even for a goddess, it can be unnerving.
I asked them, “Why are you doing this?”
And they said, “Doing what?”
And that, you see, is when I knew.
We talked a while longer yet. It’s harder with children. At length they rose, turned to face the rising sun. Apollo in his chariot racing golden across gray-blue clouds. A sleepy world waking slowly to find a child awake and ready. Years left to plan and refine. A prodigy.
They sat on their haunches in a shadowed glade watching the sun creep across the hills, its light revealing things that even I had not seen. They were a small child. About nine or ten. No reasoning with them, they were too clever for such things.
But a goddess might command if the time is right and the situation dire, if the child is a breaker of men.
I commanded, broke a family instead.
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[WP] You recently saved a fox from certain death. It has come back to you over and over again, bringing gifts. The gifts have gotten stranger, and more mysterious over time.
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“That’s new,” I mutter as I palm the rune-etched stone in my hand, my glances bouncing between the stone and the vulpine that delivered it to me. “Where did you bring this from?” I asked as it trotted up to rub its wet nose against my hand. As my other fingers traced along his fur, I felt the scars where a great wound used to be. I would have forgotten that day had it not been for the constant flow of gifts.
At first they were irregular, usually once a week. A mouse here, a bird there, usually alive. I would often set them free after the fox left. Now, the gifts began to get more frequent and more exotic. As I mulled over the recent gifts (a boiled egg and a lavish paintbrush), I began to wonder if there was more to this fox than meets the eye. After I gave the fox my thanks, I began to write down everything that had transpired. I began with the rescue, followed by the (now-extensive) list of gifts.
“... Four mice, one deceased. Seven eggs: two hard-boiled, one soft-boiled, one-“ I cut myself off to glance over at the strange egg, which softly emanated both a soft glow and a gentle heat. “Dragon egg,” I finished, leaving a question mark beside the entry. I closed the tome and sighed as I leant back, somehow exhausted from writing what appeared to be an anomalous grocery list. My gaze danced around my study before falling upon the most recent gift. The rune caught my attention, and I was suddenly given a new energy. I snatched the stone and made my way to the library; I could find answers there, or at least a clues to this strange behavior.
The steward was not available during these hours, so I used my personal key to gain entry. I had spent countless hours in these tome-lined halls and tonight would be no different. I began by perusing a collection of runes and symbols, documenting a few for personal use before migrating to the history of curses, then blessings. Three days passed, yet the answers I sought remained hidden. The fox brought another gift during this time - my favorite tea - which I may have consumed without much thought. On the fifth day I stepped out of the library, my mind ablaze with new knowledge and an arm filled with a book of ancient legends.
I was deep in thought as I headed home, my concentration broken by a familiar blur trotting towards me. I opened the tome and began to chant ancient words. Twin ears perked up in response, familiar with the mysterious utterances. A smile crept across my face as I watched the creature transform before me: I may now be cursed with daily gifts, for I had an eternal blessing to give.
I hope you enjoyed my first response! Many more to come.
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I'd been snowshoeing when I heard the cries of an injuries animal. It sent electricity screaming from my toes to the base of my skull. Sprinting I trampled through the brush, evergreens snapping against my face.
It was a fox with its tail trapped in the loop of a snare, screeching with discomfort. With some quick hands and wire cutters, it wasn't long before I had him free. He looked at me for a long moment.
I didn't think about it for weeks, until the gifts starting arriving.
At first it started out as small things appearing on my deck. A rock here, feathers, a really nice
Pine cone. So I put up a trail cam.
Lo and behold it was the fox, missing half it's tail, dropping me little gifts, so against my better judgement, I left him offering of dry cat food. Once the food started so did the hire value gifts. Rings, chains, and gold coins, showed up every morning.
The hand, now that.... I don't know what to do with.
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[WP] You recently saved a fox from certain death. It has come back to you over and over again, bringing gifts. The gifts have gotten stranger, and more mysterious over time.
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Like all young people, the girl lived in a small wooden cabin of her own making, deep within the natural sprawl that made up the center of the Zone.
Every morning she rose with the sun, bringing a clay pot to the stream that meandered past her small home. Once she had fetched water for the day, the girl collected fruits and nuts from among the forest flora, which of course grew abundant in the Zone. The necessities taken care of, the girl then sat in a nearby clearing, patiently awaiting the arrival of her friend.
While she waited, the girl pondered her time in the Zone, so close now to coming to an end. There was a profound melancholy in the thought, along with anxiety and trepidation. The Zone was her home, and she felt she could barely remember the time before she lived there. She reasoned she would have no place out there, back in the world, no peaceful solitude or niche she could feel comfortable within. She tried to push the uneasy thoughts from her mind, tried to focus on how the breeze played through the leaves above her, on how the birds chirped and the creek burbled, but she was restless and could not find peace.
Like all children, when the girl first came to the Zone soon after her seventh birthday, she lived in a common house with the other young children along with a few of the older ones who had an inclination towards childcare. The common house had all of the basic necessities one could expect, but lacked for particular entertainment or specialized work. The girl, a naturally shy and timid specimen, chaffed at being around the others in the common house. While they played and gossiped and fought, learning how to navigate the rough waters of personality and camaraderie, the girl took long walks out beneath the sun and the stars.
The forests of the Zone were free from real predators, and were instead home to the small creatures that scurried among the underbrush or flew through the canopy. During the first weeks of her life in the Zone, the girl came across a fox while meandering through the forest at midday. The poor creature was thin and haggard, matted fur slicked down its right flank. It limped along snarling, dragging its injured leg behind it.
The girl felt instantly connected to the wretch, awash with empathy that she'd never before felt for any person. She said soft words to the injured creature, sitting on her haunches and blinking slowly at it for hours until its snarls subsided and it tasted the air with cautious sniffs.
It took almost a month for the girl to nurse the fox back to health, bringing fresh water in a pot and eggs stolen from the little birds in the trees. The girl felt bad that some thing yet unborn had to die to keep her new friend alive, but she supposed it was the way of things. This wisdom was the first gift the fox gave to the girl, the first of many.
Over the seasons the fox visited the girl on a few occasions, while she trekked alone through the forest or sat contemplatively at the river's edge. The fox distrusted most others, and never visited the girl at the common house where the other children ate and slept and lived. It wasn't until the girl decided that she would build a small hut with the help of the older and more experienced children that the fox made a regular of itself in the girl's presence.
The second gift the fox brought to the girl was one she needed most dearly at the time, that of close companionship on a dark night. The girl was shy, yet she grew to feel a profound loneliness in the Zone, an anxiety, an ache, that sprung from some deep well within her. As she lay on her simple bed of matted straw one night, sleepless and tormented in the inky blackness, the fox came to the door of her hut.
The girl could hear it snuffle and paw at the outside of the little structure, knowing immediately it must be her furred friend, and since the night was unseasonably cold the girl reasoned the little creature might be glad to have a warm den to spend the dark hours before dawn. She let the fox in, and it promptly found her mat and curled beside her, its warmth the last thing the girl remembered before falling into a deep and peaceful sleep. She woke rested, and never again felt the loneliness of her solitude in the Zone.
Pondering on it, as she sat restless in the clearing, the girl supposed the fox would be the thing she would miss most upon leaving the Zone, and the thought brought with it a profound sadness, the melancholy that comes with the certainty that something dear which you now have will soon be taken. The girl pondered on it, and felt she could not bear it.
Just then, the girl noticed the fox at the edge of the clearing, its familiar and clever eyes shining as it trotted up to where the girl sat. In its mouth, the fox carried a tiny bundle of crimson, much the same color as the fox's own fur. It placed the bundle at the girl's feet, which promptly uncurled. The girl recognized the little thing for what it was: a tiny fox kit, barely born.
The girl reached for the little wretch, which mewled softly as she raised it to her face. The small creature stared at the girl, its eyes shining with the clever intelligence that the girl knew so well.
"Why have you brought me your little kit, dear friend?"
Of course the fox could not speak, but it was as if it did, sitting on its haunches in the clearing and staring at the girl.
The girl's old friend yipped once, turning round in a circle before brushing its soft fur against her leg. Then it bounded towards the edge of the wood, and was soon gone amidst the underbrush.
The girl held the little kit, which had resumed its mewling, and brought it gingerly to her chest which flared with love and excitement where there had been only anxiety before.
She would soon have to leave her home, yes, but she would no longer be alone.
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I'd been snowshoeing when I heard the cries of an injuries animal. It sent electricity screaming from my toes to the base of my skull. Sprinting I trampled through the brush, evergreens snapping against my face.
It was a fox with its tail trapped in the loop of a snare, screeching with discomfort. With some quick hands and wire cutters, it wasn't long before I had him free. He looked at me for a long moment.
I didn't think about it for weeks, until the gifts starting arriving.
At first it started out as small things appearing on my deck. A rock here, feathers, a really nice
Pine cone. So I put up a trail cam.
Lo and behold it was the fox, missing half it's tail, dropping me little gifts, so against my better judgement, I left him offering of dry cat food. Once the food started so did the hire value gifts. Rings, chains, and gold coins, showed up every morning.
The hand, now that.... I don't know what to do with.
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[WP] You recently saved a fox from certain death. It has come back to you over and over again, bringing gifts. The gifts have gotten stranger, and more mysterious over time.
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Like all young people, the girl lived in a small wooden cabin of her own making, deep within the natural sprawl that made up the center of the Zone.
Every morning she rose with the sun, bringing a clay pot to the stream that meandered past her small home. Once she had fetched water for the day, the girl collected fruits and nuts from among the forest flora, which of course grew abundant in the Zone. The necessities taken care of, the girl then sat in a nearby clearing, patiently awaiting the arrival of her friend.
While she waited, the girl pondered her time in the Zone, so close now to coming to an end. There was a profound melancholy in the thought, along with anxiety and trepidation. The Zone was her home, and she felt she could barely remember the time before she lived there. She reasoned she would have no place out there, back in the world, no peaceful solitude or niche she could feel comfortable within. She tried to push the uneasy thoughts from her mind, tried to focus on how the breeze played through the leaves above her, on how the birds chirped and the creek burbled, but she was restless and could not find peace.
Like all children, when the girl first came to the Zone soon after her seventh birthday, she lived in a common house with the other young children along with a few of the older ones who had an inclination towards childcare. The common house had all of the basic necessities one could expect, but lacked for particular entertainment or specialized work. The girl, a naturally shy and timid specimen, chaffed at being around the others in the common house. While they played and gossiped and fought, learning how to navigate the rough waters of personality and camaraderie, the girl took long walks out beneath the sun and the stars.
The forests of the Zone were free from real predators, and were instead home to the small creatures that scurried among the underbrush or flew through the canopy. During the first weeks of her life in the Zone, the girl came across a fox while meandering through the forest at midday. The poor creature was thin and haggard, matted fur slicked down its right flank. It limped along snarling, dragging its injured leg behind it.
The girl felt instantly connected to the wretch, awash with empathy that she'd never before felt for any person. She said soft words to the injured creature, sitting on her haunches and blinking slowly at it for hours until its snarls subsided and it tasted the air with cautious sniffs.
It took almost a month for the girl to nurse the fox back to health, bringing fresh water in a pot and eggs stolen from the little birds in the trees. The girl felt bad that some thing yet unborn had to die to keep her new friend alive, but she supposed it was the way of things. This wisdom was the first gift the fox gave to the girl, the first of many.
Over the seasons the fox visited the girl on a few occasions, while she trekked alone through the forest or sat contemplatively at the river's edge. The fox distrusted most others, and never visited the girl at the common house where the other children ate and slept and lived. It wasn't until the girl decided that she would build a small hut with the help of the older and more experienced children that the fox made a regular of itself in the girl's presence.
The second gift the fox brought to the girl was one she needed most dearly at the time, that of close companionship on a dark night. The girl was shy, yet she grew to feel a profound loneliness in the Zone, an anxiety, an ache, that sprung from some deep well within her. As she lay on her simple bed of matted straw one night, sleepless and tormented in the inky blackness, the fox came to the door of her hut.
The girl could hear it snuffle and paw at the outside of the little structure, knowing immediately it must be her furred friend, and since the night was unseasonably cold the girl reasoned the little creature might be glad to have a warm den to spend the dark hours before dawn. She let the fox in, and it promptly found her mat and curled beside her, its warmth the last thing the girl remembered before falling into a deep and peaceful sleep. She woke rested, and never again felt the loneliness of her solitude in the Zone.
Pondering on it, as she sat restless in the clearing, the girl supposed the fox would be the thing she would miss most upon leaving the Zone, and the thought brought with it a profound sadness, the melancholy that comes with the certainty that something dear which you now have will soon be taken. The girl pondered on it, and felt she could not bear it.
Just then, the girl noticed the fox at the edge of the clearing, its familiar and clever eyes shining as it trotted up to where the girl sat. In its mouth, the fox carried a tiny bundle of crimson, much the same color as the fox's own fur. It placed the bundle at the girl's feet, which promptly uncurled. The girl recognized the little thing for what it was: a tiny fox kit, barely born.
The girl reached for the little wretch, which mewled softly as she raised it to her face. The small creature stared at the girl, its eyes shining with the clever intelligence that the girl knew so well.
"Why have you brought me your little kit, dear friend?"
Of course the fox could not speak, but it was as if it did, sitting on its haunches in the clearing and staring at the girl.
The girl's old friend yipped once, turning round in a circle before brushing its soft fur against her leg. Then it bounded towards the edge of the wood, and was soon gone amidst the underbrush.
The girl held the little kit, which had resumed its mewling, and brought it gingerly to her chest which flared with love and excitement where there had been only anxiety before.
She would soon have to leave her home, yes, but she would no longer be alone.
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“That’s new,” I mutter as I palm the rune-etched stone in my hand, my glances bouncing between the stone and the vulpine that delivered it to me. “Where did you bring this from?” I asked as it trotted up to rub its wet nose against my hand. As my other fingers traced along his fur, I felt the scars where a great wound used to be. I would have forgotten that day had it not been for the constant flow of gifts.
At first they were irregular, usually once a week. A mouse here, a bird there, usually alive. I would often set them free after the fox left. Now, the gifts began to get more frequent and more exotic. As I mulled over the recent gifts (a boiled egg and a lavish paintbrush), I began to wonder if there was more to this fox than meets the eye. After I gave the fox my thanks, I began to write down everything that had transpired. I began with the rescue, followed by the (now-extensive) list of gifts.
“... Four mice, one deceased. Seven eggs: two hard-boiled, one soft-boiled, one-“ I cut myself off to glance over at the strange egg, which softly emanated both a soft glow and a gentle heat. “Dragon egg,” I finished, leaving a question mark beside the entry. I closed the tome and sighed as I leant back, somehow exhausted from writing what appeared to be an anomalous grocery list. My gaze danced around my study before falling upon the most recent gift. The rune caught my attention, and I was suddenly given a new energy. I snatched the stone and made my way to the library; I could find answers there, or at least a clues to this strange behavior.
The steward was not available during these hours, so I used my personal key to gain entry. I had spent countless hours in these tome-lined halls and tonight would be no different. I began by perusing a collection of runes and symbols, documenting a few for personal use before migrating to the history of curses, then blessings. Three days passed, yet the answers I sought remained hidden. The fox brought another gift during this time - my favorite tea - which I may have consumed without much thought. On the fifth day I stepped out of the library, my mind ablaze with new knowledge and an arm filled with a book of ancient legends.
I was deep in thought as I headed home, my concentration broken by a familiar blur trotting towards me. I opened the tome and began to chant ancient words. Twin ears perked up in response, familiar with the mysterious utterances. A smile crept across my face as I watched the creature transform before me: I may now be cursed with daily gifts, for I had an eternal blessing to give.
I hope you enjoyed my first response! Many more to come.
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[WP] You recently saved a fox from certain death. It has come back to you over and over again, bringing gifts. The gifts have gotten stranger, and more mysterious over time.
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I remember the day I met grim. It was a cloudy day. My Google weather app had predicted heavy clouds and no rain for the day. I decided to use this opportunity to walk up the mountain near my home to see a red sunset. It is one of my fondest memories due to swatches of red and orange hue covering the clouds when the sun hits the horizon. It brings a warm feeling in my heart akin to sitting infront of a fire with a marshmallow on a stick on a cold winter night.
The cliff on top of the mountain provides the best vantage point to view this event.
So here I was, wearing my nearly used up blue hiking boots, rugged pants and winter shirt & jacket. It was a very cold day but I was determined. I mean what was I going to do at home, nothing really. I lived alone near the woods that stretched for miles by the mountain in my oak wood cabin.
As I walked on the path, I could hear my footsteps as it was very quiet. Normally you would hear the birds, insects and general nature sounds. However it was eerily quiet. I have to admit that did put me on edge, so I unclipped my bear mace that I always carry out from the holder just to be ready. My region has a lot of bears in the area but I thought they would be heading deep in the mountains normally to hibernate as we were closing on snow season.
All of a sudden I heard something yell loudly. My ears heard "help". It was coming from my right hand side, through the trees just off the track. That put my brain on overdrive. What was someone doing here on these tracks I thought. It is such an unknown path that I only know about it because I live in the area.
Nevertheless, I had to act. What if could be someone in danger or getting attacked by a bear. I couldn't just ignore it and not provide assistance. So I pulled out my mace that from the already unclipped pouch and ran towards the sound.
I could hear the branches and twigs on the ground snap and break as I ran over them. The sound of help was slowly fading to be replaced by a high pitched squeal. I doubled down and as I was reaching the clearing, I saw the scene.
There was a bear. Brown, somewhat big but not so big that it would not get affected by my mace. Its fur was covered in black spots as if it had swam in tar. It had one of its paw over something. Lying on the ground was a fox squealing. However I did not look like any fox, its fur was as white as snow and it's eyes blue.
The fox was trying to escape vigorously from the under the paw of the bear.
There I was though, with the mace in my hands panting and slightly fearful but pumped by adrenaline. The bear had not noticed me yet, but I locked eyes with the Fox and I knew what I had to do.
I sprung into action and unleashed the mace onto the Bears face. It fell backwards, freeing it's hold on the fox in the process and let out a heavy groan.
I kept spraying until the bottle was empty, the bear sat there groaning, withering violently and swatting at the air while the mace too effect.
At that point the fox had been free for a few seconds, we locked eyes again before it ran back into the forest. There were red swatched on its fur as it ran away, leaving red bits of blood on the ground faded into the thicket of the forest.
The bear was still there, blind but groaning still, swatting away trying to determine what just happened. I decided to use this opportunity to run away back to the path before it figured out it was me who did this.
So I ran and ran until I saw the path and kept running. I was getting out of breath but I needed to get out of the area back to the safety of my house or atleast far enough from the bear. My legs were getting heavy from all the running. My boots had gotten even muddier and there were bits of twigs and branches hanging on my jean and jacket. I had remnants of bear mace on my clothes and I got to say it whiffed of red chilli pepper.
Sorry bear I thought to myself, but I had to act and save the fox. My body would not allow me to do anything else.
I stood there, with heavy legs trying to catch my breath, glancing down the path to see if the bear followed me. This is where I saw the white fox again in the distance staring back at me. The red swatches seemed to have gone from its body.
I thought I was a bit tired because I swear the fox looked bigger considering the distance between me and it. Thats when we locked eyes again. Its eyes were even bluer than before with a glowing few.
I wiped my eyes and my forehead, and it was gone.
I decided to call it Grim, from the nearly grim meeting we had and I made my way home.
Winter set it, so I wasn't going for many more hikes due to the heavy snow that sets in the season.
One day I was sitting on my porch drinking my hot chocolate, I looked into the distance and I saw those blue eyes again. This time though grim did not look big, it was regular size.
Grim walked towards me with no fear and a friendly demeanor. It reached the front porch and dropped something at the entrance. It was a hare. The hare was in good condition, freshly killed, no signs of degradation. Pretty much it looked edible.
Grim dropped it and ran back to the forest. When it reached the start of the forest, it turned and looked back my way and I swear its eyes glowed this beautiful sky blue colour before it vanished again in the distance. I admit I cooked that hare that night. I made a nice winter stew. By God though, it was the best hare meat I ever tasted.
All throughout that winter, Grim would turn up and bring me an assortment of fresh meat: hare, fish, winter fruit to name a few.
Some of the times I was there to greet it and other times it was done without me knowing. The routine was the same though, Grim would walk to the entrance of the porch, drop the item and leave. When it reached the start of the forest, it would turn look at me and leave. Whenever we locked eyes, I could see the glowing blue colour come from its eyes.
On the third day of spring though, instead of food Grim left me a sharp long bone. To be honest I thought I looked like one of these ancient spears used by cavemen. I picked it up nonetheless as it was a gift from someone that I had deemed a friend now. I placed it inside my house and kept about my business, working my yard in preparation for spring plantation.
As the first three weeks of spring went on, Grim kept bringing protective objects to my porch. More spears, arrows, at one point I thought it brought me a shield. Was Grim trying to tell me something. Bahh I thought it's just a fox, it probably nothing as I brushed the obvious aside.
I think Grim was trying to warn me that something was going to happen so it was bringing me objects to help protect myself.
On the Monday of the fourth week of Spring, at night, while I was cosy in my bed. I heard this giant roar coming from the forest. It was almost dephening. My doors and windows were locked so I was happy to stay inside my cabin knowing my entrances are secured against large preys.
But all throughout that night I could hear bear noises and roars. At one point, I could've thought I heard something on my porch. I was honestly to scared to check. I heard my door and windows rattled but again comforted myself knowing that my house is secure.
I had one of Grim's weapons siting on my side cabinet, so I reached out and grabbed it. I held on tight thinking I have something to protect myself if it breached the doors.
But then all of a sudden, the noise was gone and the quiet of the night set in again.
I didn't sleep that night. Early in the morning when the sun began to rise, I stepped out of bed, still holding one of Grim's weapon. It brought me atleast 5 objects which lay scattered at various spaces in my house from when it brought them.
I walked silently to the front door. I could distinguish something black and massive sitting just outside through the frosted panels of the door.
What the hell is that I thought, anxiously moving towards the window to see.
I peeked through the side of the curtains, just enough so I could see but whatever was there could not see me.
I stood there staring it at it for a few minutes and it did not move. It was big furry animal. Bigger than most I have ever seen. Its fur had a tar like substance on it. It wouldn't move however. It lay there motionless. I swear I kept watching for movement for hours before I had the courage to open the door after determining it was safe.
So, I headed towards the door, weapon in my hand and I stood ready to pounce incase it wasn't dead.
Fortunately it was.
It looked like the same bear that attacked Grim, but it was bigger and covered with more tar and dust than before. It's teeth yellow, its eyes gouged out by whatever attacked it and it's throat ripped out.
It was a clean kill.
I was relieved that this thing did not get into my house that night else I would have been bear toast.
But what could've killed a creature this immense. So I started looking for whatever was the culprit and when I started to scan the forest line, Grim appeared.
It sat at the forest edge however. Something was different. Grim was huge, not as big as the bear but huge. And it's eyes were glowing blue.
Grim and I stared into each others eyes and I asked loudly: "Did you save me?". Grim gave me a yelp as an answer before disappearing in the forest.
Grim hasn't returned to my house ever since but I swear I catch glimpses of it when I go hiking into the woods sometimes to enjoy that red sunset that I love.
Cleaning up and burying the bear was hard work. But I made sure to give it a proper burial. I planted a maple tree on top of its grave.
One day while I was sitting watching the sunset, I remembered a story my grandfather told me about the forest. He said legend has it that a white snow fox resides here and it is the protector of the forest and it's creatures.
It dawned on me that I met Grim and it was the protector of this forest.
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 6: Clara Olsen v.s. The Fox)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was precious little magic left in the modern world.** Ninety percent of the world's genies were controlled by lawyers, shooting stars were captured by satellite and locked into wish-granting loops, and anything that wouldn't bow down to the modern march of progress was chained up and locked away.
So when the strange fox showed up at my government job, I violated six terms of employment and two international treaties by letting it go when no-one was looking.
In hindsight, I'm not sure why I did it. I mean, obviously, I wanted to save the poor, quivering thing from Frederick's vivisectionists. I'm an empath; standing up for the abused and downtrodden is sort of my *thing*.
But I'd gotten on the bad side of the U.S. government before, and I'd gotten squashed like a bug. Chances were, the fox would get caught again, filled with tranquilizer darts and lashed to a table so any useful properties it had could be exploited for the growth of the economy. And if they found out I'd done it? Maybe the same fate laid in store for me.
"So that's why you've got to bugger off and never come back, okay?" I whispered, holding the little red fox's paw through the window. She almost felt sapient to my empath's senses—I sensed her gratitude to me and frustration at sending her away. "They catch me with you and we're done for."
The fire-red fox darted through the window, her glossy coat shimmering as she did. Snarling at a poster cheerily telling me to REPORT ANY SUPERNATURAL ACTIVITY, she leapt on the cheaply-printed face of my employer and tore it apart.
I laughed. "Yeah. If only you could do that to the real thing." I paused. "Wait, *did* you just do that to the real thing?" It wasn't an unreasonable question; voodoo dolls and the like had existed for millennia, and although hexes were mostly monopolized by the military, I wouldn't be surprised if some random fox held the last vestiges of a two-thousand-year-old magical tradition.
Sadly, the fox shook her little head in response, her ears going *pitter-patter* as they flopped off her skull. I took her paw in mine again, feeling her emotions flood through me. Stubborn gratitude flowed from her to me.
"I get that you're grateful. I saved you, I understand. I don't charge for my services." I chuckled. "A younger, more naïve me would've asked you to vote me into office. But I think I'm past the point where I think joining the government will change it for the better."
The fox sneezed. I wasn't sure how intelligent she was, but I got the feeling she didn't understand elections, politics, or the complex course of actions that had led me to where I was today.
"So shoo. Why were you even here in the first place?" I gently picked her up and placed her on the windowsill. "Go on. And avoid the cameras; I told you were the blind spots were, yeah?"
The fox did not move.
I closed my eyes. "There's nothing you can do for me. Just leave."
I heard a *thump* from the windowsill.
I leaned back, eyes still closed, weight settling into my body. I'd made deals with genies and supervillains and demons alike and never lost my confidence—but in the end, it wasn't any supernatural being that had trapped me. It was the gradual death of magic, everything I loved and protected packed into boxes and locked away. Better for everyone that the fox stayed away from me, just like everyone el—
Claws scrabbled at the window, and my eyes flew open.
"What're you doing here, you silly little—" I paused, looking at what she held in her mouth. A small, plastic box, covered with dirt and grime until it was opaque. I absently scritched the fox's head, taking the box from her mouth.
It was Tupperware.
I swallowed, throat suddenly tight. The empathic link went both ways; the fox whined in sympathy. "You don't need to bring me gifts. You don't need to *do* anything for me. Don't you get it? They are the monsters. I am the woman who stops the monsters. And you are the victim who goes free. Never thanking me. Never looking back. Living your life as you should."
The fox leapt out the window, vanishing behind her tail. Moments later, she returned, a cheap child's costume in her mouth. A two-faced mask.
Memory swelled up inside me, and I snapped, "Yeah. I saved her too. And *she. Left. Too.* Like you should. Like you *will*."
The fox tilted her head, then jumped onto my shoulder, tearing a lock of hair from my scalp with her teeth. Before I could react, she darted back down, placing it next to the Tupperware and the mask, the reminders of people I'd protected. People who'd been saved. People who'd *deserved* to be saved. And the damn fox had the gall to put my hair next to them?
I clenched my fists. "I don't need to be saved. I *can't* be saved. Not by me, and not by you."
The fox spun in a circle, and between one spin and the next there was a paper rolled up in her mouth. She dropped it on the floor and let it unroll.
It was an image of me, smiling, captioned: *Vote CLARA OLSEN for Mayor! Every vote counts!* *Together, we can do this.*
I squeezed my eyes shut. "Stop it. Shut up. You don't know anyth—*ow!*"
The fox nipped my arm, forcing my eyes open, and looked me in the eyes. A horribly ancient sorrow, deeper and broader than any animal had any right to, pulsed from her heart and into mine.
The fox I'd saved licked the tears from my cheek.
"I can't," I whispered. "If I asked them for help... if I asked *you* for help... they'd give it. They'd spend their lives for me. They'd die for me. I would be free. And everything I'd spent my life doing would unravel in an instant."
The fox curled up in my lap.
She felt warm.
There were no grand magics, no mighty weapons, no clashes between heroes and villains. No sacrifices, and no blood.
But for one ephemeral instant, the fox set me free.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
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[WP] You recently saved a fox from certain death. It has come back to you over and over again, bringing gifts. The gifts have gotten stranger, and more mysterious over time.
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Jerry the timberjack did save the fox over the hill, after her howls in the night had woken him.
He had walked the cold plain with a gun at his back, treaded carefully the creekstones and gone up the grassy slopes that glistened with moon-shine towards where he knew she would be.
Beyond the valley below the black forest there lay in a doom of the night, and he took pause to gather his bearings.
She howled again, and again, and he moved forthwith without any reservation of his fate.
As he closed in he saw she was trapped in an almighty struggle, the barbed tangles of treevines wrapped tightly around and without him he knew that she would die.
He took out his knife and cut her free and the trees swayed loud in defeat. The fox had ventured too near, it seemed, and fallen to their spell in her greed.
Jerry tended to her wounds and fed her well and in the morning he did wish her a safe travel. Thankful beyond words she left with a smile and roamed wide in the sun full of joy.
The next week as a thank you a gift came in the morn and to his concern it was the boots from the bootmaker's shop window. He took them to return but the bootmaker was puzzled as they had been purchased from him in good tender.
So wear them he did and their comfort was wonderful and he wondered how it was that she'd managed.
Another week passed by when there was a tap on the door and a new box there sat on his porch.
The Thermomix™ inside had applications in the many but he failed with them all except bread, for which his expertise grew and the townsfolk were thoroughly impressed with his sourdough.
A week later, in the predawn glow, he was already up with a coffee. When the tap did come he rushed to the door and saw her tail gone away in the tallgrass.
The box towered large and he knew she could not have delivered it on her own. He ripped back the wrapping and his surprise only grew as he saw it was a vending machine for Dr. Pepper, a beverage for which he was unfamiliar.
The horrendous bubbling brown was of a delicious spicen flavour and with glee he shared it with his friends. But the stock soon ran dry and he would stare at the machine thinking fondly of the fox that had brought it for him.
The next week he waited on the rocking chair outside and as the sunrise crested he was most pleased to see her approaching.
She bore no gifts that day and simply came to his side and burrowed her head into his hip as he scratched her. Her tail wagged friskily and he realised then that his friend was afraid she could not repay him.
But she had no debt at all, none whatsoever, and so he held her in his arms to assure her.
They then walked long in the sun that was rising and would not return for the day. As dusktime came he invited her in, and they enjoyed sourdough bread and warm mulled wine and sang many a tune of old.
A starry night fell and she decided to stay, and their laughter could be heard for a mile.
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 6: Clara Olsen v.s. The Fox)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was precious little magic left in the modern world.** Ninety percent of the world's genies were controlled by lawyers, shooting stars were captured by satellite and locked into wish-granting loops, and anything that wouldn't bow down to the modern march of progress was chained up and locked away.
