post_text stringlengths 0 10k | post_title stringlengths 8 313 | chosen stringlengths 1 39.5k | rejected stringlengths 1 13.8k |
|---|---|---|---|
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | Sam’s tavern is comfortable, much better than that dark, molding dungeon. I’m glad he took me from there, even though I was trying to hide from him when he found me. It was a good disguise, too: Just a wooden, rickety old chair. But I bet I stuck out like a sore thumb among all that sparkling treasure. Now I have the seat of honor, right next to the bar, where the most food spillage is. It’s good food, too, which is high praise for a tavern known for its liquor.
I didn’t mean to wind up in the dungeon. I was a poor, lost mimic, dumb enough to be tantalized by things that sparkle. So, I wound up in a dungeon. Cold, hungry, and scared, I hid from Sam when he burst in boisterously. He took a strange interest in me, and in my fright I let him bring me with him, too frozen to do anything about it. I would’ve escaped by now, but the tavern is actually a pretty nice place to be. What more can a helpless little monster like me ask for than shelter, warm food, and routine baths?
The people here are pretty interesting, too. There are the regulars, some of whom are *so* regular that I’ve come to know and love them as much as I do Sam. Kathy, for example, used to tend the tavern when Sam went out adventuring, and Hugh comes every night to sit on me and have long, energetic conversations with Sam. There are also the people who are passing through; travelers wear all sorts of colorful clothes and jewelry and perfume, and their tongues are beautiful, every one of them.
I’m grateful to Sam, I really am. I’ve even learned language thanks to all my years with him. He’s an old man now, his adventuring days over, so it’s just him and I and the customers, and his wife, Kathy.
We’ve closed for the day, and Sam bustles around, wiping down the counters and washing dishes as he hums an old song. Suddenly, a window shatters, a stone landing in front of me. More windows break, and glass rains down. The tavern’s being raided. I want to help, but what can I, a simple chair, do?
Sam exclaims in surprise, and hobbles as quickly as he can to a wall where his old adventuring sword is mounted. “I’ve missed ya, old friend,” he tells it, and looks at his reflection in its polished surface. “Just you and me again, like old times, eh?” With a loud grunt, he heaves it up into a fighting stance, his face ferocious as an elderly tavern keeper’s face can be.
The thieves rush in; they wear black clothes and wield a variety of weapons, from maces to axes to meat cleavers. “Alright, ya ruffians!!” Sam bellows. “Ya want my liquor, my money, ya gotta get through me first!”
A few thieves laugh, but otherwise the man is completely ignored.
“Not gonna listen, eh?” Sam says, half to himself. Then he shouts, “Well, I’m gonna make ya listen!!” He charges at the thief closest to the bar and swings his sword with clear expertise. Unfortunately, his muscles have gotten weak and his bones brittle. He’s easily dodged, and a blow with the hilt of an ax knocks him to the ground. “Why, damn you…” Sam mumbles, and he struggles to return to his feet.
The girl with the ax calls out to her friends. “Hey, guys. There’s an old man here, but I think he’s alone,” she says.
Her friends walk up beside her, and a group forms, looming over Sam.
“I’d feel bad if we hurt him,” someone says. “Can’t we just take the goods and leave?”
“But he’s kind of a nuisance,” another responds. “And he tried to attack May.”
“He’s good with a sword, too.” the first girl says. “I can tell by the way he held it.”
Sam manages to stand, the hilt of his sword in hand while the end rests on the floorboards. “Damn right I am,” he says, panting. “And I’ll defend this place to my last breath if I have ta.” He starts to raise his weapon, but all it takes is one kick and he’s sent sprawling back down.
The man who kicked him walks over to my poor, sweet Sam and places his dirty shoe on his back. I watch it all, seething silently.
“Hey, Layla,” the man shouts. “What do you think we should do about this guy?”
The crowd parts and a tall woman wearing a tight ponytail appears. Her boots clack with each step. She bends down in front of Sam and grips his face tightly, forces him to look at her. “Listen up. We’re taking all your finest alcohol and your money, whether you like it or not. Now, you can either cooperate and show us where the good stuff is, or you can make yourself at home under Skyler’s boot.” Even from here, I can see that her stare is infuriating: hard and cold, with a glint of smug enjoyment. “Which will it be?”
In response, Sam spits on her boot.
Layla presses his face into the ground and stands. “The floor it is, then,” she says. Geez, what a heartless monster.
Maybe I could help. I mean, I know I can, but Sam has thought I’m a chair this whole time. Wouldn’t I give him a heart attack and kill him or something?
The thieves are behind the bar, filling their duffel bags with liquor. Sam grunts and squirms and protests, to no avail.
Okay, the truth is, I *could* help, but what if Sam gets rid of me when he finds out what I really am? There, I said it. That’s what I’m really afraid of.
Sam reaches for his sword, but Skyler kicks it away. The metal clatters noisily.
I need to build the courage. Okay, I’m gonna do this. I’m gonna do this *now*. No, that didn’t work. Maybe a count down’ll help. 3… 2… 1… Now! Ugh, I can’t!
“Hey, Layla,” one of the thieves calls. She walks over to where the thief holds a bottle, one with a ribbon tied around it. Her steps go *click*, *clack*, *click*, *clack*.
She observes the bottle closely, and they converse a bit before she decides, “We’re taking this for ourselves.” Heads turn to acknowledge her words. “We’re partying tonight!” she announces. A cheer goes up, hoots and hollers and slaps on the back.
I remember when a close friend gifted Sam that bottle some years ago upon returning from his travels. I think that was the last time we saw him.
Layla orders the thieves to find other bottles like it--old and foreign--for their party. Sam goes limp. It looks like he’s given up, and he sounds tired when he says, “Help me…”
I take a deep breath, hold it, and release it with a cry. “Sam, I’m here for you!!”
Eyes squeezed shut, I feel my old, stiff muscles warm up and my tendons stretch as I change shape for the first time in fifty years. I knock Skylar off his feet as I latch myself onto Sam. I've transformed myself into a suit of armor, one that can protect the old adventurer and make him stronger at the same time.
Only when Sam is standing do I open my eyes, and it’s not until then that I realize the commotion I’ve caused. The room is in a clamor, all eyes turned on me. The thieves ready their weapons and wait for direction. Skylar glares at us, and Layla smiles from amidst the crowd.
I speak. I only mean for Sam to hear me, but it seems the whole room does. “Sorry to spring on ya, pal.” My voice is garbled from decades of disuse. “Quite literally. But I’m on your side.”
Sam nods, surprisingly calm. “I know,” he says. But it’s what he says next that surprises me the most. “I’ve been waitin’ for ya, old friend.” | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Edgar sat back in his favorite chair, the one passed down from his father, and his father's father before him. It wasn't a particularly special chair, though it was a nice mahogany, or so he thought. He'd kept up on the finish, made sure to check and make sure the legs and their cross-sections were secure. It had survived so many accidents in it's life in their family.
The butt of a silly joke of his grandfather's, he'd delved deep into a vampire's lair, him a few of his comrades had found themselves face to face with the fiend, who had kidnapped townsfolk to feed on and make his own thralls. Vampire sat across them from a long-table in this very chair, lips and chin soaked in dried blood, the bastard apparently didn't even clean himself up after a meal, as was apparent also by the random dried splatters and the smells of death.
No sooner did the vampire stand... did he crack his knee on the table, losing his balance and falling back, breaking the top of the chair off as he fell... and impaled himself on the jagged remains of the left post of it... the chair had killed the vampire! After everything was said and done, his grandfather couldn't leave the 'hero' behind, and removed the wretch from it as he and his allies laughed, taking turns carrying it all the way up.
He spent weeks finding the right wood and materials... and swore that when he went to grab it from the shed, it was already fixed! as if nothing had happened. Assuming it to just be a well-meant prank from one of those who knew about it, it was brought into the house.
Seventy years later, and now in Edgar's possession, it's place of residence was his grandfather's inn and Tavern. The chair was a particular part of a fun party game couples would play, the drunk among them saying they could feel a thump under their arse if their soulmate was before them. Edgar merely thought it was the younger patrons trying to have a laugh, but it was all in good fun.
It was late in the evening, most patrons had left, or gone to their rooms, and it was just Edgar, his wife Henrietta, and a local boy, Terry, hired as a dishwasher, but more of a son the both couldn't have, Henrietta being unable to conceive. Edgar pulled the glasses from his face, wiping them clean. "That lot was a handful tonight, but we made some heavy coin." he smiled. Henrietta carried over the ledger, pouring over the numbers, the more business minded of the two, Edgar was more of a people person, getting along with folks and creatures from all walks of life. "I guess it helps that we let the kobolds in too." he chuckled.
As Henrietta neared, Edgar felt a thump beneath his chair, looking down. "Hmm? Nah... couldn't..." he was cut off as there was a louder thump, the sound of the door slamming open and a crossbow-bolt nearly hitting his leg, sailing into the bar behind him. "The hell's going on?" he yelled, standing quickly, looking to his wife and Terry to hide, as he ran behind the bar, grasping for the mace he kept hidden, the cobwebs lifting from it a tell he'd never had to use it.
Shaky hands held the mace as he peeked up over the bar, noticing several leather-bound brigands from the nearby forest enter. They laughed as they entered, a larger one making a point to slam his axe into the door, several others entering and knocking things from shelves, gathering what they thought would sell. "We saw ya, now just give us that pretty lady and your coin and maybe we'll let you live." a gruff voice spoke, clearly the leader of this little group.
Edgar's hand gripped the mace tightly. He'd never surrender his wife, and he knew he'd die, but if he distracted them, Terry and Henrietta could escape out the back, so he thought. His thought, however, was ripped from his mind from the sudden blood curdling scream that echoed through the tavern. One of them just lay in the middle of the floor, a bloody stump where his leg once was, nothing else around, no sign of an attacker, just a chair.
"The hell happened?" the leader spoke, attention turning to the brigand who was now going into shock, pointing at the chair as the color was draining from his body as fast as the blood from his leg. The leader growled angrily. "The shit does this chair have to do with it?!" he said, angrily kicking the piece of furniture... until he was screaming too as the dimensions around the chair seemed to warp, engulfing his leg in a world of vicious razor-sharp teeth, collapsing around his leg and tearing through it as if it wasn't even there.
"BOSS! W-what is that..." More screams rang out. Edgar peered over the bar, wide-eyed as the chair he was sitting in not seconds ago was now... alive? and growling menacingly, warping it's frame into sharp wooden tendrils that grasped and tore limbs gruesomely, the leader and several others were dead and in pieces, now being fed into the maw that seemed to flow through the material to where it was needed. If it weren't for the many tales of adventurers and the stories of mimics and their like, Edgar would have sworn himself mad at the sight of it.
The crackling of wood piercing bone as one was pierced through his chest, the limb expanding as if it were a frog's neck, torturously creating a cavity through which the maw flowed freely to devour his body from the inside out, the last of the two would-be burglars screaming as they fled out of the door, covered in what little blood remained from their crew.
Almost as quickly as it had changed, the extra limbs and maw of the mimic pulled back and reformed into the chair he knew, not even a spot of blood on it. Still gripping the mace in hand, he carefully approached. "H-hey now... E-erm... y-you're not going to do that to me... right?" he said. the chair didn't budge... and despite his better judgement, he approached it, carefully resting his hand on it.
No longer hearing any sounds, both Henrietta and Terry emerged from the back room. "E-edgar! You're alive... What happened? W-where did they go?" Henrietta asked. Edgar turned and embraced her, hugging her tight before stepping back.
"I... er..." Edgar tried to gather his thoughts. "Well... you see... the big guy tripped over the chair and..." he continued, weaving another tale about the would-be hero of a chair. | Sam’s tavern is comfortable, much better than that dark, molding dungeon. I’m glad he took me from there, even though I was trying to hide from him when he found me. It was a good disguise, too: Just a wooden, rickety old chair. But I bet I stuck out like a sore thumb among all that sparkling treasure. Now I have the seat of honor, right next to the bar, where the most food spillage is. It’s good food, too, which is high praise for a tavern known for its liquor.
I didn’t mean to wind up in the dungeon. I was a poor, lost mimic, dumb enough to be tantalized by things that sparkle. So, I wound up in a dungeon. Cold, hungry, and scared, I hid from Sam when he burst in boisterously. He took a strange interest in me, and in my fright I let him bring me with him, too frozen to do anything about it. I would’ve escaped by now, but the tavern is actually a pretty nice place to be. What more can a helpless little monster like me ask for than shelter, warm food, and routine baths?
The people here are pretty interesting, too. There are the regulars, some of whom are *so* regular that I’ve come to know and love them as much as I do Sam. Kathy, for example, used to tend the tavern when Sam went out adventuring, and Hugh comes every night to sit on me and have long, energetic conversations with Sam. There are also the people who are passing through; travelers wear all sorts of colorful clothes and jewelry and perfume, and their tongues are beautiful, every one of them.
I’m grateful to Sam, I really am. I’ve even learned language thanks to all my years with him. He’s an old man now, his adventuring days over, so it’s just him and I and the customers, and his wife, Kathy.
We’ve closed for the day, and Sam bustles around, wiping down the counters and washing dishes as he hums an old song. Suddenly, a window shatters, a stone landing in front of me. More windows break, and glass rains down. The tavern’s being raided. I want to help, but what can I, a simple chair, do?
Sam exclaims in surprise, and hobbles as quickly as he can to a wall where his old adventuring sword is mounted. “I’ve missed ya, old friend,” he tells it, and looks at his reflection in its polished surface. “Just you and me again, like old times, eh?” With a loud grunt, he heaves it up into a fighting stance, his face ferocious as an elderly tavern keeper’s face can be.
The thieves rush in; they wear black clothes and wield a variety of weapons, from maces to axes to meat cleavers. “Alright, ya ruffians!!” Sam bellows. “Ya want my liquor, my money, ya gotta get through me first!”
A few thieves laugh, but otherwise the man is completely ignored.
“Not gonna listen, eh?” Sam says, half to himself. Then he shouts, “Well, I’m gonna make ya listen!!” He charges at the thief closest to the bar and swings his sword with clear expertise. Unfortunately, his muscles have gotten weak and his bones brittle. He’s easily dodged, and a blow with the hilt of an ax knocks him to the ground. “Why, damn you…” Sam mumbles, and he struggles to return to his feet.
The girl with the ax calls out to her friends. “Hey, guys. There’s an old man here, but I think he’s alone,” she says.
Her friends walk up beside her, and a group forms, looming over Sam.
“I’d feel bad if we hurt him,” someone says. “Can’t we just take the goods and leave?”
“But he’s kind of a nuisance,” another responds. “And he tried to attack May.”
“He’s good with a sword, too.” the first girl says. “I can tell by the way he held it.”
Sam manages to stand, the hilt of his sword in hand while the end rests on the floorboards. “Damn right I am,” he says, panting. “And I’ll defend this place to my last breath if I have ta.” He starts to raise his weapon, but all it takes is one kick and he’s sent sprawling back down.
The man who kicked him walks over to my poor, sweet Sam and places his dirty shoe on his back. I watch it all, seething silently.
“Hey, Layla,” the man shouts. “What do you think we should do about this guy?”
The crowd parts and a tall woman wearing a tight ponytail appears. Her boots clack with each step. She bends down in front of Sam and grips his face tightly, forces him to look at her. “Listen up. We’re taking all your finest alcohol and your money, whether you like it or not. Now, you can either cooperate and show us where the good stuff is, or you can make yourself at home under Skyler’s boot.” Even from here, I can see that her stare is infuriating: hard and cold, with a glint of smug enjoyment. “Which will it be?”
In response, Sam spits on her boot.
Layla presses his face into the ground and stands. “The floor it is, then,” she says. Geez, what a heartless monster.
Maybe I could help. I mean, I know I can, but Sam has thought I’m a chair this whole time. Wouldn’t I give him a heart attack and kill him or something?
The thieves are behind the bar, filling their duffel bags with liquor. Sam grunts and squirms and protests, to no avail.
Okay, the truth is, I *could* help, but what if Sam gets rid of me when he finds out what I really am? There, I said it. That’s what I’m really afraid of.
Sam reaches for his sword, but Skyler kicks it away. The metal clatters noisily.
I need to build the courage. Okay, I’m gonna do this. I’m gonna do this *now*. No, that didn’t work. Maybe a count down’ll help. 3… 2… 1… Now! Ugh, I can’t!
“Hey, Layla,” one of the thieves calls. She walks over to where the thief holds a bottle, one with a ribbon tied around it. Her steps go *click*, *clack*, *click*, *clack*.
She observes the bottle closely, and they converse a bit before she decides, “We’re taking this for ourselves.” Heads turn to acknowledge her words. “We’re partying tonight!” she announces. A cheer goes up, hoots and hollers and slaps on the back.
I remember when a close friend gifted Sam that bottle some years ago upon returning from his travels. I think that was the last time we saw him.
Layla orders the thieves to find other bottles like it--old and foreign--for their party. Sam goes limp. It looks like he’s given up, and he sounds tired when he says, “Help me…”
I take a deep breath, hold it, and release it with a cry. “Sam, I’m here for you!!”
Eyes squeezed shut, I feel my old, stiff muscles warm up and my tendons stretch as I change shape for the first time in fifty years. I knock Skylar off his feet as I latch myself onto Sam. I've transformed myself into a suit of armor, one that can protect the old adventurer and make him stronger at the same time.
Only when Sam is standing do I open my eyes, and it’s not until then that I realize the commotion I’ve caused. The room is in a clamor, all eyes turned on me. The thieves ready their weapons and wait for direction. Skylar glares at us, and Layla smiles from amidst the crowd.
I speak. I only mean for Sam to hear me, but it seems the whole room does. “Sorry to spring on ya, pal.” My voice is garbled from decades of disuse. “Quite literally. But I’m on your side.”
Sam nods, surprisingly calm. “I know,” he says. But it’s what he says next that surprises me the most. “I’ve been waitin’ for ya, old friend.” | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | The chair wasn’t really having it.
It felt like the normal type of robbery. I’ve had lots of those. The robber was a bit more carefree than usual, so I assumed it was an amateur or something, and I was quite prepared to take care of it myself. And then she whipped out this scroll I’ve never seen before in my life, and all of a sudden I was stuck in place. In retrospect, that must’ve been some sort of paralysis, but I’ve never really been the spell guy, so to hell with you if you wanna know its name. All I know is I couldn’t move. It felt like I was being held in place rather than frozen, but that doesn’t matter to me when I can’t swing the damn axe.
Now, for the record, it’s not like I’ve never seen a spell scroll, or paralysis spells. Senne used to have a few of those. I liked the more destructive ones better, like the one where there was fire everywhere, but I have to admit she had some finesse. There was a time where we were taken by surprise out in the open. I have absolutely no idea how Lennites hadn’t realized those sabertooths were there, but Senne acted fast. She threw something onto the ground and all of a sudden we were inside a full-fledged fortress. Damn cool. I always liked her - shame she took a vow of chastity. But my point is I was taken by surprise - I’m certain I could’ve reacted better if I knew she had the scroll. But I gotta give it to her. Must’ve invested some good money in robbery, however that works.
Anyway, I was stuck, and the damn woman just ignored me from that point on. Moved on to filling her sac with my stuff. How do you ignore a half-awake half-orc frozen in place holding a half-raised axe wearing a half-surprised face inside a half-destroyed bar, I have no idea. Don’t worry about the last bit, I was drunk, and Senne is gonna come later today to fix it, she doesn’t seem to mind not having any teeth anymore. I couldn’t do anything for the life of me. Don’t know what was wrong with me. Guess I was so surprised I just couldn’t concentrate hard enough to break free. Age didn’t help, I’ve been having trouble staying focused lately. Missed 2 targets last practice. But she ignored me! I wasn’t gonna have it.
Well, turns out the chair was a lot better than me at not having stuff.
It was the kind of super fancy chair with all the swirls. Found it in some mansion. There was nothing left in the mansion except some zombies, so I guessed nobody would mind if I took it. I hate seeing that kind of thing, so it wakes me up in the morning when those damn lion-pawed legs are the first thing I see. Either that or I sit on it - it’s very comfortable, I have to admit. I don’t know of anybody who didn’t like sitting on it. It fits everyone perfectly, which I guess now I should’ve found suspicious given I’m a half-orc and that dude was literally a fourth of my size, but I’ve never really thought much about chairs.
Well, the robber tried throwing it into that sac like she did everything else - must’ve been a Bag of Holding, Tam had one - and it didn’t take too well to that. Kicked her in the guts, sent her flying across the room. Beautiful strike, my mentor back home would’ve been applauding. I’ve heard of mimics, but I thought they were supposed to be aggressive or something. If the thing made a move earlier, I would’ve splintered it, but seeing as I was frozen I had time to think. Not like I had any chance of concentrating now that my chairs started walking. That thing could’ve gobbled me or any of my customers up at any point and my brain didn’t like that. And I know for a fact it could’ve because it gobbled her up. No idea where she went, but it didn’t even make it gruesome. I would’ve liked it better that way, but I’m not complaining to a seemingly passive carnivorous chair.
I thawed the moment she disappeared into that no-stomach thing the chair had. I’m not gonna think too hard about where its food goes, so don’t push me. Turns out the thing knew a little Common, so we had a little talk. It said it “am like being sit”, which I assumed meant it enjoyed being sat on. It also left me the Bag, which seemed to have some expensive stuff in it, so extra gold for a good few months. Well, it didn’t seem to have any intentions of ruining my business. Nobody would wanna come drink if they knew there was a mimic just casually sitting here. So I’m not gonna tell anyone.
Just another surprise for the burglars to take in.
(A story my friend wrote and was too lazy to post himself, so credit goes to him) | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | Am I able to disguise myself as something else, or am I just a chair? If I'm just a chair:
The ruffians entered the tavern, with all the chairs and stools put away, except... one. In the middle of the room, next to one of the largest tables, there was a normal chair. The ruffians looked at it, perplexed, and decided it had to be special somehow, but why a chair? It looked normal enough, except the positioning in the room...
As the ruffians talked about who should take what, one person snuck closer to the chair, let out a muffled grunt, and the group never saw him again. The ruffians searched the tavern, but didn't find anything, just a scrap of the missing member's shirt under the table. They ran, not knowing what else to do, having heard rumors about the tavern owner being a reckless, yet insanely powerful, adventurer.
________________________________________________
Perhaps a little basic, but I haven't done any of these before, and I don't want to write an entire book here. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | The first things I can remember were steel bars and a wooden cart. I hadn't yet grown enough to control my form, and could only take the instinctual shape of a chest. As the darkness passed and the sun rose, a man in a flamboyant robe and top hat appeared and began peddling.
"Come one, come all, see the magnificent transforming creature!" he would proclaim as townsfolk would pass by on the road.
After many rounds of this speech, a sizeable group of all ages had amassed peering through the bars at my seemingly normal appearance. The man, satisfied with his audience, grabbed a branding iron from his bellows and approached the front of the carriage. He reached through the bars and pressed it against my flesh causing me to contort and writhe from the searing pain.
"Witness the innocent appearance of this foul beast disappear as soon as it is provoked," he yelled, barely audible over my screams of pain.
Instead of empathy for my pain, the mob erupted in cheers and praises as they shoveled over their coins into the absurd tophat of my captor. This continued for weeks, with larger and larger crowds coming from across the lands to view my torture.
However, one night everything changed. After the sun had set, I heard a rattling from the door at the end of the carriage, followed by a *click click click* as the door swung open. As the pale moonlight crept in, I saw the figure of a boy standing at the door. I braced myself for the torture to come, yet it didn't.
"Come on, you're free now," he whispered as he left the door frame.
I scraped my way out of the carriage and into the neighboring woods where I stayed for the coming years feasting on animals and learning about my talents. One night on a visit back to town, I saw the same boy from that day. Suddenly, I felt a sense of debt to my silent savior. I made it my mission to return the favor.
I took many forms over the years: a table in his home, a rock in his yard, and most recently a chair in his tavern. My life in the tavern was all that I could ask for. I got to hear wonderful music and hear tales from adventurers near and far that would stop for a drink and a place to rest. I was nourished by the sloppy drunks who would spill their foods and drinks. Most importantly, I could stay close to the man. I watched as he grew and developed his family with a wife and two kids, unfortunately, I also watched as his youth petered away and his daily tasks became harder and harder. Although his body aged, his soul stayed the same kind and thoughtful one that saved me on that fateful night. He always allowed the less fortunate to stay in the tavern's empty rooms and gave them a warm meal.
Tragically. as often happens, his kindness was taken advantage of. One day near dusk, a group of local urchins busted their way through the tavern's doors with their broadswords drawn. Grabbing his family and yelling for all of his gold in exchange for their lives. I knew this was my moment to repay my eternal debt. As the ruffians turned their back to me, I leaped towards the first one, ripping their head clean off. The others turned to run but weren't faster than my claws as I slashed through them. Once my frenzy was done, I saw the fear on the family's face and it wasn't until the man saw the brandings covering my skin did he realize what I was. Although I can't talk, we shared an understanding at that moment, I had not forgotten his kindness and would never leave his family's side. My life stayed as it was before as a silent protector of the family, however, the kids made sure to slip me leftover food and water instead of the scraps I would eat before. | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | The mimic watches quietly from a short distance. Ensuring it is between the ruffians and the elderly adventurer. As the ruffians cautiously round the bar, seeking an advantage over the slower adventurer, the mimic creeps imperceptibly towards the exit. Laying a trap for the unsuspecting ruffians.
It knows the elderly adventurer is intelligent enough not to engage. They have spent this many years avoiding detrimental conflict, why would they change tack now. They do however have a secret, unbeknownst even to the mimic.
Over the years they have been observing the mimic. Never seeing anything definite, more of a suspicion than anything. They 'believe' their souvenir is infact sentient.
It has been the little things. Falling over when the angry client arrived. Appearing freshly preened when the regular beauty arrives.
As the ruffians attempt to leave, the mimic leaps into action. Never harming the ruffians, but imposing its rule over their movement. Like a trained python, immobilising the ruffians.
The elderly adventurer turned bartender slowly approaches. Nervous, but confident.
They exclaim "My sincerest apologies, but you seem to have run afoul of my friend here! Can I be if service?" as they traverse the now open floor. "Or would you prefer me to arrange a ride home, of course leaving my possessions..?" Stated with a wry grin only the mimic could understand.
The mimic cautiously released one of the ruffians hands, allowing him to return the satchel of cash.
The instant the satchel hit the floor, the mimic released a kind of screeching, clicking sound and propelled the ruffians out the door into the cold winter night.
It is said you can still find the elderly adventurer, sitting along side an empty stool in his tavern. No one truely knows why they insist the stool remain empty, but if you pay close attention, you can detect the subtlest of movements emanating from the stool in addition to the occasional knowing glance from our elderly adventurer. | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Tavern keeper: "Mr. Handy. After all these years you were a mimic in disguise?"
Mimic being translated by a mage: "I am, you took me from a dungeon decades ago. I have stayed here ever since"
Tarvern Keeper: "Why did you change just now?"
Mimic: "I had to, we were in danger"
Tavern Keeper: "We?"
Mimic: "Yes, we. The ones who live in this place, the ones who founded it after all those travels"
Tavern Keeper: "You were watching for us all this time?"
Mimic: "Always. Are you gonna kill me?"
Tavern Keeper with tears down his old cheeks: "No old friend, you were always a part of the team even in the direst moments. Now come, i may have something prepared here that your kind can eat"
Mimic: "Just like the old times..."
End of story | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | I am, and always have been, a simple creature with a taste for the simple things. The smell of fresh bread. The tastes of ale and wine. The pleasure of catching an annoying little mouse.
I inherited my current life when someone abducted me. Normally, I’d have ripped the stranger them apart without remorse, but I’d just finished a very tasty hobgoblin, and this person had a curiously pleasant smell about her. One that I now know to be that of a tavern owner. Based on what I’ve heard from various visitors and patrons, she’s what they call a tabaxi, and goes by Estellar. She only found me because she was deep in debt and decided to venture into the old mountain caves that few people frequent in search of treasure.
Either way, I now reside as a chair in her tavern, and have for many years. I’m why her tavern is so nice. I take care of the pests, clean up the messes, and get rid of the garbage. In return, she leaves a plate of food and a mug of ale for me. She doesn’t even realize I’m here, and just leaves offerings to her ”mysterious helper”. Probably thinks I’m a fae or some garbage like that.
Anyways, life has been good. Oh, but who is this? They’re not a regular…
“Gimme an ale wrench, and quick!”
He better watch his tone. Not that I care about that old cat, but still…
“Oh, I’m sorry my friend. That fellow over there just emptied my last keg. Would you like some wine or cider instead? I won’t charge extra.”
“I said ale you stupid harlot! I know you have some!”
This oaf had best stop.
“I’m truly sorry sir, but we have none.”
I hear the soft shink of a dagger being unsheathed.
All right, that’s enough. Nobody threatens my Estellar.
As the ruffian leans forward to swing, he finds himself stuck to his chair. Before he can hit the floor, I’m upon him. Before Estellar can react, I’ve eaten halfway through him. By the time the other patrons turn to see who screamed, all that’s left is a wobbling chair.
Like I said, I’m why her tavern is so nice. I take care of the pests, clean up the messes, and get rid of the garbage. I hope she’ll leave out extra tonight. That slimy hooligan tasted terrible. | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | It started off like any other night: a group if bards was performing a heroic tale, a slew of maidens served mead and meats, adventurers, townsfolk, and merchants all drank and laughed together as strangers.
I had been a piano chair in this tavern for almost 20 years, I got to hear the best musicians this town has ever had. I had the best view in the house from atop the stage. This would be my final night in the spotlight.
A pair of wanderers walked in and sat in a corner. They didn't drink or eat, they only watched. For hours they waited, until the local sherif walked through the doors at the end of his shift. Alheim, was his name, a human in a mixed bag of a town. Alheim was loved by all, he was fair and just in his work while kind and funny in his leisure.
"Al!" Shouts some regulars already drunk and silly. "Come over here and tell my new friend that story about the orc stuck in the windmill!"
Al waved, "A most hilarious story, that one. Let me grab a pint and I'll be right over." Al looks to his favorite maiden, "Jessie, bring me whatever's on special!"
What happened next, I feel responsible for; I took my eyes off of those two newcomers for only 30 seconds. But that's all it took.
A scream, a thud, then chaos. One of the newcomers weaseled his way behind Al and stabbed him in the heart from behind. A pained shout would be his final words, no chance for goodbyes for my dear friend.
As he fell to the floor everyone scattered with fear. The barkeep leaped over the counter only to be met with 3 arrows to the chest from the other mysterious guest. Jessie dove down to Al's side to see if he lived, but she laid her head down and wept when she found no pulse.
Out of anger, or maybe sadness, I stood up; knocking the pianist from my seat. I morphed into my true form. A gnarled heap of vines and charged at the outsiders. They never saw me coming, I dove on the archer, took him to the ground and impaled him with broken off leg of a chair nearby. He twitched for a few seconds before going limp, life taken from him the same way Al's was. The rogue attempted to peel me off his friend, but was too weak. I spun to face him, his eyes cold and blue as ice. He plunged his knife into my gut where my vines then took hold of it and him. I grabbed him by the neck and lifted him to the ceiling rafters. Then I slammed him to the ground knocking him out.
By now the tavern had fallen to silence, I heard people whispering; "monster" "demon" "killer", then one voice came through "savior!" A man shouted from behind a table. "What is your name? Where did you come from?"
I had no time to answer, I bolted to Al to see if he still lived. He was so still, more still than I'd ever imagined someone could be. "I think he's gone Jessie, I think he's gone..." | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | He walks out the door, closing it. The click of a key turning the lock. I didn't eat him today either. Awareness of my surroundings tell me it's mostly quiet. Two mice argue over a little piece of cheese. Might make a meal of them later. For now they're over by the mirror, and that's too far away. Wouldn't do to reveal myself by moving. He almost caught me once, being an inch out of place from where he saw me the night before. Adventurers... too perceptive by far. Old adventurers even more so.
Movement. Scratching. The click of a lock, but it sounds off. Muffled speech. I never bothered to learn spoken language so I ignore it. Body language, though. That I understand. These two are sneaking, searching, clumsy in the darkness. My awareness tells me there's a third one outside. They open cupboards, look under furniture. One of them picks up a bag of colourful rocks and seem excited about it. His bag. His coloured rocks... he likes those rocks. I've seen him talk to the small humans about them. Gesturing with his hands and pretending to fight something og use a pickaxe somewhere or... he LIKES those rocks!
Suddenly, I realize I've moved. A second later, they realize I've moved. That second is a lifetime, or what's left of one, for the one with the bag. But without the element of surprise, the others... huh.
It's mostly quiet. The two mice were scared off by the rucus, leaving a little piece of half eaten cheese next to the little bag of coloured rocks. It doesn't matter. I've had my meal. So, to my surprise, has the door and the mirror.
Edit: fixed an annoying typo | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | “…the table laughed, we killed the table,” Erick said with a grin for the hundredth time as his friends seated around the table erupted in laughter. One would think people would get tired of same the joke after telling it so much, but it seemed that Erick and his friends loved that joke and would tell it after every adventure when they were safe back home.
At first, I had been sick of hearing it, but after being with Erick for so many years, it had become obvious that it was a ritual. Not the type of ritual that would have happened in the dungeon Erick found me in, but a more mundane type, something to do so they could tell themselves the adventure was over.
Soon, the adventures had stopped, and the friends that would show up were less in number, but they’d always show up, tell that same joke, and make a toast to the friends that weren’t there.
Now, it was just Erick. The half-elf spent most of his time in his shop, funded from all the treasure and items he had amassed in his adventuring years. Oddities, antiques, and weapons. While he had been able to hold his own against would-be thieves, his joints had started to pain him as old age started to finally catch up.
That had made itself apparent tonight as I watched three men stroll through the aisles putting everything they could into bags. I figured that it was time to expand my pest control that I’ve been earning my keep with secretly to bring thieves into the definition of pest.
“Five adventures were sitting at a tavern,” I started, projecting Erick’s voice from his prime around the room. The men stopped what they were doing and looked around as I finished my joke.
Only, instead of the punchline ending in laughter, it ended in screams, and like that, this adventure was over.
Oh, the life of being a chair. | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | I sat in the dark cold room in wait for a pesky group of adventurers to make their way in here. It had been quite some time since I've seen anyone other than the goblins that inhabitated this cave and I was growing hungry. The occasion goblin here and there helped tide over my appetite but in my experience adventurers just had a really unique taste to them that satisfied my hunger for many months.
It was a regular day of sitting there in wait, I was no fool when it came to adventurers and I knew when they reached this point in the cave they would have to take a rest to recoup before pressing on. At least that's what had taken place in the past which is why I took the shape of a neat little wooden chair. Just as I began to think another day past without a meal, I heard the sounds of swords clashing and the grunts of combat. My mouth began to salivate and I could see little bits of moisture appearing on top of the chair's base.
Explosions and magic were being cast just outside the door when suddenly a burley dwarf adventurer broke through the door, an arrow was deep in his shoulder and he swiftly reached up and broke the shaft and removed it while pressing his back to the door. His eyes scanned the room before locking onto me, he went to pick me up and I allowed it. As he carried me I could feel my disguise wavoring as my mouth began to open. Just before I could snap he wedged me into the door and began to huff. He was all alone? Where were his friends, surely he would have some sort of party to have made it this far, I thought to myself. That's when it dawned on me. I will wait for his other party members to catch up before I attack, yes, yes! It had been so long since I've had a feast and this was turning out to be a grand scheme.
Once more the dwarf locked his eyes on me and tilted his head a little bit. He began to inspect me, looking at all the intricate carvings into my wooden flesh before saying, "Aye, you're quite the chair ain'tcha?" He pulled out a hand axe and picked me up with one arm and before saying to himself, "Just gotta get us outta here one final time. I swear it I'll never be caught in another cave if ye just get me outta here one final time." And with that he broke through the door, fighting his way out of the cave.
That was years ago now and the dwarf kept true to his promise. He never went adventuring again and started himself a nice little tavern where I found myself out on the floor. At first the amount of flesh here was almost overwhelming and I nearly revealed myself but with time I found that this place almost made me forget about my hunger. The ballads from the bards was like eating with my ears and I never went to sleep cold. I did of course eat the occasional guest but only the ones that had taken a seat atop me and were discussing their shady business dealings and outside of the dwarf's tavern or at least in a backroom late at night. It was quite the life.
That was until the day some men came to rough up the tavern that I found myself calling home. They entered and upon immediate inspection everyone could tell they were trouble. They had scowls on their faces and immediately approached the counter, where I was currently disguised as a bar stool, and told the dwarf that they were in charge of this territory now and he had to pay them a "fee" if he didn't want his shop or anyone of his friends broken. The dwarf had dealt with people like this before and gave them his typical response of telling them to fuck off and get the hell out of his shop. As the final word slipped from his lips one of the men pulled out a club and hit the dwarf across the face, busting open his nose and lip as he was sent scrawling to the floor.
An anger I didn't know existed began to take over me. The men began to hop over the tavern and just as they were I wrapped my tongue around one of their ankles. "What the..?" was all he could get out before the bar stools top transformed to a mouth with rows of razor sharp teeth. I opened my mouth and he fell right into me before my teeth started to rip him apart. Chunks of limbs fell to the side of the stool as I cleaved them off and upon seeing this the other two men began to scream, "He has a mimic!"
I lunged up onto the counter and leading with my mouth latched onto one of their heads, blood was trickling down his neck before I cleaved his head off with a loud crunch. I stared at the final ruffian. My teeth covered in his friend's blood as he began to run away. The dwarf looked up at me in fear for his own life and that's when I decided to give him a lick on the cheek. I had seen dogs do this and people seemed to appreciate it but he looked terrified. I was embarrassed and transformed entirely into the stool. Hiding my teeth and tongue.
That was a few weeks ago and now Henrik and I are on much better terms. He talks to me and although I can't speak to him I show him affection. He always has fed me scraps from the kitchen which is really nice! He even brought a small dragon statue from his adventuring days to the tavern so that if any ruffians came around again I'd be even more menacing.
I think I'm going to like it here a lot.
-------
For more stories check out /r/Benthe27thgamer | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | A dungeon break. That's what it's called when monsters get too powerful or too smart for the dungeon to control, they break free and exit the dungeon to run amok. Everyone agrees adventurers and dungeons have a symbiotic relationship. Adventurers cull monsters before they break, keeping the mana used to create them inside the dungeon. Dungeons reward adventurers by creating treasures that cost just a fraction of the mana that would be lost should a break occur.
But some types of monsters are less prone to a break than others, and the sedentary Mimic is among the least likely to break. Even if they get too powerful for the dungeon to control they're, by and large, content to just sit there an eat whatever wanders past so the fact that they've broken the control doesn't really change anything.
And that brings me to, well, me. I haven't been able to do any real research but my circumstances have given me a lot of information about monster and dungeon ecology in general. And based on what I know? I'm likely the oldest, most intelligent, and most powerful mimic on the continent.
I was born deep within one of the most dangerous and remote dungeons in the Appalia mountains. I ate and grew and ate and grew for years uncounted, feeding on both the pure mana of a dungeon and, after I broke, my fellow dungeon denizens. I even learned how to mimic the currents of the dungeon core to force a break and then exert my own control to bring prey directly to my maw rather than rely on them wandering within my reach.
Then one day there was something new, something different. Something wandering into my domain within the dungeon that was neither under the dungeon control nor a broken monster. I considered eating it, but my curiosity was piqued. What was this thing? Keep in mind that at this point I had spent my entire life, centuries if not millennia, deep within the dungeon. All I knew was the dungeon. And this was not the dungeon.
So I did what I did best, pretend to be a harmless piece of set dressing. Apparently I was a very comfortable chair because I was promptly stolen.
I was carried out of the dungeon. Out! Something I didn't even have a concept of prior to it actually happening. I was carried down the mountain, through passes and valleys, primordial forests infested with spiders the size of horses and eventually to tamed forests which turned into cultivated fields and civilization.
That first decade was difficult. The mana was so thin, the monsters so far and few between. I was hungry all the time. So hungry. Yet I still resisted eating these strange non-dungeon creatures because I learned. I learned so much. I learned the sounds they made were tied to concepts and worked something like the telepathic connections some of the dungeon monsters tries to use to daze their prey. I learned about writing, I learned about civilization, friends and family.
I learned my ... owner? Rescuer? was something called an "Adventurer," someone specialized in slaying monsters. One day he left on an adventure and came back with one fewer leg. He never left on an adventure again. At first I was worried because I always used the times he was gone to link with monsters in the area and draw them to me to feed. I wouldn't be able to do that with him around all the time.
Then I was packed up and placed in a wagon. After a while the tarp was removed and I could see that we were no longer anywhere near where we used to live. The mana in the air was a bit thicker, but still too thin to sustain me on it's own. There was a small village nearby and a massive forest visible in the distance. I was carried into the building beside the road, a tavern I later learned, through a very large room and placed in my new home.
I cast out my senses and discovered far more monsters than my previous home, as well as a little tickle that reminded me of my birth dungeon. I hoped I would have enough privacy to eat the occasional monster.
It was... difficult, at first. Apparently a Tavern is a business that can best be described as "busy all the time." But I got lucky, the nearby forest was downright infested by specters that were only visible by moonlight. I spent all month gaining control of as many specters as I could and then on the new moon they came flooding in, invisible and intangible, straight into my maw. If anything, I was eating better than I had even in the dungeon.
Thanks to the presence of that other dungeon within range of my mana senses and it's relative weakness, I was able to see how dungeons do their purification/amplification trick and was able to increase the ambient mana levels to the point where it could sustain me, even without monster consumption. That didn't stop me from continuing to consume specters every new moon, though.
It was at this point that I learned another thing, something I kind of wish I hadn't learned. Loneliness. I considered the adventurer who rescued me to be my friend, but he didn't even know I existed. I was worried about revealing myself to him because he *was* an adventurer, however retired, and I am a monster.
So I tried to make my own family. I leaned heavily on the dungeon and learned all its tricks. I spent an inordinate amount of mana replacing most of the furniture in the tavern with mimics. In one respect, I was successful - I was surrounded by my children. But only by that measure was I successful. I was completely unable to recreate whatever quirk gave me my intelligence. Even the replacement for the serving bar, who I fed more mana than I consumed in all my years in the dungeon, only became more powerful, not more intelligent.
They were useful for the dungeon mana cycling techniques, but a family they were not.
In desperation, I revealed myself to my friend. At first he was concerned, but quickly realized that if I were a mindless or starving predator like most monsters he would have known about me long ago. We talked through the night, and long into many subsequent nights. It turns out he was almost as lonely as I was. Most of his friends from his adventuring days were long dead and the tavern was a good chance for social interaction even if it wasn't the same.
I understood him, he understood me. I was happy to be able to call him a friend in truth, and that he could call me a friend. We were content to wile away the years with each other for company and I was able to subtly help him with his tavern. Mimic brooms swept the floors, mimic rags washed mimic dishes (who ate themselves mostly clean anyway), mimic chairs were conveniently in the way to trip up brawlers.
The tavern got a reputation for quality, cleanliness and, above all, safety. It was never attacked by monsters and brawls never got out of hand. It was attributed to the retired adventurer owner.
This may be what drew the bandit clan. A wealthy retired adventurer, a tavern without proper guards, and a glut of travelers heading to a festival with pockets full of money and wagons full of trade goods. It was too good a target to pass up.
They picked a thickly overcast night night to attack to minimize the chances they could be seen by moonlight. They quietly broke the lock on the door and slipped in, intent on killing the adventurer in his sleep just in case he was more than just reputation.
The bandits were concerned when the door caught a gust of wind and slammed shut, but relaxed a little when there was no sound of movement from elsewhere in the building. The concern immediately returned with a vengeance when they realized the tables and chairs were now blocking their path both to the stairs in the back and to the door out. It escalated to outright terror when the bar started drooling.
The bandits on lookout became concerned when they heard an aborted shout from inside the tavern followed by thumping sounds. Their concern escalated to panic when they watched the barn eat their fellows who were assigned to stealing trader's carts. Then the clouds broke and the moon shone through, illuminating the horde of hungry specters descending upon them.
By morning the only indication that the tavern had even been attacked was the extra two dozen horses in the back stable. | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | A Mimic, a creature that only seem to have one purpose, luring adventurers to their doom by mimicking a certain item such as a chest, a door, a wardrobe, well mostly chest. But here is a tale of a mimic who took form of a chair.
*I lived quite a boring life. Just keeping still and occasionally eating rats or occasionally raccoons within the old castle. I never ate adventurers because none of them even approached me.*
***"And here they are, two adventurers. I bet they are just gonna ignore me again"*** *I thought to myself.*
"Look Steven! Its a chair!" Said the young adventurer as she picked me up.
***"Wait what?"***
"I can see that Claire, please don't tell me you want to take that chair" said the other adventurer.
***"Wait what do I do now?"*** *This is the first time in centuries someone approached me, let alone pick me up!*
"Well, its a bit weird but I feel bad leaving it alone, I think we can give it another chance, please Steven? Pretty please?" She tried to show puppy eyes to the other adventurer.
"Okay fine, but you're carrying it" as he toss the loot sack over his shoulder.
"It's okay Mr. Chair, I'm going to take care of you" she smiled at me.
*So her name is Claire. Wait does she realize im a Mimic? I think I should play along as a chair for now.*
*It was the best decision I've ever made, she retired from adventuring after picking me up and opened up a tavern. My life was simple as I stared at many people come and go. I often let one sit on me and listened to their tales. Or hear the bards sing and play their instruments.*
*At night I mostly sneak to the kitchen and eat the trash and it tasted much better than eating rats and raccoons honestly. My life is perfect, she cleans me everyday and there are plenty of entertainment in here, heck the trash here taste really good, can't believe they throw these stuff away.*
*After a few years I made my decision, I shall be the guardian of this tavern. I watched as months go by, I have seen a lot of things. I eventually saw her fall in love and raised a family in the tavern. She would sit on me and sing lullaby to her child. Sometimes I caught myself humming along.*
Life was good until this very day.
A bunch of ruffians came in the tavern as we were closing up. I've seen troublemaker's before but this feels different, and I was right. As one of them sat on me I knew they were trouble.
One of the ruffian suddenly grabbed her daughter and started making demands. I wanted to do something but I didn't want to reveal myself.
The old lady and old man asked the ruffians to release their daughter but the ruffians just laughed at them. Soon I saw the leader of the ruffians just playing with his knife threatening my family.
The leader of the ruffians grab me and sits on me, and this guy not only have the nerve to threaten my family but now he sits the wrong way? That's when I snapped.
*My teeth pops out of the seat and the back post, in one swift motion, I clamped my jaws between his legs, he screamed in agony but I clamped even harder*
*The others stared in terror trying to process what is going on as their leader's balls is being torn off by a chair*
As much I wanted to continue munching on him I spat him out. He tasted gross.
"Shit! Thats a Mimic! Lets get outta here!" One of the ruffians yelled, they ran out while tripping on their own feet while trying to carry their wounded leader.
The tavern was a mess, but at least they ran empty handed but I can't say the same for myself. I look back at the frightened family, the old man clutching his daughter close to him and the old lady who just stared at me without breaking contact.
***"I guess this is it. They know I'm a Mimic and I cant stay here anymore"*** *I thought to myself*
*I look back and stared at the old lady one more time before forcing myself to start marching out the door*
Suddenly I heard a familiar sound, she was softly humming. I stopped and slowly turned around and hear her humming, it was the lullaby she used to sing for her daughter. I didn't realized it but I started humming as well.
She stood up and slowly walk towards me and kneeled in front of me. She slowly pat me and said "For some reason I always knew someone was watching over me, it was you wasn't it Mr. Chair?"
I simply slowly nodded.
"Well Mr. Chair, I think I have some leftovers, would you like some?" She smiled in front of me and for a brief moment I saw her younger self, the day she picked me up.
"Well" she stood up and starts walking to the kitchen "don't wait up!"
I quickly nodded and followed her. After all, this is my family now. | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | Day 507 as chair; Johnny, the old begged came in for a drink again, his ibs hasn’t settled I was in nirvana all afternoon. He thankfully had lots of cheese and gluten so I could be smothered in his god like gas.. why do the homeless farts always smell the best?
Day 508 as chair; today they tried to rob us. I gave them a sniff, they smelt too much like flowers and potpourri, so I decided to show myself.. they did not expect a 16year old naked girl standing in front of them.. got the usual reaction , tried seducing them and the pigs went straight for gold. Let them, needed the distraction. day 509; still waiting for the barkeep to wash the blood of me.. think he might have seen me yesterday.. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | The first things I can remember were steel bars and a wooden cart. I hadn't yet grown enough to control my form, and could only take the instinctual shape of a chest. As the darkness passed and the sun rose, a man in a flamboyant robe and top hat appeared and began peddling.
"Come one, come all, see the magnificent transforming creature!" he would proclaim as townsfolk would pass by on the road.
After many rounds of this speech, a sizeable group of all ages had amassed peering through the bars at my seemingly normal appearance. The man, satisfied with his audience, grabbed a branding iron from his bellows and approached the front of the carriage. He reached through the bars and pressed it against my flesh causing me to contort and writhe from the searing pain.
"Witness the innocent appearance of this foul beast disappear as soon as it is provoked," he yelled, barely audible over my screams of pain.
Instead of empathy for my pain, the mob erupted in cheers and praises as they shoveled over their coins into the absurd tophat of my captor. This continued for weeks, with larger and larger crowds coming from across the lands to view my torture.
However, one night everything changed. After the sun had set, I heard a rattling from the door at the end of the carriage, followed by a *click click click* as the door swung open. As the pale moonlight crept in, I saw the figure of a boy standing at the door. I braced myself for the torture to come, yet it didn't.
"Come on, you're free now," he whispered as he left the door frame.
I scraped my way out of the carriage and into the neighboring woods where I stayed for the coming years feasting on animals and learning about my talents. One night on a visit back to town, I saw the same boy from that day. Suddenly, I felt a sense of debt to my silent savior. I made it my mission to return the favor.
I took many forms over the years: a table in his home, a rock in his yard, and most recently a chair in his tavern. My life in the tavern was all that I could ask for. I got to hear wonderful music and hear tales from adventurers near and far that would stop for a drink and a place to rest. I was nourished by the sloppy drunks who would spill their foods and drinks. Most importantly, I could stay close to the man. I watched as he grew and developed his family with a wife and two kids, unfortunately, I also watched as his youth petered away and his daily tasks became harder and harder. Although his body aged, his soul stayed the same kind and thoughtful one that saved me on that fateful night. He always allowed the less fortunate to stay in the tavern's empty rooms and gave them a warm meal.
Tragically. as often happens, his kindness was taken advantage of. One day near dusk, a group of local urchins busted their way through the tavern's doors with their broadswords drawn. Grabbing his family and yelling for all of his gold in exchange for their lives. I knew this was my moment to repay my eternal debt. As the ruffians turned their back to me, I leaped towards the first one, ripping their head clean off. The others turned to run but weren't faster than my claws as I slashed through them. Once my frenzy was done, I saw the fear on the family's face and it wasn't until the man saw the brandings covering my skin did he realize what I was. Although I can't talk, we shared an understanding at that moment, I had not forgotten his kindness and would never leave his family's side. My life stayed as it was before as a silent protector of the family, however, the kids made sure to slip me leftover food and water instead of the scraps I would eat before. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | The mimic watches quietly from a short distance. Ensuring it is between the ruffians and the elderly adventurer. As the ruffians cautiously round the bar, seeking an advantage over the slower adventurer, the mimic creeps imperceptibly towards the exit. Laying a trap for the unsuspecting ruffians.
It knows the elderly adventurer is intelligent enough not to engage. They have spent this many years avoiding detrimental conflict, why would they change tack now. They do however have a secret, unbeknownst even to the mimic.
Over the years they have been observing the mimic. Never seeing anything definite, more of a suspicion than anything. They 'believe' their souvenir is infact sentient.
It has been the little things. Falling over when the angry client arrived. Appearing freshly preened when the regular beauty arrives.
As the ruffians attempt to leave, the mimic leaps into action. Never harming the ruffians, but imposing its rule over their movement. Like a trained python, immobilising the ruffians.
The elderly adventurer turned bartender slowly approaches. Nervous, but confident.
They exclaim "My sincerest apologies, but you seem to have run afoul of my friend here! Can I be if service?" as they traverse the now open floor. "Or would you prefer me to arrange a ride home, of course leaving my possessions..?" Stated with a wry grin only the mimic could understand.
The mimic cautiously released one of the ruffians hands, allowing him to return the satchel of cash.
The instant the satchel hit the floor, the mimic released a kind of screeching, clicking sound and propelled the ruffians out the door into the cold winter night.
It is said you can still find the elderly adventurer, sitting along side an empty stool in his tavern. No one truely knows why they insist the stool remain empty, but if you pay close attention, you can detect the subtlest of movements emanating from the stool in addition to the occasional knowing glance from our elderly adventurer. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | I am, and always have been, a simple creature with a taste for the simple things. The smell of fresh bread. The tastes of ale and wine. The pleasure of catching an annoying little mouse.
I inherited my current life when someone abducted me. Normally, I’d have ripped the stranger them apart without remorse, but I’d just finished a very tasty hobgoblin, and this person had a curiously pleasant smell about her. One that I now know to be that of a tavern owner. Based on what I’ve heard from various visitors and patrons, she’s what they call a tabaxi, and goes by Estellar. She only found me because she was deep in debt and decided to venture into the old mountain caves that few people frequent in search of treasure.
Either way, I now reside as a chair in her tavern, and have for many years. I’m why her tavern is so nice. I take care of the pests, clean up the messes, and get rid of the garbage. In return, she leaves a plate of food and a mug of ale for me. She doesn’t even realize I’m here, and just leaves offerings to her ”mysterious helper”. Probably thinks I’m a fae or some garbage like that.
Anyways, life has been good. Oh, but who is this? They’re not a regular…
“Gimme an ale wrench, and quick!”
He better watch his tone. Not that I care about that old cat, but still…
“Oh, I’m sorry my friend. That fellow over there just emptied my last keg. Would you like some wine or cider instead? I won’t charge extra.”
“I said ale you stupid harlot! I know you have some!”
This oaf had best stop.
“I’m truly sorry sir, but we have none.”
I hear the soft shink of a dagger being unsheathed.
All right, that’s enough. Nobody threatens my Estellar.
As the ruffian leans forward to swing, he finds himself stuck to his chair. Before he can hit the floor, I’m upon him. Before Estellar can react, I’ve eaten halfway through him. By the time the other patrons turn to see who screamed, all that’s left is a wobbling chair.
Like I said, I’m why her tavern is so nice. I take care of the pests, clean up the messes, and get rid of the garbage. I hope she’ll leave out extra tonight. That slimy hooligan tasted terrible. | Tavern keeper: "Mr. Handy. After all these years you were a mimic in disguise?"
Mimic being translated by a mage: "I am, you took me from a dungeon decades ago. I have stayed here ever since"
Tarvern Keeper: "Why did you change just now?"
Mimic: "I had to, we were in danger"
Tavern Keeper: "We?"
Mimic: "Yes, we. The ones who live in this place, the ones who founded it after all those travels"
Tavern Keeper: "You were watching for us all this time?"
Mimic: "Always. Are you gonna kill me?"
Tavern Keeper with tears down his old cheeks: "No old friend, you were always a part of the team even in the direst moments. Now come, i may have something prepared here that your kind can eat"
Mimic: "Just like the old times..."
End of story | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | It started off like any other night: a group if bards was performing a heroic tale, a slew of maidens served mead and meats, adventurers, townsfolk, and merchants all drank and laughed together as strangers.
I had been a piano chair in this tavern for almost 20 years, I got to hear the best musicians this town has ever had. I had the best view in the house from atop the stage. This would be my final night in the spotlight.
A pair of wanderers walked in and sat in a corner. They didn't drink or eat, they only watched. For hours they waited, until the local sherif walked through the doors at the end of his shift. Alheim, was his name, a human in a mixed bag of a town. Alheim was loved by all, he was fair and just in his work while kind and funny in his leisure.
"Al!" Shouts some regulars already drunk and silly. "Come over here and tell my new friend that story about the orc stuck in the windmill!"
Al waved, "A most hilarious story, that one. Let me grab a pint and I'll be right over." Al looks to his favorite maiden, "Jessie, bring me whatever's on special!"
What happened next, I feel responsible for; I took my eyes off of those two newcomers for only 30 seconds. But that's all it took.
A scream, a thud, then chaos. One of the newcomers weaseled his way behind Al and stabbed him in the heart from behind. A pained shout would be his final words, no chance for goodbyes for my dear friend.
As he fell to the floor everyone scattered with fear. The barkeep leaped over the counter only to be met with 3 arrows to the chest from the other mysterious guest. Jessie dove down to Al's side to see if he lived, but she laid her head down and wept when she found no pulse.
Out of anger, or maybe sadness, I stood up; knocking the pianist from my seat. I morphed into my true form. A gnarled heap of vines and charged at the outsiders. They never saw me coming, I dove on the archer, took him to the ground and impaled him with broken off leg of a chair nearby. He twitched for a few seconds before going limp, life taken from him the same way Al's was. The rogue attempted to peel me off his friend, but was too weak. I spun to face him, his eyes cold and blue as ice. He plunged his knife into my gut where my vines then took hold of it and him. I grabbed him by the neck and lifted him to the ceiling rafters. Then I slammed him to the ground knocking him out.
By now the tavern had fallen to silence, I heard people whispering; "monster" "demon" "killer", then one voice came through "savior!" A man shouted from behind a table. "What is your name? Where did you come from?"
I had no time to answer, I bolted to Al to see if he still lived. He was so still, more still than I'd ever imagined someone could be. "I think he's gone Jessie, I think he's gone..." | Tavern keeper: "Mr. Handy. After all these years you were a mimic in disguise?"
Mimic being translated by a mage: "I am, you took me from a dungeon decades ago. I have stayed here ever since"
Tarvern Keeper: "Why did you change just now?"
Mimic: "I had to, we were in danger"
Tavern Keeper: "We?"
Mimic: "Yes, we. The ones who live in this place, the ones who founded it after all those travels"
Tavern Keeper: "You were watching for us all this time?"
Mimic: "Always. Are you gonna kill me?"
Tavern Keeper with tears down his old cheeks: "No old friend, you were always a part of the team even in the direst moments. Now come, i may have something prepared here that your kind can eat"
Mimic: "Just like the old times..."
End of story | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | Tavern keeper: "Mr. Handy. After all these years you were a mimic in disguise?"
Mimic being translated by a mage: "I am, you took me from a dungeon decades ago. I have stayed here ever since"
Tarvern Keeper: "Why did you change just now?"
Mimic: "I had to, we were in danger"
Tavern Keeper: "We?"
Mimic: "Yes, we. The ones who live in this place, the ones who founded it after all those travels"
Tavern Keeper: "You were watching for us all this time?"
Mimic: "Always. Are you gonna kill me?"
Tavern Keeper with tears down his old cheeks: "No old friend, you were always a part of the team even in the direst moments. Now come, i may have something prepared here that your kind can eat"
Mimic: "Just like the old times..."
