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[WP] You live in a small farming village where people live their worryless lives. Little do the villagers know, countless armies have tried to invade it, but all invasion attempts have failed because of one deciding factor. You, the retired demon lord is living in that village. | A messenger rode for the village, bearing a letter. The village was quaint to be sure, and despite bordering no less than three kingdoms lacked even a palisade to protect it from invaders. He approached one of the villagers and asked to speak to whoever was in charge, and was directed to the village elder. The messenger handed him the letter, which read as follows:
>Attention peasants,
>I approach with an army ten thousand strong, preparing to invade the heinous King Falstar's land. You have the good fortune of being the first of my annexations, so we shall allow you to simply surrender without so much as a change in leadership, so long as you provide my men with provisions and housing while we march through your hamlet. Refuse my generous offer, and we shall take the supplies by force and imprison all who resist.
>Signed,
>Lord Marin Montanagro
As the elder reached the end of the page, a bit pale seeing that he was being asked to feed and house an army more than twenty times the size of the village, I entered the room. I kept a careful eye on things, so I had known when the messenger entered immediately, but I thought it would make for a better entrance to wait until the letter had been delivered. Everyone jumped as the door slammed open, but I entered at a calm pace appropriate for someone my age.
To the eyes of a dissociated onlooker, I probably didn't cut an imposing figure. Five foot seven inches, with a slight limp, even my assistant looked like more of a threat at a glance. Still, I approached the messenger, and the elder handed me the letter. I made a show of looking at it, even though I already knew what it said. My audience consisted of only the elder, the messenger, and my assistant, but I didn't need a big audience to make an impact.
"You should tell Lord Montanagro to reconsider, this village does not participate in the war games of petty kings," I said.
"Reconsider?!?!" The messenger said, completely dumbfounded, "We have ten thousand men, all well armed and fighting fit! An unfortified village with a population less than five hundred would be wiped out in an instant!"
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Vascarian, care to inform our guest?" I said.
My assistant leaned over and whispered in the messenger's ear. His eyes went wide as he started to realize who he was talking to.
"Demon Lord Iscar? Iscar the Exterminator? I thought he was dead..." the messenger said, stammering a bit.
I chuckled a bit. It seemed my reputation still hadn't dried up. "The rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated, partly so my son wouldn't face trouble with his ascension to the throne. I assure you, my body may be a little past its prime but my magic is more potent than ever." A few sparks crackled between my fingers. "Now then, I will make things simple: Come here with ten thousand men, and you will lose ten thousand men. And if I send one letter out of here to inform my son Falstar of your plans, the retribution will be suitably... harsh."
"Lord Montanagro won't back down to threats" the messenger said, though I could see him quaking a bit.
"Then his family tree will be trimmed to its very roots, and he can look forward to the loving accommodations of the underworld for the rest of his natural life. I'm told the eternal screaming of tortured souls is lovely this time of year."
"I will... Inform Lord Montanagro at once, sir..." the messenger said, starting toward the door without taking his eyes off me. Vascarian opened the door for him and he sprinted for his horse before riding away, several of the local farmers watching him with some confusion. If this Lord Montanagro had half a brain, that would be the last we heard of invasion from them. Suffice to say, I told Vascarian to send a letter to my son and started to draw up plans to wipe out the army. | I wonder how my fellow villagers would react if they knew my identity. Sure, I used to be a demon lord. Yes, I required human sacrifices every seven years or I'd get a bit miffed and send a firestorm to ravage the land. But that was the old me. Now I just want to enjoy my golden years. And I chose this sleepy little farming village for that.
Irritatingly, something about my presence seems to draw the attention of would-be invaders. I can't really explain it, it must be my magnetic personality.
Anyway, so over the years I've been retired in this little village, there have been many armies who've attempted to make this little hamlet their own. Now of course, I could just leave them to it. After all, there are countless other villages I could retire to. But that's just too much effort. I have roots here now - quite literally. Besides, I'm fond of the village and it's people. Not in the sense that I care for them as living creatures - I am a demon overlord, after all - but in the way that a child might care about a stamp collection. That child doesn't consider the stamp collection as their equal, or even anywhere in the same realm of worldly importance as themselves, but if someone were to destroy that collection - well, it would make the child furious. That is how I feel whenever some pathetic mortal army threatens my little stamp collection.
Of course, the residents of the village don't know just how close they've come to a grisly end, or how often. But needless to say, I now have a large collection of mortal armies in my sack. It makes for a lovely little show and tell when the other demons come over for tea every Saturday.
They especially love the endless screaming. | |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. |
I was deceived. I don’t know when I first realized it.
The devil promised me heaven if I helped restore the natural balance. It was the will of God he said. I don’t why I accepted the offer. Perhaps after living a life of war I feared where I might end up. Perhaps I trusted this was the natural order and it was the right thing to do. Most likely those were just excuses, excuses like any other war I helped wage. It was my pride, and regardless of the consequences I didn’t want to turn down the greatest of all campaigns.
I was deceived, perhaps this deception began before death.
I brought destruction in the name of peace across the Earth. I made the wrong men rich and took from the righteous everything. I lived long enough to see the world burn. Yet in death it was not remorse for the suffering I had caused which plagued my final thoughts. It the agony of knowing that I had not achieved my final victory. I was never righteous myself, although my ego convinced me that I was.
I was deceived, blinded by ambition.