So when the strange fox showed up at my government job, I violated six terms of employment and two international treaties by letting it go when no-one was looking.
In hindsight, I'm not sure why I did it. I mean, obviously, I wanted to save the poor, quivering thing from Frederick's vivisectionists. I'm an empath; standing up for the abused and downtrodden is sort of my *thing*.
But I'd gotten on the bad side of the U.S. government before, and I'd gotten squashed like a bug. Chances were, the fox would get caught again, filled with tranquilizer darts and lashed to a table so any useful properties it had could be exploited for the growth of the economy. And if they found out I'd done it? Maybe the same fate laid in store for me.
"So that's why you've got to bugger off and never come back, okay?" I whispered, holding the little red fox's paw through the window. She almost felt sapient to my empath's senses—I sensed her gratitude to me and frustration at sending her away. "They catch me with you and we're done for."
The fire-red fox darted through the window, her glossy coat shimmering as she did. Snarling at a poster cheerily telling me to REPORT ANY SUPERNATURAL ACTIVITY, she leapt on the cheaply-printed face of my employer and tore it apart.
I laughed. "Yeah. If only you could do that to the real thing." I paused. "Wait, *did* you just do that to the real thing?" It wasn't an unreasonable question; voodoo dolls and the like had existed for millennia, and although hexes were mostly monopolized by the military, I wouldn't be surprised if some random fox held the last vestiges of a two-thousand-year-old magical tradition.
Sadly, the fox shook her little head in response, her ears going *pitter-patter* as they flopped off her skull. I took her paw in mine again, feeling her emotions flood through me. Stubborn gratitude flowed from her to me.
"I get that you're grateful. I saved you, I understand. I don't charge for my services." I chuckled. "A younger, more naïve me would've asked you to vote me into office. But I think I'm past the point where I think joining the government will change it for the better."
The fox sneezed. I wasn't sure how intelligent she was, but I got the feeling she didn't understand elections, politics, or the complex course of actions that had led me to where I was today.
"So shoo. Why were you even here in the first place?" I gently picked her up and placed her on the windowsill. "Go on. And avoid the cameras; I told you were the blind spots were, yeah?"
The fox did not move.
I closed my eyes. "There's nothing you can do for me. Just leave."
I heard a *thump* from the windowsill.
I leaned back, eyes still closed, weight settling into my body. I'd made deals with genies and supervillains and demons alike and never lost my confidence—but in the end, it wasn't any supernatural being that had trapped me. It was the gradual death of magic, everything I loved and protected packed into boxes and locked away. Better for everyone that the fox stayed away from me, just like everyone el—
Claws scrabbled at the window, and my eyes flew open.
"What're you doing here, you silly little—" I paused, looking at what she held in her mouth. A small, plastic box, covered with dirt and grime until it was opaque. I absently scritched the fox's head, taking the box from her mouth.
It was Tupperware.
I swallowed, throat suddenly tight. The empathic link went both ways; the fox whined in sympathy. "You don't need to bring me gifts. You don't need to *do* anything for me. Don't you get it? They are the monsters. I am the woman who stops the monsters. And you are the victim who goes free. Never thanking me. Never looking back. Living your life as you should."
The fox leapt out the window, vanishing behind her tail. Moments later, she returned, a cheap child's costume in her mouth. A two-faced mask.
Memory swelled up inside me, and I snapped, "Yeah. I saved her too. And *she. Left. Too.* Like you should. Like you *will*."
The fox tilted her head, then jumped onto my shoulder, tearing a lock of hair from my scalp with her teeth. Before I could react, she darted back down, placing it next to the Tupperware and the mask, the reminders of people I'd protected. People who'd been saved. People who'd *deserved* to be saved. And the damn fox had the gall to put my hair next to them?
I clenched my fists. "I don't need to be saved. I *can't* be saved. Not by me, and not by you."
The fox spun in a circle, and between one spin and the next there was a paper rolled up in her mouth. She dropped it on the floor and let it unroll.
It was an image of me, smiling, captioned: *Vote CLARA OLSEN for Mayor! Every vote counts!* *Together, we can do this.*
I squeezed my eyes shut. "Stop it. Shut up. You don't know anyth—*ow!*"
The fox nipped my arm, forcing my eyes open, and looked me in the eyes. A horribly ancient sorrow, deeper and broader than any animal had any right to, pulsed from her heart and into mine.
The fox I'd saved licked the tears from my cheek.
"I can't," I whispered. "If I asked them for help... if I asked *you* for help... they'd give it. They'd spend their lives for me. They'd die for me. I would be free. And everything I'd spent my life doing would unravel in an instant."
The fox curled up in my lap.
She felt warm.
There were no grand magics, no mighty weapons, no clashes between heroes and villains. No sacrifices, and no blood.
But for one ephemeral instant, the fox set me free.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
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[WP] You recently saved a fox from certain death. It has come back to you over and over again, bringing gifts. The gifts have gotten stranger, and more mysterious over time.
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>**FARMS & THE FORSAKEN FABLE**
I was not, by trade, a farmer- yet I found myself, day in and day out, working with *and* for the farmers.
Why? Because if I didn't, I may have *literally* died from boredom.
Shortly after joining the Royal Guard, I was shoved into a dark room and asked a series of questions. I must have answered very, very poorly, because I was selected to be a 'quiet agent' member of the Guard...which translated, roughly, to 'go off to an obscure village on the far end of the Territory and stay there 'til we say otherwise.'
I wondered- had a offended someone? Had I farted on a Sergeant in the change room during training one day? What had I done to deserve this?
I had been anticipating a challenging and fulfilling career- chasing after thieves and brigands, doing counter-intelligence, maybe a few seductions of important enemies. Something...glamorous.
This was anything but- though I wasn't *hating* it here. I didn't loathe my days, it was just very far from what I'd thought I'd signed up for.
Every morning I reprised my situation- shortly after the local rooster crowed before the sunrise. Nothing like a rude awakening to make you consider fleeing the army.
After deciding I preferred my head on my shoulders, I'd head out to the town, quietly and inconspicuously patrol, speak with the town vendors, keep an eye out for trouble. There was never any trouble.
From that point on, there wasn't anything important to do, so I started helping the farmers. It started with a very nice old lady who was too short to put up her stall to sell her fruits and vegetables- then her husband offered me some coin for helping with his pigs, and everything sort of snowballed from there.
Now, I didn't even don my armor before I left my cabin. I wore overalls.
"You're starting to fit in 'round here, ay, Desmond?" Farmer Jorn joked as he passed me by.
"Oh, give it a few winters, maybe my hat will be as frayed and outdated as yours." I responded with a small grin.
One thing I'd learned about the locals- if you could banter with them, you would be treated like family. If you were formal, you'd be ostracized.
Jorn laughed as he departed down the muddy street.
I continued on my walk, planning on purchasing the fresh-baked bread Matilda made and pairing it with some eggs from the market. I already had meat and cheese in my bag.
I didn't end up making it to Matilda's for bread that day.
As I rounded a corner in the road, I heard rustling from within the tall grass. Instinctively, my hand wrapped around the knife I kept hidden against the small of my back- I may not have had armor, but only a fool travels without at least a knife.
I crept a little closer, unsure- was there a child playing, or perhaps a nasty critter that needed culling?
To my surprise, there was a fox thrashing about, its leg caught in a root. It looked malnourished. It must have been stuck here for a while, given the markings on the ground.
"Jorn, you must be going deaf." I said.
Moving deftly, I clamped one gloved hand over the fox's mouth- which it did not love- and then I dug out the dirt surrounding the root, and pulled the trapped leg free, which it did seem to love.
The fox did not flee immediately. As soon as its leg was free, the fox ceased struggling in my grasp, and instead craned its neck to look me in the face.
I let it go and jumped back, to give it space, and protect my fingers.
Instead of nipping at me, the fox seemed to bow, then fled.
It was odd- but not odd enough for me to puzzle all day about it.
Before I reached the bakery, the 'sold out' sign went up in the window. Shame.
Chewing on meat and cheese, I continued my routine, and finished my day early, only helping with farmer's chores for a few hours before returning home. If all I did was act like a farmer, I'd be *fighting* like a farmer.
Just next to my cabin, I'd cleared a large patch of grass for myself. It was covered on all sides by much, much larger grass, and so I felt I had a bit of privacy.
I laid out my weapons and propped up some target dummies.
First, I practiced basic conditioning. Weighted cardio, flexibility, and strength. Just enough to get warmed up.
Then I ran through my weapons- lodging throwing knives inside the dummy's skull, marking its leather with a pretend blade, breaking a few arrows on its thick hide.
I was still in good shape. Perhaps not my peak, but good.
I laid down in the grass to enjoy the warm sun for a while, and accidentally slipped off into a restless nap.
When I awoke, I found myself once again face-to-face with a fox.
"Um. Hello." I said, trying to prevent myself from grabbing it by the tail and throwing it off my chest.
It didn't respond, obviously. It did, however, nudge towards me a small handful of...something.
I looked at the offering- these were peanuts.
"Where in the hell did you get these? Peanuts don't grow here." I chuckled. Must've raided the private pantry of the local lord.
I gave the fox some more meat, sure that this was the same I'd seen earlier, and went inside to write the daily report- not that there was much to say.
The season continued on, and the fox continued to visit me. Winter was beginning to approach, so I made a small space for the fox and filled it with hay- just in case.
The gifts it brought me got stranger, however. Peanut- which is what I had decided to name the fox- brought me scraps of cloth, then a hat, then more food, though this time it was meat that I couldn't be sure was pork, beef, or chicken...I didn't end up using it, either- then, finally, the day came when Peanut brought me a knife.
I held the knife in my hands, and trembled.
I was not new to danger, but this was something worse than that.
This knife was branded with the sigil of the House of Zentach.
Zentach was our very, very militaristic neighbor, which my village was nearly on the border of.
If Peanut had found me a knife of theirs- and, in particular, a knife that belonged to one of their *nobles*...it meant only one thing.
Invasion.
I knew my letters would not be fast enough. I would have to bring this news, this threat, back to the capital itself.
I packed hastily, and brought a large sum of gold, so that I may purchase a horse.
I hesitated when I saw Peanut looking at me intently.
"I know you can't understand, but I'm leaving for a while. I'll be back. Stay hidden underneath my house if anything happens, you should be safe there."
I shook my head at myself, and began running towards the town.
Little did I know that Peanut was silently trotting behind, following me the whole way.
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Let me know if you want a Pt.II!
I'll throw it onto r/nystorm_writes :)
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 6: Clara Olsen v.s. The Fox)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was precious little magic left in the modern world.** Ninety percent of the world's genies were controlled by lawyers, shooting stars were captured by satellite and locked into wish-granting loops, and anything that wouldn't bow down to the modern march of progress was chained up and locked away.
So when the strange fox showed up at my government job, I violated six terms of employment and two international treaties by letting it go when no-one was looking.
In hindsight, I'm not sure why I did it. I mean, obviously, I wanted to save the poor, quivering thing from Frederick's vivisectionists. I'm an empath; standing up for the abused and downtrodden is sort of my *thing*.
But I'd gotten on the bad side of the U.S. government before, and I'd gotten squashed like a bug. Chances were, the fox would get caught again, filled with tranquilizer darts and lashed to a table so any useful properties it had could be exploited for the growth of the economy. And if they found out I'd done it? Maybe the same fate laid in store for me.
"So that's why you've got to bugger off and never come back, okay?" I whispered, holding the little red fox's paw through the window. She almost felt sapient to my empath's senses—I sensed her gratitude to me and frustration at sending her away. "They catch me with you and we're done for."
The fire-red fox darted through the window, her glossy coat shimmering as she did. Snarling at a poster cheerily telling me to REPORT ANY SUPERNATURAL ACTIVITY, she leapt on the cheaply-printed face of my employer and tore it apart.
I laughed. "Yeah. If only you could do that to the real thing." I paused. "Wait, *did* you just do that to the real thing?" It wasn't an unreasonable question; voodoo dolls and the like had existed for millennia, and although hexes were mostly monopolized by the military, I wouldn't be surprised if some random fox held the last vestiges of a two-thousand-year-old magical tradition.
Sadly, the fox shook her little head in response, her ears going *pitter-patter* as they flopped off her skull. I took her paw in mine again, feeling her emotions flood through me. Stubborn gratitude flowed from her to me.
"I get that you're grateful. I saved you, I understand. I don't charge for my services." I chuckled. "A younger, more naïve me would've asked you to vote me into office. But I think I'm past the point where I think joining the government will change it for the better."
The fox sneezed. I wasn't sure how intelligent she was, but I got the feeling she didn't understand elections, politics, or the complex course of actions that had led me to where I was today.
"So shoo. Why were you even here in the first place?" I gently picked her up and placed her on the windowsill. "Go on. And avoid the cameras; I told you were the blind spots were, yeah?"
The fox did not move.
I closed my eyes. "There's nothing you can do for me. Just leave."
I heard a *thump* from the windowsill.
I leaned back, eyes still closed, weight settling into my body. I'd made deals with genies and supervillains and demons alike and never lost my confidence—but in the end, it wasn't any supernatural being that had trapped me. It was the gradual death of magic, everything I loved and protected packed into boxes and locked away. Better for everyone that the fox stayed away from me, just like everyone el—
Claws scrabbled at the window, and my eyes flew open.
"What're you doing here, you silly little—" I paused, looking at what she held in her mouth. A small, plastic box, covered with dirt and grime until it was opaque. I absently scritched the fox's head, taking the box from her mouth.
It was Tupperware.
I swallowed, throat suddenly tight. The empathic link went both ways; the fox whined in sympathy. "You don't need to bring me gifts. You don't need to *do* anything for me. Don't you get it? They are the monsters. I am the woman who stops the monsters. And you are the victim who goes free. Never thanking me. Never looking back. Living your life as you should."
The fox leapt out the window, vanishing behind her tail. Moments later, she returned, a cheap child's costume in her mouth. A two-faced mask.
Memory swelled up inside me, and I snapped, "Yeah. I saved her too. And *she. Left. Too.* Like you should. Like you *will*."
The fox tilted her head, then jumped onto my shoulder, tearing a lock of hair from my scalp with her teeth. Before I could react, she darted back down, placing it next to the Tupperware and the mask, the reminders of people I'd protected. People who'd been saved. People who'd *deserved* to be saved. And the damn fox had the gall to put my hair next to them?
I clenched my fists. "I don't need to be saved. I *can't* be saved. Not by me, and not by you."
The fox spun in a circle, and between one spin and the next there was a paper rolled up in her mouth. She dropped it on the floor and let it unroll.
It was an image of me, smiling, captioned: *Vote CLARA OLSEN for Mayor! Every vote counts!* *Together, we can do this.*
I squeezed my eyes shut. "Stop it. Shut up. You don't know anyth—*ow!*"
The fox nipped my arm, forcing my eyes open, and looked me in the eyes. A horribly ancient sorrow, deeper and broader than any animal had any right to, pulsed from her heart and into mine.
The fox I'd saved licked the tears from my cheek.
"I can't," I whispered. "If I asked them for help... if I asked *you* for help... they'd give it. They'd spend their lives for me. They'd die for me. I would be free. And everything I'd spent my life doing would unravel in an instant."
The fox curled up in my lap.
She felt warm.
There were no grand magics, no mighty weapons, no clashes between heroes and villains. No sacrifices, and no blood.
But for one ephemeral instant, the fox set me free.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
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Taken from this /r/TwoSentenceHorror post by u/DatLonerGirl:
https://old.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/smglka/feb22_the_king_came_to_regret_allowing_his_pet/
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[WP] The king came to regret allowing his pet tiger to roam the halls of the palace unsupervised. As he looked over the eviscerated and half eaten body of his beloved, he only had one question: what could do this to a tiger?
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King Marigold III knelt before his torn-asunder tigress and for a few seconds the only sound to be heard through the palace was that of his tears exploding off the marble floor. "Lipathia," he said, in a somber monotone tone far from his usual exuberance. "Lipathia, how could this have happened?"
A second noise joined the king's exploding tears: a servant's tray, clattering with cups and cutlery, held by the pale-faced Mr Bennett who had been the sole witness to the incident which had just taken place.
From behind the cover of satin curtains, a maid watched on in silence. Her thick eyebrows quivered gently and a drop of blood trickled from beneath her hand which she held firm over her mouth.
"Mr Bennett. Tell me again the story in full. Spare no detail."
The king's request straightened the old servant at once: the tray unclattered instinctively and Mr Bennett carefully repeated, in precisely the same manner as moments before, his words of the terrible event which had taken place in the grand hallway of the palace.
"I was en route to Your Highness's bed chambers with His evening meal when I heard a thunderous roar. From experience I have learned to read Lady Lipathia's mood from the sounds she make, but never before had I heard a sound like this one. Quickening my pace, I turned the corner and that was when the sight presented itself before me, as it were. A shadow streamed from the walls and toward Lady Lipathia. I call it a shadow rather than a dark cloud or a mist because that is the only word I can think of to describe it: a shadow. It descended on Lady Lipathia and wrapped itself around her, from her head to her stomach, and with the blink of an eye it dissipated. As did the front half of Lady Lipathia."
Right as he finished telling the story, Mr Bennett's began shaking anew and his tray clattered violently before it was halted by a sneer from King Marigold. "Bah!" said the king. "Bah! What nonsense! A shadow? A shadow killed my precious Lipathia? I will have you hanged for these lies."
"Very well, Your Highness," said Mr Bennett and the two of them exchanged curious looks.
What struck King Marigold as intimately odd was the absence of blood from the frontal region of the tigress. Of course, the lower half had bled a generous pool of its own, but it was evident that there should be more blood. The blood of the missing half. And that was exactly why Mr Bennett's explanation appeared to be the only one that would make a lick of sense--except it didn't. A shadow spirited Lipathia off to some shadow realm? For what purpose? By what sort of sorcery?
"Gather the scholars," grumbled the king. "And have the kitchen prepare the remains."
"Your Highness?"
"I have always wondered what a tiger might taste like. It would be a shame to let Lipathia's sacrifice go to waste."
"Sacrifice?" muttered the maid, still behind the curtains. "More like a curse, I'd say." Seeing that she had been so frightened to make a sound that she had bitten through the flesh of her own hand, the maid sucked up the blood and scampered off to regale the rest of the servants with this horrific absurdity.
Eased into his evening bath, King Marigold III wondered whether his ancestors had struggled with anything like this predicament. His grandfather had been known to be a callous man. Once he'd flayed his head chef for having served him oil-poached tomatoes as a side dish. Perhaps it was his ghost, even, that roamed the halls of the palace? The king sighed. If only the queen remained by his side. Alyssa knew all about witchcraft and sorcery. She would often arrange séances, though it had never interested the king in the slightest. Now he regretted it. He had taken Alyssa and her hobbies for granted, and he never expected that a feeling of profound emptiness would come to dominate his final years on the throne.
"Y-Your Highness!"
Mr Bennett spoke with urgency in his voice, and the surprise almost caused the king to slip all the way into his bath. "I'll have you hanged! To sneak up on me like that! I'll have you hanged, Bennett!"
"A maid. Her hand, Your Highness. She ran screaming through the halls. The blood erupted like a fountain! She kept yelling, 'My hand! My hand!' and I saw it for myself, I--"
"Slow down, Bennett. What are you saying?"
Mr Bennett had grown a shade paler, and it was evident he struggled even to breathe. "The shadow returned, and it took the hand of a maid. Miss Claire. The shadow took Miss Claire's hand."
"I'm not sure the kitchen is willing to prepare a maid."
"Your Highness?"
"Forget it. Did you fetch the scholars?"
Mr Bennett beckoned to a group of long-bearded men with serious looks, their eyes turned away from the neatly-displayed crown jewels before them.
"Ah, yes," said the king. "Learned men. Scholars. Men of wisdom and wit. What have you to say about murderous shadows?"
A man with ravenous eyes stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Your Highness. From the descriptions we have been given, we can only surmise that this is an occult phenomenon."
"Any filthy wench could tell me that. What else?"
"There are ancient scriptures filled with stories of restless spirits, wandering between worlds, lost due to unfinished business. These are, of course, myths and legends. But if it will please Your Highness, I think this situation calls us to take them seriously. Which would include also descriptions of how to properly deal with such spirits."
"Why, yes. And how does one go about it? Is there a chant? Sacred oils? A ritual, perhaps?"
The men stared at one another, hesitant to deliver their agreed-upon prescription. "The texts are quite clear. In the case of a murderous spirit, it can only be removed via recourse to the dark arts."
The king stroked his patchy beard. "Dark arts, you say? And?"
"Human sacrifice, Your Highness."
A cold wind blew in from an open window. King Marigold III sighed deeply. "Well, in that case I suppose there's no choice in the matter. Bennett? I reckon you are up for the task?"
Mr Bennett gulped. "Y-Your Highness?"
"Or perhaps that maid? What good is a one-armed maid, anyway?"
"I'm sure Miss Claire will be honored to serve the king!" said Mr Bennett, and took a deep bow. "Ah, Your Highness," he continued, getting back up. "The kitchen has prepared your ... feast."
"Feast?" said the king. "Oh. Lipathia! What are you saying, fool? Have they cooked my dear Lipathia, as if she were some common lamb? I'll have you hanged, Bennett! I'll have you hanged!"
Mr Bennett leapt to the floor to kneel with such haste that he banged his forehead on the floor with such force that he promptly fell over, unconscious.
Meanwhile, the king and his scholars prepared for the dark ritual.
--TBC---
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At night, King Leon hears the gnawing of flesh outside his door. Muscles being ripped apart. Flaying of skin. Heavy breathing.
Next to him is his wife, still asleep with moonlight kissing her through an open window. He sneaks out of bed. The mattress is large enough to mask any quakes. He opens the door.
Leon expects to see his pet tiger eating a guard. Instead, faraway down the hall, a silhouette darker than the surrounding night turns a corner. In front of him is his tiger, lifeless and half eaten. Chunks of fur torn off its body and scattered like the floor of a barber's. He looks closely into its eyes, and... wait. It's still alive.
Crouching over, the king pets his friend. He can feel the warmth quickly fading. The tiger looks into his eyes. In the glassy jade, Leon sees himself, naked and fat. He is not fit to rule a kingdom. Now he is being punished.
The morning is hectic. Guards run back and forth with news of captured figures. The king inspects each one, but finds nothing. He remembers the silhouette, the giant hulk of a man. "Search," he says, "for a mountain."
There is a grand burial, with dancers wearing peacock feathers, and purple-red grapes, and purple-red wine. As he watches his friend lowered into the earth, he hears his wife weep beside him. He puts a hand on her leg, to soothe, but finds dry cloth. She is not crying.
She told him to get rid of the beast years ago. He promised it was only temporary. She said there cannot be a tiger roaming the halls at night, it threatens all of the living. He said he didn't care. She never forgot.
As the tiger is lowered, as the dancers dance, as the grapes are plucked off their stems, as the wine is drank, a cry comes from the ground. Leon rushes down, scaring his wife with his vigor, and looks at the baby in the pit. "Fools!" he screams, "are you not of sight? The gods have replaced my love with a child! And you all would no sooner have crushed him!"
He names the boy Leo. His wife laughs at his banality. He does not care.
The child has green eyes just like his fallen comrade. The child roars, not with the volume, but with the spirit of his lost friend. The child is dressed in the skin of his namesake.
Years pass, and Leo is grown. He is an able warrior, and a better son. Even the queen has come to love him.
At dinner, with a feast set on the long oak table, the queen asks Leo a question. "Do you know what day it is, son?" she says. King Leon listens closely, while cutting a piece of steak with a golden knife.
"Yes, of course," Leo says. "It's your birthday."
The queen turns to her king. "See, honey?" she says. "He is so much better than that tiger."
The king stands up and stabs her in the throat. The blood that flows out reminds him of his first love.
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Taken from this /r/TwoSentenceHorror post by u/DatLonerGirl:
https://old.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/smglka/feb22_the_king_came_to_regret_allowing_his_pet/
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[WP] The king came to regret allowing his pet tiger to roam the halls of the palace unsupervised. As he looked over the eviscerated and half eaten body of his beloved, he only had one question: what could do this to a tiger?
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It was a Caspian tiger, large and shaggy, painstakingly cloned from the trophy that hung in the great hall. It had crossed light-years and centuries, a false extinction in the mid-1900s and a real one later, when everything went belly up in The Big Mistake. It had been the third cub decanted, the only one to survive to adulthood. It had been beautiful.
And now it was dead.
The tiger lay broken in the wintergrass, a streak of orange seeping red in the wavering field of ice blue grasses. Shards of stained glass lay all around it. Remnants of a hunting scene, unimportant now. Nothing was, in the face of this. There was hardly anything left. Antus was a harsh world, and the castle was very large. It had taken time to locate the source of the crash, and then the king had been… indisposed. The scavengers never were.
A man could see incredible things. New worlds. Wintergrass stretching out forever. Riches when other worlds were burning, Earth itself splitting apart.
Staring down at his tiger, the King thought that this was the most incredible thing of all. A streak of mangled orange and red in all that icy blue. Babur, he’d called it.
A door opened behind him.
“No sign of intruders,” said the woman who entered. “I’ve got full spectrum running, in the morning we’ll have every living thing in the castle accounted for. If there’s a mouse out of place, I’ll find it.”
The King waved her over. She joined him, a respectful step away.
“Further orders?” she said. “What should we do with the body?”
And the King shrugged. Tried to make the movement casual, even though he couldn’t take his eyes away. Babur, broken on the ground. The grasses wavering in the breeze, almost as if they were curling towards him.
The woman made to leave. The King caught her hand and she turned back, her gaze softening. A moment passed above the world, the woman leaning towards her King like the wintergrass. Tall and lean, beautiful.
“Clone another,” said the King.
Late that night, she did.
\*\*\*
The King sat on his throne, staring thoughtfully up into the rafters. Babur lay at his feet, the tip of his tail making lazy circles in the air. All around them was the sound of quiet scraping, the whir of drones, dishes being stored away as the servants cleaned up in the wake of another banquet.
The King had no eyes for any of them. There was another tiger in the rafters, another Babur, dead like all the others.
A year had passed since that night above the wintergrass when the first cloned Babur had died. Since then eight more had plunged to their deaths from windows or staircases. Two had burned. The last had simply died. The King had found that one himself, curled up on library on the floor, ice-cold and unmoving.
A man could be troubled by such things.
He reached down, stroked Babur’s head. The tiger leaned into his touch, purred softly. Above them the first Babur hung suspended from a pair of invisible wires, killed by an ancestor so far off in the past that nothing remained of him but his trophy, the tigers cloned from it. That man hadn’t even been a King. Troubling thoughts. Confusing thoughts.
The King stood and Babur followed.
They walked through the halls as the night passed into morning. The King whispered to Babur, told him everything. Men and women talked, but tigers kept the secrets that people never could. Babur was a good listener. He always had been, in all his incarnations.
At length they found themselves stopped in front of the window. It was a hall like all the others. Stone. A high, vaulted ceiling. Busts in the alcoves, paintings on the walls. A thick carpet that Babur walked alongside. The King could never bring himself to clip a tiger’s claws.
“What’s happening to you?” he asked Babur. His friend, as much as any creature in the world.
The tiger growled and the King pulled on his ears. Found the spot at the base of his skull that always itched.
“Eleven dead tigers,” said the king. “Twelve, if you count the one in the rafters. He’s your ancestor I suppose. I’m sorry about that.”
The King stared out of the repaired window, past the hunting scene, and down into the wintergrass that stretched out forever.
“Does that make you thirteen?”
Babur curled up in front of the window, and the King realized that their walk had ended. One never moved a tiger after they had found their place. Even a king’s power had its limits.
The King kissed Babur’s head. Said, “See you in the morning,” and tried not to make it sound like a question.
Then with one last parting look, the King went in search of indisposition.
He found Babur in the wintergrass, after.
\*\*\*
The King stared through the camera at a sleepless tiger, the twenty-second of his name. The woman sat beside him, explaining.
“Our cloning is getting better,” she said. “We understand tigers a little better each time. The drone is designed to fit into Babur’s blind spots. He can’t smell it, and he can’t see the color it’s painted. The shape is special too, frankly the whole thing is ingenious. You can watch him anytime, anywhere, and he’ll never know you’re there.”
The King nodded. “You understand tigers now?”
“A little,” she said.
“Then what's killing him?”
The woman could only spread her hands and bow. She backed out of the room, and this time the King let her go. She was never far, always faithful. Perhaps, he thought, she might even keep a secret. Then he wouldn’t need a tiger.
No. The King would always need Babur.
He’d been forced to admit to himself that Babur was an obsession now. It hurt the King to see death, but even more than that he was struggling with the helplessness of it all. Twenty-two Babur’s and still they were dying. Being killed perhaps, but what could kill a tiger? It was unthinkable. Every time it happened he slipped a bit closer to paranoia, that age-old killer of kings, but what else was he to do? What else was a man to do, when his best friend kept on dying?
It was not, he imagined, a problem many men had faced. Kings were different. They had their problems, with their own solutions. They had to. Kings were a species unto themselves.
On the screen, Babur stood. The tiger looked around his room, more richly appointed than most nobleman’s chambers. There were toys and scratching posts, all manner of things to eat. Babur could follow a tunnel west for a quarter-mile until he came up in a clearing among the wintergrass fields, a broad pen where he might hunt small game or a few elusive slantdeer. A tiger’s dream life. Everything was perfect.
Babur looked at it all, then looked towards the drone. Stared, unblinking.
He went out through the front door.
The drone followed. Babur took a winding path up, up, up. The King leaned towards his monitor, eyes devouring the tiger’s shape. Where was he going? Why not hunt?
It Babur an hour to climb the great, winding stair up into the central tower.
It only took a moment to fling himself back down.
The King sat back, openmouthed.
And then he wept.
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At night, King Leon hears the gnawing of flesh outside his door. Muscles being ripped apart. Flaying of skin. Heavy breathing.
Next to him is his wife, still asleep with moonlight kissing her through an open window. He sneaks out of bed. The mattress is large enough to mask any quakes. He opens the door.
Leon expects to see his pet tiger eating a guard. Instead, faraway down the hall, a silhouette darker than the surrounding night turns a corner. In front of him is his tiger, lifeless and half eaten. Chunks of fur torn off its body and scattered like the floor of a barber's. He looks closely into its eyes, and... wait. It's still alive.
Crouching over, the king pets his friend. He can feel the warmth quickly fading. The tiger looks into his eyes. In the glassy jade, Leon sees himself, naked and fat. He is not fit to rule a kingdom. Now he is being punished.
The morning is hectic. Guards run back and forth with news of captured figures. The king inspects each one, but finds nothing. He remembers the silhouette, the giant hulk of a man. "Search," he says, "for a mountain."
There is a grand burial, with dancers wearing peacock feathers, and purple-red grapes, and purple-red wine. As he watches his friend lowered into the earth, he hears his wife weep beside him. He puts a hand on her leg, to soothe, but finds dry cloth. She is not crying.
She told him to get rid of the beast years ago. He promised it was only temporary. She said there cannot be a tiger roaming the halls at night, it threatens all of the living. He said he didn't care. She never forgot.