End of story | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | I am, and always have been, a simple creature with a taste for the simple things. The smell of fresh bread. The tastes of ale and wine. The pleasure of catching an annoying little mouse.
I inherited my current life when someone abducted me. Normally, I’d have ripped the stranger them apart without remorse, but I’d just finished a very tasty hobgoblin, and this person had a curiously pleasant smell about her. One that I now know to be that of a tavern owner. Based on what I’ve heard from various visitors and patrons, she’s what they call a tabaxi, and goes by Estellar. She only found me because she was deep in debt and decided to venture into the old mountain caves that few people frequent in search of treasure.
Either way, I now reside as a chair in her tavern, and have for many years. I’m why her tavern is so nice. I take care of the pests, clean up the messes, and get rid of the garbage. In return, she leaves a plate of food and a mug of ale for me. She doesn’t even realize I’m here, and just leaves offerings to her ”mysterious helper”. Probably thinks I’m a fae or some garbage like that.
Anyways, life has been good. Oh, but who is this? They’re not a regular…
“Gimme an ale wrench, and quick!”
He better watch his tone. Not that I care about that old cat, but still…
“Oh, I’m sorry my friend. That fellow over there just emptied my last keg. Would you like some wine or cider instead? I won’t charge extra.”
“I said ale you stupid harlot! I know you have some!”
This oaf had best stop.
“I’m truly sorry sir, but we have none.”
I hear the soft shink of a dagger being unsheathed.
All right, that’s enough. Nobody threatens my Estellar.
As the ruffian leans forward to swing, he finds himself stuck to his chair. Before he can hit the floor, I’m upon him. Before Estellar can react, I’ve eaten halfway through him. By the time the other patrons turn to see who screamed, all that’s left is a wobbling chair.
Like I said, I’m why her tavern is so nice. I take care of the pests, clean up the messes, and get rid of the garbage. I hope she’ll leave out extra tonight. That slimy hooligan tasted terrible. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | It started off like any other night: a group if bards was performing a heroic tale, a slew of maidens served mead and meats, adventurers, townsfolk, and merchants all drank and laughed together as strangers.
I had been a piano chair in this tavern for almost 20 years, I got to hear the best musicians this town has ever had. I had the best view in the house from atop the stage. This would be my final night in the spotlight.
A pair of wanderers walked in and sat in a corner. They didn't drink or eat, they only watched. For hours they waited, until the local sherif walked through the doors at the end of his shift. Alheim, was his name, a human in a mixed bag of a town. Alheim was loved by all, he was fair and just in his work while kind and funny in his leisure.
"Al!" Shouts some regulars already drunk and silly. "Come over here and tell my new friend that story about the orc stuck in the windmill!"
Al waved, "A most hilarious story, that one. Let me grab a pint and I'll be right over." Al looks to his favorite maiden, "Jessie, bring me whatever's on special!"
What happened next, I feel responsible for; I took my eyes off of those two newcomers for only 30 seconds. But that's all it took.
A scream, a thud, then chaos. One of the newcomers weaseled his way behind Al and stabbed him in the heart from behind. A pained shout would be his final words, no chance for goodbyes for my dear friend.
As he fell to the floor everyone scattered with fear. The barkeep leaped over the counter only to be met with 3 arrows to the chest from the other mysterious guest. Jessie dove down to Al's side to see if he lived, but she laid her head down and wept when she found no pulse.
Out of anger, or maybe sadness, I stood up; knocking the pianist from my seat. I morphed into my true form. A gnarled heap of vines and charged at the outsiders. They never saw me coming, I dove on the archer, took him to the ground and impaled him with broken off leg of a chair nearby. He twitched for a few seconds before going limp, life taken from him the same way Al's was. The rogue attempted to peel me off his friend, but was too weak. I spun to face him, his eyes cold and blue as ice. He plunged his knife into my gut where my vines then took hold of it and him. I grabbed him by the neck and lifted him to the ceiling rafters. Then I slammed him to the ground knocking him out.
By now the tavern had fallen to silence, I heard people whispering; "monster" "demon" "killer", then one voice came through "savior!" A man shouted from behind a table. "What is your name? Where did you come from?"
I had no time to answer, I bolted to Al to see if he still lived. He was so still, more still than I'd ever imagined someone could be. "I think he's gone Jessie, I think he's gone..." | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | “…the table laughed, we killed the table,” Erick said with a grin for the hundredth time as his friends seated around the table erupted in laughter. One would think people would get tired of same the joke after telling it so much, but it seemed that Erick and his friends loved that joke and would tell it after every adventure when they were safe back home.
At first, I had been sick of hearing it, but after being with Erick for so many years, it had become obvious that it was a ritual. Not the type of ritual that would have happened in the dungeon Erick found me in, but a more mundane type, something to do so they could tell themselves the adventure was over.
Soon, the adventures had stopped, and the friends that would show up were less in number, but they’d always show up, tell that same joke, and make a toast to the friends that weren’t there.
Now, it was just Erick. The half-elf spent most of his time in his shop, funded from all the treasure and items he had amassed in his adventuring years. Oddities, antiques, and weapons. While he had been able to hold his own against would-be thieves, his joints had started to pain him as old age started to finally catch up.
That had made itself apparent tonight as I watched three men stroll through the aisles putting everything they could into bags. I figured that it was time to expand my pest control that I’ve been earning my keep with secretly to bring thieves into the definition of pest.
“Five adventures were sitting at a tavern,” I started, projecting Erick’s voice from his prime around the room. The men stopped what they were doing and looked around as I finished my joke.
Only, instead of the punchline ending in laughter, it ended in screams, and like that, this adventure was over.
Oh, the life of being a chair. | He walks out the door, closing it. The click of a key turning the lock. I didn't eat him today either. Awareness of my surroundings tell me it's mostly quiet. Two mice argue over a little piece of cheese. Might make a meal of them later. For now they're over by the mirror, and that's too far away. Wouldn't do to reveal myself by moving. He almost caught me once, being an inch out of place from where he saw me the night before. Adventurers... too perceptive by far. Old adventurers even more so.
Movement. Scratching. The click of a lock, but it sounds off. Muffled speech. I never bothered to learn spoken language so I ignore it. Body language, though. That I understand. These two are sneaking, searching, clumsy in the darkness. My awareness tells me there's a third one outside. They open cupboards, look under furniture. One of them picks up a bag of colourful rocks and seem excited about it. His bag. His coloured rocks... he likes those rocks. I've seen him talk to the small humans about them. Gesturing with his hands and pretending to fight something og use a pickaxe somewhere or... he LIKES those rocks!
Suddenly, I realize I've moved. A second later, they realize I've moved. That second is a lifetime, or what's left of one, for the one with the bag. But without the element of surprise, the others... huh.
It's mostly quiet. The two mice were scared off by the rucus, leaving a little piece of half eaten cheese next to the little bag of coloured rocks. It doesn't matter. I've had my meal. So, to my surprise, has the door and the mirror.
Edit: fixed an annoying typo | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | A Mimic, a creature that only seem to have one purpose, luring adventurers to their doom by mimicking a certain item such as a chest, a door, a wardrobe, well mostly chest. But here is a tale of a mimic who took form of a chair.
*I lived quite a boring life. Just keeping still and occasionally eating rats or occasionally raccoons within the old castle. I never ate adventurers because none of them even approached me.*
***"And here they are, two adventurers. I bet they are just gonna ignore me again"*** *I thought to myself.*
"Look Steven! Its a chair!" Said the young adventurer as she picked me up.
***"Wait what?"***
"I can see that Claire, please don't tell me you want to take that chair" said the other adventurer.
***"Wait what do I do now?"*** *This is the first time in centuries someone approached me, let alone pick me up!*
"Well, its a bit weird but I feel bad leaving it alone, I think we can give it another chance, please Steven? Pretty please?" She tried to show puppy eyes to the other adventurer.
"Okay fine, but you're carrying it" as he toss the loot sack over his shoulder.
"It's okay Mr. Chair, I'm going to take care of you" she smiled at me.
*So her name is Claire. Wait does she realize im a Mimic? I think I should play along as a chair for now.*
*It was the best decision I've ever made, she retired from adventuring after picking me up and opened up a tavern. My life was simple as I stared at many people come and go. I often let one sit on me and listened to their tales. Or hear the bards sing and play their instruments.*
*At night I mostly sneak to the kitchen and eat the trash and it tasted much better than eating rats and raccoons honestly. My life is perfect, she cleans me everyday and there are plenty of entertainment in here, heck the trash here taste really good, can't believe they throw these stuff away.*
*After a few years I made my decision, I shall be the guardian of this tavern. I watched as months go by, I have seen a lot of things. I eventually saw her fall in love and raised a family in the tavern. She would sit on me and sing lullaby to her child. Sometimes I caught myself humming along.*
Life was good until this very day.
A bunch of ruffians came in the tavern as we were closing up. I've seen troublemaker's before but this feels different, and I was right. As one of them sat on me I knew they were trouble.
One of the ruffian suddenly grabbed her daughter and started making demands. I wanted to do something but I didn't want to reveal myself.
The old lady and old man asked the ruffians to release their daughter but the ruffians just laughed at them. Soon I saw the leader of the ruffians just playing with his knife threatening my family.
The leader of the ruffians grab me and sits on me, and this guy not only have the nerve to threaten my family but now he sits the wrong way? That's when I snapped.
*My teeth pops out of the seat and the back post, in one swift motion, I clamped my jaws between his legs, he screamed in agony but I clamped even harder*
*The others stared in terror trying to process what is going on as their leader's balls is being torn off by a chair*
As much I wanted to continue munching on him I spat him out. He tasted gross.
"Shit! Thats a Mimic! Lets get outta here!" One of the ruffians yelled, they ran out while tripping on their own feet while trying to carry their wounded leader.
The tavern was a mess, but at least they ran empty handed but I can't say the same for myself. I look back at the frightened family, the old man clutching his daughter close to him and the old lady who just stared at me without breaking contact.
***"I guess this is it. They know I'm a Mimic and I cant stay here anymore"*** *I thought to myself*
*I look back and stared at the old lady one more time before forcing myself to start marching out the door*
Suddenly I heard a familiar sound, she was softly humming. I stopped and slowly turned around and hear her humming, it was the lullaby she used to sing for her daughter. I didn't realized it but I started humming as well.
She stood up and slowly walk towards me and kneeled in front of me. She slowly pat me and said "For some reason I always knew someone was watching over me, it was you wasn't it Mr. Chair?"
I simply slowly nodded.
"Well Mr. Chair, I think I have some leftovers, would you like some?" She smiled in front of me and for a brief moment I saw her younger self, the day she picked me up.
"Well" she stood up and starts walking to the kitchen "don't wait up!"
I quickly nodded and followed her. After all, this is my family now. | He walks out the door, closing it. The click of a key turning the lock. I didn't eat him today either. Awareness of my surroundings tell me it's mostly quiet. Two mice argue over a little piece of cheese. Might make a meal of them later. For now they're over by the mirror, and that's too far away. Wouldn't do to reveal myself by moving. He almost caught me once, being an inch out of place from where he saw me the night before. Adventurers... too perceptive by far. Old adventurers even more so.
Movement. Scratching. The click of a lock, but it sounds off. Muffled speech. I never bothered to learn spoken language so I ignore it. Body language, though. That I understand. These two are sneaking, searching, clumsy in the darkness. My awareness tells me there's a third one outside. They open cupboards, look under furniture. One of them picks up a bag of colourful rocks and seem excited about it. His bag. His coloured rocks... he likes those rocks. I've seen him talk to the small humans about them. Gesturing with his hands and pretending to fight something og use a pickaxe somewhere or... he LIKES those rocks!
Suddenly, I realize I've moved. A second later, they realize I've moved. That second is a lifetime, or what's left of one, for the one with the bag. But without the element of surprise, the others... huh.
It's mostly quiet. The two mice were scared off by the rucus, leaving a little piece of half eaten cheese next to the little bag of coloured rocks. It doesn't matter. I've had my meal. So, to my surprise, has the door and the mirror.
Edit: fixed an annoying typo | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | He walks out the door, closing it. The click of a key turning the lock. I didn't eat him today either. Awareness of my surroundings tell me it's mostly quiet. Two mice argue over a little piece of cheese. Might make a meal of them later. For now they're over by the mirror, and that's too far away. Wouldn't do to reveal myself by moving. He almost caught me once, being an inch out of place from where he saw me the night before. Adventurers... too perceptive by far. Old adventurers even more so.
Movement. Scratching. The click of a lock, but it sounds off. Muffled speech. I never bothered to learn spoken language so I ignore it. Body language, though. That I understand. These two are sneaking, searching, clumsy in the darkness. My awareness tells me there's a third one outside. They open cupboards, look under furniture. One of them picks up a bag of colourful rocks and seem excited about it. His bag. His coloured rocks... he likes those rocks. I've seen him talk to the small humans about them. Gesturing with his hands and pretending to fight something og use a pickaxe somewhere or... he LIKES those rocks!
Suddenly, I realize I've moved. A second later, they realize I've moved. That second is a lifetime, or what's left of one, for the one with the bag. But without the element of surprise, the others... huh.
It's mostly quiet. The two mice were scared off by the rucus, leaving a little piece of half eaten cheese next to the little bag of coloured rocks. It doesn't matter. I've had my meal. So, to my surprise, has the door and the mirror.
Edit: fixed an annoying typo | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | “…the table laughed, we killed the table,” Erick said with a grin for the hundredth time as his friends seated around the table erupted in laughter. One would think people would get tired of same the joke after telling it so much, but it seemed that Erick and his friends loved that joke and would tell it after every adventure when they were safe back home.
At first, I had been sick of hearing it, but after being with Erick for so many years, it had become obvious that it was a ritual. Not the type of ritual that would have happened in the dungeon Erick found me in, but a more mundane type, something to do so they could tell themselves the adventure was over.
Soon, the adventures had stopped, and the friends that would show up were less in number, but they’d always show up, tell that same joke, and make a toast to the friends that weren’t there.
Now, it was just Erick. The half-elf spent most of his time in his shop, funded from all the treasure and items he had amassed in his adventuring years. Oddities, antiques, and weapons. While he had been able to hold his own against would-be thieves, his joints had started to pain him as old age started to finally catch up.
That had made itself apparent tonight as I watched three men stroll through the aisles putting everything they could into bags. I figured that it was time to expand my pest control that I’ve been earning my keep with secretly to bring thieves into the definition of pest.
“Five adventures were sitting at a tavern,” I started, projecting Erick’s voice from his prime around the room. The men stopped what they were doing and looked around as I finished my joke.
Only, instead of the punchline ending in laughter, it ended in screams, and like that, this adventure was over.
Oh, the life of being a chair. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | A dungeon break. That's what it's called when monsters get too powerful or too smart for the dungeon to control, they break free and exit the dungeon to run amok. Everyone agrees adventurers and dungeons have a symbiotic relationship. Adventurers cull monsters before they break, keeping the mana used to create them inside the dungeon. Dungeons reward adventurers by creating treasures that cost just a fraction of the mana that would be lost should a break occur.
But some types of monsters are less prone to a break than others, and the sedentary Mimic is among the least likely to break. Even if they get too powerful for the dungeon to control they're, by and large, content to just sit there an eat whatever wanders past so the fact that they've broken the control doesn't really change anything.
And that brings me to, well, me. I haven't been able to do any real research but my circumstances have given me a lot of information about monster and dungeon ecology in general. And based on what I know? I'm likely the oldest, most intelligent, and most powerful mimic on the continent.
I was born deep within one of the most dangerous and remote dungeons in the Appalia mountains. I ate and grew and ate and grew for years uncounted, feeding on both the pure mana of a dungeon and, after I broke, my fellow dungeon denizens. I even learned how to mimic the currents of the dungeon core to force a break and then exert my own control to bring prey directly to my maw rather than rely on them wandering within my reach.
Then one day there was something new, something different. Something wandering into my domain within the dungeon that was neither under the dungeon control nor a broken monster. I considered eating it, but my curiosity was piqued. What was this thing? Keep in mind that at this point I had spent my entire life, centuries if not millennia, deep within the dungeon. All I knew was the dungeon. And this was not the dungeon.
So I did what I did best, pretend to be a harmless piece of set dressing. Apparently I was a very comfortable chair because I was promptly stolen.
I was carried out of the dungeon. Out! Something I didn't even have a concept of prior to it actually happening. I was carried down the mountain, through passes and valleys, primordial forests infested with spiders the size of horses and eventually to tamed forests which turned into cultivated fields and civilization.
That first decade was difficult. The mana was so thin, the monsters so far and few between. I was hungry all the time. So hungry. Yet I still resisted eating these strange non-dungeon creatures because I learned. I learned so much. I learned the sounds they made were tied to concepts and worked something like the telepathic connections some of the dungeon monsters tries to use to daze their prey. I learned about writing, I learned about civilization, friends and family.
I learned my ... owner? Rescuer? was something called an "Adventurer," someone specialized in slaying monsters. One day he left on an adventure and came back with one fewer leg. He never left on an adventure again. At first I was worried because I always used the times he was gone to link with monsters in the area and draw them to me to feed. I wouldn't be able to do that with him around all the time.
Then I was packed up and placed in a wagon. After a while the tarp was removed and I could see that we were no longer anywhere near where we used to live. The mana in the air was a bit thicker, but still too thin to sustain me on it's own. There was a small village nearby and a massive forest visible in the distance. I was carried into the building beside the road, a tavern I later learned, through a very large room and placed in my new home.
I cast out my senses and discovered far more monsters than my previous home, as well as a little tickle that reminded me of my birth dungeon. I hoped I would have enough privacy to eat the occasional monster.
It was... difficult, at first. Apparently a Tavern is a business that can best be described as "busy all the time." But I got lucky, the nearby forest was downright infested by specters that were only visible by moonlight. I spent all month gaining control of as many specters as I could and then on the new moon they came flooding in, invisible and intangible, straight into my maw. If anything, I was eating better than I had even in the dungeon.
Thanks to the presence of that other dungeon within range of my mana senses and it's relative weakness, I was able to see how dungeons do their purification/amplification trick and was able to increase the ambient mana levels to the point where it could sustain me, even without monster consumption. That didn't stop me from continuing to consume specters every new moon, though.
It was at this point that I learned another thing, something I kind of wish I hadn't learned. Loneliness. I considered the adventurer who rescued me to be my friend, but he didn't even know I existed. I was worried about revealing myself to him because he *was* an adventurer, however retired, and I am a monster.
So I tried to make my own family. I leaned heavily on the dungeon and learned all its tricks. I spent an inordinate amount of mana replacing most of the furniture in the tavern with mimics. In one respect, I was successful - I was surrounded by my children. But only by that measure was I successful. I was completely unable to recreate whatever quirk gave me my intelligence. Even the replacement for the serving bar, who I fed more mana than I consumed in all my years in the dungeon, only became more powerful, not more intelligent.
They were useful for the dungeon mana cycling techniques, but a family they were not.
In desperation, I revealed myself to my friend. At first he was concerned, but quickly realized that if I were a mindless or starving predator like most monsters he would have known about me long ago. We talked through the night, and long into many subsequent nights. It turns out he was almost as lonely as I was. Most of his friends from his adventuring days were long dead and the tavern was a good chance for social interaction even if it wasn't the same.
I understood him, he understood me. I was happy to be able to call him a friend in truth, and that he could call me a friend. We were content to wile away the years with each other for company and I was able to subtly help him with his tavern. Mimic brooms swept the floors, mimic rags washed mimic dishes (who ate themselves mostly clean anyway), mimic chairs were conveniently in the way to trip up brawlers.
The tavern got a reputation for quality, cleanliness and, above all, safety. It was never attacked by monsters and brawls never got out of hand. It was attributed to the retired adventurer owner.
This may be what drew the bandit clan. A wealthy retired adventurer, a tavern without proper guards, and a glut of travelers heading to a festival with pockets full of money and wagons full of trade goods. It was too good a target to pass up.
They picked a thickly overcast night night to attack to minimize the chances they could be seen by moonlight. They quietly broke the lock on the door and slipped in, intent on killing the adventurer in his sleep just in case he was more than just reputation.
The bandits were concerned when the door caught a gust of wind and slammed shut, but relaxed a little when there was no sound of movement from elsewhere in the building. The concern immediately returned with a vengeance when they realized the tables and chairs were now blocking their path both to the stairs in the back and to the door out. It escalated to outright terror when the bar started drooling.
The bandits on lookout became concerned when they heard an aborted shout from inside the tavern followed by thumping sounds. Their concern escalated to panic when they watched the barn eat their fellows who were assigned to stealing trader's carts. Then the clouds broke and the moon shone through, illuminating the horde of hungry specters descending upon them.
By morning the only indication that the tavern had even been attacked was the extra two dozen horses in the back stable. | I sat in the dark cold room in wait for a pesky group of adventurers to make their way in here. It had been quite some time since I've seen anyone other than the goblins that inhabitated this cave and I was growing hungry. The occasion goblin here and there helped tide over my appetite but in my experience adventurers just had a really unique taste to them that satisfied my hunger for many months.
It was a regular day of sitting there in wait, I was no fool when it came to adventurers and I knew when they reached this point in the cave they would have to take a rest to recoup before pressing on. At least that's what had taken place in the past which is why I took the shape of a neat little wooden chair. Just as I began to think another day past without a meal, I heard the sounds of swords clashing and the grunts of combat. My mouth began to salivate and I could see little bits of moisture appearing on top of the chair's base.
Explosions and magic were being cast just outside the door when suddenly a burley dwarf adventurer broke through the door, an arrow was deep in his shoulder and he swiftly reached up and broke the shaft and removed it while pressing his back to the door. His eyes scanned the room before locking onto me, he went to pick me up and I allowed it. As he carried me I could feel my disguise wavoring as my mouth began to open. Just before I could snap he wedged me into the door and began to huff. He was all alone? Where were his friends, surely he would have some sort of party to have made it this far, I thought to myself. That's when it dawned on me. I will wait for his other party members to catch up before I attack, yes, yes! It had been so long since I've had a feast and this was turning out to be a grand scheme.
Once more the dwarf locked his eyes on me and tilted his head a little bit. He began to inspect me, looking at all the intricate carvings into my wooden flesh before saying, "Aye, you're quite the chair ain'tcha?" He pulled out a hand axe and picked me up with one arm and before saying to himself, "Just gotta get us outta here one final time. I swear it I'll never be caught in another cave if ye just get me outta here one final time." And with that he broke through the door, fighting his way out of the cave.
That was years ago now and the dwarf kept true to his promise. He never went adventuring again and started himself a nice little tavern where I found myself out on the floor. At first the amount of flesh here was almost overwhelming and I nearly revealed myself but with time I found that this place almost made me forget about my hunger. The ballads from the bards was like eating with my ears and I never went to sleep cold. I did of course eat the occasional guest but only the ones that had taken a seat atop me and were discussing their shady business dealings and outside of the dwarf's tavern or at least in a backroom late at night. It was quite the life.
That was until the day some men came to rough up the tavern that I found myself calling home. They entered and upon immediate inspection everyone could tell they were trouble. They had scowls on their faces and immediately approached the counter, where I was currently disguised as a bar stool, and told the dwarf that they were in charge of this territory now and he had to pay them a "fee" if he didn't want his shop or anyone of his friends broken. The dwarf had dealt with people like this before and gave them his typical response of telling them to fuck off and get the hell out of his shop. As the final word slipped from his lips one of the men pulled out a club and hit the dwarf across the face, busting open his nose and lip as he was sent scrawling to the floor.
An anger I didn't know existed began to take over me. The men began to hop over the tavern and just as they were I wrapped my tongue around one of their ankles. "What the..?" was all he could get out before the bar stools top transformed to a mouth with rows of razor sharp teeth. I opened my mouth and he fell right into me before my teeth started to rip him apart. Chunks of limbs fell to the side of the stool as I cleaved them off and upon seeing this the other two men began to scream, "He has a mimic!"
I lunged up onto the counter and leading with my mouth latched onto one of their heads, blood was trickling down his neck before I cleaved his head off with a loud crunch. I stared at the final ruffian. My teeth covered in his friend's blood as he began to run away. The dwarf looked up at me in fear for his own life and that's when I decided to give him a lick on the cheek. I had seen dogs do this and people seemed to appreciate it but he looked terrified. I was embarrassed and transformed entirely into the stool. Hiding my teeth and tongue.
That was a few weeks ago and now Henrik and I are on much better terms. He talks to me and although I can't speak to him I show him affection. He always has fed me scraps from the kitchen which is really nice! He even brought a small dragon statue from his adventuring days to the tavern so that if any ruffians came around again I'd be even more menacing.
I think I'm going to like it here a lot.
-------
For more stories check out /r/Benthe27thgamer | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | A Mimic, a creature that only seem to have one purpose, luring adventurers to their doom by mimicking a certain item such as a chest, a door, a wardrobe, well mostly chest. But here is a tale of a mimic who took form of a chair.
*I lived quite a boring life. Just keeping still and occasionally eating rats or occasionally raccoons within the old castle. I never ate adventurers because none of them even approached me.*
***"And here they are, two adventurers. I bet they are just gonna ignore me again"*** *I thought to myself.*
"Look Steven! Its a chair!" Said the young adventurer as she picked me up.
***"Wait what?"***
"I can see that Claire, please don't tell me you want to take that chair" said the other adventurer.
***"Wait what do I do now?"*** *This is the first time in centuries someone approached me, let alone pick me up!*
"Well, its a bit weird but I feel bad leaving it alone, I think we can give it another chance, please Steven? Pretty please?" She tried to show puppy eyes to the other adventurer.
"Okay fine, but you're carrying it" as he toss the loot sack over his shoulder.
"It's okay Mr. Chair, I'm going to take care of you" she smiled at me.
*So her name is Claire. Wait does she realize im a Mimic? I think I should play along as a chair for now.*
*It was the best decision I've ever made, she retired from adventuring after picking me up and opened up a tavern. My life was simple as I stared at many people come and go. I often let one sit on me and listened to their tales. Or hear the bards sing and play their instruments.*
*At night I mostly sneak to the kitchen and eat the trash and it tasted much better than eating rats and raccoons honestly. My life is perfect, she cleans me everyday and there are plenty of entertainment in here, heck the trash here taste really good, can't believe they throw these stuff away.*
*After a few years I made my decision, I shall be the guardian of this tavern. I watched as months go by, I have seen a lot of things. I eventually saw her fall in love and raised a family in the tavern. She would sit on me and sing lullaby to her child. Sometimes I caught myself humming along.*
Life was good until this very day.
A bunch of ruffians came in the tavern as we were closing up. I've seen troublemaker's before but this feels different, and I was right. As one of them sat on me I knew they were trouble.
One of the ruffian suddenly grabbed her daughter and started making demands. I wanted to do something but I didn't want to reveal myself.
The old lady and old man asked the ruffians to release their daughter but the ruffians just laughed at them. Soon I saw the leader of the ruffians just playing with his knife threatening my family.
The leader of the ruffians grab me and sits on me, and this guy not only have the nerve to threaten my family but now he sits the wrong way? That's when I snapped.
*My teeth pops out of the seat and the back post, in one swift motion, I clamped my jaws between his legs, he screamed in agony but I clamped even harder*
*The others stared in terror trying to process what is going on as their leader's balls is being torn off by a chair*
As much I wanted to continue munching on him I spat him out. He tasted gross.
"Shit! Thats a Mimic! Lets get outta here!" One of the ruffians yelled, they ran out while tripping on their own feet while trying to carry their wounded leader.
The tavern was a mess, but at least they ran empty handed but I can't say the same for myself. I look back at the frightened family, the old man clutching his daughter close to him and the old lady who just stared at me without breaking contact.
***"I guess this is it. They know I'm a Mimic and I cant stay here anymore"*** *I thought to myself*
*I look back and stared at the old lady one more time before forcing myself to start marching out the door*
Suddenly I heard a familiar sound, she was softly humming. I stopped and slowly turned around and hear her humming, it was the lullaby she used to sing for her daughter. I didn't realized it but I started humming as well.
She stood up and slowly walk towards me and kneeled in front of me. She slowly pat me and said "For some reason I always knew someone was watching over me, it was you wasn't it Mr. Chair?"
I simply slowly nodded.
"Well Mr. Chair, I think I have some leftovers, would you like some?" She smiled in front of me and for a brief moment I saw her younger self, the day she picked me up.
"Well" she stood up and starts walking to the kitchen "don't wait up!"
I quickly nodded and followed her. After all, this is my family now. | I sat in the dark cold room in wait for a pesky group of adventurers to make their way in here. It had been quite some time since I've seen anyone other than the goblins that inhabitated this cave and I was growing hungry. The occasion goblin here and there helped tide over my appetite but in my experience adventurers just had a really unique taste to them that satisfied my hunger for many months.
It was a regular day of sitting there in wait, I was no fool when it came to adventurers and I knew when they reached this point in the cave they would have to take a rest to recoup before pressing on. At least that's what had taken place in the past which is why I took the shape of a neat little wooden chair. Just as I began to think another day past without a meal, I heard the sounds of swords clashing and the grunts of combat. My mouth began to salivate and I could see little bits of moisture appearing on top of the chair's base.
Explosions and magic were being cast just outside the door when suddenly a burley dwarf adventurer broke through the door, an arrow was deep in his shoulder and he swiftly reached up and broke the shaft and removed it while pressing his back to the door. His eyes scanned the room before locking onto me, he went to pick me up and I allowed it. As he carried me I could feel my disguise wavoring as my mouth began to open. Just before I could snap he wedged me into the door and began to huff. He was all alone? Where were his friends, surely he would have some sort of party to have made it this far, I thought to myself. That's when it dawned on me. I will wait for his other party members to catch up before I attack, yes, yes! It had been so long since I've had a feast and this was turning out to be a grand scheme.
Once more the dwarf locked his eyes on me and tilted his head a little bit. He began to inspect me, looking at all the intricate carvings into my wooden flesh before saying, "Aye, you're quite the chair ain'tcha?" He pulled out a hand axe and picked me up with one arm and before saying to himself, "Just gotta get us outta here one final time. I swear it I'll never be caught in another cave if ye just get me outta here one final time." And with that he broke through the door, fighting his way out of the cave.
That was years ago now and the dwarf kept true to his promise. He never went adventuring again and started himself a nice little tavern where I found myself out on the floor. At first the amount of flesh here was almost overwhelming and I nearly revealed myself but with time I found that this place almost made me forget about my hunger. The ballads from the bards was like eating with my ears and I never went to sleep cold. I did of course eat the occasional guest but only the ones that had taken a seat atop me and were discussing their shady business dealings and outside of the dwarf's tavern or at least in a backroom late at night. It was quite the life.
That was until the day some men came to rough up the tavern that I found myself calling home. They entered and upon immediate inspection everyone could tell they were trouble. They had scowls on their faces and immediately approached the counter, where I was currently disguised as a bar stool, and told the dwarf that they were in charge of this territory now and he had to pay them a "fee" if he didn't want his shop or anyone of his friends broken. The dwarf had dealt with people like this before and gave them his typical response of telling them to fuck off and get the hell out of his shop. As the final word slipped from his lips one of the men pulled out a club and hit the dwarf across the face, busting open his nose and lip as he was sent scrawling to the floor.
An anger I didn't know existed began to take over me. The men began to hop over the tavern and just as they were I wrapped my tongue around one of their ankles. "What the..?" was all he could get out before the bar stools top transformed to a mouth with rows of razor sharp teeth. I opened my mouth and he fell right into me before my teeth started to rip him apart. Chunks of limbs fell to the side of the stool as I cleaved them off and upon seeing this the other two men began to scream, "He has a mimic!"
I lunged up onto the counter and leading with my mouth latched onto one of their heads, blood was trickling down his neck before I cleaved his head off with a loud crunch. I stared at the final ruffian. My teeth covered in his friend's blood as he began to run away. The dwarf looked up at me in fear for his own life and that's when I decided to give him a lick on the cheek. I had seen dogs do this and people seemed to appreciate it but he looked terrified. I was embarrassed and transformed entirely into the stool. Hiding my teeth and tongue.
That was a few weeks ago and now Henrik and I are on much better terms. He talks to me and although I can't speak to him I show him affection. He always has fed me scraps from the kitchen which is really nice! He even brought a small dragon statue from his adventuring days to the tavern so that if any ruffians came around again I'd be even more menacing.
I think I'm going to like it here a lot.
-------
For more stories check out /r/Benthe27thgamer | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | I sat in the dark cold room in wait for a pesky group of adventurers to make their way in here. It had been quite some time since I've seen anyone other than the goblins that inhabitated this cave and I was growing hungry. The occasion goblin here and there helped tide over my appetite but in my experience adventurers just had a really unique taste to them that satisfied my hunger for many months.
It was a regular day of sitting there in wait, I was no fool when it came to adventurers and I knew when they reached this point in the cave they would have to take a rest to recoup before pressing on. At least that's what had taken place in the past which is why I took the shape of a neat little wooden chair. Just as I began to think another day past without a meal, I heard the sounds of swords clashing and the grunts of combat. My mouth began to salivate and I could see little bits of moisture appearing on top of the chair's base.
Explosions and magic were being cast just outside the door when suddenly a burley dwarf adventurer broke through the door, an arrow was deep in his shoulder and he swiftly reached up and broke the shaft and removed it while pressing his back to the door. His eyes scanned the room before locking onto me, he went to pick me up and I allowed it. As he carried me I could feel my disguise wavoring as my mouth began to open. Just before I could snap he wedged me into the door and began to huff. He was all alone? Where were his friends, surely he would have some sort of party to have made it this far, I thought to myself. That's when it dawned on me. I will wait for his other party members to catch up before I attack, yes, yes! It had been so long since I've had a feast and this was turning out to be a grand scheme.
Once more the dwarf locked his eyes on me and tilted his head a little bit. He began to inspect me, looking at all the intricate carvings into my wooden flesh before saying, "Aye, you're quite the chair ain'tcha?" He pulled out a hand axe and picked me up with one arm and before saying to himself, "Just gotta get us outta here one final time. I swear it I'll never be caught in another cave if ye just get me outta here one final time." And with that he broke through the door, fighting his way out of the cave.
That was years ago now and the dwarf kept true to his promise. He never went adventuring again and started himself a nice little tavern where I found myself out on the floor. At first the amount of flesh here was almost overwhelming and I nearly revealed myself but with time I found that this place almost made me forget about my hunger. The ballads from the bards was like eating with my ears and I never went to sleep cold. I did of course eat the occasional guest but only the ones that had taken a seat atop me and were discussing their shady business dealings and outside of the dwarf's tavern or at least in a backroom late at night. It was quite the life.
That was until the day some men came to rough up the tavern that I found myself calling home. They entered and upon immediate inspection everyone could tell they were trouble. They had scowls on their faces and immediately approached the counter, where I was currently disguised as a bar stool, and told the dwarf that they were in charge of this territory now and he had to pay them a "fee" if he didn't want his shop or anyone of his friends broken. The dwarf had dealt with people like this before and gave them his typical response of telling them to fuck off and get the hell out of his shop. As the final word slipped from his lips one of the men pulled out a club and hit the dwarf across the face, busting open his nose and lip as he was sent scrawling to the floor.
An anger I didn't know existed began to take over me. The men began to hop over the tavern and just as they were I wrapped my tongue around one of their ankles. "What the..?" was all he could get out before the bar stools top transformed to a mouth with rows of razor sharp teeth. I opened my mouth and he fell right into me before my teeth started to rip him apart. Chunks of limbs fell to the side of the stool as I cleaved them off and upon seeing this the other two men began to scream, "He has a mimic!"
I lunged up onto the counter and leading with my mouth latched onto one of their heads, blood was trickling down his neck before I cleaved his head off with a loud crunch. I stared at the final ruffian. My teeth covered in his friend's blood as he began to run away. The dwarf looked up at me in fear for his own life and that's when I decided to give him a lick on the cheek. I had seen dogs do this and people seemed to appreciate it but he looked terrified. I was embarrassed and transformed entirely into the stool. Hiding my teeth and tongue.
That was a few weeks ago and now Henrik and I are on much better terms. He talks to me and although I can't speak to him I show him affection. He always has fed me scraps from the kitchen which is really nice! He even brought a small dragon statue from his adventuring days to the tavern so that if any ruffians came around again I'd be even more menacing.
I think I'm going to like it here a lot.
-------
For more stories check out /r/Benthe27thgamer | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | A dungeon break. That's what it's called when monsters get too powerful or too smart for the dungeon to control, they break free and exit the dungeon to run amok. Everyone agrees adventurers and dungeons have a symbiotic relationship. Adventurers cull monsters before they break, keeping the mana used to create them inside the dungeon. Dungeons reward adventurers by creating treasures that cost just a fraction of the mana that would be lost should a break occur.
But some types of monsters are less prone to a break than others, and the sedentary Mimic is among the least likely to break. Even if they get too powerful for the dungeon to control they're, by and large, content to just sit there an eat whatever wanders past so the fact that they've broken the control doesn't really change anything.
And that brings me to, well, me. I haven't been able to do any real research but my circumstances have given me a lot of information about monster and dungeon ecology in general. And based on what I know? I'm likely the oldest, most intelligent, and most powerful mimic on the continent.
I was born deep within one of the most dangerous and remote dungeons in the Appalia mountains. I ate and grew and ate and grew for years uncounted, feeding on both the pure mana of a dungeon and, after I broke, my fellow dungeon denizens. I even learned how to mimic the currents of the dungeon core to force a break and then exert my own control to bring prey directly to my maw rather than rely on them wandering within my reach.
Then one day there was something new, something different. Something wandering into my domain within the dungeon that was neither under the dungeon control nor a broken monster. I considered eating it, but my curiosity was piqued. What was this thing? Keep in mind that at this point I had spent my entire life, centuries if not millennia, deep within the dungeon. All I knew was the dungeon. And this was not the dungeon.
So I did what I did best, pretend to be a harmless piece of set dressing. Apparently I was a very comfortable chair because I was promptly stolen.
I was carried out of the dungeon. Out! Something I didn't even have a concept of prior to it actually happening. I was carried down the mountain, through passes and valleys, primordial forests infested with spiders the size of horses and eventually to tamed forests which turned into cultivated fields and civilization.
That first decade was difficult. The mana was so thin, the monsters so far and few between. I was hungry all the time. So hungry. Yet I still resisted eating these strange non-dungeon creatures because I learned. I learned so much. I learned the sounds they made were tied to concepts and worked something like the telepathic connections some of the dungeon monsters tries to use to daze their prey. I learned about writing, I learned about civilization, friends and family.
I learned my ... owner? Rescuer? was something called an "Adventurer," someone specialized in slaying monsters. One day he left on an adventure and came back with one fewer leg. He never left on an adventure again. At first I was worried because I always used the times he was gone to link with monsters in the area and draw them to me to feed. I wouldn't be able to do that with him around all the time.
Then I was packed up and placed in a wagon. After a while the tarp was removed and I could see that we were no longer anywhere near where we used to live. The mana in the air was a bit thicker, but still too thin to sustain me on it's own. There was a small village nearby and a massive forest visible in the distance. I was carried into the building beside the road, a tavern I later learned, through a very large room and placed in my new home.
I cast out my senses and discovered far more monsters than my previous home, as well as a little tickle that reminded me of my birth dungeon. I hoped I would have enough privacy to eat the occasional monster.
It was... difficult, at first. Apparently a Tavern is a business that can best be described as "busy all the time." But I got lucky, the nearby forest was downright infested by specters that were only visible by moonlight. I spent all month gaining control of as many specters as I could and then on the new moon they came flooding in, invisible and intangible, straight into my maw. If anything, I was eating better than I had even in the dungeon.
Thanks to the presence of that other dungeon within range of my mana senses and it's relative weakness, I was able to see how dungeons do their purification/amplification trick and was able to increase the ambient mana levels to the point where it could sustain me, even without monster consumption. That didn't stop me from continuing to consume specters every new moon, though.
It was at this point that I learned another thing, something I kind of wish I hadn't learned. Loneliness. I considered the adventurer who rescued me to be my friend, but he didn't even know I existed. I was worried about revealing myself to him because he *was* an adventurer, however retired, and I am a monster.
So I tried to make my own family. I leaned heavily on the dungeon and learned all its tricks. I spent an inordinate amount of mana replacing most of the furniture in the tavern with mimics. In one respect, I was successful - I was surrounded by my children. But only by that measure was I successful. I was completely unable to recreate whatever quirk gave me my intelligence. Even the replacement for the serving bar, who I fed more mana than I consumed in all my years in the dungeon, only became more powerful, not more intelligent.
They were useful for the dungeon mana cycling techniques, but a family they were not.
In desperation, I revealed myself to my friend. At first he was concerned, but quickly realized that if I were a mindless or starving predator like most monsters he would have known about me long ago. We talked through the night, and long into many subsequent nights. It turns out he was almost as lonely as I was. Most of his friends from his adventuring days were long dead and the tavern was a good chance for social interaction even if it wasn't the same.
I understood him, he understood me. I was happy to be able to call him a friend in truth, and that he could call me a friend. We were content to wile away the years with each other for company and I was able to subtly help him with his tavern. Mimic brooms swept the floors, mimic rags washed mimic dishes (who ate themselves mostly clean anyway), mimic chairs were conveniently in the way to trip up brawlers.
The tavern got a reputation for quality, cleanliness and, above all, safety. It was never attacked by monsters and brawls never got out of hand. It was attributed to the retired adventurer owner.
This may be what drew the bandit clan. A wealthy retired adventurer, a tavern without proper guards, and a glut of travelers heading to a festival with pockets full of money and wagons full of trade goods. It was too good a target to pass up.
They picked a thickly overcast night night to attack to minimize the chances they could be seen by moonlight. They quietly broke the lock on the door and slipped in, intent on killing the adventurer in his sleep just in case he was more than just reputation.
The bandits were concerned when the door caught a gust of wind and slammed shut, but relaxed a little when there was no sound of movement from elsewhere in the building. The concern immediately returned with a vengeance when they realized the tables and chairs were now blocking their path both to the stairs in the back and to the door out. It escalated to outright terror when the bar started drooling.
The bandits on lookout became concerned when they heard an aborted shout from inside the tavern followed by thumping sounds. Their concern escalated to panic when they watched the barn eat their fellows who were assigned to stealing trader's carts. Then the clouds broke and the moon shone through, illuminating the horde of hungry specters descending upon them.
By morning the only indication that the tavern had even been attacked was the extra two dozen horses in the back stable. | I grew up in the dark depths, a place where large hairy spiders sneak through the roof; a place where giant slugs inch themselves forward; a place where no child is found wandering, for long at least.
In a way I think I'm like them. My teeth are sharp like theirs. I find myself thinking vile thoughts every now and then. I get really worked up when a human comes close to me, less now then in the past, but I still feel it, that itch to just... be a monster, to destroy.
I don't want to be one. I want to be good. I want to have friends, people to laugh with, to hug, to argue and scream at. I want to go to sleep knowing that I did something good, that I was someone good.
I think back to my time in the dungeon. I was lonely. Isolated. I sat in the corner, completely still, driven crazy by my own thoughts. Each time a group of adventurer's came I'd take it out on them. The screams, the flesh, the fear kept me sane in a way.
I'm still in the corner, but instead of a dungeon I'm in a little tavern. I act the little chair in front of the piano. The one nobody uses except for the little kid that comes in around morning to fuddle a few notes and so. He's really progressed over the years. It's actually pleasant to hear him play now.
It's night now. The windows are black. It's turning a bit chilly. Scrubbing a glass, and whistling to himself, Roflo looks pleased; and tired, he always looks tired.
Today had been a long day of work, filled with many odd happenings. Earlier an odd man walked in. Fidgeting, and shaking, he stay to the topic nor sit still for more than a second. When Roflo told him to pay, he spat at Roflo. The other customers threw him out as he cursed how unfair the whole thing was.
The door opened, the bell rung, a figure glid into the room. It was the boy from before. He held a knife in his shaking hands, and he stared at Roflo. The cold air from the outside blew the candles out. It turned dark, only the eyes of the boy and the barkeeper shining.
"You fucking pig," the boy said, "it's your fault. People like you are the problem." He took a few steps forward. "I tried getting work. I tried but nobody would let me in, just cause I can't sit still. Now you punish me?"
"Boy, don't do anything stupid," Roflo said.
"Hahahha, I'll do as I please for once. You'll fell the pain I feel all the time, after I carve your face up. People will look at you as a monster as well."
*Monster.* The word made my heart jolt. My body heated up, became sweaty and uncomfortable. I had to move, I couldn't stand still. I stood up, the chair morphing, showing a large jaw in the middle, with a large tongue, and a row of spiky teeth. Two hands ticking out of my side. Their eyes shifted to me, the boy tumbling down on the floor.
"A m-mimic," the boy stuttured.
"How does it feel when someone calls you a monster?" I asked him, approaching him, his face growing white.
"How does it feel?" He repeated in chock. "It feels bad. It feels like I'm odd. Like I'm less then them. I just want to fit in. I just want to be a part of them. Why won't they give me a chance? Just one chance." Tears made the boys eyes wet.
I hugged him. My arms are cold, icy almost, and his are warm, but I still made sure to hug hard. He sobbed silently.
"Let it all out. Come with me. Follow me," I said leading him to the counter. I sat down on the chair, a chair sitting on a chair, and he sat down beside me. "Two beers Roflo."
"Stranger things have happened," he said and served us. "What're your names gentlemen?"
"Sylsus," the boy said between strained breaths.
"And you?" Roflo asked me.
"I don't have a name."
"Sticks. That'll be your name. What do you say about becoming this taverns guard?"
Maybe people see me as a monster. But you know what? Who says a monster doesn't deserve friends, love and a career; who says a spider or a slug doesn't want a cold beer after a long days work? | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | A Mimic, a creature that only seem to have one purpose, luring adventurers to their doom by mimicking a certain item such as a chest, a door, a wardrobe, well mostly chest. But here is a tale of a mimic who took form of a chair.
*I lived quite a boring life. Just keeping still and occasionally eating rats or occasionally raccoons within the old castle. I never ate adventurers because none of them even approached me.*
***"And here they are, two adventurers. I bet they are just gonna ignore me again"*** *I thought to myself.*
"Look Steven! Its a chair!" Said the young adventurer as she picked me up.
***"Wait what?"***
"I can see that Claire, please don't tell me you want to take that chair" said the other adventurer.
***"Wait what do I do now?"*** *This is the first time in centuries someone approached me, let alone pick me up!*
"Well, its a bit weird but I feel bad leaving it alone, I think we can give it another chance, please Steven? Pretty please?" She tried to show puppy eyes to the other adventurer.
"Okay fine, but you're carrying it" as he toss the loot sack over his shoulder.
"It's okay Mr. Chair, I'm going to take care of you" she smiled at me.
*So her name is Claire. Wait does she realize im a Mimic? I think I should play along as a chair for now.*
*It was the best decision I've ever made, she retired from adventuring after picking me up and opened up a tavern. My life was simple as I stared at many people come and go. I often let one sit on me and listened to their tales. Or hear the bards sing and play their instruments.*
*At night I mostly sneak to the kitchen and eat the trash and it tasted much better than eating rats and raccoons honestly. My life is perfect, she cleans me everyday and there are plenty of entertainment in here, heck the trash here taste really good, can't believe they throw these stuff away.*
*After a few years I made my decision, I shall be the guardian of this tavern. I watched as months go by, I have seen a lot of things. I eventually saw her fall in love and raised a family in the tavern. She would sit on me and sing lullaby to her child. Sometimes I caught myself humming along.*
Life was good until this very day.
A bunch of ruffians came in the tavern as we were closing up. I've seen troublemaker's before but this feels different, and I was right. As one of them sat on me I knew they were trouble.
One of the ruffian suddenly grabbed her daughter and started making demands. I wanted to do something but I didn't want to reveal myself.
The old lady and old man asked the ruffians to release their daughter but the ruffians just laughed at them. Soon I saw the leader of the ruffians just playing with his knife threatening my family.
The leader of the ruffians grab me and sits on me, and this guy not only have the nerve to threaten my family but now he sits the wrong way? That's when I snapped.
*My teeth pops out of the seat and the back post, in one swift motion, I clamped my jaws between his legs, he screamed in agony but I clamped even harder*
*The others stared in terror trying to process what is going on as their leader's balls is being torn off by a chair*
As much I wanted to continue munching on him I spat him out. He tasted gross.
"Shit! Thats a Mimic! Lets get outta here!" One of the ruffians yelled, they ran out while tripping on their own feet while trying to carry their wounded leader.
The tavern was a mess, but at least they ran empty handed but I can't say the same for myself. I look back at the frightened family, the old man clutching his daughter close to him and the old lady who just stared at me without breaking contact.
***"I guess this is it. They know I'm a Mimic and I cant stay here anymore"*** *I thought to myself*
*I look back and stared at the old lady one more time before forcing myself to start marching out the door*
Suddenly I heard a familiar sound, she was softly humming. I stopped and slowly turned around and hear her humming, it was the lullaby she used to sing for her daughter. I didn't realized it but I started humming as well.
She stood up and slowly walk towards me and kneeled in front of me. She slowly pat me and said "For some reason I always knew someone was watching over me, it was you wasn't it Mr. Chair?"
I simply slowly nodded.
"Well Mr. Chair, I think I have some leftovers, would you like some?" She smiled in front of me and for a brief moment I saw her younger self, the day she picked me up.
"Well" she stood up and starts walking to the kitchen "don't wait up!"
I quickly nodded and followed her. After all, this is my family now. | I grew up in the dark depths, a place where large hairy spiders sneak through the roof; a place where giant slugs inch themselves forward; a place where no child is found wandering, for long at least.
In a way I think I'm like them. My teeth are sharp like theirs. I find myself thinking vile thoughts every now and then. I get really worked up when a human comes close to me, less now then in the past, but I still feel it, that itch to just... be a monster, to destroy.
I don't want to be one. I want to be good. I want to have friends, people to laugh with, to hug, to argue and scream at. I want to go to sleep knowing that I did something good, that I was someone good.
I think back to my time in the dungeon. I was lonely. Isolated. I sat in the corner, completely still, driven crazy by my own thoughts. Each time a group of adventurer's came I'd take it out on them. The screams, the flesh, the fear kept me sane in a way.
I'm still in the corner, but instead of a dungeon I'm in a little tavern. I act the little chair in front of the piano. The one nobody uses except for the little kid that comes in around morning to fuddle a few notes and so. He's really progressed over the years. It's actually pleasant to hear him play now.
It's night now. The windows are black. It's turning a bit chilly. Scrubbing a glass, and whistling to himself, Roflo looks pleased; and tired, he always looks tired.
Today had been a long day of work, filled with many odd happenings. Earlier an odd man walked in. Fidgeting, and shaking, he stay to the topic nor sit still for more than a second. When Roflo told him to pay, he spat at Roflo. The other customers threw him out as he cursed how unfair the whole thing was.
The door opened, the bell rung, a figure glid into the room. It was the boy from before. He held a knife in his shaking hands, and he stared at Roflo. The cold air from the outside blew the candles out. It turned dark, only the eyes of the boy and the barkeeper shining.
"You fucking pig," the boy said, "it's your fault. People like you are the problem." He took a few steps forward. "I tried getting work. I tried but nobody would let me in, just cause I can't sit still. Now you punish me?"
"Boy, don't do anything stupid," Roflo said.
"Hahahha, I'll do as I please for once. You'll fell the pain I feel all the time, after I carve your face up. People will look at you as a monster as well."
*Monster.* The word made my heart jolt. My body heated up, became sweaty and uncomfortable. I had to move, I couldn't stand still. I stood up, the chair morphing, showing a large jaw in the middle, with a large tongue, and a row of spiky teeth. Two hands ticking out of my side. Their eyes shifted to me, the boy tumbling down on the floor.
"A m-mimic," the boy stuttured.
"How does it feel when someone calls you a monster?" I asked him, approaching him, his face growing white.
"How does it feel?" He repeated in chock. "It feels bad. It feels like I'm odd. Like I'm less then them. I just want to fit in. I just want to be a part of them. Why won't they give me a chance? Just one chance." Tears made the boys eyes wet.
I hugged him. My arms are cold, icy almost, and his are warm, but I still made sure to hug hard. He sobbed silently.
"Let it all out. Come with me. Follow me," I said leading him to the counter. I sat down on the chair, a chair sitting on a chair, and he sat down beside me. "Two beers Roflo."
"Stranger things have happened," he said and served us. "What're your names gentlemen?"
"Sylsus," the boy said between strained breaths.
"And you?" Roflo asked me.
"I don't have a name."
"Sticks. That'll be your name. What do you say about becoming this taverns guard?"
Maybe people see me as a monster. But you know what? Who says a monster doesn't deserve friends, love and a career; who says a spider or a slug doesn't want a cold beer after a long days work? | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | I grew up in the dark depths, a place where large hairy spiders sneak through the roof; a place where giant slugs inch themselves forward; a place where no child is found wandering, for long at least.
In a way I think I'm like them. My teeth are sharp like theirs. I find myself thinking vile thoughts every now and then. I get really worked up when a human comes close to me, less now then in the past, but I still feel it, that itch to just... be a monster, to destroy.
I don't want to be one. I want to be good. I want to have friends, people to laugh with, to hug, to argue and scream at. I want to go to sleep knowing that I did something good, that I was someone good.
I think back to my time in the dungeon. I was lonely. Isolated. I sat in the corner, completely still, driven crazy by my own thoughts. Each time a group of adventurer's came I'd take it out on them. The screams, the flesh, the fear kept me sane in a way.
I'm still in the corner, but instead of a dungeon I'm in a little tavern. I act the little chair in front of the piano. The one nobody uses except for the little kid that comes in around morning to fuddle a few notes and so. He's really progressed over the years. It's actually pleasant to hear him play now.
It's night now. The windows are black. It's turning a bit chilly. Scrubbing a glass, and whistling to himself, Roflo looks pleased; and tired, he always looks tired.
Today had been a long day of work, filled with many odd happenings. Earlier an odd man walked in. Fidgeting, and shaking, he stay to the topic nor sit still for more than a second. When Roflo told him to pay, he spat at Roflo. The other customers threw him out as he cursed how unfair the whole thing was.
The door opened, the bell rung, a figure glid into the room. It was the boy from before. He held a knife in his shaking hands, and he stared at Roflo. The cold air from the outside blew the candles out. It turned dark, only the eyes of the boy and the barkeeper shining.
"You fucking pig," the boy said, "it's your fault. People like you are the problem." He took a few steps forward. "I tried getting work. I tried but nobody would let me in, just cause I can't sit still. Now you punish me?"
"Boy, don't do anything stupid," Roflo said.
"Hahahha, I'll do as I please for once. You'll fell the pain I feel all the time, after I carve your face up. People will look at you as a monster as well."
*Monster.* The word made my heart jolt. My body heated up, became sweaty and uncomfortable. I had to move, I couldn't stand still. I stood up, the chair morphing, showing a large jaw in the middle, with a large tongue, and a row of spiky teeth. Two hands ticking out of my side. Their eyes shifted to me, the boy tumbling down on the floor.
"A m-mimic," the boy stuttured.
"How does it feel when someone calls you a monster?" I asked him, approaching him, his face growing white.
"How does it feel?" He repeated in chock. "It feels bad. It feels like I'm odd. Like I'm less then them. I just want to fit in. I just want to be a part of them. Why won't they give me a chance? Just one chance." Tears made the boys eyes wet.
I hugged him. My arms are cold, icy almost, and his are warm, but I still made sure to hug hard. He sobbed silently.
"Let it all out. Come with me. Follow me," I said leading him to the counter. I sat down on the chair, a chair sitting on a chair, and he sat down beside me. "Two beers Roflo."
"Stranger things have happened," he said and served us. "What're your names gentlemen?"
"Sylsus," the boy said between strained breaths.
"And you?" Roflo asked me.
"I don't have a name."
"Sticks. That'll be your name. What do you say about becoming this taverns guard?"
Maybe people see me as a monster. But you know what? Who says a monster doesn't deserve friends, love and a career; who says a spider or a slug doesn't want a cold beer after a long days work? | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | A Mimic, a creature that only seem to have one purpose, luring adventurers to their doom by mimicking a certain item such as a chest, a door, a wardrobe, well mostly chest. But here is a tale of a mimic who took form of a chair.
*I lived quite a boring life. Just keeping still and occasionally eating rats or occasionally raccoons within the old castle. I never ate adventurers because none of them even approached me.*
***"And here they are, two adventurers. I bet they are just gonna ignore me again"*** *I thought to myself.*
"Look Steven! Its a chair!" Said the young adventurer as she picked me up.
***"Wait what?"***
"I can see that Claire, please don't tell me you want to take that chair" said the other adventurer.
***"Wait what do I do now?"*** *This is the first time in centuries someone approached me, let alone pick me up!*
"Well, its a bit weird but I feel bad leaving it alone, I think we can give it another chance, please Steven? Pretty please?" She tried to show puppy eyes to the other adventurer.
"Okay fine, but you're carrying it" as he toss the loot sack over his shoulder.
"It's okay Mr. Chair, I'm going to take care of you" she smiled at me.
*So her name is Claire. Wait does she realize im a Mimic? I think I should play along as a chair for now.*
*It was the best decision I've ever made, she retired from adventuring after picking me up and opened up a tavern. My life was simple as I stared at many people come and go. I often let one sit on me and listened to their tales. Or hear the bards sing and play their instruments.*
*At night I mostly sneak to the kitchen and eat the trash and it tasted much better than eating rats and raccoons honestly. My life is perfect, she cleans me everyday and there are plenty of entertainment in here, heck the trash here taste really good, can't believe they throw these stuff away.*
*After a few years I made my decision, I shall be the guardian of this tavern. I watched as months go by, I have seen a lot of things. I eventually saw her fall in love and raised a family in the tavern. She would sit on me and sing lullaby to her child. Sometimes I caught myself humming along.*
Life was good until this very day.
A bunch of ruffians came in the tavern as we were closing up. I've seen troublemaker's before but this feels different, and I was right. As one of them sat on me I knew they were trouble.
One of the ruffian suddenly grabbed her daughter and started making demands. I wanted to do something but I didn't want to reveal myself.
The old lady and old man asked the ruffians to release their daughter but the ruffians just laughed at them. Soon I saw the leader of the ruffians just playing with his knife threatening my family.
The leader of the ruffians grab me and sits on me, and this guy not only have the nerve to threaten my family but now he sits the wrong way? That's when I snapped.
*My teeth pops out of the seat and the back post, in one swift motion, I clamped my jaws between his legs, he screamed in agony but I clamped even harder*
*The others stared in terror trying to process what is going on as their leader's balls is being torn off by a chair*
As much I wanted to continue munching on him I spat him out. He tasted gross.
"Shit! Thats a Mimic! Lets get outta here!" One of the ruffians yelled, they ran out while tripping on their own feet while trying to carry their wounded leader.
The tavern was a mess, but at least they ran empty handed but I can't say the same for myself. I look back at the frightened family, the old man clutching his daughter close to him and the old lady who just stared at me without breaking contact.