I remember very little of the time before my death. But the smell of sulfur, and the screams that surround me now are allow me to reminisce of destruction that comes to me in fleeting moments of memory. The devil could have easily handled this on his own. He wanted to twist me, and he was willing to sacrifice hell to do so.
I was deceived. I should have realized when the first of the dictators fell. It was easy.
The dictators’ tactics were outdated. It seems creativity is the power of the divine and none of my opponents were able of devising anything original. It was nothing sort of ecstasy to best the greatest tacticians in history. Yet as my armies marched across hell... despite victory after victory, that one failed victory in life has become all consuming. If I still needed to sleep, it would keep me up.
I was deceived with an itch that could never be scratched.
I continue the push in the name of Lucifer. I crave for the next battle, the domination of those which stand to oppose to me. He just stands there, behind me smiling. Perhaps I was meant for more. Perhaps my true glory, my satisfaction, was... was stolen the moment I accepted this crusade. Perhaps it was stolen long before that.
I was deceived. It’s clear to me now.
And here I stand at the Gates of Heaven with three million strong and the final victory finally in grasp.
I was deceived. I don’t know when I first stopped caring. | Sputtering the last of the North Sea's water from my now useless lungs I look at the Devil, "You did this."
"I did," he casually admits. He sweeps his arm towards the gates of Hell. They are fire and smoke, as expected, but now they are festooned with the symbols and flags of the most heinous men in history.
"Take care of this for me," Old Scratch says, "and I will be in your debt."
I stare at him incredulously for a moment weighing the possibilities, contemplating whether I could rip his head off his body and turn his skull into a drinking mug. Contemplating if Hell might be made my own kingdom, the one desire denied me in life.
I look at the gates of hell, and back to the devil, I sigh in resignation. It could never truly be mine, his taint would always be upon it.
"Fine," I growl, and rolling up my sleeves I turn. Stalking towards the gates I pick up the thigh bone of some long-dead Leviathan.
"... wait here, I'll be right back."
Last entry, personal diary - Lord Earl Kitchener. | |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. | A sea of sad faces surrounded the once greatest mind the military had to offer. He was responsible for so many key victories in Iraq and Afghanistan and at the end of his life General Mattis had no regrets.
"Sleep well devil dog may the angels of god escort you into heaven." The large priest who spoke closed the bible and sighed as The general took his last breath and passed.
James Mattis stood stock still, his translucent form much younger than when he died. A large angel stood next to him and spoke with a powerful voice, "Come great general, our father wishes for you to come to heaven."
Mattis just nodded and fell in behind the great angel. As they began walking towards the light a suddenly jet of black smoke spilled into the area creeping across the ground.
The smoke quickly began to form into a person. The angel stepped in front of Mattis ready to protect him when suddenly the smoky figure spoke.
"General Mattis. Your legendary feats are heard about even in hell. I find myself in need of your help."
The smoke was starting to clear and a bruised and battered Lucifer stood in front of them in all his glory. The angel howled and charged the once dark prince. Lucifer didn't even take his eyes off of the general when he back handed the angel away.
"Attila the Hun has taken over my kingdom," Lucifer started. He strolled towards Mattis his red fists called up. " The son of a bitch said I couldn't bring the torture any more, that I was too old fashioned."
Lucifer spat on the ground before looking back at Mattis. " At first I was happy about. Our... Father created the place to be just as much my prison as it was for the evil souls of Earth."
The dark prince frowned at the generals silence. Perhaps he was wrong about him. However before he could say anything about the general spoke up.
"How many."
Lucifer was quiet for a few moments, his thoughts were all over the place and it took a crazy amount of effort to bring them in.
"Millions... Maybe billions, but they are ruled by one human. He now controls hell, but I am pretty sure the demons won't take kindly to their prisoners running the realm. "
General Mattis finally grinned before speaking, "Tell me how fast can you muster an army?"
| Sputtering the last of the North Sea's water from my now useless lungs I look at the Devil, "You did this."
"I did," he casually admits. He sweeps his arm towards the gates of Hell. They are fire and smoke, as expected, but now they are festooned with the symbols and flags of the most heinous men in history.
"Take care of this for me," Old Scratch says, "and I will be in your debt."
I stare at him incredulously for a moment weighing the possibilities, contemplating whether I could rip his head off his body and turn his skull into a drinking mug. Contemplating if Hell might be made my own kingdom, the one desire denied me in life.
I look at the gates of hell, and back to the devil, I sigh in resignation. It could never truly be mine, his taint would always be upon it.
"Fine," I growl, and rolling up my sleeves I turn. Stalking towards the gates I pick up the thigh bone of some long-dead Leviathan.
"... wait here, I'll be right back."
Last entry, personal diary - Lord Earl Kitchener. | |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. |
I was deceived. I don’t know when I first realized it.
The devil promised me heaven if I helped restore the natural balance. It was the will of God he said. I don’t why I accepted the offer. Perhaps after living a life of war I feared where I might end up. Perhaps I trusted this was the natural order and it was the right thing to do. Most likely those were just excuses, excuses like any other war I helped wage. It was my pride, and regardless of the consequences I didn’t want to turn down the greatest of all campaigns.
I was deceived, perhaps this deception began before death.
I brought destruction in the name of peace across the Earth. I made the wrong men rich and took from the righteous everything. I lived long enough to see the world burn. Yet in death it was not remorse for the suffering I had caused which plagued my final thoughts. It the agony of knowing that I had not achieved my final victory. I was never righteous myself, although my ego convinced me that I was.
I was deceived, blinded by ambition.