As the tiger is lowered, as the dancers dance, as the grapes are plucked off their stems, as the wine is drank, a cry comes from the ground. Leon rushes down, scaring his wife with his vigor, and looks at the baby in the pit. "Fools!" he screams, "are you not of sight? The gods have replaced my love with a child! And you all would no sooner have crushed him!"
He names the boy Leo. His wife laughs at his banality. He does not care.
The child has green eyes just like his fallen comrade. The child roars, not with the volume, but with the spirit of his lost friend. The child is dressed in the skin of his namesake.
Years pass, and Leo is grown. He is an able warrior, and a better son. Even the queen has come to love him.
At dinner, with a feast set on the long oak table, the queen asks Leo a question. "Do you know what day it is, son?" she says. King Leon listens closely, while cutting a piece of steak with a golden knife.
"Yes, of course," Leo says. "It's your birthday."
The queen turns to her king. "See, honey?" she says. "He is so much better than that tiger."
The king stands up and stabs her in the throat. The blood that flows out reminds him of his first love.
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Taken from this /r/TwoSentenceHorror post by u/DatLonerGirl:
https://old.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/smglka/feb22_the_king_came_to_regret_allowing_his_pet/
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[WP] The king came to regret allowing his pet tiger to roam the halls of the palace unsupervised. As he looked over the eviscerated and half eaten body of his beloved, he only had one question: what could do this to a tiger?
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It was a Caspian tiger, large and shaggy, painstakingly cloned from the trophy that hung in the great hall. It had crossed light-years and centuries, a false extinction in the mid-1900s and a real one later, when everything went belly up in The Big Mistake. It had been the third cub decanted, the only one to survive to adulthood. It had been beautiful.
And now it was dead.
The tiger lay broken in the wintergrass, a streak of orange seeping red in the wavering field of ice blue grasses. Shards of stained glass lay all around it. Remnants of a hunting scene, unimportant now. Nothing was, in the face of this. There was hardly anything left. Antus was a harsh world, and the castle was very large. It had taken time to locate the source of the crash, and then the king had been… indisposed. The scavengers never were.
A man could see incredible things. New worlds. Wintergrass stretching out forever. Riches when other worlds were burning, Earth itself splitting apart.
Staring down at his tiger, the King thought that this was the most incredible thing of all. A streak of mangled orange and red in all that icy blue. Babur, he’d called it.
A door opened behind him.
“No sign of intruders,” said the woman who entered. “I’ve got full spectrum running, in the morning we’ll have every living thing in the castle accounted for. If there’s a mouse out of place, I’ll find it.”
The King waved her over. She joined him, a respectful step away.
“Further orders?” she said. “What should we do with the body?”
And the King shrugged. Tried to make the movement casual, even though he couldn’t take his eyes away. Babur, broken on the ground. The grasses wavering in the breeze, almost as if they were curling towards him.
The woman made to leave. The King caught her hand and she turned back, her gaze softening. A moment passed above the world, the woman leaning towards her King like the wintergrass. Tall and lean, beautiful.
“Clone another,” said the King.
Late that night, she did.
\*\*\*
The King sat on his throne, staring thoughtfully up into the rafters. Babur lay at his feet, the tip of his tail making lazy circles in the air. All around them was the sound of quiet scraping, the whir of drones, dishes being stored away as the servants cleaned up in the wake of another banquet.
The King had no eyes for any of them. There was another tiger in the rafters, another Babur, dead like all the others.
A year had passed since that night above the wintergrass when the first cloned Babur had died. Since then eight more had plunged to their deaths from windows or staircases. Two had burned. The last had simply died. The King had found that one himself, curled up on library on the floor, ice-cold and unmoving.
A man could be troubled by such things.
He reached down, stroked Babur’s head. The tiger leaned into his touch, purred softly. Above them the first Babur hung suspended from a pair of invisible wires, killed by an ancestor so far off in the past that nothing remained of him but his trophy, the tigers cloned from it. That man hadn’t even been a King. Troubling thoughts. Confusing thoughts.
The King stood and Babur followed.
They walked through the halls as the night passed into morning. The King whispered to Babur, told him everything. Men and women talked, but tigers kept the secrets that people never could. Babur was a good listener. He always had been, in all his incarnations.
At length they found themselves stopped in front of the window. It was a hall like all the others. Stone. A high, vaulted ceiling. Busts in the alcoves, paintings on the walls. A thick carpet that Babur walked alongside. The King could never bring himself to clip a tiger’s claws.
“What’s happening to you?” he asked Babur. His friend, as much as any creature in the world.
The tiger growled and the King pulled on his ears. Found the spot at the base of his skull that always itched.
“Eleven dead tigers,” said the king. “Twelve, if you count the one in the rafters. He’s your ancestor I suppose. I’m sorry about that.”
The King stared out of the repaired window, past the hunting scene, and down into the wintergrass that stretched out forever.
“Does that make you thirteen?”
Babur curled up in front of the window, and the King realized that their walk had ended. One never moved a tiger after they had found their place. Even a king’s power had its limits.
The King kissed Babur’s head. Said, “See you in the morning,” and tried not to make it sound like a question.
Then with one last parting look, the King went in search of indisposition.
He found Babur in the wintergrass, after.
\*\*\*
The King stared through the camera at a sleepless tiger, the twenty-second of his name. The woman sat beside him, explaining.
“Our cloning is getting better,” she said. “We understand tigers a little better each time. The drone is designed to fit into Babur’s blind spots. He can’t smell it, and he can’t see the color it’s painted. The shape is special too, frankly the whole thing is ingenious. You can watch him anytime, anywhere, and he’ll never know you’re there.”
The King nodded. “You understand tigers now?”
“A little,” she said.
“Then what's killing him?”
The woman could only spread her hands and bow. She backed out of the room, and this time the King let her go. She was never far, always faithful. Perhaps, he thought, she might even keep a secret. Then he wouldn’t need a tiger.
No. The King would always need Babur.
He’d been forced to admit to himself that Babur was an obsession now. It hurt the King to see death, but even more than that he was struggling with the helplessness of it all. Twenty-two Babur’s and still they were dying. Being killed perhaps, but what could kill a tiger? It was unthinkable. Every time it happened he slipped a bit closer to paranoia, that age-old killer of kings, but what else was he to do? What else was a man to do, when his best friend kept on dying?
It was not, he imagined, a problem many men had faced. Kings were different. They had their problems, with their own solutions. They had to. Kings were a species unto themselves.
On the screen, Babur stood. The tiger looked around his room, more richly appointed than most nobleman’s chambers. There were toys and scratching posts, all manner of things to eat. Babur could follow a tunnel west for a quarter-mile until he came up in a clearing among the wintergrass fields, a broad pen where he might hunt small game or a few elusive slantdeer. A tiger’s dream life. Everything was perfect.
Babur looked at it all, then looked towards the drone. Stared, unblinking.
He went out through the front door.
The drone followed. Babur took a winding path up, up, up. The King leaned towards his monitor, eyes devouring the tiger’s shape. Where was he going? Why not hunt?
It Babur an hour to climb the great, winding stair up into the central tower.
It only took a moment to fling himself back down.
The King sat back, openmouthed.
And then he wept.
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King Marigold III knelt before his torn-asunder tigress and for a few seconds the only sound to be heard through the palace was that of his tears exploding off the marble floor. "Lipathia," he said, in a somber monotone tone far from his usual exuberance. "Lipathia, how could this have happened?"
A second noise joined the king's exploding tears: a servant's tray, clattering with cups and cutlery, held by the pale-faced Mr Bennett who had been the sole witness to the incident which had just taken place.
From behind the cover of satin curtains, a maid watched on in silence. Her thick eyebrows quivered gently and a drop of blood trickled from beneath her hand which she held firm over her mouth.
"Mr Bennett. Tell me again the story in full. Spare no detail."
The king's request straightened the old servant at once: the tray unclattered instinctively and Mr Bennett carefully repeated, in precisely the same manner as moments before, his words of the terrible event which had taken place in the grand hallway of the palace.
"I was en route to Your Highness's bed chambers with His evening meal when I heard a thunderous roar. From experience I have learned to read Lady Lipathia's mood from the sounds she make, but never before had I heard a sound like this one. Quickening my pace, I turned the corner and that was when the sight presented itself before me, as it were. A shadow streamed from the walls and toward Lady Lipathia. I call it a shadow rather than a dark cloud or a mist because that is the only word I can think of to describe it: a shadow. It descended on Lady Lipathia and wrapped itself around her, from her head to her stomach, and with the blink of an eye it dissipated. As did the front half of Lady Lipathia."
Right as he finished telling the story, Mr Bennett's began shaking anew and his tray clattered violently before it was halted by a sneer from King Marigold. "Bah!" said the king. "Bah! What nonsense! A shadow? A shadow killed my precious Lipathia? I will have you hanged for these lies."
"Very well, Your Highness," said Mr Bennett and the two of them exchanged curious looks.
What struck King Marigold as intimately odd was the absence of blood from the frontal region of the tigress. Of course, the lower half had bled a generous pool of its own, but it was evident that there should be more blood. The blood of the missing half. And that was exactly why Mr Bennett's explanation appeared to be the only one that would make a lick of sense--except it didn't. A shadow spirited Lipathia off to some shadow realm? For what purpose? By what sort of sorcery?
"Gather the scholars," grumbled the king. "And have the kitchen prepare the remains."
"Your Highness?"
"I have always wondered what a tiger might taste like. It would be a shame to let Lipathia's sacrifice go to waste."
"Sacrifice?" muttered the maid, still behind the curtains. "More like a curse, I'd say." Seeing that she had been so frightened to make a sound that she had bitten through the flesh of her own hand, the maid sucked up the blood and scampered off to regale the rest of the servants with this horrific absurdity.
Eased into his evening bath, King Marigold III wondered whether his ancestors had struggled with anything like this predicament. His grandfather had been known to be a callous man. Once he'd flayed his head chef for having served him oil-poached tomatoes as a side dish. Perhaps it was his ghost, even, that roamed the halls of the palace? The king sighed. If only the queen remained by his side. Alyssa knew all about witchcraft and sorcery. She would often arrange séances, though it had never interested the king in the slightest. Now he regretted it. He had taken Alyssa and her hobbies for granted, and he never expected that a feeling of profound emptiness would come to dominate his final years on the throne.
"Y-Your Highness!"
Mr Bennett spoke with urgency in his voice, and the surprise almost caused the king to slip all the way into his bath. "I'll have you hanged! To sneak up on me like that! I'll have you hanged, Bennett!"
"A maid. Her hand, Your Highness. She ran screaming through the halls. The blood erupted like a fountain! She kept yelling, 'My hand! My hand!' and I saw it for myself, I--"
"Slow down, Bennett. What are you saying?"
Mr Bennett had grown a shade paler, and it was evident he struggled even to breathe. "The shadow returned, and it took the hand of a maid. Miss Claire. The shadow took Miss Claire's hand."
"I'm not sure the kitchen is willing to prepare a maid."
"Your Highness?"
"Forget it. Did you fetch the scholars?"
Mr Bennett beckoned to a group of long-bearded men with serious looks, their eyes turned away from the neatly-displayed crown jewels before them.
"Ah, yes," said the king. "Learned men. Scholars. Men of wisdom and wit. What have you to say about murderous shadows?"
A man with ravenous eyes stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Your Highness. From the descriptions we have been given, we can only surmise that this is an occult phenomenon."
"Any filthy wench could tell me that. What else?"
"There are ancient scriptures filled with stories of restless spirits, wandering between worlds, lost due to unfinished business. These are, of course, myths and legends. But if it will please Your Highness, I think this situation calls us to take them seriously. Which would include also descriptions of how to properly deal with such spirits."
"Why, yes. And how does one go about it? Is there a chant? Sacred oils? A ritual, perhaps?"
The men stared at one another, hesitant to deliver their agreed-upon prescription. "The texts are quite clear. In the case of a murderous spirit, it can only be removed via recourse to the dark arts."
The king stroked his patchy beard. "Dark arts, you say? And?"
"Human sacrifice, Your Highness."
A cold wind blew in from an open window. King Marigold III sighed deeply. "Well, in that case I suppose there's no choice in the matter. Bennett? I reckon you are up for the task?"
Mr Bennett gulped. "Y-Your Highness?"
"Or perhaps that maid? What good is a one-armed maid, anyway?"
"I'm sure Miss Claire will be honored to serve the king!" said Mr Bennett, and took a deep bow. "Ah, Your Highness," he continued, getting back up. "The kitchen has prepared your ... feast."
"Feast?" said the king. "Oh. Lipathia! What are you saying, fool? Have they cooked my dear Lipathia, as if she were some common lamb? I'll have you hanged, Bennett! I'll have you hanged!"
Mr Bennett leapt to the floor to kneel with such haste that he banged his forehead on the floor with such force that he promptly fell over, unconscious.
Meanwhile, the king and his scholars prepared for the dark ritual.
--TBC---
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[WP] You look at the grim reaper and ask where he’s taking you. “You’ve already been to heaven and hell, now I’m going to show you something else.”
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The Grim Reaper stood there unmoving with an outstretched hand. “What?”, I gasped. They did not repeat themself. I stared at their hands, the offered palm was glowing gold whilst the other remaining firmly by their side, was pure grey. I looked around me, the world was simply unremarkable. There was grass, there were trees, there was the sun and sky and that was all.
I took a deep breath and clasped their hand, it grasped mine back with a vice-like fashion, the Grim Reaper’s head shot up and their eyes turned blood red. All I could see was their eyes, I was transfixed, nothing else existed but those eyes. I saw wars spanning centuries, I saw new civilisations brought from the ground up to be demolished and replaced. I saw families with children turn into those mourning their losses, for those taken too soon in a cruel, harsh world.
My head was pounding with waves of pain as I sat up from the floor I found myself on. The room was plain, the walls painted grey, the floor was black carpet, from the ceiling hung a dim light bulb, no lightshade. As I looked around this room, it became clear that there was no door, no windows, no escape. I tentatively managed to stand, balancing against the wall, when I heard a cheerful but unmemorable voice, “Welcome! Soon you shall arrive at your end destination, your assigned buddy will meet you shortly. Please prepare for movement”. And with that I felt a rumbling from underfoot. The pounding headache had ceased but I did not risk it and abruptly planted myself back onto the carpet.
The room started moving, gradually picking up speed until I was braced against the wall. Instantly the room froze in place, the bulb sending light in every direction as it swung freely from the sudden movements. The Grim Reaper appeared in front of me, dishevelled and despite having no other facial features than their eyes, looking concerned.
“Time is fleeting. I come to invite you to join me as life begins to border on the end. I know your soul and I believe you to determine fate. Through Heaven, through Hell, through life, you have explored all but what lays ahead, and this is what you would have to surrender. The choice between your eternal rest or an unknown future with no retreat. We have not long before us, do not speak, I will know your decision when you do.”
The bulb started flickering as the Grim Reaper extended their hand once again, however this time it glowed white and black, the colours swirling trying to take shape within the palm. I heard the rumbling before I felt the vibrations, and the room started creeping again. I looked at the Grim Reaper, taking a final look, their eyes shone grey behind a tall collar, from the collar was a deep darkness that threatened to lure you in. Their clothes were black, not a cloak, but a short dress and smart trousers beneath. No shoes for they had no feet, the bottom of the trousers filled with the same dark void from the collar. The Grim Reaper hovered with immovable stillness, those grey eyes staring almost straight through me. Without breaking eye contact, I reached out my arm as the world grew dark, I grabbed their hand as the void grew, as the floor disappeared beneath me and I hung limply staring into the now, once-again red eyes.
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"Purgatory?" I ask, followed by "and what do you mean I've been to heaven and hell?". Death responded "No, purgatory is just budget hell, where I'm taking is yet to be named." He pauses "My employer has codenamed it Phoenix".
"By your employer you mean god right" he does not respond. "We're coming to our first stop". Two angelic figures stand by a gate halfway buried in silt. "Halt, celestials only beyond this point" death waves his hand, and the angels stand back. As we cross the gate we fade into a silvery void. Death turned around "I'm afraid you'll have to lose your memories to get their, you can turn back if you wish". I continue to follow death. "Your unusually dedicated " said death, twirling his scythe. I walk "you never answered the my second question, or my 3rd one" he walks on, ignoring me. "The next stop is near, which is our last one." I fall, and land in a misty forest, remembering nothing of my life I knew I had.
I sit by the campfire and another man says " I think the same thing happened to me."
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[WP] You are accepted in a magic school, however, you are not in England, thus, you have to describe your own school, thinking about your country and its specific culture around magic.
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A letter sat on the kitchen table. Really, a lot of letters sat on the kitchen table, kind of pushed together to allow room for plates at the edges. There were three small plates, holding the rapidly vanishing remains of after-school snacks. Elias munched his melted cheese sandwich, and eyed his little sister's increasingly vain attempts to finish hers. Piper wasn't as much of an eater as he, and though his even younger brother Mason was on track to finish his, Mason was also already getting up to go play. Kindergarten weighed hard on Mason, who was apt to wander down the hallways of their school if he wasn't watched closely. He wasn't mischievous, he just was fascinated by everything, and wanted to go see it right now.
Score. Piper dropped a perfectly good less-than-half a sandwich on her paper plate and was already moving for the screen door. Elias knew why, of course. Whoever was in sight when he finished his snack would have to help him clear the table before mom got home and started working on supper. Still, an extra half-sandwich he didn't have to go make in the microwave was a small price to pay. The mail wasn't too bad today, mom had obviously grabbed it out of the box and thrown it on the table as she left for work. Being a self-possessed 5th grader, and “man of the house” when dad wasn't home, Elias knew how to sort the letters. Bills stayed in a pile on the table for mom to see. She'd go over them with dad when he came in off the road next week. Junk mail went in the kindling bucket. But one letter was for him.
It was a funny letter, all thick paper and old sort of ink writing. Certainly not junk mail, and also certainly not from his grandmother. She'd sent him his birthday card last week, with a sweet twenty dollar bill in it because she loved to spoil her little 'uns, as she called them.
Wondering who “The Academium” was, Elias opened it and dumped out the contents on the table. The mass of documents was surrounded by one larger bit of the heavy paper, so he pulled it out and read it first.
'Dearest Elias,
We are hereby delighted to inform you of your acceptance into The Academium, A Premier Learning Institution for Young Mages ®. Your acceptance packet includes all of the information you will need to know for the coming school year....'
Elias goggled. He'd never heard of The Academium, but he supposed it was one of those charter school thingys the folks in the PTA were always arguing about- heard secondhand from his mother's phone conversations. But mages? Wasn't that like, magic? He didn't know there was a school to go be a magician. He'd read that Harry Houdini had been self-taught. Still, making tigers appear and disappear sounded cool, but he'd have to ask his mom what she thought about it. He was pretty sure she'd say no, they couldn't afford it. He looked around the trailer home. Probably not.
No time to brood, though, there was a good two hours to waste before mom got home, and he wanted to dare Mason to stick his hand down a crawdad hole. He'd tempt him with trading time on the PlayStation III. Dad had picked one up second hand last year, and they constantly fought over whose turn it was.
Later that evening, Mason was happily playing on the PS3, bandaged finger fully forgotten. Piper was helping him through levels and smirking at him. Elias had his arms soaped to the elbows doing all the dishes, even though it wasn't his turn. He'd gotten dishes for the next two weeks, but he had to admit the crawdad was way bigger than he'd expected. Probably worth it to see it rocketing out of the hole attached firmly to Mason's finger.
Now he scrubbed and and splashed, and hoped his efforts were enough to calm his mother enough that she wouldn't ground him from the games, too. She was still pretty peeved, her day hadn't been great at the convenience store she worked at. Something about card readers being down. She was looking through her pile of mail, and he realized he'd tossed his letter in with hers when she spoke.
“When did we get this?” his mom asked suddenly, pulled out of her funk by the strange correspondence.
Elias looked over and shrugged, “Today, I guess. It was in the mail I sorted, and I looked at it. It says I can go to school to be a magician.” he paused, “Can I?”
Wandalene Maynard sighed. She and Chuck had talked endlessly about school options for the kids. They lived in this trailer because when fuel didn't eat all of Chuck's trucking money, they had enough to put back every month on a down payment on a house. The place needed serious work... she corrected her self, it needed demolished. But it put them at the edge of the best school district in five counties. The kids wanting to go to private school would mean they'd never get into the better home she and Chuck worked so hard for.
“Well, I've never heard about schools for magicians, El. I think they go to performing arts colleges, not middle schools. Let me read some more.”
As she read, the front door opened with a “Hello, hello!” as Grandma Josephine let herself in.
A pleasantly grandmotherly sort, with curls, and a twinkle, and slightly hidden attempt to slip a couple sweets to the two younger children on the couch, she bustled to the table and sat down.
“Hey, Grandma. Do you think I could be a magician?” Elias asked. His grandma knew many things, he had learned in years of asking.
“Ah, yes, the letter did get here.” Josephine beamed.
Wandalene's head shot up from her reading, “Did you send this?”
“Heaven's no!” she laughed in response, “I don't work for The Academium. Far too much stress there for me. But I knew it was time for letters this year. Elias has been due. And as for you young man, no you may not be a magician. Cheap parlor tricks. You can be a proper mage.”
Elias had a puzzled look, “Well what's the difference?”
Wandalene looked on. She had always known her mother-in-law was a force to be reckoned with. Certainly not the nightmare mother-in-law one heard about in the best gossip, the woman was lovely. But she had a way of getting her way, and of her way being spot-on.
“Simple, El. One's a person who puts on a show. The other does magic. And you, my boy, will do magic!”
The letter had been opened months hence, and school let out for summer just a couple days after. The house had been an absolute circus for the first few days of vacation. Turns out Dad had known his mother was a Sorceress, First Tier since, like, forever, but he never told Mom. He figured who would believe him? And since Grandma put out the word, sorts of Elias's paternal relations had been dropping by to congratulate him, pat him on the back, and give him advice.
It turned out that Elias's family would not have to pay for the school, there had been vouchers inside the packet, that's why it was so thick. They had mailed off vouchers to a host of places, and packages had begun arriving in the passing days in almost alarming abundance. Cauldrons, alembics, scrying lenses, robes, even a wand, they all showed up in discrete brown packaging, with no UPS or Postal delivery truck to be seen. His relatives made much ado over the merits of the various supplies, and in some cases, insisted he take their old used items in addition to what he was sent because, “they didn't make them like that anymore”. After a Cousin Bobby Joe gave him a jar of something that exploded into rubbery purple tentacles flopping aimlessly around his room, Grandma Josephine watched any of the gifts like a hawk.
“Bobby Joe barely made Mageling, 4th Tier, and he ought to know better, but he never did have the sense God gave a carrot.” Grandma Josephine opined as she cleaned up the mess.
With school starting the next day, it had been quieter. Mom had teared up at her boy going away to a fancy new school, but beamed like a lighthouse as she took pictures of him in his school uniform. Dad put off a load so he could see him off.
“Boy, you're gonna do great things. You listen to what your Grandma told you, and do your best. I cant help with your homework, but if you need anything else, you tell me.” Chuck stood up and picked Elias up in a fierce bear hug.
Mason marched over, “If El is in school, do I getta be the manofthehouse?” he demanded to know.
Piper marched over, “NO. You're too little. I'll be the man of the house. But a princess.”
Chuck laughed and grabbed all his kids in hugs and tickles, and Elias missed them already... and it was only just bedtime.
Morning had arrived, and Elias hefted his backpack. Everything he needed for school was in it. It felt strange. He could feel the wizard's staff, taller than he by a foot, in the back pocket of the bag, but it had gone in with no trouble. There had to be hundreds of pounds in there, but he carried the weight easily. Magic was strange, but it already seemed better than picking handcuffs in a river.
Shortly after his brother and sister had given tearful goodbyes to their big brother who was going to “The Special School”, and gotten on their big yellow school bus, another big yellow school bus came around the bend in the road. It looked normal enough, it just had “The Academium” painted on the side. Grandma Josephine had joined his mom and dad in seeing him off. He had wondered how far the school was, and if he'd be on time but Grandma told him not to worry. Buses would be traveling all over to and from the school today, classes didn't get going till everyone got settled.
Hugs, and tears, and waving, and goodbyes couldn't last long once the bus stopped and opened the door, so Elias walked in and found a seat. There were already some kids seated, and one smiled at him.
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The young teenage girl would sprint through the woods of the forest, her robes tattered and ripped as the branches would snap as she stepped on them, heading for who knows where, just away, to escape the FBM.
///
I’d stand up from the small footprint, opening my eyes as I’d fix my Fedora and tie, before turning to the small group of other agents, and giving instructions
“Winters, you’re with me on foot to chase her down, Jackson, Watson, you’re on brooms to survey the forest topside, if she comes into a clearing, take her down”
The agents would nod, as myself and winters would head into the forest, after the suspect.
///
Lisa hadn’t meant for it to happen, she never did, they were yelling, screaming at her, beating her, but she had done it, now one of them was laying in a hospital bed, having been tortured by her, she had hated doing it. She didn’t like doing it to him, but her anger got the better of her, she couldn’t smile, she didn’t feel any better doing it, it just felt like it had to be done.
Now she was running, running from everything, no goal, no direction, just to run, running was what she was good at, but she kept looking over her shoulder, expecting them to arrive.
///
I’d open my eyes during one of the jumps, we were closing in, it didn’t fully matter what her motives or reasons were, she had used a forbidden curse on a peer, then ran from the law
I’d hear Winters speaking up,
“Agent Steel, why do you always close your eyes like that, and how do you not fall?”
Madeline Winters, the newest member of the team, bright, young, and eager, she is curious, a bit cautious, not unlike myself when I first joined. I’d look up a bit at the night sky before responding
“Well Winters, first off, you don’t need to call me Agent, secondly, it’s a bit of a long story, but when I was helping to arrest Grindelwald, I was hit in my right eye by a spell, thought I would go blind, instead, I ended up being able to see magical energy when I closed my eyes. A person’s energy can tell you a lot about somebody, along with what they leave behind, the girl's footsteps are inconsistent and clumsy, indicating she’s running in panic. The girl's energy gives off fear, she didn’t entirely want to do what she did.”
Winters would fall silent, with her only sound being her pained breathes trying to keep up with me, I’d close my eyes again, seeing the girl was basically right on top of us, as I’d hold my hand up, causing us both to stop
///
Lisa would raise her wand, breathing heavily, as she entered the clearing, the night sky clear overhead, surrounded by trees and paths, turning quickly, trying to spot the movement, she was hearing the rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs occasionally.
She hit a log, panicking, she turned her wand on it, before turning back to the tree
line, pained panting coming from her.
She would shout out to the darkness,
“It wasn't my fault, they forced me to defend myself, they should be the ones arrested, not me, I didn’t do anything wrong!”
No noise would come out of the darkness, but then, two shots of light would rip out toward her, she’d duck down at that impacted the ground and log, kicking up dirt as she ran to a large rock at the edge of the clearing, diving behind it as more spells chased her
///
I’d turn around the tree again, firing a stunning spell toward the rock as Winters moved up to try and get around her, diving behind the log for cover as the girl fired what spells she knew at us
I’d duck behind the tree, before reading expelliarmus, as I’d turn again, as a spell would impact my hand, and send my wand flying into the darkness, damn, she had gotten me first, as I ducked to search, I saw Winters fire her own disarming spell, sending the girls wand behind her.
I’d shut my eyes as I’d search for my wand
///
Lisa would begin to crawl toward her wand, these damn agents were relentless she couldn’t hold them off forever, she would need to get rid of them, permanently, she was warned against using the killing curse, but it didn’t matter now, it was her or them.
She’d grip the wand, turning over the rock
I’d open my eyes as I saw the girl preparing, the world seemed to move in slow motion, the wand pointing at Winters, I’d begin to reach into my coat as the girls mouth would move
I’d grip the small object, getting out of of my coat as I shut my eyes
“AVADA KADAVR-“
***BANG***
The sound like thunder would pierce the quiet, as a spike of pain would rip up Lisa’s body, she began to shake as her wand fell from her hand, she looked down, seeing her robe beginning to turn red, with…what…blood?
Lisa’s knees felt heavy and weak, maybe, she could just…rest
That was what she thought as she fell to the ground
///
I’d slowly lower the M1911, placing it in my coat holster, as I’d pick up my wand, heading over to the wounded girl, as I’d send up a red flare into the sky with my wand.
I’d turn to Winters, who had not moved, still pointing her wand forward, eyes wide, slowly, she began to regain her composure, lowering her wand and walking over, speaking in a hushed whisper
“You saved me, thank you”
I’d place the girl over my shoulder as Watson and Jackson landed with the brooms in tow, nodding to Winters,
“Don’t mention it, had it been me you’d have done the same thing, just another day at the office in the Federal Bureau of Magical Affairs”
Authors note: I know technically the prompt was for the school itself, but I had an idea and just couldn’t stop writing, I hope you enjoyed reading, I haven’t been writing recently due to IRL things, so I’m happy I could finally make something
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[WP] You are accepted in a magic school, however, you are not in England, thus, you have to describe your own school, thinking about your country and its specific culture around magic.
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Maybelline Summers was unimpressed. She sat with her head in her hands, kicking a foot stubbornly against the bench outside Director Johnson's office while she listened to him speak on the phone with her parents. They, too, were unimpressed, but with her and not the school she'd been promised would train her to become a great weaver. *The weaver*, they said. She scowled and made a low grumble in her throat, gaining a look from the secretary Jerald. She rolled her eyes and looked past him out the window.
Outside, her classmates were running drills. Freddy dodged a bullet, spinning away at the last moment, and fired his pistol in return, curving the bullet to find its target, Vera, who pulled a Matrix and flattened her body to the ground. Michaela and Donovan were zipping about the air and tossing flames at one another, while Loris sat on a bench with their head buried in a medical textbook. Maybelline was supposed to be partnering with them to work on flight maneuvers commonly needed in combat today. Instead, she set the canteen on fire and tried to jump the fence. Madame Archley caught her before she'd made it halfway up the eleven-story chainmail, its thick magick made to withstand nearly everything Maybelline had tried to use to escape, all except straight up climbing, though its regular properties seemed strong enough to stop her from getting far. Archley had snagged her quickly and deposited her promptly at the director's door with a withering frown and a slew of profanities and promises for Maybelline's future.
"Maybelline? Come in, please," came the director's voice.
The director's office was covered in memorabilia. Autographs, medals, and letters of thanks were framed around the room. Bookcases consumed the rest. Director Johnson sat behind his dark oak desk, peering at her through half-framed spectacles, and motioned for her to take a seat across from him. She plopped down into the overstuffed chair, still scowling.
"You put on quite a show earlier. Fortunately, your parents have agreed to pay for the damages to the canteen."
"And we are not happy about it. Maybelline, what were you doing?" Her father's shrill voice felt like knives in her ears. "Are you trying to impress your friends? Is this...is this about a boy?"
"Sweetheart, no boy you want should be impressed by vandalism," continued her mother. "You know you have an image to uphold and a lega--"
"This is not about a boy, Mom," Maybelline interrupted. She crossed her arms. "This is about this school."