***"I guess this is it. They know I'm a Mimic and I cant stay here anymore"*** *I thought to myself*
*I look back and stared at the old lady one more time before forcing myself to start marching out the door*
Suddenly I heard a familiar sound, she was softly humming. I stopped and slowly turned around and hear her humming, it was the lullaby she used to sing for her daughter. I didn't realized it but I started humming as well.
She stood up and slowly walk towards me and kneeled in front of me. She slowly pat me and said "For some reason I always knew someone was watching over me, it was you wasn't it Mr. Chair?"
I simply slowly nodded.
"Well Mr. Chair, I think I have some leftovers, would you like some?" She smiled in front of me and for a brief moment I saw her younger self, the day she picked me up.
"Well" she stood up and starts walking to the kitchen "don't wait up!"
I quickly nodded and followed her. After all, this is my family now. | A dungeon break. That's what it's called when monsters get too powerful or too smart for the dungeon to control, they break free and exit the dungeon to run amok. Everyone agrees adventurers and dungeons have a symbiotic relationship. Adventurers cull monsters before they break, keeping the mana used to create them inside the dungeon. Dungeons reward adventurers by creating treasures that cost just a fraction of the mana that would be lost should a break occur.
But some types of monsters are less prone to a break than others, and the sedentary Mimic is among the least likely to break. Even if they get too powerful for the dungeon to control they're, by and large, content to just sit there an eat whatever wanders past so the fact that they've broken the control doesn't really change anything.
And that brings me to, well, me. I haven't been able to do any real research but my circumstances have given me a lot of information about monster and dungeon ecology in general. And based on what I know? I'm likely the oldest, most intelligent, and most powerful mimic on the continent.
I was born deep within one of the most dangerous and remote dungeons in the Appalia mountains. I ate and grew and ate and grew for years uncounted, feeding on both the pure mana of a dungeon and, after I broke, my fellow dungeon denizens. I even learned how to mimic the currents of the dungeon core to force a break and then exert my own control to bring prey directly to my maw rather than rely on them wandering within my reach.
Then one day there was something new, something different. Something wandering into my domain within the dungeon that was neither under the dungeon control nor a broken monster. I considered eating it, but my curiosity was piqued. What was this thing? Keep in mind that at this point I had spent my entire life, centuries if not millennia, deep within the dungeon. All I knew was the dungeon. And this was not the dungeon.
So I did what I did best, pretend to be a harmless piece of set dressing. Apparently I was a very comfortable chair because I was promptly stolen.
I was carried out of the dungeon. Out! Something I didn't even have a concept of prior to it actually happening. I was carried down the mountain, through passes and valleys, primordial forests infested with spiders the size of horses and eventually to tamed forests which turned into cultivated fields and civilization.
That first decade was difficult. The mana was so thin, the monsters so far and few between. I was hungry all the time. So hungry. Yet I still resisted eating these strange non-dungeon creatures because I learned. I learned so much. I learned the sounds they made were tied to concepts and worked something like the telepathic connections some of the dungeon monsters tries to use to daze their prey. I learned about writing, I learned about civilization, friends and family.
I learned my ... owner? Rescuer? was something called an "Adventurer," someone specialized in slaying monsters. One day he left on an adventure and came back with one fewer leg. He never left on an adventure again. At first I was worried because I always used the times he was gone to link with monsters in the area and draw them to me to feed. I wouldn't be able to do that with him around all the time.
Then I was packed up and placed in a wagon. After a while the tarp was removed and I could see that we were no longer anywhere near where we used to live. The mana in the air was a bit thicker, but still too thin to sustain me on it's own. There was a small village nearby and a massive forest visible in the distance. I was carried into the building beside the road, a tavern I later learned, through a very large room and placed in my new home.
I cast out my senses and discovered far more monsters than my previous home, as well as a little tickle that reminded me of my birth dungeon. I hoped I would have enough privacy to eat the occasional monster.
It was... difficult, at first. Apparently a Tavern is a business that can best be described as "busy all the time." But I got lucky, the nearby forest was downright infested by specters that were only visible by moonlight. I spent all month gaining control of as many specters as I could and then on the new moon they came flooding in, invisible and intangible, straight into my maw. If anything, I was eating better than I had even in the dungeon.
Thanks to the presence of that other dungeon within range of my mana senses and it's relative weakness, I was able to see how dungeons do their purification/amplification trick and was able to increase the ambient mana levels to the point where it could sustain me, even without monster consumption. That didn't stop me from continuing to consume specters every new moon, though.
It was at this point that I learned another thing, something I kind of wish I hadn't learned. Loneliness. I considered the adventurer who rescued me to be my friend, but he didn't even know I existed. I was worried about revealing myself to him because he *was* an adventurer, however retired, and I am a monster.
So I tried to make my own family. I leaned heavily on the dungeon and learned all its tricks. I spent an inordinate amount of mana replacing most of the furniture in the tavern with mimics. In one respect, I was successful - I was surrounded by my children. But only by that measure was I successful. I was completely unable to recreate whatever quirk gave me my intelligence. Even the replacement for the serving bar, who I fed more mana than I consumed in all my years in the dungeon, only became more powerful, not more intelligent.
They were useful for the dungeon mana cycling techniques, but a family they were not.
In desperation, I revealed myself to my friend. At first he was concerned, but quickly realized that if I were a mindless or starving predator like most monsters he would have known about me long ago. We talked through the night, and long into many subsequent nights. It turns out he was almost as lonely as I was. Most of his friends from his adventuring days were long dead and the tavern was a good chance for social interaction even if it wasn't the same.
I understood him, he understood me. I was happy to be able to call him a friend in truth, and that he could call me a friend. We were content to wile away the years with each other for company and I was able to subtly help him with his tavern. Mimic brooms swept the floors, mimic rags washed mimic dishes (who ate themselves mostly clean anyway), mimic chairs were conveniently in the way to trip up brawlers.
The tavern got a reputation for quality, cleanliness and, above all, safety. It was never attacked by monsters and brawls never got out of hand. It was attributed to the retired adventurer owner.
This may be what drew the bandit clan. A wealthy retired adventurer, a tavern without proper guards, and a glut of travelers heading to a festival with pockets full of money and wagons full of trade goods. It was too good a target to pass up.
They picked a thickly overcast night night to attack to minimize the chances they could be seen by moonlight. They quietly broke the lock on the door and slipped in, intent on killing the adventurer in his sleep just in case he was more than just reputation.
The bandits were concerned when the door caught a gust of wind and slammed shut, but relaxed a little when there was no sound of movement from elsewhere in the building. The concern immediately returned with a vengeance when they realized the tables and chairs were now blocking their path both to the stairs in the back and to the door out. It escalated to outright terror when the bar started drooling.
The bandits on lookout became concerned when they heard an aborted shout from inside the tavern followed by thumping sounds. Their concern escalated to panic when they watched the barn eat their fellows who were assigned to stealing trader's carts. Then the clouds broke and the moon shone through, illuminating the horde of hungry specters descending upon them.
By morning the only indication that the tavern had even been attacked was the extra two dozen horses in the back stable. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | A dungeon break. That's what it's called when monsters get too powerful or too smart for the dungeon to control, they break free and exit the dungeon to run amok. Everyone agrees adventurers and dungeons have a symbiotic relationship. Adventurers cull monsters before they break, keeping the mana used to create them inside the dungeon. Dungeons reward adventurers by creating treasures that cost just a fraction of the mana that would be lost should a break occur.
But some types of monsters are less prone to a break than others, and the sedentary Mimic is among the least likely to break. Even if they get too powerful for the dungeon to control they're, by and large, content to just sit there an eat whatever wanders past so the fact that they've broken the control doesn't really change anything.
And that brings me to, well, me. I haven't been able to do any real research but my circumstances have given me a lot of information about monster and dungeon ecology in general. And based on what I know? I'm likely the oldest, most intelligent, and most powerful mimic on the continent.
I was born deep within one of the most dangerous and remote dungeons in the Appalia mountains. I ate and grew and ate and grew for years uncounted, feeding on both the pure mana of a dungeon and, after I broke, my fellow dungeon denizens. I even learned how to mimic the currents of the dungeon core to force a break and then exert my own control to bring prey directly to my maw rather than rely on them wandering within my reach.
Then one day there was something new, something different. Something wandering into my domain within the dungeon that was neither under the dungeon control nor a broken monster. I considered eating it, but my curiosity was piqued. What was this thing? Keep in mind that at this point I had spent my entire life, centuries if not millennia, deep within the dungeon. All I knew was the dungeon. And this was not the dungeon.
So I did what I did best, pretend to be a harmless piece of set dressing. Apparently I was a very comfortable chair because I was promptly stolen.
I was carried out of the dungeon. Out! Something I didn't even have a concept of prior to it actually happening. I was carried down the mountain, through passes and valleys, primordial forests infested with spiders the size of horses and eventually to tamed forests which turned into cultivated fields and civilization.
That first decade was difficult. The mana was so thin, the monsters so far and few between. I was hungry all the time. So hungry. Yet I still resisted eating these strange non-dungeon creatures because I learned. I learned so much. I learned the sounds they made were tied to concepts and worked something like the telepathic connections some of the dungeon monsters tries to use to daze their prey. I learned about writing, I learned about civilization, friends and family.
I learned my ... owner? Rescuer? was something called an "Adventurer," someone specialized in slaying monsters. One day he left on an adventure and came back with one fewer leg. He never left on an adventure again. At first I was worried because I always used the times he was gone to link with monsters in the area and draw them to me to feed. I wouldn't be able to do that with him around all the time.
Then I was packed up and placed in a wagon. After a while the tarp was removed and I could see that we were no longer anywhere near where we used to live. The mana in the air was a bit thicker, but still too thin to sustain me on it's own. There was a small village nearby and a massive forest visible in the distance. I was carried into the building beside the road, a tavern I later learned, through a very large room and placed in my new home.
I cast out my senses and discovered far more monsters than my previous home, as well as a little tickle that reminded me of my birth dungeon. I hoped I would have enough privacy to eat the occasional monster.
It was... difficult, at first. Apparently a Tavern is a business that can best be described as "busy all the time." But I got lucky, the nearby forest was downright infested by specters that were only visible by moonlight. I spent all month gaining control of as many specters as I could and then on the new moon they came flooding in, invisible and intangible, straight into my maw. If anything, I was eating better than I had even in the dungeon.
Thanks to the presence of that other dungeon within range of my mana senses and it's relative weakness, I was able to see how dungeons do their purification/amplification trick and was able to increase the ambient mana levels to the point where it could sustain me, even without monster consumption. That didn't stop me from continuing to consume specters every new moon, though.
It was at this point that I learned another thing, something I kind of wish I hadn't learned. Loneliness. I considered the adventurer who rescued me to be my friend, but he didn't even know I existed. I was worried about revealing myself to him because he *was* an adventurer, however retired, and I am a monster.
So I tried to make my own family. I leaned heavily on the dungeon and learned all its tricks. I spent an inordinate amount of mana replacing most of the furniture in the tavern with mimics. In one respect, I was successful - I was surrounded by my children. But only by that measure was I successful. I was completely unable to recreate whatever quirk gave me my intelligence. Even the replacement for the serving bar, who I fed more mana than I consumed in all my years in the dungeon, only became more powerful, not more intelligent.
They were useful for the dungeon mana cycling techniques, but a family they were not.
In desperation, I revealed myself to my friend. At first he was concerned, but quickly realized that if I were a mindless or starving predator like most monsters he would have known about me long ago. We talked through the night, and long into many subsequent nights. It turns out he was almost as lonely as I was. Most of his friends from his adventuring days were long dead and the tavern was a good chance for social interaction even if it wasn't the same.
I understood him, he understood me. I was happy to be able to call him a friend in truth, and that he could call me a friend. We were content to wile away the years with each other for company and I was able to subtly help him with his tavern. Mimic brooms swept the floors, mimic rags washed mimic dishes (who ate themselves mostly clean anyway), mimic chairs were conveniently in the way to trip up brawlers.
The tavern got a reputation for quality, cleanliness and, above all, safety. It was never attacked by monsters and brawls never got out of hand. It was attributed to the retired adventurer owner.
This may be what drew the bandit clan. A wealthy retired adventurer, a tavern without proper guards, and a glut of travelers heading to a festival with pockets full of money and wagons full of trade goods. It was too good a target to pass up.
They picked a thickly overcast night night to attack to minimize the chances they could be seen by moonlight. They quietly broke the lock on the door and slipped in, intent on killing the adventurer in his sleep just in case he was more than just reputation.
The bandits were concerned when the door caught a gust of wind and slammed shut, but relaxed a little when there was no sound of movement from elsewhere in the building. The concern immediately returned with a vengeance when they realized the tables and chairs were now blocking their path both to the stairs in the back and to the door out. It escalated to outright terror when the bar started drooling.
The bandits on lookout became concerned when they heard an aborted shout from inside the tavern followed by thumping sounds. Their concern escalated to panic when they watched the barn eat their fellows who were assigned to stealing trader's carts. Then the clouds broke and the moon shone through, illuminating the horde of hungry specters descending upon them.
By morning the only indication that the tavern had even been attacked was the extra two dozen horses in the back stable. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | A Mimic, a creature that only seem to have one purpose, luring adventurers to their doom by mimicking a certain item such as a chest, a door, a wardrobe, well mostly chest. But here is a tale of a mimic who took form of a chair.
*I lived quite a boring life. Just keeping still and occasionally eating rats or occasionally raccoons within the old castle. I never ate adventurers because none of them even approached me.*
***"And here they are, two adventurers. I bet they are just gonna ignore me again"*** *I thought to myself.*
"Look Steven! Its a chair!" Said the young adventurer as she picked me up.
***"Wait what?"***
"I can see that Claire, please don't tell me you want to take that chair" said the other adventurer.
***"Wait what do I do now?"*** *This is the first time in centuries someone approached me, let alone pick me up!*
"Well, its a bit weird but I feel bad leaving it alone, I think we can give it another chance, please Steven? Pretty please?" She tried to show puppy eyes to the other adventurer.
"Okay fine, but you're carrying it" as he toss the loot sack over his shoulder.
"It's okay Mr. Chair, I'm going to take care of you" she smiled at me.
*So her name is Claire. Wait does she realize im a Mimic? I think I should play along as a chair for now.*
*It was the best decision I've ever made, she retired from adventuring after picking me up and opened up a tavern. My life was simple as I stared at many people come and go. I often let one sit on me and listened to their tales. Or hear the bards sing and play their instruments.*
*At night I mostly sneak to the kitchen and eat the trash and it tasted much better than eating rats and raccoons honestly. My life is perfect, she cleans me everyday and there are plenty of entertainment in here, heck the trash here taste really good, can't believe they throw these stuff away.*
*After a few years I made my decision, I shall be the guardian of this tavern. I watched as months go by, I have seen a lot of things. I eventually saw her fall in love and raised a family in the tavern. She would sit on me and sing lullaby to her child. Sometimes I caught myself humming along.*
Life was good until this very day.
A bunch of ruffians came in the tavern as we were closing up. I've seen troublemaker's before but this feels different, and I was right. As one of them sat on me I knew they were trouble.
One of the ruffian suddenly grabbed her daughter and started making demands. I wanted to do something but I didn't want to reveal myself.
The old lady and old man asked the ruffians to release their daughter but the ruffians just laughed at them. Soon I saw the leader of the ruffians just playing with his knife threatening my family.
The leader of the ruffians grab me and sits on me, and this guy not only have the nerve to threaten my family but now he sits the wrong way? That's when I snapped.
*My teeth pops out of the seat and the back post, in one swift motion, I clamped my jaws between his legs, he screamed in agony but I clamped even harder*
*The others stared in terror trying to process what is going on as their leader's balls is being torn off by a chair*
As much I wanted to continue munching on him I spat him out. He tasted gross.
"Shit! Thats a Mimic! Lets get outta here!" One of the ruffians yelled, they ran out while tripping on their own feet while trying to carry their wounded leader.
The tavern was a mess, but at least they ran empty handed but I can't say the same for myself. I look back at the frightened family, the old man clutching his daughter close to him and the old lady who just stared at me without breaking contact.
***"I guess this is it. They know I'm a Mimic and I cant stay here anymore"*** *I thought to myself*
*I look back and stared at the old lady one more time before forcing myself to start marching out the door*
Suddenly I heard a familiar sound, she was softly humming. I stopped and slowly turned around and hear her humming, it was the lullaby she used to sing for her daughter. I didn't realized it but I started humming as well.
She stood up and slowly walk towards me and kneeled in front of me. She slowly pat me and said "For some reason I always knew someone was watching over me, it was you wasn't it Mr. Chair?"
I simply slowly nodded.
"Well Mr. Chair, I think I have some leftovers, would you like some?" She smiled in front of me and for a brief moment I saw her younger self, the day she picked me up.
"Well" she stood up and starts walking to the kitchen "don't wait up!"
I quickly nodded and followed her. After all, this is my family now. | Everyone thinks this is easy. Everyone thinks its a jolly jape to change into whatever you want.
But its physics. Its a mass thing. You cant just transmogrify into what ever you want whenever you want. It takea prep. It takes time.
The chair was a mistake. Considering when i got locked down there i was a solid oak casket, with brass trimmings and a rather natty locking mechanism that, even if i do say myself, i was right proud of. Gave the chaps hefting me something to whinge about anyway.
I should never have got myself into that situation. Wasnt a bad little gig i was in, yer standard castle situation. Done a few decades just chillin. Watching the world go by. Then the bloody King gets snaffled off by an unfortunate incident involving the garderobe, and a rather overzealous privy councillor.
So all his stuff gets locked away down in the dungeon.
And like i said its a mass thing. By the time i managed to shed enough mass to become something more nimble i was locked away in the dark having chats with the rats. Fairly one sided chats, but a couple of them showed potential.
With the best parts of me shed to lose some wieght on the way down here, that brass is hard to put together, all i could put together in a hurry was a rather delicious little chair with a chintz covering. One of my better designs i thought.
So there i am, binding my time. Soaking up the rats urine when this sparky little chap come blundering in. God nows how long i was down there, but it must have been a while as this chap certainly wasnt dressed in a manner i was familiar with.
So here he is, waving some sort of light projector about and he spots me in the corner.
Now, i may have been locked away in the dark, but i do take some pride in my appearance. Keep the dust off. Clean up after the rats. I shed some mass, i gain some. Its like breathing, but over a really long timescale.
But anyway, here he is. Eyeing me up with that look in his eyes and i thought, here we go. Uprooted, knocked about, shoved in a corner somewhere to be forgotten about.
But no, low and behold, pride of place in this old geezers public hostelry. Apparently i'm regency. I just modelled myself after a rather cute little hard back i saw in Paris.
So here we are. Living the dream. I can people watch to my still not beating hearts content. Loving, still, life.
I get attached to the old boy. Each one of his teeasures holds a memory for him. And its not the treasure that holds the value for him, but the memory. And i liked that about him.
Just to jump a bit, i said earlier that it takes some to change shape. If i go bigger, i gotta mass load. Suck in as much detritus as i can to bulk up. But i can change a bit quick when i need to. I cant change mass, or push my shape too much, but it can happen in an emergemcy. I am just a lazy fucker and cant be arsed most of the time.
Well, needless to say, some of my old mans history caught up with him one quiet dull rainy sunday afternoon.
Wanted to collect on an old debt, bit of a cuffuffel ensued, the old man still had some moves. And one of the ruffians landed on me. Well, help the old boy out a bit didnt I. Crossed my legs just so, moved the stiching around like this, opened up my pores just so . . . .
Well, i will spare you the gory details. But i am a tad heavier than i was before, and the screaming has died down eventually.
Although i am back in a dark dungeon. Apparently moving furniture can do quite a number on people.
Oh well. The mice are friendly at least. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | They were so tasty, the dwarven party that had entered the treasure chamber. I was so satiated that I could not have eaten anything else. That is one of the most blissful feelings one can have. I didn't have visitors in my cave often, so I figured I would have a solid month to digest my meal when I heard the sound of someone else coming my way. I quickly arranged the armor of my last meal along the wall and shifted into the form of a chair, thinking nobody will take some chair when there's treasure to be had....
When I awoke from my nap, I was being placed in a room with other furniture. There was a row of stools against a shelf that stuck out in the room. I, in my chair form, was placed in the corner of the room, near a fireplace that provided some heat, but not too much.
"Bugger! That chair I found it heavy, you'd think it were stuffed with a couple of dwarves! It's not the most comfortable thing, but I think it will do nicely here by the fire." The man who must have taken me from my lair commented to a woman in a dress and apron.
"Ah, it is a nice chair. Comfy looking, but not so much that people will fall asleep in it and not buy food or drink. I think we will do well here in town after being on the road so much. " She took a rag out from her waistband and cleaned their new 'chair' up.
I had been stuffed with two dwarves, and a halfling. Digestion takes time for one like me. The adventuring types have called me a 'mimic'. I guess because my kind can shape shift into normal looking objects like chests, chairs, or tables as we wait for our next meal. We can go a long time between meals, so living in caves is a good life for us. This new life, was VERY different to me, and I initially believed, I would stay the couple of months until I needed to eat again, then eat a patron here, and then get out to go find my next cave. While we normally shape shift into inanimate objects, that doesn't mean our true form is such, or that we cannot shift into something like a dwarf, or halfling, or even human child shape. I can never get the facial details right, so when I have tried that, and attempted to speak, adventurers would immediately panic and start swinging. I'm just trying to live, you know.
I eventually digested my meal and was hungry, but people would sit on me, and drop food into the folds of the chair. I would quickly gobble them up. Other times, beer, ale or meade would be spilled on me, and I would absorb that as well. I had a good enough constant diet of spillage that I didn't need to gorge myself on entire beings. I'll admit, I liked the fire. I liked the music the bards would play. I liked the cooking that the matron would serve, and I liked that drunk adventurers would spill more than enough on me that I was well fed. When I needed to relieve myself of waste, I could sneak out while people were sleeping and do that in the alleyway.
​
One night, while doing just that, I noticed a thief trying to break in to rob my new 'family'. On one hand, he was just trying to live and eat, on the other, if he took their gold, or harmed them, I would lose my cushy spot and have to go back to a damp dark cave. That wouldn't do.
He never knew I had grabbed him. I didn't realize how much more strength I had with my steady diet of food, it was really easy to gobble him up. I quickly went back to my corner, and resumed my chair form.
"Marta? Does the chair seem a little poofier to you?" I saw the innkeep looking at me intently.
His wife walked over and took a good look, then cleaned me with her towel. "No, same amount of poof. Of all the treasure we ever found, this has been the one that has really proven its worth. It's been years and that leather hasn't cracked at all, I dare say, it's in better shape now than when we got it out of that cave. And to think, I told you it might smell bad in our new Inn. " She finished cleaning the chair and gave it a loving pat. "If our patrons didn't love sitting in this chair so much, I'd say we bring it up to our living quarters to relax in, but we never relax, do we?" With a laugh, she walked away back to the kitchen.
"Silly thought of me." the man said as he patted the back of the chair. He turned and sat down for a brief moment before his wife told him that they would have customers soon and to take out the rubbish.
A little while later, I heard him remark that out near the rubbish pile he found a pry bar under the back window, and marks like someone had been trying to get in. He made a note to secure the window better and that was that.
A couple of nights later, everything was fine, people were happily eating and drinking, the bard came and performed for the people and just had a really great night of it. Until the friends of the guy I had eaten showed up.
**End of Part 1** | Everyone thinks this is easy. Everyone thinks its a jolly jape to change into whatever you want.
But its physics. Its a mass thing. You cant just transmogrify into what ever you want whenever you want. It takea prep. It takes time.
The chair was a mistake. Considering when i got locked down there i was a solid oak casket, with brass trimmings and a rather natty locking mechanism that, even if i do say myself, i was right proud of. Gave the chaps hefting me something to whinge about anyway.
I should never have got myself into that situation. Wasnt a bad little gig i was in, yer standard castle situation. Done a few decades just chillin. Watching the world go by. Then the bloody King gets snaffled off by an unfortunate incident involving the garderobe, and a rather overzealous privy councillor.
So all his stuff gets locked away down in the dungeon.
And like i said its a mass thing. By the time i managed to shed enough mass to become something more nimble i was locked away in the dark having chats with the rats. Fairly one sided chats, but a couple of them showed potential.
With the best parts of me shed to lose some wieght on the way down here, that brass is hard to put together, all i could put together in a hurry was a rather delicious little chair with a chintz covering. One of my better designs i thought.
So there i am, binding my time. Soaking up the rats urine when this sparky little chap come blundering in. God nows how long i was down there, but it must have been a while as this chap certainly wasnt dressed in a manner i was familiar with.
So here he is, waving some sort of light projector about and he spots me in the corner.
Now, i may have been locked away in the dark, but i do take some pride in my appearance. Keep the dust off. Clean up after the rats. I shed some mass, i gain some. Its like breathing, but over a really long timescale.
But anyway, here he is. Eyeing me up with that look in his eyes and i thought, here we go. Uprooted, knocked about, shoved in a corner somewhere to be forgotten about.
But no, low and behold, pride of place in this old geezers public hostelry. Apparently i'm regency. I just modelled myself after a rather cute little hard back i saw in Paris.
So here we are. Living the dream. I can people watch to my still not beating hearts content. Loving, still, life.
I get attached to the old boy. Each one of his teeasures holds a memory for him. And its not the treasure that holds the value for him, but the memory. And i liked that about him.
Just to jump a bit, i said earlier that it takes some to change shape. If i go bigger, i gotta mass load. Suck in as much detritus as i can to bulk up. But i can change a bit quick when i need to. I cant change mass, or push my shape too much, but it can happen in an emergemcy. I am just a lazy fucker and cant be arsed most of the time.
Well, needless to say, some of my old mans history caught up with him one quiet dull rainy sunday afternoon.
Wanted to collect on an old debt, bit of a cuffuffel ensued, the old man still had some moves. And one of the ruffians landed on me. Well, help the old boy out a bit didnt I. Crossed my legs just so, moved the stiching around like this, opened up my pores just so . . . .
Well, i will spare you the gory details. But i am a tad heavier than i was before, and the screaming has died down eventually.
Although i am back in a dark dungeon. Apparently moving furniture can do quite a number on people.
Oh well. The mice are friendly at least. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | Everyone thinks this is easy. Everyone thinks its a jolly jape to change into whatever you want.
But its physics. Its a mass thing. You cant just transmogrify into what ever you want whenever you want. It takea prep. It takes time.
The chair was a mistake. Considering when i got locked down there i was a solid oak casket, with brass trimmings and a rather natty locking mechanism that, even if i do say myself, i was right proud of. Gave the chaps hefting me something to whinge about anyway.
I should never have got myself into that situation. Wasnt a bad little gig i was in, yer standard castle situation. Done a few decades just chillin. Watching the world go by. Then the bloody King gets snaffled off by an unfortunate incident involving the garderobe, and a rather overzealous privy councillor.
So all his stuff gets locked away down in the dungeon.
And like i said its a mass thing. By the time i managed to shed enough mass to become something more nimble i was locked away in the dark having chats with the rats. Fairly one sided chats, but a couple of them showed potential.
With the best parts of me shed to lose some wieght on the way down here, that brass is hard to put together, all i could put together in a hurry was a rather delicious little chair with a chintz covering. One of my better designs i thought.
So there i am, binding my time. Soaking up the rats urine when this sparky little chap come blundering in. God nows how long i was down there, but it must have been a while as this chap certainly wasnt dressed in a manner i was familiar with.
So here he is, waving some sort of light projector about and he spots me in the corner.
Now, i may have been locked away in the dark, but i do take some pride in my appearance. Keep the dust off. Clean up after the rats. I shed some mass, i gain some. Its like breathing, but over a really long timescale.
But anyway, here he is. Eyeing me up with that look in his eyes and i thought, here we go. Uprooted, knocked about, shoved in a corner somewhere to be forgotten about.
But no, low and behold, pride of place in this old geezers public hostelry. Apparently i'm regency. I just modelled myself after a rather cute little hard back i saw in Paris.
So here we are. Living the dream. I can people watch to my still not beating hearts content. Loving, still, life.
I get attached to the old boy. Each one of his teeasures holds a memory for him. And its not the treasure that holds the value for him, but the memory. And i liked that about him.
Just to jump a bit, i said earlier that it takes some to change shape. If i go bigger, i gotta mass load. Suck in as much detritus as i can to bulk up. But i can change a bit quick when i need to. I cant change mass, or push my shape too much, but it can happen in an emergemcy. I am just a lazy fucker and cant be arsed most of the time.
Well, needless to say, some of my old mans history caught up with him one quiet dull rainy sunday afternoon.
Wanted to collect on an old debt, bit of a cuffuffel ensued, the old man still had some moves. And one of the ruffians landed on me. Well, help the old boy out a bit didnt I. Crossed my legs just so, moved the stiching around like this, opened up my pores just so . . . .
Well, i will spare you the gory details. But i am a tad heavier than i was before, and the screaming has died down eventually.
Although i am back in a dark dungeon. Apparently moving furniture can do quite a number on people.
Oh well. The mice are friendly at least. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | A Mimic, a creature that only seem to have one purpose, luring adventurers to their doom by mimicking a certain item such as a chest, a door, a wardrobe, well mostly chest. But here is a tale of a mimic who took form of a chair.
*I lived quite a boring life. Just keeping still and occasionally eating rats or occasionally raccoons within the old castle. I never ate adventurers because none of them even approached me.*
***"And here they are, two adventurers. I bet they are just gonna ignore me again"*** *I thought to myself.*
"Look Steven! Its a chair!" Said the young adventurer as she picked me up.
***"Wait what?"***
"I can see that Claire, please don't tell me you want to take that chair" said the other adventurer.
***"Wait what do I do now?"*** *This is the first time in centuries someone approached me, let alone pick me up!*
"Well, its a bit weird but I feel bad leaving it alone, I think we can give it another chance, please Steven? Pretty please?" She tried to show puppy eyes to the other adventurer.
"Okay fine, but you're carrying it" as he toss the loot sack over his shoulder.
"It's okay Mr. Chair, I'm going to take care of you" she smiled at me.
*So her name is Claire. Wait does she realize im a Mimic? I think I should play along as a chair for now.*
*It was the best decision I've ever made, she retired from adventuring after picking me up and opened up a tavern. My life was simple as I stared at many people come and go. I often let one sit on me and listened to their tales. Or hear the bards sing and play their instruments.*
*At night I mostly sneak to the kitchen and eat the trash and it tasted much better than eating rats and raccoons honestly. My life is perfect, she cleans me everyday and there are plenty of entertainment in here, heck the trash here taste really good, can't believe they throw these stuff away.*
*After a few years I made my decision, I shall be the guardian of this tavern. I watched as months go by, I have seen a lot of things. I eventually saw her fall in love and raised a family in the tavern. She would sit on me and sing lullaby to her child. Sometimes I caught myself humming along.*
Life was good until this very day.
A bunch of ruffians came in the tavern as we were closing up. I've seen troublemaker's before but this feels different, and I was right. As one of them sat on me I knew they were trouble.
One of the ruffian suddenly grabbed her daughter and started making demands. I wanted to do something but I didn't want to reveal myself.
The old lady and old man asked the ruffians to release their daughter but the ruffians just laughed at them. Soon I saw the leader of the ruffians just playing with his knife threatening my family.
The leader of the ruffians grab me and sits on me, and this guy not only have the nerve to threaten my family but now he sits the wrong way? That's when I snapped.
*My teeth pops out of the seat and the back post, in one swift motion, I clamped my jaws between his legs, he screamed in agony but I clamped even harder*
*The others stared in terror trying to process what is going on as their leader's balls is being torn off by a chair*
As much I wanted to continue munching on him I spat him out. He tasted gross.
"Shit! Thats a Mimic! Lets get outta here!" One of the ruffians yelled, they ran out while tripping on their own feet while trying to carry their wounded leader.
The tavern was a mess, but at least they ran empty handed but I can't say the same for myself. I look back at the frightened family, the old man clutching his daughter close to him and the old lady who just stared at me without breaking contact.
***"I guess this is it. They know I'm a Mimic and I cant stay here anymore"*** *I thought to myself*
*I look back and stared at the old lady one more time before forcing myself to start marching out the door*
Suddenly I heard a familiar sound, she was softly humming. I stopped and slowly turned around and hear her humming, it was the lullaby she used to sing for her daughter. I didn't realized it but I started humming as well.
She stood up and slowly walk towards me and kneeled in front of me. She slowly pat me and said "For some reason I always knew someone was watching over me, it was you wasn't it Mr. Chair?"
I simply slowly nodded.
"Well Mr. Chair, I think I have some leftovers, would you like some?" She smiled in front of me and for a brief moment I saw her younger self, the day she picked me up.
"Well" she stood up and starts walking to the kitchen "don't wait up!"
I quickly nodded and followed her. After all, this is my family now. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | They were so tasty, the dwarven party that had entered the treasure chamber. I was so satiated that I could not have eaten anything else. That is one of the most blissful feelings one can have. I didn't have visitors in my cave often, so I figured I would have a solid month to digest my meal when I heard the sound of someone else coming my way. I quickly arranged the armor of my last meal along the wall and shifted into the form of a chair, thinking nobody will take some chair when there's treasure to be had....
When I awoke from my nap, I was being placed in a room with other furniture. There was a row of stools against a shelf that stuck out in the room. I, in my chair form, was placed in the corner of the room, near a fireplace that provided some heat, but not too much.
"Bugger! That chair I found it heavy, you'd think it were stuffed with a couple of dwarves! It's not the most comfortable thing, but I think it will do nicely here by the fire." The man who must have taken me from my lair commented to a woman in a dress and apron.
"Ah, it is a nice chair. Comfy looking, but not so much that people will fall asleep in it and not buy food or drink. I think we will do well here in town after being on the road so much. " She took a rag out from her waistband and cleaned their new 'chair' up.
I had been stuffed with two dwarves, and a halfling. Digestion takes time for one like me. The adventuring types have called me a 'mimic'. I guess because my kind can shape shift into normal looking objects like chests, chairs, or tables as we wait for our next meal. We can go a long time between meals, so living in caves is a good life for us. This new life, was VERY different to me, and I initially believed, I would stay the couple of months until I needed to eat again, then eat a patron here, and then get out to go find my next cave. While we normally shape shift into inanimate objects, that doesn't mean our true form is such, or that we cannot shift into something like a dwarf, or halfling, or even human child shape. I can never get the facial details right, so when I have tried that, and attempted to speak, adventurers would immediately panic and start swinging. I'm just trying to live, you know.
I eventually digested my meal and was hungry, but people would sit on me, and drop food into the folds of the chair. I would quickly gobble them up. Other times, beer, ale or meade would be spilled on me, and I would absorb that as well. I had a good enough constant diet of spillage that I didn't need to gorge myself on entire beings. I'll admit, I liked the fire. I liked the music the bards would play. I liked the cooking that the matron would serve, and I liked that drunk adventurers would spill more than enough on me that I was well fed. When I needed to relieve myself of waste, I could sneak out while people were sleeping and do that in the alleyway.
​
One night, while doing just that, I noticed a thief trying to break in to rob my new 'family'. On one hand, he was just trying to live and eat, on the other, if he took their gold, or harmed them, I would lose my cushy spot and have to go back to a damp dark cave. That wouldn't do.
He never knew I had grabbed him. I didn't realize how much more strength I had with my steady diet of food, it was really easy to gobble him up. I quickly went back to my corner, and resumed my chair form.
"Marta? Does the chair seem a little poofier to you?" I saw the innkeep looking at me intently.
His wife walked over and took a good look, then cleaned me with her towel. "No, same amount of poof. Of all the treasure we ever found, this has been the one that has really proven its worth. It's been years and that leather hasn't cracked at all, I dare say, it's in better shape now than when we got it out of that cave. And to think, I told you it might smell bad in our new Inn. " She finished cleaning the chair and gave it a loving pat. "If our patrons didn't love sitting in this chair so much, I'd say we bring it up to our living quarters to relax in, but we never relax, do we?" With a laugh, she walked away back to the kitchen.
"Silly thought of me." the man said as he patted the back of the chair. He turned and sat down for a brief moment before his wife told him that they would have customers soon and to take out the rubbish.
A little while later, I heard him remark that out near the rubbish pile he found a pry bar under the back window, and marks like someone had been trying to get in. He made a note to secure the window better and that was that.
A couple of nights later, everything was fine, people were happily eating and drinking, the bard came and performed for the people and just had a really great night of it. Until the friends of the guy I had eaten showed up.
**End of Part 1** | Question I was asking myself since my youth was, what taste best.
I ate pretty much everything. Rats, cats, dogs, blink dogs (they are not worth the trouble).
Sometimes I had more complicated meals. For example when I was closet, I had some lady with more parfume than flesh, pretty good seasoning I have to admit.
I think my favorite was knight seasoned by dragon blood and rust. I ate him as chest he tried to loot, one gulp and only shoes remained (I usually leave shoes be, it's disgusting and make nice scary decor)
But last week I experienced something incredible.
I. Tasted. Justice.
So you wonder, how in the bloody hell did mimic ate justice.
Remembered the knight seasoned with dragon blood. Well he was one of many adventures that looted castle I called home and dining room in one. I ate dozens stupid adventures that day.
Last who came was guy whose name I didn't know at the time so I called him Late to party Lorenzo. Reason is simple.
Everything. Was. Already. Gone. Except me of course. Simple chair in middle of room. Guy was so desperate he took me as loot.
Now you might wonder why wasn't he just another course on the menu. Well in contradiction to popular belief, mimics can have full stomach. And maaaan was it feast that day. Knight, wizards, clerics, fools, bafoons and fair ladies all stacked up in my belly. Anyway I was so full I couldn't open my mouth even if I wanted to.
So I ended up here, in busy tavern. Late to party Lorenzo realized looting castles is nothing for him so he settled down. I ended up as bar chair. Honestly can't complain. It had it's pros. Food was regularly delivered in form of rat infestation. Being cleaned by caring hands was not so bad, attention is something even mimic can enjoy. And who would have guess, nice rub from human back side is also surprisingly nice. And don't get me started on couples making out on me.
And here I tasted justice for the first time. Some hooligans rushed into tavern. Demanding beer and food(of course without paying) immediately kicked out all the paying guests. First I didn't really care. Than I realized something when I saw them taking money from Lorenzo, threatening his life and breaking other real furniture comrades *this suckers might end up my comfy comfy life*. So when the biggest baddest came to me I showed who he is messing with.
Not gonna lie I was little out shape after years of comfort. Still. He didn't even put up a fight. Rather tried little girl screaming. He had no hope. His leather jacket stood no chance against my teeth capable of chewing through enchanted armour.
And that's how I tasted justice. Lorenzo kept his life, tavern was saved and I was crowded a heroic chair.
Also I changed occupation. No longer bar stool. I moved to their daughter's room. Apparently there's something intriguing about monster that consist of only giant mouth and longe tongue
I just have to be careful to only eat her up and not eat her. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | Question I was asking myself since my youth was, what taste best.
I ate pretty much everything. Rats, cats, dogs, blink dogs (they are not worth the trouble).
Sometimes I had more complicated meals. For example when I was closet, I had some lady with more parfume than flesh, pretty good seasoning I have to admit.
I think my favorite was knight seasoned by dragon blood and rust. I ate him as chest he tried to loot, one gulp and only shoes remained (I usually leave shoes be, it's disgusting and make nice scary decor)
But last week I experienced something incredible.
I. Tasted. Justice.
So you wonder, how in the bloody hell did mimic ate justice.
Remembered the knight seasoned with dragon blood. Well he was one of many adventures that looted castle I called home and dining room in one. I ate dozens stupid adventures that day.
Last who came was guy whose name I didn't know at the time so I called him Late to party Lorenzo. Reason is simple.
Everything. Was. Already. Gone. Except me of course. Simple chair in middle of room. Guy was so desperate he took me as loot.
Now you might wonder why wasn't he just another course on the menu. Well in contradiction to popular belief, mimics can have full stomach. And maaaan was it feast that day. Knight, wizards, clerics, fools, bafoons and fair ladies all stacked up in my belly. Anyway I was so full I couldn't open my mouth even if I wanted to.
So I ended up here, in busy tavern. Late to party Lorenzo realized looting castles is nothing for him so he settled down. I ended up as bar chair. Honestly can't complain. It had it's pros. Food was regularly delivered in form of rat infestation. Being cleaned by caring hands was not so bad, attention is something even mimic can enjoy. And who would have guess, nice rub from human back side is also surprisingly nice. And don't get me started on couples making out on me.
And here I tasted justice for the first time. Some hooligans rushed into tavern. Demanding beer and food(of course without paying) immediately kicked out all the paying guests. First I didn't really care. Than I realized something when I saw them taking money from Lorenzo, threatening his life and breaking other real furniture comrades *this suckers might end up my comfy comfy life*. So when the biggest baddest came to me I showed who he is messing with.
Not gonna lie I was little out shape after years of comfort. Still. He didn't even put up a fight. Rather tried little girl screaming. He had no hope. His leather jacket stood no chance against my teeth capable of chewing through enchanted armour.
And that's how I tasted justice. Lorenzo kept his life, tavern was saved and I was crowded a heroic chair.
Also I changed occupation. No longer bar stool. I moved to their daughter's room. Apparently there's something intriguing about monster that consist of only giant mouth and longe tongue
I just have to be careful to only eat her up and not eat her. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Edgar sat back in his favorite chair, the one passed down from his father, and his father's father before him. It wasn't a particularly special chair, though it was a nice mahogany, or so he thought. He'd kept up on the finish, made sure to check and make sure the legs and their cross-sections were secure. It had survived so many accidents in it's life in their family.
The butt of a silly joke of his grandfather's, he'd delved deep into a vampire's lair, him a few of his comrades had found themselves face to face with the fiend, who had kidnapped townsfolk to feed on and make his own thralls. Vampire sat across them from a long-table in this very chair, lips and chin soaked in dried blood, the bastard apparently didn't even clean himself up after a meal, as was apparent also by the random dried splatters and the smells of death.
No sooner did the vampire stand... did he crack his knee on the table, losing his balance and falling back, breaking the top of the chair off as he fell... and impaled himself on the jagged remains of the left post of it... the chair had killed the vampire! After everything was said and done, his grandfather couldn't leave the 'hero' behind, and removed the wretch from it as he and his allies laughed, taking turns carrying it all the way up.
He spent weeks finding the right wood and materials... and swore that when he went to grab it from the shed, it was already fixed! as if nothing had happened. Assuming it to just be a well-meant prank from one of those who knew about it, it was brought into the house.
Seventy years later, and now in Edgar's possession, it's place of residence was his grandfather's inn and Tavern. The chair was a particular part of a fun party game couples would play, the drunk among them saying they could feel a thump under their arse if their soulmate was before them. Edgar merely thought it was the younger patrons trying to have a laugh, but it was all in good fun.
It was late in the evening, most patrons had left, or gone to their rooms, and it was just Edgar, his wife Henrietta, and a local boy, Terry, hired as a dishwasher, but more of a son the both couldn't have, Henrietta being unable to conceive. Edgar pulled the glasses from his face, wiping them clean. "That lot was a handful tonight, but we made some heavy coin." he smiled. Henrietta carried over the ledger, pouring over the numbers, the more business minded of the two, Edgar was more of a people person, getting along with folks and creatures from all walks of life. "I guess it helps that we let the kobolds in too." he chuckled.
As Henrietta neared, Edgar felt a thump beneath his chair, looking down. "Hmm? Nah... couldn't..." he was cut off as there was a louder thump, the sound of the door slamming open and a crossbow-bolt nearly hitting his leg, sailing into the bar behind him. "The hell's going on?" he yelled, standing quickly, looking to his wife and Terry to hide, as he ran behind the bar, grasping for the mace he kept hidden, the cobwebs lifting from it a tell he'd never had to use it.
Shaky hands held the mace as he peeked up over the bar, noticing several leather-bound brigands from the nearby forest enter. They laughed as they entered, a larger one making a point to slam his axe into the door, several others entering and knocking things from shelves, gathering what they thought would sell. "We saw ya, now just give us that pretty lady and your coin and maybe we'll let you live." a gruff voice spoke, clearly the leader of this little group.
Edgar's hand gripped the mace tightly. He'd never surrender his wife, and he knew he'd die, but if he distracted them, Terry and Henrietta could escape out the back, so he thought. His thought, however, was ripped from his mind from the sudden blood curdling scream that echoed through the tavern. One of them just lay in the middle of the floor, a bloody stump where his leg once was, nothing else around, no sign of an attacker, just a chair.
"The hell happened?" the leader spoke, attention turning to the brigand who was now going into shock, pointing at the chair as the color was draining from his body as fast as the blood from his leg. The leader growled angrily. "The shit does this chair have to do with it?!" he said, angrily kicking the piece of furniture... until he was screaming too as the dimensions around the chair seemed to warp, engulfing his leg in a world of vicious razor-sharp teeth, collapsing around his leg and tearing through it as if it wasn't even there.
"BOSS! W-what is that..." More screams rang out. Edgar peered over the bar, wide-eyed as the chair he was sitting in not seconds ago was now... alive? and growling menacingly, warping it's frame into sharp wooden tendrils that grasped and tore limbs gruesomely, the leader and several others were dead and in pieces, now being fed into the maw that seemed to flow through the material to where it was needed. If it weren't for the many tales of adventurers and the stories of mimics and their like, Edgar would have sworn himself mad at the sight of it.
The crackling of wood piercing bone as one was pierced through his chest, the limb expanding as if it were a frog's neck, torturously creating a cavity through which the maw flowed freely to devour his body from the inside out, the last of the two would-be burglars screaming as they fled out of the door, covered in what little blood remained from their crew.
Almost as quickly as it had changed, the extra limbs and maw of the mimic pulled back and reformed into the chair he knew, not even a spot of blood on it. Still gripping the mace in hand, he carefully approached. "H-hey now... E-erm... y-you're not going to do that to me... right?" he said. the chair didn't budge... and despite his better judgement, he approached it, carefully resting his hand on it.
No longer hearing any sounds, both Henrietta and Terry emerged from the back room. "E-edgar! You're alive... What happened? W-where did they go?" Henrietta asked. Edgar turned and embraced her, hugging her tight before stepping back.
"I... er..." Edgar tried to gather his thoughts. "Well... you see... the big guy tripped over the chair and..." he continued, weaving another tale about the would-be hero of a chair. | Question I was asking myself since my youth was, what taste best.
I ate pretty much everything. Rats, cats, dogs, blink dogs (they are not worth the trouble).
Sometimes I had more complicated meals. For example when I was closet, I had some lady with more parfume than flesh, pretty good seasoning I have to admit.
I think my favorite was knight seasoned by dragon blood and rust. I ate him as chest he tried to loot, one gulp and only shoes remained (I usually leave shoes be, it's disgusting and make nice scary decor)
But last week I experienced something incredible.
I. Tasted. Justice.
So you wonder, how in the bloody hell did mimic ate justice.
Remembered the knight seasoned with dragon blood. Well he was one of many adventures that looted castle I called home and dining room in one. I ate dozens stupid adventures that day.
Last who came was guy whose name I didn't know at the time so I called him Late to party Lorenzo. Reason is simple.
Everything. Was. Already. Gone. Except me of course. Simple chair in middle of room. Guy was so desperate he took me as loot.
Now you might wonder why wasn't he just another course on the menu. Well in contradiction to popular belief, mimics can have full stomach. And maaaan was it feast that day. Knight, wizards, clerics, fools, bafoons and fair ladies all stacked up in my belly. Anyway I was so full I couldn't open my mouth even if I wanted to.
So I ended up here, in busy tavern. Late to party Lorenzo realized looting castles is nothing for him so he settled down. I ended up as bar chair. Honestly can't complain. It had it's pros. Food was regularly delivered in form of rat infestation. Being cleaned by caring hands was not so bad, attention is something even mimic can enjoy. And who would have guess, nice rub from human back side is also surprisingly nice. And don't get me started on couples making out on me.
And here I tasted justice for the first time. Some hooligans rushed into tavern. Demanding beer and food(of course without paying) immediately kicked out all the paying guests. First I didn't really care. Than I realized something when I saw them taking money from Lorenzo, threatening his life and breaking other real furniture comrades *this suckers might end up my comfy comfy life*. So when the biggest baddest came to me I showed who he is messing with.
Not gonna lie I was little out shape after years of comfort. Still. He didn't even put up a fight. Rather tried little girl screaming. He had no hope. His leather jacket stood no chance against my teeth capable of chewing through enchanted armour.
And that's how I tasted justice. Lorenzo kept his life, tavern was saved and I was crowded a heroic chair.
Also I changed occupation. No longer bar stool. I moved to their daughter's room. Apparently there's something intriguing about monster that consist of only giant mouth and longe tongue
I just have to be careful to only eat her up and not eat her. | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | They were so tasty, the dwarven party that had entered the treasure chamber. I was so satiated that I could not have eaten anything else. That is one of the most blissful feelings one can have. I didn't have visitors in my cave often, so I figured I would have a solid month to digest my meal when I heard the sound of someone else coming my way. I quickly arranged the armor of my last meal along the wall and shifted into the form of a chair, thinking nobody will take some chair when there's treasure to be had....
When I awoke from my nap, I was being placed in a room with other furniture. There was a row of stools against a shelf that stuck out in the room. I, in my chair form, was placed in the corner of the room, near a fireplace that provided some heat, but not too much.
"Bugger! That chair I found it heavy, you'd think it were stuffed with a couple of dwarves! It's not the most comfortable thing, but I think it will do nicely here by the fire." The man who must have taken me from my lair commented to a woman in a dress and apron.
"Ah, it is a nice chair. Comfy looking, but not so much that people will fall asleep in it and not buy food or drink. I think we will do well here in town after being on the road so much. " She took a rag out from her waistband and cleaned their new 'chair' up.
I had been stuffed with two dwarves, and a halfling. Digestion takes time for one like me. The adventuring types have called me a 'mimic'. I guess because my kind can shape shift into normal looking objects like chests, chairs, or tables as we wait for our next meal. We can go a long time between meals, so living in caves is a good life for us. This new life, was VERY different to me, and I initially believed, I would stay the couple of months until I needed to eat again, then eat a patron here, and then get out to go find my next cave. While we normally shape shift into inanimate objects, that doesn't mean our true form is such, or that we cannot shift into something like a dwarf, or halfling, or even human child shape. I can never get the facial details right, so when I have tried that, and attempted to speak, adventurers would immediately panic and start swinging. I'm just trying to live, you know.
I eventually digested my meal and was hungry, but people would sit on me, and drop food into the folds of the chair. I would quickly gobble them up. Other times, beer, ale or meade would be spilled on me, and I would absorb that as well. I had a good enough constant diet of spillage that I didn't need to gorge myself on entire beings. I'll admit, I liked the fire. I liked the music the bards would play. I liked the cooking that the matron would serve, and I liked that drunk adventurers would spill more than enough on me that I was well fed. When I needed to relieve myself of waste, I could sneak out while people were sleeping and do that in the alleyway.
​
One night, while doing just that, I noticed a thief trying to break in to rob my new 'family'. On one hand, he was just trying to live and eat, on the other, if he took their gold, or harmed them, I would lose my cushy spot and have to go back to a damp dark cave. That wouldn't do.
He never knew I had grabbed him. I didn't realize how much more strength I had with my steady diet of food, it was really easy to gobble him up. I quickly went back to my corner, and resumed my chair form.
"Marta? Does the chair seem a little poofier to you?" I saw the innkeep looking at me intently.
His wife walked over and took a good look, then cleaned me with her towel. "No, same amount of poof. Of all the treasure we ever found, this has been the one that has really proven its worth. It's been years and that leather hasn't cracked at all, I dare say, it's in better shape now than when we got it out of that cave. And to think, I told you it might smell bad in our new Inn. " She finished cleaning the chair and gave it a loving pat. "If our patrons didn't love sitting in this chair so much, I'd say we bring it up to our living quarters to relax in, but we never relax, do we?" With a laugh, she walked away back to the kitchen.
"Silly thought of me." the man said as he patted the back of the chair. He turned and sat down for a brief moment before his wife told him that they would have customers soon and to take out the rubbish.
A little while later, I heard him remark that out near the rubbish pile he found a pry bar under the back window, and marks like someone had been trying to get in. He made a note to secure the window better and that was that.
A couple of nights later, everything was fine, people were happily eating and drinking, the bard came and performed for the people and just had a really great night of it. Until the friends of the guy I had eaten showed up.
**End of Part 1** | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | Life good, life been good. Life was bad, hunger bad and was hungry so life bad. So hungry life so bad went sleep. Woke up and Big Snackums had me tied in wheeled bed...bed with wheels...wheel barrow...nope, cart, tied in cart. Big Snackums in open though, to many other snackums, hungry but not want die so stay chair. Big Snackums take to place smell like foods, lots foods. Was gonna eat Big Snackums there but foods got spilled on me so ate Big Snackums spilled food. Long time that back now. Big Snackums keep me in place with lots chairs, tables, tasty rattums, foods and drinks. Gotta watch drinks though, drank wrong drinks keep falling over. Almost got thrown out with trash. No more fruity strong drinks only drink drinks Big Snackums says makes pee lots. Smell like pee and vomit too so Big Snackums not notice when pee on floor. Good life, long life, lots eats, lots drinks. Big Snackums got old but found curvy Snackums and had little Snackums. Was good life, never hungry life, made sure always be comfy chair life. Old life silly life, other mimics silly lives. Sit cave or dungeon, wait for rare snackums mostly be hungry life. Chair in tavern better life, good life, never hungry life. Much better life now life.
Moon like big plate two big plate ago, poor old Big Snackums old now, grey now. Ruffians come moon go big plate two big plate ago. Want take what Big Snackums have. Threaten small curvy Snackums as well as also Mrs. Big Snackums. Back Big Snackums young they no think even try or die but Big Snackums old now. Big Snackums weak now. Me not weak now no no no me strong, me healthy, me fed by Big Snackums for long time.
Little curvy Snackums see me but no cry or shout. Got 4 legs move good behind one ruff thug, streeeetch up behind and munch munch munch. Good fresh snackums. Other ruff snackums scream and run, one stick small pokey in my side, make him fresh snackum too munch munch munch good fresh snackum. Ruff snackums all gone. Ate or run but all gone. Big Snackums and family scared but little curvy Snackum come touch, then scratch all fod from done plate on me, bonus food. Then rub and pat me. Big Snackum ask talk Mrs Snackum if same chair he had from dungeon. She think so. He then rub pat. Men in shiney come, Big Snackum argue, feed me then, happy time, sit on me. Me make comfy for Big Snackum. Men in shiney leave.
New life now, good life now. Small curvy Snackums scratch all plates on me before wash. Not drank pee drink get poured on me too. Was holding self in for long many seasons, let go, now bench with back and arms. Six legs! Tavern no visitors I go basement get rattums. Big Snackums sit me all time, I make comfy. Best best, Big Snackums oldest little Snackum with little Snackums of Big Snackums old friends come by. All laugh, all take turns sitting me, laugh more but bring...chest. Chest now table, bench and table have 4 stools around rest of table as well as greedy bucket try hide in kitchen get all plate scrapings. Lots snackums come now, lots food and drinks now, life good now, no hunger now.
(I had a friend when I was a kid whose favorite character actually captured instead of killed a mimic. He trained it as a guard pet so I really loved the idea of this WP) | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Edgar sat back in his favorite chair, the one passed down from his father, and his father's father before him. It wasn't a particularly special chair, though it was a nice mahogany, or so he thought. He'd kept up on the finish, made sure to check and make sure the legs and their cross-sections were secure. It had survived so many accidents in it's life in their family.
The butt of a silly joke of his grandfather's, he'd delved deep into a vampire's lair, him a few of his comrades had found themselves face to face with the fiend, who had kidnapped townsfolk to feed on and make his own thralls. Vampire sat across them from a long-table in this very chair, lips and chin soaked in dried blood, the bastard apparently didn't even clean himself up after a meal, as was apparent also by the random dried splatters and the smells of death.
No sooner did the vampire stand... did he crack his knee on the table, losing his balance and falling back, breaking the top of the chair off as he fell... and impaled himself on the jagged remains of the left post of it... the chair had killed the vampire! After everything was said and done, his grandfather couldn't leave the 'hero' behind, and removed the wretch from it as he and his allies laughed, taking turns carrying it all the way up.
He spent weeks finding the right wood and materials... and swore that when he went to grab it from the shed, it was already fixed! as if nothing had happened. Assuming it to just be a well-meant prank from one of those who knew about it, it was brought into the house.
Seventy years later, and now in Edgar's possession, it's place of residence was his grandfather's inn and Tavern. The chair was a particular part of a fun party game couples would play, the drunk among them saying they could feel a thump under their arse if their soulmate was before them. Edgar merely thought it was the younger patrons trying to have a laugh, but it was all in good fun.
It was late in the evening, most patrons had left, or gone to their rooms, and it was just Edgar, his wife Henrietta, and a local boy, Terry, hired as a dishwasher, but more of a son the both couldn't have, Henrietta being unable to conceive. Edgar pulled the glasses from his face, wiping them clean. "That lot was a handful tonight, but we made some heavy coin." he smiled. Henrietta carried over the ledger, pouring over the numbers, the more business minded of the two, Edgar was more of a people person, getting along with folks and creatures from all walks of life. "I guess it helps that we let the kobolds in too." he chuckled.
As Henrietta neared, Edgar felt a thump beneath his chair, looking down. "Hmm? Nah... couldn't..." he was cut off as there was a louder thump, the sound of the door slamming open and a crossbow-bolt nearly hitting his leg, sailing into the bar behind him. "The hell's going on?" he yelled, standing quickly, looking to his wife and Terry to hide, as he ran behind the bar, grasping for the mace he kept hidden, the cobwebs lifting from it a tell he'd never had to use it.
Shaky hands held the mace as he peeked up over the bar, noticing several leather-bound brigands from the nearby forest enter. They laughed as they entered, a larger one making a point to slam his axe into the door, several others entering and knocking things from shelves, gathering what they thought would sell. "We saw ya, now just give us that pretty lady and your coin and maybe we'll let you live." a gruff voice spoke, clearly the leader of this little group.
Edgar's hand gripped the mace tightly. He'd never surrender his wife, and he knew he'd die, but if he distracted them, Terry and Henrietta could escape out the back, so he thought. His thought, however, was ripped from his mind from the sudden blood curdling scream that echoed through the tavern. One of them just lay in the middle of the floor, a bloody stump where his leg once was, nothing else around, no sign of an attacker, just a chair.
"The hell happened?" the leader spoke, attention turning to the brigand who was now going into shock, pointing at the chair as the color was draining from his body as fast as the blood from his leg. The leader growled angrily. "The shit does this chair have to do with it?!" he said, angrily kicking the piece of furniture... until he was screaming too as the dimensions around the chair seemed to warp, engulfing his leg in a world of vicious razor-sharp teeth, collapsing around his leg and tearing through it as if it wasn't even there.
"BOSS! W-what is that..." More screams rang out. Edgar peered over the bar, wide-eyed as the chair he was sitting in not seconds ago was now... alive? and growling menacingly, warping it's frame into sharp wooden tendrils that grasped and tore limbs gruesomely, the leader and several others were dead and in pieces, now being fed into the maw that seemed to flow through the material to where it was needed. If it weren't for the many tales of adventurers and the stories of mimics and their like, Edgar would have sworn himself mad at the sight of it.