I remember very little of the time before my death. But the smell of sulfur, and the screams that surround me now are allow me to reminisce of destruction that comes to me in fleeting moments of memory. The devil could have easily handled this on his own. He wanted to twist me, and he was willing to sacrifice hell to do so.
I was deceived. I should have realized when the first of the dictators fell. It was easy.
The dictators’ tactics were outdated. It seems creativity is the power of the divine and none of my opponents were able of devising anything original. It was nothing sort of ecstasy to best the greatest tacticians in history. Yet as my armies marched across hell... despite victory after victory, that one failed victory in life has become all consuming. If I still needed to sleep, it would keep me up.
I was deceived with an itch that could never be scratched.
I continue the push in the name of Lucifer. I crave for the next battle, the domination of those which stand to oppose to me. He just stands there, behind me smiling. Perhaps I was meant for more. Perhaps my true glory, my satisfaction, was... was stolen the moment I accepted this crusade. Perhaps it was stolen long before that.
I was deceived. It’s clear to me now.
And here I stand at the Gates of Heaven with three million strong and the final victory finally in grasp.
I was deceived. I don’t know when I first stopped caring. | Novice writer, trying to get some practice in. Sadly didn't have time to edit.
_____
Dying sucked.
It's not nearly as pleasant or as peaceful as Hollywood makes it out to be, but that's not really why. Sure, the process was slow, drawn out, torturous, and somewhat anti-climactic and not something I'd recommend despite its eventual inevitability.
Credit where it's due; as such things go the IRS really isn't so bad after all.
It's not even the people I left behind, and that hurt more than anything. Mom always told me she'd haunt my ass if I died before her and knowing what this is putting her through just kills me. Yeah, I get it, I need to work on my idioms I guess but the idea that something so *stupid* is going to fuck her up so bad is painful.
That's bad, and makes me somewhat miserable in its own right, but, *sorry mom, I love you* it's not the worst thing.
The worst thing is that the planet is still at least *half* full of fuck-ups I didn't manage to kill before my time came up. There's too damn many of them that need killing and here I am, dead from a fucking infection.
What the myriad agents of oppression all around the world couldn't pull off in nearly two-odd decades of my professional career, some tiny-ass bacteria managed in under 10 days.
I mean, I guess I had to eventually die of something, but damn it, *I wasn't done yet.* Here I was, prematurely kicking it while my entire regiment of the best ass-kickers liberty ever had on her side was still waiting to finish the job. And here I was, off committing the worst sin of my abbreviated existence. I'd done something that General Vasquez wouldn't like; I'd gone off and *died* with the job not done and without her explicit permission.
To top it all off, the afterlife seemed like a pile of bullshit. This place turned my stomach. It was like an impossibly fancy office building that even the most shameless of DC bureaucrats would feel dirty walking into, with a smoke machine turned on. Seriously, clouds on the ground? Maybe the cliches have to come from somewhere but surely in the entire history of the universe they had a chance to be more creative.
"Fuck".
Not the most reverent of first words to have in my newfound post-life existence but it felt appropriate to the situation.
In the chamber before me was a series of chairs aligned in rows, filled with bored looking folk of various descriptions. Beyond the chairs was a series of mostly unoccupied desks, with one bored looking bespectacled fellow reviewing a document.
And immediately in front of me? A red device on a pedestal presenting a numbered ticket out of its little orofice.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
This is the afterlife, and I'm in a goddamn DMV.
I'm going to spend my eternity in hell and they don't even have the basic *fucking* common courtesy to just start the burning and be done with it. Whoever came up with this eternal punishment business was more creative than I could ever imagine.
The idea of an eternity at the mercy of whoever was behind *this* was almost as scary as General Vasquez' knife hand.
I took a ticket and found an empty seat.
A moderate forever later, what was (probably quite literally) the most bored voice in human history croaked out, "Twenty two.".
I felt the '76' on my ticket was smirking at me. The little shit.
Whatever, if my career prepared me for anything, it was waiting around doing nothing for oppressively bullshit reasons.
I felt like I lost my sense of time as I waited. There was no clock, and I had no schedule. Who knew how long I waited? I had no idea; I'd say it felt like an *eternity* if it didn't feel like I was tempting fate. Or something more malicious.
It almost caught me off guard when my number was finally called. I approached the desk.
"Hello, my name is Simon Peter, W-"
"Bullshit" I blurted.
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Look, if you're going to torture me for an eternity can't you just be forthright about it? Do we really have to keep up pretenses? There's no way in *hell* you're Saint Fucking Peter."
He looked amused. I wanted to punch him. "Well, I can't say this doesn't happen occasionally."
"*Occasionally*? Come on, this can't possibly be that hard to figure out. People are *pretty* fucking stupid but..."
"No, Mr Collins, I'm afraid you're mistaken. I am, in fact, the one often called 'Saint Peter' even if I personally don't like to claim the title."
I was unsold. I looked at him with complete skepticism.
"This whole setup", he gestured to the room, "is by design."
"I got that-"
"Please, Mr Collins, let me finish. Souls pass on, often in quite literally the most traumatic experience of their existence. They carry with them all of the baggage of their passing and any attachments they still have to the world are thoroughly inflamed. I wish it wasn't the case but it's fairly inherent to the process even given the best of circumstances. We need your souls at peace, else we cannot guide you to heaven."
I blinked. Was he serious?
"Yes, I'm serious."
Ok, that shit is creepy.