Director Johnson coughed. "Pardon?"
"I was told this school was going to be great. I would learn lots of useful magick and become a great weaver. Instead, what do we get? Hollywood bullshit!"
"Maybelline!" Her parents said in unison and then both launched into their own tirades of language and legacy and manners.
Director Johnson cleared his throat. "It's ok, Mr. and Mrs. Summers. There's always one. I'll handle this."
They quieted, and Maybelline looked the director in the eye.
"You lied," she said.
"Not at all," he replied, sitting back in his chair. "You will learn to weave magick here, just not the kind you think. I know you were a reader before coming here. JK Rowling, Alix Harrow, Katherine Arden, right?"
He paused and flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve before returning her gaze. She did not answer.
"Fiction. Pure imagination," he continued, tossing his hands in the air as if he could throw away such nonsense. "In reality hedgewitches and Baba Yaga and all that you've read is a lie. Real magick is Hollywood, dear. Who do you think created it?"
Her frown deepened. "The movies have more than just superhero crap! We can't even do healing, just...just..."
"Stunts and combat, yes, I'm afraid so, but think of your future! Stuntweavers make a lovely sum of money, but if you pass the Armed Services Magickal Aptitude test, you'll never worry again. Well, unless we're at war, but they always said weavers to the quiet regions. Paid too much to have you, I suspect."
He chuckled. Maybelline's stomach dropped and she looked away. Tears brimmed her eyes. "So that's it? Hollywood or the military?"
The director chuckled. "Oh, of course not, child. You could always go back to civilian life."
"You're staying in school, *Maybelline*," her father's voice bellowed.
"It'll be a good experience. Think of your future, dear," her mother quietly added. "You're still young; you'll understand when you're older. I know it's not what you thought weaving would be, but...think of the money, honey."
Maybelline swallowed and stood up. "Whatever."
Director Johnson gave her a grim smile. "Don't worry, Maybelline. The world's never what we expect, you know, and everyone has these moments when they realize that. Lucky you have the privilege of learning that now and not later, hmm?"
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The young teenage girl would sprint through the woods of the forest, her robes tattered and ripped as the branches would snap as she stepped on them, heading for who knows where, just away, to escape the FBM.
///
I’d stand up from the small footprint, opening my eyes as I’d fix my Fedora and tie, before turning to the small group of other agents, and giving instructions
“Winters, you’re with me on foot to chase her down, Jackson, Watson, you’re on brooms to survey the forest topside, if she comes into a clearing, take her down”
The agents would nod, as myself and winters would head into the forest, after the suspect.
///
Lisa hadn’t meant for it to happen, she never did, they were yelling, screaming at her, beating her, but she had done it, now one of them was laying in a hospital bed, having been tortured by her, she had hated doing it. She didn’t like doing it to him, but her anger got the better of her, she couldn’t smile, she didn’t feel any better doing it, it just felt like it had to be done.
Now she was running, running from everything, no goal, no direction, just to run, running was what she was good at, but she kept looking over her shoulder, expecting them to arrive.
///
I’d open my eyes during one of the jumps, we were closing in, it didn’t fully matter what her motives or reasons were, she had used a forbidden curse on a peer, then ran from the law
I’d hear Winters speaking up,
“Agent Steel, why do you always close your eyes like that, and how do you not fall?”
Madeline Winters, the newest member of the team, bright, young, and eager, she is curious, a bit cautious, not unlike myself when I first joined. I’d look up a bit at the night sky before responding
“Well Winters, first off, you don’t need to call me Agent, secondly, it’s a bit of a long story, but when I was helping to arrest Grindelwald, I was hit in my right eye by a spell, thought I would go blind, instead, I ended up being able to see magical energy when I closed my eyes. A person’s energy can tell you a lot about somebody, along with what they leave behind, the girl's footsteps are inconsistent and clumsy, indicating she’s running in panic. The girl's energy gives off fear, she didn’t entirely want to do what she did.”
Winters would fall silent, with her only sound being her pained breathes trying to keep up with me, I’d close my eyes again, seeing the girl was basically right on top of us, as I’d hold my hand up, causing us both to stop
///
Lisa would raise her wand, breathing heavily, as she entered the clearing, the night sky clear overhead, surrounded by trees and paths, turning quickly, trying to spot the movement, she was hearing the rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs occasionally.
She hit a log, panicking, she turned her wand on it, before turning back to the tree
line, pained panting coming from her.
She would shout out to the darkness,
“It wasn't my fault, they forced me to defend myself, they should be the ones arrested, not me, I didn’t do anything wrong!”
No noise would come out of the darkness, but then, two shots of light would rip out toward her, she’d duck down at that impacted the ground and log, kicking up dirt as she ran to a large rock at the edge of the clearing, diving behind it as more spells chased her
///
I’d turn around the tree again, firing a stunning spell toward the rock as Winters moved up to try and get around her, diving behind the log for cover as the girl fired what spells she knew at us
I’d duck behind the tree, before reading expelliarmus, as I’d turn again, as a spell would impact my hand, and send my wand flying into the darkness, damn, she had gotten me first, as I ducked to search, I saw Winters fire her own disarming spell, sending the girls wand behind her.
I’d shut my eyes as I’d search for my wand
///
Lisa would begin to crawl toward her wand, these damn agents were relentless she couldn’t hold them off forever, she would need to get rid of them, permanently, she was warned against using the killing curse, but it didn’t matter now, it was her or them.
She’d grip the wand, turning over the rock
I’d open my eyes as I saw the girl preparing, the world seemed to move in slow motion, the wand pointing at Winters, I’d begin to reach into my coat as the girls mouth would move
I’d grip the small object, getting out of of my coat as I shut my eyes
“AVADA KADAVR-“
***BANG***
The sound like thunder would pierce the quiet, as a spike of pain would rip up Lisa’s body, she began to shake as her wand fell from her hand, she looked down, seeing her robe beginning to turn red, with…what…blood?
Lisa’s knees felt heavy and weak, maybe, she could just…rest
That was what she thought as she fell to the ground
///
I’d slowly lower the M1911, placing it in my coat holster, as I’d pick up my wand, heading over to the wounded girl, as I’d send up a red flare into the sky with my wand.
I’d turn to Winters, who had not moved, still pointing her wand forward, eyes wide, slowly, she began to regain her composure, lowering her wand and walking over, speaking in a hushed whisper
“You saved me, thank you”
I’d place the girl over my shoulder as Watson and Jackson landed with the brooms in tow, nodding to Winters,
“Don’t mention it, had it been me you’d have done the same thing, just another day at the office in the Federal Bureau of Magical Affairs”
Authors note: I know technically the prompt was for the school itself, but I had an idea and just couldn’t stop writing, I hope you enjoyed reading, I haven’t been writing recently due to IRL things, so I’m happy I could finally make something
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[WP] You are accepted in a magic school, however, you are not in England, thus, you have to describe your own school, thinking about your country and its specific culture around magic.
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"Welcome everyone to the lithuanian school of magic! You're all here because you have been reported of succeding in either doing magic, or befriending a magical entity.
I see so many lovely boys and girls that will learn some helpful magic, but first everyone will need to jump over that campfire, please try not to burn yourself, and if you do the teacher has a fire extinguisher and bandages.
This is a test to make sure none of you are actually witches older than my own grandma, if anyone transforms while jumping over that fire, they should know the exit is down the hall to the right.
After that you will be given your timetable,map and a key to the dorms, I also have to brief you all on the rules.
First things first, no kites, and I don't mean the toys, I mean the fire entities, they are both a fire hazard and thiefs, they make great pets but we don't want any of you unintentionally stealing from your classmates, on that note other less common magical entities or the means of summoning one aren't allowed unless you have permission from your head teacher.
You all also aren't allowed to try dangerous stuff you find out about from the library or lessons, we don't want anyone accidently bringing in malevolent entities, like skeletons from cemeteries which are known to kill, devils which are known to attract lightning, and any other beings that could be unsafe.
Rules from regular schools also apply, like no extortion or bullying, blackmail, murder, all that stuff, but you should all have the decency to not do that if you don't want to be back at your parent's house early.
Also, if you disrupt or destroy any offerings for any of the gods we won't hesitate to kick you out for endangering the other students. The porridge on corner of the cafeteria is for the guardian of the school, and the bread near the oven is for the fire goddess. If any of you do plan something dangerous, please pray beforehand.
Please also try not to anger any of the gods like the winds, it's easy to do if you are trying to do it intentionally, but it could cause a bad storm.
Well now everyone, go, you have an hour to get comfortable in your rooms."
(Based off of lithuanian pagan mythology)
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The young teenage girl would sprint through the woods of the forest, her robes tattered and ripped as the branches would snap as she stepped on them, heading for who knows where, just away, to escape the FBM.
///
I’d stand up from the small footprint, opening my eyes as I’d fix my Fedora and tie, before turning to the small group of other agents, and giving instructions
“Winters, you’re with me on foot to chase her down, Jackson, Watson, you’re on brooms to survey the forest topside, if she comes into a clearing, take her down”
The agents would nod, as myself and winters would head into the forest, after the suspect.
///
Lisa hadn’t meant for it to happen, she never did, they were yelling, screaming at her, beating her, but she had done it, now one of them was laying in a hospital bed, having been tortured by her, she had hated doing it. She didn’t like doing it to him, but her anger got the better of her, she couldn’t smile, she didn’t feel any better doing it, it just felt like it had to be done.
Now she was running, running from everything, no goal, no direction, just to run, running was what she was good at, but she kept looking over her shoulder, expecting them to arrive.
///
I’d open my eyes during one of the jumps, we were closing in, it didn’t fully matter what her motives or reasons were, she had used a forbidden curse on a peer, then ran from the law
I’d hear Winters speaking up,
“Agent Steel, why do you always close your eyes like that, and how do you not fall?”
Madeline Winters, the newest member of the team, bright, young, and eager, she is curious, a bit cautious, not unlike myself when I first joined. I’d look up a bit at the night sky before responding
“Well Winters, first off, you don’t need to call me Agent, secondly, it’s a bit of a long story, but when I was helping to arrest Grindelwald, I was hit in my right eye by a spell, thought I would go blind, instead, I ended up being able to see magical energy when I closed my eyes. A person’s energy can tell you a lot about somebody, along with what they leave behind, the girl's footsteps are inconsistent and clumsy, indicating she’s running in panic. The girl's energy gives off fear, she didn’t entirely want to do what she did.”
Winters would fall silent, with her only sound being her pained breathes trying to keep up with me, I’d close my eyes again, seeing the girl was basically right on top of us, as I’d hold my hand up, causing us both to stop
///
Lisa would raise her wand, breathing heavily, as she entered the clearing, the night sky clear overhead, surrounded by trees and paths, turning quickly, trying to spot the movement, she was hearing the rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs occasionally.
She hit a log, panicking, she turned her wand on it, before turning back to the tree
line, pained panting coming from her.
She would shout out to the darkness,
“It wasn't my fault, they forced me to defend myself, they should be the ones arrested, not me, I didn’t do anything wrong!”
No noise would come out of the darkness, but then, two shots of light would rip out toward her, she’d duck down at that impacted the ground and log, kicking up dirt as she ran to a large rock at the edge of the clearing, diving behind it as more spells chased her
///
I’d turn around the tree again, firing a stunning spell toward the rock as Winters moved up to try and get around her, diving behind the log for cover as the girl fired what spells she knew at us
I’d duck behind the tree, before reading expelliarmus, as I’d turn again, as a spell would impact my hand, and send my wand flying into the darkness, damn, she had gotten me first, as I ducked to search, I saw Winters fire her own disarming spell, sending the girls wand behind her.
I’d shut my eyes as I’d search for my wand
///
Lisa would begin to crawl toward her wand, these damn agents were relentless she couldn’t hold them off forever, she would need to get rid of them, permanently, she was warned against using the killing curse, but it didn’t matter now, it was her or them.
She’d grip the wand, turning over the rock
I’d open my eyes as I saw the girl preparing, the world seemed to move in slow motion, the wand pointing at Winters, I’d begin to reach into my coat as the girls mouth would move
I’d grip the small object, getting out of of my coat as I shut my eyes
“AVADA KADAVR-“
***BANG***
The sound like thunder would pierce the quiet, as a spike of pain would rip up Lisa’s body, she began to shake as her wand fell from her hand, she looked down, seeing her robe beginning to turn red, with…what…blood?
Lisa’s knees felt heavy and weak, maybe, she could just…rest
That was what she thought as she fell to the ground
///
I’d slowly lower the M1911, placing it in my coat holster, as I’d pick up my wand, heading over to the wounded girl, as I’d send up a red flare into the sky with my wand.
I’d turn to Winters, who had not moved, still pointing her wand forward, eyes wide, slowly, she began to regain her composure, lowering her wand and walking over, speaking in a hushed whisper
“You saved me, thank you”
I’d place the girl over my shoulder as Watson and Jackson landed with the brooms in tow, nodding to Winters,
“Don’t mention it, had it been me you’d have done the same thing, just another day at the office in the Federal Bureau of Magical Affairs”
Authors note: I know technically the prompt was for the school itself, but I had an idea and just couldn’t stop writing, I hope you enjoyed reading, I haven’t been writing recently due to IRL things, so I’m happy I could finally make something
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[WP] You are accepted in a magic school, however, you are not in England, thus, you have to describe your own school, thinking about your country and its specific culture around magic.
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A letter sat on the kitchen table. Really, a lot of letters sat on the kitchen table, kind of pushed together to allow room for plates at the edges. There were three small plates, holding the rapidly vanishing remains of after-school snacks. Elias munched his melted cheese sandwich, and eyed his little sister's increasingly vain attempts to finish hers. Piper wasn't as much of an eater as he, and though his even younger brother Mason was on track to finish his, Mason was also already getting up to go play. Kindergarten weighed hard on Mason, who was apt to wander down the hallways of their school if he wasn't watched closely. He wasn't mischievous, he just was fascinated by everything, and wanted to go see it right now.
Score. Piper dropped a perfectly good less-than-half a sandwich on her paper plate and was already moving for the screen door. Elias knew why, of course. Whoever was in sight when he finished his snack would have to help him clear the table before mom got home and started working on supper. Still, an extra half-sandwich he didn't have to go make in the microwave was a small price to pay. The mail wasn't too bad today, mom had obviously grabbed it out of the box and thrown it on the table as she left for work. Being a self-possessed 5th grader, and “man of the house” when dad wasn't home, Elias knew how to sort the letters. Bills stayed in a pile on the table for mom to see. She'd go over them with dad when he came in off the road next week. Junk mail went in the kindling bucket. But one letter was for him.
It was a funny letter, all thick paper and old sort of ink writing. Certainly not junk mail, and also certainly not from his grandmother. She'd sent him his birthday card last week, with a sweet twenty dollar bill in it because she loved to spoil her little 'uns, as she called them.
Wondering who “The Academium” was, Elias opened it and dumped out the contents on the table. The mass of documents was surrounded by one larger bit of the heavy paper, so he pulled it out and read it first.
'Dearest Elias,
We are hereby delighted to inform you of your acceptance into The Academium, A Premier Learning Institution for Young Mages ®. Your acceptance packet includes all of the information you will need to know for the coming school year....'
Elias goggled. He'd never heard of The Academium, but he supposed it was one of those charter school thingys the folks in the PTA were always arguing about- heard secondhand from his mother's phone conversations. But mages? Wasn't that like, magic? He didn't know there was a school to go be a magician. He'd read that Harry Houdini had been self-taught. Still, making tigers appear and disappear sounded cool, but he'd have to ask his mom what she thought about it. He was pretty sure she'd say no, they couldn't afford it. He looked around the trailer home. Probably not.
No time to brood, though, there was a good two hours to waste before mom got home, and he wanted to dare Mason to stick his hand down a crawdad hole. He'd tempt him with trading time on the PlayStation III. Dad had picked one up second hand last year, and they constantly fought over whose turn it was.
Later that evening, Mason was happily playing on the PS3, bandaged finger fully forgotten. Piper was helping him through levels and smirking at him. Elias had his arms soaped to the elbows doing all the dishes, even though it wasn't his turn. He'd gotten dishes for the next two weeks, but he had to admit the crawdad was way bigger than he'd expected. Probably worth it to see it rocketing out of the hole attached firmly to Mason's finger.
Now he scrubbed and and splashed, and hoped his efforts were enough to calm his mother enough that she wouldn't ground him from the games, too. She was still pretty peeved, her day hadn't been great at the convenience store she worked at. Something about card readers being down. She was looking through her pile of mail, and he realized he'd tossed his letter in with hers when she spoke.
“When did we get this?” his mom asked suddenly, pulled out of her funk by the strange correspondence.
Elias looked over and shrugged, “Today, I guess. It was in the mail I sorted, and I looked at it. It says I can go to school to be a magician.” he paused, “Can I?”
Wandalene Maynard sighed. She and Chuck had talked endlessly about school options for the kids. They lived in this trailer because when fuel didn't eat all of Chuck's trucking money, they had enough to put back every month on a down payment on a house. The place needed serious work... she corrected her self, it needed demolished. But it put them at the edge of the best school district in five counties. The kids wanting to go to private school would mean they'd never get into the better home she and Chuck worked so hard for.
“Well, I've never heard about schools for magicians, El. I think they go to performing arts colleges, not middle schools. Let me read some more.”
As she read, the front door opened with a “Hello, hello!” as Grandma Josephine let herself in.
A pleasantly grandmotherly sort, with curls, and a twinkle, and slightly hidden attempt to slip a couple sweets to the two younger children on the couch, she bustled to the table and sat down.
“Hey, Grandma. Do you think I could be a magician?” Elias asked. His grandma knew many things, he had learned in years of asking.
“Ah, yes, the letter did get here.” Josephine beamed.
Wandalene's head shot up from her reading, “Did you send this?”
“Heaven's no!” she laughed in response, “I don't work for The Academium. Far too much stress there for me. But I knew it was time for letters this year. Elias has been due. And as for you young man, no you may not be a magician. Cheap parlor tricks. You can be a proper mage.”
Elias had a puzzled look, “Well what's the difference?”
Wandalene looked on. She had always known her mother-in-law was a force to be reckoned with. Certainly not the nightmare mother-in-law one heard about in the best gossip, the woman was lovely. But she had a way of getting her way, and of her way being spot-on.
“Simple, El. One's a person who puts on a show. The other does magic. And you, my boy, will do magic!”
The letter had been opened months hence, and school let out for summer just a couple days after. The house had been an absolute circus for the first few days of vacation. Turns out Dad had known his mother was a Sorceress, First Tier since, like, forever, but he never told Mom. He figured who would believe him? And since Grandma put out the word, sorts of Elias's paternal relations had been dropping by to congratulate him, pat him on the back, and give him advice.
It turned out that Elias's family would not have to pay for the school, there had been vouchers inside the packet, that's why it was so thick. They had mailed off vouchers to a host of places, and packages had begun arriving in the passing days in almost alarming abundance. Cauldrons, alembics, scrying lenses, robes, even a wand, they all showed up in discrete brown packaging, with no UPS or Postal delivery truck to be seen. His relatives made much ado over the merits of the various supplies, and in some cases, insisted he take their old used items in addition to what he was sent because, “they didn't make them like that anymore”. After a Cousin Bobby Joe gave him a jar of something that exploded into rubbery purple tentacles flopping aimlessly around his room, Grandma Josephine watched any of the gifts like a hawk.
“Bobby Joe barely made Mageling, 4th Tier, and he ought to know better, but he never did have the sense God gave a carrot.” Grandma Josephine opined as she cleaned up the mess.
With school starting the next day, it had been quieter. Mom had teared up at her boy going away to a fancy new school, but beamed like a lighthouse as she took pictures of him in his school uniform. Dad put off a load so he could see him off.
“Boy, you're gonna do great things. You listen to what your Grandma told you, and do your best. I cant help with your homework, but if you need anything else, you tell me.” Chuck stood up and picked Elias up in a fierce bear hug.
Mason marched over, “If El is in school, do I getta be the manofthehouse?” he demanded to know.
Piper marched over, “NO. You're too little. I'll be the man of the house. But a princess.”
Chuck laughed and grabbed all his kids in hugs and tickles, and Elias missed them already... and it was only just bedtime.
Morning had arrived, and Elias hefted his backpack. Everything he needed for school was in it. It felt strange. He could feel the wizard's staff, taller than he by a foot, in the back pocket of the bag, but it had gone in with no trouble. There had to be hundreds of pounds in there, but he carried the weight easily. Magic was strange, but it already seemed better than picking handcuffs in a river.
Shortly after his brother and sister had given tearful goodbyes to their big brother who was going to “The Special School”, and gotten on their big yellow school bus, another big yellow school bus came around the bend in the road. It looked normal enough, it just had “The Academium” painted on the side. Grandma Josephine had joined his mom and dad in seeing him off. He had wondered how far the school was, and if he'd be on time but Grandma told him not to worry. Buses would be traveling all over to and from the school today, classes didn't get going till everyone got settled.
Hugs, and tears, and waving, and goodbyes couldn't last long once the bus stopped and opened the door, so Elias walked in and found a seat. There were already some kids seated, and one smiled at him.
|
The nerves never settled. Instead, they floated around my stomach, like those little bits of ash that drifted through the air on the seventh month.
They stayed there, when I walked past the entrance of the quaint little school that looked like it only had three buildings from the outside. One step in, and it turned into a sleek, sprawling city, the kind I only get to see when I take a bus ride away from home.
The nerves continued when I followed the little signs that said “follow,” until I reached an auditorium of sorts. I registered myself at the counter, and they gave me a number and told me to sit on that specific seat.
The butterflies, finally, stopped flapping their wings for a little, if only because I’ve felt more comfortable in this air-conditioned room than the heat and humidity outside. My fidgeting hands, not knowing what to do, almost reached for the letter in my backpack, the one I’ve read so many times that it’s turned grubby like an old book.
But I stopped. I didn’t need to read it to remind myself of its words. I read it to remind myself of the first time I read it, the elation that overcame me, the happiness that told me I’ll be here—at Sorcery Secondary.
And here I was. It took some convincing of my parents that this was a legitimate school, but the sudden appearance of a talking owl that kindly explained the situation swiftly persuaded them.
I turned my head at the flop of the chair beside me, watching as a girl gracefully sat down.
“Hi,” I said, trying to put on a smile. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but it didn’t feel bad.
Her eyes briefly flitted to me. It felt like within that second, everything I would ever be was condensed into her brain. She didn’t even turn her head, instead returning to staring at the stage in front.
“Marcus,” I said. There was no reply.
“Mae,” she finally said. “Of the Wei family, by the way.”
“Uhh,” I said. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“Oh,” Mae finally looked at me, though an aloofness was maintained in her eyes. “Outsider. Figures.”
“I’ve heard tales about the sorting,” I whispered. “Do they put a hat on you like they do in England?”
“Hats? Nonsense, it’s a written test,” my seatmate said distractedly. “I hope you are prepared for it, anyway.”
“A test? On the first day of school?”
“I’m hoping to get into the best class,” she said. “My mother said it would help my career, and make me rich in the future.”
“Oh. My mum told me to have fun,” I said.
The seats had been filling up all around us. Mae turned to her neighbour on the other side, and aside from a few head shakes, resumed her stoic pose of looking in front. There was the telltale sign of a mic being plugged in.
“I told you, we can just use a Sonos spell. Why are we wasting money on this tech stuff? We… oh, the mic is finally working?”
There was an adult speaking. Usually, that meant it was time to listen.
“Ah,” a very old man stood on the stage, squinting into the far corners of the auditorium. “Welcome, welcome! Future witches and wizards, welcome to Sorcery Secondary! I’m your principal, Mr. Low!”
He flourished his arms, and smiled widely. I clapped enthusiastically amongst the small smattering of applause.
“You might not know it now, ladies and gentlemen, but after you graduate from here, you will be one of the select few sorcerers in our small country,” he said, pacing the stage now. “And with that power comes great responsibility. We are all familiar with the ghosts and spirits that roam around the streets, unable to be seen by most people but us.”
Wait, what?
“Ghosts? Spirits,” I muttered. “I’ve never seen any.”
Mae’s neck snapped towards me.
“You’ve never what?”
“Seen them,” I said. “Uhh… magic is for… them?”
“What do you think they’re for? My mother told me that’s how we keep the country safe,” she said. “And you’ve never seen one? And you call yourself a mage?”
“But I’m not a mage. I’m learning to be one.”
“Oh god,” Mae shook her head. “Good luck.”
“... And that’s about it, I think. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Sorcery Secondary,” Mr. Low smiled.
He lowered the mic, and a scowl immediately took over his face, like zooming into a dark tunnel.
“Mics. So noisy,” he said, his voice barely carrying over to the speakers. “And the test. The Ministry knows best, I guess, so let all the students take them, even the outsiders… What, the mic is still… Oh.”
He brought the mic up to himself, and smiled widely once more.
“Good luck for your written test, students! Don’t worry about it. It’ll only determine your class for the rest of the year!”
---
r/dexdrafts
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[WP] You are accepted in a magic school, however, you are not in England, thus, you have to describe your own school, thinking about your country and its specific culture around magic.
|
Maybelline Summers was unimpressed. She sat with her head in her hands, kicking a foot stubbornly against the bench outside Director Johnson's office while she listened to him speak on the phone with her parents. They, too, were unimpressed, but with her and not the school she'd been promised would train her to become a great weaver. *The weaver*, they said. She scowled and made a low grumble in her throat, gaining a look from the secretary Jerald. She rolled her eyes and looked past him out the window.
Outside, her classmates were running drills. Freddy dodged a bullet, spinning away at the last moment, and fired his pistol in return, curving the bullet to find its target, Vera, who pulled a Matrix and flattened her body to the ground. Michaela and Donovan were zipping about the air and tossing flames at one another, while Loris sat on a bench with their head buried in a medical textbook. Maybelline was supposed to be partnering with them to work on flight maneuvers commonly needed in combat today. Instead, she set the canteen on fire and tried to jump the fence. Madame Archley caught her before she'd made it halfway up the eleven-story chainmail, its thick magick made to withstand nearly everything Maybelline had tried to use to escape, all except straight up climbing, though its regular properties seemed strong enough to stop her from getting far. Archley had snagged her quickly and deposited her promptly at the director's door with a withering frown and a slew of profanities and promises for Maybelline's future.
"Maybelline? Come in, please," came the director's voice.
The director's office was covered in memorabilia. Autographs, medals, and letters of thanks were framed around the room. Bookcases consumed the rest. Director Johnson sat behind his dark oak desk, peering at her through half-framed spectacles, and motioned for her to take a seat across from him. She plopped down into the overstuffed chair, still scowling.
"You put on quite a show earlier. Fortunately, your parents have agreed to pay for the damages to the canteen."
"And we are not happy about it. Maybelline, what were you doing?" Her father's shrill voice felt like knives in her ears. "Are you trying to impress your friends? Is this...is this about a boy?"
"Sweetheart, no boy you want should be impressed by vandalism," continued her mother. "You know you have an image to uphold and a lega--"
"This is not about a boy, Mom," Maybelline interrupted. She crossed her arms. "This is about this school."
Director Johnson coughed. "Pardon?"
"I was told this school was going to be great. I would learn lots of useful magick and become a great weaver. Instead, what do we get? Hollywood bullshit!"
"Maybelline!" Her parents said in unison and then both launched into their own tirades of language and legacy and manners.
Director Johnson cleared his throat. "It's ok, Mr. and Mrs. Summers. There's always one. I'll handle this."
They quieted, and Maybelline looked the director in the eye.
"You lied," she said.
"Not at all," he replied, sitting back in his chair. "You will learn to weave magick here, just not the kind you think. I know you were a reader before coming here. JK Rowling, Alix Harrow, Katherine Arden, right?"
He paused and flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve before returning her gaze. She did not answer.
"Fiction. Pure imagination," he continued, tossing his hands in the air as if he could throw away such nonsense. "In reality hedgewitches and Baba Yaga and all that you've read is a lie. Real magick is Hollywood, dear. Who do you think created it?"
Her frown deepened. "The movies have more than just superhero crap! We can't even do healing, just...just..."
"Stunts and combat, yes, I'm afraid so, but think of your future! Stuntweavers make a lovely sum of money, but if you pass the Armed Services Magickal Aptitude test, you'll never worry again. Well, unless we're at war, but they always said weavers to the quiet regions. Paid too much to have you, I suspect."
He chuckled. Maybelline's stomach dropped and she looked away. Tears brimmed her eyes. "So that's it? Hollywood or the military?"
The director chuckled. "Oh, of course not, child. You could always go back to civilian life."
"You're staying in school, *Maybelline*," her father's voice bellowed.
"It'll be a good experience. Think of your future, dear," her mother quietly added. "You're still young; you'll understand when you're older. I know it's not what you thought weaving would be, but...think of the money, honey."
Maybelline swallowed and stood up. "Whatever."
Director Johnson gave her a grim smile. "Don't worry, Maybelline. The world's never what we expect, you know, and everyone has these moments when they realize that. Lucky you have the privilege of learning that now and not later, hmm?"
|
The nerves never settled. Instead, they floated around my stomach, like those little bits of ash that drifted through the air on the seventh month.
They stayed there, when I walked past the entrance of the quaint little school that looked like it only had three buildings from the outside. One step in, and it turned into a sleek, sprawling city, the kind I only get to see when I take a bus ride away from home.
The nerves continued when I followed the little signs that said “follow,” until I reached an auditorium of sorts. I registered myself at the counter, and they gave me a number and told me to sit on that specific seat.
The butterflies, finally, stopped flapping their wings for a little, if only because I’ve felt more comfortable in this air-conditioned room than the heat and humidity outside. My fidgeting hands, not knowing what to do, almost reached for the letter in my backpack, the one I’ve read so many times that it’s turned grubby like an old book.
But I stopped. I didn’t need to read it to remind myself of its words. I read it to remind myself of the first time I read it, the elation that overcame me, the happiness that told me I’ll be here—at Sorcery Secondary.
And here I was. It took some convincing of my parents that this was a legitimate school, but the sudden appearance of a talking owl that kindly explained the situation swiftly persuaded them.
I turned my head at the flop of the chair beside me, watching as a girl gracefully sat down.
“Hi,” I said, trying to put on a smile. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but it didn’t feel bad.
Her eyes briefly flitted to me. It felt like within that second, everything I would ever be was condensed into her brain. She didn’t even turn her head, instead returning to staring at the stage in front.
“Marcus,” I said. There was no reply.
“Mae,” she finally said. “Of the Wei family, by the way.”
“Uhh,” I said. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“Oh,” Mae finally looked at me, though an aloofness was maintained in her eyes. “Outsider. Figures.”
“I’ve heard tales about the sorting,” I whispered. “Do they put a hat on you like they do in England?”
“Hats? Nonsense, it’s a written test,” my seatmate said distractedly. “I hope you are prepared for it, anyway.”
“A test? On the first day of school?”
“I’m hoping to get into the best class,” she said. “My mother said it would help my career, and make me rich in the future.”
“Oh. My mum told me to have fun,” I said.