The crackling of wood piercing bone as one was pierced through his chest, the limb expanding as if it were a frog's neck, torturously creating a cavity through which the maw flowed freely to devour his body from the inside out, the last of the two would-be burglars screaming as they fled out of the door, covered in what little blood remained from their crew.
Almost as quickly as it had changed, the extra limbs and maw of the mimic pulled back and reformed into the chair he knew, not even a spot of blood on it. Still gripping the mace in hand, he carefully approached. "H-hey now... E-erm... y-you're not going to do that to me... right?" he said. the chair didn't budge... and despite his better judgement, he approached it, carefully resting his hand on it.
No longer hearing any sounds, both Henrietta and Terry emerged from the back room. "E-edgar! You're alive... What happened? W-where did they go?" Henrietta asked. Edgar turned and embraced her, hugging her tight before stepping back.
"I... er..." Edgar tried to gather his thoughts. "Well... you see... the big guy tripped over the chair and..." he continued, weaving another tale about the would-be hero of a chair. | Life good, life been good. Life was bad, hunger bad and was hungry so life bad. So hungry life so bad went sleep. Woke up and Big Snackums had me tied in wheeled bed...bed with wheels...wheel barrow...nope, cart, tied in cart. Big Snackums in open though, to many other snackums, hungry but not want die so stay chair. Big Snackums take to place smell like foods, lots foods. Was gonna eat Big Snackums there but foods got spilled on me so ate Big Snackums spilled food. Long time that back now. Big Snackums keep me in place with lots chairs, tables, tasty rattums, foods and drinks. Gotta watch drinks though, drank wrong drinks keep falling over. Almost got thrown out with trash. No more fruity strong drinks only drink drinks Big Snackums says makes pee lots. Smell like pee and vomit too so Big Snackums not notice when pee on floor. Good life, long life, lots eats, lots drinks. Big Snackums got old but found curvy Snackums and had little Snackums. Was good life, never hungry life, made sure always be comfy chair life. Old life silly life, other mimics silly lives. Sit cave or dungeon, wait for rare snackums mostly be hungry life. Chair in tavern better life, good life, never hungry life. Much better life now life.
Moon like big plate two big plate ago, poor old Big Snackums old now, grey now. Ruffians come moon go big plate two big plate ago. Want take what Big Snackums have. Threaten small curvy Snackums as well as also Mrs. Big Snackums. Back Big Snackums young they no think even try or die but Big Snackums old now. Big Snackums weak now. Me not weak now no no no me strong, me healthy, me fed by Big Snackums for long time.
Little curvy Snackums see me but no cry or shout. Got 4 legs move good behind one ruff thug, streeeetch up behind and munch munch munch. Good fresh snackums. Other ruff snackums scream and run, one stick small pokey in my side, make him fresh snackum too munch munch munch good fresh snackum. Ruff snackums all gone. Ate or run but all gone. Big Snackums and family scared but little curvy Snackum come touch, then scratch all fod from done plate on me, bonus food. Then rub and pat me. Big Snackum ask talk Mrs Snackum if same chair he had from dungeon. She think so. He then rub pat. Men in shiney come, Big Snackum argue, feed me then, happy time, sit on me. Me make comfy for Big Snackum. Men in shiney leave.
New life now, good life now. Small curvy Snackums scratch all plates on me before wash. Not drank pee drink get poured on me too. Was holding self in for long many seasons, let go, now bench with back and arms. Six legs! Tavern no visitors I go basement get rattums. Big Snackums sit me all time, I make comfy. Best best, Big Snackums oldest little Snackum with little Snackums of Big Snackums old friends come by. All laugh, all take turns sitting me, laugh more but bring...chest. Chest now table, bench and table have 4 stools around rest of table as well as greedy bucket try hide in kitchen get all plate scrapings. Lots snackums come now, lots food and drinks now, life good now, no hunger now.
(I had a friend when I was a kid whose favorite character actually captured instead of killed a mimic. He trained it as a guard pet so I really loved the idea of this WP) | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | "Nah, not that place," the surly old man said while spinning the knife like a top, blade down, on the tip of his finger.
"Why not? It looks cozy, no guards, and the clientele are just regular folk." The young man did give an astute judgement of the tavern after all.
"Just no, you thickhead. You think a place like that stays unrobbed for no reason?"
The young blond with the pretty face and sparkling blue eyes smirked through his attempt at a beard, "Well then what's the reason?"
Old scars shifted into new patterns on the old man's face as his scowl deepened, "I don't know, just the bosses say stay away for your own health so I do. Anyways, it gives me the heebee jeebees."
At this the young man guffawed, "You?!? The heebee jeebees? I've seen you start brawls with a trio of mountain sized dockhands, what scares you?
"Fuck off shitlips," the old man spits back, "Only magic and monsters scare me, and that place reminds me of both."
"Very well, I'll take your advice, for now," the young man says slowly, still keeping an eye on his potential mark.
*What could possibly be a threat in there?* his mind asks, and curiosity borne wisdom replies W*hat indeed?*
​
Back at the dorm as they called it, Wilson ran his fingers through his fair hair. A bunch of rogue novices had banded together to rent an attic together. Before his foot had even met the first rung of the ladder, he could already hear the inane nattering of his less experienced roommates above.
Wilson sighs, and then climbs.
"So you in?" asks Gray, the self-titled leader, because he was technically the oldest by a week. His dusty black hair was cut short attempting to emulate what Wilson had naturally to overcome his kind of plain appearance, but his charisma had been honed into a glib and encouraging tongue.
Wilson considers for a second the old man's words. If the old man was right ....
"Whatever."
"Cool."
And that was that, according to Gray.
Wilson threw himself down on his pallet. I mean, if he was careful enough and not in the lead and the old man was right, then he could split and might lose a few friends slash competitors. If the old man was wrong, then he could still walk a way with a cut of the loot. Yeah, this could work .....
​
Mouse had taken the lead as per usual, small, silent, overlooked. A cliche nickname given by a bully, but it stuck and he liked in. The line was through the gap between the pains so effortlessly, just a slight maneuver to get the hook under the window latch and **\*CLICK\*** Mouse pauses as he swore the hook hadn't caught yet, but the window was unlocked. With a slight in draw of breath he pushes upwards with his shoulder and the window slides open silently. The hairs on his neck stand up from the almost unnatural lack of noise, but after a second Mouse lets himself breathe out. No alarms or wards were triggered.
Grey nods at Mouse's hand signal and replies in turn. Whispering, "Okay, go Mox." The tallest and thinnest of the three carefully draws his novice wand from his sleeve. All rogues still alive knew the danger of wards and dabbled in detection, but Mox was even rarer, a failed apprentice turned to crime. Mumbling low an incantation, a stream of pale blue shoots from the wand and through the open window, revealing nothing but the stationary furniture in the common room beyond. A tense second passes, and the light returns. Mox opens his eyes again, "No wards of any kind."
Grey grins at this and nudges Wilson in the ribs. "See, told yah it was gunnah be easy." Wilson just holds his thoughts to himself and nods in reply. Grey, taking this as agreement breaks of from the shadow of the wall and approaches the window.
Mouse seeing Grey approach nods, and Grey nods back. With one deft leap Grey is through the window landing lightly on the floorboards within. Scanning the room, nothing seems out of place, no darker than normal shadows that might hide a hidden guard. No glint of light from an overhead wire. Not even a raised floorboard that might give warning of a potential hidden foot trap. The perfection of such a tavern as this was starting to get unnerving to Grey, but he dismisses it just as quickly as listening too much to Wilson.
A second later and Mouse is behind Grey again. A flurry of hand signals and they quarter the room, staying low and silent. A tense few minutes pass and they reconnoiter below the window. A flash of rapid thieves language passes between their fingers and eyes, no danger, nothing out of place. Both of them thinking that nothing being out of place itself was out of place. But, no immediate danger, they give the signal to proceed.
Mox approaches the window. Not being a roguish kind of guy from birth like his friends, his entry through the window is far less graceful. The loud footfalls as his clambers through freezes the room, and yet still no response. Only Mox's ungainly tallness makes the entry not a complete disaster. Wilson is through the window straight after, double checking the length of wood keeping it open.
​
On cue Mouse takes point and approaches the bar proper. If there's a physical trap this is where it's most likely. He surveys the layout, and concludes the safest way is up into the rafters from the tables and straight down into the bar area. Picking the largest and sturdiest table as the launching point, Mouse starts his run to vault up into the ceiling. As luck would have it, a cloud bank covers the full moon and takes a modicum of the scant light out of the room at this very moment. Mouse's first raised footstep plants into the middle of the chair, and the chair moves. Unbalanced by this unexpected shift, Mouse tumbles headfirst into the table center, bracing for the impact that never happens.
"Woah ----" and then silence in the darkness. Light finally returns to the room a little as the clouds clear. The three remaining rogues wait for a noise or a signal for a very tense minute.
"Mouse?" Grey eventually utters forth. Only silence greets him in return. "This isn't funny," he says, even knowing Mouse doesn't play jokes, in a desperate fit of hope. The moon's full brightness finally returns, and the rogues are trying to spot the missing member of the team. Grey is checking the rafters, Mox is watching the floor, and Wilson is paying attention to the table. Wilson could swear he heard the noise of scraping wood, but barely audible, almost like the chair was trying to sneak. Almost imperceptively he notices it move.
"Hey Grey, we should leave," Wilson says, without emotion.
"No, we have to find mouse."
"No .. we have .. to go," Wilson says even more measured as the wooden chair edges very slowly towards Grey.
SNAP. The windows closes suddenly. The broken remains of the wedge splintering to the floor below.
"Fuck, the wood's come lose," growls Grey.
Mox in a trembling voice barely says, "I-i-it's worse than that. Th-th-th-the window ate it." | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Edgar sat back in his favorite chair, the one passed down from his father, and his father's father before him. It wasn't a particularly special chair, though it was a nice mahogany, or so he thought. He'd kept up on the finish, made sure to check and make sure the legs and their cross-sections were secure. It had survived so many accidents in it's life in their family.
The butt of a silly joke of his grandfather's, he'd delved deep into a vampire's lair, him a few of his comrades had found themselves face to face with the fiend, who had kidnapped townsfolk to feed on and make his own thralls. Vampire sat across them from a long-table in this very chair, lips and chin soaked in dried blood, the bastard apparently didn't even clean himself up after a meal, as was apparent also by the random dried splatters and the smells of death.
No sooner did the vampire stand... did he crack his knee on the table, losing his balance and falling back, breaking the top of the chair off as he fell... and impaled himself on the jagged remains of the left post of it... the chair had killed the vampire! After everything was said and done, his grandfather couldn't leave the 'hero' behind, and removed the wretch from it as he and his allies laughed, taking turns carrying it all the way up.
He spent weeks finding the right wood and materials... and swore that when he went to grab it from the shed, it was already fixed! as if nothing had happened. Assuming it to just be a well-meant prank from one of those who knew about it, it was brought into the house.
Seventy years later, and now in Edgar's possession, it's place of residence was his grandfather's inn and Tavern. The chair was a particular part of a fun party game couples would play, the drunk among them saying they could feel a thump under their arse if their soulmate was before them. Edgar merely thought it was the younger patrons trying to have a laugh, but it was all in good fun.
It was late in the evening, most patrons had left, or gone to their rooms, and it was just Edgar, his wife Henrietta, and a local boy, Terry, hired as a dishwasher, but more of a son the both couldn't have, Henrietta being unable to conceive. Edgar pulled the glasses from his face, wiping them clean. "That lot was a handful tonight, but we made some heavy coin." he smiled. Henrietta carried over the ledger, pouring over the numbers, the more business minded of the two, Edgar was more of a people person, getting along with folks and creatures from all walks of life. "I guess it helps that we let the kobolds in too." he chuckled.
As Henrietta neared, Edgar felt a thump beneath his chair, looking down. "Hmm? Nah... couldn't..." he was cut off as there was a louder thump, the sound of the door slamming open and a crossbow-bolt nearly hitting his leg, sailing into the bar behind him. "The hell's going on?" he yelled, standing quickly, looking to his wife and Terry to hide, as he ran behind the bar, grasping for the mace he kept hidden, the cobwebs lifting from it a tell he'd never had to use it.
Shaky hands held the mace as he peeked up over the bar, noticing several leather-bound brigands from the nearby forest enter. They laughed as they entered, a larger one making a point to slam his axe into the door, several others entering and knocking things from shelves, gathering what they thought would sell. "We saw ya, now just give us that pretty lady and your coin and maybe we'll let you live." a gruff voice spoke, clearly the leader of this little group.
Edgar's hand gripped the mace tightly. He'd never surrender his wife, and he knew he'd die, but if he distracted them, Terry and Henrietta could escape out the back, so he thought. His thought, however, was ripped from his mind from the sudden blood curdling scream that echoed through the tavern. One of them just lay in the middle of the floor, a bloody stump where his leg once was, nothing else around, no sign of an attacker, just a chair.
"The hell happened?" the leader spoke, attention turning to the brigand who was now going into shock, pointing at the chair as the color was draining from his body as fast as the blood from his leg. The leader growled angrily. "The shit does this chair have to do with it?!" he said, angrily kicking the piece of furniture... until he was screaming too as the dimensions around the chair seemed to warp, engulfing his leg in a world of vicious razor-sharp teeth, collapsing around his leg and tearing through it as if it wasn't even there.
"BOSS! W-what is that..." More screams rang out. Edgar peered over the bar, wide-eyed as the chair he was sitting in not seconds ago was now... alive? and growling menacingly, warping it's frame into sharp wooden tendrils that grasped and tore limbs gruesomely, the leader and several others were dead and in pieces, now being fed into the maw that seemed to flow through the material to where it was needed. If it weren't for the many tales of adventurers and the stories of mimics and their like, Edgar would have sworn himself mad at the sight of it.
The crackling of wood piercing bone as one was pierced through his chest, the limb expanding as if it were a frog's neck, torturously creating a cavity through which the maw flowed freely to devour his body from the inside out, the last of the two would-be burglars screaming as they fled out of the door, covered in what little blood remained from their crew.
Almost as quickly as it had changed, the extra limbs and maw of the mimic pulled back and reformed into the chair he knew, not even a spot of blood on it. Still gripping the mace in hand, he carefully approached. "H-hey now... E-erm... y-you're not going to do that to me... right?" he said. the chair didn't budge... and despite his better judgement, he approached it, carefully resting his hand on it.
No longer hearing any sounds, both Henrietta and Terry emerged from the back room. "E-edgar! You're alive... What happened? W-where did they go?" Henrietta asked. Edgar turned and embraced her, hugging her tight before stepping back.
"I... er..." Edgar tried to gather his thoughts. "Well... you see... the big guy tripped over the chair and..." he continued, weaving another tale about the would-be hero of a chair. | "Nah, not that place," the surly old man said while spinning the knife like a top, blade down, on the tip of his finger.
"Why not? It looks cozy, no guards, and the clientele are just regular folk." The young man did give an astute judgement of the tavern after all.
"Just no, you thickhead. You think a place like that stays unrobbed for no reason?"
The young blond with the pretty face and sparkling blue eyes smirked through his attempt at a beard, "Well then what's the reason?"
Old scars shifted into new patterns on the old man's face as his scowl deepened, "I don't know, just the bosses say stay away for your own health so I do. Anyways, it gives me the heebee jeebees."
At this the young man guffawed, "You?!? The heebee jeebees? I've seen you start brawls with a trio of mountain sized dockhands, what scares you?
"Fuck off shitlips," the old man spits back, "Only magic and monsters scare me, and that place reminds me of both."
"Very well, I'll take your advice, for now," the young man says slowly, still keeping an eye on his potential mark.
*What could possibly be a threat in there?* his mind asks, and curiosity borne wisdom replies W*hat indeed?*
​
Back at the dorm as they called it, Wilson ran his fingers through his fair hair. A bunch of rogue novices had banded together to rent an attic together. Before his foot had even met the first rung of the ladder, he could already hear the inane nattering of his less experienced roommates above.
Wilson sighs, and then climbs.
"So you in?" asks Gray, the self-titled leader, because he was technically the oldest by a week. His dusty black hair was cut short attempting to emulate what Wilson had naturally to overcome his kind of plain appearance, but his charisma had been honed into a glib and encouraging tongue.
Wilson considers for a second the old man's words. If the old man was right ....
"Whatever."
"Cool."
And that was that, according to Gray.
Wilson threw himself down on his pallet. I mean, if he was careful enough and not in the lead and the old man was right, then he could split and might lose a few friends slash competitors. If the old man was wrong, then he could still walk a way with a cut of the loot. Yeah, this could work .....
​
Mouse had taken the lead as per usual, small, silent, overlooked. A cliche nickname given by a bully, but it stuck and he liked in. The line was through the gap between the pains so effortlessly, just a slight maneuver to get the hook under the window latch and **\*CLICK\*** Mouse pauses as he swore the hook hadn't caught yet, but the window was unlocked. With a slight in draw of breath he pushes upwards with his shoulder and the window slides open silently. The hairs on his neck stand up from the almost unnatural lack of noise, but after a second Mouse lets himself breathe out. No alarms or wards were triggered.
Grey nods at Mouse's hand signal and replies in turn. Whispering, "Okay, go Mox." The tallest and thinnest of the three carefully draws his novice wand from his sleeve. All rogues still alive knew the danger of wards and dabbled in detection, but Mox was even rarer, a failed apprentice turned to crime. Mumbling low an incantation, a stream of pale blue shoots from the wand and through the open window, revealing nothing but the stationary furniture in the common room beyond. A tense second passes, and the light returns. Mox opens his eyes again, "No wards of any kind."
Grey grins at this and nudges Wilson in the ribs. "See, told yah it was gunnah be easy." Wilson just holds his thoughts to himself and nods in reply. Grey, taking this as agreement breaks of from the shadow of the wall and approaches the window.
Mouse seeing Grey approach nods, and Grey nods back. With one deft leap Grey is through the window landing lightly on the floorboards within. Scanning the room, nothing seems out of place, no darker than normal shadows that might hide a hidden guard. No glint of light from an overhead wire. Not even a raised floorboard that might give warning of a potential hidden foot trap. The perfection of such a tavern as this was starting to get unnerving to Grey, but he dismisses it just as quickly as listening too much to Wilson.
A second later and Mouse is behind Grey again. A flurry of hand signals and they quarter the room, staying low and silent. A tense few minutes pass and they reconnoiter below the window. A flash of rapid thieves language passes between their fingers and eyes, no danger, nothing out of place. Both of them thinking that nothing being out of place itself was out of place. But, no immediate danger, they give the signal to proceed.
Mox approaches the window. Not being a roguish kind of guy from birth like his friends, his entry through the window is far less graceful. The loud footfalls as his clambers through freezes the room, and yet still no response. Only Mox's ungainly tallness makes the entry not a complete disaster. Wilson is through the window straight after, double checking the length of wood keeping it open.
​
On cue Mouse takes point and approaches the bar proper. If there's a physical trap this is where it's most likely. He surveys the layout, and concludes the safest way is up into the rafters from the tables and straight down into the bar area. Picking the largest and sturdiest table as the launching point, Mouse starts his run to vault up into the ceiling. As luck would have it, a cloud bank covers the full moon and takes a modicum of the scant light out of the room at this very moment. Mouse's first raised footstep plants into the middle of the chair, and the chair moves. Unbalanced by this unexpected shift, Mouse tumbles headfirst into the table center, bracing for the impact that never happens.
"Woah ----" and then silence in the darkness. Light finally returns to the room a little as the clouds clear. The three remaining rogues wait for a noise or a signal for a very tense minute.
"Mouse?" Grey eventually utters forth. Only silence greets him in return. "This isn't funny," he says, even knowing Mouse doesn't play jokes, in a desperate fit of hope. The moon's full brightness finally returns, and the rogues are trying to spot the missing member of the team. Grey is checking the rafters, Mox is watching the floor, and Wilson is paying attention to the table. Wilson could swear he heard the noise of scraping wood, but barely audible, almost like the chair was trying to sneak. Almost imperceptively he notices it move.
"Hey Grey, we should leave," Wilson says, without emotion.
"No, we have to find mouse."
"No .. we have .. to go," Wilson says even more measured as the wooden chair edges very slowly towards Grey.
SNAP. The windows closes suddenly. The broken remains of the wedge splintering to the floor below.
"Fuck, the wood's come lose," growls Grey.
Mox in a trembling voice barely says, "I-i-it's worse than that. Th-th-th-the window ate it." | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Well, you know what my kind is. We take the form of a chest, lure adventurers to pick us up, and they become our next meal. Some others take on different forms to lure prey - I've heard of one resembling a plank of all things to ensnare people trying to use it as a bridge. You hear a lot of things from passers-by when selecting your meals.
How i left my dungeon? That's a pretty embarrassing situation. You don't hear of it much, but mimics do sleep, especially if they're starving. They usually take the form of uninteresting objects so that they're not disturbed. But the guy who took me was somehow desperate enough to loot a chair. Of all things he goes for a Entirely Normal Armchair!
Since that day I was... stuck in his shop as an antique. He's been kind enough to keep me clean, so i figured I'd give him the courtesy of not eating him or his customers. Besides, someone's got to discreetly take care of his rat problem.
30 years I've been in this place. At least, that's what i remember, based on the calendar he puts on the wall. He's gotten old, raised a family, and I've been there for them, like a very strange guardian. Or maybe a freeloader - a chair can only do so much. He still runs his antique shop and we haven't had any trouble, well, until last week.
It was all pretty sudden. A bunch of rowdy people busted into the room, breaking things, causing a lot of noise. Three of them drew their weapons, pointed them at the owner who's scared out of his wits. They then started taking whatever wasn't pinned down. One of them reached out for me.
Really, of all things, they go for the Entirely Normal Armchair.
One messy meal later and they're all running for their lives. I've accidentally freaked out the owner, too, but he's spent all these years not knowing what I was. I don't mind, that was bound to happen someday.
And that's how I ended up here in this dump. But enough about my story. I'd like to know how a cursed mirror like you ended up here without being shattered! | [Part 1 of 2]
Huh? I must have dozed off for a second. Wait, where am I? I glanced around the small room, enjoying the warmth that came from the fire in front of me, the crackling of wood on flame a deliciously enchanting view. The interweaving flames mesmerized me, only for my view to be obstructed when someone sat down on me, letting out an exhausted huff.
“I can’t believe the dungeon had no gold. It’s going to be hard to afford dinner this week. At least I found this nice-looking chair.” He leaned forward, glancing back at me with a grin. “I could always sell the chair, but it’s far too comfortable for that. Think I can endure another few days of starvation.” He joked, only to grimace when his stomach growled.
It was strange. I could have opened my mouth and ate him, feasted on the starving adventurer and yet I felt compelled not to. If I ate them, what would I do? Return to sitting idly in a cold dungeon? No, this was far nicer. Although the adventurer was lucky to catch me sleeping earlier, had I seen him when he arrived in the dungeon, I would have eaten him without hesitation.
In the coming weeks, I discovered more about the man. Finding out his name was Davik, and he was a struggling adventurer. One that didn’t pick up a sword for glory or some heroic fantasy, but picked it up because he wished to help people. That was the reason for his starvation. He struggled to accept payment for the odd jobs he did.
It was idiotic. Why would you let yourself waste away for the sake of others? It was a concept that I couldn’t understand at first, maybe because of my monster heritage. Monsters weren’t the types for generosity or teamwork. If two mimics ended up working together, it was usually by accident. Perhaps that’s why I felt so captivated by the man. He was something I could never be. Human.
Months passed, and I grew more comfortable with my surroundings. I would move throughout the house, looking through his belongings and spending time just staring at the mirror, too afraid to change into my true form. Feeling like doing such a thing was dirty. That instinctual desire to kill and hunt gone, replaced with something I couldn’t describe. Instead, I elected to stare at the purple wooden chair I disguised myself as, admiring the soft fluffy blue cushion that was made to lure in tired travelers. It felt nice knowing that cushion wasn’t a trap anymore.
It was at this point when I noticed his living conditions were taking their toll. His body lethargic and frail, having little meat on his bones. He would work himself to death soon, and I had to stop that. Movement was hard, restricted to throwing out tentacle like blobs of goo, using them to drag me to where I needed to go. This tactic working well enough in a secluded home when David was away, but in the open world, it made me stand out.
I waited for the cover of night, using the tentacles to pull me along outside, venturing back to my dungeon. He was wrong about there being no gold. There was plenty if one knew where to look. The trip was long and tiring, but eventually I found the gold, swallowing it for safekeeping.
The journey home was far more dangerous, the sun rising in this sleepy town, bringing all activity to the forefront of the streets. I would shift between boxes, bags, and other various supplies to hide myself. Having to take the journey slow. When I did finally arrive home in the late afternoon, I spat out the gold from my mouth, resting it on the cushion. Awaiting his return.
“Huh? The chair’s back? I thought someone robbed me.” He gave a tired smile, moving to sit down, only to jump up when something blocked him. “Gold? THERE’S SO MUCH GOLD. I AM GOING TO BE…” He trailed off, a look of guilt on his face. “I can’t forget why I picked up a sword.”
The years after this only made my admiration for the man grow. He used the money not only to better himself, but the surrounding town. The sleepy town becoming a strong farming community thanks to his donations. Yet, even with all his wealth, he never bought a bigger house or threw me out. He kept living in his small home, happy with what he had.
Soon a family followed, and I had new guests sitting on me. Strangely enough, I liked them too, not as much as Davik, but enough that I wished to help them as well. Things were nice and then came the fateful day I feared would come. He moved me. I knew they would throw me aside one day, but it still hurt. Reluctantly accepting the fate of wherever he would take me. When he let go of me, I expected to be placed in the middle or a forest or destroyed, not seated in a warm big room filled with smiling faces.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pszssq/wp_youre_a_mimic_you_were_disguised_as_a_chair_in/hdtapdx/) | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | [Part 1 of 2]
Huh? I must have dozed off for a second. Wait, where am I? I glanced around the small room, enjoying the warmth that came from the fire in front of me, the crackling of wood on flame a deliciously enchanting view. The interweaving flames mesmerized me, only for my view to be obstructed when someone sat down on me, letting out an exhausted huff.
“I can’t believe the dungeon had no gold. It’s going to be hard to afford dinner this week. At least I found this nice-looking chair.” He leaned forward, glancing back at me with a grin. “I could always sell the chair, but it’s far too comfortable for that. Think I can endure another few days of starvation.” He joked, only to grimace when his stomach growled.
It was strange. I could have opened my mouth and ate him, feasted on the starving adventurer and yet I felt compelled not to. If I ate them, what would I do? Return to sitting idly in a cold dungeon? No, this was far nicer. Although the adventurer was lucky to catch me sleeping earlier, had I seen him when he arrived in the dungeon, I would have eaten him without hesitation.
In the coming weeks, I discovered more about the man. Finding out his name was Davik, and he was a struggling adventurer. One that didn’t pick up a sword for glory or some heroic fantasy, but picked it up because he wished to help people. That was the reason for his starvation. He struggled to accept payment for the odd jobs he did.
It was idiotic. Why would you let yourself waste away for the sake of others? It was a concept that I couldn’t understand at first, maybe because of my monster heritage. Monsters weren’t the types for generosity or teamwork. If two mimics ended up working together, it was usually by accident. Perhaps that’s why I felt so captivated by the man. He was something I could never be. Human.
Months passed, and I grew more comfortable with my surroundings. I would move throughout the house, looking through his belongings and spending time just staring at the mirror, too afraid to change into my true form. Feeling like doing such a thing was dirty. That instinctual desire to kill and hunt gone, replaced with something I couldn’t describe. Instead, I elected to stare at the purple wooden chair I disguised myself as, admiring the soft fluffy blue cushion that was made to lure in tired travelers. It felt nice knowing that cushion wasn’t a trap anymore.
It was at this point when I noticed his living conditions were taking their toll. His body lethargic and frail, having little meat on his bones. He would work himself to death soon, and I had to stop that. Movement was hard, restricted to throwing out tentacle like blobs of goo, using them to drag me to where I needed to go. This tactic working well enough in a secluded home when David was away, but in the open world, it made me stand out.
I waited for the cover of night, using the tentacles to pull me along outside, venturing back to my dungeon. He was wrong about there being no gold. There was plenty if one knew where to look. The trip was long and tiring, but eventually I found the gold, swallowing it for safekeeping.
The journey home was far more dangerous, the sun rising in this sleepy town, bringing all activity to the forefront of the streets. I would shift between boxes, bags, and other various supplies to hide myself. Having to take the journey slow. When I did finally arrive home in the late afternoon, I spat out the gold from my mouth, resting it on the cushion. Awaiting his return.
“Huh? The chair’s back? I thought someone robbed me.” He gave a tired smile, moving to sit down, only to jump up when something blocked him. “Gold? THERE’S SO MUCH GOLD. I AM GOING TO BE…” He trailed off, a look of guilt on his face. “I can’t forget why I picked up a sword.”
The years after this only made my admiration for the man grow. He used the money not only to better himself, but the surrounding town. The sleepy town becoming a strong farming community thanks to his donations. Yet, even with all his wealth, he never bought a bigger house or threw me out. He kept living in his small home, happy with what he had.
Soon a family followed, and I had new guests sitting on me. Strangely enough, I liked them too, not as much as Davik, but enough that I wished to help them as well. Things were nice and then came the fateful day I feared would come. He moved me. I knew they would throw me aside one day, but it still hurt. Reluctantly accepting the fate of wherever he would take me. When he let go of me, I expected to be placed in the middle or a forest or destroyed, not seated in a warm big room filled with smiling faces.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pszssq/wp_youre_a_mimic_you_were_disguised_as_a_chair_in/hdtapdx/) | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Edgar sat back in his favorite chair, the one passed down from his father, and his father's father before him. It wasn't a particularly special chair, though it was a nice mahogany, or so he thought. He'd kept up on the finish, made sure to check and make sure the legs and their cross-sections were secure. It had survived so many accidents in it's life in their family.
The butt of a silly joke of his grandfather's, he'd delved deep into a vampire's lair, him a few of his comrades had found themselves face to face with the fiend, who had kidnapped townsfolk to feed on and make his own thralls. Vampire sat across them from a long-table in this very chair, lips and chin soaked in dried blood, the bastard apparently didn't even clean himself up after a meal, as was apparent also by the random dried splatters and the smells of death.
No sooner did the vampire stand... did he crack his knee on the table, losing his balance and falling back, breaking the top of the chair off as he fell... and impaled himself on the jagged remains of the left post of it... the chair had killed the vampire! After everything was said and done, his grandfather couldn't leave the 'hero' behind, and removed the wretch from it as he and his allies laughed, taking turns carrying it all the way up.
He spent weeks finding the right wood and materials... and swore that when he went to grab it from the shed, it was already fixed! as if nothing had happened. Assuming it to just be a well-meant prank from one of those who knew about it, it was brought into the house.
Seventy years later, and now in Edgar's possession, it's place of residence was his grandfather's inn and Tavern. The chair was a particular part of a fun party game couples would play, the drunk among them saying they could feel a thump under their arse if their soulmate was before them. Edgar merely thought it was the younger patrons trying to have a laugh, but it was all in good fun.
It was late in the evening, most patrons had left, or gone to their rooms, and it was just Edgar, his wife Henrietta, and a local boy, Terry, hired as a dishwasher, but more of a son the both couldn't have, Henrietta being unable to conceive. Edgar pulled the glasses from his face, wiping them clean. "That lot was a handful tonight, but we made some heavy coin." he smiled. Henrietta carried over the ledger, pouring over the numbers, the more business minded of the two, Edgar was more of a people person, getting along with folks and creatures from all walks of life. "I guess it helps that we let the kobolds in too." he chuckled.
As Henrietta neared, Edgar felt a thump beneath his chair, looking down. "Hmm? Nah... couldn't..." he was cut off as there was a louder thump, the sound of the door slamming open and a crossbow-bolt nearly hitting his leg, sailing into the bar behind him. "The hell's going on?" he yelled, standing quickly, looking to his wife and Terry to hide, as he ran behind the bar, grasping for the mace he kept hidden, the cobwebs lifting from it a tell he'd never had to use it.
Shaky hands held the mace as he peeked up over the bar, noticing several leather-bound brigands from the nearby forest enter. They laughed as they entered, a larger one making a point to slam his axe into the door, several others entering and knocking things from shelves, gathering what they thought would sell. "We saw ya, now just give us that pretty lady and your coin and maybe we'll let you live." a gruff voice spoke, clearly the leader of this little group.
Edgar's hand gripped the mace tightly. He'd never surrender his wife, and he knew he'd die, but if he distracted them, Terry and Henrietta could escape out the back, so he thought. His thought, however, was ripped from his mind from the sudden blood curdling scream that echoed through the tavern. One of them just lay in the middle of the floor, a bloody stump where his leg once was, nothing else around, no sign of an attacker, just a chair.
"The hell happened?" the leader spoke, attention turning to the brigand who was now going into shock, pointing at the chair as the color was draining from his body as fast as the blood from his leg. The leader growled angrily. "The shit does this chair have to do with it?!" he said, angrily kicking the piece of furniture... until he was screaming too as the dimensions around the chair seemed to warp, engulfing his leg in a world of vicious razor-sharp teeth, collapsing around his leg and tearing through it as if it wasn't even there.
"BOSS! W-what is that..." More screams rang out. Edgar peered over the bar, wide-eyed as the chair he was sitting in not seconds ago was now... alive? and growling menacingly, warping it's frame into sharp wooden tendrils that grasped and tore limbs gruesomely, the leader and several others were dead and in pieces, now being fed into the maw that seemed to flow through the material to where it was needed. If it weren't for the many tales of adventurers and the stories of mimics and their like, Edgar would have sworn himself mad at the sight of it.
The crackling of wood piercing bone as one was pierced through his chest, the limb expanding as if it were a frog's neck, torturously creating a cavity through which the maw flowed freely to devour his body from the inside out, the last of the two would-be burglars screaming as they fled out of the door, covered in what little blood remained from their crew.
Almost as quickly as it had changed, the extra limbs and maw of the mimic pulled back and reformed into the chair he knew, not even a spot of blood on it. Still gripping the mace in hand, he carefully approached. "H-hey now... E-erm... y-you're not going to do that to me... right?" he said. the chair didn't budge... and despite his better judgement, he approached it, carefully resting his hand on it.
No longer hearing any sounds, both Henrietta and Terry emerged from the back room. "E-edgar! You're alive... What happened? W-where did they go?" Henrietta asked. Edgar turned and embraced her, hugging her tight before stepping back.
"I... er..." Edgar tried to gather his thoughts. "Well... you see... the big guy tripped over the chair and..." he continued, weaving another tale about the would-be hero of a chair. | [Part 1 of 2]
Huh? I must have dozed off for a second. Wait, where am I? I glanced around the small room, enjoying the warmth that came from the fire in front of me, the crackling of wood on flame a deliciously enchanting view. The interweaving flames mesmerized me, only for my view to be obstructed when someone sat down on me, letting out an exhausted huff.
“I can’t believe the dungeon had no gold. It’s going to be hard to afford dinner this week. At least I found this nice-looking chair.” He leaned forward, glancing back at me with a grin. “I could always sell the chair, but it’s far too comfortable for that. Think I can endure another few days of starvation.” He joked, only to grimace when his stomach growled.
It was strange. I could have opened my mouth and ate him, feasted on the starving adventurer and yet I felt compelled not to. If I ate them, what would I do? Return to sitting idly in a cold dungeon? No, this was far nicer. Although the adventurer was lucky to catch me sleeping earlier, had I seen him when he arrived in the dungeon, I would have eaten him without hesitation.
In the coming weeks, I discovered more about the man. Finding out his name was Davik, and he was a struggling adventurer. One that didn’t pick up a sword for glory or some heroic fantasy, but picked it up because he wished to help people. That was the reason for his starvation. He struggled to accept payment for the odd jobs he did.
It was idiotic. Why would you let yourself waste away for the sake of others? It was a concept that I couldn’t understand at first, maybe because of my monster heritage. Monsters weren’t the types for generosity or teamwork. If two mimics ended up working together, it was usually by accident. Perhaps that’s why I felt so captivated by the man. He was something I could never be. Human.
Months passed, and I grew more comfortable with my surroundings. I would move throughout the house, looking through his belongings and spending time just staring at the mirror, too afraid to change into my true form. Feeling like doing such a thing was dirty. That instinctual desire to kill and hunt gone, replaced with something I couldn’t describe. Instead, I elected to stare at the purple wooden chair I disguised myself as, admiring the soft fluffy blue cushion that was made to lure in tired travelers. It felt nice knowing that cushion wasn’t a trap anymore.
It was at this point when I noticed his living conditions were taking their toll. His body lethargic and frail, having little meat on his bones. He would work himself to death soon, and I had to stop that. Movement was hard, restricted to throwing out tentacle like blobs of goo, using them to drag me to where I needed to go. This tactic working well enough in a secluded home when David was away, but in the open world, it made me stand out.
I waited for the cover of night, using the tentacles to pull me along outside, venturing back to my dungeon. He was wrong about there being no gold. There was plenty if one knew where to look. The trip was long and tiring, but eventually I found the gold, swallowing it for safekeeping.
The journey home was far more dangerous, the sun rising in this sleepy town, bringing all activity to the forefront of the streets. I would shift between boxes, bags, and other various supplies to hide myself. Having to take the journey slow. When I did finally arrive home in the late afternoon, I spat out the gold from my mouth, resting it on the cushion. Awaiting his return.
“Huh? The chair’s back? I thought someone robbed me.” He gave a tired smile, moving to sit down, only to jump up when something blocked him. “Gold? THERE’S SO MUCH GOLD. I AM GOING TO BE…” He trailed off, a look of guilt on his face. “I can’t forget why I picked up a sword.”
The years after this only made my admiration for the man grow. He used the money not only to better himself, but the surrounding town. The sleepy town becoming a strong farming community thanks to his donations. Yet, even with all his wealth, he never bought a bigger house or threw me out. He kept living in his small home, happy with what he had.
Soon a family followed, and I had new guests sitting on me. Strangely enough, I liked them too, not as much as Davik, but enough that I wished to help them as well. Things were nice and then came the fateful day I feared would come. He moved me. I knew they would throw me aside one day, but it still hurt. Reluctantly accepting the fate of wherever he would take me. When he let go of me, I expected to be placed in the middle or a forest or destroyed, not seated in a warm big room filled with smiling faces.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pszssq/wp_youre_a_mimic_you_were_disguised_as_a_chair_in/hdtapdx/) | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | Well, you know what my kind is. We take the form of a chest, lure adventurers to pick us up, and they become our next meal. Some others take on different forms to lure prey - I've heard of one resembling a plank of all things to ensnare people trying to use it as a bridge. You hear a lot of things from passers-by when selecting your meals.
How i left my dungeon? That's a pretty embarrassing situation. You don't hear of it much, but mimics do sleep, especially if they're starving. They usually take the form of uninteresting objects so that they're not disturbed. But the guy who took me was somehow desperate enough to loot a chair. Of all things he goes for a Entirely Normal Armchair!
Since that day I was... stuck in his shop as an antique. He's been kind enough to keep me clean, so i figured I'd give him the courtesy of not eating him or his customers. Besides, someone's got to discreetly take care of his rat problem.
30 years I've been in this place. At least, that's what i remember, based on the calendar he puts on the wall. He's gotten old, raised a family, and I've been there for them, like a very strange guardian. Or maybe a freeloader - a chair can only do so much. He still runs his antique shop and we haven't had any trouble, well, until last week.
It was all pretty sudden. A bunch of rowdy people busted into the room, breaking things, causing a lot of noise. Three of them drew their weapons, pointed them at the owner who's scared out of his wits. They then started taking whatever wasn't pinned down. One of them reached out for me.
Really, of all things, they go for the Entirely Normal Armchair.
One messy meal later and they're all running for their lives. I've accidentally freaked out the owner, too, but he's spent all these years not knowing what I was. I don't mind, that was bound to happen someday.
And that's how I ended up here in this dump. But enough about my story. I'd like to know how a cursed mirror like you ended up here without being shattered! | |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Edgar sat back in his favorite chair, the one passed down from his father, and his father's father before him. It wasn't a particularly special chair, though it was a nice mahogany, or so he thought. He'd kept up on the finish, made sure to check and make sure the legs and their cross-sections were secure. It had survived so many accidents in it's life in their family.
The butt of a silly joke of his grandfather's, he'd delved deep into a vampire's lair, him a few of his comrades had found themselves face to face with the fiend, who had kidnapped townsfolk to feed on and make his own thralls. Vampire sat across them from a long-table in this very chair, lips and chin soaked in dried blood, the bastard apparently didn't even clean himself up after a meal, as was apparent also by the random dried splatters and the smells of death.
No sooner did the vampire stand... did he crack his knee on the table, losing his balance and falling back, breaking the top of the chair off as he fell... and impaled himself on the jagged remains of the left post of it... the chair had killed the vampire! After everything was said and done, his grandfather couldn't leave the 'hero' behind, and removed the wretch from it as he and his allies laughed, taking turns carrying it all the way up.
He spent weeks finding the right wood and materials... and swore that when he went to grab it from the shed, it was already fixed! as if nothing had happened. Assuming it to just be a well-meant prank from one of those who knew about it, it was brought into the house.
Seventy years later, and now in Edgar's possession, it's place of residence was his grandfather's inn and Tavern. The chair was a particular part of a fun party game couples would play, the drunk among them saying they could feel a thump under their arse if their soulmate was before them. Edgar merely thought it was the younger patrons trying to have a laugh, but it was all in good fun.
It was late in the evening, most patrons had left, or gone to their rooms, and it was just Edgar, his wife Henrietta, and a local boy, Terry, hired as a dishwasher, but more of a son the both couldn't have, Henrietta being unable to conceive. Edgar pulled the glasses from his face, wiping them clean. "That lot was a handful tonight, but we made some heavy coin." he smiled. Henrietta carried over the ledger, pouring over the numbers, the more business minded of the two, Edgar was more of a people person, getting along with folks and creatures from all walks of life. "I guess it helps that we let the kobolds in too." he chuckled.
As Henrietta neared, Edgar felt a thump beneath his chair, looking down. "Hmm? Nah... couldn't..." he was cut off as there was a louder thump, the sound of the door slamming open and a crossbow-bolt nearly hitting his leg, sailing into the bar behind him. "The hell's going on?" he yelled, standing quickly, looking to his wife and Terry to hide, as he ran behind the bar, grasping for the mace he kept hidden, the cobwebs lifting from it a tell he'd never had to use it.
Shaky hands held the mace as he peeked up over the bar, noticing several leather-bound brigands from the nearby forest enter. They laughed as they entered, a larger one making a point to slam his axe into the door, several others entering and knocking things from shelves, gathering what they thought would sell. "We saw ya, now just give us that pretty lady and your coin and maybe we'll let you live." a gruff voice spoke, clearly the leader of this little group.
Edgar's hand gripped the mace tightly. He'd never surrender his wife, and he knew he'd die, but if he distracted them, Terry and Henrietta could escape out the back, so he thought. His thought, however, was ripped from his mind from the sudden blood curdling scream that echoed through the tavern. One of them just lay in the middle of the floor, a bloody stump where his leg once was, nothing else around, no sign of an attacker, just a chair.
"The hell happened?" the leader spoke, attention turning to the brigand who was now going into shock, pointing at the chair as the color was draining from his body as fast as the blood from his leg. The leader growled angrily. "The shit does this chair have to do with it?!" he said, angrily kicking the piece of furniture... until he was screaming too as the dimensions around the chair seemed to warp, engulfing his leg in a world of vicious razor-sharp teeth, collapsing around his leg and tearing through it as if it wasn't even there.
"BOSS! W-what is that..." More screams rang out. Edgar peered over the bar, wide-eyed as the chair he was sitting in not seconds ago was now... alive? and growling menacingly, warping it's frame into sharp wooden tendrils that grasped and tore limbs gruesomely, the leader and several others were dead and in pieces, now being fed into the maw that seemed to flow through the material to where it was needed. If it weren't for the many tales of adventurers and the stories of mimics and their like, Edgar would have sworn himself mad at the sight of it.
The crackling of wood piercing bone as one was pierced through his chest, the limb expanding as if it were a frog's neck, torturously creating a cavity through which the maw flowed freely to devour his body from the inside out, the last of the two would-be burglars screaming as they fled out of the door, covered in what little blood remained from their crew.
Almost as quickly as it had changed, the extra limbs and maw of the mimic pulled back and reformed into the chair he knew, not even a spot of blood on it. Still gripping the mace in hand, he carefully approached. "H-hey now... E-erm... y-you're not going to do that to me... right?" he said. the chair didn't budge... and despite his better judgement, he approached it, carefully resting his hand on it.
No longer hearing any sounds, both Henrietta and Terry emerged from the back room. "E-edgar! You're alive... What happened? W-where did they go?" Henrietta asked. Edgar turned and embraced her, hugging her tight before stepping back.
"I... er..." Edgar tried to gather his thoughts. "Well... you see... the big guy tripped over the chair and..." he continued, weaving another tale about the would-be hero of a chair. | Well, you know what my kind is. We take the form of a chest, lure adventurers to pick us up, and they become our next meal. Some others take on different forms to lure prey - I've heard of one resembling a plank of all things to ensnare people trying to use it as a bridge. You hear a lot of things from passers-by when selecting your meals.
How i left my dungeon? That's a pretty embarrassing situation. You don't hear of it much, but mimics do sleep, especially if they're starving. They usually take the form of uninteresting objects so that they're not disturbed. But the guy who took me was somehow desperate enough to loot a chair. Of all things he goes for a Entirely Normal Armchair!
Since that day I was... stuck in his shop as an antique. He's been kind enough to keep me clean, so i figured I'd give him the courtesy of not eating him or his customers. Besides, someone's got to discreetly take care of his rat problem.
30 years I've been in this place. At least, that's what i remember, based on the calendar he puts on the wall. He's gotten old, raised a family, and I've been there for them, like a very strange guardian. Or maybe a freeloader - a chair can only do so much. He still runs his antique shop and we haven't had any trouble, well, until last week.
It was all pretty sudden. A bunch of rowdy people busted into the room, breaking things, causing a lot of noise. Three of them drew their weapons, pointed them at the owner who's scared out of his wits. They then started taking whatever wasn't pinned down. One of them reached out for me.
Really, of all things, they go for the Entirely Normal Armchair.
One messy meal later and they're all running for their lives. I've accidentally freaked out the owner, too, but he's spent all these years not knowing what I was. I don't mind, that was bound to happen someday.
And that's how I ended up here in this dump. But enough about my story. I'd like to know how a cursed mirror like you ended up here without being shattered! | |
[WP] Grim Reaper only exists if there's life to be taken. The last human alive finally meet the Grim Reaper. | In the depths of the Earth, the last human waited. Waited for what, he couldn't say. For the radiation to clear, for the ice to melt, or for rescue to come. But everyday, he would wake, eat food grown in the automated hydroponic farm of the bunker, read books, listen to music, and then man the radio station. Most of his day was spent manning the radio station. Because while any outsiders who might search the Earth would have found no humans, indeed no lifeforms at all, he did not know this. He wasn't aware that he was the last. So he manned the radio station. Calling out meteorological data, reading books live, playing music from ancient records, and talking into the aether. Hoping that there might just be someone out there. Someone who listened to him, heard his voice, and knew that they weren't alone. That idea, that there might be someone out there listening, kept him sane. Kept him alive. The hope that there might be other humans out there. So he played music, sometimes on his own guitar, if the records he wanted to play turned out to have decayed beyond playability. Sure, he could have used the digital archives, but the computers weren't doing so well, after decades of continual operations.
And he waited. As he had waited for decades, since his wife died. They'd been alone in the bunker for so long, having been the only two people to reach this specific shelter. They'd waited together, laughed together, manned the radio; sometimes in shifts, sometimes together. Until she died. He wasn't a doctor, and despite everything that mankind had achieved before society collapsed, they still hadn't cured cancer when the world ended. All he could do for her, was to do as she asked. He still remembered holding her, as the morphine she had asked for gave her a death without any pain. He remembered and wept, every day. Now he was pushing 90, and it felt unfair to have outlived the woman he loved. But he had to hope that there were anyone alive out there. And that they'd come to get him. Not just because he was incredibly lonely, but because the bunker had genetic samples of nearly all pre-catastrophe life. The seeds of tens of thousands of plants in storage, waiting patiently to be planted. Preserved samples of animal DNA, just waiting to be cloned. So he kept going, kept talking, hoping that somebody out there might be coming.
But nobody came.
Except on this day, when his old, weak, and frail heart finally gave out. When he died, deep in a bunker connected to a surface level broadcast device, nobody heard, nobody knew, nobody saw. He did not however, die alone. Because somebody came for him. His aching soul rose from his old body like a dandelion rises out of concrete. And sitting there, on the chair by the radio broadcaster, was Death. The Grim Reaper, his cloak made from midnight, his scythe glinting and shimmering like ice in the sun. ''*So. Guess they didn't find me.*'' The Grim Reaper shook his skeletal head. ''**Daniel Northwood.**'' He nodded. ''*Yes, that's me. I'm not sure I'm ready to go just yet, they're coming, and they'll need what me and Meredith kept safe for so many years.*'' The Grim Reaper slowly got up from the chair and placed a bony but kind hand on Daniel's shoulder. ''**No. Take it from me. Nobody is coming. You are the last human being on Earth.**'' Daniel's spectral eyes went wide. ''*You mean...?*'' Death nodded. ''**Yes. You were the last. Humanity is extinct, soon the plants in this bunker will die as well, and then the only lifeforms on the planet will be single-celled, and they won't last long either. The atmosphere is gone. Solar winds blast this world with deadly radiation. Nothing will endure.**'' Daniel's hands shook as he took this in. ''*What... what now?*'' He said in apprehension.
''**We must be going. Together.**'' Daniel looked around him and saw that the bunker which he had called home was gone. He was standing on the deck of a small boat. Around him was a great black ocean, underneath a starlit sky with a beautiful and full Moon shining like silver over the black waters. The gentle sound of water was soothing, as the boat rocked ever so slightly. The air tasted not vaguely of metal as it had done in the bunker, but of salt, and the wind was gentle and fair upon Daniel's face. ''*It's beautiful.*'' Death nodded. ''**Yes. This is the great sea, primordial and first. From it arose all other things. We will sail over it, and reach the next place to be.**'' Daniel looked across the endless waters, and saw a small but visible flicker of light in the distance. ''*Where is the next place? And what is it?*'' Death took the steering wheel. Something seemed off about them, but Daniel couldn't put his finger on it. ''**It is a place of rest. Where we will feel no pain. We will join those who have gone before us.**'' Daniel's eyes lit up like twin suns with hope. ''*Meredith.*'' Death nodded. And thought of who'd await there. Life would be there. And they hadn't seen each other in aeons. Death missed her. She'd gone first, as all hope for new life faded. Now they'd be reunited, on the shores of a land greater than all others. ''**Yes. And everyone else. There will be peace. There will be joy. And there will be respite.**'' Above Daniel and Death, a gentle wind took the sails of the small boat, and drove them towards the flickering light, a lighthouse on the shores of eternity.
So the last man, and mankind's understanding of Death, went together to a place beyond pain, a place beyond fear. Where old loves awaited them, and rest could be found. No words can follow them there, no story can be told in any world of those that reach this place, not any true story anyway. Because there is only one true way there. And all will follow it, one day.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | Huh, I thought he'd be taller. I guess TV and film always exaggerate these things. The Grim Reaper, Grim for short - and The Earl of County Sussex in his previous life - stood six foot two at the step of my door. Politely, he'd rung the doorbell.
'Afternoon.' He said, or they. I'm not quite sure.
He stood in what can only be civilian clothes from his time, which I vaguely recall as being the period between the two world wars. His jacket was a fine, deep blue with gold buttons. He hadn't a hood, and stared at me with his vacant eye sockets. I almost sensed a genial raise of his non-existent eyebrows.
'Uh.. afternoon.' I said.
It would come as a surprise that I wasn't the least bit startled by the ancient skeleton standing at my front door, but the world had been a strange place for a long while, and honestly I'd seen my fair share of skeletons. Especially in the past months.
'As you can tell I'm not wearing my work clothes. It's funny, I was informed that I'd already retrieved every soul on earth and was all ready to go on holiday when I got the call. So, you've kept to yourself very well.'
I had. I'm not the most social or active person, and I'm not ashamed to say quite lazy. The world was ending: what can I do? As much as I'd gotten used to the absurd, I'd never met the Grim Reaper and wanted to make sure.
'Yes. Sorry, who might you be?'
'I'm the Grim Reaper - come for your soul, you know.'
'Oh, I thought as much.'
'You're not afraid or upset?'
I waited a moment as I thought too quick of a reply would offend him.
'No.'
'Hm.' Echoed from his entire being.
'What?'
'Nothing. I'm just not used to... polite company? People are usually screaming or crying, a lot of begging. It's quite a grim affair, if I dare say.' He chuckled a little.
'Oh. Well, you're welcome. I'm actually quite glad you're here. I've run out things to do; It would be nice to talk to someone else. I'm sure heaven - or hell-' (The Grim Reaper looked down and to the left) '- will have people there. Of course, I'll probably get annoyed at them pretty quick. Do you want to come in?'
'Uh, sure. Yes.' | |
[WP] Grim Reaper only exists if there's life to be taken. The last human alive finally meet the Grim Reaper. | There exists a place between worlds, where soul pass through when they die. A place of darkness, undefined, incomprehensible.
Almost a void, really. It would have been, if not for the cloaked figure standing at the center of it all. Waiting. In his left hand was a steadily-burning lantern, and in his right, an old and worn scythe.
The Grim Reaper watched as a vibrant speck of light floated up and away, to a place beyond his void of a world. He watched it fade into the distance, then returned to his vigil.
The Reaper remembered a time when the souls flowed freely, creating constellations of light within the darkness. 'Like stars in the night sky', one soul had told him. The Reaper knew not of stars, or night, or the sky, but he imagined it must have been a wonderful sight.
Not like what the Reaper saw now. The flow of souls had exploded for a while, then slowed down to a trickle. From what little he had gathered from the crowd of voices, a great calamity had occurred, slamming the sky to the earth and smothering the land in titanic waves.
The Reaper felt it now. Humanity was almost gone. Only one soul had yet to leave its world, to be guided to the next. The Reaper raised his lantern, that beacon of light, just a little higher.
The void was serene in its emptiness. Silent. Dead. The Reaper took in the lack of souls, and felt... lonely.
Even though the light of the lantern continued to burn strong, the darkness still closed in, gradually. Creeping in like the infinitesimal flow of time.
A distant speck of light finally snapped the Reaper back to attention. As he had so many times before, he held out his lantern, drawing the soul closer and closer.
The soul finally reached its destination before the Reaper and materialised its form. This soul's was that of a rugged man, slightly past the prime of his life.
"Oh. So that's what the light is."
The man took in the glow of the lantern, then the skeletal figure in the cloak. When his gaze fell on the scythe, he breathed out.
"So you are real. The Grim Reaper. I... guess I'm dead, huh?"
A hoarse voice emanated from within the cloak, accompanied by a slow nod. "Yes. You are the last."
"The... last?"
"The last to die. With your death, Humanity is no more."
The man's face contorted as he processed the statement, then tried to voice a reply.
"Oh."
What else was there to say?
Moments and eternities passed before the man spoke again.
"This... hah. This is how it ends? With me? I'd... I dunno, I'd always thought there was someone else out there in the world, surviving. Some guy in a bunker, or a military base, or-"
A half-formed sob cut off the man's next words.
Wordlessly, the Reaper set the lantern down, then sat next to it. He motioned for the man to take a seat as well.
With a flourish, the Reaper produced two glasses containing the closest approximation to earthly whiskey that he could imagine. His strength waned, but he supposed it didn't matter too much anymore.
"...Thanks, man."
The two clinked their glasses together and drank. The sound radiated out into the void, never to echo back.
"All things must come to an end," the Reaper said, to comfort himself as much as to comfort the man. "It is... an inevitability."
"Even you?"
"Even I. My purpose is to guide human souls. What am I without them?"
"Oh." The man looked again at the Reaper and his weary posture. The result of living hundreds upon hundreds of human lifetimes. "Guess that makes two sad sacks with no idea where to go."
A tired, raspy laugh was the Reaper's only response.
In silence, they finished their drinks. The Reaper picked up his lantern once again.
"I have guided you here, and can guide you no further. Follow where your thoughts pull you. Your final destination awaits at the end."
"That's... it? You don't know where I'll go?" the man asked, trying to hide his disappointment.
"Alas. I have never seen beyond the void, for duty binds me here."
"But... your duty is done now, isn't it?"
The man looked around at the unending darkness. "Why don't you come with me? It'd be awfully lonely for you if you stay." 'And for me as well' went unsaid.
The Reaper stopped for a moment, considering the offer. Face the unknown by staying, or face the unknown by going? But if he went, he wouldn't be facing the unknown by himself. He would be facing it with a... friend?
The Reaper thought that he could consider the man as a friend. They had shared drinks, after all. He'd heard it was a sign of friendship.
Yet... the outside was a greater unknown than the familiar void. What would the Reaper find, if he left? The 'Hell' that so many souls spoke of with fear? 'Heaven', perhaps? Something else?
The Reaper looked into the man's eyes, and saw in them a reflection of himself. Uncertainty. Loss. A hint of desperation, of not wanting to leave a new friend so soon.
The Reaper made his decision. He gently set his lantern down, and stowed his scythe under his cloak. His slow nod to the man was returned with a shaky smile.
That day, a shining soul and the shadow of another ascended through the darkness in unison. Forging ahead into new territory.
Behind them, a lantern sat on the ground, gently glowing for eternity.
\--------
r/FlareWrites
Edit: Some minor mistakes taken care of. | Huh, I thought he'd be taller. I guess TV and film always exaggerate these things. The Grim Reaper, Grim for short - and The Earl of County Sussex in his previous life - stood six foot two at the step of my door. Politely, he'd rung the doorbell.
'Afternoon.' He said, or they. I'm not quite sure.
He stood in what can only be civilian clothes from his time, which I vaguely recall as being the period between the two world wars. His jacket was a fine, deep blue with gold buttons. He hadn't a hood, and stared at me with his vacant eye sockets. I almost sensed a genial raise of his non-existent eyebrows.
'Uh.. afternoon.' I said.
It would come as a surprise that I wasn't the least bit startled by the ancient skeleton standing at my front door, but the world had been a strange place for a long while, and honestly I'd seen my fair share of skeletons. Especially in the past months.
'As you can tell I'm not wearing my work clothes. It's funny, I was informed that I'd already retrieved every soul on earth and was all ready to go on holiday when I got the call. So, you've kept to yourself very well.'
I had. I'm not the most social or active person, and I'm not ashamed to say quite lazy. The world was ending: what can I do? As much as I'd gotten used to the absurd, I'd never met the Grim Reaper and wanted to make sure.
'Yes. Sorry, who might you be?'
'I'm the Grim Reaper - come for your soul, you know.'
'Oh, I thought as much.'
'You're not afraid or upset?'
I waited a moment as I thought too quick of a reply would offend him.