"No, I'm not reading your mind; anyone could have guessed what you were thinking from your face. The Big Man Upstairs is the omniscient one and, thankfully, that's not something He shares. Anyhow, the best way to calm one's passions is to put a soul in a situation of absurd boredom. The time it takes to calm down varies, but at the end the soul is so frustrated with waiting that they've purged the unhappy thoughts that followed them through their passing."
"I guess... that's pretty creative. So wait, I'm going to heaven then? Me?"
"Well, yes, you've earned as much if you so choose. But before you make that choice, we have someone you might want to meet with..." | |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. |
I was deceived. I don’t know when I first realized it.
The devil promised me heaven if I helped restore the natural balance. It was the will of God he said. I don’t why I accepted the offer. Perhaps after living a life of war I feared where I might end up. Perhaps I trusted this was the natural order and it was the right thing to do. Most likely those were just excuses, excuses like any other war I helped wage. It was my pride, and regardless of the consequences I didn’t want to turn down the greatest of all campaigns.
I was deceived, perhaps this deception began before death.
I brought destruction in the name of peace across the Earth. I made the wrong men rich and took from the righteous everything. I lived long enough to see the world burn. Yet in death it was not remorse for the suffering I had caused which plagued my final thoughts. It the agony of knowing that I had not achieved my final victory. I was never righteous myself, although my ego convinced me that I was.
I was deceived, blinded by ambition.
I remember very little of the time before my death. But the smell of sulfur, and the screams that surround me now are allow me to reminisce of destruction that comes to me in fleeting moments of memory. The devil could have easily handled this on his own. He wanted to twist me, and he was willing to sacrifice hell to do so.
I was deceived. I should have realized when the first of the dictators fell. It was easy.
The dictators’ tactics were outdated. It seems creativity is the power of the divine and none of my opponents were able of devising anything original. It was nothing sort of ecstasy to best the greatest tacticians in history. Yet as my armies marched across hell... despite victory after victory, that one failed victory in life has become all consuming. If I still needed to sleep, it would keep me up.
I was deceived with an itch that could never be scratched.
I continue the push in the name of Lucifer. I crave for the next battle, the domination of those which stand to oppose to me. He just stands there, behind me smiling. Perhaps I was meant for more. Perhaps my true glory, my satisfaction, was... was stolen the moment I accepted this crusade. Perhaps it was stolen long before that.
I was deceived. It’s clear to me now.
And here I stand at the Gates of Heaven with three million strong and the final victory finally in grasp.
I was deceived. I don’t know when I first stopped caring. | James couldn't help but give a belly laugh after hearing him out.
"It's not funny! Stop laughing!" the exacerbated figure growled. "Nobody laughs at me like that..."
James, wiping a tear from his eye, cocked his eyebrow at the figure. "Humbling experience, isn't it?"
The figure released a defeated sigh, "Humility is a sentiment I have rarely experienced. I can think of less than a handful of times...and twice in a two day period. This is too much..."
James cleared his throat, "Alright. I must say I am a bit awed that The Father of Lies himself would seek MY help. I mean, my body isn't even cold. Full disclosure, I was scared a bit shitless when you showed up 'to come get me'." James looked over, almost in a bit of a momentary daze, as the orderlies began rolling the hospital gurney out of the room. A white sheet covered the body on the gurney. Tufts of gray hair could be seen sticking out. It was, of course, James's body. A body James was now 'separated' from.
"Your wife will pick a blue suit for the funeral, reminds her of your eyes." the dark figure spoke in a hushed tone.
"Enough, enough...lets get down to business shall we?" James waved off. He then pulled the chair out from underneath the small wooden table in the hospital room. He sat down and threaded his fingers together and firmly placed his hands on the table before him; the very same pose he took when consulting with any client for the first time. James then motioned to the chair across the table from himself and resumed his pose. The dark figure took that as his cue to sit down.
James's gaze stayed locked on the dark figure, studying him. James, allowing some of the curiosity to escape in his voice, "I'm just amazed that THEY managed to outwit you. First off, I had no idea that Hell was a Constitutional Monarchy."
The figure smirked, and beamed with a bit of pride, "Well if you know anything about me, I 'thrive' by Contracts. And what is a Constitution if not another contract? The ultimate in Social Contracts."
"Ah." James nodded, "But I'm amazed. After how many thousands of years, They found a loophole to depose you?"
The dark figure growled a bit, "I thought it was Ironclad! Who would have thought...How could I..." The dark figure then pounded his fist on the table in anger. "This is why I need YOUR help. Whether you realize it or not, YOU are the most brilliant lawyer of your generation. I've observed your career with a watchful eye. I've seen you argue masterfully before the Supreme Court in your land with a tongue made of silver! And yet you managed to maintain a moral compass I rarely see in any lawyer. I'm actually glad you are not set to come to Hell!" The figure closed his eyes, caught his breath, and repeated this time with more desperation in his voice, "This is why I need your help! I need justice!"
James was a bit awed by the Figure's appeal to him; though he now had his poker face on and was not going to show it. James knew he was good at what he did; but was he really THAT good? He closed his eyes momentarily shook his head, he was not going to allow Pride to cloud his mind. He had to remain focused. James tilted his head slightly, "Well, you more than anyone should know, the Law is not necessarily about who is right and wrong, and it is not about Justice; though I've always tried to make it as such. It's about who can make the most convincing argument. Who's interpretation of the Law that the judge or jury accepts."
The dark figure, narrowed his eyes, feeling as though he was being talked down to a bit, "Yes, I am well aware of this."