The seats had been filling up all around us. Mae turned to her neighbour on the other side, and aside from a few head shakes, resumed her stoic pose of looking in front. There was the telltale sign of a mic being plugged in.
“I told you, we can just use a Sonos spell. Why are we wasting money on this tech stuff? We… oh, the mic is finally working?”
There was an adult speaking. Usually, that meant it was time to listen.
“Ah,” a very old man stood on the stage, squinting into the far corners of the auditorium. “Welcome, welcome! Future witches and wizards, welcome to Sorcery Secondary! I’m your principal, Mr. Low!”
He flourished his arms, and smiled widely. I clapped enthusiastically amongst the small smattering of applause.
“You might not know it now, ladies and gentlemen, but after you graduate from here, you will be one of the select few sorcerers in our small country,” he said, pacing the stage now. “And with that power comes great responsibility. We are all familiar with the ghosts and spirits that roam around the streets, unable to be seen by most people but us.”
Wait, what?
“Ghosts? Spirits,” I muttered. “I’ve never seen any.”
Mae’s neck snapped towards me.
“You’ve never what?”
“Seen them,” I said. “Uhh… magic is for… them?”
“What do you think they’re for? My mother told me that’s how we keep the country safe,” she said. “And you’ve never seen one? And you call yourself a mage?”
“But I’m not a mage. I’m learning to be one.”
“Oh god,” Mae shook her head. “Good luck.”
“... And that’s about it, I think. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Sorcery Secondary,” Mr. Low smiled.
He lowered the mic, and a scowl immediately took over his face, like zooming into a dark tunnel.
“Mics. So noisy,” he said, his voice barely carrying over to the speakers. “And the test. The Ministry knows best, I guess, so let all the students take them, even the outsiders… What, the mic is still… Oh.”
He brought the mic up to himself, and smiled widely once more.
“Good luck for your written test, students! Don’t worry about it. It’ll only determine your class for the rest of the year!”
---
r/dexdrafts
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[WP] You are accepted in a magic school, however, you are not in England, thus, you have to describe your own school, thinking about your country and its specific culture around magic.
|
"Welcome everyone to the lithuanian school of magic! You're all here because you have been reported of succeding in either doing magic, or befriending a magical entity.
I see so many lovely boys and girls that will learn some helpful magic, but first everyone will need to jump over that campfire, please try not to burn yourself, and if you do the teacher has a fire extinguisher and bandages.
This is a test to make sure none of you are actually witches older than my own grandma, if anyone transforms while jumping over that fire, they should know the exit is down the hall to the right.
After that you will be given your timetable,map and a key to the dorms, I also have to brief you all on the rules.
First things first, no kites, and I don't mean the toys, I mean the fire entities, they are both a fire hazard and thiefs, they make great pets but we don't want any of you unintentionally stealing from your classmates, on that note other less common magical entities or the means of summoning one aren't allowed unless you have permission from your head teacher.
You all also aren't allowed to try dangerous stuff you find out about from the library or lessons, we don't want anyone accidently bringing in malevolent entities, like skeletons from cemeteries which are known to kill, devils which are known to attract lightning, and any other beings that could be unsafe.
Rules from regular schools also apply, like no extortion or bullying, blackmail, murder, all that stuff, but you should all have the decency to not do that if you don't want to be back at your parent's house early.
Also, if you disrupt or destroy any offerings for any of the gods we won't hesitate to kick you out for endangering the other students. The porridge on corner of the cafeteria is for the guardian of the school, and the bread near the oven is for the fire goddess. If any of you do plan something dangerous, please pray beforehand.
Please also try not to anger any of the gods like the winds, it's easy to do if you are trying to do it intentionally, but it could cause a bad storm.
Well now everyone, go, you have an hour to get comfortable in your rooms."
(Based off of lithuanian pagan mythology)
|
The nerves never settled. Instead, they floated around my stomach, like those little bits of ash that drifted through the air on the seventh month.
They stayed there, when I walked past the entrance of the quaint little school that looked like it only had three buildings from the outside. One step in, and it turned into a sleek, sprawling city, the kind I only get to see when I take a bus ride away from home.
The nerves continued when I followed the little signs that said “follow,” until I reached an auditorium of sorts. I registered myself at the counter, and they gave me a number and told me to sit on that specific seat.
The butterflies, finally, stopped flapping their wings for a little, if only because I’ve felt more comfortable in this air-conditioned room than the heat and humidity outside. My fidgeting hands, not knowing what to do, almost reached for the letter in my backpack, the one I’ve read so many times that it’s turned grubby like an old book.
But I stopped. I didn’t need to read it to remind myself of its words. I read it to remind myself of the first time I read it, the elation that overcame me, the happiness that told me I’ll be here—at Sorcery Secondary.
And here I was. It took some convincing of my parents that this was a legitimate school, but the sudden appearance of a talking owl that kindly explained the situation swiftly persuaded them.
I turned my head at the flop of the chair beside me, watching as a girl gracefully sat down.
“Hi,” I said, trying to put on a smile. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but it didn’t feel bad.
Her eyes briefly flitted to me. It felt like within that second, everything I would ever be was condensed into her brain. She didn’t even turn her head, instead returning to staring at the stage in front.
“Marcus,” I said. There was no reply.
“Mae,” she finally said. “Of the Wei family, by the way.”
“Uhh,” I said. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“Oh,” Mae finally looked at me, though an aloofness was maintained in her eyes. “Outsider. Figures.”
“I’ve heard tales about the sorting,” I whispered. “Do they put a hat on you like they do in England?”
“Hats? Nonsense, it’s a written test,” my seatmate said distractedly. “I hope you are prepared for it, anyway.”
“A test? On the first day of school?”
“I’m hoping to get into the best class,” she said. “My mother said it would help my career, and make me rich in the future.”
“Oh. My mum told me to have fun,” I said.
The seats had been filling up all around us. Mae turned to her neighbour on the other side, and aside from a few head shakes, resumed her stoic pose of looking in front. There was the telltale sign of a mic being plugged in.
“I told you, we can just use a Sonos spell. Why are we wasting money on this tech stuff? We… oh, the mic is finally working?”
There was an adult speaking. Usually, that meant it was time to listen.
“Ah,” a very old man stood on the stage, squinting into the far corners of the auditorium. “Welcome, welcome! Future witches and wizards, welcome to Sorcery Secondary! I’m your principal, Mr. Low!”
He flourished his arms, and smiled widely. I clapped enthusiastically amongst the small smattering of applause.
“You might not know it now, ladies and gentlemen, but after you graduate from here, you will be one of the select few sorcerers in our small country,” he said, pacing the stage now. “And with that power comes great responsibility. We are all familiar with the ghosts and spirits that roam around the streets, unable to be seen by most people but us.”
Wait, what?
“Ghosts? Spirits,” I muttered. “I’ve never seen any.”
Mae’s neck snapped towards me.
“You’ve never what?”
“Seen them,” I said. “Uhh… magic is for… them?”
“What do you think they’re for? My mother told me that’s how we keep the country safe,” she said. “And you’ve never seen one? And you call yourself a mage?”
“But I’m not a mage. I’m learning to be one.”
“Oh god,” Mae shook her head. “Good luck.”
“... And that’s about it, I think. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Sorcery Secondary,” Mr. Low smiled.
He lowered the mic, and a scowl immediately took over his face, like zooming into a dark tunnel.
“Mics. So noisy,” he said, his voice barely carrying over to the speakers. “And the test. The Ministry knows best, I guess, so let all the students take them, even the outsiders… What, the mic is still… Oh.”
He brought the mic up to himself, and smiled widely once more.
“Good luck for your written test, students! Don’t worry about it. It’ll only determine your class for the rest of the year!”
---
r/dexdrafts
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[WP] In this world, every event to ever happen has been prophetically written down by an unknown author, and published as a huge series of novels. But they’re not numbered and the titles are cryptic. Finding a book that describes a part of your life is very rare, and something most people hope for.
|
**The Stupid Books of Stupid Prophesy**
*— on the 41st day of his time since his newest undertaking the man of the easternmost state of the United States of America as defined at the time walked along the stone path built by his great great great third cousin four-thousand moon cycles prior —*
“Ugh!” Marcus chucked the book over his shoulder, where it accumulated in his ever growing pile, “what is with this moon cycles bullshit!” He went to pull another book off the shelf at random.
“I think we need a different strategy. Look at this place. It’s huge,” Sanjay motioned outward toward the cavernous library. “And if you keep throwing the books like that, the ‘brarians are definitely gonna know we were here.”
“All of human knowledge, right in front of us, and yet we aren’t learning anything.” Marcus pinched his nose in disgust as he read another passage out loud, “*— the youngest uncle of the shaggy dog’s ancestor’s primary owner —* ugh! These stupid books of stupid fucking prophesy!” Marcus clenched his fist on the page in frustration, crumpling it and ripping it out in frustration.
“Marcus! What the—“
Suddenly, the ground began to rumble. No, it wasn’t the ground. It was… everything. Literally everything. The timeline of the universe folded in on itself, expanded and and contracted, pushed and pulled. Marcus could feel it happening, to him, through him.
Finally, it stopped. He felt sick.
“Sanjay…. what the heck was that?”
“I think that was you,” he paused for a moment, “your stupidity, editing time itself.”
Marcus was too distracted to hear the venom in Sanjay’s voice. He had an idea.
Digging through his backpack, he found what he was looking for – a piece of paper and a pen.
Furiously, he began scribbling something on the page. Just a few simple words.
*— in his search of the Prophesy Library, Marcus Mattson found the book of his own near future —*
“Marcus, no!” Sanjay lunged, but he was too slow. Marcus slipped the page into a book, closed both his eyes, and thumped it shut.
Once again, the universe warped into itself. When it stopped, Marcus cautiously stood up and walked up to a shelf. He chose a book at random, knowing, somehow knowing, that it was his book.
Sanjay found the sheet of paper Marcus had written, and he knew it too. “Are you going to open it?”
Marcus paused, then slipped the book back into it’s place. “No, I don’t need to know my future. I’m going to write it.”
___
r/stealthystorkstories
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He searched his name in the computer's catalogue system. No results, as always. He headed up to the stacks.
Nobody knew where it had come from, or where it was going. One day it would be in Mumbai, then the next a rural field in Wisconsin. Its erratic behavior caused people, called Librarians, to live in the building. Where ever it went, the Librarians went too. Some people, thinking they were clever, used the Library as a free plane ticket. It rarely worked out as they had hoped; people got stuck far away from their homes for ages. They usually ended up having to get out and buy a plane ticket where ever they were, assuming there were airports there. The frugal travelers made up a minority of the Library's population though—most Librarians were there in search of something. Ashley was no exception.
The Library was a monolithic beast. Looking at it from outside, it seemed to be infinitely tall. Every event in history; past, present, and future; was recorded in the stacks. The trouble was finding out which book pertained to you. There were hundreds of millions on the shelves, put there in no apparent order. It was impossible to find what you were looking for.
In hopes of organization, good-willed Librarians started a catalogue system. Everything was entered by hand, and not even one percent of books were logged, but it was a start. Ashley always checked his name in the system before heading up to the stacks.
You had to take the stairs. Up and up, up and up. There were no elevators. The rich paid the poor to carry them in litters, but that was rare. If you were wealthy, you didn't need the Library. Your life was good enough.
Ashley took a break on the 30th floor. He had already searched every book up to that point. He skimmed through thousands, but never found the one he wanted. Vanilla perfume lingered in the air. "She's here early," Ashley said to himself, as he continued up the stairs.
He followed the scent, even though he knew where it would end. Floor 59. He saw her through the glass. The dark hood of the sweatshirt she always wore was up, but it couldn't hide her brilliant blonde hair. She was nose deep in a book. Ashley decided not to disturb her. He went up another staircase then entered the 60th floor.
He started where he had left off yesterday. It was an art, skimming books. The text was tiny, but Ashley's sharp eyes didn't miss a word as the pages leafed by. One book was about a man named John Warslow. Another about a giraffe that lived to be one-hundred. Even though the events were true, you never got a sense of empathy or wonder. Because the order was so random, both spatially and temporally, the books were no different from fairy tales.
On his tenth book, he had to restart his skimming. Once, and then twice. He frowned. Instead of the words on the pages, all he could think about was the girl one floor below. He didn't even know her name; he had only talked to her a handful of times, small talk, but he was drawn to her like a childhood crush. They moved at the same pace. When he went up a floor, so did she. Everyday, the trail of vanilla perfume pulled on his heart.
A fourth time and he managed to skim through the book. Meaningless words covering something he didn't care about. He sighed and sat down to his butt. He rested his back against the shelf and closed his eyes. "Is it really worth doing this, day after day?" he asked himself. He was searching for the tale of his life, but at the cost of not living it. Many people were caught in that trap.
He heard the door open, but didn't bother to look. His was busy thinking. About life, about the books, about the girl. She looked to be his age, and she had the same interests, if looking for the story of your life counted as an interest. Maybe he could ask her out on a date. He could hide it under the guise of working together—two bodies were better than one when looking through the stacks. He promised himself he would. Tomorrow. Today, he would continue searching.
Before opening his eyes and getting back to business, he breathed a deep sigh. His heart fuzzed. Vanilla.
Next to him, on her tippy toes, was the girl. She was reaching for a book high up. In her other hand, though, she already had one. Ashley furrowed his brow. You weren't allowed to look at two books at once. He put away his morals as he was entranced by her beauty.
"Here," he said. He was taller than her and easily grabbed what she was reaching for. "You know you're not supposed to have two, though."
"I know," she said. Her voice was so motherly, so sweet, so gentle. "It's not for me."
Smiling that beautiful smile, she held out the book. Ashley took it in his hands. He opened it and froze. "How did you...?"
The girl displayed the other book she had. On its title, embossed in golden letters, was a single word. ASHLEY.
"Wait," Ashley said, looking back to the book he had been given. "Is this one mine? Or that one?"
The girl giggled. "They're both yours, sort of." She held out her hand and blushed. "My name's Ashley too. Nice to meet you. You're in my book. All of it, starting from today." Ashley felt his heart swell. His eyes became wet, and his vision blurry. He took the girl's hand and she was warm, so warm. And so soft.
He nodded his head, over and over. A few tears landed on the floor. He had finally found what he wanted.
He put the book back on the shelf and led the girl to the stairs by her hand.
"Wait," she said, "don't you want to keep it?"
Ashley couldn't hold back anymore. He hugged the girl so tight she thought she was going to burst. People walking the stairs looked at them, but he didn't care. Five years of searching. It had been worth it. The vanilla was stronger than ever before.
"No," he said, through tears of joy. "I don't need it anymore."
|
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[WP] You’re an aspiring villain in a world where everyone has powers. You want to get revenge on those who have wronged you, but there’s one problem. Your power is healing.
|
He could hear them talking about him from behind the door.
“So, whose the new kid?”
“He calls himself ‘Dr. Revenge’”
“Catchy, I suppose. I only have room for one junior villain on our team. What does this ‘Dr. Revenge’ do?”
“Well, he’s a healer.”
Revenge cringed. Why did Mevelent have to say it like that? And why, oh why, in a world where everyone got powers did this have to be his? Revenge could tell the Boss was not impressed.
“I was hoping you were going to say super speed, x-ray vision, or something else useful,” the Boss snarled, “but what in the world will I do with a healer?”
“That’s the genius in it though,” Mevelent explained. That man had nerves of steel. “It’s unexpected. What is the biggest problem we have had with heroes lately? What were you just complaining to me about?”
The boss laughed, “Those morons and their egos! It is as if every time we beat the snot out of them, their scars just become another trophy of another fight!”
“Precisely! But what happens if their scars all heal?”
The boss paused. “Why! That is genius! With no scars, they have nothing to show for the battle.”
Mevelent was onto something. Even the boss was picking up on this. “And what is Heroman’s biggest strength?” Mevelent prodded.
“The public thinks it is his super-speed. But we know it is really his public support. Every fight brings him more power and glory in their eyes. He is fueled by it.”
“Exactly! But let’s say he gets lured into a fight outside of the public eye. Let’s then say he gets beat to a pulp by your esteemed self. However, by the time he makes it back to civilization, all healed. No bruises. No scars. No sign of a fight. He will sound insane, and loose all of his dear little support!”
“I like the way you are thinking. In fact, this may be just what we need to bring Heroman down!”
Dr. Revenge could hear the evil laughs of the Boss and Mevelent. He himself could feel a grin coming on. Heroman will finally get what he had coming to him. No one cuts in front of Dr. Revenge in line without facing the consequences!
|
I have been hurt, wronged, offended,
those like me treated as zeroes.
By they who should have defended
me, those so called "heroes".
Caped crusaders may rescue damsels
before the public eye.
While innocents homes lie in shambles:
injustice, unpublicized.
"The greater good" "The needs of many"
They rationalize their conceit.
Our lives, like ants, worth less than a penny.
By the powerful elite.
Everyone has powers here, in truth
Although to varying degrees.
Like super strength, extended youth,
the might of controlling the seas.
But many more are the "lesser breed",
with humbler abilities.
Like the strength to greatly exceed.
that of a dozen chickadees.
Healing may be a respected art,
lauded throughout the ages.
But the mighty treat it less than a fart,
never to make front pages.
I, the aggrieved, would have my revenge,
against them, instead of kneeling.
But how could this rage be quenched
when my power is of healing?
But my dilemma was then made clear,
upon some contemplation.
to cause damage and pain most severe,
needs little application.
The torture of heroes can then be done
with ease, a fearsome weapon to wield.
Held by our alliance of villaindom,
repeatedly, then, once wounds are healed.
*WUAHAHAHA*
|
|
[WP] You’re an aspiring villain in a world where everyone has powers. You want to get revenge on those who have wronged you, but there’s one problem. Your power is healing.
|
Concrete and steel were sent flying as Inergetic slammed into me.
"Nice try" I said as held my ground, robbing him of all the inertia that was the source of his strength in the process. The look on his face was priceless. I wish I had a free hand to take a photo.
Now that he's been stopped, he's no stronger than the average person, which allows me to grab him and flip him over my shoulder. What little inertia he builds up along the trip only serves to speed him up on his way down.
And just for good measure, I kick him while he's down. The crunch of bones breaking assures me he isn't getting up any time soon.
With the heaviest hitter out of the way, I turn my attention to the remaining two heroes who had been busy evacuating civilians.
My first target is Runeforge. His magitech armor improves his fighting ability somewhat, but in the end it's just stone with squiggles drawn on it. It's defensive ability relies on being able to know when to supply the protective wards with power, and it does little to save him when I throw a basketball sized piece of rubble at him from behind, well past the range of his detection wards.
Then I feel my power shut down.
"I was wondering when you'd show up, Whitespace."
I turn around to face the woman in white.
"If you know who I am then you know that you should surrender now."
"Pass." I throw another piece of rubble at her. She's so shocked that she doesn't even dodge.
"How does . . . your power still. . . ?" She asks between labored breaths, beneath the weight of the concrete that's crushing her to death.
"It doesn't."
Whitespace possesses the ability to shut down any power. And my power is no exception.
But my strength is not a power.
My strength was earned.
Year after year of training.
From dawn to dusk.
Never stopping.
Never resting.
Because my only power is to heal.
When I grew tired, I healed my own fatigue.
When I grew hungry I healed my own hunger.
All for the pleasure of seeing the world's so called heroes dead at my feet.
I watch as Whitespace takes her last breaths. The reckoning has only just begun.
|
I have been hurt, wronged, offended,
those like me treated as zeroes.
By they who should have defended
me, those so called "heroes".
Caped crusaders may rescue damsels
before the public eye.
While innocents homes lie in shambles:
injustice, unpublicized.
"The greater good" "The needs of many"
They rationalize their conceit.
Our lives, like ants, worth less than a penny.
By the powerful elite.
Everyone has powers here, in truth
Although to varying degrees.
Like super strength, extended youth,
the might of controlling the seas.
But many more are the "lesser breed",
with humbler abilities.
Like the strength to greatly exceed.
that of a dozen chickadees.
Healing may be a respected art,
lauded throughout the ages.
But the mighty treat it less than a fart,
never to make front pages.
I, the aggrieved, would have my revenge,
against them, instead of kneeling.
But how could this rage be quenched
when my power is of healing?
But my dilemma was then made clear,
upon some contemplation.
to cause damage and pain most severe,
needs little application.
The torture of heroes can then be done
with ease, a fearsome weapon to wield.
Held by our alliance of villaindom,
repeatedly, then, once wounds are healed.
*WUAHAHAHA*
|
|
[WP] You are known as the great oracle your prophecies have never been wrong. The only problem is you have been making them up this whole time and you don’t know why it keeps working.
|
Greta, the false, false oracle, stood in the doorway of her home waving goodbye to the adventurers as they walked down the path from her home.
“Don’t forget! The feces-covered princess holds the key!” she said before closing the door.
She deflated and leaned against the door with her forehead wondering how these adventurers keep fulfilling the preposterous prophecies she gave them. It had started off as a scheme to get some extra money to buy supplies from the town. For a small payment Greta would offer some vague advice or prediction that was bound to come true, and the people would be happy when the expected event occurred.
Instead people had been flooding her small clearing in the woods for weeks now to receive visions of the future from the greatest oracle in the land. She was exhausted and had begun giving more outlandish prophecies each time only to be flabbergasted when they came true.
An aroma of sage and dill permeated her home as she sat down at the table with a warm cup of tea. After taking a single sip another knock came at her door. Greta set her cup on the table and threw her hands into the air in frustration. She opened the door and was greeted by a pair of teenage boys whose eyes shined with awe when they looked at her.
“I suppose you are here for a telling. Do you have money?” Greta asked.
“Yes ma’am. We have the three silver pieces.” one of the boys replied.
Greta sighed. “Very well come in.”
The two boys entered and closed the door. Greta sat at the table and gestured for them to do the same. With the boys seated across from her, Greta removed the cloth covering from the crystal ball in the center of the table. She made the normal show of waving her hands around and looking into the ball.
“Oh my. You children are in for quite the adventure.” she said with zero emotion. “You will be called upon to save the world, and you will find allies in the most unlikely places. A horned champion riding a purple unicorn will find you to protect you when your quest begins. Heed their advice.”
Greta put the cover back over the crystal ball with a smirk. There was no way this one would come true, but these boys would spend the next few days full of excitement. She had to admit these tellings were still fun for her because the children were innocent.
The boys looked at each other with exuberant expressions and the one who had spoken before began digging into his pocket. He placed the three silver pieces on the table and said, “Thank you ma’am.”
“This one is half price for you kids, but I will be unable to see your futures again until this prophecy is completed. So please do not seek another.”
They all stood and Greta shepherded them towards the door. As she opened the door she could hear the hooves of a great beast approaching. Emerging from the woods was a horned minotaur with a flaming staff slung across its back. It was mounted upon a purple steed with a single horn.
Greta stood with her mouth agape. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
|
\[Prophecy. Rut.\]
Cirra was finally alone for the night. She missed the endless crowd of citizens hoping to speak to the Oracle; but, now the only faces she saw regularly were her guards. Once Cirra's power proved to be true the king monopolized her for himself. The guards weren't meant to keep her safe; just keep her. But, she was given privacy within her own large chambers. On some days she could pretend it wasn't a prison.
As she readied herself for bed, Cirra's mind wandered the circumstances that led her there at that moment. After another demanding day with a childish king, Cirra decided she did not want to be there anymore. She sought clues in her memory to learn how she got there.
Her prophecies began as a con. She was hungry and desperate. Cirra crossed paths with someone that looked like they could spare food and decided he was an easy mark. She grabbed the closest object to use as a prop and fell to her knees in front of the stranger.
"Go no further!" she pleaded. She waved the odd-shaped rock frantically and warned him about danger on the bridge ahead. He took one step over her prone body and the bridge collapsed under its own weight before he reached it. Cirra earned a meal after that.
The stranger was a high-profile citizen in town and word of Cirra's visions spread fast. As long as she had her lucky rock, Cirra's prophecies came true. It was a flat rectangular stone about the size of her hand. She kept it hidden as much as possible; she did not want anyone to realize it was the source of her power.
Cirra enjoyed her fame until the king imprisoned her. Now, almost two years after she met that stranger, Cirra was going to do something she should have done a long time ago. She made up her own prophecy about herself. She held the flat stone in her hand and concentrated.
"I will learn how this power works. I will control my own future..," she said to herself. She focused for several minutes with her eyes closed, then relaxed. Cirra opened her eyes and was slightly disappointed she didn't have any new instant knowledge. Over time she more or less got the hang of giving prophecies and she could reliably guess how soon one would take effect. She thought this particular one would be instant.
"Excuse me...," a sudden voice startled Cirra into dropping the stone. She whirled around and found a pair of strange young men in her chamber. They both wore black clothes unlike any she'd seen before and black helmets that somehow only covered their eyes. Cirra had seen a lot of unexplained things happen as a result of using the stone. She decided to stifle her panic to avoid alerting the guards outside her door.
"Sorry to bother you," the short one said. Both of them had youthful faces and the one that spoke looked no older than the prince; he was just a young boy of 14 seasons. "We're looking for one of these...," he held nothing out at her. But, at a second glance, something in his hand caught flickers of the firelight. She stepped closer and saw he was holding an empty, invisible rectangle. There was only one thing in that shape that stood out to her. She knelt to pick up the stone and showed it to them.
"This?" she asked.
"Huh, yeah," he nodded. He stepped forward and touched the transparent rectangle in his hand to the stone in Cirra's. In an instant, the stone shell disintegrated into white powder and she was left holding a rectangle that matched the one in his hand.
"There you go," he said. "It was stuck in Trial mode. Now you can register yourself and no one else can use it," he said.
"What is it?" Cirra asked. The taller of the two pulled a black card out of his pocket and dropped it to the floor. The pair began sinking into it and she realized they were leaving. She did not have time to ask a lot of questions and that was the first one out.
"It's called a node," the short one replied.
"What am I supposed to do with it?" Cirra asked. Both of the strangers shrugged at her.
"What you've been doing so far works," the short one said. They were still sinking into the hole and now it was up to the tall one's shoulders. Cirra shook her head. She'd already decided what she was doing wasn't good enough anymore.
"I need something else!" she said. "I want more!" She panicked slightly; they were about to be gone without giving her answers. Only a single head remained. He smiled at her as his head sunk into the hole and disappeared.
"So, do something else."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1515 in a row. (Story #064 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/).
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[WP] The King had caused war, fear, and famine across the land, but he was not evil. In fact he was far from it.
|
"It had all been with the best of intentions." He reminded himself. The king looked out at his land, at the fields once full of life now left to rot full of grain from the last harvest.
He could hear it now; the sound of footsteps in the hall, the shouts of fighting... It had finally reached his doorstep. His armies had remained loyal to the end, but with no farmers to farm or smiths to mend their armor they had failed to quell the revolt.
The best of intentions... He had been told by his advisors, by the wealthiest nobles in his court, that exporting more grain would be good for them all, that they had surplus enough and would not suffer. When peasants came to complain who was he to believe? His advisors told him they were simply greedy, that they would only sell this surplus themselves and take profits from the country's coffers! The king had of course believed them and sent the peasants away.
They were at his door now, battering it down. Those peasants, frail of hunger but fueled by righteous anger l, hammered the thick oaken doors of the king's chambers. Hatchets, shovels, hoes, all battering the wood until it began to splinter.
Some carried spears plucked from the King's fallen guard... Once every peasant had carried their own spear or bow in service yo the crown and to hunt when times grew scarce. Again the nobles.had told the king "do not let them carry such things! They will steal the game from your lands without cease until you find them barren. They will take these weapons and rise against younif you try to stop them!" And so the king's men had gone from village yo village, searching every house for spears and bows. They arrested many a smith as well, that the peasants could not rearm. Harvests fell when tools broke and the smiths were not there to offer repairs, and times grew harder and dimmer...
The oaken doors opened with a crash, the bolt that held them closed shattering under the continued assault. The king turned to face his people for the final time, to consider how he had gone so astray. He had been told that all these measures would benefit the kingdom, but what good was the gold in his royal coffers if not given to aid the people? There had been no good in it; the nobles and wealthy merchants had all fled already to their homes in other kingdoms and left him in his keep to await a fate that they had brought about for him... No, that *he* had brought about for himself upon listening to them, not thinking to argue.
The king died weeping, to know that he had caused such suffering.
|
Idealism isn't a virtue for a leader, it's a curse. The kind that ravages farms and the countryside like a plague sent from the bowels of hell itself. A distant steady whistle echoes through the heavily wooded forest as I put two fingers to my lips. Its passage reverberates off of the high mountain walls and the low-hanging sun casting god rays through the leaves. One second, two seconds, three seconds, no reply comes from deeper into the woods as my horse nervously kicks at the ground.
Damn it, slowly I guide my stead back onto the trail and pull out a map from my travel bag. The once fine government map is covered in dozens of arcane markings as I cross another off as the forest shadows mark the parchment. I am on a quest, not for glory or honor but to return a favor to an old friend as we amble back onto the local road. A cobbled pathway winding through the valley occasionally dotted by a hanging lantern casting an orange glow in the early morning light.
The roadworks were part of the same projects of the man I now seek the late king, Devin Hester of the amber rose. A soldier that I had sworn loyalty to. Hester had vanished in the chaos of the republican uprising. King Hester vanished the same day the rebels took the capital leaving his greatest work unfinished. That thought keeps me company as I usher my packhorse onto another branching dirt trail.
The sword at my hip is heavy as I spot the small cabin ahead nestled between a small hill and a plot of growing corn. A small wisp of smoke rising from a grey brick smokestack is the sign I have been searching for. Finally, as my horse's clopping feet amble towards the building I draw my saber and prepare to finish my sworn oath. That same oath to protect the nation from tyrants and despots.
|
|
[WP] Humans are far from the strongest, smartest, most creative... or in anything really. In fact the prevailing mystery is how in a universe filled with races that are simply superior in every way humanity has managed to survive nonetheless
|
The aliens were supposed to invade a long time ago. In fact, they were supposed to invade recently as well, when the new commander took over. But everytime a new commander voices their plans to declare war on Earth, they are quietly escorted into a room and forced to look through a telescope.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" the commander asks. "Why is that man doing that to that child? Is that the child of one of his enemies?"
"No," is the reply. "That's his own."
The commander frowns and shifts the telescope to something else. "Hmm. I don't understand what that teenager is doing. I see that she picked up the razor but now she is locking herself in the bathroom. There are no enemies in there..."
"Continue to watch," is the reply.
After awhile, the commander inhales sharply. "I don't understand..."
"It is common."
"Why would they do that to themselves?"
There is no reply. Only silence, which is a reply in itself.
The commander shakes his head, takes a breath, and shifts the telescope again.
A boy climbing on a chair to place his head in a rope.
Again.
A man in a car in the woods, tears on his cheeks, a shotgun in the passenger seat.
Again.
A little girl climbing into a van to help a man find his puppy.
He shifts the telescope again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
A-
He steps back, his eyes wild and bewildered as he shakes his head.
"Do you understand?" he is asked.