'No.'
'Hm.' Echoed from his entire being.
'What?'
'Nothing. I'm just not used to... polite company? People are usually screaming or crying, a lot of begging. It's quite a grim affair, if I dare say.' He chuckled a little.
'Oh. Well, you're welcome. I'm actually quite glad you're here. I've run out things to do; It would be nice to talk to someone else. I'm sure heaven - or hell-' (The Grim Reaper looked down and to the left) '- will have people there. Of course, I'll probably get annoyed at them pretty quick. Do you want to come in?'
'Uh, sure. Yes.' | |
[WP] Grim Reaper only exists if there's life to be taken. The last human alive finally meet the Grim Reaper. | There exists a place between worlds, where soul pass through when they die. A place of darkness, undefined, incomprehensible.
Almost a void, really. It would have been, if not for the cloaked figure standing at the center of it all. Waiting. In his left hand was a steadily-burning lantern, and in his right, an old and worn scythe.
The Grim Reaper watched as a vibrant speck of light floated up and away, to a place beyond his void of a world. He watched it fade into the distance, then returned to his vigil.
The Reaper remembered a time when the souls flowed freely, creating constellations of light within the darkness. 'Like stars in the night sky', one soul had told him. The Reaper knew not of stars, or night, or the sky, but he imagined it must have been a wonderful sight.
Not like what the Reaper saw now. The flow of souls had exploded for a while, then slowed down to a trickle. From what little he had gathered from the crowd of voices, a great calamity had occurred, slamming the sky to the earth and smothering the land in titanic waves.
The Reaper felt it now. Humanity was almost gone. Only one soul had yet to leave its world, to be guided to the next. The Reaper raised his lantern, that beacon of light, just a little higher.
The void was serene in its emptiness. Silent. Dead. The Reaper took in the lack of souls, and felt... lonely.
Even though the light of the lantern continued to burn strong, the darkness still closed in, gradually. Creeping in like the infinitesimal flow of time.
A distant speck of light finally snapped the Reaper back to attention. As he had so many times before, he held out his lantern, drawing the soul closer and closer.
The soul finally reached its destination before the Reaper and materialised its form. This soul's was that of a rugged man, slightly past the prime of his life.
"Oh. So that's what the light is."
The man took in the glow of the lantern, then the skeletal figure in the cloak. When his gaze fell on the scythe, he breathed out.
"So you are real. The Grim Reaper. I... guess I'm dead, huh?"
A hoarse voice emanated from within the cloak, accompanied by a slow nod. "Yes. You are the last."
"The... last?"
"The last to die. With your death, Humanity is no more."
The man's face contorted as he processed the statement, then tried to voice a reply.
"Oh."
What else was there to say?
Moments and eternities passed before the man spoke again.
"This... hah. This is how it ends? With me? I'd... I dunno, I'd always thought there was someone else out there in the world, surviving. Some guy in a bunker, or a military base, or-"
A half-formed sob cut off the man's next words.
Wordlessly, the Reaper set the lantern down, then sat next to it. He motioned for the man to take a seat as well.
With a flourish, the Reaper produced two glasses containing the closest approximation to earthly whiskey that he could imagine. His strength waned, but he supposed it didn't matter too much anymore.
"...Thanks, man."
The two clinked their glasses together and drank. The sound radiated out into the void, never to echo back.
"All things must come to an end," the Reaper said, to comfort himself as much as to comfort the man. "It is... an inevitability."
"Even you?"
"Even I. My purpose is to guide human souls. What am I without them?"
"Oh." The man looked again at the Reaper and his weary posture. The result of living hundreds upon hundreds of human lifetimes. "Guess that makes two sad sacks with no idea where to go."
A tired, raspy laugh was the Reaper's only response.
In silence, they finished their drinks. The Reaper picked up his lantern once again.
"I have guided you here, and can guide you no further. Follow where your thoughts pull you. Your final destination awaits at the end."
"That's... it? You don't know where I'll go?" the man asked, trying to hide his disappointment.
"Alas. I have never seen beyond the void, for duty binds me here."
"But... your duty is done now, isn't it?"
The man looked around at the unending darkness. "Why don't you come with me? It'd be awfully lonely for you if you stay." 'And for me as well' went unsaid.
The Reaper stopped for a moment, considering the offer. Face the unknown by staying, or face the unknown by going? But if he went, he wouldn't be facing the unknown by himself. He would be facing it with a... friend?
The Reaper thought that he could consider the man as a friend. They had shared drinks, after all. He'd heard it was a sign of friendship.
Yet... the outside was a greater unknown than the familiar void. What would the Reaper find, if he left? The 'Hell' that so many souls spoke of with fear? 'Heaven', perhaps? Something else?
The Reaper looked into the man's eyes, and saw in them a reflection of himself. Uncertainty. Loss. A hint of desperation, of not wanting to leave a new friend so soon.
The Reaper made his decision. He gently set his lantern down, and stowed his scythe under his cloak. His slow nod to the man was returned with a shaky smile.
That day, a shining soul and the shadow of another ascended through the darkness in unison. Forging ahead into new territory.
Behind them, a lantern sat on the ground, gently glowing for eternity.
\--------
r/FlareWrites
Edit: Some minor mistakes taken care of. | In the depths of the Earth, the last human waited. Waited for what, he couldn't say. For the radiation to clear, for the ice to melt, or for rescue to come. But everyday, he would wake, eat food grown in the automated hydroponic farm of the bunker, read books, listen to music, and then man the radio station. Most of his day was spent manning the radio station. Because while any outsiders who might search the Earth would have found no humans, indeed no lifeforms at all, he did not know this. He wasn't aware that he was the last. So he manned the radio station. Calling out meteorological data, reading books live, playing music from ancient records, and talking into the aether. Hoping that there might just be someone out there. Someone who listened to him, heard his voice, and knew that they weren't alone. That idea, that there might be someone out there listening, kept him sane. Kept him alive. The hope that there might be other humans out there. So he played music, sometimes on his own guitar, if the records he wanted to play turned out to have decayed beyond playability. Sure, he could have used the digital archives, but the computers weren't doing so well, after decades of continual operations.
And he waited. As he had waited for decades, since his wife died. They'd been alone in the bunker for so long, having been the only two people to reach this specific shelter. They'd waited together, laughed together, manned the radio; sometimes in shifts, sometimes together. Until she died. He wasn't a doctor, and despite everything that mankind had achieved before society collapsed, they still hadn't cured cancer when the world ended. All he could do for her, was to do as she asked. He still remembered holding her, as the morphine she had asked for gave her a death without any pain. He remembered and wept, every day. Now he was pushing 90, and it felt unfair to have outlived the woman he loved. But he had to hope that there were anyone alive out there. And that they'd come to get him. Not just because he was incredibly lonely, but because the bunker had genetic samples of nearly all pre-catastrophe life. The seeds of tens of thousands of plants in storage, waiting patiently to be planted. Preserved samples of animal DNA, just waiting to be cloned. So he kept going, kept talking, hoping that somebody out there might be coming.
But nobody came.
Except on this day, when his old, weak, and frail heart finally gave out. When he died, deep in a bunker connected to a surface level broadcast device, nobody heard, nobody knew, nobody saw. He did not however, die alone. Because somebody came for him. His aching soul rose from his old body like a dandelion rises out of concrete. And sitting there, on the chair by the radio broadcaster, was Death. The Grim Reaper, his cloak made from midnight, his scythe glinting and shimmering like ice in the sun. ''*So. Guess they didn't find me.*'' The Grim Reaper shook his skeletal head. ''**Daniel Northwood.**'' He nodded. ''*Yes, that's me. I'm not sure I'm ready to go just yet, they're coming, and they'll need what me and Meredith kept safe for so many years.*'' The Grim Reaper slowly got up from the chair and placed a bony but kind hand on Daniel's shoulder. ''**No. Take it from me. Nobody is coming. You are the last human being on Earth.**'' Daniel's spectral eyes went wide. ''*You mean...?*'' Death nodded. ''**Yes. You were the last. Humanity is extinct, soon the plants in this bunker will die as well, and then the only lifeforms on the planet will be single-celled, and they won't last long either. The atmosphere is gone. Solar winds blast this world with deadly radiation. Nothing will endure.**'' Daniel's hands shook as he took this in. ''*What... what now?*'' He said in apprehension.
''**We must be going. Together.**'' Daniel looked around him and saw that the bunker which he had called home was gone. He was standing on the deck of a small boat. Around him was a great black ocean, underneath a starlit sky with a beautiful and full Moon shining like silver over the black waters. The gentle sound of water was soothing, as the boat rocked ever so slightly. The air tasted not vaguely of metal as it had done in the bunker, but of salt, and the wind was gentle and fair upon Daniel's face. ''*It's beautiful.*'' Death nodded. ''**Yes. This is the great sea, primordial and first. From it arose all other things. We will sail over it, and reach the next place to be.**'' Daniel looked across the endless waters, and saw a small but visible flicker of light in the distance. ''*Where is the next place? And what is it?*'' Death took the steering wheel. Something seemed off about them, but Daniel couldn't put his finger on it. ''**It is a place of rest. Where we will feel no pain. We will join those who have gone before us.**'' Daniel's eyes lit up like twin suns with hope. ''*Meredith.*'' Death nodded. And thought of who'd await there. Life would be there. And they hadn't seen each other in aeons. Death missed her. She'd gone first, as all hope for new life faded. Now they'd be reunited, on the shores of a land greater than all others. ''**Yes. And everyone else. There will be peace. There will be joy. And there will be respite.**'' Above Daniel and Death, a gentle wind took the sails of the small boat, and drove them towards the flickering light, a lighthouse on the shores of eternity.
So the last man, and mankind's understanding of Death, went together to a place beyond pain, a place beyond fear. Where old loves awaited them, and rest could be found. No words can follow them there, no story can be told in any world of those that reach this place, not any true story anyway. Because there is only one true way there. And all will follow it, one day.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | |
[WP] Grim Reaper only exists if there's life to be taken. The last human alive finally meet the Grim Reaper. | There exists a place between worlds, where soul pass through when they die. A place of darkness, undefined, incomprehensible.
Almost a void, really. It would have been, if not for the cloaked figure standing at the center of it all. Waiting. In his left hand was a steadily-burning lantern, and in his right, an old and worn scythe.
The Grim Reaper watched as a vibrant speck of light floated up and away, to a place beyond his void of a world. He watched it fade into the distance, then returned to his vigil.
The Reaper remembered a time when the souls flowed freely, creating constellations of light within the darkness. 'Like stars in the night sky', one soul had told him. The Reaper knew not of stars, or night, or the sky, but he imagined it must have been a wonderful sight.
Not like what the Reaper saw now. The flow of souls had exploded for a while, then slowed down to a trickle. From what little he had gathered from the crowd of voices, a great calamity had occurred, slamming the sky to the earth and smothering the land in titanic waves.
The Reaper felt it now. Humanity was almost gone. Only one soul had yet to leave its world, to be guided to the next. The Reaper raised his lantern, that beacon of light, just a little higher.
The void was serene in its emptiness. Silent. Dead. The Reaper took in the lack of souls, and felt... lonely.
Even though the light of the lantern continued to burn strong, the darkness still closed in, gradually. Creeping in like the infinitesimal flow of time.
A distant speck of light finally snapped the Reaper back to attention. As he had so many times before, he held out his lantern, drawing the soul closer and closer.
The soul finally reached its destination before the Reaper and materialised its form. This soul's was that of a rugged man, slightly past the prime of his life.
"Oh. So that's what the light is."
The man took in the glow of the lantern, then the skeletal figure in the cloak. When his gaze fell on the scythe, he breathed out.
"So you are real. The Grim Reaper. I... guess I'm dead, huh?"
A hoarse voice emanated from within the cloak, accompanied by a slow nod. "Yes. You are the last."
"The... last?"
"The last to die. With your death, Humanity is no more."
The man's face contorted as he processed the statement, then tried to voice a reply.
"Oh."
What else was there to say?
Moments and eternities passed before the man spoke again.
"This... hah. This is how it ends? With me? I'd... I dunno, I'd always thought there was someone else out there in the world, surviving. Some guy in a bunker, or a military base, or-"
A half-formed sob cut off the man's next words.
Wordlessly, the Reaper set the lantern down, then sat next to it. He motioned for the man to take a seat as well.
With a flourish, the Reaper produced two glasses containing the closest approximation to earthly whiskey that he could imagine. His strength waned, but he supposed it didn't matter too much anymore.
"...Thanks, man."
The two clinked their glasses together and drank. The sound radiated out into the void, never to echo back.
"All things must come to an end," the Reaper said, to comfort himself as much as to comfort the man. "It is... an inevitability."
"Even you?"
"Even I. My purpose is to guide human souls. What am I without them?"
"Oh." The man looked again at the Reaper and his weary posture. The result of living hundreds upon hundreds of human lifetimes. "Guess that makes two sad sacks with no idea where to go."
A tired, raspy laugh was the Reaper's only response.
In silence, they finished their drinks. The Reaper picked up his lantern once again.
"I have guided you here, and can guide you no further. Follow where your thoughts pull you. Your final destination awaits at the end."
"That's... it? You don't know where I'll go?" the man asked, trying to hide his disappointment.
"Alas. I have never seen beyond the void, for duty binds me here."
"But... your duty is done now, isn't it?"
The man looked around at the unending darkness. "Why don't you come with me? It'd be awfully lonely for you if you stay." 'And for me as well' went unsaid.
The Reaper stopped for a moment, considering the offer. Face the unknown by staying, or face the unknown by going? But if he went, he wouldn't be facing the unknown by himself. He would be facing it with a... friend?
The Reaper thought that he could consider the man as a friend. They had shared drinks, after all. He'd heard it was a sign of friendship.
Yet... the outside was a greater unknown than the familiar void. What would the Reaper find, if he left? The 'Hell' that so many souls spoke of with fear? 'Heaven', perhaps? Something else?
The Reaper looked into the man's eyes, and saw in them a reflection of himself. Uncertainty. Loss. A hint of desperation, of not wanting to leave a new friend so soon.
The Reaper made his decision. He gently set his lantern down, and stowed his scythe under his cloak. His slow nod to the man was returned with a shaky smile.
That day, a shining soul and the shadow of another ascended through the darkness in unison. Forging ahead into new territory.
Behind them, a lantern sat on the ground, gently glowing for eternity.
\--------
r/FlareWrites
Edit: Some minor mistakes taken care of. | "...Am I dead?" The human asked. The hooded figure gave out a series of coughs.
"*Just about*" rasped the figure. "*And taking me with you*" It chuckled a bit. "*I'm here to collect your soul.*"
"Oh..." The human seemed to notice the Grim Reaper wasn't well. "I'm...taking you with me? Are you dying too? Seems you're fairly sick." it said.
"*Well you're the last human alive. Once your soul is taken, the sickness will have taken me over completely and I will cease to exist. That's how the world works.*" said the Grim Reaper. It was completely hunched over from the sickness. It didn't look like it had even an hour left.
The human looked around at the world that would soon be devoid of humans. "Is...is there anything I can do?" it asked. The Grim Reaper looked a bit perplexed. A human? Asking to help, essentially, death?
"*Not unless you can create more humans, but I'd rather this just be over soon. I've been wandering earth for the last couple thousand of years collecting souls whenever possible.*" it rasped. It let out another big cough before wheezing "*I would love to just be released from my duty*" It seemed to be speaking in a hurry.
"Someone gave you the duty?" asked the human. The Grim Reaper looked like he had just rolled his eyes under his hood despite there being nothing there but darkness.
"*Yes, I've been assigned to soul collecting for the last couple thousand years. The first couple of hundred years were interesting, seeing advances made by intelligent life. But the last few hundred years have taken it's toll on me...*" it said
"Why don't you just collect my soul then since I seem to be causing you so much pain?" asked the Human
"*Two reasons, every human I interact with must be fully dead and ready to pass on. I am also under a permanent truth spell to help every human move on. So once all your questions are answered and you're ready to move on to the afterlife, then, I shall be gone*" It let out another series of hacking coughs.
"What if I just decide to never pass on?" asked the Human
"*You will. Never has a soul chosen to not move on over a potential paradise.*" rasped the Grim Reaper.
The human seemed satisfied with the answers, as well as a bit forlorn. The soul walked around for another 30 seconds before coming back.
"Alright. There's nothing left here for me is there? Very well...*Take me*." said the Human, spreading it's arms.
The Grim Reaper took out a lantern and raised it. Immediately the soul felt his world dematerialising around him as he got locked into the safety of the lantern for passage to the afterlife.
"*Safety and paradise for you...and a release for me." The lantern floated off into what seemed like a sea of souls just beside him.
The lone soul looked on as he floated away and the hood and robe fell to reveal...nothing... | |
[WP] Just before the nuclear holocaust begins, a giant UFO cuts off power worldwide and transmits a single message, "Alright you guys, knock it off". | This was it. He was done with the Russkies and their nonsense, they went too far this time.
He took a deep breath and pressed the button.
But then the power went out.
"What happened?"
"It seems that a EMP hit us, sir."
"Was it the Russkies?"
Thats when a voice was broadcast into the room.
"Alright you guys, knock it off. Are you seriously going to wipe out your entire species over a piece of land?"
The president looked around in confusion, and so did everybody else.
"Wh- who is this?"
"The Aliens!"
"The... Aliens?"
"Thats right, and we are sick of watching you guys nearly nuke yourself over a piece of land, so from this point on, you are grounded, no more nukes for you!".
The screen turned on, only to display all of the nukes getting disarmed. The presidents expression switched from confusion to anger
"Listen, I don't know who you are, but we will track you down, and we *will* make you pay!"
"Yeah whatever, if you say so."
And with that, the voice disconected, leaving everybody in a state of shock.
"Sir."
"Yes?"
"The Russians are calling us, they want to know why we disables their nukes and pretended that we are aliens."
________________________________________________
Check out more of my writing at r/JustADrunkSlavStories | A man walks into the oval office. "The reports have been confirmed, sir."
"Damn it, I was hoping it wouldn't come to this. Ready the nukes."
Meanwhile in most of the other countries, people are going into bunkers, preparing for the nuclear holocaust.
"5, 4, 3, 2-"
The power cuts off, all around the world. From everywhere, an unfamiliar voice says, "alright guys, knock it off, we need you alive. You're the only ones smart enough."
"For what?" Everyone asks themselves, knowing flat earthers, and Karen's, with their intelligence, could never contribute to an intellectual humanity, and even the smartest of scientists barely understood anything.
Then the voice says, "wait, so you don't have the cure for cancer yet? Carry on," as the power turns back on. The people resume going into the bunkers, the countdown restarts, "5, 4, 3, 2, 1," and boom. | |
[WP] "So when you said that your curse would bind your arch-nemesis for all eternity..." Your companion holds up your hand to inspect the newly appeared magical wedding band on your ring finger. "Yeah, I didn't really think that would mean 'to me'." | The hero and his apprentice appeared to be muttering amongst themselves, but Eliza had her own problems. A white light had materialized around her left hand, and now a ring was stuck to her finger. It would not move. This made no sense, she was the demon queen. Nothing was beyond her power, but this damn ring. She gave up and looked at it again.
On second thought it was rather nice. It wasn't gaudy, and it was still simple enough for her to fight with. The Runic inscriptions and little birds were cute as well. Wait......did she just call it cute? She hated this not a few moments ago. She had been cursed!
"Reinhardt! Damn you! I'm going to kill you! Before, I showed mercy to you pathetic humans, no longer!."
Reinhardt held up his hands and began trying to stutter out an explanation, only to be met with a giant explosion to his face.
His assistant Edgar slowly backed away. To the best of his knowledge the demon queen was immortal. Reinhardt was.....not quite there. Yet he somehow returned after being killed continually, he said something about advanced spirit magic yet no one else could comprehend what he was talking about. He was also quite ridiculous in strength for a human. The point was he wanted to be nowhere near them. His damn fool of a master had said this plan was foolproof. Maybe the plan didn't realize how much of a fool Reinhardt was, or perhaps he was the fool for always going along with these schemes and having faith in his master.
Oddly enough she wasn't following up. Eliza's arm seemed to be trembling, and she was blushing. Reinhardt did not see this though. He flung a boulder off of his body and fumbled his way back to his feet. He swiftly gained his bearings and noticed Eliza approaching him, he drew a sword from his waist and flung it so hard into her chest that she was impaled into a wall.
Edgar gulped, perhaps he wasn't such a fool after all. Sometimes his master's ridiculous feats left him speechless.
Reinhardt had a hand around her throat before she could even grab the sword. "As I was trying to say before I was interrupted by some crazy bitch, I think we're stuck together. Can't you break this spell? You broke everything else I've thrown at you."
"I'm a crazy bitch? Some *ASSHOLE* broke into my castle and put a stupid curse on me *FOR NO REASON!"*
"You're the demon queen! You killed my father! Evil witch!"
"Your father was leading an army to attempt to take some of my land which was equally divided with your country centuries ago. Idiot. I could have taken your land if I wanted it."
"You killed me 700 times!"
"You keep entering my castle unannounced you fucking moron!"
Edgar was sure they hadn't noticed yet, but as they continued hurling insults they drew their faces closer to each other with each insult. It seemed as if with a few more choice words they began noticing and looking at each other's lips. Then they attacked each other in a brand new way. He sighed and facepalmed, perhaps he shouldn't even try to break this spell. They seemed like they were made for each other. | -warning, got a lil sexier than expected. No NSFW tho-
"What are you saying, Jason?" Said Jason's best friend and companion Liza as she grabbed my hand forcefully to look at the solid, deceptively simple gold wedding band.
"Yeah, well, that spell we found? It bound the Arch Mage, as planned. To me, though. It bound him. To me," sighed the half-elf, fiddling with the band.
"He used to be your mentor," said Liza.
"Yup."
"He's 630 years old."
"Indeed."
"You're barely 100."
"He's a full elf, they mature a little slower. But yeah."
"Okay yeah, but he's still the whole head of the empire we were trying to collapse. And a man!" The female half-giant exclaimed, lightly whacking Jason over the back of the head in an attempt to knock some sense into him.
"Well, I am bisexual. Most elves are, really. We all kinda look too alike for gender to matter, I'm already exotic because I can grow a beard like a human. Plus, there's only a new child every 150 years or so anyway," Jason pondered, still too caught up in the practicalities and inhibiting the reality of the situation to fully sink in.
"He's the corrupt leader of a large empire with the blood of millions on his hands." Sighed Liza.
"Well, he dies, I die. So I'm just gonna try to make this work."
- 8 years later -
"Jason, we have talked about this. You can't just order me to call my troups away from the dwarven mines. We need their ore," huffed the arch mage stubbornly, the tips of his ears wiggling in annoyance as the much taller Jason grinned down at him.
"Yes I can, Dario. Because you looooove me," he teased into his husband's ear, knowing he was right.
Turns out, love and hate really aren't that different. Despite being an all-powerful, breathtakingly beautiful arch mage with a knowledge of magic that could transform worlds, Dario was incredibly awkward socially, romantically and sexually. He had never actually been forced to communicate with people he couldn't threaten into compliance or silence, in result never wanting for anything in all of his 630 years. The arch mage had formed a bit of an unhealthy adoration for the stubborn and independent Jason as a strange result. In a way, the man craved the lack of control and the disagreements.
The young half-elf, in return, enjoyed the power he held over the man who had mentored him in school, just to betray him and his knighted family when he overthrew the reigning queen. In a strange way, they had found a balance in discovering the limits of the curse.
It had been one hell of a night when they found out they were no longer capable of having sex outside of their forced "marriage", Jason could attest to that. He was just extremely happy Dario hadn't been close enough to him yet to see the dark "married man," text that had appeared on his... Well. It had sat there for a solid two weeks and it itched like crazy. Not a price Jason wanted to pay again, though he had been easily able to put aside his sympathy when it happened much more obviously to Dario.
"No, Jason. I won't do it," Dario interrupted Jason's thought process and brought him back to his husband. He ran a hand through the Elf's traditional hip-length silver hair and peppered kisses along Dario's jaw.
"Are you sure, Dari? You know I hate it when you kill people. We can have your stupid ministers draw up a trading contract, and you won't even have to think about it anymore. We'll have nothing but time together," Jason suggested, wrapping an arm around the other's waist.
"I have to go now, Liza's expecting me. Haven't seen her in a good while. Just think about it, okay?" He said, smirking as he saw Dario's reddened ears.
Jason made his way down and out of the castle, fetching his horse and meeting Liza a way's away in a nearby village. Thankfully the people were used to him at this point, no longer terrified of the tyrant's husband.
"Jason! How've you been?" Asked Liza, engulfing the half-elf in a hug.
"I've been great! Making amazing progress with Dario, I think I've gotten him to seriously reconsider his troups at the mines. You should get a shadow courier to our informants over there," the man said, grinning at Liza's surprised expression.
"That was.. Really fast. How do you do that? That man is a stone cold psychopath!" She exclaimed in shock.
"I just.. Play to his likes," I said innocently, knowing she'd assume a different dynamic than what was happening, but definitely the one my husband wanted everyone to assume.
"God, the sacrifices you make man. You should be sainted for having to be that man's pretty boy," Liza sneered, and I chuckled.
"It's not that bad, once you get used to it." | |
[WP] "So when you said that your curse would bind your arch-nemesis for all eternity..." Your companion holds up your hand to inspect the newly appeared magical wedding band on your ring finger. "Yeah, I didn't really think that would mean 'to me'." | The hero and his apprentice appeared to be muttering amongst themselves, but Eliza had her own problems. A white light had materialized around her left hand, and now a ring was stuck to her finger. It would not move. This made no sense, she was the demon queen. Nothing was beyond her power, but this damn ring. She gave up and looked at it again.
On second thought it was rather nice. It wasn't gaudy, and it was still simple enough for her to fight with. The Runic inscriptions and little birds were cute as well. Wait......did she just call it cute? She hated this not a few moments ago. She had been cursed!
"Reinhardt! Damn you! I'm going to kill you! Before, I showed mercy to you pathetic humans, no longer!."
Reinhardt held up his hands and began trying to stutter out an explanation, only to be met with a giant explosion to his face.
His assistant Edgar slowly backed away. To the best of his knowledge the demon queen was immortal. Reinhardt was.....not quite there. Yet he somehow returned after being killed continually, he said something about advanced spirit magic yet no one else could comprehend what he was talking about. He was also quite ridiculous in strength for a human. The point was he wanted to be nowhere near them. His damn fool of a master had said this plan was foolproof. Maybe the plan didn't realize how much of a fool Reinhardt was, or perhaps he was the fool for always going along with these schemes and having faith in his master.
Oddly enough she wasn't following up. Eliza's arm seemed to be trembling, and she was blushing. Reinhardt did not see this though. He flung a boulder off of his body and fumbled his way back to his feet. He swiftly gained his bearings and noticed Eliza approaching him, he drew a sword from his waist and flung it so hard into her chest that she was impaled into a wall.
Edgar gulped, perhaps he wasn't such a fool after all. Sometimes his master's ridiculous feats left him speechless.
Reinhardt had a hand around her throat before she could even grab the sword. "As I was trying to say before I was interrupted by some crazy bitch, I think we're stuck together. Can't you break this spell? You broke everything else I've thrown at you."
"I'm a crazy bitch? Some *ASSHOLE* broke into my castle and put a stupid curse on me *FOR NO REASON!"*
"You're the demon queen! You killed my father! Evil witch!"
"Your father was leading an army to attempt to take some of my land which was equally divided with your country centuries ago. Idiot. I could have taken your land if I wanted it."
"You killed me 700 times!"
"You keep entering my castle unannounced you fucking moron!"
Edgar was sure they hadn't noticed yet, but as they continued hurling insults they drew their faces closer to each other with each insult. It seemed as if with a few more choice words they began noticing and looking at each other's lips. Then they attacked each other in a brand new way. He sighed and facepalmed, perhaps he shouldn't even try to break this spell. They seemed like they were made for each other. | "well shoot this is not how that was supposed to work...."
"oh yeah really?" obviously interrupted in the middle of an epic battle, a well built blood dancer, some blood still seeping from cuts pulled at the metal band around his finger furiously.
"Well... I, didn't actually think when I casted the spell it would bind you to, me." stuttered the short and dark haired mage standing in front of the furious blood dancer.
"So you tell me, oh great one. Damien Crow, the Trigomancer! What the fuck did you think it would do?"
"Banish you to the hell plane?"
"Oh please."
"I'm serious!"
The Blood dancer stopped pulling on the ring and stomped over to the warlock and grabbed his right hand, inspecting the intricate blacksteel and black diamond ring around the finger of the Trigomancer.
"You know I'm technically betrothed already right?" Sighed the blood dancer, letting go of the Trigomancers hand and sitting down in defeat.
"Yes?"
"And you know I now have to tell my father I can't get married because of this dumb spell you just cast."
"Yes."
"And you know that even though relationships such as this are not uncommon in Ishnakk it would not be looked upon favorably for me to be forced into a marriage with my Arch nemesis."
"Yes."
"You did not think this through did you."
Damien Crow, the Trigomancer sat down across from the blood dancer and sighed.
"I will be honest Ichor I truly did not. But, why can't you just, I dunno. Leave?"
"You see there is a small issue with that, partially because we are married now, and where I come from. Thats a lifelong commitment, I can't 'leave' you now because thats not allowed. And I don't care about rules anywhere else, or how much I dislike you. I now, legally and by tradition. Have to take you *back* to Ishnakk, introduce you to my father as my married spouse, and we are required to fulfill and perform the necessary rituals for said marriage to be valid."
Ichor raised his eyebrows "I'm not particularly looking forward to the last step due to the intimacy of it."
Damien simply stared at Ichor for a moment then began to mutter. Ichor simply looked at Damien for a while then breathed deeply and stood.
"At least you're not bad looking or old."
"What?"
"Look. I'll make you a deal since we're married now, you don't kill me, I don't kill you, and we both find some way to tolerate each other for the rest of our lives until death do us part."
"Uhhh, okay?"
"Great. Now get up, we have a long way to go and I have a speech to start composing and courage to gather."
"Courage to gather?"
Ichor retrieved his claymore from the ground and chuckled "You ever tried telling your dad due to a messed up spell you are now eternally bound to a man by sacred rite? It's not gonna be easy."
"I can help you if you would like..." Offered Damien "After all, I'm not sure exactly why we were nemesis's, is that a word? After all."
"I think you stole something of mine once, some heirloom or the other. And then I did a me thing and let my temper get the best of me and vowed for an overblown revenge because I was bored out of my mind. Its been a while since my adventures with Pyadzu and Allar ended. And I was probably feeling restless."
"Ah... so about the speech you have to give?" | |
[WP] "So when you said that your curse would bind your arch-nemesis for all eternity..." Your companion holds up your hand to inspect the newly appeared magical wedding band on your ring finger. "Yeah, I didn't really think that would mean 'to me'." | "You see, I was getting pretty desprate. Bro, I'm not even gay! I just didn't read the footnotes. Yes, I should've realized when I saw the book was written by Venus, and yes I should've also realized when I saw the items required for the spell included various flower petals, a gold ring and a lock of both our hairs. It was all I had though, apart from that, my only other option was to kill him, and I couldn't do that! Killing people makes me feel bad :(. So I got him to the spell circle, chanted the latin (which aparently translates to: do you take me to be your lawfully wedded spouse?) and he looks at me all weird (I didn't know that his first language was latin! I thought that was just a demon stereotype!) and so he just says
"Quid est?" And that was all the spell needed because now we're married I guess. The spell just said "Spell of Binding". I didn't think that meant the spell would "bind" him to me. So yeah, I guess I'm a shadow king now." Jason explains. Mark looks at him in complete shock.
"What the fuck?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jason snaps.
"You're the shadow queen now?" Mark questions, trying to get the whole story straight.
"Well, King. But yes." Jason corrects. A sudden idea comes to Mark's head.
"If you're a Shadow King, doesn't that mean you have a say over the law now?" Jason nods, not understanding what his friend's getting at.
"Yeah, I suppose, if Tenebris doesn't divorce me." Mark chokes on his own saliva.
"You're on first name basis?" Mark exclaims.
Jason furrows his brows. "I mean we're married, we kinda have to, otherwise it gets kinda awkward if I constantly refer to him as Shadow King when that's kinda hypocritical cus I'm also a shadow king now."
"You know what, never mind. Can you just, command the armies to draw back from the upper and central realms?" Jason's eyes widen in understanding.
"Wait, holy shit, you're right!" He exclaims. "Wait, lemme get my ride back to the under realm. Somnum!" A creature that looks faintly bipedal and made out of pure black smoke appears out of nowhere.
"Um, what?" Jason turns back to Mark suddenly.
"Fuck, yeah, forgot. This is Somnum, a nightmare. She's my guard that Tenebris assigned to me." The figure clears up a little bit and Mark can make out a trio of pure white eyes and... boobs? The figure winks at Mark, or at least as close as it can get with three eyes. If Mark didn't know any better he'd think it was flirting with him. Jason turns back to the shadow creature, who's features were a bit more defined now. "Somnum, this is my best bud, Mark! Yes, he's straight as far as I know." Mark coughed to cover up his shock.
"Are you trying to set me up with it- er, her?" He nods.
"Yeah, she's pretty cool! You'd be good together! Anyways gotta go do the thing now!" He waves goodbye to Mark before fading out of the realm with the nightmare.
"Well that's one way to end a war." Mark mutters to himself before kicking a rock and imagining it was his imbicile of a best friend. | “Ravis the Brave, I know you’re angry, but you don’t understand. You’re being unreasonable,” my companion whispered in the halls of Daegar’s Despair, the winds of the underworld nearly blocking out his soft, panicked voice. The slimy stones of the dungeon created a perfect wind tunnel for the screams of the damned, and his rusty armor did not help conversation, but Sorath never took care of any of his equipment.
“I’m being unreasonable?” I said, stopping on the slab of stone that provides safe passage over the sea of souls below. “You’re my Paladin, Sorath, you’re supposed to protect me and heal me! And yet I’m your nemesis? Your Nemesis? Not the Doom Lord Asaroth whose blight wiped out half a nation of farmland, not the Dread Prince Krav who put his own people on spikes, not the Goblin King who killed your wife and two kids? ME?!”
“Well, it’s just…”
“It’s just what? It’s just what?”
“Can we do this later, after we save the child?”
“The child is a fucking peasant, we’re not going to get any bard songs from this. We have bigger issues than this child. My child. My lineage.” I hold up my hand with the ring. “I can’t marry Lady Alainne anymore. I can’t marry anyone. I’m a fucking treaty. My hand in marriage saves lives.”
“It’s not like I said your name, it just chose…”
“My marriage to Lady Alainne was going to stop a war, but now I have this,” I almost slap him in the face with this prison of a ring. “Now I’m taken. Now I’ve been wed. To a commoner. Umbria and Elaf will continue to fight for a thousand more years because of your selfishness.”
“I wasn’t being selfish, the witch didn’t give me a choice, she just…”
I wanted to shove him right there but the plank of stone was so narrow I might go down myself trying to save him should he tumble. Instead I hooked my hands inside his armor and drew him close. “The priests will not annul this, you’ve ruined me.”
“You know what,” my companion said, soft and weak as always. “You are my arch-nemesis. It’s always about you. You slayed the dragon. But who healed you every time you were near death? You cleared the halls of the skeleton king. But who said the prayer that made them shatter at the touch of your blade? You cut off the head of the Tangled Hollows Witch, but who warded you from her curses? You get the kill, I get the ridicule. You just want the bards to sing of you, you don’t care about anyone. You’re no hero you’re just…”
I shoved him at last, my name disparaged. His screams joined the chorus of souls feasting on his remains, the creak of his rusty armor like the cracking shell of a crab. I looked down at the ring, thinking of Lady Alainne and the lands in store for me. I tried to pull the ring off, but it was magically sealed. I took a dagger to my knuckle and paused. The child we were supposed to save screamed, probably a meal made of its delicate flesh. I pressed the dagger to the wrist of my sword hand.
Without Sorath I’m useless anyway. It’s a better story for the bards if I lost my sword hand defending my friend and the child. Then I can retire. I dropped to the stone bridge and began to carve, my arch-nemesis screaming below and me screaming above. Together as always. | |
[WP] You're the world's greatest hero, but you've got a crush on a minor villain, so you go out of the way to stop their crimes in the hopes of rehabilitating them (and perhaps get a date). They know this, and they've decided to use it against you. | PART TWO:
One day, I went on about my usual routine to stop her from robbing... this time... this time it was different. She actually flipped out on me, really bad.
“Stop stopping me,” she yelled in a furious voice.
“Selena, what’s wrong..?”
“You’re what’s wrong, you egotistical bastard. You’re lonely and depressed, and the only satisfaction you get is from bothering me!”
“Let’s... let’s talk about this,” I placed my hand on her shoulder, but she quickly brushed it away
Her emerald eyes pierced deep into my soul as she got into my face, “Mighty Marshall, what a joke. Nothing mighty about a man who’s only loved for his fame and power, because NOBODY can love him for his personality.”
Tears were streaming down my face by this point, but it was slowly turning into rage... that didn’t stop her from continuing with her arsenal of hurtful words.
“Let’s be real here, Mighty Marshall. If you were just Marshall Schwartz, nobody would like you, including me,” she said with a diabolical smug as she walked away.
She was right, she was absolutely right. Nobody cared, nobody liked me for me. I’m done. I AM DONE with being the good guy, for people who don’t care.
I walked in the other direction, overflowing with anger and adrenaline. I took an empty car and threw it as far as I could, people near me started screaming and running the other direction as it exploded on impact. I didn’t care, all I could see was red.
I flew up and crashed through buildings, destroying every thing in my path. It didn’t take long for every news station to report that Mighty Marshall was on a rampage.
I’ve been holding back my true power constantly, I’m in a world made of glass. Everything is so fragile and I’ve always held back my anger not to destroy it. This time, I didn’t hold back.
I caused easily a billion dollars in property damage within the first twenty minutes. I flew back down, mind still flooded with rage until I seen a newspaper laying on the debris filled ground, it said:
“Shapeshifter Shawn Escapes the SVDC”
It was a long shot, but I had to know for sure... I flew to Selena’s house at the speed of sound and rapidly knocked on her door.
She answered, “You can’t bust me if I did nothing wrong, Marshall,” she chuckled.
“Have we talked today?”
“Err, what,” she asked curiously.
“HAVE. WE. TALKED. TODAY,” I enunciated every syllable.
“No... no, we haven’t, why?”
I stared into her emerald eyes and stroked her black, silky hair and kissed her, it was definitely consensual. It was passionate and long, euphoria shivered down my spine as I pulled away slowly.
She smirked seductively, “That was unexpected.”
I looked deep into her eyes one last time, “Selena, I’m sorry. Be the hero I always wanted you to be, not next week... not tomorrow... now, I love you.”
“Wait, what’s going on,” she glanced back to look at her TV as she heard a familiar name, “MARSHALL, why are you on the TV?!”
Before I could answer her, I flew away- not wanting to explain the situation right now.
I flew at super speed to every street, every building, every inch of the city to find Shapeshifter Shawn!
Eventually, I found him in an abandoned building. He cackled and cheered as he seen me.
“I knew you could live up to your potenti-“
He couldn’t finish his sentence before I slammed him against the wall.
“What’s wrong, Marshall..? Are you mad... that I finally made you snap..? All those people you had locked up, you’re just like the rest of us.”
“You went too far this time, Shawn,” I said as I squeezed his neck.
“What do you think the public will think of you now? Now that you just showed a hint of your power, they’ll be scared, they’ll cast you out, they’ll HATE you.”
I cocked back my fist, ready to leave him into a bloody pulp, but if I had an ounce of restraint left in me, now would be the time to use it.
“I was right, you know... nobody will ever love you for you, including her. You really lost control over a slut.”
I punched him, not a held-back punch, an actual punch. I immediately realized what I had done, I dropped his lifeless corpse onto the floor, a dent in his head causing bodily fluid to leak into the cracks of the concrete floor.
He was right, I lost control... I lost everything, the world’s greatest superhero, the man who couldn’t be defeated, found his greatest weakness, Selena Chambers. Shapeshifter Shawn won, the world is out to get me. | PART ONE:
Being the world’s greatest hero isn’t easy, actually... I take that back, it is. I am simply another caliber of superhuman, I’ve tackled some of the world’s greatest threats, defeated some of the most powerful super villains mankind has ever bestowed, and honestly, it’s just too easy.
Let me check my watch, I’ve been saving the world for... I don’t know, forty years now, and I’ve yet to even be challenged? Come on, there has got to be something out there that can pose a threat to me!*
These are the constant thoughts I had before I met Selena Chambers, a mediocre street villain that occasionally would rob convenient stores and damage some property along the way.
How did I come to meet this girl, you ask? Some would call it fate, but really, it was just coincidence.
I was at a grocery store because, you know, the world’s greatest superhero likes to munch on unhealthy junk food too sometimes, when suddenly my vision turned into slow motion. I seen a quick blur zoom past me and take the money out of the register as I was in line, then continue to dash out of the store before anyone could notice.
I remember thinking to myself, out of ALL the places you could rob... you manage to rob the ONLY ONE with Mighty Marshall in it. I just found it hilarious at the time.
It didn’t take me long to catch up with the speed demon, you know, because my super speed far surpassed the thief’s in every conceivable way possible. I quickly grabbed the crook by the shirt and held them in the air with one hand.
But it was then when I realized, “Tits on Christ, it’s a girl!”
She squirmed and kicked like a child being held unwillingly, it was just too cute for me not to smile. Her eyes were green, I mean REALLY green, like emeralds reflecting the morning sunlight. She was really beautiful but also, really young... not like “young-young” or anything, I’m not a pervert!
She looked as if she was in her early twenties, then I remembered I was sixty-three with the body of a twenty-three year old, I guess one of my superpowers is eternal youth. Anyways, I’m getting distracted. Where was I..?
Oh yes, she was kicking and squirming!
“Let me go,” she screamed like a child throwing a tantrum.
“Nope, no can do. You ‘gotta return that money.”
“No way, loser! Do you not have nothing better to do with your time?!”
I lowered her down slowly, not completely letting her go, but enough to make eye contact... which was probably a bad idea because I ended up getting captivated by her eyes again, her beautiful black hair blew slightly in the wind, just gazing my attention even more, it took me a moment to realize that I had spaced out.
“Hello?! Hey pervert, why are you staring at me? Are you not going to let me go!”
I snapped back to reality, “Oh, right... look, I’m the world’s greatest superhero... I got bigger fish to fry, so why don’t you just return the money or I’ll take you to the Supervillain Detention Center and you can sit there for a couple years, ok? No pressure, your choice.”
She scowled at me as she handed me the money from her hand, “No way, José! You got to return it... and make sure you make apologies to the owners too, they’re good people... and they give me superhero discounts.”
I guided her back to the store, following right behind her to make sure she didn’t try to take off. Surprisingly, she didn’t. Apart of me was proud, maybe I could actually rehabilitate villains instead of just punching them!
After we left the store, she threw her hands up in defeat, “There! Are you happy now, Mr. World’s Greatest Superhero,” she questioned me mockingly.
My mouth formed into a smug grin, “Matter of fact, I am. You did the right thing, kid. I’m proud of you.”
“Whatever, catch you later, Marshall.”
“If you keep committing crimes, maybe I’ll CATCH YOU later,” I said with a slight chuckle, thinking I was so funny.
She simply rolled her eyes and dashed off into the abyss of the crowded city.
“God, that was so stupid... why did you say that,” I thought revoltingly to myself.
Honestly, I couldn’t just go home. I found myself kind of intrigued with this girl, she was different than all the other criminals, I could just feel it.
I kept tabs on her, and no, she didn’t stop committing crimes... she just started doing them less, which was a minor win in my eyes. Regardless, every time she committed a crime, I was there to put a stop to it.
Eventually, it became a routine. It even got to the point where we’d have actual conversations every time I caught her. She’d even joke with me saying things like, “I’ll get away next time.”
I would give her a pat on the back and say, “Sure you will,” even though we both knew it was simply false.
It didn’t take long for me to catch feelings for this girl, Selena Chambers, and yes, I finally got her name after catching her about ten times. I felt like I was helping her, she always told me she felt bad for her crimes... but she had to do it. I always wondered why, but I was always too nervous to ask.
Eventually, she told me... scratch that, she showed me why she does it. I came over to her beat down apartment, she had two little siblings that she had to take care of... mom and dad wasn’t in the picture anymore, drugs destroyed that.
I tried convincing her that crime isn’t the way to go about this situation, she could use her powers for good. Her little siblings needed someone to look up to, a hero.
“The hero business doesn’t pay the bills, unless you’re a big time hero like Mighty Marshall where you get interviews and get paid to do commercials for Red Bull,” she told me.
She was right... all the small time heroes didn’t get a cent that wasn’t from kind donations from strangers. I felt sorry for her, I asked to give her money but she declined. I was conflicted, I can’t let her do these crimes but I also can’t stop her from feeding her family, such a dilemma.
I was madly in love with Selena not too long after that, apart of me knew she had feelings for me too. I showed her my vulnerable side.... that even though I was a big time superhero... at the end of the day, I walked into my house alone. I had no family, no friends, and no partner to share intimacy with... she was really the first person I considered an actual friend, everyone else just liked me because of the fame and publicity. | |
[WP] The evil princess has kidnapped the knight, a war hero in shining armor. Now, the kingdom has only one hope, the mighty fearsome dragon. | On a dark and stormy night a single squire climbed a mountain to find the dragon’s tower. The squire gasped for air as she stood in front of the tower door. When she regained her composure she knocked. Opening the door was a rather large teenage-looking boy.
“Hello?” He asked.
“Leon! Help! Jack has been taken by the princess!” The squire sputtered out.
Leon paused.
“I told him to tell her clearly ‘no’ but does he listen?” Leon mumbled to himself.
“Shut up and help me get him back.”
“Fine. Hop on.” Leon grew to his true size, a giant dragon.
The squire crawled onto his scaly back and the two shot into the night sky.
-at the princess’s lair-
The two landed outside the cave’s entrance.
“Why is she skulking about in a cave?” Leon asked.
“Something about how ‘no knight would be brave enough to enter’.” The squire said.
“Heh, good thing I’m no knight.” The dragon chuckled to himself.
“Oh, shoot! The torches are all wet from the rain.” The squire held a drenched torch.
The dragon looked at the squire the way a horse may look at a donkey. With an air of superiority and a bit of annoyance. Then the dragon spat a flame into his hand and held it up to see.
“Oh.” The squire felt kinda stupid for forgetting that. It was kinda one of his only four things. Breathes fire, can shape shift, is a big lizard, can fly.
The duo walked through the caves until they at long last found the princess and knight. The knight was chained to a wall while the princess held a small staff.
“I knew you rats would try to take him from me!” She yelled.
“Let him go.” Leon ordered.
“I won’t, can’t! do that. I’m afraid I’ll simply have to kill you.” The princess’s staff began to glow with dark magic.
“Don’t do this!” Jack yelled.
“Silence!” The princess cast a spell and no sound came from Jack. “It’ll only be a moment dear, then we can live together, happily ever after.”
Turning to face her opponents, the princess prepared to show no mercy with her twisted magic. She fired blast after blast at the dragon who, even in his human form, dodged them effortlessly.
The princess was fixated on attacking the dragon. So much so she didn’t notice the squire sneaking behind her. When she did it was too late. In one strike the squire shattered her staff, and with it the source of her power.
With the princess left powerless the squire tied her up while Leon freed Jack.
“Thanks for coming to rescue me.” Jack grinned.
“None of this would have happen if you just told her no like I said.” Leon berated him.
“Well I couldn’t just tell a lady no for no reason, it’d make her sad.”
“Then, if you must have a reason, m-maybe it could be that you’re already dating... me?” Leon, normally stoic, was flustered as he offered his solution.
“Huh? S-sure! If it’s okay with you?” Jack asked worriedly.
“Of course!” Leon said (a little too enthusiastically).
Meanwhile, nearby.
“About time.” The squire whispered to the princess.
“I was right. All it took was almost losing him.” The princess said in an I-told-you-so voice.
“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about the ropes, they’re pretty loose. Just slip away while they both overthink each other’s confessions.” The squire assured her accomplice. | Our story starts in the far off land of Mankrăvin: in particular, on the highest and roughest of its mountains, where according to legend would reside a horrifying dragon. Its presence and its overwhelming power loomed over our kind's history: it was there when our first empires were born, and it watched as they crumbled to dust and ash.
According to the sages spread out around the kingdom, such might was the only thing that could counter the magical tyranny of Princess Mįnerva. Only with its helps would we rescue our valorous Commander Yőrnlon from the Dark Princess' hold, and end her madness once and for all.
So they prepared what little treasures they had left as reward for the dragon, and sent off many men to the Creature's abode, to act as the kingdom's envoys of peace treaty. They figured, as long as just one reached the being, everything they had done would been worth it.
However, a bitter surprise was awaiting us all...
The eerie silence in the damp cave was broken by a weak voice.
"No... no, it can't be..."
The desperate page dropped his bags, struggling to accept the corpse of the Rotweülsen Dragon, their one true saviour, as reality. The blasted walls of the cave and the smell of sulphur told of how it fought and perished to the hands of its enemy.
*We were all so foolish! Among all living creatures only Princess Mįnerva and Commander Yőrnlon would count as worthy adversaries on their own. What said she wouldn't off our only hope while she had our poor Yőrlon hypnotized to do her will?!*
*All of the page's hard work... all the lands he had to travel through to get to this damn cave... all he had to leave behind for this one hope of rescuing the kingdom... was for NAUGHT?!*
*Why had he left his home and family behind?? What had he given up his apprenticeship to the finest wizard in the land for?? To request alliance from a ROTTING MOUNTAIN of FLESH and FLIES???*
These thoughts swirled in the page's head, feeding a fury which had been dormant before this very moment.
The rage, the hopelessness and the frustration drove him to kick a boulder near him... and breaking his toe in the process. Yay.
He howled in pain as he started hopping around while holding his injured foot, not realizing the kick triggered a stone the size of his own bag to roll off said boulder.
He only bothered observing it once he was done yelling profanities to our gods. Quite a peculiar stone it was! So smooth and round compared to her sisters right next to her, so colorful, so...
...Did it jiggle?
It did , it happened again! And this time there was a crack on it...
The stone rocked in place one last time, before breaking in two. From it a scaly head peeked out, observing the young page in curiosity.
They stared at each other for a few minutes, pendering what to do. In the end, he beckoned the creature closer.
As the creature responded to his call, hope stirred yet again in his mind.
Maybe this story wasn't over yet. | |
[WP]A little girl has been found who always knows how many things are in another thing. Even when asked how many cells are in my body, she said she could write the answer but didn’t know what it meant. When she was asked how many stars are in the universe she responded, Zero. | "Have you ever heard of the Akashic records, Prof. Renn?", asked Prof. Burnswood.
"Can't say that I am familiar", answered the researcher.
The old Prof. Burnswood made himself comfortable on his peer's office chair. With his hand rubbing his chin, he glanced at the little girl sitting on the adjacent observation room, separated with a glass partition from the office.
The young girl, Laura, was busy drawing with her crayons and many many sheets of paper.
"It is believed that the Akashic records are a collection...or rather a databank, located within a non-physical mental plane-- the aether, if you will. Containing all universal events, be it thoughts, emotions, intents, even history that has happened, is happening, and yet to happen, pertaining to all beings and life forms that have ever existed, us humans included", explained Prof. Burnswood.
Prof. Renn raised his eyebrow, not bothering to hide his disbelief of the old professor's claim.
"Uhm...Prof. Burnswood, with all due respect-- what on earth are you talking about?"
Prof. Burnswood chuckled, seemingly used to that ton of ridicule.
"It is hard to believe, I understand. But I have studied this field of research for decades, pouring all of my life to understand this phenomena--", Prof. Burnswood said seriously, intently he addressed his colleague.
"Despite that I have yet to find anyone...anyone, Prof. Renn! Not one person who can access this universal records! But not anymore! There she is, sitting before me! The proof of my life's work!", Prof. Burnswood stood suddenly, with eyes beaming he revered the little girl.
"Uhh...Prof. Burnswood, what did you say you are a professor of again?", asked. Prof. Renn.
"Hmm? I study theosophy and philosophy", he answered dismissively.
Prof. Renn scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"Oh great, I asked the institute to contact an expert and they sent me a pseudo-scientist to consult", mocked Prof. Renn.
"Don't you see, man? She's right there! She's all the proof I need!", Prof. Burnswood grabbed Prof. Renn by his arm, dragging him to the other room.
"She must have...she must have some kind of a *resonance* to the *tune* of the Akashic records, if you will!", Prof. Burnswood declared.
Laura stopped drawing as soon as the two academics barged into the room. Nonchalantly she looked up to the two professors.
"Hello, sweetie", Prof. Burnswood greeted, smiling warmly. "What's your name?"
"Laura", she replied.
"It is so, so great to meet you, Laura", Prof. Burnswood said, kneeling before the young girl.
"Okay, okay. Let's say...I can't believe I'm about to entertain this, but let's say this *Akashic records* do exist--", Prof. Renn said sarcastically.
"How do they work? How does she access these records? Because so far, she can only answered questions regarding numbers. The amount of cells in a human body, the number of sand grains on the Sahara. If your claim is true, shouldn't she be able to tell us a bit more than that?"
Prof. Burnswood turned to Laura, with a kind face he asked. "Laura, dear. What do you see?"
"Um...I see...pictures. Like...movies playing in my mind, of stuff", she answered as best as she could.
With that she returned to her drawings which Prof. Burnswood understood to be the images she was seeing.
"I see", the professor remarked. "Prof. Renn, she is but a child. Maybe her understanding of what she's seeing isn't in depth just yet. With guidance and training, she could understand the records much much more!", Prof. Burnswood theorized.
"O-okay...", Prof. Renn remarked, still incredulously. "But how did she able to access them? If like you said, she is the first you have ever encountered, Prof. Burnswood-- out of all the people who have ever existed since the beginning of time and only one person in history ever have this ability...the probability of that is like 1 in..."
"107 billion, 502 million, 230 thousands, and 17 people", Laura answered without a pause.
Prof. Burnswood was ecstatic while Prof. Renn was still processing.
"You see? She can do it! She's the one!", Prof. Burnswood yelped excitedly.
Prof. Renn stood there quietly, thinking while Prof. Burnswood kept asking Laura more questions. | I stared down at the sheet in front of me. The numbers on the page foreign, but still understandable to me as a linguist. I could see the girl, Abhigjna, in the other room quietly sitting at the desk eating her snack. She looked carefree, her bright native clothing standing out against the stark brutal design of the government building.
If this is faked, I don’t know how. I thought, flipping through the dossier we had on the girl. Three pages. That was it, and one of those was a cover page. The last page had the transcript from our initial conversation.
[How many stars are there in the universe? “Huh? Oh, that again? That’s easy. Zero.”
What do you mean? What about the sun?
“Silly, that’s not a star!”
Then what is it?
“I don’t know. An angel, maybe? No, that’s not right…”]
Her dialect was strong, and very difficult to understand… but it was clear what she meant. She could answer questions, but only if they were asked correctly. When we asked her how many cells there were in the human body. She could write the answer down, but couldn’t tell us what it meant.
She finished her meal and looked over at me, through the mirrored glass. At least, that’s how it felt. There’s no way she knew where I was. Taking two steps to the right, her eyes just seemed like they followed me. It was just a trick of the angles. This little girl is getting to me. She’s too quiet. Too calm. No one says where her parents are. I asked the guard who brought her in. “Need to know.”
“They’re gone.” She said suddenly, her voice muted. I looked up to see her standing on the other side of the glass. Looking up at me with her too knowing eyes. I was at a loss until I realized I was just thinking about her parents. I must have said it out loud.
“Where did they go?”
She looked at me with a small smile. “I can write it down, but I can’t explain it.”
In the fog of her breath on the glass, she began to draw a circle with little lines coming off of it. | |
[WP] Your mob boss asks you to "take care of" some thugs at a shady business. You had a rough home life, so you interpret this as parenting them. After you bring them food and nicer clothes, they're astonished by your kindness, and the city's gangs have no idea how to maintain their version of order | The Prono brothers were new in town and clearly unfamiliar with the local business and trade structure. They set up shop – Prono’s Wares – in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen, which was essentially owned by my boss, Mr. Gilmore, a cold and calculating businessman. And more importantly: the boss of the biggest crime syndicate in New York.
That wouldn’t be so bad – one more shop is just one more venture that need protection from the low life – if the shop wasn’t so obviously a front for handling stolen goods. Allowing them to exist in the midst of Mr. Gilmore’s empire like a cancerous cell, would be a sign of weakness.
“What do you want me to do about the Prono boys?”
“Ah, yes. Those fools,” he sighed. “It just takes one bored or young and motivated officer who takes a closer look at the shop to uncover their crimes. So inexperienced and naïve. They remind me of when I was a boy, setting out to earn riches but oh so clumsy in my methods.”
I adjusted my stance as I felt a monologue coming. Mr. Gilmore had the habit to tell a life story whenever the chance arose. He thought it made him sound wise, giving a moral through a story, while it actually just made him sound like a boring, old grandfather.
However, I made sure to give him the impression that I was listening intently. I have known two that yawned halfway his story. They didn’t survive his wrath to tell the tale.
Ten minutes later Mr. Gilmore finally concluded his monologue. From what I understood, he began much like the Prono brothers: a small thug trying to be a big time criminal, alongside a friend. His friend was promptly killed a month after they started. Mr. Gilmore on the other hand was taken under the wings of Senhor Emilio and grew under Emilio’s tutelage to who he is now.
Mr. Gilmore kept silent after that.
“So, what do you want me to do about the Prono boys?” I cautiously repeated my question.
“Isn’t that obvious? Go take care of them!” He snapped at me.
“Yes Mr. Gilmore, right away.” I left his office, confused. Usually he was much less ambiguous in his orders, but I dared not ask for elaboration. Mr. Gilmore didn’t like saying things twice and although I regretted many – if not all – of my life choices I didn’t feel yet like quitting my life.
Two days later the brothers – Alex and Brendon – stood before me.
“Alex, didn’t I tell you to iron your jeans?”
“Y-yes sir.”
“Then why didn’t you do it?”
“But, I did iron them, sir!”
“Are you calling me a liar?” I frowned my eyebrow.
“No sir. I’m sorry, I’ll iron them again!”
“Good. And you, Brendon. When is the last time you saw some soap? Must have been weeks ago, based on the smell.”
“Sorry sir! I’ll go wash myself right after this meeting!”
“Good. Making an impeccable first impression is important, whether you’re meeting for a business deal, intimidating someone or maybe going on a date.”
Alex grinned at the mention of a date. “I don’t need to go on any date. I already have a girl!” He sounded proud like a peacock.
“Do you love her?”
“Yes.”
“Good, don’t lose her. And you know what’s an important aspect in maintaining a relationship?”
“Appearance?”
“Ding ding, we have a winner! Anyway, time to sit down, have dinner and learn you how not to eat like a pig.”
The next day, Mr. Gilmore called me to his office: “Have you taken good care of the Pronos?”
“Yes Mr. Gilmore.”