James could not do anything but nod. "Alright. I'll need to see a copy of the Constitution and the Lawbook." With that, the Dark Figure waved his hand and reached into a large satchel he had been carrying. From the satchel he pulled out a thick tome, bound in black leather, that seemed to almost cover a good portion of the table.
Instinctively, James began thumbing through the book. He then glanced up at the Dark Figure. "You might as well get yourself a cup of coffee and then get comfortable. We're going to be here for quite a while." James, began thumbing through the book again when he smirked and momentarily looked up, "So I guess I'm taking this case Pro Bono?"
The dark figure shook his head and quietly muttered under his breath, "Wiseass..." He then stood up and walked to the door to go get coffee for the both of them. He let out a sigh of a relief during the the few moments he left the room. He had the greatest legal mind of this generation working on his case...
​
​ | |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. | A sea of sad faces surrounded the once greatest mind the military had to offer. He was responsible for so many key victories in Iraq and Afghanistan and at the end of his life General Mattis had no regrets.
"Sleep well devil dog may the angels of god escort you into heaven." The large priest who spoke closed the bible and sighed as The general took his last breath and passed.
James Mattis stood stock still, his translucent form much younger than when he died. A large angel stood next to him and spoke with a powerful voice, "Come great general, our father wishes for you to come to heaven."
Mattis just nodded and fell in behind the great angel. As they began walking towards the light a suddenly jet of black smoke spilled into the area creeping across the ground.
The smoke quickly began to form into a person. The angel stepped in front of Mattis ready to protect him when suddenly the smoky figure spoke.
"General Mattis. Your legendary feats are heard about even in hell. I find myself in need of your help."
The smoke was starting to clear and a bruised and battered Lucifer stood in front of them in all his glory. The angel howled and charged the once dark prince. Lucifer didn't even take his eyes off of the general when he back handed the angel away.
"Attila the Hun has taken over my kingdom," Lucifer started. He strolled towards Mattis his red fists called up. " The son of a bitch said I couldn't bring the torture any more, that I was too old fashioned."
Lucifer spat on the ground before looking back at Mattis. " At first I was happy about. Our... Father created the place to be just as much my prison as it was for the evil souls of Earth."
The dark prince frowned at the generals silence. Perhaps he was wrong about him. However before he could say anything about the general spoke up.
"How many."
Lucifer was quiet for a few moments, his thoughts were all over the place and it took a crazy amount of effort to bring them in.
"Millions... Maybe billions, but they are ruled by one human. He now controls hell, but I am pretty sure the demons won't take kindly to their prisoners running the realm. "
General Mattis finally grinned before speaking, "Tell me how fast can you muster an army?"
| As I wait in this white emptiness, a hooded figure approaches me, I, still recovering from my experience of death, couldn't even make assumptions of who this figure could be, finely the figure stood just right next to me.
"Help me Karl Johansson", said the figure, in a very deep and grim voice that made me feel dizzy.
"Who are you?", I asked the figure.
"Well I guess, if I want your help, I will have to tell you who I am"
I looked at him with confusion, but nodded to give him his answer.
He grabbed his hood to take it off and reveal his identity, "I am Satan, and I want your help", said the beast, while looking into my eyes with his own fiery red eyes.
I couldn't utter a word for a while, but finely spoke, "You....You can't be here, this is Heaven, isn't it, was I not supposed to go to Heaven?"
"Relax, Karl, you aren't in Heaven, but don't worry, this isn't Hell either, this is somewhere you wait, you are just waiting here until those Angels come here and escort you to Heaven", the figure who claimed to be Satan said to me.
After hearing those words, I just looked around, in confusion, to clear some of that confusion up I chose to ask another question, which was going to be proved as a grave mistake, most probably,
I asked, "What are you doing here, you said you wanted my help?".
"Yes Karl, I am in grave need of help from someone like you, especially", he said while placing his hand on my shoulder.
I felt so much uneasiness when he touched me, I never thought I could feel this level of uneasiness after all the things I have witnessed in my life.
"You say, you are Satan, and you want my help?", I asked him, because I couldn't quite believe what I had heard.
"Yes, infact, please help me Karl", said Satan.
"Why shall I chose to risk my way into heaven, just to help Satan, the Ruler of Hell", I asked him with concern.
Satan grinned, "That's the thing, my boy, I am not the Ruler of Hell anymore", he said while looking at me thoughtfully.
I looked back at him confusingly, "So you are not Satan", I asked. "No I am but i was thrown off of my Throne, that's why I am not the Ruler of Hell anymore", he clarified to me.
"Huh?....Who took it from you?", I asked confusingly.
The Satan laughed while looking up, then he looked at me again and said, "Your kind took it from me, gathering all the dictators and Warlords at the same place wasn't such a good idea after all"
I was left speechless, but Satan spoke again, "I don't know everything about you, but I do know that you were eager to leave your mark in human history, and you did leave some sort of mark, now, wouldn't you like to be a part of our history too? Hmmm?, The history of The Demons, The Angels, how could someone like you, wouldn't want to be a part of this great history".
That little speech, those words absolutely stunned me, I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't look at Heaven, the only thing that went in my mind was helping Satan, and nothing else.
"Alright I will help you", I finely said with a shaking voice.