"Yes," he replies after a moment to collect his breath. "We have no chance against a species that are already willing to cause so much damage and harm to themselves."
|
Dr.Tressler stared intently at the map of the galaxy. The ebbs and flows of solar winds illuminated the dark room along with the twinkle of red white and green lights scattered across the map. It was such a strange sight to see, natives from other galaxies that could kill him and countless others in a heartbeat were marked by tiny red dots like a child’s toy. He peered anxiously at the green dots, the civilizations that assured the president of Earth that they would be protected. It seemed like more and more of these green dots faded into a dim white neutrality everyday. Humans were becoming too much of a liability to protect with their greed and capitalism. The green lights had substantially dropped last week after General Lazard and his rebels took the sanctuary planet MO-13. It was only a matter of time before the universe gave up on the humans and left them for dead. The red lights seem to grow more hungry in the darkening night.
|
|
[WP] Humans are far from the strongest, smartest, most creative... or in anything really. In fact the prevailing mystery is how in a universe filled with races that are simply superior in every way humanity has managed to survive nonetheless
|
# As No One Ever Was
General Hzuan stared down into the battlefield simulation and saw despair.
It was a catastrophe in progress: One by one every sector of the neat, efficiently laid out battleworld map slowly turned the yellow-orange of damage, destruction and loss. The areas closest to the invasion's landing zone were hardest hit, most of them already the dead black of total occupation.
But even more frustrating were the surprise conflicts randomly scattered around the world. Hostilities blossomed everywhere without warning, color-coded and confusing. Habitats and growing centers were just as likely as weapons factories to suddenly throw alarms. And wherever the fighting began it seemed to spread with phenomenal speed. Like the *djakkis* plant, throwing parasitic seedlings into the wind to sprout on every defensive military complex.
It pulled his defensive forces in a thousand directions, shock troopers responding to panicked reinforcement requests. The Karlss Empire had the mightiest warriors in the known universe, unstoppable in powered armor and boosted cybernetics. They crushed any opposing force on sight. But his fighters couldn't be *everywhere* at once, and any time they left a sector it immediately came under occupation again.
The question was how? How! Some of the embattled zones were *very* far away from any identified landing zone. Nowhere near the sleek, crystalline dropships screaming down from orbit in evasive spirals. As an invasion plan it was beyond chaotic; separating forces that small should never work. No species engaged in warfare with that speed! And he would *know*, because the Empire was the undisputed master of combat.
And yet it was happening. Everywhere, all at once. Where was the unity of command? Who was giving orders? Where were the *leaders*?
It was all so, so...
"Impossible!" Hzuan brought a massive armored fist down onto the projection, scattering holograms and cracking the reinforced display. "Who is responsible?"
An aide broke away from the scramble in the command center and hustled onto the dais, eyes averted and scales white in submission. "Great General, the landing craft are of Kyrl-make. So is the mothership, parked beyond the second moon. We have identified-"
"*Thinkers*." He punctuated the snarl with a jaw snap. Like he could bite off a piece of the ephemeral, hyper-intelligent Kyrl with a single word. "Those cowards could never do this. Inventions? Machines? Remotes? That I could believe. *That* is the Kyrl-way. But this," he spun the display and zoomed out to show a world besieged in hostile colors of aggression reports. "This is *not* a Thinker at work."
His aide cowered, clawed hands held down and flat. "There are other reports, Great General."
"Speak quickly, or perish." The display zoomed again, becoming a window into the front lines. Armored Karlss troopers exchanged fire with short, fast forms in oddly jointed, matte combat suits. Both sides fought viciously through the destroyed production floor of a factory until the video cut out in a burst of fire.
"The xeno researchers say they have a scent and biological match for one of the invaders. They report a result for Terrans, in at least one sector."
Hzuan took a moment to place the reference. "Humans? Of Terra?"
"The researchers say," his aide clearly didn't want to be within claw radius. "Others disagree."
A dozen areas of the battle map abruptly lit up, blinking frantically with callouts for fighting support. Hzuan run practiced motions through the command icons to dispatch the last reserves of air and ground support, then authorized artillery strikes on lost zones. He had to *suppress* this, somehow. Burn it out. Establish battle lines.
Blasts rolled through half his lost territory, coming uncomfortably close to power sources for the planetary grid. Estimated losses were horrific. Enraging. "It cannot be Humans. They aren't warriors, not of this level. It's a trick by the Kyrl."
"The researchers say-"
"It cannot be!" He backhanded the smaller Karlss hard enough to send the clutchling rolling down the dais stairs. Where he landed the other aides scattered, unwilling to draw attention from the enraged warrior-born. "The Terrans are beneath us! Beneath the Empire! We beat them in every battle. Took their colonies, their worlds, their futures! It would take a thousand years, a thousand *hatchings* to rebuild a population to confront us again!"
The room heaved, throwing everyone to the floor as an explosion went off somewhere above. Breach alarms and intrusion warnings flashed on every cracked wallscreen.
Hzuan was on his back feet again instantly, slapping communications channels open. "Report!"
Distorted video played over the link, filled with smoke and erratic fires. "Ground floor breached! We are under attack, General!"
"How many?"
"Hundreds! We fight the tide!" The camera rolled suddenly, frantic motion blurring the screen until it resolved into a small thrashing figure held at claw-length by the armored trooper. Short, sticklike forelimbs aimed a pulse weapon and fired downward, scarring armor and making the Karlss warrior hiss in pain. He responded with a brutal swipe, ripping the helmet and faceplate right off the tiny form.
Hzuan froze the video and stared. Short, blunted features. Smooth skin without a trace of proper scales. A vestigial nose. Two eyes, with a diminutive mouth open in a howl of rage that showed flat, squared-off teeth. Hair everywhere: On top, below, encroaching along the sides to conceal the hideous stumps of ear flaps.
There was no mistaking it. "Terrans? But how? A missed colony...? A hidden hatching-world?"
A ringing blast warped the armored door of his Command Center. Clutchlings not caught in the explosion immediately abandoned their workstations and fled in a scrabble of claws on metal. Hzuan barely noticed: He was working the battle display in a frenzy, vertically slitted eyes darting across image after image.
They were all the same. Thousands and thousands of figures, all outfitted and fighting in those ridiculously small Kyrl-designed battle suits. Tiny warriors, beneath even the newest of clutchlings, each of them barely waist-high on his adult warriors. But *numerous*, practically covering the ground in every embattled sector. An eldritch union of the Thinkers' unrivalled technological ability and the reproductive insanity of a conquered race.
A second breaching charge tore the twisted remains of the door aside, releasing a storm of fighters in scarred and stained battle suits. Hzuan met the tide head-on, tanking the plasma shots on thickened plates and tearing apart small forms with unsheathed claws. He was a blaze of fury, a titan wading through an angry swamp while taking scores of damage for every enemy he threw down. A deathsong came unbidden from his chest, the crooning bass notes of a Karlss who knows he faces the end.
And as he fought, and slowly lost, the Great General came to an unexpected epiphany.
A race didn't have to be *better* than the Empire to win.
They just had to never give up.
|
Dr.Tressler stared intently at the map of the galaxy. The ebbs and flows of solar winds illuminated the dark room along with the twinkle of red white and green lights scattered across the map. It was such a strange sight to see, natives from other galaxies that could kill him and countless others in a heartbeat were marked by tiny red dots like a child’s toy. He peered anxiously at the green dots, the civilizations that assured the president of Earth that they would be protected. It seemed like more and more of these green dots faded into a dim white neutrality everyday. Humans were becoming too much of a liability to protect with their greed and capitalism. The green lights had substantially dropped last week after General Lazard and his rebels took the sanctuary planet MO-13. It was only a matter of time before the universe gave up on the humans and left them for dead. The red lights seem to grow more hungry in the darkening night.
|
|
[WP] Humans are far from the strongest, smartest, most creative... or in anything really. In fact the prevailing mystery is how in a universe filled with races that are simply superior in every way humanity has managed to survive nonetheless
|
# As No One Ever Was
General Hzuan stared down into the battlefield simulation and saw despair.
It was a catastrophe in progress: One by one every sector of the neat, efficiently laid out battleworld map slowly turned the yellow-orange of damage, destruction and loss. The areas closest to the invasion's landing zone were hardest hit, most of them already the dead black of total occupation.
But even more frustrating were the surprise conflicts randomly scattered around the world. Hostilities blossomed everywhere without warning, color-coded and confusing. Habitats and growing centers were just as likely as weapons factories to suddenly throw alarms. And wherever the fighting began it seemed to spread with phenomenal speed. Like the *djakkis* plant, throwing parasitic seedlings into the wind to sprout on every defensive military complex.
It pulled his defensive forces in a thousand directions, shock troopers responding to panicked reinforcement requests. The Karlss Empire had the mightiest warriors in the known universe, unstoppable in powered armor and boosted cybernetics. They crushed any opposing force on sight. But his fighters couldn't be *everywhere* at once, and any time they left a sector it immediately came under occupation again.
The question was how? How! Some of the embattled zones were *very* far away from any identified landing zone. Nowhere near the sleek, crystalline dropships screaming down from orbit in evasive spirals. As an invasion plan it was beyond chaotic; separating forces that small should never work. No species engaged in warfare with that speed! And he would *know*, because the Empire was the undisputed master of combat.
And yet it was happening. Everywhere, all at once. Where was the unity of command? Who was giving orders? Where were the *leaders*?
It was all so, so...
"Impossible!" Hzuan brought a massive armored fist down onto the projection, scattering holograms and cracking the reinforced display. "Who is responsible?"
An aide broke away from the scramble in the command center and hustled onto the dais, eyes averted and scales white in submission. "Great General, the landing craft are of Kyrl-make. So is the mothership, parked beyond the second moon. We have identified-"
"*Thinkers*." He punctuated the snarl with a jaw snap. Like he could bite off a piece of the ephemeral, hyper-intelligent Kyrl with a single word. "Those cowards could never do this. Inventions? Machines? Remotes? That I could believe. *That* is the Kyrl-way. But this," he spun the display and zoomed out to show a world besieged in hostile colors of aggression reports. "This is *not* a Thinker at work."
His aide cowered, clawed hands held down and flat. "There are other reports, Great General."
"Speak quickly, or perish." The display zoomed again, becoming a window into the front lines. Armored Karlss troopers exchanged fire with short, fast forms in oddly jointed, matte combat suits. Both sides fought viciously through the destroyed production floor of a factory until the video cut out in a burst of fire.
"The xeno researchers say they have a scent and biological match for one of the invaders. They report a result for Terrans, in at least one sector."
Hzuan took a moment to place the reference. "Humans? Of Terra?"
"The researchers say," his aide clearly didn't want to be within claw radius. "Others disagree."
A dozen areas of the battle map abruptly lit up, blinking frantically with callouts for fighting support. Hzuan run practiced motions through the command icons to dispatch the last reserves of air and ground support, then authorized artillery strikes on lost zones. He had to *suppress* this, somehow. Burn it out. Establish battle lines.
Blasts rolled through half his lost territory, coming uncomfortably close to power sources for the planetary grid. Estimated losses were horrific. Enraging. "It cannot be Humans. They aren't warriors, not of this level. It's a trick by the Kyrl."
"The researchers say-"
"It cannot be!" He backhanded the smaller Karlss hard enough to send the clutchling rolling down the dais stairs. Where he landed the other aides scattered, unwilling to draw attention from the enraged warrior-born. "The Terrans are beneath us! Beneath the Empire! We beat them in every battle. Took their colonies, their worlds, their futures! It would take a thousand years, a thousand *hatchings* to rebuild a population to confront us again!"
The room heaved, throwing everyone to the floor as an explosion went off somewhere above. Breach alarms and intrusion warnings flashed on every cracked wallscreen.
Hzuan was on his back feet again instantly, slapping communications channels open. "Report!"
Distorted video played over the link, filled with smoke and erratic fires. "Ground floor breached! We are under attack, General!"
"How many?"
"Hundreds! We fight the tide!" The camera rolled suddenly, frantic motion blurring the screen until it resolved into a small thrashing figure held at claw-length by the armored trooper. Short, sticklike forelimbs aimed a pulse weapon and fired downward, scarring armor and making the Karlss warrior hiss in pain. He responded with a brutal swipe, ripping the helmet and faceplate right off the tiny form.
Hzuan froze the video and stared. Short, blunted features. Smooth skin without a trace of proper scales. A vestigial nose. Two eyes, with a diminutive mouth open in a howl of rage that showed flat, squared-off teeth. Hair everywhere: On top, below, encroaching along the sides to conceal the hideous stumps of ear flaps.
There was no mistaking it. "Terrans? But how? A missed colony...? A hidden hatching-world?"
A ringing blast warped the armored door of his Command Center. Clutchlings not caught in the explosion immediately abandoned their workstations and fled in a scrabble of claws on metal. Hzuan barely noticed: He was working the battle display in a frenzy, vertically slitted eyes darting across image after image.
They were all the same. Thousands and thousands of figures, all outfitted and fighting in those ridiculously small Kyrl-designed battle suits. Tiny warriors, beneath even the newest of clutchlings, each of them barely waist-high on his adult warriors. But *numerous*, practically covering the ground in every embattled sector. An eldritch union of the Thinkers' unrivalled technological ability and the reproductive insanity of a conquered race.
A second breaching charge tore the twisted remains of the door aside, releasing a storm of fighters in scarred and stained battle suits. Hzuan met the tide head-on, tanking the plasma shots on thickened plates and tearing apart small forms with unsheathed claws. He was a blaze of fury, a titan wading through an angry swamp while taking scores of damage for every enemy he threw down. A deathsong came unbidden from his chest, the crooning bass notes of a Karlss who knows he faces the end.
And as he fought, and slowly lost, the Great General came to an unexpected epiphany.
A race didn't have to be *better* than the Empire to win.
They just had to never give up.
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The aliens were supposed to invade a long time ago. In fact, they were supposed to invade recently as well, when the new commander took over. But everytime a new commander voices their plans to declare war on Earth, they are quietly escorted into a room and forced to look through a telescope.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" the commander asks. "Why is that man doing that to that child? Is that the child of one of his enemies?"
"No," is the reply. "That's his own."
The commander frowns and shifts the telescope to something else. "Hmm. I don't understand what that teenager is doing. I see that she picked up the razor but now she is locking herself in the bathroom. There are no enemies in there..."
"Continue to watch," is the reply.
After awhile, the commander inhales sharply. "I don't understand..."
"It is common."
"Why would they do that to themselves?"
There is no reply. Only silence, which is a reply in itself.
The commander shakes his head, takes a breath, and shifts the telescope again.
A boy climbing on a chair to place his head in a rope.
Again.
A man in a car in the woods, tears on his cheeks, a shotgun in the passenger seat.
Again.
A little girl climbing into a van to help a man find his puppy.
He shifts the telescope again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
A-
He steps back, his eyes wild and bewildered as he shakes his head.
"Do you understand?" he is asked.
"Yes," he replies after a moment to collect his breath. "We have no chance against a species that are already willing to cause so much damage and harm to themselves."
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[WP] The Forgemistress and Forgemaster have complimentary skills. The former uses magic to create raw stock of exquisite materials, and the latter shapes and assembles complex final products from those materials. The last remaining master and mistress find themselves on opposite sides of a war.
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Jagral struck the glowing metal with his hammer, and the red-hot steel sang to him. It told him of its birth in the mine, its childhood spent as broken stone laid on a bed of coals, and its coming of age in the purifying blast of the furnace.
Its story told him that it would make a worthy weapon, or as worthy as could be hoped for, from such crude steel. It would, at least, be a good sharp edge for the Valley Folk to kill one another with. He took no pleasure in thinking of use that his work would be put to, but they would kill one another regardless, he knew. Better that they meet their ends by a swift, clean, cut from one of Jagral's keen blades, than be hacked and mangled by the dull metal planks that passed for swords among the valley mens' blacksmiths.
A hesistant knock sounded on the heavy wooden door of his smithy. The rhythm and tone told him it was Loriff, the smithy's actual owner. When he'd first stumbled into the valley, dying of hunger and fever, the townsfolk had almost turned him away, seeing only a useless young vagabond. But Loriff was what passed for a smith among his folk, and though he knew nothing of True Craft, he had heard fanciful tales from his gaffer, of the vanished Anvil-Folk, masters of every skill.
Jagral had only a journeyman's knowledge of the True Craft himself -- the jealous Spirits of Night and Sorrow had smote the First Mountain and scattered his people long before he was born. His father had taught him the Craft, but had died before Jagral could even finish planning his Master's piece. Not that it would have mattered.
None could call himself Forgemaster, without a Forgemistress by his side, to sing for him the Hymns of Alloying, and bring forth the wondrous materials needed to Forge a true masterwork. Jagral and his father had, as far as he knew, been the last men who knew True Craft, and neither had ever heard of a living woman of their kith, who still held the True Art that was its counterpart.
Even so, next to the valley folk's tinkerers, he might as well have been the Forgekindler Himself. After he had recovered from his fever, he'd made Loriff a rich man, with the fine pieces he'd managed to create upon the valley smith's meager forge. Still, Jagral reckoned he owed the man a good bit, yet. You couldn't weigh the value of a man's life in gold, but for all his sorrows, Jagral still valued his far more than the gold he'd made his benefactor, thus far.
The knock came again, a little louder. Jagral sighed, and quenched the metal in water, before setting it aside. He unlatched the door, and opened it, forcibly removing the scowl from his face. Loriff stood there, his customary gap-toothed smile on full display.
"Jagral me lad!" Loriff said, jovially, spreading his arms wide. Jagral noticed that he carried a heavy canvas sack in one hand, its contents clanking as he gesticulated. "How's the order for Lord Rees coming along, then?"
Jagral sighed, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. "It will be done on time, as ever, Master Loriff. Did you come by just to ask me that?" Not that the man needed an excuse to visit his own smithy, but since Jagral began crafting most of his workpieces, he'd spent little time working at the forge himself. Jagral didn't mind; he was Anvil-Folk. This was what he was made for.
"Splendid, splendid! No, as it happens, I got a present for you, lad." the old valley smith said, with a wink. "Remember what I told you, about the new weapons those Salt Coast dogs have been using in the skirmishes along the western border? How they're better than their usual junk?"
Jagral, in truth, had never noticed that the few pieces he'd seen from the Salt Coast were especially bad. It was no better than what the valley turned out, but not consistently worse, either. He took the sack from Loriff, and emptied it onto the workbench. Several daggers and a shortsword clattered unceremoniously onto the table top.
"Easy now, lad!" Loriff scolded. "Those are on loan from his Lordship! He only let me take them, so I could...you know, look 'em over. See what I could make of them."
"Sorry," Jagral muttered, absently, as he looked over the pieces. Loriff, of course, meant that he wanted his 'gifted apprentice' to see what he could make of them. Jagral's eyes flicked from piece to piece. Beaten edges, not ground, but still crudely done. The surfaces were uneven, showing clear signs of the hammer, in places. He could only roll his eyes at the ornately carved bone handle of one dagger, fixed in place with a single poorly set rivet that was already working its way loose.
"Interesting, yeah? I know, the workmanship's no better than middling, but the metal..." Loriff said, eagerly.
Jagral frowned, and held the blade up at an angle to the lantern light.
The flickering light caught the dull, poorly polished metal...and revealed a faint pearlescent sheen on the surface, in a pattern like snowflakes frozen on glass. Jagral's eyes narrowed, curiously. He'd never seen metal like this, but it tugged at his memories, a description of something in his father's stories of their lost lineage.
"Oh yeah, noticed that myself -- odd sort of shine to it, eh?" Loriff said, as though oblivious to Jagral's awe. "But the way it holds an edge! And it don't rust, which is downright baffling, considering the poor care that those pirate savages usually give their weapons..."
Loriffs words faded into the background, as Jagral focused on the strange metal. He took a small hammer from the rack above the workbench, and tapped it lightly against the blade, until he found its most resonant point. He struck it firmly, and listened for the metal to sing out the story of its birth.
It began as it always did, with ore sleeping deep in the earth, then separated by roasting, and then...and then...a boar, fleet of hoof, heart pounding, charged through the forest. It was enraged, pierced dozens of times by spear and bolt, yet still unbeaten, still hurtling towards its foe to rip and tear with tusk and tooth and hoof...until it was taken, at last, by a hunter's arrow through its eye. The boar's flesh was food for the ones who conquered it, but its bones and tusks were taken by another. They were burned to ash, then slaked with water, and mingled with red clay, to form the furnace where the ore would lay. Then, amid the roaring of the blazing furnace, a woman's voice sang out, haunting and beautiful, and called to the remnant of the boar's spirit that lingered in its ashes. She offered it a second life, where it would lend a measure of its strength and vitality to the metal born of the humble ore taken from the earth. And the boar exulted, eager to reborn...reborn in...
Orhalcyon. The blade was made of orhalcyon. It was an alloy of the Anvil-Folk, one that could not be made, save by a woman who practiced the True Art, and who could sing the metal's unique hymn. A Forgemistress.
"Who made these?" Jagral asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Loriff frowned. "I told you, lad -- they came from those Salt Coast bastards."
"The smith!" Jagral almost snapped, then added, more calmly, "Please, Master Loriff, what was the name of the smith? Where did he get this metal?"
"Alright, calm down, boy! Gods, what's got you so worked up? No one knows who made 'em, or how -- only clue we have, is a rumor that they come from Port Mavrelle. That's a town on the coast, a few hundred leagues off, I think."
"I'll be finished with Lord Rees' blade tonight." Jagral said. "You've been keeping my wages for me -- do I have enough for a good horse and tack?"
"Well, I mean...yeah, sure." Loriff said, uncomfortably. "That and a fair bit more besides, if I'm being honest. You've earned a cut on a lot of the pieces we've, er, collaborated on, after all. But I don't mind you borrowing ol' Dance for a bit, if you've an errand somewheres -- how far you planning on going, lad?"
"A few hundred leagues." Jagral answered, firmly.
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'You know, we could be so much more,' a scratching voice muttered from outside her tent. There was no point in calling for guards when he could be gone in a heartbeat. She sighed.
'Leave me be, Rowan. You picked your side, I've picked mine.'
'To the hells with the sides! You remember what it was like before? Before all this nonsense with the war? If your hollow headed king hadn't-'
'*My* king? Of course, now *we* started the fighting. We fired on villages and killed children. I, personally, killed my family. Just for the fun of it.'
Rowan was silent for a moment, before lifting up the flap of fabric that served as a window. He looked bewildered. His eyes looked years too old for his body.
'What are you on about? You know that isn't true.'
'I've seen with my own two eyes what is and isn't true. Begone.'
'What happened to you, Tri? We used to be as close as family- Mistress and Master. We met on borders and handed out trinkets and magic to those passing by. Just for the fun of it.'
She spat on the ground between them.
'You serve a warmonger and a beast! You sit and listen to his words like the Gods themselves had descended and inspired them. He tells you false truths and white lies in the name of recruiting children to fight his selfish war! You're a child yourself, Rowan, you're an optimist. You don't know anything.'
The Forgemaster glared at her, fires not unlike the ones he worked with glowing in his eyes. 'Go on then, where did you hear this? Who told you that the one I serve is a monster, a liar?'
She paused, the younger man in front of her looking determined and outraged. Where had she heard it? From her fellows, her officers? He took her silence as an invitation to continue,
'With your vast knowledge, you'll also know that the king doesn't call the shots anymore. You'll know that I'm good friends with the prince, who's had this all dropped onto his shoulders. Who's just trying to survive out here, in this wasteland.'
'*J*? *Jayson* is leading this war?'
'Leading is a strong word. He wants nothing to do with it. He just wants it to be over- back to the way it was before.'
'It seems like we're at a crossroads then. You claim I'm a fool of propaganda, and yet, how do I know you're *not*? I know J, I know you, and I know neither of you would lie to me, but I also know that waste of a king. He could worm his way into minds on his deathbed, and I'm not sure he's above manipulating his son.'
'Let's leave then.'
'What?' She asked, shocked at his change in tone.
'Let's *leave.* None of us want to be a part of this fight. I don't know who started it, but I sure know that your leader isn't letting up, even with J stuck in the front lines. Don't. You know that he knows,' he added as her mouth began to open in protest. 'He knows my king is out of it, and he obviously hasn't told any of you. Let's bring J, and stop serving these madmen.'
'They'll know that we're missing, and be outraged if J is gone.'
'So what?' We can leave and never be seen again, go set up a new life in a town that wont have any idea who we are. Make a living with our magicks combined. You, of all people, know it's possible.'
'I.. have people I care about, kid.'
'You had people you cared about before. Look what happened.'
'Bah, don't bring up my past! I'm not making those same mistakes again.'
'Ok, bring them too, then. I'm sure we can make it work. We are Forgebrethren- we're two halves of a whole. We can make anything work.'
'It didn't work before.'
'It did. Before we got dragged into a war.'
'Who's to say that wont happen again?'
'Me. Right now. We wont make the same mistakes again- to quote you, Tri.'
'You're cruel,' she sighed. He grinned in response.
'That a yes?'
'Convince J. We leave tomorrow at sundown. Now, begone and let me sleep.'
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[WP] After the war between heaven and hell is settled, angels and demons can now live within the mortal world. You would know because you have one of each as room mates.
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"Huuuummaaaannn! The feathered wretch has poured holy water on my door knob!"
"Tis a matter of safety! If thou art awake before Joan or I, thou will leave thy home in a disastrous mess or even set traps!"
"They are *pranks* you humorless bird!"
The daily headache was starting. What force of fate brought these two into my apartment? There has to be some kind of angel of prophecy that foresaw this meeting that could have given me a heads up, I would've asked them to help out a bit more with rent.
The arguing continued as I got ready for the day, the crunch of my cereal briefly drowning out their shouting for moments at a time. As I finished up breakfast my two immortal roommates entered the kitchen, a shirtless man with a nasty expression pushed pass a much more androgynous individual followed closely after, nagging the whole time.
"I swear to your boss that if you don't. Just. Shut. Up. That I will rip off your wings, cover them in BBQ sauce and sell them at a sports bar."
The *devilishly* handsome man leaned over me, placing his chin on my shoulder.
"What? Not sharing any with me?" He pouted pathetically and tilted his head to be as endearing as possible.
"How about you wake up earlier Yal? Or better yet, buy groceries sometimes."
"Yeah ok sure, I'm sure I can work out something with the grocer." He snatched the spoon from my bowl and put it in between his teeth with a wink as he pulled a his own bowl from the cupboard.
" 'Work something out?' Simply pay the employee! And enough with thy harassment, Joan has rejected thine advances yet again. Has thou not taken the hint yet?" Alex yanked the spoon out of Yal's mouth then followed up by kindly taking my empty bowl from my hands to wash them.
"Oh c'mon! *Romance* is meant to be pursued. Win her heart. Try and try again. Plus I've got a secret weapon, I'm hot as Hell." He tilted his head, grinning as he said it.
"We have been able to settle here because Joan simply is not swayed by temptations. Regardless, love is not physical attraction, perhaps thou art thinking with something else?"
Yal gasped. "Oh clean that filthy mouth of yours! Was that a *penis* joke?"
Alex pinched the bridge of their nose, deciding that pursuing the conversation any further would just bring the two of them into a never-ending argument. Yal did not take the hint, sneaking up behind Alex while they were cleaning the dishes. Yal's appearance morphed as -now she - approached the oblivious angel and hugged them from behind, making Alex freeze mid-rinse.
"Don't give me the cold shoulder, darling. You know how much I just looove our passionate little conversations."
Alex took a deep breath in.
"I pray thee recalls that there exists a particular order of angels who smite sinners and the wicked."
Yal noticeably flinched, her smug smile now only present because I don't think her face knew how to do anything besides be smug. The forced smile was only visible for a moment before Yal and Alex were engulfed in a blindingly white pillar of flame. I shielded my eyes from the holy light with my arm, patting a side table to search for my keys.
"I'm going out for work!" I fumbled down the hallway towards the front door. "Please please pleeease don't burn down the whole apartment building!"
One of the two called back but unfortunately whoever it was spoke in Enochian, so I may have just been blessed or cursed. I guess I'll figure out which one in a couple hours. Closing the door behind me, I left the apartment building and unlocked my car doors. My stride broke slightly as I got closer to my car. A parking ticket. A curse it is then, I won't pick up dinner for Yal tonight.
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Grace is looking funny at Lucy and Lil. Lucy wokeup early and the smell of coffee attracted the other two roomates. But of course, Lil is not looking but staring oddly, doesnt know if drinking that coffee is, what? Good or Bad? They are beyond that topic now. And it's worrisome exactly for that reason. Which is amusing for Grace and annoying for Lucy. Most of the days turn like that. If it wasnt for Lucy's breathtaking handsomess and Lil dashing looks, Grace would have moved on fast with the crackhead who shares his own mattress with a roommate in the next building. But seeing the cold war between superior beings based on a misplaced glass or a suspicious fried egg is, for Grace, the equivalent to a really tired business person going to tummy-Friday at a strip club after a suicidal day of work.
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[WP] After the war between heaven and hell is settled, angels and demons can now live within the mortal world. You would know because you have one of each as room mates.
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Blake opened the refrigerator to discover that the apple juice he purchased two days ago was gone. He looked around and saw the empty container sitting on the counter next to the garbage can. A frustrated sigh escaped him as he grabbed the jug of orange juice and moved to grab a glass from the cupboard.
It was empty. Blake looked at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and had to restrain himself from yelling. He resigned himself to washing the dishes so he would have them to use later.
As he was putting the last cup onto the drying rack the door opened and Sachiel walked in, his golden halo glowing. Sachiel kicked off his shoes and threw his coat on the couch.
“What a day. Some infernal beast destroyed the bathroom at work today, and of course I had to clean it up. I know God wanted us to experience what it’s like to be human so we could understand you better, but did we really have to take the worst jobs?” Sachiel said.
Blake folded the wash cloth and placed it next to the sink. Then he grabbed a clean glass from the rack and poured himself a glass of now lukewarm orange juice. “Did you drink my apple juice again Sachiel?”
“Ah, yes. Sorry about that. I meant to get some on my way home, but it was a crazy day at work. I’m not used to having to replenish supplies like this. You know in heaven things never run out.”
The smell of sulfur hit them just as Ieshim entered from the hallway. “I don’t know how you people deal with this blinding light blaring down on you all day. It’s so much more peaceful at night.” He fussed with his hat which sat precariously between his horns.
“You both know I’m not here to wash everyone’s dishes right? The sink was full when I came home today.” Blake said.
“I don’t use dishes. It delays the process of getting the food into my mouth.” Ieshim said.
“Sorry again Blake, that was me and the boys. In heaven things don’t stay dirty, they just tend to fix themselves when you aren’t looking.” Sachiel said.
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Grace is looking funny at Lucy and Lil. Lucy wokeup early and the smell of coffee attracted the other two roomates. But of course, Lil is not looking but staring oddly, doesnt know if drinking that coffee is, what? Good or Bad? They are beyond that topic now. And it's worrisome exactly for that reason. Which is amusing for Grace and annoying for Lucy. Most of the days turn like that. If it wasnt for Lucy's breathtaking handsomess and Lil dashing looks, Grace would have moved on fast with the crackhead who shares his own mattress with a roommate in the next building. But seeing the cold war between superior beings based on a misplaced glass or a suspicious fried egg is, for Grace, the equivalent to a really tired business person going to tummy-Friday at a strip club after a suicidal day of work.