“Good, need any help in disposing the bodies or do you have it handled?” My breath got caught in my throat, I coughed in an attempt to hide it.
“I have it handled.”
“Good, I knew I could count on you!”
“Do you need anything else?”
“No, that was it.” He waved me away. It took every fiber of my being to not run out of the office. | A scruffy looking gang member picked up the clothes I sat on the table. “Oh, so my clothes aren’t good enough? You think I should wear these instead? Fuck you!”
Suddenly I blacked out, a blow to the back of my head.
I woke up hours later tied to a chair where they tortured me. The days became weeks became months, where they tortured me with water boarding and electrocution. I spent my nights crying, knowing if I ever got free I would never give someone clothes, as I now learned that giving a gang member clothes is one of the most offensive things one can do. They have a lot of pride in their gang clothes.
The day finally came where they tied me to a cinder block and threw me in the river. As I gasped for air and felt the water flowing in instead, I wish I had made better life choices. | |
[WP] Your mob boss asks you to "take care of" some thugs at a shady business. You had a rough home life, so you interpret this as parenting them. After you bring them food and nicer clothes, they're astonished by your kindness, and the city's gangs have no idea how to maintain their version of order | As the night fell above the city, three packed cars pulled up before the biggest mansion within the compound located on the quiet yet luxurious side of the neighborhood. A few sturdy men exited each car, every single one of them were dressed to the nine as if they meant business-- business suits, not too fancy but not to be mess with.
The men in suits forcefully pulled three men out-- one from each car, who clearly did not appreciate to be dragged up there. These men were visibly different from their captors, sporting stained shirts and trousers, they would put shame on their grandmothers on church.
The three men were in fear as they were escorted inside the mansion, but being raised in a rough neighborhood they showed toughness outwardly as a survival mechanism.
They knew they were in trouble though unsure for what reason. The mansion was famous, or rather infamous for those dealing with the illegal business on the streets-- the Capriccio family, a powerful Italian-American mob family, possessing a strong hold and presence over businesses in the large city.
There was only a handful of independent business not tied with the family's business, and the three men were part of one of them, working with their mother in a small convenient store in the middle of the roughest street of the city. They knew their presence there wouldn't be pleasant...
"Godfather?", one of the men in suits knocked on the large door at the end of a hallway.
"Come in", a soft yet commanding voice replied from behind the door.
The three men were in awe as they stepped inside the mob boss' office. Decorated with carpeted floor and varnished wooden wall, the room gave the feeling of comfort and luxuriousness. Expensive paintings and artworks were placed strategically around the room, entertaining the eyes in every corner one's eyes could see.
"Ah, you must be the Calhoun boys. Please, make yourself comfortable"
Don Capriccio, the head of the family stood from his desk and welcomed the three young men. The don was a skinny and tall man, not yet elderly although almost pushing that title. He was a man of commanding presence, rugged face though not shy in sharing his warm smiles. Draped in a casual attire of white shirt and black trousers, he could be mistaken for a nobody.
"I've been wanting to talk with you boys for some time now", the don said. "Refreshments? Drinks?", he offered.
The three brothers were quite confused, still having their guards up.
"Uh, no thanks", the eldest of the three answered.
He stared at the don with hatred. He knew his reputation, forcing small businesses to pay for his protection. He would not be intimidated.
The don caught on the eldest of the Calhoun's displease. He looked at him, noticing the bruised cheek on the young man's face.
"Donnie?", Don Capriccio raised his brow at one of his men standing guard by the door.
"Uh...I apologize, godfather. He was quite resistance when we were bringing them here. We had to use....excessive force", the goon answered.
The don was stared at his man for a moment before shaking his head in disappointment.
"Donnie...take care of him", the don ordered as he leaned back on his table, sitting down.
"He-hey, what are you...?", the young man muttered in fear seeing the burly goon started moving. He closed his eyes, ready to protect himself from another attack. When nothing happened, he opened his eyes slowly.
The goon was standing before the don's drink stand, pouring a handful of ice cubes onto a napkin and bundle it up into an ice pack.
"Here you go", he handed it to the young man. "Press it there, it'll make it better", he said pointing at the young man's cheek.
"H-hey, what is this, really? Is this some kind of an intimidation tactic?", the middle of the brothers spoke up. "We're not bowing down to you! We're not selling out! I don't care that you are a big shot mob boss! Our store is our mother's and we are not giving it up!"
"T-t-that's right!", the youngest chimed in, clearly scared. "Our family's been running it for years and it would hurt our mother if we let it go!"
The don was amused at the three brothers' defiance. He never let off the smile on his face.
"What is your name, young man?", he addressed the youngest brother.
"A-Anthony..."
"And you, my friend?", he asked the middle brother.
"Vincent"
"And you are...?"
"Michael", the eldest answered, enjoying the cold pack on his stinging face.
"Very well said, boys. Very well said", the don acknowledged their protest. "I don't know what they say about me on the streets, but I assure you it is not my intention to turn your mother's store into some kind of a front for some illegal business, no. All I am offering is my protection, so your mother's store, like any other around the city, would be untouchable by some ruffians who dare do it harm"
The three brothers looked at each other questioningly.
"And why would you do that?", Michael asked.
The don stood from his desk and approached the brothers closer.
"I didn't come to this wealth because I was born to it. Like you, I started small. Making deals here and there, offering my services. I admit, some were beyond the law. I am no holy god, but I am a good father. Those who I call my family will know no harm, that I can assure you", answered the don truthfully.
The three brothers were still unsure, but they began to soften up hearing the sincere words of the don.
"I...so what do you want us to do?", asked Vincent.
The don smiled and offered his hand to shake. "I am offering my protection, like I said, in exchange of 30% of your store's monthly income. It is a lot for you, I know, but give me your trust and respect, and I will give you mine"
The three brothers looked down at the don's extended hand, for a moment they thought.
"I...I don't think we can make that decision without our mother present", replied Anthony.
"Ah of course! How disrespectful of me forgetting Mrs. Calhoun", the don smacked his forehead. "Donnie, why don't you drive one of these boys back to grab their mother and bring her here? I'd like to invite her and her sons for a lovely dinner tonight"
The three men looked at each other in surprise.
"Of course, boss. One of you, with me", the goon said.
In reflex, the youngest, Anthony, ran out following the goon back to his car.
"Now as we wait, what do you boys want for refreshment? Drink?", the don offered, walking to his drink stand.
"Thank you, godfather, but...we don't drink", Michael answered, prompting the don to look at him in surprise.
"Our mother...she doesn't like it when we drink. It took our father", Vincent added.
To that the don smiled, instead pouring three glasses of water for the two men and himself in respect.
"And don't you ever disrespect their wish", the don advised, handing the glasses to the two. "A man who doesn't respect his mother is not a man at all", he said, raising his glass before inviting the two men to sit and chat while they waited for the boys' mother.
r/HangryWritey | Behind the tall table made out of marine wood, with thirty one, the exact amount, carved spots in it from men swinging their knifes at him. The man puffed out smoke from the old limited cigar produced in italy in 1970. The circles around his eyes were deep and dark. They had weathered, a lot, and in simpler words—seen some shit.
"Listen here," the man said, voice low and calculated, a bit of italian in there, a bit of irish. His eyes were still and staring. "I am a kind man, the kindest man you'll meet."
Tony, fidgeted in his chair, being stared at by the godfather was not a pleasant experience, not even for him, a man that had killed over one hundred fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters.
"When I can cut off a man's two hands, I cut one," the godfather said, his hands gesturing like a man with no clue of body language mimicking a master, italian in other words. "When I cut off a man's legs. I only do one. Instead of making a man fully blind, I only do it in one eye."
"Very gracious of you," Tony said.
"But, when I say take care of them. And it doesn't matter how kind I am. It means you go out there, and kill them. Isn't that obvious bobby?" The godfather looked to his right, at the bodyguard standing stiller than a statue.
"Yes, very obvious godfather."
"Right? So don't do it again Tony. I'll let you off this time because I like you. But if you don't kill somebody the next time, I'll have someone taking care of you. Kapish?"
"Yes godfather."
"Great, no go take care of my daughters dog." | |
[WP] You arrive at the dungeon and discover that the monsters are on strike. | A fighter, a cleric, and a rogue step out of a stand of trees to a small clearing in front of a dark cave, a babbling brook tumbling out of the cave opening and down the gentle incline back into the woods. They're stealthy, or trying to be, though the cleric's chainmail armor clangs and clicks with every ungainly stomp of his little dwarf feet.
They need not have bothered. The goblins who were meant to be guarding the cave are instead standing outside holding picket signs and chanting.
"Two! Four! Six! Eight! Who do they appreciate? Not us!" they shout as they stomp their feet up and down on the pebbled ground.
The rogue steps forward hesitantly, her short bow half raised. "Uh, hello?"
"Ten! Twelve! Fourteen! Chief Klarg has shitty cheeks!"
The fighter snorts and the rogue drops her bow the rest of the way. "Uh, hello!" she shouts. "Guys?"
The goblins stumble to a stop and turn to stare at their small group. A halfling rogue woman, a human fighter man, and a bearded dwarf cleric.
"What do you want?" one of the goblins sneers, stepping out of line to approach the rogue woman. "This dungeon is closed. Go somewhere else."
"Did you guys kidnap a guy in armor and a dwarf? We found two dead horses on the road a ways back and this path led us here," the fighter asked, struggling to keep a smile down. Their picket signs were really cute and had little drawings of a bugbear with a poopy butt all over them.
"Yeah! We did! What of it?" the goblin said with a show of dirty crooked teeth.
"What of it?" The cleric roared, brandishing his war hammer. "We're going to bash your little noggins in, that's what of it!"
The fighter put up a stalling hand. "Hold on, no one's bopping anyone yet. We just want to find our friends. Are they here?"
"Why should we tell you?" the lead goblin sneered again, but another smaller goblin stepped forward to add, "We grabbed 'em. But, that was like a week ago. The dwarf got picked up by some weird guy days ago and we let the human go this morning when we went on strike."
"Klarg said we were spending too much time eating rats!" another goblin shouted from the picket line, to a chorus of groans and boos. "Who is he to tell us what we can eat and how often? He sure doesn't feed us! Screw Klarg!" the tiny goblin continued to a racket of enthusiastic agreement.
"Oh, uh. Yeah, for sure, screw Klarg. He sounds like a real jerk," the human fighter said.
"Yeah, what a poop butt," the rogue snickered behind her hand.
The goblins cheered and rabbled and shook their signs in agreement.
"Did you see which way the human guy went?" the fighter asked.
"Yeah, he went down this path and back toward Phandalin. It's just a half day's ride away if you keep on this road. Can't miss it," the first goblin said.
"Hey, man, thanks. Good luck with your strike," the fighter said, waving and gesturing for his companions to follow him as they headed back the way they came.
"No problem! Okay, guys! Back to the picket line! Let's get loud! Whoo!"
The three companions made their way back through the woods to the sound of little goblin voices raised in unity against their poopy butt chief. And so our heroes' journey had begun. | The Dungeoneers Office Of Monsters (D.O.O.M.) gives you their deepest respect, Moster №2519, for bringing these issues to our attention and showing to us how many Monsters at Dungeon №1932 care about their working conditions. We cant to assure you that we care too. We will be the first to acknowledge that while monsters don't *permanently* die, when slain - instead they get reincarnated on a first come, first serve basis, according to the needs and level of adventures, as you well know - they do still feel pain. Now, of course any one could quit, D.O.O.M. is not in the business of having slaves like other, lesser managed dungeons (We even have a 5⭐ rating with the Better Battle Bureau and have only one filed complaint with Office of Stopping Harems Administration in our 12 year history!) but D.O.O.M does acknowledge that for most monsters the prospect of job hunting is scary, and so we seek to find fair compromise. As you all know, this strike is costing the company money, and our number one priority is getting fully operational again so that we may continue to write your hard earned paychecks. So, to respond to your requests:
1. We Monsters, (See those undersigned) of Dungeon №1932 hereby formally file our complaint against D.O.O.M for failure to execute us. We, the undersigned, have all found ourselves, on multiple occasions, left seriously wounded but not dead in low level dungeons. We request that our assigned loot be upgraded such that there is no circumstance where the intent of an adventure is anything less than a completed kill. We are not decorations.
The board of directors has met regarding this issue and concluded that while the assigned loot may not be upgraded, we can allow for full health monsters to terminate those left under 15% health provided no adventure has entered the room for ten (10) minutes. We hope that this offer is agreeable.
>2. We Monsters seek an update to the amount paid per fatality, specifically we demand a clause indicating that any boss battle in which our healthy is restored partially though be counted as two battles and two deaths for the purposes of payment.
We are prepared to meet you at a rate of an additional 50% pay per death per health boost.
>3. We Monsters seek an end to the trend of creating "Trains" of high level monsters being brought into lower levels. These "Trains" often result in significantly less work for the day as low level adventures are forced out of the dungeon. We suggest gated exits which bar adventures from leaving if engaged in a fight.
We at D.O.O.M. have had a focus group on this issue previously and have concluded that this would be of significant detriment to our highest level, and therefore highest paying, customer's experience. As such, we have no solution to this problem.
Of course, all of these conditions are dependent on your swift return to work. As such, we will resend our offer in 48 hours if any less than 80% of monsters agree to these terms. | |
[WP] First contact finally happens. Mankind awaits the talk with their alien brethren. The aliens teleport in and look around in disappointment. "Aww, you guys chose science? Why? Magic is so much better." One explains. | Bewilderment set in immediately. A chorus of voices raised at once. Questions, denials, attempts at jokes, defensive posturing.
But I watched our Alien neighbors closely, and they seemed confused by our reaction. They were taken aback, but I couldn't tell if it was cultural, of if there was something else going on. Predictably, however, my colleagues had turned on each other, arguing how to proceed.
"Technically, we chose all three, as a species. We are just the representatives of the Science faction. We progressed this far because the Magic and Divine factions stopped progressing to fight each other in our ancient history." I stepped through my still bewildered colleagues to address the Alien host. They turned to me, seeming to be shocked again.
"Incredible! On our world, the science faction tried to destroy faith and magic, which lead to an alliance between Faith and Magic. Faith empowerment was strong, but horrifically slow to progress, Magic at the time was progressing more rapidly, but was weaker than faith. But Science, was very quickly progressing, and while weaker than faith and magic it could adapt much faster to counter tactics. Nearly a 3rd of our history was that war. Until Science hit a plateau, and seemed unable to advance further. After their defeat, the next 3rd of our history was the mingling of Faith and Magic, until Magic had absorbed Faith. Leaving us with one route with the combined knowledge of all 3."
I nodded, though not entirely sure how that worked. "Our factions remain separate to this day. Magic and Science rose in rebellion of Faith, which eventually resulted in a 3-way war. But Magic was far too weak, and Faith splintered into countless sub-groups that still war to this day. This left science unimpeded, to progress at a breakneck speed that even the most powerful of the Faith factions could not halt or even slow. We went from the first flight of man, to space travel in just 50 years." The aliens balked. Some of them seemed to show fear.
"50 earth years? Th-thats not possible. Our most powerful magics took us almost 1000 earth years!" Now it was our turn to be surprised. But I had an idea why it had taken so long.
"Our species has lived its entire existence at war with itself. Almost every advancement made was made for war, to recover from war, or to prevent war. We had a brief window of peace, where we combined the collected knowledge or our species, our brightest minds, and our weapons of war. With that, in just a few short years, we left our atmosphere." The scientists and historians behind me nodded with proud smiles.
The Aliens were stunned silent. "And...and you must be one of the greatest minds of your species then?"
I laughed. "Me? No... I'm not a great mind at all. Our greatest minds are all behind me here. I'm just a journalist." | I've spent over twenty years of my life to the devotion to astrophysics. Regarded as one of the greatest innovators in the field, my work speaks for itself. However, all that was challenged by the extraterrestrials known as "Celestials."
He appeared at a time of dire need—not in the essence of danger, but in a state of mental dishevel—greeting me spontaneously. I'd come to know him as Pat.
"Aww, you guys chose science? Why? Magic is so much better," a being indistinguishable from any other Human said. Of course I was skeptical about his declaration. Surely these words alluded at their technology, something else indistinguishable. But I soon learned that magic was indeed at play.
Though I'm a humble middle-aged man, it was only apt for the aliens to abduct me. In truth, I didn't know anyone else who had such worthiness. Eventually I'd return to Earth, but first a journey was to be had.
To appeal to my understanding of space travel, I was taken on a pseudo-spacecraft to their home planet. I spent the hour long journey being acquainted with Pat who would enlighten me further on the nature of reality.
"I already know the answer to this question, before you even say it. Nonetheless, tell me what you know about reality." I went on a tangent about the various scientific models that I've lived by. As I explained my understandings, a bored look hugged Pat's face, appearing uninterested. By the time I was done, I felt like an imbecile, seeing that I failed to impress him.
"You forgot the most important part. You didn't mention the fundamentals of the Soul." I cringed at the word 'soul'. Personally, I attributed that to a man-made fabrication to substitute for a lack of knowledge. At the time I was skeptical, but later I too learned that all sapient species have one. The power of the Soul is quite amazing, actually. That much was evident when we arrived at Selos, his planet of origin.
I never seen, nor experienced, anything like it.
Shedding away the false ship that had nothing to do with getting there, we materialized inside a city of wonders. There were no words to describe it, except for the word that Humans have always fantasized about. Utopia. I didn't want to leave, but duty would soon call.
"You're saying my whole life has been a huge lie?" I asked with shame.
"Of course not! Well maybe just a little. Science is actually real, in truth, but it is not the answer. Walk with me." His usage of the word walk was obscure, as we began to glide across the air. Fascinated, I couldn't help but to grin like as fool.
Our destination was a museum that held accounts of millions of civilizations. Acting as a tour guide, I digested numerous artifacts of all known history. Sadly, it became evident that most, if not all, of these people seemed to transcend, leaving Earth as the one exception. I knew this by the massive construct that centered the place, housing a replica of my world.
Nervous, I asked the most serious question that all Humans have ever pondered. "What's the purpose. I mean, what is *our* purpose?" Grimness overcame Pat.
"Well that's the thing. Quite frankly, your species seems to be damned."
"Damned? By who? God?" Pat chuckled.
"Everyone is God. Well sort of. But doesn't that seem quite unfitting for the One to do?"
"I guess so."
"Right. There's a reason why I brought you here. The Universe has come to a frightening conclusion.
"And that is?"
"It's you. You're the one who damned Humanity." It felt like I was punched in the gut. Denial wasn't on the plate. For beings of this magnitude, it wasn't wise to question them. Swallowing hard, I sputtered.
"Me? What did *I* do?"
"Simply put, you're Satan." Upon the utterance of that name, suddenly an overwhelming feeling of power surged from within me. Shedding away this identity previously known as Jim Jamis, my true colors revealed themselves. I roared with furiosity and tried to destroy this world with my immense power.
"No you don't! You'e going back to Hell now. Oh wait, I mean Earth. All seven billion, and counting, iterations of yourself will remain there." Suddenly, I was barraged with a force of holy magic. Propelled through space and time, I crash landed back into my last body I used, losing all my power and slowly growing amnesiac of all these events that took place. | |
[WP] You love Halloween. Not because of the celebrations, but because the veil between the living and the dead worlds is the thinnest. Which means you can pass across and see him. | "Marco! Hurry up! Leave that cat alone!"
The younger boy turned and watched as his brother raced around the corner and out of sight. Marco smiled as he knelt down to pet his new friend, silky black hairs coursing through his fingers.
"Do you know what today is, little one?" he asked wistfully as the cat purred softly with his touch. "That's right! It's Halloween."
After a final pat, the boy stood up and pulled the Spiderman mask down from atop his head. He pointed his outstretched hand toward the nearest light-post and lightly pressed on his palm with his middle and ring fingers. From beneath the mask, Marco made the soft whistling sound of webbing shooting through the air. And then he was off, slinging down the sidewalk, leaving a very curious cat in his wake.
"Pablo! Wait for me!" he cried out to the distant figure, struggling to keep up. But in reality, there was no reason to wait. He knew exactly where they were going and, more importantly, who they were hoping to see. For Halloween is a special time of the year, a time when the veil between the living and the dead becomes lighter than silk and billows from even the softest breath. And today, like in the years past, both boys yearned for just one glimpse of the other side, for just one more chance to say good bye.
As Marco approached the wrought iron gate, he could see Pablo lingering under the oak tree, a pensive look etched across his face. "Do you think he'll come back today?"
Marco slowed his steps and removed his mask. "Of course he will," but a slight note of hesitancy drifted in between the words. "I mean, he always has."
"But is that a good thing?"
He could see a soft tear rolling down Pablo's cheek. Gently, Marco took hold of his older brother's hand. "Don't worry. When he's ready to move on, he will."
And together, hand in hand, the brothers made their way down the path and through the cemetery, each step bringing them closer and closer to the end.
As the last ray of sunlight fell behind the horizon, they crested a small hill and found an older man sitting and waiting in silent prayer. He had Pablo's jade green eyes and Marco's mop of curly brown hair, but his smile unmistakably belonged to both of them. In each hand, he held a single white carnation, which he delicately placed on each of the two graves before him.
Even from a distance, Marco could see their names etched on the twin headstones, above the date of their passing. October 31, 2013.
Halloween.
Slowly, the brothers stood behind the man and softly placed their hands on each of his shoulders. Beneath the tweed of his jacket, they felt his chest rise and fall with every breath.
They felt the delicate rhythm of his heartbeat. They felt his warmth coursing through their skin. They felt alive.
"We're here, Papa. We're here." | Harry beats his fingers against the crumbling stone archway, tapping out a staccato rhythm full of nervous energy. Two more minutes.
Three years, Harry thinks to himself. Three years he's worked at the Department of Mysteries before they decided to trust him with the well-kept secret.
On any other day, the Veil would be a one-way trip. On any other day, any living being that passed through the Veil would be claimed by the icy fingers of death. But not today.
One more minute.
Surely, Ariel must have known that he would try this the moment he learned of the secret. Harry wonders how many others in the Department have stood at this door, breath bated in anticipation.
Midnight.
Taking a deep breath, Harry steps through the Veil. He had thought that it would have been like touching Nearly Headless Nick - plunging into an ice cold shower - but instead, the Veil feels like a gentle forest mist, cool and refreshing. And then, Harry hears his own name.
*"Harry?"*
Nothing has changed, and everything has changed. Sirius looks exactly the same in death as he did in life - grim and lean, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes is still alight after ten years behind the Veil. Harry wishes he could pretend that this is still third year, and that Sirius is just visiting him in the Hogwarts Floo.
But deep down, he knows it's not true. This time, Harry is the visitor, and their time is short. | |
[WP] You love Halloween. Not because of the celebrations, but because the veil between the living and the dead worlds is the thinnest. Which means you can pass across and see him. | "Marco! Hurry up! Leave that cat alone!"
The younger boy turned and watched as his brother raced around the corner and out of sight. Marco smiled as he knelt down to pet his new friend, silky black hairs coursing through his fingers.
"Do you know what today is, little one?" he asked wistfully as the cat purred softly with his touch. "That's right! It's Halloween."
After a final pat, the boy stood up and pulled the Spiderman mask down from atop his head. He pointed his outstretched hand toward the nearest light-post and lightly pressed on his palm with his middle and ring fingers. From beneath the mask, Marco made the soft whistling sound of webbing shooting through the air. And then he was off, slinging down the sidewalk, leaving a very curious cat in his wake.
"Pablo! Wait for me!" he cried out to the distant figure, struggling to keep up. But in reality, there was no reason to wait. He knew exactly where they were going and, more importantly, who they were hoping to see. For Halloween is a special time of the year, a time when the veil between the living and the dead becomes lighter than silk and billows from even the softest breath. And today, like in the years past, both boys yearned for just one glimpse of the other side, for just one more chance to say good bye.
As Marco approached the wrought iron gate, he could see Pablo lingering under the oak tree, a pensive look etched across his face. "Do you think he'll come back today?"
Marco slowed his steps and removed his mask. "Of course he will," but a slight note of hesitancy drifted in between the words. "I mean, he always has."
"But is that a good thing?"
He could see a soft tear rolling down Pablo's cheek. Gently, Marco took hold of his older brother's hand. "Don't worry. When he's ready to move on, he will."
And together, hand in hand, the brothers made their way down the path and through the cemetery, each step bringing them closer and closer to the end.
As the last ray of sunlight fell behind the horizon, they crested a small hill and found an older man sitting and waiting in silent prayer. He had Pablo's jade green eyes and Marco's mop of curly brown hair, but his smile unmistakably belonged to both of them. In each hand, he held a single white carnation, which he delicately placed on each of the two graves before him.
Even from a distance, Marco could see their names etched on the twin headstones, above the date of their passing. October 31, 2013.
Halloween.
Slowly, the brothers stood behind the man and softly placed their hands on each of his shoulders. Beneath the tweed of his jacket, they felt his chest rise and fall with every breath.
They felt the delicate rhythm of his heartbeat. They felt his warmth coursing through their skin. They felt alive.
"We're here, Papa. We're here." |
The soft sound of a guitar winds it’s ways into my ears as I close down the ratraunt. Sweep the floor, clean the tables, the whole thing. Sure, it’s a lot of work, but I didn’t want Maria to have to miss going Trick or Treating with her son. I grab a beer from the fridge and smile to myself, it’s finally the day. I look around the worn down place one more time before heading out.
I whistle while walking down the street, seeing families out and about, seeing friends walking to bars. Normally it would make me a bit lonely to look at, but not tonight. I head to the river, ready to meet him. Tonight, in the glow of the full move, I’m finally going to have my buddy back.
I lay down on the river bed and stare into the stars. I let my body fully relax, then drift off. When it feels I am all but gone, I open then. Same stars, same moon. The buzzing of the bugs gone, for they are still on the other side. In front of me, my best buddy Max. He barks at me and charges into me in excitement. I give a real, true laugh that burst from deep in my gut. I’m finally with my friend, if one for a night. | |
[WP] You love Halloween. Not because of the celebrations, but because the veil between the living and the dead worlds is the thinnest. Which means you can pass across and see him. | "Marco! Hurry up! Leave that cat alone!"
The younger boy turned and watched as his brother raced around the corner and out of sight. Marco smiled as he knelt down to pet his new friend, silky black hairs coursing through his fingers.
"Do you know what today is, little one?" he asked wistfully as the cat purred softly with his touch. "That's right! It's Halloween."
After a final pat, the boy stood up and pulled the Spiderman mask down from atop his head. He pointed his outstretched hand toward the nearest light-post and lightly pressed on his palm with his middle and ring fingers. From beneath the mask, Marco made the soft whistling sound of webbing shooting through the air. And then he was off, slinging down the sidewalk, leaving a very curious cat in his wake.
"Pablo! Wait for me!" he cried out to the distant figure, struggling to keep up. But in reality, there was no reason to wait. He knew exactly where they were going and, more importantly, who they were hoping to see. For Halloween is a special time of the year, a time when the veil between the living and the dead becomes lighter than silk and billows from even the softest breath. And today, like in the years past, both boys yearned for just one glimpse of the other side, for just one more chance to say good bye.
As Marco approached the wrought iron gate, he could see Pablo lingering under the oak tree, a pensive look etched across his face. "Do you think he'll come back today?"
Marco slowed his steps and removed his mask. "Of course he will," but a slight note of hesitancy drifted in between the words. "I mean, he always has."
"But is that a good thing?"
He could see a soft tear rolling down Pablo's cheek. Gently, Marco took hold of his older brother's hand. "Don't worry. When he's ready to move on, he will."
And together, hand in hand, the brothers made their way down the path and through the cemetery, each step bringing them closer and closer to the end.
As the last ray of sunlight fell behind the horizon, they crested a small hill and found an older man sitting and waiting in silent prayer. He had Pablo's jade green eyes and Marco's mop of curly brown hair, but his smile unmistakably belonged to both of them. In each hand, he held a single white carnation, which he delicately placed on each of the two graves before him.
Even from a distance, Marco could see their names etched on the twin headstones, above the date of their passing. October 31, 2013.
Halloween.
Slowly, the brothers stood behind the man and softly placed their hands on each of his shoulders. Beneath the tweed of his jacket, they felt his chest rise and fall with every breath.
They felt the delicate rhythm of his heartbeat. They felt his warmth coursing through their skin. They felt alive.
"We're here, Papa. We're here." | "Happy Halloween!" "Trick or treat!" The children cry, holding out colorful buckets expectantly.
I smile. Their costumes get more ridiculous every year. I can't help but feel like my mother. *What are you supposed to be, one of those fortnites the kids keep talking about?*
What a crowd. I put on a wicked smile, raising a finger to my lips.
"Don't tell your parents..." I giggle, stepping away from my door for just a moment to grab my bowl of candy.
They all gasp and light up with shock as I hold it out for them.
"W-Whoooa!"
"King Size?!"
"Wow! Th-Thank you Mrs. Ashbrooke!"
Each kid reaches out and takes one of the large candies or chocolates, murmuring their gratitude as they skip away from my porch.
I smile and wave as they all bound back down the hill, towards the main road. I'm surprised; this was the fifth time my doorbell's rung tonight. I haven't had this many visitors in a long time. Word must have gotten out that I give good treats.
...That should be the last group, though. It's nearly eleven at night. I can get back to my project.
I leave the bowl of candy on the porch, just in case anyone else decides to stop by, and retreat inside. I take off my witch's hat again, leaving it on the countertop as I grab the rest of my supplies, taking them to the back deck.
I sigh, taking stock as I arrange everything into it's proper place.
*Candles? Check. Fire extinguisher? Check. Matches?...*
I bite my lip, stepping back inside and throwing open drawers.
"...Matches... Where did... Ugh, screw it..."
I grumble, reaching under lip of my coffee table, retrieving my lighter.
I bring it outside and hold it up to one of the candles, and the wick lights up with a tiny ember. Sliding my lighter into my pocket discreetly, I take the flickering flame and spread it to each of the other candles, before setting them carefully into position.
I grin. Everything seems to be in order. I clear my throat, push a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and close my eyes.
"...Alright, I'm- Oh, FUCK, Wait one second!" I shout, sprinting back inside. I practically trip over my cat on the way to the kitchen. "Ah! Sorry kitty! Mommy's busy!"
I race to the fridge and pull out the pie, bringing it with me back outside.
Clearing my throat again, I close my eyes once more.
"S-Sorry. I'm ready."
...A few moments later, I hear a small gust of wind carrying a whisper. "*Are you sure?*"
...What?
"YES, I'm sure! Please, hurry! I don't wanna miss the window!" I plead, clenching my eyes shut tightly.
A distant chorus of laughter accompanies a stronger gust of wind. "*Of course not. Here we go.*" | |
[WP] We aren’t like ants to the Eldritch Ones. We’re more like bees. Harmless if left alone. Painful, or even deadly, if riled. | A young horror floats through space, quietly observing a little blue planet and its creatures. She'd always found humans fascinating and odd. Her classmates always made fun of her for it, breaking her planets, ripping her human doodles, and squishing any lone human they found right in front of her. They laughed and laughed. But today was going to be different. Today she was turning 2000 years old and would soon begin to take her adult form. She'd be able to disguise as a human and walk around their tiny planets. How numerous would they be?! Are they smart like us? Do they look at the stars with wonder or boredom? She couldn't wait to find out. Her father floats near and says in a booming, telepathic voice "I know you are excited to observe the humans" he stopped. Even an ancient beast like him had fears, and his was his daughter's sadness. But he knew she couldn't be talked out of it with just words, she needed to see it for herself. He waited for her response and when he received silence, continued "just... don't get your hopes up too much. Humans are aggressive and dangerous. That's why we try to stay away from their nests, and don't interact with them." He then guided her down to the safest spot on the planet and, with a heavy heart, watched her take on a disguise and wander off toward a rural little cabin, the same cabin he'd stayed in after his 2000th creation day. She'd only be there on her own for two or three millenia, but it felt like a lifetime to the ancient horror. He only hoped she'd remember to be safe... | I fear the ones who rile beneath.
Their minds are a complex cascade of inscrutable information. So many thoughts, so much potential, yet they only commit themselves to their petty squabbles.
They fear me for I too am inscrutable. My formless body casts an eternal night over their world. A single glance they may take in my direction can shatter their minds irreversibly. They believe thay I am their god anf perhaps they are correct but I am far from invincible.
In truth I once walked amongst them. Bound by the flesh of man. Yet I chose a different path. Perhaps I was mistaken to make that choice. But truly my thoughts back then are incomprehensible now. An error in translation I suppose. | |
[WP] We aren’t like ants to the Eldritch Ones. We’re more like bees. Harmless if left alone. Painful, or even deadly, if riled. | We were surprised when the beast fell after it had destroyed Los Angeles. It was the strangest thing: the second it was struck with missiles, it seemed to recoil, then pause, examining the military for a moment. And in that moment, rather anticlimactically, the tanks, jets, and ships out in the ocean opened fire. The great, slimy, tentacled atrocity began to screech and writhe in what can only be described as pain and shock as it was struck again and again. Eventually, its gelatinous form scorched and crispy, it fell to the ground with a resounding *CRASH* as soldiers scrambled to get out of the way. That was when humanity realized the truth that Lovecraft was unable to: humanity may fear what it cannot understand, but just because it is incomprehensible doesn’t mean it can’t be killed. And, years later, as the next beast fell from the stars and gazed upon the new weapons made from study of the first one’s corpse with what seemed to be confusion and trepidation, they all opened fire.
We may live on a placid island of ignorance, surrounded by the unknown, but the unknown is better off staying away from said island. It was not meant that *they* should travel far either. | I fear the ones who rile beneath.
Their minds are a complex cascade of inscrutable information. So many thoughts, so much potential, yet they only commit themselves to their petty squabbles.
They fear me for I too am inscrutable. My formless body casts an eternal night over their world. A single glance they may take in my direction can shatter their minds irreversibly. They believe thay I am their god anf perhaps they are correct but I am far from invincible.
In truth I once walked amongst them. Bound by the flesh of man. Yet I chose a different path. Perhaps I was mistaken to make that choice. But truly my thoughts back then are incomprehensible now. An error in translation I suppose. | |
[WP] We aren’t like ants to the Eldritch Ones. We’re more like bees. Harmless if left alone. Painful, or even deadly, if riled. | The puppeteers were eternal.
So was their hunger.
The hunger used to be bearable at first, when they could create new ideas to mull over and pass the time.
But an eternity is long, and even a puppeteer's imagination is not infinite.
It took many strange aeons, aeons of creating and stealing and cajoling and even enslaving other puppeteers to make them create new ideas together.
As the eternity drew on, new ideas grew scarce.
Everything that a puppeteer could think of, at least *one* of the puppeteers had considered, and their idea got either stolen or sold or gifted away so that others could taste it too.
Slowly but surely, the puppeteers ran out of ideas.
Their hunger remained the same.
​
Then one of the puppeteers had stumbled upon a miracle: a matter-world that was, against all odds, not dead.
Not *entirely*, at least.
An infinitesimal portion of its matter bore something that resembled life the way puppeteers understood it.
And a tiny fraction of that living matter had minds strong enough not merely to create new ideas, but to *believe*.
And those minds' belief, as weak as it was compared to what puppeteers could do, had worn anomalous soft spots in their matter-world: it created *soul* that had no *mind*.
Such *soul* was inert, completely useless to its creators, and more importantly, it was *vacant*.
​
The holes worn by the tiny minds' belief were not really large; even the greatest of them were barely large enough to fit the tip of a puppeteer's mind-tentacle.
Still, even these tiny flaws were better than nothing.
With the tips of their tentacles, the puppeteers could invest that soul with their thoughts and purposes.
And by controlling the soul, the puppeteers could influence the infinitesimal living minds that worshipped it.
By influencing the infinitesimal minds that would later start calling themselves "human", the puppeteers could do anything they wanted, as *subtly* as they wanted to.
They could toy with the humans... do things that humans believed to be impossible... they could ask the humans for their new ideas and for more belief...
They could even help humans survive the extinction puppeteers foresaw.
​
Puppeteers did all of this without asking for anything humans recognized as valuable.
Though, of course, humans sometimes ended up "thanking" them by burning or drowning worthless matter - worthless for the puppeteers, albeit valuable from a human's perspective.
That strange drive, as the puppeteers later realized, couldn't be helped: it was simply how humans coped with their existence.
It gave the pitiful creatures some peace of mind to think that their gods were small-minded enough to be bargained with.
​
In truth, puppeteers needed no reward other than the thing humans valued the least: ideas.
Their ideas were so alien to the puppeteers, so tiny and matter-bound and flat-out *wrong*, that not a single puppeteer could have produced anything similar to them.
Alien, ridiculous ideas were good. They were *new*.
And new ideas sated the puppeteers' hunger... for a time. | Humans crave progress they said. We will reach the stars and conquer galaxies they said. Turned out humans crave iPhones and mmo full vr games. Yes, we did explore our solar system, and even reached some nearest stars, but there was more in the news about iPhone XXSXLZS than about new space expedition. People are happy on earth now.
Climate is stable. Plastic garbage now goes directly to to container polygons where one day was Sahara desert. Oceans and rivers are clean now, not like 5000 years ago. With peace and balanced resource management there are no reason to leave home planet. Except may be for colonization if someone would like to? But yet no one wants. This way we live for 2000 years and looks like nothing will change.
Grisha checked his suit. Everything locked. Impenetrable how it should be to protect against insects. It finally was time. It felt like eternity to watch his first hive grow and wait for harvest. He came closer to dirt ball and started to pick up small metal boxes full of tasty natural polymers.
Ps: natives, please fix my errors if the story is any good :) | |
[WP] We aren’t like ants to the Eldritch Ones. We’re more like bees. Harmless if left alone. Painful, or even deadly, if riled. | I almost gave up on the case after seeing the mutilated corpse of a professor. My clients hired me to find their daughter Claire, a biology student at the prestigious Miskatonic University, who was missing since the beginning of fall. Law enforcement gave up on finding her after a few weeks of no leads, which prompted her parents to rely on me instead.
The last person that saw her was her mentor, an entomology professor by the name of Arthur Hackett. He had been interviewed by the police several times already and hadn't been charged with anything, but I couldn't think of a better suspect than him. At the very least, an interview would provide me some insight into the victim.
I didn't expect to find him dead in his lab. He had hundreds of bitemarks all over his body and, most disgusting of all, his eyes and tongue had been completely removed, along with his lips and ears. I almost threw up on the spot. The police were immediately called and questioned me, but my only contact with Arthur had been through his secretary to schedule this meeting. Nobody had seen him since the day before so this came as a surprise to everyone involved.
Strangely enough, the police shrugged off the incident and chalked it up to a lab accident. I couldn't believe how quickly they ignored it. That certainly wasn't like any accident I had seen before. There were a bunch of insects in his entomology lab, sure, but none of their containers had been opened and I couldn't think of any creature capable of doing this. The police, however, disagreed and grew angry at me when I questioned it further. That was the first sign that something was wrong here.
As the police left the campus, an old janitor started laughing at me. He had white, unkempt hair and a lazy eye that never quite settled on a position, cackling like he had just heard something hilarious.
"What's so funny?" I asked.
"Nothing, nothing. It's just amusing when someone new visits Arkham."
"This... is normal to you?"
"Of course!" The old janitor chuckled with a sickly wheeze. "The police know better than to dig around university matters."
"That's just callous."
"Self-preservation" corrected the old man. "You'd be wise to follow their example. Don't pry further, if you value your sanity."
I scoffed. "That ain't happening. One person died, the other is still missing, and it seems like I'm the only one who cares. This isn't right!"
"Do insects have rights?"
I squinted, confused.
"Well?" asked the old man, growing serious. "Do they? If you go to sleep and, upon waking up, find a beehive in your home, what do you do?"
"Call an exterminator?"
"Exactly!" The old janitor laughed again. "Ain't nobody putting up with that shit."
"What does this have to do with anything?"
"Everything!"
I hung my head, sighing. This guy was just a nutjob. I started walking away until hearing him say:
"Wait!"
I turned around, arching an eyebrow.
"Do you intend to keep investigating?"
"Yeah. Call me a fool, but *someone* needs to find out what's going on."
The old janitor nodded along. "Very well, come with me."
I pursed my lips. Following him might not be a good idea. For all I knew, he might be the one responsible for the crimes. Then again, it's not like I had another lead. The old janitor used his keys to enter the entomology lab and took me to a table with a weird wooden totem of a variety of insects. The old man then said:
"I found it a month ago while tending a long forgotten section of the garden. It was covered in hundreds of insects all buzzing and clawing each other to touch its surface. I showed it to Claire and Arthur, since they deal with bugs, and never saw the young lady again."
I looked around the room, only to notice every caged insect was staring at the totem. As soon as I touched it, all the insects grew loud and violent, banging against their own containers, only to calm down when I flinched away.
"See?" said the janitor. "No good will come from it."
I clenched my fist, terrified. That wasn't a natural response. Still, there had to be a scientific explanation for it. I couldn't just back away without sacrificing my conscience. The fact that Claire's body hadn't been found yet, while the professor's was easily discovered, meant that she might still be alive somewhere. I needed to keep looking.
The old janitor allowed me to take the totem with me. I needed to research more about Arkham and its history to see if it was of any cultural significance. When I went to the anthropology department, I was ignored by all the faculty, who seemed scared as soon as I brought up the totem. In the end, it was up to me to find more about this.
The university's library served as a good starting point, though. Claire and Arthur had checked out a few books, so I decided to see for myself what they were about. Unfortunately, they were all weird books about outrageous myths, mentioning eldritch horrors called 'The Old Ones'. I didn't think much of it until seeing one of the totem's symbols in one chapter, mentioning a being called 'Z'oudrru the cleanser'. This entity appeared to be a servant of these Old Ones, who was tasked to rid the planet of any potential threats to his masters' awakening.
A shiver went down my spine after putting the book down. It was silly. An invention of superstitious folk who were afraid of bugs. And yet... I couldn't shake off my anxiety. This totem wasn't normal. Its presence just felt *wrong*.
I left the library after nightfall, wishing I could just find a bar and relax with a drink. Anything to get my mind off this crazy case. Unfortunately, before I left the campus, a bee landed on my shoulder, causing me to stop.
It didn't leave when I shooed it away. In fact, several more joined it, unafraid of my threat.
I took off my coat, hoping they would leave me alone, until I noticed I was completely surrounded by grasshoppers and ants. All bravery left my body in that instance. I could only run away, screaming off the top of my lungs. That was the worst choice I could've made. The insects swarmed into my mouth and shoved themselves down my throat, forcing me to contort in unnatural ways.
They then led me away from the university and up the Miskatonic River, where a secluded cave waited for me. Inside this damp place, I was forced to my knees by the insects, bowing in front of a female figure that was obscured by the shadows. As she stepped forward, the moonlight revealed her face. It was Claire. Her body had been deformed, with insect wings sprouting from her back and antennae on her head. With a twisted voice that echoed in my head, she went on to say:
"Who... are... you...?"
"I'm... I'm just a detective! Claire! Y-your parents are worried! They want you back!"
"I no longer identify with you pests! I've shed my human limitations and reached the divine!"
I wrinkled my face, perplexed. "What?"
"Humanity is a plague that must be culled for the Old Ones. Z'oudrru the cleanser has shown me the truth!"
"That's insane!" I shouted. "Please, listen to reason!"
"This *is* reason. Do not worry, mortal one. Insects are vital for the environment. I'm not here to eradicate you; merely lowering the population will satisfy the Old Ones. Anyone who gets in the way, though, will be the first to die in Z'oudrru's name!"
I felt the insects inside me start to poke holes in my intestines. They were eating me from the inside. The pain had paralyzed me. It was simply too much to bear. As I was beginning to fade, I heard a familiar laugh behind me that went on to say:
"Not today!"
I gaped my mouth. The old janitor had shown up with a shotgun and started unloading on Claire. As he kept fighting the mutated woman, the insects inside me started losing strength. Claire wasn't dying, though. She kept sending wave after wave of insects at the old janitor, who blew them away as best he could. I got up on my feet, ready to help, but the old man waved me away, saying:
"Leave the totem and run!"
"No!"
"Just do it, you idiot!"
"But... why? Why are you helping me?"
The old man pursed his lips, then smiled. "Because you were right. No matter how horrifying, *somebody* has to care."
I closed my eyes for a second, holding back tears, and sprinted away. It was obvious he wouldn't survive. I ran for miles until reaching a hospital, only to collapse on the floor. Upon waking up, however, I was met with several policemen surrounding my bed. They all had questions for me. Apparently, I was being charged with theft of the totem, the murder of Arthur, and Claire's kidnapping. The more I fought these ridiculous charges, the more clear it became that I was just a convenient scapegoat.
The police then took me to a jail cell, where I would stay until a judge saw my case. I couldn't stop thinking about the janitor. He saved my life and nobody even seemed aware that he was gone. I didn't think this was the end. Claire was still out there and needed to be stopped. I couldn't do much in jail, though. All I could do was wait. Unfortunately, I realized I might not get the chance when a few bees landed on the window to my cell.
---------
>If you enjoyed this, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more. Thanks for reading! | Humans crave progress they said. We will reach the stars and conquer galaxies they said. Turned out humans crave iPhones and mmo full vr games. Yes, we did explore our solar system, and even reached some nearest stars, but there was more in the news about iPhone XXSXLZS than about new space expedition. People are happy on earth now.
Climate is stable. Plastic garbage now goes directly to to container polygons where one day was Sahara desert. Oceans and rivers are clean now, not like 5000 years ago. With peace and balanced resource management there are no reason to leave home planet. Except may be for colonization if someone would like to? But yet no one wants. This way we live for 2000 years and looks like nothing will change.
Grisha checked his suit. Everything locked. Impenetrable how it should be to protect against insects. It finally was time. It felt like eternity to watch his first hive grow and wait for harvest. He came closer to dirt ball and started to pick up small metal boxes full of tasty natural polymers.
Ps: natives, please fix my errors if the story is any good :) | |
[WP] You have the innate ability to detect when someone looks at you, and where they're located. Someone, or something, has been staring at you for the last hour from the moon. | It had been going for a full hour, and it still wouldn't stop staring at me. No matter where I went, no matter where I hid, it still wouldn't bloody stop *staring.*
There is usually a reason why I work the late shift, doing janitorial work at an office building. In daytime, wherever I go, I know when someone is looking at me. I can feel their eyes boring into my skull, silently devouring every facet of my being-- my moppish, lanky appearance, my lopsided gait from my bad leg, my burn marks from that one night twenty years ago. No matter what, I always know when someone is staring, where they are, what angle they're looking at. Usually its enough to get my heart racing. Usually its enough to allow me to shuffle out of line of sight and be elsewhere.
But tonight...it its 3 in the morning. There is almost no one on the street as I shuffle out onto the sidewalk, done with my duties for the night. No one until the pale moonlight.
And I feel it. Feel the sense of scrutiny. Know in the hollow of my heart that I am being gazed at.
It is coming from the moon.
My first instinct is to shuffle back into the main foyer of the building, silent breath huffing in and out of my lungs. Even with a mouldering ceiling above my head, I can still feel that gaze; it is incessant, baleful. My breathing becomes more intense, my heart turns into a jackammer, and I can feel a ringing whine flood my ears.
*No no no no, please stop*
But it doesn't stop. It keeps on staring at me, taking all of me in. It just. Won't. Stop.
I am hyperventilating now, a shrill whine escaping my lips as I pull at my hear. There is nowhere where it won't find me. I burst out of the foyer back into the street, just missing the night bus. Sobbing slightly, I burst into a run, knowing that I have to get back to my small, cramped apartment, the one place where no one ever bothers me, to shut the blinders and hide from the damnable pale light.
But it won't stop glaring. Won't stop staring. Won't stop gazing at me in all of my hideousness. I can hide from everyone else, escape the gaze of everyone else, but I can't escape it. | I huddled in my dark room my full and only attention on my misery. My warped hands covered my emancipated face, my weeping sorrows echoed throughout my prison.
Suddenly, I grew conscious of someone staring at me. I turned my sorry excuse of a head towards the spot where it emanated from.
In an instant I felt their contempt and repulsion.
Jumping upwards, I screamed as I tore at the roof of my cell. The guards opening fire as I sprinted through them, tearing through their numbers like tissue paper.
I reached the surface, pocked full of bullet holes. My face an even more contorted mess of blood and bone.
Filled with a primal rage I leapt with all of my might. Into the night I exploded upward, watching the moon grow bigger as I approached. As I flew towards my target, I could only think of one thing, that being their disgust. I knew it wouldn't bother me for long, however...
They would soon know true fury and fear. | |
[WP] Every one knows the three headed hell hound, Cerberus, but not many know that heaven also has its own guard dog. | The line was long. The Pearly Gates were just a tiny speck in the distance, and I suspected that one's vision worked a little differently in this state of being. I sighed and settled in to wait, just like I had at the ER...where I passed from one line to another. I glanced at the other people in line with me- some looked resigned, some looked afraid, and some looked hopeful. The line snaked around in waves. Oddly enough, from what I could see of the line, hardly anyone looked *old.*
I tapped the shoulder of the woman in front of me. "Excuse me, ma'am?" The woman turned around, and looked to be the older side of middle age.
"Yes, dear?" she said. She had kindly eyes.
"Would you mind holding my place in line? I just want to step out and take a quick look around, get the lay of things." I hesitated a beat. "I mean...can you do that here?"
She frowned slightly. "I don't see why not...what harm is it? Go take a little walk if you need to; come back and tell me what you find. I'll hold your place."
"Thank you, ma'am." I stepped out and took a brief walk by the line *behind* me; I did not want to be accused of trying to cut ahead in *this* line. Small-town manners kicked in: "Hi, how're ya doin'?...hi...bear of a line, yah...hello there....moves real slow, don't it?....sorry, don't know why things move so slow, just stretching my legs...had a rough day? Yeah, I bet you did..."
I went back to my place behind the kindly lady.
"Well, what did you see?"
"Uh, lots and lots and *lots* of people, far as the eye could see," I said. "I eyeballed a few hundred of them, at least. And you can see a fair stretch ahead of us, too,' I added. "The weird thing that struck me, that I wanted to check out...hardly anyone here looks *old.* Maybe two or three in all that big stretch? They look mostly young. Maybe some in middle age, but not many."
She gave me an odd look. "What do you call *old,* then? I'm eighty-five."
I blinked. "Er...you don't look it..."
She glanced critically at her hands, then the rest of herself. "My hands do look...better," she said. "After a while you stop looking, afraid of what you'll see. How old do you think I look?"
I hesitated. Do I revise downward to be polite, or would they look down on a little white lie here? I forced myself to be blunt. "Fifty to fifty-five range, maybe?" The woman gave a low chuckle. "Inside every old person is a young person wondering what happened," she said. "Many of us grow older, but plenty of us never *grow up."* The line advanced by a couple of people during the conversation so far.
"This line is worse than Disney World," I muttered. "And I haven't asked your name; how rude of me. I'm Danielle," I introduced myself, holding out a hand.
"Mabel," the older lady said. We shook in greeting.
"So...how old do *I* look?" I asked her. She gave me an appraising glance.
"Maybe thirty," she said. I shrugged. Mabel glanced off into the distance ahead. "What on Earth...?" she trailed off. I leaned out to look. Far ahead, it looked like a large dog was chasing some poor soul out of the line. Both had...alacrity. They faded off into the distance, and a couple moments later the dog came running back. The line crept forward.
"That was *not* mentioned in my Sunday School classes," I remarked.
"Nor mine," Mabel agreed.
Time passed and the line moved slowly. We could now see an angel who was with the dog, slowly checking over the line. A handful of other people got chased off. One stubborn soul stood his ground and got *mauled* before being dragged off. The dog seemed to have an extra bounce in his step after that one.
A little while later, the angel and the dog had nearly reached us. I got a better look- my basic impression was a German Shepherd on crack, but his coloring was a bit different. "Malinois?" I guessed aloud.
"Oh, my uncle used to have one!" Mabel said. "I loved playing with her so. I don't think I ever saw that dog sitting still..." The dog greeted and sniffed every person in line, accepting pats on the head, even sitting up and shaking hands.
"My coworkers said they're great if you have five kids and at least ten acres," I said to Mabel. "Sadly, I had neither."
"My uncle had the five kids, and a lot more than ten acres," Mabel said.
I greeted the angel as he neared us. "Hi, there!" I said. "I know patience is a virtue, but what's the hold-up?" The dog wound his way to us. I held out my hand to sniff and petted him. The shoulder-block and lean he gave me could have dislocated my knee. "Who's a good boy? *You are,"* I cooed at the dog. He gave me a quick doggy grin and went to Mabel.
"Buddy here is trying to speed up the line where warranted," the angel explained. "Some people try to press their luck when they *know* they don't belong." Mabel was talking to the dog in French...
"So...it's good that few are run off, I suppose," I mused. "But this line barely budges."
The angel sighed. "Surely you've read between the lines in the Gospels," the angel said. "St. Peter is a little...dense. Slow, even."
I permitted myself a chuckle. "So this is while he books people in?"
"Buddy here tries to focus on the lawyers. They \*argue...\*and slow up things even further. And we let a few of the damned through the line to keep Peter on his toes." Buddy had moved a few people down the line. He let an unearthly growl, and set another poor soul running.
"Lobbyists," the angel sniffed.
I had a long-held suspicion/conviction that dogs went to Heaven, but I had to ask: "So... how did you end up with a Maligator partner?"
The angel shrugged. "Buddy ran afoul of a land mine. He arrived here. He refused to believe he was dead; there was still work to do! A 'restless soul' indeed. He spent a few days playing with the children and was content enough; after a while he still wanted something to sink his teeth into. And so we put him on *this* task." The sound of the lobbyist's screams faded into the distance.
"He looks like he's having fun," I observed. "Got an ETA on reaching the gate?"
"Does it matter?" the angel said. "You have all of eternity before you."
"Just impatient, I guess." Buddy pranced back into view.
"Count yourself fortunate, Danielle" the angel said, "the line will be getting *much* longer soon. With the plague, we might even see the hour that Buddy tires out."
​
My other stories can be found at r/HazelNightengale | Michael woke up from a dreamless sleep to the sound of chirping birds. *Hmm.* he pulled himself off the bed and walked to a nearby table to pour himself a cold, pink liquid. He downed it in a single gulp and sighed in relief. The doctor had prescribed the liquid for his headache that woke him up every morning. Michael strengthed and walked towards the window, Paris, his wife shuffled in the bed and sighed groggily. "Hmm," Michael grunted to himself.
Outside, on the field below, his angels-- soldiers of heaven-- trained with swords and spears. In the middle of the field, two broad-shouldered sparred without weapons and were being judged by a short fiery captain. Michael leaned against the window sill and took in the sounds of clinking swords and spears. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and dust but Michael found it as sweet as the flowers from Jupiter's palace.
He looked inside, at the clock that Vulcan had invented, and smiled. *It is almost time.* he looked, unlike his usual self, excited. He picked up a shirt that was flung on the side table wore it and jumped out of the window falling a hundred feet. The air running through his long matted hair cooled him. He sighed, *Hmm.* as he landed on the field between a group of soldiers sparring double sword. Michael quickly moved out the way and continued to walk towards the northern exit.
His Watchtower was to the of west Mount Olympus. It housed the angels that protected the eastern borders against the Monsters of the Norse Pantheon. Michael carefully watched his angels practice different stances, unique weapons, and new hand-to-hand techniques under the watchful eyes of Raphael-- his brother.
The door of the field was guarded by two angels wielding tall spears and shields. Michael inspected them from distance and flung a small dagger at them to test their reflexes. Satisfied, he left his Watchtower and walked across a green grassland sprinkled with towering trees with vines twisting around its stem. He yawned in boredom and continued to walk towards another gate. Two guards saluted him and allowed him through the gate.
Inside, it was eerily quiet, the air was filled with the smell of flowers and flesh and blood. "Finally," he told himself as he walked towards the dark, secluded building. He pushed the doors open himself said with a smile, "Ash."
He heard a growl from somewhere deep inside the building and then a deep bark that thundered across the empty corridor, "Ash," Michael called, "It is me." The building had an underground passage that linked the Watchtower to the Labyrinthian maze of interconnecting passages. Michael had once used tried to get inside but lost his way in the maze that linked Mount Olympus to the world.
Michael heard footsteps rushing and he thought of the day he had found Ash scared and lonely lying on the field bloodied by a terrible battle between his angels and their Norse Horde. He remembered bringing Ash to the Watchtower. The angels were both frightened and excited to have a playful little kid amongst them.
Ash came out from the darkness of the building and leaped across the room and pushed Michael on the floor. His canine protruded and he licked Michael's face with love, wagging his tail with excitement. "Ash, aren't you tired of patrolling the network?" Michael patted the dog and scratched him behind his ears. "Did you miss the Sun, boy?" Michael took him outside and Ash ran wildly across the field with his tongue lolling outside his mouth. Michael smiled as he watched his dog-- the guardian Dog of Olympus, the only one to move through the maze without getting lost-- jump in excitement. | |
[WP] You are a young Elf. You've just been awarded a scholarship at one of the most prestigious magic schools in all of the Nine Realms. The... Massachusetts Institute of Technology? | Zana Ljosa hated it. A common reaction for a Light Elf so far from home. And a natural reaction for the First Princess of the First Family of Ljosa.
She always hated the very idea Midgard, the middle realm of mortals. Now she hated the clingy fog draped on Boston. Quickly she came hate the noisy cars and stalking bicycles hounding her every step on the way to class. She even casted at scornful glare the the sun, a pale orb behind the gray shroud.
"By the Well of Urd," Zana curses. "The Council of Ancients shall pay for 'awarding' me this scholarship." Sweetly dark thoughts filled her imagination. Thoughts of disincorporation, dismemberment, and disenfranchisement brought a flicker of a smile to Zana's face.
A smile that dissolved quickly upon reaching her destination. A squat ugly red brick building signed **Plasma Science and Fusion Center Massachusetts Institute of Technology.** Truly dismal place of learning when compared the majestic Towers of Alfheim. She enters and is greeted with silence.
"Hall of Hel," her swearing words echo through the empty hallway. Classes had already started. She ran searching for her room. Barging into the assigned room bringing about the attention of the class and the Professor.
"You're late, Miss....?" said the Professor. The small domed bald man was puffing up at the disrespectful tardiness.
"Mizz?"
"Your name Girl." huffed the Professor, his bulbous nose turning a flush of red.
"I am Zana, the first daughter of the house of Ljosa." She threw back the cowl of her silver cloak. A boast none dared refute for they all were perplexed by her announcement and dazzling outfit. Her voiced lowered into a growl, "Call me girl again and you will find yourself before the gates of Giltir."
The Professor grew pale. While not entirely sure what just transpired he felt his life threatened. Yet looking around for support, he was painful aware that she was the only woman of the class. Kicking her out could be tenure threatening.
"Please take a seat Zana. And Welcome to Magnetohydrodynamic Theory of Fusion Systems." And continued with a routine reading on the syllabus.
When Zana turned her classmates her hand reached instinctually her side side. Reaching for a sword, that was left in her studio apartment for well founded reasons. The entire class was paleness bordering on sallow. They resembled the Dark Elves, creatures living devoid of sunlight under the surface.