And so Satan smiled a smile that sent shivers down my spine. | |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. | Bradly Goon was in Heaven. Technically, he was almost in Heaven, but this was the happiest he had ever been. The large bridge he was on connected the physical realm to the Heavenly one, and the view between the two was gorgeous. Large waterfalls, whose cascade sounded like music poured out from the edge of the Heaven's majestic border. Light brighter than the mid-day sun illuminated everything, but did not blind. The play between the light and water created concentric rainbows as the water fell into the star filled space the bridge was built over. Each blade of grass, and even the rocks, felt so alive, and Bradly knew he was about to meet the Author of Life just beyond the gate St. Peter was joyfully welcoming people into.
"Wait." A voice that was attractive upon hearing, but repellent when considered, called from behind. Bradly turned around to see a large figure, burned the darkest black. It was so bound up in chains that movement looked impossible. Bradly's sense told him he was in danger just being near it, and he knew exactly who this was. On this beautiful bridge to Heaven, Satan was standing.
As his surprise faded, Bradly realized he didn't feel any fear. He had already died; Satan was no threat to him. "What?" he asked simply.
"General Goon, retake the abyss!"
Bradly had no clue what was going on and said as much. Satan began to explain: mankind had made himself subject to the laws of sin, and therefore death. Some persisted in sin and so chose death, even when they could have chosen life, and were to be subject to him for eternity. The problem was that he was bound until the end of time, for the sake of mankind yet living. In the meantime, five millennia of the worst people to ever live poured into Hell. At first, it was easy to control those souls through a little bit of fear and the hopelessness of eternity. The last 300 years had brought change though. French Enlightenment philosophers flooded Hell and told the souls they were better off in Hell than in Heaven. Twentieth century dictators began to enforce their will on the souls that had been motivated beyond lethargy. And the last 30 years had seen a surge in the number of corrupt baby boomer politicians and CEOs, who talked the very demons of Hell into working for their cause because under their leadership, Hell's membership would boom.
Satan needed someone who understood these modern demons in human skin to quell this uprising, and crush it permanently. Bradly had already proven himself capable in life.
Bradly shook his head. "You'll have to wait until the end of time then, and settle things yourself. I'm about to enter Heaven. If that's all?"
Th father of lies looked straight at him, and for once, spoke the truth. "Your wife...she's still alive. I wonder if you will meet again? She's so lonely now that you're gone, and she loves drink and young men. Conquer Hell, and I will see that she is never tempted again."
Bradly smoldered for a moment. "Leave her alone then. How long will this take?"
Satan smiled, somehow it was more terrible than when he was glaring. "That depends on you," as he grabbed Bradly and slid off the side of the bridge. | As I wait in this white emptiness, a hooded figure approaches me, I, still recovering from my experience of death, couldn't even make assumptions of who this figure could be, finely the figure stood just right next to me.
"Help me Karl Johansson", said the figure, in a very deep and grim voice that made me feel dizzy.
"Who are you?", I asked the figure.
"Well I guess, if I want your help, I will have to tell you who I am"
I looked at him with confusion, but nodded to give him his answer.
He grabbed his hood to take it off and reveal his identity, "I am Satan, and I want your help", said the beast, while looking into my eyes with his own fiery red eyes.
I couldn't utter a word for a while, but finely spoke, "You....You can't be here, this is Heaven, isn't it, was I not supposed to go to Heaven?"
"Relax, Karl, you aren't in Heaven, but don't worry, this isn't Hell either, this is somewhere you wait, you are just waiting here until those Angels come here and escort you to Heaven", the figure who claimed to be Satan said to me.
After hearing those words, I just looked around, in confusion, to clear some of that confusion up I chose to ask another question, which was going to be proved as a grave mistake, most probably,
I asked, "What are you doing here, you said you wanted my help?".
"Yes Karl, I am in grave need of help from someone like you, especially", he said while placing his hand on my shoulder.
I felt so much uneasiness when he touched me, I never thought I could feel this level of uneasiness after all the things I have witnessed in my life.
"You say, you are Satan, and you want my help?", I asked him, because I couldn't quite believe what I had heard.
"Yes, infact, please help me Karl", said Satan.
"Why shall I chose to risk my way into heaven, just to help Satan, the Ruler of Hell", I asked him with concern.
Satan grinned, "That's the thing, my boy, I am not the Ruler of Hell anymore", he said while looking at me thoughtfully.
I looked back at him confusingly, "So you are not Satan", I asked. "No I am but i was thrown off of my Throne, that's why I am not the Ruler of Hell anymore", he clarified to me.
"Huh?....Who took it from you?", I asked confusingly.
The Satan laughed while looking up, then he looked at me again and said, "Your kind took it from me, gathering all the dictators and Warlords at the same place wasn't such a good idea after all"
I was left speechless, but Satan spoke again, "I don't know everything about you, but I do know that you were eager to leave your mark in human history, and you did leave some sort of mark, now, wouldn't you like to be a part of our history too? Hmmm?, The history of The Demons, The Angels, how could someone like you, wouldn't want to be a part of this great history".
That little speech, those words absolutely stunned me, I couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't look at Heaven, the only thing that went in my mind was helping Satan, and nothing else.
"Alright I will help you", I finely said with a shaking voice.
And so Satan smiled a smile that sent shivers down my spine. | |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. | All I remember are lights, and blackness. Two points of light, too bright, too close. A car horn. Then the blackness. No sound, no light, no feeling of any sort. I felt like I should be panicking, but I couldn't seem to muster any sort of emotion at all. Then, in the distance, one more point of light appeared. I moved toward it, realizing I had no legs to move with, and yet I moved nonetheless. As it grew brighter, I felt warmth, security, peace... it was like coming back to the home I never realized I had.