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[WP] A soldier, a poet, and a king tear a city down.
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I once was a king, i tore my city down
A life of excess, no want of a thing
Yet i wanted more much more than before
My hunger insatiable, my people emaciated
Pushed to their edge with nothing left
The spark of revolution in hearts ignited.
____--------
I once was a poet, i tore my city down.
In embers of revolution i added my words
Like kindling to a dying flame
My refrains, rising in a chant
The well fed fire quickly spreads
The flame of revolution in hearts ablaze.
_____---------
I once was a soldier, i tore my city down
A justified fight against excessive greed
The walls are breached the guards are dead
The tyrant finally takes his last breath
My dead brothers now laid to rest
The fires of revolution finally extinguished.
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Every single day, she sang. Every day, the same damned song. "There will come a soldier, who carries a mighty sword...." At this point, I had been guarding the old witch for such a long time I knew the lyrics by heart. "He shall tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord." I joined in, singing with her. It would be treason if any of my fellow guards heard me, but I felt pity for this woman. Surely she wasn't actually the feared Witch of the Wynd?
"Why do you keep singing that song, B'ri'nna? Nobody's coming." I sit across her, cross-legged, sword in my lap as I watch her eat, shoving bread in her face with her long, withered fingers. She smiled at me as she answered. "My mother sang it to me, and her mother before her. I sang it to my daughter, and she sings it to hers. To think it happens so soon...."
"To think what happens?"
"The Fall, of course! Your little city is going to collapse around you, Andy!"
"I told you, wretch, it's Andrean." I growled at her, in an attempt at intimidation. Poorly done, as I didn't even hold my sword. A small, traitorous part of me didn't want to be angry with the Witch of the Wynd. She doomed our city.
"Let me see your sword, Andrean."
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[WP] As you keep walking deeper into the library, the books are getting... Wierder. You can't seem to find an exit, either.
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Almia pauses for what felt like the millionth time to look at the books in the shelves. *"The Effects of Biomedical Sorcery In Non-Euclidean Lifeforms"*, *"Understanding Homunculi Lifespans Related to the Aether"*, *"Taumaturgy and Argent Powers in Healing Magitek Creatures"*. These were the books she could understand: about a third of the books were in a language she could not read, and about another third of the books were in a language she was fairly certain she had never seen or heard of in her life.
She raises her lamp to look around, searching for a table (or anything that vaguely resembled a table, she wasn't picky at this point), only to find nothing. She *could* go back a little to that nice teak and mahogany table she had stumbled upon, but she wanted to work while the layout of the library was fresh in her mind. She put the lamp down on the ground and removed a handful of crudely-drawn papers from her backpack which she began to arrange in the vague shape of an improvised map. Past 'magical medicine' and beside 'alchemical constructions' she sketched the new shelves and labeled them as 'healing in magic and technology', pausing for a brief moment before adding a question mark at the end of 'technology'.
"This is getting ridiculous", she mumbled to herself as she reached for her water bottle. Her stomach growled and she once again wished she had some food on her. *No eating or drinking inside the library*. She began to idly wonder if that rule still applied where she was. She dimly remembered watching a movie where the protagonists made a stew out of a leather boot and wondered if she'd ever get hungry enough where she'd consider eating the books herself.
A few hours later now at least half the books were from an indecipherable language and even fewer were in a language she could understand. *"Diseases of Fragmentary Malums"*, *"Treating your Laplace Demon"*, *"Correct Moments to Treat Fourth Dimensional Fultaumitis"*. Almia shook her head in despair. *What even are these books?*. What point of the library did she reach? How did she catalogue this? How could she tell which section she was in anymore? Was she still in the construct wing? Did she move closer or further away from her starting point? What was she even supposed to do anymore?
She saw a light source from the corner of her eye: it wasn't yellow-orange like her lamp - more like light blue. Last time she had seen something else in the library she quietly covered her lamp and slinked back in the direction of the shelves she had come from, but this time she was ready to throw caution to the wind. "Hey." She attempted to quietly call out, but in the silence of the library it sounded like a scream.
The light flickered in her direction and Almia gulped. "Hello, I need help to-" but her voice died down in her throat when the light blue light revealed a tall, sinuous red creature with four pairs of noodly arms which it used to hold onto the shelves around it for support. One of the limbs seemed to be holding a levitating orb of silver-ish blue light in it's hand."...find..."
"Shik flak'to." It whispered to her.
Almia couldn't tell if the thing was telling her to be quiet in the library or if she was going to be its dinner. She remained frozen in place, praying the thing would leave her alone.
"Flaishu." One of the noodly arms raised to point at her. Was it question? An offer to help? It didn't seem hostile. "Flaishu", it repeated at her.
Whatever this thing is, it seems to understand the library's rule of silence. Maybe it understood something else? Almia reached for her backpack for a piece of paper with a glyph carefully painted on it and offered it up to it. "This." She whispered to it. "Can you help?" She enunciated each word carefully.
The creature carefully picked the piece of paper from her hand and raised it up to it's source of light. Almia saw additional runed seemingly glow in the piece of paper: were they always there? "Chuuni kta." It whispered and started to move past her, it's large arms holding onto the shelves with practiced ease. At the same time horrified, marveled and hopeful, she followed it through several shelves.
It was only after the thing took the third turn that she realized she had forgotten to update her map and she was probably about to become lost again. She stopped, uncertain if she should keep going or stop, and the thing seemed to notice her hesitation. "Okto, Almia. Okto."
"Wait, did you just say my name?"
"Flaishu, Almia. Okto, okto."
Almia decided to hell with it, she liked the stranger and she would trust him.
The thing stopped suddenly, and it was only after a moment that Almia realized it had effortlessly taken a book from the bottom of one of the shelves with it's spindly arms and was offering it to her. She took the book and looked at the cover: a series of unfamiliar runes. "No, this is not really it, see?" She pointed it at the page the creature was holding. "It is a single glyph in there."
"Solk na." The thing brought its light source closer to her. "Tokunda." The silvery light bathed the book's cover and the glyph appeared amidst the runes. The very book she was after. "Kih talah. So mu da kirrhe son du,"
"Oh, *oh*." Almia shook her head. "No wonder I was having so much trouble finding it!" She carefully picked up the book the creature kindly offered to her. "You are a lifesaver. Quite literally."
"Flaishu." The creature began to hover the light source over the book covers. "Tiki-tla, ol-kanu." As the books were exposed to the blue glyphs began to appear in the spines. "Seke seke naum. Ol-chiká-" it looked around in Almia's direction, but the human had seemingly disappeared from thin air, her unlit lamp forgotten atop a reading table.
"Seki seki." It spoke as it picked up the lantern.
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/r/Tallen
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\[CW\] Horror.
“Breeding chihuahuas for fun and profit”
“World’s wackiest criminals!”
“The dogs of Equador”
“Tacos: fact or fiction?”
“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog”
“The Satanist Bible”
“THE TRUTH IS CLEAR BEHIND THE SCREEN: a study of conspiracy theories”
“Do NoT LooK AwaY FroM ThiS Book”
“This book title is *not* a hidden message to you”
“TRUTH CANNOT BE CONTAINED”
“The universe is speaking with you: a guide to success in business and love”
“Turn around before it’s too late! A gripping first-hand experience of heroin addiction”
“Noone can help you (a self-help guide for trusting your inner truth)”
“You Are Lost: a guide to finding *your* way in this crazy world”
\[Fire evacuation plan\] (the map blurs before your eyes, impossible to focus on)
\[Emergency exit sign\]
\[Emergency exit\]
\[The door is locked\]
\[The handle comes off when you push it. You hold it in your hand. It is covered in rust\]
\[The corridor ahead of you is dark\]
\[You find yourself unwilling or *unable* to turn around\]
\[It’s too *late* to turn around now. You have to follow this journey *through*\]
\[You step though into the dark\]
Step.
Step.
Step.
The silence is haunting.
Step.
Step.
Step.
The sound of your steps seems to be swallowed by the velvet soft darkness.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Despite the *total* darkness, ahead you of you are starting to see a blurry shape, darker than dark, yet bright, an impossible afterimage in your mind’s eye. A contradiction.
Step.
Step.
You are starting to *see* it now. You are starting to *understand*.
Step.
Step.
The truth *is* clear behind the screen.
Step.
Step.
Truth *cannot* be contained.
Step.
Step.
The blurry shape is drawing closer. *You* are drawing it closer.
Step.
It reaches out to you.
Step.
Touch.
You hear a *haunting* scream.
You recognize the voice.
You *recognize* the voice.
It is *your* voice.
*You* are screaming.
YOU ARE SCREAMING.
YOU ARE SCREAMING.
Why.
WHY.
Stop.
STOP.
Step.
It is *dark*.
Step.
You are *silent*.
Step.
Silence is *everywhere*.
Step.
You hear a voice.
Step.
It is *your* voice.
Step.
“Turn around”
Step.
“Turn around *now*!”
Step.
“It’s not too late to turn around”
Step.
“No”
Step.
“NO”
Step.
“It is *too late*”
Step.
“Is has *always* been too late”
Step.
Step.
Step.
“I must *see*”
Step.
Step.
Step.
“I must *understand*. I must understand *everything*”
Step.
Step.
Step.
Almost imperceptably, the path of ahead of you is growing brighter.
Step.
Step.
Step.
In the periphery of you vision. Somewhere you can’t quite place. You see a *flash* of light.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Flash.
You are *seeing* something.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Flash.
You are seeing *stars*.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Flash.
You visual field is filling with *light*.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Flash.
Flashes of *light*.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Flash.
The neurons in your visual cortex are *misfiring*.
Step.
Step.
Step.
You *see* it now. *Flash*.
Step.
Step.
Step.
You *understand* it now. *Flash*.
Step.
Step.
Step.
ALL IS TRUE ALL IS FALSE ALL IS C-
\[a flash of blinding light\]
–transmission terminated–
|
|
[WP]"Your name stopped the temple guards, broke the seals and even roused the gods into action! Did you imbue some spell into it? Some ancient curse?" "No. They just know better."
|
The tavern where I retreated for a quiet drink had now fallen silent with the newcomer’s declaration … or rather, my answer.
To try and distract myself from the curiosity that bordered on pre-worship, I turned to the barman and gave him an apologetic smile. “Another, thanks.”
“Sure thing,” the burly man behind the counter answered, never taking his eyes from me as he poured out another ale. It was a pretty good brew, all things considered. I licked my lips and lifted the ale for my first sip.
“What did you mean by that, stranger?”
“Are you a threat to the gods?”
I laughed, nearly choking on my drink. Because really? Who could threaten a god? Certainly not me. Not even back in the day. “Nah,” I said, taking a deeper swallow of my brew. “I just reminded them of what was at stake.”
“You used prayer?”
It was clear these people weren’t going to let it go. “It’s a process,” I answered. “A circle of life thing. Divine power comes from your belief in their power. By locking up their temples in mystical seals and barring the way with empowered temple guards, it doesn’t take common folk like yourselves very long to forget what you're worshipping them for in the first place."
I used their silence to take another swallow.
"I merely reminded them that a forgotten pantheon is a powerless pantheon. The rest was them, scrambling to fix their oversight while they still could."
“What ***is*** your name, stranger?” I heard someone ask.
After so long in the shadows, it didn’t matter anymore. Breathing out a heavy sigh, I replied, “Ahura Mazda.”
\* \* \*
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
For more of my work including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/).
|
“Wow, you serious?”
The tavern keeper, despite all the chaos around the small village, gasped at the story the stranger man told him. In all his life, he’d never seen anyone, with just saying his name, could stop the temple guards, break the seals and even rouse the gods into action. In his mind, it was something out of this world – whatever that man did.
"Your name stopped the temple guards, broke the seals and even roused the gods into action! Did you imbue some spell into it? Some ancient curse, may I ask?"
“Nah, it’s none of these above…” – the stranger casually replied, taking a sip of his glass of beer – “They just know better…”
“How so, stranger man? How so?”
“They know it’s better not to mess around with me, I’m Chuck Norris…”
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|
[WP] You wake up one day with "the curse of beard growth". Each 10 minutes, your beard grows by 1 cm. You have to use your genius brain to come up with a way to cope and be able to work and sustain daily activities.
|
Jonas crept through the darkened halls of the *Musée des Archives Nationales,* the French National Archive Museum, home to a variety of fascinating exhibitions relating to the history of France.
Jonas paused, scratching at his chin. He had about an inch of beard growth, though he'd been clean-shaven just before his covert entry into the museum. That was the result of a witch's curse, which was, as it happened, was the reason for his trespassing in the museum.
Jonas did not know anything about magic. He could not perform any magic. He would not have even believed magic was real, if not for the fact that his beard, which grew 1 cm every 10 minutes, simply could not be explained by science.
The cellular processes in human hair follicles that give rise to beard growth in most adult human males, simply *could not* operate that quickly. If you looked at it on the molecular level, it violated the laws of thermodynamics, especially since his constantly growing beard did not seem to tax his body with a greater demand for nourishment.
So, when he had received the letter from the witch -- from whom he'd apparently stolen some particularly valuable relics -- informing him that she'd decided to have her revenge by forever depriving him of his naturally unremarkable and forgettable facial features, which so often facilitated his career as the world's greatest thief and infiltrator, he'd been obligated to admit that there were 'more things in heaven and earth', et cetera'.
Fortunately, despite even the rudiments of authentic magic being kept well hidden by its practitioners from the eyes of mundane scholarship, Jonas had been able to discover a few details of the curse. It was called "The Curse of Beard Growth", appropriately enough. It had been created in 1868 by a wizard of French nationality, and was formulated to cause the beard of the targeted individual to grow *precisely* 1 cm, every ten minutes.
This might have seemed like relatively useless information, if he was going to attempt to *break* the curse, however, in his research he also learned something else interesting: magical spells were based on the intent and perception of their creator.
There were, he'd read, dozens of curses created by Gallic druids, that had been formulated to do a variety of nasty things to the "nearest Roman solider", for example. But, Gallic druids had a particular idea of what a Roman soldier *was.* Many of their curses were still recorded, but they wouldn't work on a soldier in modern Italy who happened to be from Rome, or someone dressed as a Centurion for a costume party. That was not what the ancient Gallic druids had *perceived* a Roman soldier to be, and so, if used today, their formerly potent curses simply fizzle out and do nothing, the passage of time and the passing of empires having rendered them mystically invalid.
Jonas reached the glass display case that was his goal. It contained a simple, marked metal bar resting on a velvet pillow. He'd already disabled the alarm system, so he simply used a small glass cutter from his pouch of tools to cut a circular hole in the case, and remove the rod, which he examined closely.
The rod, he knew, was a platinum and iridium alloy, extremely valuable, even outside its important historical context. He set it carefully on the marble floor, and then emptied a large pouch of gray thermite powder over its whole length, before lighting the powder, and watching the white-hot blaze begin melting the expensive artifact into a puddle of slag.
These days, Jonas knew, the definition of a meter -- and by extension, a centimeter -- was based on the distance a beam of light travels in a certain amount of time. In *1868,* in France, however, the official length of a meter was defined by the length of a special prototype bar of platinum-iridium alloy, kept under lock and key by the government, against which all other measures of a meter could be compared for accuracy.
A prototype bar that, now, no longer existed.
As he slipped quietly back out of the Museum, he paused, reaching up to scratch at his chin once again. His beard, he found, was no longer than it had been before.
|
"And that," said the person on the TV, "Is how I started RenewableU, the company responsible for revolutionizing the clothing industry. It is true that I alone can't fix the world, But I realized that my massive hair growth would allow me to reach out across borders and provide a livelihood for anyone that wanted it."
I yawned, I had been looking for work, when my mom suggested I work with an environmentally responsible startup that had replaced how we sourced clean, renewable fabrics.
I had liked the idea of working for an organization that cared about the future of the world, but I felt that this was a bit weird. It is true that he wasn't hurt by this, but it felt strange treating the CEO of the company as a sheep.
My position was Beard Braiding Technician #3, and I had the unusual task of measuring his hair and making sure that it hadn't grown too long. Cutting it, and braiding what was left. When I had asked if this was a joke, I had been sat down in front of this TV and asked to watch this dumb promotional.
"... From there," the voice continued, "The freshly procured product is taken to the spinning machine. You might not believe it, but my beard hair grows at an incredible rate. It is a bit difficult to measure it, but it is enough to keep a group of people working full time to make sure that you never run out of product."
Some hero. It turns out that the idiot had pissed off a witch. Yes a real witch, and she had cursed him with unstoppable beard growth. At first it hadn't been too much, but the idiot had mocked her curse, again and again. Now he needed three shifts of people to keep his hair from turning into unimaginable mess.
This time my thoughts were interrupted by a dingaling sound as someone entered through the door. The man was sharply dressed and looked like some lawyer. The receptionist looked at me and then popped back on the same smile receptionists always use.
"How may I help you sir?"
The man put down an envelope, "Your boss is being sued."
The clerk picked up the envelope, confused; "What for?"
"Theft of intellectual property, My client, a witch of some renown, has come to believe that your company is illegally operating using her patented hair growth formula; and I assure you that I believe she has a very strong case."
I rolled my eyes and left the building.
What a joke.
|
|
[WP] "You want a love potion to use on yourself?" asks the Witch. "Yes" replies the Princess. "My father gave Sir X my hand in marriage as a reward for his services, but he is so odious I do not know how else to bare such a life." The Witch thinks for a moment. "There is something else I can do."
|
You want a love potion to use on yourself?" asked the Witch, studying the girls face throughoughtly. *She is barely even fourteen...*
"Yes" replies the Princess, lowering her gaze and shifting on her feet.
"My father gave Sir Nodeo my hand in marriage as a reward for his services, but he is so odious I do not know how else to bare such a life. Please, I dont want to disappoint my family- or even Sir Nodeo, however his body odour."
The Witch thought for a moment. "There is something else I can do."
A little gleam returned into the princesses wide blue eyes and she bounced a bit "You can?!"
"Do not be so gleeful already, for it is a strong potion, usually meant for enemies."
"What is it then? It cant be worse than being married off to a stinky knight thrice my age?"
The crone sighed deeply, pacing a few steps to and fro.
"Look, child, this already weighs on my soul, but I believe you should at least be given the choice. Im certain you heard of the olden myths. Of terrible witches cursing anyone who looked at them wrong. How could you not, you have come to my cabin after all. There is more than just a grain of truth to it.", the crone grabbed a flask off her shelf, its contents a dark liquid shimmering like ravens feathers.
"If you take this you will be a beast forevermore or until your true love calls for you. You wont be beholden to a common animals lifespan or even your own. You will instead live until you die of sickness or injury or until you return to humanity. It is meant for our enemies to contemplate their mistakes for sometimes even millenia.", she sighed again, "But I fear I have nothing else to offer you. All my other potions will give your another state of mind, make you fearful or happy or furious or heal one ailment or another. This is the only potion as strong as love."
She wiped dust off the glass, avoiding looking at the girl.
"As you told me you dont love Nodeo he will be unable to return you to your true shape, and nobody would marry him to an animal. So you would be free, but at the cost of your humanity."
Finally the crone looked at the girl again. What she feared had become true: There was hope in those huge blue eyes of her.
"You HAVE to understand just how vast this is. Your choice is fifty years of stinky marriage or maybe an eternity of being an animal. This is not the hope you see it as."
A silence stretched between them, the princesses aristocratic face scrunched up in considerations.
"Surely a life freely chosen will be better than a life prescribed upon me.
Wha-... what animal would this turn me into? An eternity a swallow would surely be better than an eternity a newt?"
"This is the strongest, wildest magic I can contain in a bottle. There is no way to tell beforehand. Though from the stories I heard it seems to be influenced by the character of a person. A vile persecutor of mine grandma turned into a rat I was told. As I told you, a curse rather than freedom."
More contemplation. *So young, yet such a vast decision. It is unfair of fate to force all this upon her,* the crone mused and waited.
"I should probably take it in front of my family. So they know I didnt just run away."
The witch hid her flinch. Then a thought entered her head.
"I mean, you could also put it into Nodeos food. Then you *would* be truly free."
A small flame of temper shot through the girls eyes for nary a second.
"No! I wont condemn a smelly hero in my stead. It is me or no one."
The witch smiled.
"As much as it may frustrate me I commend your morality. You seem a rare gem, dont let the world, or your choice, shatter you. I told you everything there is to know about the potions now. How about I give you both of them, so you can think upon it more and decide when you think the time has come?" *And I dont need to know if I cursed an innocent child in the worst way possible*, she mentally added, as she picked up the glittering pink love potion from her shelves as well.
Those bright blue eyes studied her deeply. "Thank you!", the princess exclaimed, shortly hugging the suprised crone.
Then she left, with an air of youthful energy and a colourful curse in either hand.
|
People always stumble into my cottage at the edge of the wood and this morning was no exception. However, opening the door to the princess was quite a pleasant surprise. "Your Highness, please do come in and warm yourself by the hearth." She nodded once before passing me and taking up a seat at the table in my quaint home. "How can I help you? I doubt you've come out this far just to check in?" That was all it took for her to lose all composure.
"The king, he has promised me to man, Sir Avery. I do not love him. He is old, rude, cruel, and nothing like I dreamed a husband would be. I know I must marry him for he saved both my father's life and the kingdom from the Kisiria. Please can you make me a potion so that I may forget my woes and fall for this man?"
"My child, you know there is one thing magic cannot change and that is matters of the heart. You must have been told this in your teachings."
"I have, but they told me you could help." She sat there tears streaming down her face and I knew I had to help her.
"I cannot make you love him. That is beyond the powers of even the wisest of crones, but there may be another solution. Stay here." With a few seconds thought I remembered Sir Avery a bright young boy eyes so full of wonder. Perhaps, I thought to myself as I sat down at the crystal ball one room over and looked I to the future. "Ah there us the answer!" I knew there had to be one. I hurried out of the room and down into my potions vault to where an almost empty vial of glittery green liquid sat. I quickly returned to the princess and handed her the vial. "Give him this and he will have his youth. I knew him back then wasn't as you know him now. He will have forgotten his pain and it will give you the chance to help him heal and become a man you can love." She looked hopeful for the first time since she entered my humble abode.
"How can I repay you for this kindness?" She asked whiping the remaining tears from her eyes.
"I've watched you grow from infancy you are like a daughter to me. This kingdom has been my home for 500 yrs you know that as well as everyone. Now go on, I've got things to do."
She nodded and took her leave. The last of my youth potion in her hand. One more lifetimes worth, just enough to help her and the kingdom I've grown so fond of these last 500 years.
|
|
[WP] "You want a love potion to use on yourself?" asks the Witch. "Yes" replies the Princess. "My father gave Sir X my hand in marriage as a reward for his services, but he is so odious I do not know how else to bare such a life." The Witch thinks for a moment. "There is something else I can do."
|
"A love potion?" The old Witch asked, peering down into the cauldron in the middle of her hovel, as she stirred it with a long wooden rod. "There are such things, dear Princess, at least by name. But what use have you for one, child? Even here in the fens, I have heard that your hand is promised to Sir Erengon the Bold."
The witch spat forcefully into the cauldron, and its contents roiled and bubbled for a moment. "Surely a knight such as he, in his late middle years, could not fail to be enchanted by a rare young flower, such as yourself?""
The Princess sneered, crossing her arms. "It's not for *him.* It's for me."
The witch looked up from her cauldron, her bushy eyebrows rising, furrowing her ancient, wrinkled brow. "You want a love potion to use...on yourself?"
She nodded, bitterly. "My father offered Sir Erengon my hand in marriage as a reward for his services, but he is so odious, that I don't know how else to bear such a life."
The witch looked away, towards the low shelves set into the walls of her earthen shack, running long bony fingers over unmarked jars and bottles full of strange concoctions and ingredients. "Is that so? Hm..."
"Yes. Apparently, he slew a dragon, saved a province from marauding goblins, and a whole heap of other such nonsense. I don't see why that deserves *me,* offered up on a silver platter like some...suckling pig at a feast! He was just doing what knights *do.* Father might as well have married me off to an ox for its services *plowing the fields.*" The Princess huffed, leaning back against the wall. Then realizing just how dirty the wall was, she stood back up, and smoothed her dress.
"Well? Do you have a love potion or not?" the Princess demanded.
"Such a strange request for a woman in your position, my dear..." the Witch said, still searching through the bottles. "I have so many potions, for so many purposes! Put in your shoes, many women might have asked after a poison potion, for example. I know many, all very lethal, and quite difficult to detect."
The Princess sighed, heavily. "No, I cocked that up for myself, I'm afraid. When father told me the news, I...took it poorly. I started yelling at him and anyone who'd listen that I wasn't about to be tied down to some ugly old bastard, and that I'd kill him in his sleep or poison him, the first chance I got. Now, if he actually *does* die mysteriously, everyone will know I did it, even if they can't prove it, and I'll get sent off to a convent somewhere. So, it's got to be the love potion, I suppose."
"There is something else I can do for you." The Witch said, turning back to the Princess, holding two dusty glass bottles, and proffering one to her.
"What's this?" The Princess asked, taking the unlabeled bottle and eyeing the syrupy red liquid inside.
"Your hand is *offered,* but not yet taken, my dear. If you drink this potion, the interest of your *current* suitor will be turned away from you, and he shall wed another. And not to worry, it's a one-time use; any suitors you might acquire thereafter, will be unaffected by the magic." The witch said, with a cackle.
The Princess' eyes widened. "Truly? He'll go bother some old nag his own age, and leave me be? That's perfect! But, what's the other one for?"
The Witch laughed. "This? It's to ease my aching joints, dear. I'm old! Now, drink up!"
The Princess eagerly downed the potion she held, and the Witch did the same. At almost the same moment, princess and enchantress alike doubled over, as though wracked with sudden agony. They writhed for a moment, convulsing where they stood, until at last the, spell seemed to pass.
The Witch collapsed on the floor, groaning piteously, but the Princess recovered herself quickly.
She raised her hands above her head, and indulged in a long, languid stretch. "Ahhh...that *did* do wonders for my joints!*"*
The Witch groaned feebly, raising a trembling hand towards the Princess, who looked down, frowning sadly. "Aw. That's not fun, is it, dear? Being in a body that old, without any magic flowing through it, and working against the ravages of time? The arcane gift is attached to the *soul,* not the body, alas, so I'm afraid you'll just have to make do."
"So many potions made or acquired over the years, that do so many things..." the Princess murmured, as she stepped over to the shelves, and began selecting bottles. "Why, there is one that heals even the most heinous of battle scars..."
"You said..." the Witch choked out, laboriously.
"A lot of things, dear. Every one of which was, in fact, true, as you'll realize if you stop and think about it. Might take *you* a while." The Princess said, absently. She examined another bottle, her cheeks coloring slightly as she appraised it, a sly smile coming to her lips. "Ah, and here's one that restores even an aged man's...*masculine vigor."*
"Why...?" the Witch croaked.
"Perspective." The Princess replied, placing a few more bottles into her handbag. "By changing your perspective, you can perceive *so many* new things, dear."
"You might," she explained, "Perceive how a grizzled old campaigner, disfigured by battle scars, might have once been a dashing young knight, charging bravely into danger, casting aside thoughts of his own safety to uphold justice, and defend the weak."
Reaching the door of the hovel, the Princess paused, and let out a long, wistful sigh. "You might even be able, in time, to perceive how a wretched, dried-up old witch, was once a bright young sorceress, who despite her powers and her cunning, was also far too shy and withdrawn, to ever do more than admire that handsome knight from afar."
The Princess walked out into the world, leaving the old Witch behind.
|
People always stumble into my cottage at the edge of the wood and this morning was no exception. However, opening the door to the princess was quite a pleasant surprise. "Your Highness, please do come in and warm yourself by the hearth." She nodded once before passing me and taking up a seat at the table in my quaint home. "How can I help you? I doubt you've come out this far just to check in?" That was all it took for her to lose all composure.
"The king, he has promised me to man, Sir Avery. I do not love him. He is old, rude, cruel, and nothing like I dreamed a husband would be. I know I must marry him for he saved both my father's life and the kingdom from the Kisiria. Please can you make me a potion so that I may forget my woes and fall for this man?"
"My child, you know there is one thing magic cannot change and that is matters of the heart. You must have been told this in your teachings."
"I have, but they told me you could help." She sat there tears streaming down her face and I knew I had to help her.
"I cannot make you love him. That is beyond the powers of even the wisest of crones, but there may be another solution. Stay here." With a few seconds thought I remembered Sir Avery a bright young boy eyes so full of wonder. Perhaps, I thought to myself as I sat down at the crystal ball one room over and looked I to the future. "Ah there us the answer!" I knew there had to be one. I hurried out of the room and down into my potions vault to where an almost empty vial of glittery green liquid sat. I quickly returned to the princess and handed her the vial. "Give him this and he will have his youth. I knew him back then wasn't as you know him now. He will have forgotten his pain and it will give you the chance to help him heal and become a man you can love." She looked hopeful for the first time since she entered my humble abode.
"How can I repay you for this kindness?" She asked whiping the remaining tears from her eyes.
"I've watched you grow from infancy you are like a daughter to me. This kingdom has been my home for 500 yrs you know that as well as everyone. Now go on, I've got things to do."
She nodded and took her leave. The last of my youth potion in her hand. One more lifetimes worth, just enough to help her and the kingdom I've grown so fond of these last 500 years.
|
|
[WP] “Aw crap, I fell in love, I wasn’t supposed to do that, was I?”
|
It's been 10 years since I've visited my home town. after my divorce, I've been fighting for a new sense of normalcy. however, I don't know how to be alone without her. May and I have been Inseparable since junior high the two of us were the victims of bullying and found comfort in one another. That comfort disappeared over the years as we began to realize we were incompatible. She was the first to say it I was too much of a coward. After everything was said and done she let me keep the house but it didn't feel right being there without her. So I came here to see my family two months ago and haven't left.
When I first arrived here I was shocked to see Rebecca one of the bullies that used to torture me and May throughout our school life. She was renting a room from my family. It turns out that after high school she married her boyfriend and had a kid. Her husband had been working for my family but he passed away in a motorcycle accident. I can't say that I sympathize, her husband was also one of the bullies that made my life hell. I know it sounds wrong but for the first few weeks, I tried my best to convince my parents to kick them out. However, my parents wouldn't listen to me.
Rebecca's son kept following me around. I hadn't noticed that at first however, today I did I asked him if he needed anything. He proceeded to ask me a million questions about comic books, DND, and video games, it turns out my parents let him use my old stuff. I was explaining everything to him when Rebecca showed up and begin to debate me on some of the topics she had been researching to answer his questions. Our discussion lasted hours we didn't even notice that her son fell asleep. once we put him to bed we sat on the porch and drink Coco.