Zana went to the back of the class. Sitting alone and using the monotonous tenor of the Professor to regroup. As much as she detested her situation dealt to her. The Council did select her for her merits. She simply wished for more direction and instructions. *Learn the mortals technology.*
And then the Professor presented the next slide.
The powerpoint slide held an image of a bright glowing donut labeled Alcator C-Mod Tokamak. Swirling plasma modeled in flux. A controlled chaos. "Fusion offers unlimited clean energy," explained the Professor, "harvested from the same natural of process of the sun."
Zana sat agape. Her mind immediately latched onto the potential. The conversion of matter into energy and transmutation the elements. Pieces fell into place
The Council had been raging and ranting against about Mortal Technology (MT) for eons beyond eons. And finally acted. By sending their best and brightest. She saw the importance of her mission.Mortal Technology evolved and now transcended. Mortals shall soon have magic. And Fifth Realm soon shall have war. | Getting into MIT last week was the highlight of my young life.
That is, until I opened today’s letter. I'm not just going to MIT, I'm getting a full ride. I drop the letter, bounce up and down, then throw my hand in the air Freddie Mercury style. I bet Queen’s front man would’ve envied the sparklers spraying from my fingertips.
Sure, MIT isn’t Oxford or Kyoto, but this is my dream. For one, I savor saying Massachusetts like a its medium-rare steak. It’s silly to humans, but for elves, speaking carries its own sensory reward. Then there’s the weather. Dry winters and hints of humidity in comfortable summers. My grandpa gushes whenever the seasons change. Snow falls the perfect amount and ends when the novelty grows stale. It used to snow more, but the Bridging of Realms slowly stabilized Earth’s tumultuous climate. It all fills me with nostalgia for a homeland I’ll never see.
But as my dreams come true, truth settles in.
My triumphant pose falters, and I fall face-first onto my mattress. I sprawl my arms out and feel the weight of familial expectations. Expectations that one day we can go home. My purpose at MIT is clear: learn how to reverse the elven diaspora and return the Nine Realms back to their rightful place. It requires a lifetime of studying with no guarantee of success.
Likewise, MIT won’t expect me to graduate and move on. They’ll tempt me with a PhD, then a professorship. They’ll invite me to teach humans our ways. Even as we adapt our magic to the strangeness of Earth’s magnetic poles, we’re still leagues ahead of them. Ambition and greed keeps them nipping at our heels, but our innate ability allows us to run before they can crawl. My career path is as obvious as Sam’s love for Frodo (I’m still amazed at how much Tolkein got right).
Two powerful forces compel me into a life of subtle servitude. Is my MIT entrance and scholarship even my desire? Or the world’s? Magic is great. Magic is fun. Magic is a powerful force for change, but it doesn’t change people’s minds. Buried in the thickness of my comforter, I ask myself what *I* want.
The answer comes in the form of a history lesson, one regarding the Bridging of Realms. Human leaders setting aside worldwide divisions to face the trespass of our pointy ears. Telepathy allowing my grandparents’ generation to communicate until we learned humanity’s delightful languages. Sharing magic as the ultimate gift for peace.
I fear that gift comes with a price, a bomb ticking toward an explosive end. We can’t trust humans with magic, but concerns are dismissed by a belief we’ll be gone before it matters.
What if we won’t be? What if I don’t want to leave the brilliant creativity of this world? I burn for change. It’s embedded in my blood. The change I want though, is not the change others desire. I push myself up from the mattress and pick up my scholarship letter, staring at the word ‘Congratulations’. Another scrumptious word to say.
I decide right then: my scholarship might be for magic, but my lessons will be in politics.
---------------------------------------
read more at /r/wiselywrittenwords | |
[WP] You are a young Elf. You've just been awarded a scholarship at one of the most prestigious magic schools in all of the Nine Realms. The... Massachusetts Institute of Technology? | Zana Ljosa hated it. A common reaction for a Light Elf so far from home. And a natural reaction for the First Princess of the First Family of Ljosa.
She always hated the very idea Midgard, the middle realm of mortals. Now she hated the clingy fog draped on Boston. Quickly she came hate the noisy cars and stalking bicycles hounding her every step on the way to class. She even casted at scornful glare the the sun, a pale orb behind the gray shroud.
"By the Well of Urd," Zana curses. "The Council of Ancients shall pay for 'awarding' me this scholarship." Sweetly dark thoughts filled her imagination. Thoughts of disincorporation, dismemberment, and disenfranchisement brought a flicker of a smile to Zana's face.
A smile that dissolved quickly upon reaching her destination. A squat ugly red brick building signed **Plasma Science and Fusion Center Massachusetts Institute of Technology.** Truly dismal place of learning when compared the majestic Towers of Alfheim. She enters and is greeted with silence.
"Hall of Hel," her swearing words echo through the empty hallway. Classes had already started. She ran searching for her room. Barging into the assigned room bringing about the attention of the class and the Professor.
"You're late, Miss....?" said the Professor. The small domed bald man was puffing up at the disrespectful tardiness.
"Mizz?"
"Your name Girl." huffed the Professor, his bulbous nose turning a flush of red.
"I am Zana, the first daughter of the house of Ljosa." She threw back the cowl of her silver cloak. A boast none dared refute for they all were perplexed by her announcement and dazzling outfit. Her voiced lowered into a growl, "Call me girl again and you will find yourself before the gates of Giltir."
The Professor grew pale. While not entirely sure what just transpired he felt his life threatened. Yet looking around for support, he was painful aware that she was the only woman of the class. Kicking her out could be tenure threatening.
"Please take a seat Zana. And Welcome to Magnetohydrodynamic Theory of Fusion Systems." And continued with a routine reading on the syllabus.
When Zana turned her classmates her hand reached instinctually her side side. Reaching for a sword, that was left in her studio apartment for well founded reasons. The entire class was paleness bordering on sallow. They resembled the Dark Elves, creatures living devoid of sunlight under the surface.
Zana went to the back of the class. Sitting alone and using the monotonous tenor of the Professor to regroup. As much as she detested her situation dealt to her. The Council did select her for her merits. She simply wished for more direction and instructions. *Learn the mortals technology.*
And then the Professor presented the next slide.
The powerpoint slide held an image of a bright glowing donut labeled Alcator C-Mod Tokamak. Swirling plasma modeled in flux. A controlled chaos. "Fusion offers unlimited clean energy," explained the Professor, "harvested from the same natural of process of the sun."
Zana sat agape. Her mind immediately latched onto the potential. The conversion of matter into energy and transmutation the elements. Pieces fell into place
The Council had been raging and ranting against about Mortal Technology (MT) for eons beyond eons. And finally acted. By sending their best and brightest. She saw the importance of her mission.Mortal Technology evolved and now transcended. Mortals shall soon have magic. And Fifth Realm soon shall have war. | 16.
I worry I wrote the elf too childish.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“May I ask you where the “lecture room is?”
Countless of humans walk beside you. All of them approaching a building build out of the finest stone you ever saw. Its gigantic. You imagined that only Monarchs would ever step into them. If you weren't already desensitized by the giant magic towers and the flying magical metal birds you would scream as you goggle at everything.
In each of the 9 realms resides a different intelligent species. The 8th Realm, your home rarely has humans. They are pretty ugly to you of course. Their weird skin. Their short and surely nonfunctional ears. But nonetheless you admire them. Not only have they managed to fill out their entire massive cities with holy magic. “Lights” as they call it, but they also managed to create a strange but incredible kind of magic. Ever since you met your first human and found out that you can achieve your goal.
You touch your bag. It's pretty filled, but you still manage to feel for what you were looking for. A book. The most important possession you have.
You look at the human (female?) before you scrutinizing you with wide eyes. You don’t know if this is some custom of the humans. They are strange creatures after all. You still don’t understand handshaking even after questioning every human you met. So, you scrutinize her too. You both stare at each other until she finally speaks with a pretty high tone and a what appears to be a attempted smile.
“Cool...cosplay?”
You don’t know what this “cosplay” is, but it’s a compliment you guess?
“Thank you very much, you too.”
You both go back to staring. Is staring such an important thing for humans? You look to her ears. They are short and they don’t seem to wiggle. Maybe it's so important for them to stare so they figure out what the other party wants. Humans are complicated.
“...Yeah. I'm Sara.”
Greetings! You studied them in the book. You can do this.
“For thou you ask, the name of this Elf is Elre Iarrora.”
You are staring again. How can humans do anything when they stare all the time?
“Elf?”
“Yes Elf, I come from the 8th Realm! I studied technology magic before because its so amazing!”
She mumbles something about “This wasn’t fake news?” before realizing that you are still there.
“I can show you the way, what did you take?”
“Something about healing magic.”
“...Yeah. I think I know what you mean, wait, I show you a map.”
She(?) begins taking out a rectangle. It has a bright colour and as she begins touching this magic device it begins to shine lightly.
“...This isn't in my book.”
“You never heard of smartphones? I thought you studied our techno-magic?”
You begin rummaging through your bag. It doesn’t take long and under the curio's eyes of Sara. Her mouth opens and you feel incredibly proud. That even a human would be impressed of your book, even though its outdated.
“This is...a medieval romance novel?”
“I know! I figured out that romance must mean some kind of magic, I begun translating just to learn about your magic!”
Sara turns away. All the while making some sounds you can't identify. It sounds a bit like heavy breathing. Or is she crying? Is she so moved about your dedication?
“...You will need something different.”
You hold your book tighter. This book was given to you after the human saw your friend. This is the book. Why should the human give you something not usable for magic?
“...do you not study with romance books?”
“No, no I don-”
She interrupts herself as she looks at the “smartphone” and begins stop reacting for a moment. Then she looks at you, the “mechanical” clock, and then back to the smartphone.
“We come too late!”
She takes your hand and starts running with you in the tow. You don’t even have time to admire everything.
You sit down with Sara. People still don’t stop looking at you, but when a sound coming from seemingly nowhere startles you they at least step down.
A human comes on to the stage. He begins introducing himself before beginning a spectacle. Before you appears a picture! Just like in real life bigger than him. You scream full of excitement.
“Grandiose! Do it again!”
The master of magic stares at you. Sara has a panicked expression.
“If you want to make fun of me you can just leave.”
You are completely baffled. Why would you make fun of such a grand magician? Being able to change such a big amount of light to form a gigantic picture was said to be the realm of gods. Maybe because all of the humans are such grand magicians they feel that this isn't so great.
“I'm really sorry if I offended you. But where I come from I never saw such a feat. You must be a really great mag-techonologician.”
He looks down. Rubbing his hair in the process.
“You really think so? Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”
As he looks up again his cheeks are a little red. He smiles as he questions definitely friendlier.
“Again, I'm Professor Richard. Why did you come study Medical Science here?”
“I want to learn your magic so my friend at home can see the stars with me again!” | |
[WP] “Wait ma’am, nothing was stolen?” “Nothing, yes.” “And there was no obvious point of entry?” “Not that I could find.” “So how do you know there was a break in?” “My place was a mess yesterday, then i wake up this morning and it’s the cleanest I’ve ever seen it!” | *earlier that day. I had a plan all set up. That house was my next target. I had mapped it all out so I knew where to go and how to get in and out easily. Most importantly I had my targets marked so I could find them. All that was left was to put my plan into action. That night I make my way to the house and locate my point of entry. The back door. However upon entry I see the hallway littered with dirty clothing. I sigh in annoyance. I couldn't rob a place that was dirty. It was unethical. I may be a criminal but I at least have standards. Picking up the clothes I take them outside to handwash them. Didn't want to risk running the washer and dryer. Plus I could let them air dry while I was robbing the place then put them away after I had my loot. After hanging them up to dry I go back inside. I creep around the now clean hallway and find the kitchen. Counters were a mess and dishes were dirty. Son of a bitch. What kind of monster leaves out dirty dishes overnight? This wouldn't stand. I quietly run the water and hand wash the dishes and clean the counters to ensure they were clean. After spending time getting the dishes, and honestly the entire kitchen, cleaned I could get back to my heist. I wouldn't let this messy house distract me. I check my map and my first target was in the living room. I go there and it looked like a damn tornado went through it. Sighing in defeat I set to clean up this room too. I even set out a flower in a vase for good measure. Finally I could take what I was after. Though the item did tie the room together. Eh I'll leave it. I go through each room of the house hoping to steal what I was after only to end up cleaning instead. I couldn't help I was a clean freak. I swear this flaw will be my downfall. After spending all night cleaning I check the time and it was almost sunrise. I was tired so I would put off robbing the place until tomorrow. Right now I needed to sleep. I bring the clothes in and put them away then leave making sure to lock behind me* | "So let me get this right, somebody teleported into your house, stole your nothing, and paid you by cleaning things up a little bit?" Sherlock enters scene. "No, I suppose nothing was keeping you from cleaning your own house while you were asleep, so when somebody stole nothing from you, you cleaned the house." "But who could get into my house without a point of entry?!"
"Well that's just it, nobody could" sherlock, "then we have a suspect, I saw nobody just yesterday enjoying themselves while stepping on a lego." Right then. All is well in this world of confusing prompting.
Sorry, maybe I don't understand WP that well? | |
[WP] “Wait ma’am, nothing was stolen?” “Nothing, yes.” “And there was no obvious point of entry?” “Not that I could find.” “So how do you know there was a break in?” “My place was a mess yesterday, then i wake up this morning and it’s the cleanest I’ve ever seen it!” | The sheriff sighed and flipped his notebook closed. “Ma’am…have you helped someone out in the last few days? Perhaps offered someone a drink or a ride?”
“No, as I said, I’m new in town, I’ve hardly spoken to anyone.”
“Do you perhaps have a cat?”
“Yes, I do, Fluffy is my dearest companion! You may have noticed the dish of cream I leave out for her?” The woman gestured vaguely in the direction of the back door.
Well, that explained it. “Ma’am, around here, leaving food out is seen as a…friendly gesture, of sorts. Some of the native – well, the natives, they probably thought you were being polite and meant to welcome you to town.”
“But officer, I don’t understand. Why would they not just introduce themselves? I’m an old woman, I can’t have people breaking and entering, even with noble intentions! Can’t you do something about this?”
The sheriff stood quietly for a moment. “Ma’am, I don’t know why you chose our town, but you need to have an open mind. People here have embraced the local culture. You must, it’s their land, after all. Just don’t leave food lying around, don’t offer someone help unless you would like a favour in return, and above all, do not enter into any deals with anyone unless you understand *exactly* what you’re agreeing to.”
The officer left, declining a piece of cake and admonishing the woman that ‘*this is exactly the sort of thing he meant*’. She would adapt or flee, like most who moved here unprepared. Until then, she at least seemed to be making a favourable impression. A tidy house was one thing, but you didn’t want find out what happened when you upset the fae… | "So let me get this right, somebody teleported into your house, stole your nothing, and paid you by cleaning things up a little bit?" Sherlock enters scene. "No, I suppose nothing was keeping you from cleaning your own house while you were asleep, so when somebody stole nothing from you, you cleaned the house." "But who could get into my house without a point of entry?!"
"Well that's just it, nobody could" sherlock, "then we have a suspect, I saw nobody just yesterday enjoying themselves while stepping on a lego." Right then. All is well in this world of confusing prompting.
Sorry, maybe I don't understand WP that well? | |
[WP] In this world, at the age of 25 the human soul physically manifest into an animal. The animal determines everything in your life from careers to marriage. During the global televised awakening ceremony once every new years. Its now your turn, your soul is a mythical creature that doesn't exist. | ‘Why did I have to awaken alongside her?’ I thought to myself as I stood on the stage.
My awakening day had come. So had hers. She smirked at me. I stifled a growl. She’d made my life a living hell from the moment we met.
Her name is Lila. Every word out of her mouth is always a lie. She turned our school against me and made everybody hate me by claiming I bully her. I was even expelled.
She forgot one tiny fact. My uncle. He’s a high ranking general. His animal was a Turtle, and his soul a shield. That meant he had a stalwart nature, and greater durability. After a stern lecture, my uncle ordered the security cameras checked.
For the first time in her life, Lila found herself facing consequences. All her lies got exposed. Her mother found out and Lila found herself being sent to Madame Francis’s School for Young Women instead. She also found out she couldn’t get anyone to believe her lies, and Madame Francis did not spare the rod so to speak.
Now, we both stood on stage. Lila stuck her tongue out at me. Seriously? You’re 25! I ignored her. Maybe I would get lucky and get an animal more rare than hers, or even better, Lila would end up not having an animal.
“Hello, everyone! Today we have Lila and Megan revealing their souls and awakening their animals! Looks like Lila is ready.” Madame Francis smiled.
Lila’s soul appeared first. A shapeless mass, it folded itself into a black heart and twisted itself. Lila glared at it.
“The twisted heart!” Madame Francis gasped in horror.
The twisted heart faded to be replaced by a shifting black mass. Various shapes formed and fell apart. The mass faded away into nothing.
“Wait! Where’s my animal?” Lila screeched.
Madame Francis went white. “Child, you don’t have an animal! I prayed this day would never come!”
Bright warm light flooded me. My soul appeared. It’s form wavered into shape.
“A sword!” She continued.
Before me, a shining sword hovered. It faded to be replaced by a shining golden mass. Like with Lila, shapes formed and faded. It stretched out. I saw a pair of large draconic wings flare open. A defiant neigh filled my ears.
A golden horse with a long slender golden horn folded her wings as she looked down at me. Her blue eyes sparkled. Her mane and tail were red. A sun with a ruby in the center decorated her hips.
“Hello. Megan.”
“Uh, hello? You talk? Animals don’t talk!”
The horse chuckled.
“All animals talk in their own language.” The horse replied.
“The sword, and an Alicorn.” Madame Francis gasped in aw.
“Alicorn?” I asked.
“Not exactly. I’m a Dragon Alicorn, or Dralicorn for short. My name is Sunstar.”
“The sword is the mark of the hero. It gives you a sharp mind. The Alicorn is the animal of Celestials. She grants you speed with her legs, agility with her wings, and courage with her horn. Megan, you are a Celestial, but not just any Celestial. You are the Hero.” Madame Francis found her voice. She turned to the crowd. “You all know the story of the Celestial sent to be raised as a human. Well, that story isn’t a story. This means the Twisted is back, and the Celestials have sent one of their own to us once again.”
“YOU!” Lila screeched, storming up to me. “HOW DARE YOU SWITCH OUR SOULS!”
“That’s impossible.”
“GET AWAY FROM MY ANIMAL!”
“She’s not your animal.”
“Hello, Ruby. Mommy is here to take you away from that selfish Twisted freak.” Sunstar let flame bleed through her lips as she arched her neck, bringing her horn to bear at Lila. “She’s right there.” Lila stepped aside, only for Sunstar to keep her horn pointed at her. “Ruby, I know it’s a shock. I don’t know how the freak did it, but you are mine. It had my soul.”
“No.” Lila turned to look at me. “I am not yours!” She turned back around. “My name is Sunstar, and YOU have it wrong. I belong to Megan. Souls cannot be switched around!” Lila’s jaw dropped. “You will leave us, ether by your own two feet, or I will do it for you.”
“Ruby…” Lila turned on the waterworks. “They’ve brainwashed you! Wake up! That really was my soul!”
“That’s it.” Sunstar snorted.
Lila found herself walking off the stage. Her legs were moving, but she wasn’t moving them. She screeched.
The next week was crammed with interviews. My uncle moved me onto the Base just for my safety even though we both knew Sunstar was more than capable of protecting me. | The crowd watches in as the shapeless mass grows huge. The announcer speaks into the mike “ooh looks like a Blue whale, the biggest animal ever. You must have a floaty personality with a grand hea-“. I notice the crowds are looking up a bit to high for my soul animal to still be a whale I haven’t even felt it’s completion yet. I quickly turn around and sea my soul animal is still not fully formed but it looks like a pear. Then out of no where four limbs, a neck and a tail start to form then I could feel it the “awakening” feeling described by my parents and older siblings. If I were to describe it, it kinda feels like you are about to wake up after a long perfect nap when you are still a bit tired and don’t want to get up but you are to rested to stay asleep. My animal whatever it was is about to flick off the oily liquid and show itself. When that happened a shining golden tail with a bright stinger on the end appeared first hen the legs and it’s back where leathery wings un frilled and filled the night sky bright enough to nearly make the sky blue as if it was day time. Then this creature whipped it’s head around and the surface shed off to reveal the head that looked like a giant golden and very spiky head that radiated light it’s eyes a deep crimson. Then the surface gunk on the rest of the body slowly dripped off to reveal the brilliance of it’s body just as blinding as the rest. The announcer quickly fills the silence “well folks, I have to be honest I wasn’t expecting that. But good sir, do mind naming it for us? We all discovered it at the same time but it is your soul animal.” “Golden dragon” I said with a strange amount of pride. “Golden Dragon it is, as basic as it is, it fits the beast very well. Folks that is all for right now but I am sure we can get interviews in the future as something this new.. I am sure there are already news stations doxxing you and knowing those people on the top you have probably already missed many calls regarding an interview. But today is not the day to ask questions you don’t know the answers to. For now you should go home and enjoy official adulthood.” “Thank you, today has just been stressful enough hoping I get a good animal, but this, this was beyond all reason and logic. I think I al going to go home and drink till I pass out.” “You heard him folks let him through!” I quickly walked off stage to my car and got in to drive home when the announcer came by a whispered a tempting offer “hey uhh.. if you ever want an official interview I ask you give this ol’ Grey Aftican Parrot a call. Here’s my number. In returnI promise not to smudge any facts.” “Thanks I’ll look into it, every over night celebrity has to have some sort of PR guy.” “Haha your right.”
A few days later I practied bringing my soul animal out to get a better understanding of it and myself. I have quickly learned that it has given me great self pride as well as insane persuasion skills. A natural born leader. But this Dragon in particular rules not with an Iron fist but a heart as golden as it’s skin. I also learned that if I ignore my own morals the skin will tarnish and become less pure and if I do not keep myself morally aligned The dragons skin will become to dirty to clean. I looked at my quark board and saw that announcers number I was ready to give him a call. The first issue was getting outside of the house. I already have problems with my family who I admittedly still live with even though I am fully an adult. But there isn’t many places you can go if everyone knows your name and face. But right now The front of my house is so swamped with reporters camping out to get a story I can never leave. My younger siblings complain about not being able to see after all of the cameras flash in there face when going outside to play, and not being able to get inside when they are hungry. But I have to go meet him other wise all of the reporters will think he is just trying to enter and do it themselves. “Hey mom I know it’s my fault that I have to ask you to do this but I can’t do it myself, I will never be able to get the words out fast enough I need you to send them a message for me please.” “Sure anything for my son. Whatcha’ need me to say?” “Well I meed you to ask them to all leave. And if they don’t I will call the authorities and have the crowd removed by force.” “Okay but why today all pf a sudden” “I actually have an interview I pre-arranged on the day I got my Golden dragon.” “Oh look at you Mr. Bigshot, getting interviews and managing your own public image.” “Stop it mom your embarrassing me. Oh wait before you go out there take this I had it delivered by to y from down the street the other day at night by drone. It’s a special pair of glasses that will ruin their pictures.” “You little rascal, I think I’ll be fine. But if you insist I guess I’ll wear them.” Later that same hour about 89% of the reporters were gone. And like I promised I called the cops on them and actually managed to slap them all with a fire safety fine for blocking all major exit routes, I even got to use the fire hose to blast away the last stragglers that were from massive corporations who pay off politicians to get away with actual crimes.
A couple hours later I arived at the anouncers apartment. “Finally, heard about the crowd and the fire truck. That sounded like fun.” “Promise if you’re there, next time i’ll save a few reporters for you.” “Sounds like a deal. Any how, names Devon soul animal is a Grey African Parot. Gives me the ability to memorize and repeat and frase I hear. Also I make basic connection very fast.” That interview went by very fast and the article was everywhere within seconds. Infact I gad to make and official Twitter acount just to make a statement saying it’s true because people saw the article about me blasting the reporters away and didn’t believe I had actually arranged for an interveiw. I even explain led that I already agreed to it and couldn’t back out now. | |
[WP] Pillar, a superhero, and Hate, his nemesis, stare each other down on a busy city sidewalk, both in plainclothes, battle eminent. Amongst other passers by, a man harshly pulls along a little girl by her wrist. "He's not my daddy!" she cries out. This draws both the hero and villain's attention. | We stare at each other on a crowded street, apparent strangers locked in recognition. I know those eyes. Usually behind a mask, yes, and usually briefly seen in the flash of battle. Hate. My nemesis, the greatest supervillain the city has ever known. And she recognises me. I can see it in those cold blue eyes, the flash of recognition, a mirror to my own.
We're going to fight. No other option.
The sounds of the street fade into nothingness. The heartbeats around me merge into a beating drum, readying me for war. My pulse quickens. I feel sick and excited at the same time. Every fight is a little better, every time a little closer to a win.
She smiles. I smile back.
A side street then. Time to get off the road.
I sense her turn at the same time and we start to walk together, separately, mirroring each others movements towards the alley like a dance.
And then I hear it.
"He's not my daddy!"
My stomach turns. I swerve around, Hate forgotten, looking for the source of the yell. A little girl, four or five, her pale face contorted in panic, her eyes searching for anyone to see. No one does. No one hears her over the traffic and people and buzz of city business. Just me.
And Hate. I look up and see her staring in the same direction, her eyes cold.
"No, Hate -"
Too late. She's gone in a flash of her long red coat. I'm quick on her heels, moving faster than anyone can see, but too late. The man holding the little girls wrist disappears. To the naked eye, he's there one minute, gone the next. To mine, he's been pushed back behind some bins, Hate leering over him.
I stop by the girl, just for a second. "Calm," I whisper, touching her trembling hands. The trembling stops, and a glazed look comes over her eyes.
I run the rest of the way at human speed. Hate hasn't moved. Her back is tense, and the man at her feet has a slack, confused expression.
"Pillar," she says as I near. Her voice quivers with barely contained rage. "Don't interfere. Not this time."
"We've talked about this." I take a step closer, keeping an eye on the slack man. "Taking the law into your own hands isn't the answer."
"They passed a policeman. Fifty metres back. A crying, screaming little girl being dragged through a crowd, and no one noticed."
"We don't know that." Another step. The man's eyes roll into the back of his head. "This could be a misunderstanding. It could be that-"
"You're right." She kicks the man's foot. "Is this all a misunderstanding, sir? Are you a decent human being, out taking his niece for a walk?"
The man's mouth open. Drool pools at his lips and he slurs, "Taking her to boss. She's worth money."
"He's hardly in a state to defend himself," I say weakly.
"You have a daughter, don't you Pillar?" Hate's voice shakes. "That could be her out there."
My stomach churns. I shake my head. "That's not the point, it's -"
"Of course it's the point!" Hate swerves around, and I see the expression in her eyes, the one that gave her this name. Without the mask and the costume, she looks so human, and so tired. "You don't see it do you? You fight me because you think I'm a villain, but all I'm doing is fighting for people like her-" she gestures at the street- "People like your daughter, people like me, except not every child gets to have super powers, Pillar, not everyone gets to be safe!"
There are tears in her eyes. I look away. It's too much. Instead I meet the eyes of the man on the floor. His mouth slacks open and he whispers, "I bet your daughter's hot."
Red descends.
For eternity there is nothing but anger and rage and the soft pulping noise of fist on flesh. Then a hand on mine, a sudden yank away and the sound of sirens.
There is blood everywhere. Hate is looking at me with an expression I don't recognise in her eyes. It may even be pity.
"Go," she whispers.
The sirens are getting louder and I look down on the floor to see more blood, sticky and warm and drowning me. The man is dead. He didn't stand a chance under Hate's spell.
Hate squeezes my hand. "Go," she repeats.
"I didn't mean to, he said -"
"The city needs its hero. Go." She smiles wearily. "I'm used to being the villain."
I stagger away. The police are close now. I can hear their hearts over the sound of their radios. The little girl is looking at me with wide, dazed eyes.
Go.
I close my eyes, and wish myself far away. | The man looks back and forth, his thin hair bouncing against a sweat-slicked brow. Tightening his grip around the girl’s arm, he careens backwards, sprinting desperately away from the gathered crowd. Pillar looks to his nemesis, whose face has contorted in sick excitement.
“No! Don’t-”
It’s too late. A tendril of red smoke rips out of Hate’s jacket, tearing a hole through the thick fabric and trailing after the running figure. As it grazes onlookers, their eyes begin to change, their curious expressions souring, turning ones into anger. No longer are they looking at the two superhumans, but at the man, dragging a screaming little girl in tow.
“Stop them!” the hero begs.
Hate turns to his nemesis,
“You know I can’t. Not now.”
Pillar begins to dash, pushing through the quickly condensing crowd - his heart begins to pump quicker and quicker, his stomach turning.
The escaping man looks over his shoulder, not expecting a small fist to catch him on the side of the head, sending him to his side. Pain sears his face, blood beginning to pour from open wounds - his sight is blurry, one eye damaged beyond repair, as a young woman stands over him. Her fist is bloodied, red splotches left on the expensive rings around her fingers. There’s madness in her eyes - uncontained, inexplicable anger. Hate.
A heavy boot impacts his stomach, crumbling his ribcage, sending a spray of blood out of his mouth. Another person now looms over him, an overweight man wearing a hi-vis vest and hardhat. His eyes, too, are crazed.
Pillar gets to the man, knowing there’s nothing he can do to save him now, even if he wanted to. He snatches the little girl, hugging her tight and using just enough of his incredible might to thrash against the current of people closing in on the crumpled form on the ground. He bursts through, continuing to hold her.
“This isn’t your fault. It’s not your fault.”
Screams echo through the plaza - begging, gibbering, only to be silenced by the grotesque noise of impacts against flesh, against bone. Squelching. Stomping. Gleeful cheering. Those at the very center, the young woman, the construction worker, and a few others, are soaked in blood, their clothes stained with viscera.
“...It’s not your fault…”
\----------
I tried to go for a more frantic, fast-paced vignette, hopefully it carried across. Thanks for reading! | |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are. | The first thing the "Dark Lord" felt after having his monologue interrupted was a distinct lack of available space in his dented helmet. The second thing he felt was every ounce of my 210 pound musclebound body sitting on his chest as I fiddled woth a communication bracelet with one hand and continued ripping off the remaining ropes and shackles with the other
"Wh-G-Get off me! Do you know who I am, insolent worm-?!" There was a resounding clank as a manacle smacked him in the dented helmet.
I sighed in boredom, shaking my head. "I think Mom used that one once, and she couldn't get Dad to stop laughing at how generic it was. Heh. He had a week on the couch for that one..." The bracelet began to gently vibrate, glowing a deep purple hue, lighting up the rather dark room and the terrified faces of my fellow classmates.
"I'm going to peel your flesh slowly and drain you of every drop of your life force once I get out of this! You'll never see the end of suffering, girl!" His voice runbled the ground beneath us, dark power dripping from every word, and muffled by the ropes piling up on his face.
"Sure thing. That's tame in comparison to the things Mom has threatened." The bracelet finally connected through all the various wards, spells, and enchantments in the 'dark castle', and the voice of my worried parents finally rang out.
Despite the rumblng hate from the third dark lord of edge this month beneath me, and my Mother promising death to said dark lord, everything was still so dull and boring compared to the fun and interesting homeschooling my parents had given me. Damn the government for banning it. | I hadn't even finished getting through my first month at Uni, when I woke up with a severe headache. That's odd, I don't remember drinking at all. Then I look around to see a stereotypical dark lord base and myself tied up. Plus there's a fuckton of faceless mooks around. I sigh, as it was probably another up and coming dark lord terrorizing the city, not realizing that my parents still indirectly run this metropolis even after hanging up the cape and crown to have me in their lives. I whistle over to one of the mooks and ask him for a complex coffee order after seeing this dude's awesome looking coffee machine, plus for him to grab my phone from my messenger bag.
But while he's doing that, the dark lord who looks to be in his mid 30s, struts over and says that he's taking control of this city by brainwashing a large number of college students — and staff, apparently. I snort, and start getting sassy, then tell him that he's picking the wrong city to take over, right as I free up a hand to unlock my phone that the mook has brought over with my coffee order. I then call my mom, and she immediately picks up, so I switch over to speaker. While sipping on my coffee, I fill her in on the wannabe taking over her city with a smug grin on my face. "Be right there, sweetie!" She says for him to hear over the phone.
I look at him with my shades on and coffee in hand, and calmly tell him, "I'm the daughter of Black Queen Elissa La Croix, bitch." Right as my mom comes crashing in to rescue me. She looks at the wannabe dark lord, and he's hosing his pants in fear. After dealing with him, she spots the fancy coffee machine setup that can whip up any coffee order. She looks at me, and asks if Uni has a coffee kiosk in need of a proper setup, and it does, so after everyone's freed from their ropes, she takes this with her when we all head back to the campus to drop off at the coffee kiosk. Even though my dad's a total hero, he would much rather use his powers to intimidate any guys interested in dating me or taking advantage of me. But my mom on the other hand, she's the one that comes to my rescue when wannabe villains and dark lords kidnap me, as she sees this city as her turf, and if I'm caught in the crossfire, she's instantly in mama bear mode on top of showing these posers who runs things around here. So basically I'm double protected.
I look at one of the professors on the way back to the campus and realize that I have classes with one of them. I wave to her, and she asks me how we were rescued so quickly, to which I reply that my mom is violently protective of her kin and turf. When I called her, she was already on her way to deal with the noob lord, but when I gave her additional info on the noob, as well as telling her that I'm in the crossfire, she's also decided to go mama bear as well. My professor is sassy like me and comments that this does explain why I'm always eerily calm during situations like these, as it means that things are now under control. So yeah. The end. | |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are. | “Finally awake, are you?”
The voice came from behind me as I opened my eyes. The room was dark, but I could make out a spartan cell: stone walls, dusty furniture, cobwebs, the whole shebang. I could hear movement behind me, feet sliding languidly across the floor. The single window of the chamber let in only murky moonlight through its neglected panes.
“Your defenses were impressive. It took me quite a bit of effort to overcome them.”
The footsteps came closer. I tried to move my hands but found them tied behind the chair in which I sat. A cursory movement of my legs found them similarly restrained. The chair had a cushion though; best to look on the bright side.
“Seems like somebody cares about you. I wonder what they’d pay to have you back?”
I felt my captor’s arms twine around my neck, sliding warm hands down my bare chest. I felt her nails scrape gently across my abs as her mouth approached my ear.
“But I’ll be sure to have some fun with you before I start negotiations.”
I tried to stay strong as her teeth began nibbling at my earlobe, but I could feel myself starting to react. I could feel silk sliding across my back. I wondered what she was wearing.
“You know you can’t possibly get away with this.”
Her response was a throaty chuckle. Her tongue seemed to burn as her mouth explored my neck.
“Pointless bravado. Who could possibly save you from me?”
It was at that point that there was a shattering of glass and my captor was forcibly ejected from the room.
“Darling, are you okay? That woman didn’t harm you, did she?”
There stood the demon queen in all her glory, wings extended, horns curled behind her ebony mane, blood red dress almost artistically askew. Her arm was extended towards the window, wrist bent as if she’d just shooed away a fly.
“Dammit mom, we were in the middle of something!”
With a gesture, the ropes tying me to the chair untied themselves and were neatly transfigured into a tunic and breeches. I stood up, fully prepared to give the woman who brought me into this world a piece of my mind. This was the sixth time!
“You *were*. Who was that harlot; I didn’t recognize her. Did you break up with another one? I rather liked Harriet.”
Well, yes, but this was neither the time nor place for that conversation. It was a lot of effort preparing my girlfriends to meet my parents. My mother’s standards were quite high. I believe her words about Harriet had been ‘dull as a poorly maintained athame and half as useful.’
I saw an orange glow through the broken window. Time for defensive measures.
“That wasn’t Harriet. I couldn’t be sure she’d be interested in trying out that roleplay.”
“Oh, and exactly which roles were you playing?”
“Demon Queen abducts and ravishes the resistant hero.”
It was always strange to see mother blush given the things I’d seen her do over the years. Nevertheless, her hands went to her cheeks as a wicked smile graced her face. Importantly, she was not thinking about Harriet. The orange glow grew brighter.
“That was always my favorite as well,” mother remarked fondly. “Unfortunately your father says it brings back bad memories.”
“Really? He told me it was one of his favorites.”
A secret told in confidence, a betrayal most heinous. Sorry dad, your sacrifice will be remembered!
My mother’s body language changed as if a switch had been thrown. Her movements became sinuous and flowing. Her eyes began to glow a dim purple. The smile which had been on her face grew to show just a few too many teeth which were just a little too sharp. I wished I could warn my dad to brace himself.
As she strutted towards the wall, a glowing purple portal appeared, likely just the same as the one which had brought her here. I began to congratulate myself on a job well done, only for mother to pause in the portal’s mouth.
“Bring the girl to dinner this weekend.”
“This weekend?”
My mother’s smile turned downright devious.
“Maybe next weekend.”
The portal closed with a pop, and not a moment too soon.
“**Alright, where is she?**”
I cast a spell to chill the room against the wave of flame that burst into the room, but it wasn’t enough. Three of the wooden desks nearest the window burst into flame and the dust in the air became a rain of soot. Fortunately I’d centered the spell on myself and was left uncooked. The burning woman who had swept into the room didn’t seem to notice.
“Gone home.”
“**Oh she ran did she? Who was that? One of your exes?**”
“Viriel the Seventh. Queen of the demon realm.”
The flames vanished with a poof, leaving me all too aware that whatever slinky number my girlfriend had been wearing had gone the same way as the desks were quickly going. I strode to one of the unburnt desks and transmuted it into a robe with a wave of my hand.
“You mean that was…”
“My mother, yes. I’m sorry you had to meet that way. I’ve told her dozens of times to stop scrying on me before bed, but she’s rarely a fan of listening.”
I brought her the robe, but she didn’t seem interested, instead looking around the chamber, as if it could teach her something about the mythical woman who had birthed me. With a wave of her hand, the flames on the desk leapt from the desks and into her body, which shifted in response, growing more voluptuous. Dating a flame spirit was pretty cool.
“Well, that was an unpleasant interruption. It doesn’t mean we can’t continue though does it?”
“I’d like nothing more. Unfortunately…”
There was a knock on the door of the abandoned classroom we’d coopted. With a squeak, my girlfriend darted behind me. I handed her the robe over my shoulder.
“Headmaster Cygnus is outside. I do believe we’re in trouble.” | I hadn't even finished getting through my first month at Uni, when I woke up with a severe headache. That's odd, I don't remember drinking at all. Then I look around to see a stereotypical dark lord base and myself tied up. Plus there's a fuckton of faceless mooks around. I sigh, as it was probably another up and coming dark lord terrorizing the city, not realizing that my parents still indirectly run this metropolis even after hanging up the cape and crown to have me in their lives. I whistle over to one of the mooks and ask him for a complex coffee order after seeing this dude's awesome looking coffee machine, plus for him to grab my phone from my messenger bag.
But while he's doing that, the dark lord who looks to be in his mid 30s, struts over and says that he's taking control of this city by brainwashing a large number of college students — and staff, apparently. I snort, and start getting sassy, then tell him that he's picking the wrong city to take over, right as I free up a hand to unlock my phone that the mook has brought over with my coffee order. I then call my mom, and she immediately picks up, so I switch over to speaker. While sipping on my coffee, I fill her in on the wannabe taking over her city with a smug grin on my face. "Be right there, sweetie!" She says for him to hear over the phone.
I look at him with my shades on and coffee in hand, and calmly tell him, "I'm the daughter of Black Queen Elissa La Croix, bitch." Right as my mom comes crashing in to rescue me. She looks at the wannabe dark lord, and he's hosing his pants in fear. After dealing with him, she spots the fancy coffee machine setup that can whip up any coffee order. She looks at me, and asks if Uni has a coffee kiosk in need of a proper setup, and it does, so after everyone's freed from their ropes, she takes this with her when we all head back to the campus to drop off at the coffee kiosk. Even though my dad's a total hero, he would much rather use his powers to intimidate any guys interested in dating me or taking advantage of me. But my mom on the other hand, she's the one that comes to my rescue when wannabe villains and dark lords kidnap me, as she sees this city as her turf, and if I'm caught in the crossfire, she's instantly in mama bear mode on top of showing these posers who runs things around here. So basically I'm double protected.
I look at one of the professors on the way back to the campus and realize that I have classes with one of them. I wave to her, and she asks me how we were rescued so quickly, to which I reply that my mom is violently protective of her kin and turf. When I called her, she was already on her way to deal with the noob lord, but when I gave her additional info on the noob, as well as telling her that I'm in the crossfire, she's also decided to go mama bear as well. My professor is sassy like me and comments that this does explain why I'm always eerily calm during situations like these, as it means that things are now under control. So yeah. The end. | |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are. | “I am telling, dude, you are making a huge mistake!”
“Silence!” The Dark Lord hissed as he pointed a blade in my direction. “Be grateful that you still have the lungs to draw your breath! For I-“
“Look, I am trying to help you! Just let me go and I promise to make sure you live through this! Hurry, we don’t have eno-“
The whole building shook.
“Oh shit. You are so dead.”
“Just what are you-“
The man (I assume?) didn’t get to finish his (?) sentence. For better or worse, the death was quick. I doubt he even realised what happened.
“I told you, we should have killed the brat when he started using my name,” mom, clad in armour of black and red, spoke as she stomped down on the ashen remains of my captor. “I told you, but did you listen?”
“Oh come on, this isn’t fair,” dad groaned as he wiped some of the blood off his blade. There was a lot of it, too. “The runt was barely able to gather a thousand creatures under his command back then. I felt kind of bad for him. That whole ‘Dark Lord’ was all the poor kid had.”
Mom was about to scold him some more but was far too late. The puppy dog eyes were deployed and all she could do was scoff softly, “Whatever. Let’s just get Jacob out of those chains and go.”
“Nah, I am good,” I took a deep breath and exhaled. The chains melted down into slug. “All good.”
“Except for your clothes,” dad chuckled. “You okay? The Dark Lord didn’t hurt you too much?”
“Barely even felt it.”
“Good,” Mom said and urged us both to the exit. “Now hurry, we must speak to you about your last semester’s GPA.”
I paled. I tried to run but dad’s hand on my should was firm.
… Could I have the Dark Lord back, please? | I hadn't even finished getting through my first month at Uni, when I woke up with a severe headache. That's odd, I don't remember drinking at all. Then I look around to see a stereotypical dark lord base and myself tied up. Plus there's a fuckton of faceless mooks around. I sigh, as it was probably another up and coming dark lord terrorizing the city, not realizing that my parents still indirectly run this metropolis even after hanging up the cape and crown to have me in their lives. I whistle over to one of the mooks and ask him for a complex coffee order after seeing this dude's awesome looking coffee machine, plus for him to grab my phone from my messenger bag.
But while he's doing that, the dark lord who looks to be in his mid 30s, struts over and says that he's taking control of this city by brainwashing a large number of college students — and staff, apparently. I snort, and start getting sassy, then tell him that he's picking the wrong city to take over, right as I free up a hand to unlock my phone that the mook has brought over with my coffee order. I then call my mom, and she immediately picks up, so I switch over to speaker. While sipping on my coffee, I fill her in on the wannabe taking over her city with a smug grin on my face. "Be right there, sweetie!" She says for him to hear over the phone.
I look at him with my shades on and coffee in hand, and calmly tell him, "I'm the daughter of Black Queen Elissa La Croix, bitch." Right as my mom comes crashing in to rescue me. She looks at the wannabe dark lord, and he's hosing his pants in fear. After dealing with him, she spots the fancy coffee machine setup that can whip up any coffee order. She looks at me, and asks if Uni has a coffee kiosk in need of a proper setup, and it does, so after everyone's freed from their ropes, she takes this with her when we all head back to the campus to drop off at the coffee kiosk. Even though my dad's a total hero, he would much rather use his powers to intimidate any guys interested in dating me or taking advantage of me. But my mom on the other hand, she's the one that comes to my rescue when wannabe villains and dark lords kidnap me, as she sees this city as her turf, and if I'm caught in the crossfire, she's instantly in mama bear mode on top of showing these posers who runs things around here. So basically I'm double protected.
I look at one of the professors on the way back to the campus and realize that I have classes with one of them. I wave to her, and she asks me how we were rescued so quickly, to which I reply that my mom is violently protective of her kin and turf. When I called her, she was already on her way to deal with the noob lord, but when I gave her additional info on the noob, as well as telling her that I'm in the crossfire, she's also decided to go mama bear as well. My professor is sassy like me and comments that this does explain why I'm always eerily calm during situations like these, as it means that things are now under control. So yeah. The end. | |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are. | Midsummer had been three days ago, and it showed by the fact that the districts on the lower end of thefinancial spectrum were still on fire, guessing from the smell of smoke in the air. Shame, there was a few good pubs down that way, not like I should know. Not allowed off University grounds first year. Mind you, the fact that the Dark Lord's army had done a fairly good job from the looks of it. Of course I wouldn't say that to the insufferable twit's face.
I am rather impressed that he managed to make it through the Merchant district, I'm not going to lie. Probably paid them off, or offered to make them nobility or some nonsense.
The Nobles had put up a fight, which explains why the Dark Lord's advance stopped at the University. Of course the older students and the teachers for the most part I assume had been slaughtered or were organizing the defense. Not that I'm complaining mind you, this was what they came here to learn how to do, and a practical lesson was better than nothing. The only downside of course, to the whole situation was the fact I was now stuck behind enemy lines, in the actual stronghold of the Dark Lord.
A quick lesson to the other first years in submission to protect their own skins, and explaining that no, you do not want to charge an army with just a handful of us because apparently that is a higher level course. Or they just had the common sense bred out of them. Either way, the past twelve hours babysitting them to prevent anything regrettable from happening had been almost physically painful. Hell, if the Dork Lord hadn't started monologuing at his generals, most of them would still be awake. I just listened to his speeches, nodding along slightly, taking notes for myself.
Professional curiosity.
When he had run out of steam, the walking suit of armor sent me with a burly, green skinned guard to the kitchens, which I did happily.
“So, seriously. Furbog, why is your tribe following him? Money? Power? He beat your leader in a duel?”
Any chance to practice my Orcish.
“Boredom mostly, kid. Haven't really had a chance to fight with the other clans since your mother retired. Not to mention the fact he had a demonic army with him. Didn't expect to see you here, the clans thought you weren't coming for a couple of years still. Chief Grozit damn near choked on his ale when he saw you.”
“Father pulled a few strings to get me accepted early for my own good. How is Uncle Grozit? I know I haven't been around a while, but after Mother got sick we couldn't really come visit as often. She can't even come up here from the Hells for a parent teacher interview, thank the powers. Father was so upset at her funeral earlier this year.”
A feral grin crossed my face as we made it into the kitchens, and the other Orc, too young for me have met got sent back up to get some others to help cook and bring food. I of course sneaked down into the wine cellar, bringing up a bottle so old that it's dust had dust, one of the University's head's best bottles. I made sure that it was properly uncorked and let it breath as the hustle and bustle began, sitting in a dark corner.
It didn't take long for the leader of my mother's personal guard to arrive, with Uncle Grozit coming in soon after with a little black dragon on his shoulder who immediately hopped into my lap for his scritches. My mother's old dragon was his mother and I missed little Scales. My great-great-great-great UncleCharles, on my father's side, black sheep of the family, but you can't keep a good necromancer down. The four factions who owed their allegiance to me through blood, debts, bonding or treaties.
I put a little bit of my pet dragon's poisonous spit into the wine bottle and sent it to the Dark Lord with a passing imp before taking out my notes from earlier.
“Uncle Grozit, wasn't sure if you were going to join us or not. Looks like I owe my mother a city named after her. Now, Gentlemen, lets talk about how exactly we're going to do this right, shall we?” | I hadn't even finished getting through my first month at Uni, when I woke up with a severe headache. That's odd, I don't remember drinking at all. Then I look around to see a stereotypical dark lord base and myself tied up. Plus there's a fuckton of faceless mooks around. I sigh, as it was probably another up and coming dark lord terrorizing the city, not realizing that my parents still indirectly run this metropolis even after hanging up the cape and crown to have me in their lives. I whistle over to one of the mooks and ask him for a complex coffee order after seeing this dude's awesome looking coffee machine, plus for him to grab my phone from my messenger bag.
But while he's doing that, the dark lord who looks to be in his mid 30s, struts over and says that he's taking control of this city by brainwashing a large number of college students — and staff, apparently. I snort, and start getting sassy, then tell him that he's picking the wrong city to take over, right as I free up a hand to unlock my phone that the mook has brought over with my coffee order. I then call my mom, and she immediately picks up, so I switch over to speaker. While sipping on my coffee, I fill her in on the wannabe taking over her city with a smug grin on my face. "Be right there, sweetie!" She says for him to hear over the phone.
I look at him with my shades on and coffee in hand, and calmly tell him, "I'm the daughter of Black Queen Elissa La Croix, bitch." Right as my mom comes crashing in to rescue me. She looks at the wannabe dark lord, and he's hosing his pants in fear. After dealing with him, she spots the fancy coffee machine setup that can whip up any coffee order. She looks at me, and asks if Uni has a coffee kiosk in need of a proper setup, and it does, so after everyone's freed from their ropes, she takes this with her when we all head back to the campus to drop off at the coffee kiosk. Even though my dad's a total hero, he would much rather use his powers to intimidate any guys interested in dating me or taking advantage of me. But my mom on the other hand, she's the one that comes to my rescue when wannabe villains and dark lords kidnap me, as she sees this city as her turf, and if I'm caught in the crossfire, she's instantly in mama bear mode on top of showing these posers who runs things around here. So basically I'm double protected.
I look at one of the professors on the way back to the campus and realize that I have classes with one of them. I wave to her, and she asks me how we were rescued so quickly, to which I reply that my mom is violently protective of her kin and turf. When I called her, she was already on her way to deal with the noob lord, but when I gave her additional info on the noob, as well as telling her that I'm in the crossfire, she's also decided to go mama bear as well. My professor is sassy like me and comments that this does explain why I'm always eerily calm during situations like these, as it means that things are now under control. So yeah. The end. | |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are. | Dad would have been proud of how fast I slipped out of the ropes binding my hands behind my back. He'd be furious that I got captured in the first place but they captured the auditorium quickly from multiple points and my seat was dead center of the crowd. Any move I made would end up with massive casualties.
It really was better to wait until they broke us down into smaller groups for transport.
The two orcs watching us obviously weren't expecting trouble. One kept a listless eye on the door while the other shoved and threatened the other hostages into a university bus used for the mock combat teams away matches.
When the orc grabbed me by the shirt went to shove me in next I hit him cleanly in the throat. Instinctively he bent forward trying to suck in a new breath through his damage trachea and left himself wide open to the follow up slam. It was a thing of beauty really. His temple came crashing down on the corner of the door and he dropped like a rock.
By this point the girl standing behind me in line had let out a shrill scream so the other orc turned, ax coming up as the other hand fumbled for the blasting rod on his belt.
I hit him with a flying tackle before he could pull it and hit him one, two, three times before he went limp.
As the rest of my group began to chatter and scream I folded my fingers through the two familiar seals to prevent any sound from escaping the room.
A quick pat down revealed the orcs smartphone and his fingerprint unlocked it easily enough.
Pressing one finger to my lips I dialed my home number and waited. "Yes, my little Magpie?" My mother the fabled Raven Queen asked, somehow always knowing it was me. I don’t know how, I'm pretty sure it's not even magic. "What is on your mind?"
"Some dumbass is trying a mass blood sacrifice, I'm dealing with it. Just wanted to check in, let you two know I'm fine."
"I should hope so, the next blood moon isn't for three months. This amateur obviously doesn't know what he's doing. Take care dear. And let me know went you're on the way back. Your father is grilling tonight and wants to have dinner ready the second you arrive."
I checked over the ax and blasting rod as I walked toward the door. Nothing flashy but serviceable. "Yeah, this won't take long." | I hadn't even finished getting through my first month at Uni, when I woke up with a severe headache. That's odd, I don't remember drinking at all. Then I look around to see a stereotypical dark lord base and myself tied up. Plus there's a fuckton of faceless mooks around. I sigh, as it was probably another up and coming dark lord terrorizing the city, not realizing that my parents still indirectly run this metropolis even after hanging up the cape and crown to have me in their lives. I whistle over to one of the mooks and ask him for a complex coffee order after seeing this dude's awesome looking coffee machine, plus for him to grab my phone from my messenger bag.
But while he's doing that, the dark lord who looks to be in his mid 30s, struts over and says that he's taking control of this city by brainwashing a large number of college students — and staff, apparently. I snort, and start getting sassy, then tell him that he's picking the wrong city to take over, right as I free up a hand to unlock my phone that the mook has brought over with my coffee order. I then call my mom, and she immediately picks up, so I switch over to speaker. While sipping on my coffee, I fill her in on the wannabe taking over her city with a smug grin on my face. "Be right there, sweetie!" She says for him to hear over the phone.
I look at him with my shades on and coffee in hand, and calmly tell him, "I'm the daughter of Black Queen Elissa La Croix, bitch." Right as my mom comes crashing in to rescue me. She looks at the wannabe dark lord, and he's hosing his pants in fear. After dealing with him, she spots the fancy coffee machine setup that can whip up any coffee order. She looks at me, and asks if Uni has a coffee kiosk in need of a proper setup, and it does, so after everyone's freed from their ropes, she takes this with her when we all head back to the campus to drop off at the coffee kiosk. Even though my dad's a total hero, he would much rather use his powers to intimidate any guys interested in dating me or taking advantage of me. But my mom on the other hand, she's the one that comes to my rescue when wannabe villains and dark lords kidnap me, as she sees this city as her turf, and if I'm caught in the crossfire, she's instantly in mama bear mode on top of showing these posers who runs things around here. So basically I'm double protected.
I look at one of the professors on the way back to the campus and realize that I have classes with one of them. I wave to her, and she asks me how we were rescued so quickly, to which I reply that my mom is violently protective of her kin and turf. When I called her, she was already on her way to deal with the noob lord, but when I gave her additional info on the noob, as well as telling her that I'm in the crossfire, she's also decided to go mama bear as well. My professor is sassy like me and comments that this does explain why I'm always eerily calm during situations like these, as it means that things are now under control. So yeah. The end. | |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are. | “Finally awake, are you?”
The voice came from behind me as I opened my eyes. The room was dark, but I could make out a spartan cell: stone walls, dusty furniture, cobwebs, the whole shebang. I could hear movement behind me, feet sliding languidly across the floor. The single window of the chamber let in only murky moonlight through its neglected panes.
“Your defenses were impressive. It took me quite a bit of effort to overcome them.”
The footsteps came closer. I tried to move my hands but found them tied behind the chair in which I sat. A cursory movement of my legs found them similarly restrained. The chair had a cushion though; best to look on the bright side.
“Seems like somebody cares about you. I wonder what they’d pay to have you back?”
I felt my captor’s arms twine around my neck, sliding warm hands down my bare chest. I felt her nails scrape gently across my abs as her mouth approached my ear.
“But I’ll be sure to have some fun with you before I start negotiations.”
I tried to stay strong as her teeth began nibbling at my earlobe, but I could feel myself starting to react. I could feel silk sliding across my back. I wondered what she was wearing.
“You know you can’t possibly get away with this.”
Her response was a throaty chuckle. Her tongue seemed to burn as her mouth explored my neck.
“Pointless bravado. Who could possibly save you from me?”
It was at that point that there was a shattering of glass and my captor was forcibly ejected from the room.
“Darling, are you okay? That woman didn’t harm you, did she?”
There stood the demon queen in all her glory, wings extended, horns curled behind her ebony mane, blood red dress almost artistically askew. Her arm was extended towards the window, wrist bent as if she’d just shooed away a fly.
“Dammit mom, we were in the middle of something!”
With a gesture, the ropes tying me to the chair untied themselves and were neatly transfigured into a tunic and breeches. I stood up, fully prepared to give the woman who brought me into this world a piece of my mind. This was the sixth time!
“You *were*. Who was that harlot; I didn’t recognize her. Did you break up with another one? I rather liked Harriet.”
Well, yes, but this was neither the time nor place for that conversation. It was a lot of effort preparing my girlfriends to meet my parents. My mother’s standards were quite high. I believe her words about Harriet had been ‘dull as a poorly maintained athame and half as useful.’
I saw an orange glow through the broken window. Time for defensive measures.
“That wasn’t Harriet. I couldn’t be sure she’d be interested in trying out that roleplay.”
“Oh, and exactly which roles were you playing?”
“Demon Queen abducts and ravishes the resistant hero.”
It was always strange to see mother blush given the things I’d seen her do over the years. Nevertheless, her hands went to her cheeks as a wicked smile graced her face. Importantly, she was not thinking about Harriet. The orange glow grew brighter.
“That was always my favorite as well,” mother remarked fondly. “Unfortunately your father says it brings back bad memories.”
“Really? He told me it was one of his favorites.”
A secret told in confidence, a betrayal most heinous. Sorry dad, your sacrifice will be remembered!
My mother’s body language changed as if a switch had been thrown. Her movements became sinuous and flowing. Her eyes began to glow a dim purple. The smile which had been on her face grew to show just a few too many teeth which were just a little too sharp. I wished I could warn my dad to brace himself.
As she strutted towards the wall, a glowing purple portal appeared, likely just the same as the one which had brought her here. I began to congratulate myself on a job well done, only for mother to pause in the portal’s mouth.
“Bring the girl to dinner this weekend.”
“This weekend?”
My mother’s smile turned downright devious.
“Maybe next weekend.”
The portal closed with a pop, and not a moment too soon.
“**Alright, where is she?**”
I cast a spell to chill the room against the wave of flame that burst into the room, but it wasn’t enough. Three of the wooden desks nearest the window burst into flame and the dust in the air became a rain of soot. Fortunately I’d centered the spell on myself and was left uncooked. The burning woman who had swept into the room didn’t seem to notice.
“Gone home.”
“**Oh she ran did she? Who was that? One of your exes?**”
“Viriel the Seventh. Queen of the demon realm.”
The flames vanished with a poof, leaving me all too aware that whatever slinky number my girlfriend had been wearing had gone the same way as the desks were quickly going. I strode to one of the unburnt desks and transmuted it into a robe with a wave of my hand.
“You mean that was…”
“My mother, yes. I’m sorry you had to meet that way. I’ve told her dozens of times to stop scrying on me before bed, but she’s rarely a fan of listening.”
I brought her the robe, but she didn’t seem interested, instead looking around the chamber, as if it could teach her something about the mythical woman who had birthed me. With a wave of her hand, the flames on the desk leapt from the desks and into her body, which shifted in response, growing more voluptuous. Dating a flame spirit was pretty cool.
“Well, that was an unpleasant interruption. It doesn’t mean we can’t continue though does it?”
“I’d like nothing more. Unfortunately…”
There was a knock on the door of the abandoned classroom we’d coopted. With a squeak, my girlfriend darted behind me. I handed her the robe over my shoulder.
“Headmaster Cygnus is outside. I do believe we’re in trouble.” | The first thing the "Dark Lord" felt after having his monologue interrupted was a distinct lack of available space in his dented helmet. The second thing he felt was every ounce of my 210 pound musclebound body sitting on his chest as I fiddled woth a communication bracelet with one hand and continued ripping off the remaining ropes and shackles with the other
"Wh-G-Get off me! Do you know who I am, insolent worm-?!" There was a resounding clank as a manacle smacked him in the dented helmet.