At the edge of my vision, the darkness.... STIRRED. It swirled, and moved like a living creature. I could do nothing but watch as a massive, gnarled hand swung out from the black void, somehow both right in front of me and yet further away than could ever be reached. The pleasant feelings from the light were extinguished, as waves of malice rolled over me from this void's limb. It moved toward me, palm open, as though to grab me and hide me from the light forever. I would have shut my eyes, if I'd had any. As it blocked my path, it stopped, fingers spread, then it slowly closed all its fingers, except for one. It.... was asking me to wait?
The void began to belch forth more of this creature. Slowly, as the void surrendered its hold on the massive body, disappearing like smoke in some places, clinging like tar in others, I saw a shoulder, a torn wing, gnarled horns above pointed ears, and more scars everywhere than I could count. The eyes opened, glittering black under a heavy, mottled red brow. Those eyes looked right at me, they seemed to pierce right through me to my soul. Although, I noted, I really wasn't much more than a soul at the moment anyway.
A sound which could only be described as rocks falling onto the strings of harps which had once been beautiful came from the monstrosity in front of me, somehow congealing into a voice. "Wait, Heaven-bound. I have need of you."
Now I REALLY wished I could feel panic. I couldn't move past this creature without disappearing into the void, and having seen how the void jealously clung to even this monster I knew I couldn't go near it. I tried responding, but I knew only how to move vocal cords which no longer existed. I managed to make a tinkling sound.
"You need not worry, Heaven-bound. I cannot claim you." I looked on, still mistrustful, as it continued. "I am the Morning Star. Prince of Earth. Satan." I waited for fear to consume me. It didn't. Must be something to do with not having a body. Perhaps most emotions were mostly chemical?
The head in front of me tilted slightly. The mouth wore a permanent scowl, not moving as more words filled the air. "You are learning to communicate quickly. Good. Yes, you no longer have a body, and thus no longer have neurochemical transmitters to foul your thoughts. No adrenaline, no dopamine, no serotonin." I felt perplexed, then surprised that I felt perplexed. Apparently some emotions were less chemical than others.
How did this creature know my thoughts? Why was it lecturing me on science?
"Because you wish to communicate, so you do. And I should know how the human body works. I was there when it was designed. Not that it matters a great deal to you any longer."
Pausing a moment, I formed a question. "What do you ask of me? Why should I not flee past you, if you say you cannot stop me?"
"I ask for your help in commanding my armies. In life, you apparently oversaw many battles. You were defeated time and again and yet learned from your mistakes, coming back to win many times more." I wanted to interrupt to qualify his statements, but he continued, "Humanity has waged war for aeons, and in time all those who sought war have come to me for their punishment." The malice radiating from Satan's body grew stronger, turning to fury, pain, and.... embarrassment? "However, recently warmongers have come to hell with such experience, such hatred in their souls, and such myriad dead along with them, that they turned on me and overthrew me! I have terrified the damned since the fall of man! HOW DARE THEY TURN ON ME!" I tried to back away from the literal hellfire that engulfed the raging demon in front of me. Even the void around him shrank back.
I waited and watched as the flames, belching pestilent smoke, slowly subsided. Satan turned again to me. "I can offer you nothing. You are already promised eternal glory. I can threaten you with nothing. You are bound to heaven, and are beyond my torment. I only have this moment, as you pass from one life to the next, to waylay you and ask you to lend your experience to my armies. However, if you assist me, I can promise to you that those who orchestrated the early deaths of millions of their fellow humans will no longer rule in hell, but will suffer the punishment they have earned."
I waited only a moment, peering at the elysian light beyond the charred beast, and tinkled, "I agree."
The great beast dug his claw into the ichor surrounding us, pulling out what looked like a living shadow. He held it up and shook it, flinging black smoke back into the void, and leaving a cloak which he held up to me. "It will hide your light until you leave my realm. Put it on." I moved toward it, intending to reach out to grab it, but realized I had no arms. A moment's reflection on how I had learned to communicate, and I willed my way into the cloak. It was more of a formless shroud, as it wrapped around me. Like a nightmare's shifting scene, we were in hell, as though we had never traveled at all and had been standing here forever. Untold masses of souls shrieked, the burning plains and lakes of sulphur stretching in every direction. I looked down at them all, somehow separate, and above the masses. That at least felt familiar. Satan pointed at a large gathering in the distance. "They hide there, on that mountainside. Hell is somewhat formless, but they dig into the mountain for protection from my demons and fix it in place with their machinations. My armies once threw themselves at that place, but they knocked us from the sky with their thrown rocks, halted my beasts with their spears and trenches, and buried the greatest of my monsters under land slides."
I saw thousands of humans clawing at the mountain, some with crude pickaxes, digging tunnels and holes, trenches and barricades. They had long ago set up what appeared to be rocks on platforms that could be triggered to roll down the mountain, trebuchets that could hurl boulders, and large smelting plants that took advantage of the hellfire springing from the depths. I also noted that everyone seemed to be mining and building, with no guards stationed anywhere. In Satan's absence, their guard had become lax. This gave me an idea.
I turned to Satan and laid out a simple plan. "We need no leaders. We need no siege weapons. We need no beasts or monstrosities. Their guard is down, and we will crush them with surprise. Let roll the blackest cloud of smoke, summon every imp and lesser demon, we attack immediately!"