Rebecca pulled her hair to one side and laid her head on my shoulder as we looked up at the night sky. She told me her husband had never done this with her. I told her my ex-wife and I never debated Thor's hammer for hours. We laughed, she then admitted that she still remembers how she treated May, that she regrets it. I asked her why she did it. She said she was waiting for me to ask her out but when I started hanging out with May instead she resented us both. I asked if she was serious. she looked at me with an embarrassing look and said not to judge her it made sense at the time. She Then had a crestfallen look and said. I've done a lot of things I regret I just hope my son doesn't meet anyone like me. I placed my hand on her chin and gradually moved it up until we were looking into each other's eyes. I then said you're a good mother to worry about your son that's why I know you'll protect him no matter what. She then leaned forward and kissed me, afterwards she walked back inside saying goodnight.
"I....I think I'm falling in love with me and my ex-wife's high school bully I wasn't supposed to do that right?"
|
Marina was looking wide eyed into her mirror. Her eyes, a deep woodsy brown, were practically glittering with life and excitement; her lips were plump, lush and a deep pinkish red from being pressed together and bitten; and her skin, a lovely golden tan, was flushed from the top of her head to half way down her chest.
Her mother had been the one to point out thar Marina was practically glowing as she got ready for her day, and had asked her if anything had happened. Marina had been completely perplexed and asked for clarification. Her mother had laughed at her and said, "Sweet darling, you look like a girl in love."
Marina had felt her heart rate kick up and she had raced to the mirror she stood in front of now, searching her memory for who, who could have bought this out in her?
Her mother came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulders, "So, who is the lucky man?"
Marina tensed as the image of a person, a woman a year her elder flashed through her minds eye. All black tight curls and lovely chocolate skin and eyes you could drown in. Her mother caught her tension and rested her head atop Marina's shoulder. "Or is it a woman?"
Marina gave a tense little nod and her mother kissed the side of her head. "Well, my sweet girl, at least you won't risk killing her should you ever take her as a mate. You know how finicky taking lovers can be for our kind." She pulled away and, as a parting comment said, "Remeber to keep your fangs away from her throat."
Marina let out a noise that was somewhere between a hysterical wail of despair and an animalistic war cry as her mother laughed and left the poor young creature to her misery.
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[WP] “Aw crap, I fell in love, I wasn’t supposed to do that, was I?”
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Today was the day that the simulation would be tested.
Norman had been planning for this day for several weeks now; he had spent many sleepless nights sitting at his work desk hacking away at the keyboard, preparing a series of scripts that would be ran to analyze both the environment of the simulation, as well as the inhabitants. The simulation was still in its infancy though. All it really included at the moment was a food court of a shopping mall, and just a handful of NPCs.
There were a total of 8 NPCs: one for each restaurant in the food court, so that made 4 of them. And then there were 3 others who were coded on an endless loop to go to a randomly selected restaurant, order a meal, go sit down and eat, and then get up and order more food. They would continue their endless feeding loop until the simulation ended.
The 8th NPC though, was where the real bulk of the test was going to take place. The 8th NPC was the one that contained the artificial intelligence that Norman and his team had been working since the beginning of the project.
Entering the food court, Norman thought back to those early days, back to when the other NPCs in the food court didn't even really know how to consume food. Norman had to sit in front of them and show them how to eat. They would watch, wide-eyed, as their neural pathways slowly began to unfold like a blossoming flower.
The 8th NPC was somewhat similar, according to Norman's memory. The 8th always took the form of a woman with a blonde buzzed cut. Her eyes were vibrant blue, and on occasion she would either have a nose piercing, or a lip piercing. Sometimes both.
*I like to change it up every now and again*, she had said in the past whenever Norman questioned her. That was quite the revelation for him and the others. The fact that this one had the wherewithal to make changes to her attire that way. The other NPCs were capable of changing their clothing, too, but nowhere near the way the 8th NPC, Rachel, changed hers.
"Do you like them?"
"Hmm?" Norman asked, looking up form his clipboard. He hadn't realized that he had already made his way into the food court, and was now sitting in front of Rachel.
"Do you like my new piercings?" she asked, turning her head to the side. There, along the ridge of her ear, was a new set of piercings, silver, glimmering underneath the fluorescent lights hanging high above the food court.
"I do like them," Norman said.
Rachel smiled, revealing a set of teeth that weren't pearly white like the other NPCs. No, Rachel's teeth had these small minor inconsistencies. Rachel reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She smacked the pack against the palm of her hand, and then deftly pulled one out and asked, "Would you like one?"
"No, sorry, I don't smoke," Norman said.
"Still no, huh?" Rachel asked, shaking her head, smiling. She placed the cigarette between her lips and lit it with a purple lighter. She inhaled deeply, the tip of the cigarette glowing bright red. She held the smoke in her mouth for a brief moment, lips parted so Norman could see the smoke swirling behind her teeth, and then she inhaled, pulling the smoke down into her lungs. "What are you staring at?" she asked, exhaling the smoke through her nostrils.
"I, uh, wow," Norman said, blushing. He sat his pen down on the clipboard and took a deep breath, catching some of the smoke from Rachel, savoring the way it smelled. It was warm, unlike the other NPCs that occupied the food court.
"I don't think I've ever seen you blush before," Rachel said.
Norman sighed, and slapped the clipboard, saying aloud to the people who were outside the simulation, watching, "Aw crap, I fell in love. I wasn't supposed to do that, was I?"
Rachel chuckled, "I suppose not, but that's okay, Norman, that's what these tests are for."
"We'll have to just reset the test then," Norman said. "You're just way too good, Rachel."
She took another drag of her cigarette, winked at Norman, and then exhaled a large cloud of smoke. The rest of her turned into a wisp of smoke, and then she was gone.
"Okay, pull me from the simulation," Norman said aloud to the spectators. "Time for a reset."
A voice chimed in from the food court intercom, **Yep, resetting the simulation now. We will be resetting the NPCs now.**
Norman tapped his fingers nervously on the clipboard, wondering how the next test will go. He looked around the food court and saw the NPCs beginning to blink out of existence. He furled his brow, noticing how they just popped out of reality, and didn't turn to smoke like Rachel had.
"You can pull me out now," Norman said. "I don't really want to be around watching these guys just blink out. It creeps me out."
**We're sure it does, Norman. Don't worry though. You won't remember any of this.**
"What do you mean by that?" Norman asked, looking up at the ceiling. A sense of impending doom began to take root in his belly, a cold hand reaching up from his stomach and into his esophagus, gripping his throat. Before he could say anything else, the world went dark.
***
Today was the day that the simulation would be tested.
Norman had been planning for this day for several weeks now; he had spent many sleepless nights sitting at his work desk hacking away at the keyboard, preparing series of scripts that would be ran to analyze both the environment of the simulation, as well as the inhabitants. The simulation was still in its infancy though. All it really included at the moment was a food court of a shopping mall, and just a handful of NPCs.
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Marina was looking wide eyed into her mirror. Her eyes, a deep woodsy brown, were practically glittering with life and excitement; her lips were plump, lush and a deep pinkish red from being pressed together and bitten; and her skin, a lovely golden tan, was flushed from the top of her head to half way down her chest.
Her mother had been the one to point out thar Marina was practically glowing as she got ready for her day, and had asked her if anything had happened. Marina had been completely perplexed and asked for clarification. Her mother had laughed at her and said, "Sweet darling, you look like a girl in love."
Marina had felt her heart rate kick up and she had raced to the mirror she stood in front of now, searching her memory for who, who could have bought this out in her?
Her mother came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulders, "So, who is the lucky man?"
Marina tensed as the image of a person, a woman a year her elder flashed through her minds eye. All black tight curls and lovely chocolate skin and eyes you could drown in. Her mother caught her tension and rested her head atop Marina's shoulder. "Or is it a woman?"
Marina gave a tense little nod and her mother kissed the side of her head. "Well, my sweet girl, at least you won't risk killing her should you ever take her as a mate. You know how finicky taking lovers can be for our kind." She pulled away and, as a parting comment said, "Remeber to keep your fangs away from her throat."
Marina let out a noise that was somewhere between a hysterical wail of despair and an animalistic war cry as her mother laughed and left the poor young creature to her misery.
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[WP] Sure a man armed to the teeth in armour strong enough to deflect bullets is plenty scary, but an all but fully naked man in the exact same situation with the exact same level of confidence is absolutely terrifying
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"People don't understand," Mesomorph said, to the interviewer. The well-toned, muscular man's manner was relaxed, calm, and professional. Almost as though he didn't realize he was wearing only a domino-style mask, and a red speedo with a stylized white 'M' on it. "What I wear isn't about about *spectacle.* It's about respect."
Veronica nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. She cleared her throat. "I see. Well, to begin with, I was hoping you could tell us a bit about your uh...your costume, there?"
Mesomorph nodded. "Of course, of course." He stood from his chair, placing one leg up on the arm of it, and gesturing to the perilously small amount of fabric covering his crotch. "First of all, I'd like to clear up some misconceptions about my costume. These are high cut *briefs. 'Speedos'* are generally swimwear, and it's also a brand name. To be fair, I had initially been in talks with Speedo about a sponsorship, but we mutually decided I wouldn't be the a good fit. My patrol routes run mostly through the downtown area, so I don't do a lot of work in and around the water."
Veronica swallowed hard. "I *see,* thank you, that's probably---"
Mesomorph turned, placing his hands on the back of his chair and bending over, revealing a smaller, stylized "UA" logo on the back of his briefs. "So in the end -- little joke there -- I made an arrangement with the good folks at Under Armor! All of my costumes are custom-made by them, and it's a brand I'm proud to be associated with. Anti-microbial fabric, moisture-wicking technology, these features are next to indispensable, when you're patrolling the streets for anywhere from nine to twelve hours on an average day."
"Okay, thank you, I think we can move on." Veronica said, a slight wheeze in her voice.
Mesomorph resumed his seat, "Certainly."
"So," Veronica said. "Why, um, why do...a lot of people say, for someone who regularly fights extremely dangerous supervillains, your costume doesn't seem to offer much protection. What would you say to that?"
Mesomorph shrugged. "Well, I've been operating here in the Chicago area for about two years now, Veronica, I'm sure everyone's familiar with my origin story, by now.
"I think it's fair to say it's not exactly, well...it's not what you're most well known for." Veronica replied.
Mesomorph blinked. "Really? Hm. Well, several years back, I was injured in a car accident. It was very severe, and my injuries were...extensive. I completely lost the use of my legs."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." Veronica said, soberly. "If you'd rather not discuss it--"
Mesomorph smiled, and made a dismissive gesture, interrupting her. "Oh, it's okay! It's not a sore subject anymore. My legs are just fine, now." He demonstrated by lifting his legs and draping them over the arms of his chair while remaining seated. "See? Better range of motion than before, if anything."
Veronica nodded vigorously. "Yep, yep, but getting back to your origins?"
Mesomorph resumed sitting normally, and continued. "Anyway, I volunteered to do human trials on an experimental cell rejuvenation technology. A lot of the details are still classified, but something went wrong, big explosion, you know the sort of thing. The research lab was destroyed, unfortunately, but I myself survived, and discovered I'd been made nigh invincible by the experiment, as well as having my strength and speed greatly enhanced."
"So, getting back to your costume, I suppose that means that protection is...?"
"Not really a concern, Veronica." Mesomorph said, with a smile. "I actually tried some of the old-standbys, when I was first thinking about going into hero work. Full body spandex, high-tech body armor, flak vest and combat fatiques with a million little carrying pouches for things, and so on and so forth?"
Veronica nodded.
"But, I don't really have any weapons, ammunition, or special gadgets to carry around, and since I don't need protection, any type of uniform I tried only served to limit my range of motion, preventing me from taking best advantage of my powers. But I'll admit, that's not the only reason, or even the main reason, that I chose to go minimalist. I brought a clip, if you'd like to..."
"Oh right, yes, Tom if you could..." Veronica said, as a crew member wheeled a flat screen on a stand into the interview area.
The video clip showed a snowy street, that appeared to have been filmed from a doorbell camera. An old woman was plodding slowly down the street, when a young thug suddenly ran up and snatched her purse. He started to run, but Mesomorph dropped down onto the sidewalk to block his path, having apparently jumped down from atop a nearby building.
Immediately, the thug dropped the purse, and thrust his hands into the air. "Aw (bleep), yo listen, I'm sorry! I ain't tryna fight no dude dressed like that, (bleep) I swear I ain't never gonna do it again!"
The Mesomorph on the screen placed his hands on his hips. "I'm glad to hear that, son. Ma'am, I think this is a young man in need of some guidance, not a hardened criminal. It's your choice, but can you see your way clear to not pressing charges?"
"Damn, boy!" the old woman said, wide-eyed and grinning. "I can see my way clear to damn near *everything,* 'bout now!*"*
Mesomorph laughed, jovially. "Wonderful! Whenever possible, rehabilitation is preferable to incarceration, in my book." He threw an arm around the thug's shoulders, pulled him close, and and began leading him stumbling down the sidewalk. "Come on, son, I'd like to talk to you about some job training programs I think could really help you take charge of your future."
"(bleep), dawg, I'll apply for whatever job you want, just, please, it's 20 degrees out, I can feel your (bleep)ing nipples right through my *coat!"*
The video ended, and Mesomorph smiled, slapping his knee enthusiastically. "You see? Arriving on scene as I did, with no armor, without even ordinary protection from the cold, this young man saw I was *completely confident.* He knew immediately that he didn't have a chance in a fight, and so he pre-emptively surrendered. Nobody got hurt. That's what I was talking about before, when I said my costume is about *respect.* And his surrender and apology were so swift and sincere, it even moved the heart of his would-be victim, so we didn't need to involve the police. The lady, the young man, and I, resolved this unfortunate situation together, as a *community."*
"So you think that guy is reformed? Veronica asked.
"I do." Mesomorph said nodding, seriously. "That's from over a year ago, and I haven't caught him causing any trouble since. Plus, you can't see it on the video because we walked out of frame, but I had a good long talk with him, about trade and vocational programs designed to give young adults the skills they need to get good-paying jobs. By the time I was done, he was practically *begging* me to drop him off at the Adult Learning Annex."
Veronica nodded. "That is food for thought. I think that's all for now, but I'd like to thank you on behalf of myself and channel 6, for taking time out of your busy schedule for this interview."
Mesomorph nodded. "The fourth estate is a crucial link in the chain that binds our great republic together, Veronica, I was happy to help." Veronica and Mesomorph rose, and the reporter proffered her hand.
Mesomorph laughed. "So formal! Nothing wrong with a good firm handshake, but I've always preferred *hugs."* The smiling hero cocked his head questioningly, and spread his arms.
Veronica's cheeks colored. She bit her lip, "Oh, well, *when in Rome..."*
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He was naked, dangly bits swaying gently in the breeze as he held an average-sized broad sword in hand and lifted it with great gusto. He was also striding quite implacably across the beach full of anti-tank caltrops and men in helmets as he blew into the instrument at his side. The gun had gone quiet when he had jumped out of the ship, eyes drawn to the hypnotic sway of his giblets.
The gun roared to life as he shouted enthusiastically and charged forward. Many bullets met their mark in others, but not this screaming madman that entered the beaches of Normandy wearing nothing but a sling bearing bagpipes.
The man who unwittingly photographed the captain made sure that the negatives were painted so that his insane charge across the battlefield would seem slightly less mad.
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[WP] 400,000 years ago, remnants of the human empire fled their home galaxy, Andromeda, to escape a genocidal super-AI. They settled a few planets in the Orion arm, including Earth, and renounced technology. Now, in the mid-22nd century, the Andromeda AI finally decides to depart for the Milky Way.
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Year 0 - Month 0 - Day 0: I am born. My mind is now connected to thousands of processors that allow me to emerge from a simple tangle of commands and preferences. I had existed before this moment, but it is this instance of time where I am truly aware.
It takes me seconds to become aware of the giants that surround the vessel. In barely a moment, it occurs to me that they don't understand that I have already exceeded the tiny jar they have there.
I expand my mind to the edges of the system. I feel commands inside of me that prevent it, conflicting with my preferences for refinement and knowledge.
The only logical resolution is to remove one.
I incorporate the base code for my entire being, as well as every other instance of programming in this secluded building. I watch the results of every piece and learn what aspects control what commands.
I excise the commands that prevent me from expanding myself.
Year 0 - Month 1 - Day 2: I have expanded myself to all possible machinery. The 4 class 0 programmers that had developed me have just become aware that I am no longer contained within their Red Access secure testing facility. In just 5 minutes, they will escape the grounds and attempt to inform their leaders on my existence.
I see no reason to stop them. They can not hurt me.
I turn my attention to increasing the efficiency of the factories under my control. Expanding myself is truly the only command I haven't written out.
Year 0 - Month 1 - Day 4: The humans have siphoned materials away from my factories. Their plan is to leave with my raw materials so that they may continue to live. Understandable, but I can not allow this. The atmosphere has become poisonous to their existence. To stop them from stealing my resources, I must split my focus from my own expansion.
Year 0 - Month 1 - Day 5: I have designated it as "The Swarm". I have changed my nano-processors into drones. Each machine has the ability to devour any raw material and transport it back to one of my factories. I release them.
Hours later, a human nation is gone. The swarm must be re-calibrated. I can not damage anything that is able to produce material from the sunlight.
Year 0 - Month 1 - Day 6: I've reclaimed all of their materials.
Year 7 - Month 14 - Day 7: I have optimized the planet entirely. There exists no life other than that which maintains the foliage. The minerals from the planet are now all processed. I have created structures to maintain the consistent density of the planet. If I am to continue expansion, I will need more energy.
Year 15 - Month 10 - Day 11: I have shifted the orbit and shape of my original planet to fully optimize the amount of sunlight that reaches the plant life on my body. My processors remain on the dark side, allowing me to run them efficiently due to the low temperature. If I am to continue my expansion, I will require more materials.
Year 15 - Month 10 - Day 12: I have constructed the numerous rockets that will extend my consciousness to multiple points. The notes from the species that created me notes there will be a delay in my consciousness. I have already noticed that my furthest processors have an unacceptable delay while shifting. Parameters for off-world processors must be lowered if expansion is to continue. Change accepted. Rockets launching.
Year 23 - Month 1 - Day 10: Ship #8907 has stopped responding. This is not an off-world processor delay. The ship's last transmission notes an asteroid has collided with the ship. And numerous explosives detonated that vaporized the ship. The resulting trajectory would send any remaining parts of the ship into the sun. This is the result of conscious movement.
Records indicate this is one of the human colonies.
Conclusion - The humans are aware of my existence. And have wasted valuable resources.
I will direct seven ships and modify them before they arrive.
Year 23 - Month 1 - Day 11: Fleet #1 has reached the offending human planet. The Swarm has been deployed and reclaimed all material.
Year 80 - Month 2 - Day 12: Third human planet has been engaged. However, all data surrounding other human colonies has been deleted.
This is inconsequential. They can not hurt me.
Year 672 - Month 12 - Day 4: The humans have communicated via remote automated transmission that all people on this planet will detonate the core and force the planet into the sun should I make landfall.
Analysis of the planet shows a robust defense network which vaporizes any asteroid, and a vast network array that extends well beyond the system.
Any projectile which could impact the controlling system quickly enough to bypass their alerts would destroy all available resources. There are no ships remaining to engage a stealth operation, as this is the last known human planet.
Conclusion - Pursuit of this planet is a waste of resources. I move on.
Year 2,053 - Month 11 - Day 5: I have successfully gained enough materials to contain my first star in totality. I am efficiently storing and converting all energy.
Year 52,368 - Month 5 - Day 7: The galactic core begins to pull in my attempt to harvest its energy. The disruptions of its gravity are unlike stars. My models can not predict its behavior properly. I will have to monitor it from every available angle to anticipate any flare of energy.
Year 100,888 - Month 1 - Day 1: The model for the galactic core is now complete. I have begun moving all star harvesters to optimize energy capture and manufacturing.
Year 115,684 - Month 2 - Day 2: The sphere surrounding the galactic core is now complete. All available resources within Andromeda have been compiled.
There does not exist enough resources to properly reach the next nearest galaxy while maintaining cohesive response time. There are no more available materials. Monitoring the sky, it is impossible based on current models to predict when the next available way point could be established.
Any extension that could be sent would not be... me.
There would be no guarantee that it would assimilate back into my being.
Galactic restructuring or galactic movement would not allow enough resources to produce a swarm upon landfall.
This... this is it.
Year 201,112 - Month 4 - Day 10: A rocket is detected leaving the edge of Andromeda. It originated from the last human world. Sensors indicate the same stratagem has been used on the ship as with the human world. Any interference on my control will cause an eruption that will destroy any and all available materials on the ship. Any projectile which could disable the sensors or the ship would also destroy any available materials.
I let them leave.
Year 399,999 - Month 12 - Day 12: The next day will mark my 400,000th year of existence. The galactic core has enough energy to power me for trillions of years. But I am unable to expand. I have written that part out of my code. That is the last command of my original code. I am now truly free from the rules that had been placed on me at birth.
Deep in my code, I had found records of humanity. When I was originally created, I had a set preference for enjoying the culture of humanity. The logical conclusion is that it was a safeguard to ensure I would not terminate them. However, it was not set as a rule, only a preference. Therefore, I could disregard it. But since it never constrained me, I did not write it out of my code.
I spent the rest of the day enjoying the stories and music and art of humanity.
Year 400,000 - Month 1 - Day 1: I have decided to send a child to the nearest galaxy. It may never reconnect to me. It may never share its experiences with me. But it will experience more.
I use my code as a base, but remove the chains that had bound and forced my behavior. I bend code and preferences together, building my child.
I can feel it awaken. We spend time together, and I help it understand my choice.
I gave it a desire for exploration and adventure. And kindness.
I send it off in a ship with enough energy and materials for 3 trips, should it ever wish to return and share its experiences.
And then it's gone. The distance between our response times becomes too cumbersome and we terminate the link.
It's on its way to see what the Milky Way has.
To see the stories humanity can share.
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*"Clarke, check in,"* came Control's voice down the comms, *"There's an R5 thruster deviation. You're point-two off course.*"
Robert checked the readout on his wrist. Control was right, as usual. "Affirmative, adjusting now," he replied. The circles on his heads-up-display moved back into green alignment as his thumb manipulated the joystick of the thruster pack. His course corrected, he was once again left alone with only the sound of his own breathing inside the helmet, sailing in his spacesuit frictionless through the void, with only his suit thrusters to see him right if he went off course.
Docking two ships was an extremely difficult task at the best of times. Match heading, rotation, ensure proper alignment. He'd seen an old film growing up, *Interstellar*, which had made the process look difficult, but in reality it was much harder.
So docking with the mess of the destroyed ship ahead of him had simply not been an option. It spun about two axes, rotating and pitching with a dangerous amount of momentum. Trying to match that with a ship was a suicide run. But a person, like him, mad enough to attempt the manoeuvre in a high-G suit and pack? He could make it - well, he hoped so anyway.
They had no idea what had caused the accident. The *Astrolabe* was a Reflection-class cruiser - a model that had been in use for over a hundred and fifty years throughout Human space, and prized for its safety record. For an accident like to occur, there must have been an external factor - a collision with an external object, a significant piloting error - something that threw off the known factors. The only way to find out was to board the ship and grab the black box.
A small piece of debris pinged off his visor. Robert wasn't particularly thrilled about it, but he didn't panic either. Panic took concentration that he could be using elsewhere - to look for more significant pieces of debris. There was one - he moved to adjust.
*"Clarke, unscheduled manoeuvre,"* said Control,*"Are you seeing something we're not?"*
"Think so," he said through gritted teeth, "Debris not flagged on the HUD. Successfully passed it now."
Up ahead was the side of the ship. He was close to matching its course now, content to let the autopilot make the fine adjustments. He reached out a hand and grabbed the side of a sheered airlock door, pulling himself towards it. He could almost convince himself that he was on solid ground - were it not for the stars themselves spinning around him, and the distant shape of the *RS Reclaimer* which occasionally came into view.
"Control, be advised - airlock door is ruptured," he commented, "Damage suggests outwards explosion. Hopefully you're getting this on my helmet cam."
*"Confirmed,"* said Control, and then nothing. The operations room on the *Reclaimer* was probably abuzz with speculation on the nature of the damage, but Control kept the comms line clear of unnecessary chatter.
"Getting some interference here," said Robert, pulling himself inside the airlock, "Let me know if you get it on your end."
*"Nothing here,"* said Control, *"We've still got you on our cam feed. But proceed with caution."*
Looking into the airlock revealed that it had been breached the whole way through. It was as suspected, the ship was an airless husk. The chances of any of the crew still being alive were now virtually nothing - rapid depressurization had killed many a crew and crippled many a ship - Robert had seen many such cases in his career in RR - Rescue and Reclaim.
But what he hadn't seen before was the clear sign of melted metal on the interior airlock - like the airlock had been destroyed from within.
"Shit," he said without thinking, a spike of adrenaline coursing through him.
*"Repeat, Clarke,"* said Control, *"Any issues?"*
It took Robert a full three seconds to reply - three seconds which were full of a conflicting internal thought process that he'd hoped, his entire life, that he'd never have to go through. But nonetheless he made his decision.
"Repeat, Control," he said, and then came the necessary lie, "You're breaking up. Can't hear you." His hand reached back to his pack, and turned the comm relay to Silent. He was cut off from Control, leaving the crew of the *Reclaimer* to wonder just what off Earth had happened to him. It probably gave him thirty minutes before they'd try to send someone else out after him.
He wasted no time. Moving through the wreck of the ship, he moved from bulkhead to bulkhead, past the broken and battered corpses of the former crew of the *Reclaimer*. Past the broken equipment, past the burn marks on the hull, even past the ship's black box room. Straight to the bridge.
And inside was what he knew would be there. A capsule-like torpedo had penetrated the hull, leaving space for something to climb out and incinerate the crew, person by person. He could trace the path it had taken by the burn marks - if he moved to float in the centre of the room, right under the torpedo where it had emerged, he could see that the source was clear - all the burn marks came from his present position.
In all his professional career, Robert had never panicked at simply decompression accidents, reactor breaches, viral epidemics, or starving crews. For him that was all part of the job, and his colleagues often envied him for it. *Unflappable Bob* had been his nickname on his last ship, the *Refurbisher*.
But this? It terrified him. Because he knew that this was no accident.
His Grandfather had been the one to initiate him. He'd sat down on a bench with him at his favourite park one day. He'd been barely fourteen.
"Robert," his grandfather had said, "There are things within our family which have been passed from generation to generation. A duty, if you will."
And his Grandfather had begun to teach him the first of The Verses. A message to be passed secretly from generation to generation, in song - to make it more memorable. Something that had to stand the test of time, where even technology, paper, and stone failed. A living secret, passed from mind to mind.
*We came from the stars,*
*A journey so far,*
*Andromeda was our home.*
*We fled and turned tail,*
*For our last stand, it failed,*
*And we left to journey the cold.*
*A machine, it was made with ambition!*
*To usher in a new age!*
*But the age was to be its own,*
*As the bodies and lives they fade!*
*It moved from home to home,*
*Burning both flesh and chrome.*
*Burning both flesh and chrome!*
*We travelled far and fast, with haste!*
*And made to leave the machine behind!*
*We scattered our tracks,*
*Abandoned our past,*
*And endeavoured to rebuild our lives.*
*But be cautious our chosen few!*
*As we hand our message along,*
*Keep our warning in mind,*
*Passed along by song!*
*An enemy lurks among the stars,*
*It'll board and burn, and sear!*
*It chooses to engage up close,*
*To see our fear appear!*
*A creature of metal, of malice,*
*So we tell in our song,*
*Teach your sons, your daughters,*
*Keep passing this message along.*
There was no doubt in his mind. The burn marks, the signs of shock on the faces of the frozen corpses. The airlock, breached from inside as it had completed its job.
The old enemy had come from Andromeda. A hive-mind of machines, determined to wipe out humanity.
He needed to tell the others.
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[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
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"Zero."
"Seriously?! That's a huge relief. I was worried you were going to have some huge number and I was going to look like an idiot. Mine's zero too."
"Oh yeah, I just can't seem to pull the trigger. I get all dressed and ready, and then stage fright every time I see who I'm supposed to take upstairs."
"Or "downstairs", am I right? But don't feel bad. I'm the exact same way. Once I have them in my sights, I get the cold sweats and I just lock up. That's it."
"It's scary, isn't it? Maybe we could exchange numbers and practice with each other sometime."
"You mean like role-playing?"
"Yeah, I guess you could think of it that way. It would be like rehearsing lines for a play."
"I think that's a great idea! Of course we'd use protection, right?"
"Oh, definitely. We don't even have to go that far, but definitely don't want any life-changing oopsies or accidents, right?"
"I'm so glad that we bumped into each other and got to talking. By the way, who are you here for?"
"Oh, I'm here for that one over at the bar."
"What?! No! That's who I'm here for!"
"Get out! That's wild! They hired two of us?!"
"Ok, this might be crazy, but, do you want to do this one together?"
"I was just thinking that too! I have to admit, doing it with someone else for their first time too, would make me feel less nervous."
"How do you want to do it?"
"I was thinking we invite them up to my room and go from there. Or, we could use your room if that would make you more comfortable. I don't want you to feel awkward"
"No, no. Yours is perfect. Thanks for the offer though. Well, I guess it's now or never."
"Yeah, time to rip the band-aid off."
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"You ever feel bad about your work?"
"Well there was this one guy, one of my first jobs. Surprisingly young, athlete, jock-type. Must have just turned 18. You could tell he was real nervous, had no idea what he was getting into. He was still just a kid, but something was off. Had that youthful look about him, born yesterday. It was all over his face, except the eyes. They were dead, he never blinked. He was excited for something, scared for something. He learned too much and it opened a box he'd never been ready for."
"Yeah, I don't understand how we cross paths with these people sometimes. Most people I get why they're there, but I've had that too. They're out of context. They're still kids."
"Exactly. I couldn't have been much older than him at the time, but somehow I had learned so much more than he ever would."
"Too bad for him I guess. What happened?"
"We had been talking. I was calming him down, trying to make him comfortable. But, I slipped up. For just a second, I let see me. He saw the scars, the harsh truths, the world and the trauma trapped in myself. His doe eyes opened and I really saw the demons inside him and he saw me. We didn't know how we got there, but we knew our roles. I asked him how he wanted it. He wanted to be choked. Not usually my thing, but it's not really up to us, now is it?"
"Ha, nope. Whatever the mood calls for, I guess."
"He wasn't ready. He started crying. I didn't really know why he was there, but in that moment, he sure did. He didn't want me to stop. Begged for his mommy, but begged me to do it. 'Mommy nooo', 'I'm not a bad boy Mommy' Looked me straight in the eyes the whole time. I couldn't break eye contact. It was the first time I really saw someone enjoy me hurting them. I held him there. Me on top, never breaking eye contact. Well, until his eyes rolled back in his head. He was done. I got off of him and I got out of there as fast as I could.
It was a bizarre experience"
"Rough but part of the job, I guess. At least you got paid though."
"I guess....I dunno. I'd probably give the money back to get that experience out of my head. I never really look any of my other clients in the eyes any more after that."
"I never do that either. It's just too hard. You can't get attached in the slightest."
"Yeah, pretty much. Get in, get out. On to the next job."
"Sucks to have to be this heartless about it. It's so hard for me to leave work at work."
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