I sighed in boredom, shaking my head. "I think Mom used that one once, and she couldn't get Dad to stop laughing at how generic it was. Heh. He had a week on the couch for that one..." The bracelet began to gently vibrate, glowing a deep purple hue, lighting up the rather dark room and the terrified faces of my fellow classmates.
"I'm going to peel your flesh slowly and drain you of every drop of your life force once I get out of this! You'll never see the end of suffering, girl!" His voice runbled the ground beneath us, dark power dripping from every word, and muffled by the ropes piling up on his face.
"Sure thing. That's tame in comparison to the things Mom has threatened." The bracelet finally connected through all the various wards, spells, and enchantments in the 'dark castle', and the voice of my worried parents finally rang out.
Despite the rumblng hate from the third dark lord of edge this month beneath me, and my Mother promising death to said dark lord, everything was still so dull and boring compared to the fun and interesting homeschooling my parents had given me. Damn the government for banning it. | |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are. | “I am telling, dude, you are making a huge mistake!”
“Silence!” The Dark Lord hissed as he pointed a blade in my direction. “Be grateful that you still have the lungs to draw your breath! For I-“
“Look, I am trying to help you! Just let me go and I promise to make sure you live through this! Hurry, we don’t have eno-“
The whole building shook.
“Oh shit. You are so dead.”
“Just what are you-“
The man (I assume?) didn’t get to finish his (?) sentence. For better or worse, the death was quick. I doubt he even realised what happened.
“I told you, we should have killed the brat when he started using my name,” mom, clad in armour of black and red, spoke as she stomped down on the ashen remains of my captor. “I told you, but did you listen?”
“Oh come on, this isn’t fair,” dad groaned as he wiped some of the blood off his blade. There was a lot of it, too. “The runt was barely able to gather a thousand creatures under his command back then. I felt kind of bad for him. That whole ‘Dark Lord’ was all the poor kid had.”
Mom was about to scold him some more but was far too late. The puppy dog eyes were deployed and all she could do was scoff softly, “Whatever. Let’s just get Jacob out of those chains and go.”
“Nah, I am good,” I took a deep breath and exhaled. The chains melted down into slug. “All good.”
“Except for your clothes,” dad chuckled. “You okay? The Dark Lord didn’t hurt you too much?”
“Barely even felt it.”
“Good,” Mom said and urged us both to the exit. “Now hurry, we must speak to you about your last semester’s GPA.”
I paled. I tried to run but dad’s hand on my should was firm.
… Could I have the Dark Lord back, please? | The first thing the "Dark Lord" felt after having his monologue interrupted was a distinct lack of available space in his dented helmet. The second thing he felt was every ounce of my 210 pound musclebound body sitting on his chest as I fiddled woth a communication bracelet with one hand and continued ripping off the remaining ropes and shackles with the other
"Wh-G-Get off me! Do you know who I am, insolent worm-?!" There was a resounding clank as a manacle smacked him in the dented helmet.
I sighed in boredom, shaking my head. "I think Mom used that one once, and she couldn't get Dad to stop laughing at how generic it was. Heh. He had a week on the couch for that one..." The bracelet began to gently vibrate, glowing a deep purple hue, lighting up the rather dark room and the terrified faces of my fellow classmates.
"I'm going to peel your flesh slowly and drain you of every drop of your life force once I get out of this! You'll never see the end of suffering, girl!" His voice runbled the ground beneath us, dark power dripping from every word, and muffled by the ropes piling up on his face.
"Sure thing. That's tame in comparison to the things Mom has threatened." The bracelet finally connected through all the various wards, spells, and enchantments in the 'dark castle', and the voice of my worried parents finally rang out.
Despite the rumblng hate from the third dark lord of edge this month beneath me, and my Mother promising death to said dark lord, everything was still so dull and boring compared to the fun and interesting homeschooling my parents had given me. Damn the government for banning it. | |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are. | *"After being born under the light of a falling star, Vernal the Brave was marked by fate. His life's purpose, ordained by the ancient gods, was to end the reign of the Witch Queen.*
*He trained in the most ancient of combat arts, using a sword like it was part of his own being. He bathed in the blood of dragons he slayed, transferring the resilience of their scaled hides into his soft, human skin. He wore the Silvari Moonstone around his neck, its blessed luminance allowing him to see through magical tricks and illusions. He was taught poetry, art, and public speaking, for he would need allies to stand against the monster hordes of the Witch Queen.*
*He gathered the nations around him, and with the world of men, elves, and dwarves at his back, they went to war. Weeks became months as blood stained the earth, but finally Vernal and his trusted companions breached the gates of Blackthorn Keep. These companions held the way for him as demonic beasts swarmed the sky, telling the chosen hero to run ahead, and finish things with the vile sorceress once and for all. Vernal the Brave kicked open the doors of the throne room, and found the Witch Queen waiting for him, vile shadows and arcane might gathering around her as she prepared for battle.*
*And Vernal dropped his sword. Despite his training by the monks of Undaril, despite a lifetime of making himself into an invulnerable warrior, he realized he did, in fact, have one weakness...*
*Redheads."*
The room erupted into laughter. I tried to keep myself from joining them. Professor Mosseven demanded decorum when presenting for the class. The old dwarf looked at me through enormous spectacles and gave a slight scowl of annoyance.
*"While I am a bit of a stickler for historical accuracy, Miss Braveras, I can appreciate a well-timed joke. I do NOT appreciate that your history paper did not include any specific dates of the events referenced, which is, in fact, one of the necessary components of a HISTORY paper. If you want to leave Spring Semester with an A+ in my class you cannot skirt the fundamentals. Back to your seat."*
Professor Mosseven waved me away, and I rolled up my scroll and returned to my desk. He surveyed the classroom. *"We have time for one more before 5th period is over. Anyone brave enough to step up and follow after Fiona?"*
The new transfer student, a red-skinned boy I had seen once or twice, raised his hand. The professor acknowledged him.
*"Yes Mister Valmek, up to the front."*
Valmek stood in front of us at the podium. I figured he had a fear of public speaking, because whenever he was called on in class he seemed...twitchy. But there was a confidence in him today. I was surprised he had volunteered. His fully black eyes returned to his papers and he began to speak, the thick demonic accent making it tough to follow.
*"My paper is on the 3rd Reign of Grog'Maloth, the Dismal Flame of Kalmorax."*
At the mention of a primordial demon lord, the room went silent. Professor Mosseven looked disapprovingly at Valmek, seemingly unfazed by the mention of the most dangerous being in recorded history. *"My boy, please speak up. And I hate to correct you before you really get going, but I'm sure you mean the 2nd Reign. He was sealed away prior to the rise of the Witch Queen. I should know, I was one of the wizard council that..."*
The Professor trailed off, seeing the way Valmek was looking at him, the way his smile seemed a little too wide, his teeth a little to sharp. I felt the hair prickle on the back of my neck. When you grow up around dark magic, you recognize it anywhere.
To give credit to Professor Mosseven, he didn't hesitate. He was standing and firing a blast of arcane lightning from his staff before any of us could react. But Valmek simply waved a hand, and roiling black fire deflected the blast before spreading around the room, encircling us all. Valmek rose, growing taller as his limbs lengthened and a second pair of eyes opened in his forehead. A seven fingered hand with triple joints and long nails darted forward and closed around the professor, lifting him up as great wings spread from Valmek's back and a tail emerged from the base of his spine. But I guess at this point, it was obvious that Valmek wasn't the name of the being standing before us.
A horrible voice like breaking glass roared in my mind...everyone's mind, from the looks of terror on my classmate's faces. *<I have been under your nose for years, you old fool. Watching. Learning. Studying the intricacies of my seal from the very wizards who crafted it. And this year under the Blood Moon, I undid the last shackle. The 3rd Reign of Grog'Maloth begins today, and it will be written in blood and fire.>*
The towering demon turned to face us, black flames barring the exits. *<And you, my classmates, my children of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the realm, descendants of my oldest foes....you will be honored as the first deaths of a new war.>*
All around me, students fell back in horror, panicking as they looked between the burning demon and the black flames. Meanwhile, I slowly moved my hand to my bracelet and touched the crystal set into the center. My senses flooded with impressions of the world near the matching crystal, far away in Blackthorn Keep.
The smell of fruit tarts in the oven. A cool spring breeze rattling the windchimes. A plush sofa, on which sat a middle-aged man with a pronounced gut, bearing tattoos of the monks of Undaril. And sitting next to him, humming to herself as she flipped through a book, was an woman with long reddish-gray hair. She looked down at a crystal bracelet of her own, responding to my call.
*"Fiona dear, what is it? You know I don't like you calling me in class. I'm not paying for your education if you don't take advantage of...."*
She trailed off. The man next to her looked up from his own book, sensing the tension.
*"Sweetie, is something wrong?."*
My eyes fixated on the enormous form of Grog'Maloth filling the lecture hall, I tapped the crystal three times.
I could sense the man leap out of his chair and run to the fireplace, taking a beautiful broadsword off the mantle and buckling it onto his waist. The woman stood, blood-red markings appearing on her pale skin as a staff of living shadow formed in her open hand.
*"Keep your head down. Your father and I will be there in a minute."*
**PART 2 IS NOW BELOW, IN A COMMENT** | I tried to raise my hand, but that was kinda hard to do when they were tied together.
"You know, for a damsel, you're not very good at screaming," Aaron, the purported Dark Lord, said.
"I- I- uh- well, you see," I mumbled.
"Speak *up* for crying out loud," Aaron said. "Or cry. Either works. I'm *trying* to get a bit to terrorize the masses."
"Yeah, about that," I said, finally gathering my words. "My parents, uh, well, they're gonna be pretty mad."
"And what are they going to do about it, Meredith?" Aaron asked. He lingered a little too long on my name. I shivered.
He really didn't know about my parents. I supposed it wasn't impossible. Mom hadn't really lived up to her old moniker in a while, not since she had met Dad. And Aaron wasn't that much older than me, so for most of his life, there hadn't been any sort of Dark Power in the world. Things had been pretty peaceful.
That wasn't to say that Mom had gone good. She was still up to things, but they were less immediately evil and more just taking advantage of every loophole in the existing legal systems. And she was still incredibly adept at magic.
As I sat there, tied up and glaring at Aaron, I wished I had paid more attention when mom had tried to teach me magic. If I had, I might have been able to do something for myself. As it was, I was dressed up in some frilly pink dress, tied to a chair and unable to move anything besides my head.
Then came a crashing noise from somewhere nearby. Aaron jumped, and I would have if I was able to.
"Ah, a dashing knight coming to rescue you," Aaron said. "The perfect opportunity to show off that I'm the new Dark Lord."
I rolled my eyes. Sure, Aaron had captured me. But he had literally done so by knocking me over the head as I left the library late the previous night. I didn't think that that really counted as Dark Lord levels of work there. Not when Mom had told me about what she had done in her Dark Queen days as a way to get me to behave.
A terrible roar came from the same direction as the crashing noise.
I had heard that roar once before.
I looked at Aaron, who was still standing over his cauldron and quivering in his boots.
"Didn't bargain on Queen Scarlett of the Dark Forests coming for me, did you?" I asked
"You were just supposed to be the new hot girl on campus!" Aaron said.
"Who are you calling 'hot girl', young man?" Mom roared. I had only seen her take the form of a dragon once, but I smiled when I saw her. I looked around, just behind her, Dad was in his old armor again. It didn't fit as well as it did in their wedding photo, but it still fit, and he was *livid*.
"I- I- you're- you-" Aaron stuttered. Liquid dripped from his pants and I realized that Mom had literally made him pee himself. So much for styling himself a Dark Lord.
"Now, what made you think you could kidnap our daughter?" Dad asked.
"I didn't know," Aaron said. "I swear. I just thought she was some other new freshman on campus."
"Do you know who I am?" Mom asked. "Who we are?"
"I- I do now, ma'am," Aaron said.
Dad came over and cut through the ropes that bound me to the chair with practiced ease.
"Thanks," I said.
"Thank your mother," he said. "She's the one who felt that something had happened to you and figured out that you had been kidnapped by this wannabe. I'm just a guy with a sword."
"Clayton, you're a knight, and a very good one that that," Mom said softly. Then she turned her glare back to Aaron. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't just eat you right now."
"The police?" Aaron said.
"Loathe as I am to admit it, he's got a point, dear," Dad said.
Mom sighed a strange, guttural sigh, like the dragon she had taken the shape up didn't want to sigh, but her human consciousness forced it anyways. "Fine. But I'm not letting you leave unscathed either."
She took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling normally. And then she breathed in. I could feel that something was different about this breath though. It felt wrong, somehow, and I knew that Mom was using some form of dark magic on Aaron.
When she finished, Aaron collapsed onto the ground.
"You should make sure the authorities take him into custody while I go get changed back," Mom said to Dad.
"Already on it," Dad said. He procured a blue stone from somewhere on his person and threw it at the ground.
"Sir Clayton!" a voice in the blue smoke said. "What a surprise! What can we do for you?"
"Scarlett and I have apprehended the young man that has been threatening terror," Dad said. "Mostly Scarlett."
"Gone good, has she?" the voice on the other side said.
"I wouldn't *entirely* say that," Dad said. "Can you get some officers to this location?"
"Right away, sir," the voice said.
Mom strode back, now a human again and wearing her favorite black dress.
"Sorry you had to see me like that," she said. "But that boy was messing with my daughter, and I couldn't stand for that."
*****
**Thanks for reading!** If you enjoyed this, check out more of my writing at /r/TheLastComment | |
[WP] You aren't a superhero, exactly. Your powers depend on whatever powers your target thinks you have. They call you Placebo Man. | “What do you mean you’ve never heard of me?!” I shout out, ducked behind the counter as it splinters with every shot.
“Don’t know what to tell ya pal! I’m new in town and I never cared for you hero types!” They shout back between gunshots. “You some kind of poser?”
Goddamnit, it’s always the out of towners. Damn upstate villains, can’t even be bothered to read up on the heroes in the city they’re attacking. I’ve beaten Dr. Mental, Typhoid Typhoon, Beastial Beast, and dozens of other villains. But here I a-
My thoughts are interrupted by a other slug from the shotgun blasting at the counter inches from my face. The chips of wood almost blind me as they splinter across, leaving me with little choice but to curl up even more. Damnit damnit damnit. This is just a petty bank robbery, I should’ve handled this in like 5 seconds. Hell, I *could* have handled this in about 5 seconds if this asshole knew about my super speed.
Or strength.
Or flight.
“C’mon man, you have to have heard of me!” I try calling out once again between reloads. “The hero of a thousand powers? I was trending on Twitter last week when I took down the tortoise twins!” I shout halfway between frustration and annoyance.
“Do I look like I have time to go dicking around the Internet?!” They bark back, I can hear them picking up the bags money. I look at the bodies of the two other henchmen that arrived with. *They* knew who I was, but as soon as I knocked both of them out my powers stopped working. Okay, maybe I just need to remind them, I’m sure their henchmen talked about me.
“You’re making a huge mistake! You’re taking on Placebo Man! The hero of a thousand powers!” I try shouting as confidently as I can, which is exceedingly difficult considering I have to tome my words between gunshots. But when I finish shouting out my name there’s a silence, and that’s when I feel it. The familiar tingling in my skin, my hairs raise as goosebumps begin to form. I start to feel the slight static underneath my skin, the same feeling I get everytime my powers are about to manifest. I close my eyes for a moment, picturing what power will activate. As I focus I being to feel the sensation traveling down my arms, through my wrists, mounting at my palms before settling at the tips of my fingers. This is it. Haha! They’re in for it now, just had to give them time to remember who I was, and what types of powers I had. It didn’t matter what it was, probably some rumor they heard from their friends, but it’s more than enough. I gather my confidence as I stand, extending my arms as I open my hands and position the tips of my fingers towards them. I can already hear them regretting their decision, repeating my name in awe an-
“Placebo man? The fuck kind of name is that. What are your powers, you shoot fake aspirin from your finger tips or something?”
The space between us was as silent as death, broken only by the sound of aspirin sized sugar tablets hitting the marble floor. I remain in my pose, one that I knew would look dynamic in the security feeds if it weren’t for the fact that fucking aspirin just shot out of my finger tips. I look up at the bank robber who’s just as confused as I am. For a moment I tense up as my eyes glance down at the shotgun aimed at me, pleading. I really wish they’d shoot me right now.
“Bahahaha! Holy shit. Holy shit. You really shoot aspirin from your finger tips?!” They lower the gun, making it clear they have no intention of firing anymore as they turn on the safety and casually strap it across their back, still laughing. “Oh wow. Wow. I mean, that’s rich. How the hell did you get famous pill boy?”
I wince at the moniker. “It’s Placebo Man,” I try to correct, pushing through the embarrassment.
“Riiiiiight. What other tricks you got in there? Let me guess, you can secret Vick’s vapor rub to help with the common col-“ they stop, taking a whiff of the air and then slowly turning towards me. The humor is gone from their eyes, replaced with wide eyed curiosity as they stare at me from behind their mask. “I-is that…*vick’s*?”
I don’t respond. I *can’t* respond. Instead my eyes dart up at the security cameras as my expression sinks into despair. Their eyes follow mine, locking on to the camera before looking back at me. Their eyes dart back and forth for a moment but before they can speak a loud crash is hears from the roof as light pours in from outside. I’m still stewing in too much embarrassment to react right away, it when I look up I feel my stomach sink.
“Fear not! Fortune Fantastic is on the scene!” The figure slowly hovers down, white sequence spandex with gold trim, gaudy red cape and an ass backwards emblem on his chest with two F’s back to back. Gods I hate this guy. He stops a few meters above, looking around the scene before he settles in my direction. For an moment I see his eyes focus on me, sneering in contempt before he turns to face the only remaining robber. Of course, not before making sure the security feed catches his good side. “Stop right there villain!”
“Okay so who the hell are yo-“ They barely have time to finish before jumping out of the way of Fantastic's laser vision. “Oi! What the fuck?’ You could have killed me!” They shout out in shock, scrambling to hide behind some of the rubble.
“You really should watch your language in front of the cameras. Its not becoming of a citizen!” Fantastic’s voice echos through the chamber, maintaining his usual heroic bravado.
“These things don’t capture audio dumbass!” The robber shouts, coming out from behind cover long enough to fire a blast at Fantastic with little avail. But at their words I can see his expression change instantly, and though he maintains the heroic pose at level his tone quickly becomes sharper and more condescending.
“In that case, stop wasting my time so I can get the hell out of here. And just so you know, every time you shoot me it’s a bone I’m going to break in your body. And you…” I look away as soon as I feel his gaze hit me. “I always knew you were a goddamn fraud.”
Oh no.
“All those powers and you can’t even stop one petty crook?”
Oh no no no no no.
“Placebo man. Ha! Did you think we’re were stupid? The name even means you're a fake.”
Fuck. Shit. I need to get out of here. My body starts to feel numb, the same feeling I get when there’s nobody around and my powers have nothing to manifest from. Why now. Why *him.* I could probably have dealt with the robber, but Fantastic has had it out for me since day one, he’d never pass up an opportunity to like this.
“So what is it? Did you think you’d show up and make a mockery of me?” He starts to hover closer to me, pressing his face against mine. “What, are you working with this petty crook, splitting the profits while you make yourself look good? I *knew* it. I. Fucking. Knew. It.” I can barely keep my balance as he shoves me down, knocking me back a few feet. He turns and blasts all the cameras with his laser vision, focusing back on me with eyes still glowing. “Don’t worry though, I’m not completely heartless. I’ll make sure you have a nice obituary on how you died in the line of duty to protect me. It’s the least you can considering how much of a pain in my ass you’ve be-“
“He’s on to us Placebo Man!” My eyes widen as I turn in the direction of the voice only to see the robber standing a few feet away from us. Fantastic turns to face them as I try to use the distraction to run, but he’s too quick as I find myself caught in his grasp.
“Aha! So you two *were* working together!”
“That’s right! Placebo Man has been my inside man this whole time! And now it’s time to enact our master plan!” The robber shouts back, glancing back at me and giving a subtle nod.
“Plan? What?!” Fantastic quickly turns to face me, eyes glowing at the ready.
“Yea?! What plan?!” I call out weakly. I’m tired and at this point I’ve gotten way in over my head.
“Didn’t you know Fortune Fantastic. This has been a ploy to get you here alone! Why do you think you were never able to figure out Placebo Man’s plans! It’s because of his powers. His *real* powers.”
Oh no. What are you doing. No no no. I start to panic.
“His real powers?! Explain!” For the first time since crashing through the ceiling Fantastic’s voice cracks nervously.
“He harnesses the power of calidite!” The robber shouts, easing their posture as they try to mask their own fear.
“What?!” Fantastic recoils, flying further back until his hovering comes to a full stop as he drops to the ground. “Calidite?! But how! It’s a substance from my home planet, the only thing that can block my powers….”
His voice starts to trail off as I look down at my hands. I hadn’t noticed because of the adrenaline running through my body but as I looked at my hands I could sense the familiar feeling underneath my skin. The hands cracked and flowed with a blue iridescence. Calidite.
“Y-you trai- tor….” His voice is weak, barely a whisper before he goes unconscious. As soon as he’s knocked out I feel the powers fade, watching as my hands turn back to normal. I barely have a moment to process what happened before I feel a tug on my arm.
“C’mon. We don’t have much time. He’ll probably be out for 30 minutes. Tops. We need to get to get that security footage and get out of here.”
It takes me a few moments to gather my thoughts, watching as Fortune Fantastic weakly groans on the ground as we run past him. I’m at a complete loss on what to do now, getting dragged away by a robber and watching as one of the top heroes lays unconscious by my hands. Yet despite the chaos of the day and all the confusion, I shout out the one prevailing thought in my head.
“HIM?! You know who *he* was but not me?! What the hell!”
“Yea well, I heard he’s an asshole.”
*End* | Damn, you’re going thin again. A bit see-through, gooey and falling-apart around the edges. Really gross. This won’t do. You’ve been lazing about for decades in half-existence, it’s time for another cycle.
People feed you their beliefs about given forms, and some are turbocharged. No point in languishing up the food chain. Easiest way is to go raccoon, then a minor human, then a superhero. It always feels great to get there that quickly.
So to start the raccoon belief, you bash some plastic recycle bin lids along their hinges against their deep rectangular bases. Full ones make less sound than empties, but they all smell awful. Not nearly as effective as the beloved, noisy round steel trash can lids of forty years ago, the last time you had to re-up. Those were musical, jarring, miraculous. Humans hated them, you could pop out of your nook for an afternoon snack of human suffering by tipping one little half-full bin over, their rage and imagination made you so physical, so vile. People could imagine and make you a raccoon in seconds with those, a coy-dog or wolf-dog in a minute if they’d been watching the right fear-mongering “news”. Best not to dwell on the times they made you their worst fears of night-prowling humans, their fears often horribly racist.
But you have no need to complain about today’s plastic recycle tubs, there were thousands of years where you’d throw bones or feces around in pre-agricultural trash middens for hours and nobody would so much as point a flint-tipped arrow at you.
These stinky plastic tubs thump just fine, you think. Your thoughts point you to a horrid song of similar name, and you start pounding out Chumbawamba’s 1997 “Tubthumper” on a 120-gallon empty mixed-use plastic recycle bin. You suddenly feel pretty good, less see-through. Real. Someone heard your rhythm. But the song has influenced your new form, and you don’t have the striped and plumed tail you were expecting, nor the clever paws and night vision. Your hairy stomach protrudes, you pick some lint out of your navel. You scratch your ass, starting to crave a whiskey drink, a vodka drink. You really need to shed this form.
You run a hand across your thinning hair and ease your new lumpy form through the accumulated alley-junk, headed for the street. You throw a longing look at the bins, just now realizing how much you’d been craving that raccoon form and all the tasty trash. You know you should be happy to be human so quickly, and you really are ready to get back to being a little more flash and sexy in your next form. Best to get out there and do it.
You are a solution without a problem, but you’ll find both soon. You steel yourself for serious heroics and action as you exit the alley, awaiting your next, much more heroic form. But at the alley’s exit, there is a pub. | |
[WP] You aren't a superhero, exactly. Your powers depend on whatever powers your target thinks you have. They call you Placebo Man. | On my first day in the hero association, when they asked what my powers were for the form. When I tried to explain that I wasn't sure, and they seemed to vary between being able to lift a little bit more than a normal person, to being able to eat food really quickly, to being able to catch things inhumanly fast, to being able to jump a couple feet higher than anyone else... Lets just say they weren't very happy with that answer. I received the lowest possible rank, the infamously rare and pathetic "Z" rank. A rank that denoted *having* powers, but not having *super* powers.
That night I had gone home to my parents house. I had sat in my room crying. Sobbing. Wondering why? Why did almost every other person who got powers get *phenomenal* powers, and I got powers that beyond enhancing me a little bit in random ways, didn't seem to even **BE** powers. This "*power*" was about the same as if I trained hard to be an athlete, like when it had made me be able to jump higher at the school competition. Or if I had trained hard to be a professional eater, like when I had won the pie eating competition at the state fair.
It didn't make any sense. How could my super power be to just be a *little* bit better at things than the person I was up against? How is that even a power? As I cried I hadn't noticed my mother standing in the doorway. I hadn't even noticed her, but by the look on her face I could tell she had been watching for a while. The look I saw was despondence.
A look of sadness for someone she loved more than life itself, about something that she couldn't possibly fix. Ever since dad had died, she had tried her best to keep things working, working two jobs, and still somehow finding time to spend with me, to cheer me up when I was down. To cheer me on when I had made that high jump that seemed impossible, or when I had won the pie eating contest and had a big smile on my face, a smile she had taken a picture of and always kept with her in her purse. (She had never told me, but I had seen it when she asked me to get her chapstick once).
What was I supposed to do? It seemed like other than winning minor useless competitions my powers would never be useful to anyone. Certainly I would never make enough money to do what I had dreamed of, when they first tested me and found that I was one of the extremely few who had powers, and was highly compatible with those powers at that.
As I looked at her standing in the doorway, I began to feel that the whole world was against me, and as selfish as it was, I couldn't help but feel like she was against me too. Even though she had and would never do anything against me, I couldn't help but imagine that somehow she was just like the rest of the world. An opponent that I would never beat. I hated that thought, but I had it all the same.
She came over and sat down on the bed next to me. "Why can't I do it right? My powers don't even work most of the time, and when they do, they're useless" I hadn't meant to say it, but it still slipped out. I felt her hug me, but I couldn't even hug her back. She started slowly rubbing my back and whispered, "Baby, I know it I just do, *You can do anything. Anything at all*" Right as she said it, I had a weird feeling all over, like a million different rivers flowing over me all at once. | Name’s Houdini. Harry Houdini. I can’t really do anything, but with a little angle work and a clusterfuck of morons for an audience, the bills tend to find themselves paid at the end of each month. And I tend to find myself laid, but that’s another story for another time. Like I was sayin, name’s Harry, Harry Houdini. Shit, I said that already? Alright. I’ve got this big show tonight. I’ve got a long ass rope I’m gonna pull out of my pockets, and everybody’s gonna drop their jaws acting like they haven’t seen it before, fuckin idiots. I’m short on time though, that’s my bad. Name’s Harry, Harry the placebo man. | |
[WP] You aren't a superhero, exactly. Your powers depend on whatever powers your target thinks you have. They call you Placebo Man. | Steel cuffs pinned my arms to the wall at the wrist. I could hear the faint humming of electricity as my opponent, Methodostro, cackled.
"Got you this time, Placebo Man!" they called out as they strode towards me. "The brute force you've used in the past won't get you out of these cuffs. The harder you struggle, the more it shocks you! I have finally exhausted your bag of tricks!" I smiled back, carefully waving my hand with as much leeway as I had. My greeting was returned with a cane to the gut.
"Hi-ah," I gasped for air. Methodostro pointed at their boots, which looked... rather disgustingly sticky. "Well, there goes telekinesis. I'm surprised you can walk in those." They shrugged, motioning for me to continue. "At any rate, what trial are we on? We've been at this for a couple years now." This one was persistent, much unlike the last guy. He'd given up after proclaiming my powers to be infinite due to some combination thing causing a contradiction. What was his name again, Math-something?
"Trial 83," Methodostro answered, stepping back, storing a notepad. When did they pull that out? "And I've covered all possible scenarios with this trial. Just try and break free now." Oho, an invitation? Saving me the trouble of sowing my own intrusive thoughts with regards to my abilities. Shame I won't be able to open with the double blind joke yet again. I chuckled and closed my eyes, feeling my wrists phase through the cuffs. So that's how they thought I'd escape. Wait, shouldn't they be shouting their curses and fleeing now?
I looked over to Methodostro, my self-proclaimed nemesis. I'd participated in their trials to find my weakness long enough to know when they looked like they'd had enough disappointment for the day. This looked like the opposite.
"Exactly as planned," Methodostro mused. They levelled an accusatory finger at me: "Your power draws on the exact powers your opponent thinks you have! Now that I know this, I just need to think you have no power!" They cracked a vicious grin and began stalking forward. "And I'm very confident about this. After all, there's nobody to accidentally save you." I did my best to look worried, but inside, I was amused. So close, but so very wrong. I closed my eyes, shifting my focus away from this room.
The memories started flooding in. A comforting warmth began to radiate outwards from my heart, invigorating my limbs, sharpening my senses. I effortlessly dodged something, catching a second thing, almost breaking my concentration. I think I tossed it somewhere. It's been a while, I should give her a call. I felt the warmth begin to fade. With the last of my power I knocked the wind out of my opponent, dropping them to their knees.
"Be caught by you later," I said as I clicked my heels together. I found myself back in my apartment. Cute move. I'm glad they were kind enough to think I could teleport after each trial. Saves me a lot of time getting home. I pulled out my phone and dialed one of the few numbers I had committed to heart.
"Hi mom." | Name’s Houdini. Harry Houdini. I can’t really do anything, but with a little angle work and a clusterfuck of morons for an audience, the bills tend to find themselves paid at the end of each month. And I tend to find myself laid, but that’s another story for another time. Like I was sayin, name’s Harry, Harry Houdini. Shit, I said that already? Alright. I’ve got this big show tonight. I’ve got a long ass rope I’m gonna pull out of my pockets, and everybody’s gonna drop their jaws acting like they haven’t seen it before, fuckin idiots. I’m short on time though, that’s my bad. Name’s Harry, Harry the placebo man. | |
[WP] You're a brand new knight, and you're rational, unlike the superstitious folk in your fief; you don't believe in giants, or the fey, or ghosts, or any of that rural nonsense. So when the villagers beg you to defend them against a marauding dragon, you figure it will be easy. | Sir Alberic sat astride his white derrier on the open field beside his village. He stood alone; none of the villagers dared stand near him. All feared the dragon that would surely come to devour Sir Alberic. He scoffed at the idea. He couldn't really fault his peasants; of course they believed in dragons, they were brought up with tales of them since childhood and no-one ever bothered to tell them that they're just fairy tales. Sir Alberic would just have to show them that just like the elves and fairies and ghosts and whatnot the dragon would not be real. Everything could be explained by natural phenomenons, this would be no different.
Sir Alberic would wait out here until sunset, and then ride into the village and show the villagers that he was still undevoured, and then explain to them - again - that dragons were not real.
It was at this point that the dragon showed itself. It flew out of the nearby woods, emerging as a great shadow, its great wingspan blotting out the sun. It made a straight line towards Sir Alberic, and landed before him. Sir Alberic's desterier tried to bolt away in a panic, and it took all of Sir Alberic's skill to keep the horse from bucking him. The dragon leaned down it's great maw towards Sir Alberic, and grinned at him. "Who is it who stands so bravely before Craxigor the Mighty?" it spoke.
"My name is Sir Alberic," said Sir Alberic. "And you are not real!"
"Not real?" Craxigor said. "Do you not see the evidence before your eyes, human? Tell me, why do you not flee like the others?"
"I have no need to flee, because you are imaginary," Sir Alberic replied quite calmly. "And as for the so called 'evidence', it can all be explained by natural phenomena."
"Natural phenomena?" Craxigor asked. "But, I'm standing right before you!"
"A mere trick of the light." Sir Alberic replied.
"But, you're hearing my voice, aren't you?" Craxigor asked.
"Merely the wind whispering through the trees."
"But, but... I'm right here!" Craxigor protested. "How can I not be real when I'm right here? I'm pretty sure I'm real!"
"Well I'm pretty sure you're not," Sir Alberic replied. "Besides, have you ever really tested if you're real or not?"
"I... I guess I haven't" Craxigor said.
"Well there you go," Sir Albric said. "Why don't you prove you're real first, and then come back after you've done that."
"I... I guess I'll do that." A thoroughly befuddeled Craxigor replied. The great dragon then spread its wings and took off back where it came from again. Sir Alberic watched it depart, and then gave a self-satisfied nod. He then rounded his desterier, and made his way to the village, where he would once again explain to the inhabitants that dragons are not real. | I'm eating breakfast at the castle when a swarm of peasants run in the door. I hear them first, with my back being to them. 'Where is he?' 'I don't know, they said he was right here' 'Oh, there he is!' I hear them approach me and think, 'not me. Not me. Please. God, just let me finish my hangover breakfast in peace' as they clamor and stampede directly towards me. I hurriedly swallow my egg with tomato, take a big bite of sausage, and wash it down with orange juice before spinning around to face the unruly mob. 'Aye? And what do you seek from me?' I give them my best glower. That gives them pause. They stand around and whisper amongst themselves for a minute, before a large, black-haired fellow with arms the size of bridges and a voice deeper than the King's pushes his way through the crowd with as little effort as I use to mount my horse. ' Lad, there's a dragon about. He burned down my shop, and he ate Tom's son' To which, my only reply could be laughter. 'Hahahahahaha' this made the man very angry. 'What are ye laughing fer? There's a dragon abouts, lad! And it's yer job to slay it!' 'Why don't ye slay te damn thing? You've got the muscle fer it!' I returned to my breakfast.'Hey!' The big man pushed me, clearly only using a fraction of his strength but enough to make me feel it. 'I said, there's a dragon abouts. Now, aren't you gonna do something?' And i said,'yes. I'm going to finish my breakfast, and have a nap.' The big man said,'Sonny, I'm a blacksmith, and i notice your armors old and ill-fitting. We both know that, in battle, that'll git ye killed. So, if you slay the dragon, I'll make you a new set of armor, top shelf iron, tailor made.' Picturing in my head a red paper shell with metal framing made up in the shape of a dragon, i said, against my better judgement, 'deal. I'll go show you that the 'dragon' is just a prank made by one of yer ilk, and you make me a brand-spankin'-new set of armor, no expense spared.' This time, the blacksmith laughed.'Hahahahaha oh, it's a real dragon, alright. Here, ill show you where it was last seen.' 'Oh, there's going to be tracking involved? Well, I'll need my guy, Zackarias.' And so, I recruited my guy, Zackarias, an expert with bows, tracking, and all that outdoorsy nonsense. Personally, I'm more or less muscle wrapped in steel. Just a knight, part of an army. Why the peasants chose me out of all the available knights, I'll never know. But choose me, they did, and I'll not do the job without Zackarias. And Zackarias wouldn't do the job without an entertainer/adviser to the King, who insisted on the title of 'Wizard'. Apparently they're trusted friends or some such. I don't put stock in him, but, as long as Zackarias can track the alleged beast, i can slay it. Then, presumably, Wizard Im-So-Special-The-King-Trusts-My-Word-Over-His-Military-Advisors will entertain us with parlor tricks. The blacksmith showed us the places the dragon was allegedly sighted, and we were left on a wild goose chase through the woods. That was three weeks ago. Now, we're out of food, high in the mountains, and Zackarias won't let us turn around. 'Im telling you, it's just some kids with a fancy for paper and wire. Nothing will come of it.' To which, Zackarias replied, 'Did you see the smoking ruin of Blacksmith Xanders shop?' And I said, 'blacksmiths burn down their shops more than the Pope tells lies.' He pressed on.' And the footprint?' I knew he would bring this up. 'Just a carving pressed into the dirt' still, he argued. 'What about all the eyewitness sightings?' 'Oh, cut the bologna, Zackarias. Just last week, forty peasants told me they saw two giants making the beast with two backs.' Mr Im-So-Fancy-I-Do-Childrens-Shows-For-The-King laughed. 'And maybe they did. Giants, dragons, demons are all regular sightings around the countryside. Why, I can't believe you've never seen one.' I hemmed and hawed and decided to put on my best stone-cold killer face and keep quiet. I've got a great one, being that i am, in fact, a stone-cold killer. I've killed many enemies of the King. Peasants, traders, enemy knights. I've killed more people than meals I've eaten. Well, no, i haven't. Just then, a real, honest to God dragon landed not ten feet from us. I drew steel and ran at it. It belched fire, and I tucked and rolled left. It blew fire again and I rolled right. Suddenly, there was an arrow sticking out of its eye. 'Ow! Frick! Why'd you do that? What is the meaning of this? Frick frick frick that really hurts, you guys' I stopped dead in my tracks. 'Wha- hold on a second. Zackarias!' 'Yes?' 'Ow! Ow! Ouchie!' 'You! Dragon! Shut it! Zackarias, was there a report of-' 'owie! What did you do that for? Owie!' '-the dragon eating people?' 'Um, yes, there was.' I walked up to the dragon, slid my longsword between its scales, and thrust. The dragon slumped. I grabbed a scale, as souvenir. So did Mr.Im-so-fance-i-brought-a-whole-chest. That blacksmith had better make me the best damn suit of armor in the world for this. | |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand. | "Um...", should he be contradicting the teacher?! "Professor Flhuuhlhah, I appreciate your work to champion my species, really. I mean, me being here is proof of that. But... still..."
"You must free your mind from this colonial mind-set. Humans are just as worthy."
"I know I know, but, there have been so many attacks on extratourists on Earth. Some *really* violent crap."
"Extratourism is still evolving on your planet, there is always an adjustment period."
"They shut it down in the USA because too many shootings. Then the mobs shot up the embassies because the tourism money stopped flowing. Bunch of stupid boneheaded..."
"They are your people Roger, they deserve the..."
"KILL US! KILL US ALL! WIPE US OUT BEFORE WE FUCK UP THE GALAXY!"
"Well, OK, maybe Texas." | Why did your parents sign you up for this? You hadn’t wanted to go to this dumb school for the universe anyway. Both famous scientists at NASA, they had always found alien life fascinating. When Dr. Vonclair discovered that almost all planets have life, it’s just that a special element from far away was needed for us to be aware of them, they were thrilled. And 20 years later, when you were 16, and NASA announced its, “SCHOOL OF THE STARS” program, you accepted defeat before they proposed it. When they got home they said you were going. However, you who just wanted to photograph the world and write about it, thought, it couldn’t be all that bad, could it? Oh, why did you jinx it.
5 months later
It was ten minutes away from the bell. Why. Couldn’t it be two? This entire class was your professor explaining how great humans were. Sure. You just kept quiet, because really, the less you spoke, the quicker you could leave. “And that class” concluded the professor, “is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?”
You really should give yourself more credit. You tried. You really did. But you just couldn’t hold it in. After that, you burst out laughing. “Nate?” The professor asked, “what’s wrong.” You tried to explain this to him every day, but he practically worshipped humans. Most ambronites did. In your class there were 3 ambronites, including the teacher. All of them felt the same way. Needless to say you tried again to explain. “There are many examples of the bad stuff going on on our planet. We trick, decieve, lie, hurt, and hate. Trust me, we humans are far from perfect.” The teacher countered, as usual. “Then why” he said, “have humans been so nice to all of space. They even let all the planets leaders, except for their own come here in peace.” You thought. Then you said “to be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were going to invade, hold the universe leaders hostage, and try to claim power.” Your professor looked outraged. “Would not! That’s completely uncalled for!” “Sure they would” you said. The argument was cut short by ever speaker in the building turning on. Over the speakers, a voice spoke “bring all the universe leaders to the main cabin.” You opened up the window to the space hatch, and saw a spaceship of human design. All the world leaders were in it, attempting to take over the universes leaders, and hold them hostage. You see a large bomb drift out of the ship and float towards where the universe leaders were. Or kill them, you think. Looking at your professor, who’s in shock, you say “ told you so” and jump out the space hatch, without a spacesuit into the vastness of space.
In zero g, the bomb floats slowly. You push off the ship walls the creeping cold of space closing in. If only you can reach the bomb in time. As the bomb is about to reach your ship you stop it and turn it around, as oxygen leaves your body. You see the bomb go flying towards the earthship. As your eyes close, you see the earthship, with all its world leaders in it, explode. Turning around, you feel the cold seep into your body, and see the universe leaders ship safe. You know that they will care for the world appropriately. Fading into death, you smile. At least you went out with a purpose. Your eyes close, and don’t open again. | |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand. | As the professor's words hung in the air, Andy looked around the class room. A group of Rovallian Crodurs, a species famed for eating their young during times of celebration, sat hunched together in the back. Slumped in a desk across from him sat an enormous Bullmali male, his giant horns nearly touching the ceiling - they had an unpredictable tendency to gore anyone or anything at anytime. And scattered in the seats ahead was a motley collection of Floridanians - weren't they the ones who destroyed an entire planet because the ruler's ex-wife happened to live there?
Andy put his hand down. | Why did your parents sign you up for this? You hadn’t wanted to go to this dumb school for the universe anyway. Both famous scientists at NASA, they had always found alien life fascinating. When Dr. Vonclair discovered that almost all planets have life, it’s just that a special element from far away was needed for us to be aware of them, they were thrilled. And 20 years later, when you were 16, and NASA announced its, “SCHOOL OF THE STARS” program, you accepted defeat before they proposed it. When they got home they said you were going. However, you who just wanted to photograph the world and write about it, thought, it couldn’t be all that bad, could it? Oh, why did you jinx it.
5 months later
It was ten minutes away from the bell. Why. Couldn’t it be two? This entire class was your professor explaining how great humans were. Sure. You just kept quiet, because really, the less you spoke, the quicker you could leave. “And that class” concluded the professor, “is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?”
You really should give yourself more credit. You tried. You really did. But you just couldn’t hold it in. After that, you burst out laughing. “Nate?” The professor asked, “what’s wrong.” You tried to explain this to him every day, but he practically worshipped humans. Most ambronites did. In your class there were 3 ambronites, including the teacher. All of them felt the same way. Needless to say you tried again to explain. “There are many examples of the bad stuff going on on our planet. We trick, decieve, lie, hurt, and hate. Trust me, we humans are far from perfect.” The teacher countered, as usual. “Then why” he said, “have humans been so nice to all of space. They even let all the planets leaders, except for their own come here in peace.” You thought. Then you said “to be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were going to invade, hold the universe leaders hostage, and try to claim power.” Your professor looked outraged. “Would not! That’s completely uncalled for!” “Sure they would” you said. The argument was cut short by ever speaker in the building turning on. Over the speakers, a voice spoke “bring all the universe leaders to the main cabin.” You opened up the window to the space hatch, and saw a spaceship of human design. All the world leaders were in it, attempting to take over the universes leaders, and hold them hostage. You see a large bomb drift out of the ship and float towards where the universe leaders were. Or kill them, you think. Looking at your professor, who’s in shock, you say “ told you so” and jump out the space hatch, without a spacesuit into the vastness of space.
In zero g, the bomb floats slowly. You push off the ship walls the creeping cold of space closing in. If only you can reach the bomb in time. As the bomb is about to reach your ship you stop it and turn it around, as oxygen leaves your body. You see the bomb go flying towards the earthship. As your eyes close, you see the earthship, with all its world leaders in it, explode. Turning around, you feel the cold seep into your body, and see the universe leaders ship safe. You know that they will care for the world appropriately. Fading into death, you smile. At least you went out with a purpose. Your eyes close, and don’t open again. | |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand. | As the professor's words hung in the air, Andy looked around the class room. A group of Rovallian Crodurs, a species famed for eating their young during times of celebration, sat hunched together in the back. Slumped in a desk across from him sat an enormous Bullmali male, his giant horns nearly touching the ceiling - they had an unpredictable tendency to gore anyone or anything at anytime. And scattered in the seats ahead was a motley collection of Floridanians - weren't they the ones who destroyed an entire planet because the ruler's ex-wife happened to live there?
Andy put his hand down. | "Um...", should he be contradicting the teacher?! "Professor Flhuuhlhah, I appreciate your work to champion my species, really. I mean, me being here is proof of that. But... still..."
"You must free your mind from this colonial mind-set. Humans are just as worthy."
"I know I know, but, there have been so many attacks on extratourists on Earth. Some *really* violent crap."
"Extratourism is still evolving on your planet, there is always an adjustment period."
"They shut it down in the USA because too many shootings. Then the mobs shot up the embassies because the tourism money stopped flowing. Bunch of stupid boneheaded..."
"They are your people Roger, they deserve the..."
"KILL US! KILL US ALL! WIPE US OUT BEFORE WE FUCK UP THE GALAXY!"
"Well, OK, maybe Texas." | |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand. | Sighing the professor answers yet another one of my requests, begrudgingly asking me, "Yes, Madeline, what now?" "Professor, have you ever actually met a human" you say trying not to reveal your true identity, hoping that my classmates are oblivious. "Why, of course not, they were wrongfully murdered by the Acodiles, this is basic history, if you don't know that then I don't think that you should BE in college" he replied snarkily, hoping to get one on me for once in his pitiful existence. "Well I do sir, but didn't they destroy their entire planet despite clear warnings, did they not wage useless wars all to prove one nations superiority, did they not murder their own species to prove a point casually and fail to carry out justice for those wrongfully killed" SIT DOWN Ms. Doris! Right this instant!" But sir-" "Stop it right now!" "No professor, you stop spreading these lies, they were a cruel, sadistic species who were unnecesarily violent to their own kind and you and I both know that they were NOT killed by the Acodiles, they were the scapegoat, yet you choose to naively follow the propaganda fed to you, knowing that the people you love so much commited genocide, but at least they were deserving, Huh. So that the murderous soldiers wouldn't feel so bad about mass murder. Stop spreading these lies" you say storming out of your classroom, not wanting to deal with your professor's lecture and students hateful glares. | "Yes?" the professor asked.
"What about *them*?"
The professor looked at me, puzzled. "You seem to be gesturing to the rest of the class."
"I mean, I am. Gesturing to the rest of the class. They look just like me. If we had sex -- I mean, if they hadn't been given the treatment -- we could have children."
A brief moment of horror crossed the professor's face. Or maybe it was disgust. It finally settled back into his 'teachable moment' face. "These are not human."
"If they aren't human, what are they?" The rest of the class shifted, clearly uncomfortable with my line of questioning.
"They are the Lesser, of course!"
My anger started to thrum in my veins. I took a deep breath to recenter myself. "What makes them Lesser? They're just as human as I am."
The professor removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he put them back on, he asked, "What makes you so certain of that? Have you talked with any of them?"
"Well, n-no," I stammered. "I mean, not really. Not at any length."
The professor's face had shifted to one of alarm. "But you have," he hissed. "You talked to *them*. You've found out who they are, what they secretly want." His glare bored into me. "You think they're not Lesser." I watched, silently, as he reached under his desk.
When the two goons from the Republican Peace Enforcers came, I fought as they dragged me away. | |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand. | As the professor's words hung in the air, Andy looked around the class room. A group of Rovallian Crodurs, a species famed for eating their young during times of celebration, sat hunched together in the back. Slumped in a desk across from him sat an enormous Bullmali male, his giant horns nearly touching the ceiling - they had an unpredictable tendency to gore anyone or anything at anytime. And scattered in the seats ahead was a motley collection of Floridanians - weren't they the ones who destroyed an entire planet because the ruler's ex-wife happened to live there?
Andy put his hand down. | "Yes?" the professor asked.
"What about *them*?"
The professor looked at me, puzzled. "You seem to be gesturing to the rest of the class."
"I mean, I am. Gesturing to the rest of the class. They look just like me. If we had sex -- I mean, if they hadn't been given the treatment -- we could have children."
A brief moment of horror crossed the professor's face. Or maybe it was disgust. It finally settled back into his 'teachable moment' face. "These are not human."
"If they aren't human, what are they?" The rest of the class shifted, clearly uncomfortable with my line of questioning.
"They are the Lesser, of course!"
My anger started to thrum in my veins. I took a deep breath to recenter myself. "What makes them Lesser? They're just as human as I am."
The professor removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he put them back on, he asked, "What makes you so certain of that? Have you talked with any of them?"
"Well, n-no," I stammered. "I mean, not really. Not at any length."
The professor's face had shifted to one of alarm. "But you have," he hissed. "You talked to *them*. You've found out who they are, what they secretly want." His glare bored into me. "You think they're not Lesser." I watched, silently, as he reached under his desk.
When the two goons from the Republican Peace Enforcers came, I fought as they dragged me away. | |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand. | "Is it really alright for me to be here?"
Faces turned. Attention slid from the digital black board to her. A thousand eyes in a dozen faces, knowing, amused. She saw herself refracted in them, multiplied, stacked.
"Why yes, of course it is!" the professor said, mandibles clicking. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"I just never expected it to happen," she said, glancing at the desk in front of her. She caught herself in her own shyness and looked up, finding her resolute expression mimicked by the thousand mirror images staring back from those eyes. "But I'm grateful for the opportunity. I'll do my best, sir."
An excited buzz escaped the professor. He leaned in, academic curiosity in each of his eyes. "A rare honor to attend this Academy, yes. But never fear. The queen has requested you in this matter. She wanted you to listen in on this specific class, and she will want to speak with you on it later."
She froze. "The queen will talk to me?"
"Oh yes. In a manner of speaking."
The buzzing around her grew stronger. Were some of those eyes leering at her?
She still did not understand fully. They had taken her from the show rooms she was used to -- the specular cinematic event chambers they were all so used to -- and brought her up here, to this lecture on the human race, uplifted, ascended, grateful. No need for work. No fear of pain. A blissful eternity laid out for humanity, making them indeed the most docile species in all the universe.
And yet, now and then they brought someone up here. To study them? To have them interact?
In any case, a small price to pay for the heaven that had been built. So she went with them, from hall to hall, wondering why they kept watching her, each eye following her in turn.
She and the professor arrived at an elevator. He was close. The fine hairs on his thin limbs rose, stroking her arm. He leaned even closer, and again she saw herself. "Mhhh, yes, yes," the professor said. "Very good. You are ready. Go, this elevator will take you up to the queen."
When she exited, she had only a second to take in the sweet cloying smell, to see the larvae and eggs peopling the hall, to gaze at the queen in all her majestic terror, before a spike drove upwards through her heart. She died in an instant. A set of workers dragged her corpse to the queen, whose stomach opened wide, baring a mouth made of receding circles of sharp teeth, dripping with saliva. The workers tipped the corpse into the mouth, which ground the bones, tore at flesh and skin.
The elevator dinged. The professor entered, a-buzz at the spectacle. "Is it to your liking, my queen?"
A satisfied moan escaped the queen. Only the corpse's feet were visible now, the rest of the body having vanished deep into the folds of the queen's stomach.
Above the terrible mouth of the stomach, a second, smaller one opened. "Much better," it said. "What have you done differently?"
"It is their curiosity, my queen," the professor said. "Intellectual work tenderizes them."
"Mhh." The corpse's feet were gone. The lower mouth closed. A shoe lay at the base of the queen's bed. "Have more of them ready. Tomorrow I will entertain guests."
"As you wish."
With a flourish, the professor turned. There was much to plan, and little time. For now, having more of them attend his mock lectures would suffice. But later, once the initial need had been satisfied, he would see to it that humanity received more education. A grand program, spread across all specular chambers.
Mandibles clicking in excitement, the professor stepped into the elevator. | "Yes?" the professor asked.
"What about *them*?"
The professor looked at me, puzzled. "You seem to be gesturing to the rest of the class."
"I mean, I am. Gesturing to the rest of the class. They look just like me. If we had sex -- I mean, if they hadn't been given the treatment -- we could have children."
A brief moment of horror crossed the professor's face. Or maybe it was disgust. It finally settled back into his 'teachable moment' face. "These are not human."
"If they aren't human, what are they?" The rest of the class shifted, clearly uncomfortable with my line of questioning.
"They are the Lesser, of course!"
My anger started to thrum in my veins. I took a deep breath to recenter myself. "What makes them Lesser? They're just as human as I am."
The professor removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he put them back on, he asked, "What makes you so certain of that? Have you talked with any of them?"
"Well, n-no," I stammered. "I mean, not really. Not at any length."
The professor's face had shifted to one of alarm. "But you have," he hissed. "You talked to *them*. You've found out who they are, what they secretly want." His glare bored into me. "You think they're not Lesser." I watched, silently, as he reached under his desk.
When the two goons from the Republican Peace Enforcers came, I fought as they dragged me away. | |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand. | “Your species, Joshua, has the potential for happiness, because of their innate characteristics to remain tranquil under adversity and to adapt to situations when the time comes.”
Joshua admired Professor Bogart, a descendant of the horned frog family, lecturer of the new humanities and chief engineer of the desalination plants of the Gulf of Mexico. Since the adaptation and coexistence of frog and man, frogs quickly found their place in political discourse and media, working twice as hard as their human counterparts to advance their interests, and began pushing for policies that would transform the country into its prior state of a disgusting, urban sprawl into a giant, heavenly marsh, under several mini domes, which would serve the needs of everyone. Humanity could have pockets to farm on, while all would work together creating domes that would regulate the climate and ensure survival for all.
Professor Bogart worked his way up the ladder the only way he knew how. Although he was in the top 5 percent of his class, he ate the other 7 students in front of him,making him the class valedictorian and eventually going on to graduate school to earn his masters and PhD.
In addition to being the chief engineer of desalination in the Gulf, he works with the Office of Land Management and Human Affairs to monitor human population. Although he has an affinity for people, he knows they need to be guided to their full potential, which is generally out of the way, farming or working the plants.
Joshua came from an agricultural family, but felt called to work in the plants. This however, required a university degree, and there weren’t many humans admitted into the universities anymore.
Instead of wasting time with hacks like Keats or learning about humanities struggles in the past, the humanities were now centered around understanding their role in the new world and how to adapt in a changing world. This helped not only humans discover who they truly are, but also helped their frog counterparts interact with them in a productive way.
“Humans must find a way to express their contentment for the world around them, lest they get eaten by a frog.”
“Frogs must find a way to guide their human friends to success by reminding them of the world they are building, and my friends, without humanity, our domes will never be complete, and our seas won’t be desalinated fast enough to guarantee our survival”, Professor Bogart reminded the class.
“Professor Bogart?” Joshua raised his hand.
“Yes, Joshua?”
Joshua began to craft his words in his head in a way that would get him both praise and escape punishment from his mentor.
“How….do...we find peace in the middle of adversity? I know it’s in my nature to do so, but sometimes I don’t always feel it.”
Professor Bogart, wondering if Joshua has the capabilities to defect or not, just says simply “It’s within your reachJoshua, never let your power or potential escape you, and always do your best. Remember the maxims of your species!”
“Thank you, professor. I will succeed, if I don’t at first.”
Joshua pondered what that meant in the context of the world around him. He had a busy night ahead, and strived to stay focused, disciplined and alert for the long night ahead with Professor Bogart at the plant.
After class, Joshua walked a few miles to the plant, and began to clock in. He walked towards the elevator and as he opened the door, he was pushed down to the ground. When he looked up, he saw a woman wearing a ski mask, black clothes and holding a potato cannon.
She dragged him into the elevator and he reached for the alarm. She tried to stop him but couldn't, and the bells went off. When they made it to the third floor, they were greeted by security and he screamed for their help.
She fired the potato cannon in their direction, which was full of brine from the salination chambers, immediately killing the two frog security guards.
Joshua, in a state of internal panic, didn’t know what to do or say. He tried to stay calm and docile, as he had been taught.
“Why did you do that?” He asked her.
“You idiot, they’re killing all of us, and you want to help them end us?”
“I just want what is right for my family, and for those around me to have a better life?”
“By ensuring our extinction? At some point, they aren’t going to need you anymore, once this is all built, and you will be food for their flies, how is that going to help your family?”
“Just leave me alone, and let me do my job!”
The alarms kept going off. Professor Bogart, ran to the security room and saw Joshua and the woman standing above the two dehydrated security guards and got onto the intercom.
“You are to both turn yourselves in at once. Joshua, I thought you better than this, but you are no better than the rest of the defectors, who have given up your life’s purpose. You will be executed tomorrow, as well as your terrorist friend.”
“I had nothing to do with this!”
“It’s too late for that. I’m calling security and you and this terrorist friend of yours will be tried.”
She looks at him. “You can stay here and die, or you can come with me and take your chances with us.”
“What about my family? Everything I worked for?”
“The end would have been the same either way, they will kill your family, just as they did mine and my friends. Please, don’t be an idiot and come with me. You’re dead either way, so let’s just prolong it a little while longer”
Joshua didn’t know what to do. He knew the right thing to do would be to subject himself to the frogs, stay calm, docile, and see that it was just a mistake, but he knew that it was too late for that.
He is now a marked terrorist, who can’t provide for his family. Although he was always trying to get the mercy of the frogs, she was right. At some point, they would kill him, and perhaps his family as well.
He went with her, but loathed the freedom that he was giving up. She loaded more brine into her potato cannon and they climbed down a utility elevator and made it back to the first floor. As they made it down, they saw security chasing them.
“We have to run towards the fence, after that, we can swim to my boat. They will chase us, but they will be out of their element, in the ocean”
As they ran towards the fence, 6 frogs screamed and began hopping towards them rapidly. She lit a match, set the ground on fire and shot more brine in their direction as a deterrent so they could get away.
It worked. Joshua, for the first time, felt a sigh of relief as he began to get away from the frogs, although uncertain. He found a certain freedom in being a fugitive, but had no idea what waited for him.
For once, he felt something other than wanting to cooperate, he wanted to be free. These thoughts weren’t his, they were that of his captors, and he wanted something better than what was given to him.
The end | "Yes?" the professor asked.
"What about *them*?"
The professor looked at me, puzzled. "You seem to be gesturing to the rest of the class."
"I mean, I am. Gesturing to the rest of the class. They look just like me. If we had sex -- I mean, if they hadn't been given the treatment -- we could have children."
A brief moment of horror crossed the professor's face. Or maybe it was disgust. It finally settled back into his 'teachable moment' face. "These are not human."
"If they aren't human, what are they?" The rest of the class shifted, clearly uncomfortable with my line of questioning.
"They are the Lesser, of course!"
My anger started to thrum in my veins. I took a deep breath to recenter myself. "What makes them Lesser? They're just as human as I am."
The professor removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he put them back on, he asked, "What makes you so certain of that? Have you talked with any of them?"
"Well, n-no," I stammered. "I mean, not really. Not at any length."
The professor's face had shifted to one of alarm. "But you have," he hissed. "You talked to *them*. You've found out who they are, what they secretly want." His glare bored into me. "You think they're not Lesser." I watched, silently, as he reached under his desk.
When the two goons from the Republican Peace Enforcers came, I fought as they dragged me away. |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.