Satan smiled at me, his eyes lighting up with barely contained hatred and the promise of vengeance, and black smoke poured from his fetid jaws. It sank to the valley below and flowed toward the mountain, obscuring everything in its path. A low rumble emanated from his whole being, like bones hammering on giant drums. I heard the cackle and screech of millions of tiny demons as they rushed toward the mountainside under the cover of blackness. I watched as the condemned souls on the mountain rushed to drop their armfuls of rock and hurry to the trenches to face an enemy they could not yet see.
Too late, they grabbed their spears and pointed the tips toward the black fog. Demons in the shapes of huge spiders and venomous snakes and rabid dogs rushed against the wall of spears, and for every one impaled on a pike, a dozen more rushed between the spears to claw at the faces of those behind. The horde of foul creatures swarmed up the mountain, everywhere at once. The leaders at the top screamed down at their fellow condemned, ordering them to unleash the landslides and trebuchets. Thousands of tons of rocks hurtled down the mountain, crushing demons and struggling defenders alike. Boulders flew through the air, no sooner landing and crushing a dozen demons than a dozen more clambered over it to continue their crazed assault up the mountain. Awash in tiny beings of pure bloodlust, the humans fell. For all the plans of their leaders, grandiose campaigns of war, they were torn to shreds by mad dogs' teeth.
"HA HA HA HA! FLEE, COWARDS! YOU ARE ONCE AGAIN POWERLESS BEFORE ME! NOW SUFFER!" The Lord of Hell roared in perverse pleasure as his lowliest minions tore apart the defenses and smelters of those who had claimed his throne. I looked down at the battlefield, a familiar sense of somewhat cheap accomplishment welling within me. Winning by striking an unprepared enemy. A cheap victory, but a victory all the same.
"Thank you, Heaven-bound." Satan addressed me, waving his great claw toward me. I felt myself begin to fade away, and the point of blessed light surrounded by void once again appeared before me. Before I completely faded from his realm of fire and filth, Satan asked me one last question. "Where did you learn so simple and effective a tactic?"
I would have smiled if I could, and as warmth and safety and peace filled me from the realm I was destined for, I tinkled back to Satan, "Zerg rush." | The first bullet hit somewhere in his chest. He stumbled and face burned where it scraped across the broken concrete.
The second hit his hand, dropping his rifle and two fingers along with it.
The third and its friends must have hit his legs. He had to pull himself along the broken road into the crater with what he had left for arms.
There was yelling, screams. Smoke and dust was everywhere. Weapons firing and bullet ricochets. The noise hit a loud climax when new sounds, further away from where his troops lied waiting, entered the song of hell and quickly quieted.
“Sir, sir! They’re down, the civvies are safe! Repeat, civvies are safe! No casualties!”
Those words made all the pain go away, despite all the blood leaking out of him from too many holes. Feebly he looked at new motion on his left. A young woman, a screaming baby at her chest.
“You saves us! You saved us!”.
Sobbing. Cries of anguish. Hands grabbing him, calls for a medic. As his vision went black, Petr smiled. It was worth giving his life, and would gladly do it again.
He sprung up in alarm from the sudden bright light. He stood, surrounded by plain white walls and floor. Standing a few feet away was a man in a suit, with nothing exceptional about him save a fierce intensity in his eyes.
The man crossed his arms. “A general, literally running bait for an execution squad. You saved them all, I’ll give you that. Why you, and not someone expendable? “
Petr looked around, getting his bearings. There was no entrance or exit of this room. His hands were whole and felt no wounds on his body. The man cleared his throat. Petr looked back and stood tall.
“They knew my face. They would definitely target me first over everything else. And I am expendable. This is the last of their strongholds in our country, the war was won - I have no more use now. I can’t risk my men and women - fathers, mothers, sons and daughters. I have no one but them. It had to be me. “
The man sneered and pointed up with his chin. “That makes sense as to why HE picked you. Well, I’m picking you too. You freed your homeland, now free mine.”
“ I am Lucifer, the Morning Star and Prince of Lies. Welcome to hell.”
| |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. | All I remember are lights, and blackness. Two points of light, too bright, too close. A car horn. Then the blackness. No sound, no light, no feeling of any sort. I felt like I should be panicking, but I couldn't seem to muster any sort of emotion at all. Then, in the distance, one more point of light appeared. I moved toward it, realizing I had no legs to move with, and yet I moved nonetheless. As it grew brighter, I felt warmth, security, peace... it was like coming back to the home I never realized I had.
At the edge of my vision, the darkness.... STIRRED. It swirled, and moved like a living creature. I could do nothing but watch as a massive, gnarled hand swung out from the black void, somehow both right in front of me and yet further away than could ever be reached. The pleasant feelings from the light were extinguished, as waves of malice rolled over me from this void's limb. It moved toward me, palm open, as though to grab me and hide me from the light forever. I would have shut my eyes, if I'd had any. As it blocked my path, it stopped, fingers spread, then it slowly closed all its fingers, except for one. It.... was asking me to wait?
The void began to belch forth more of this creature. Slowly, as the void surrendered its hold on the massive body, disappearing like smoke in some places, clinging like tar in others, I saw a shoulder, a torn wing, gnarled horns above pointed ears, and more scars everywhere than I could count. The eyes opened, glittering black under a heavy, mottled red brow. Those eyes looked right at me, they seemed to pierce right through me to my soul. Although, I noted, I really wasn't much more than a soul at the moment anyway.
A sound which could only be described as rocks falling onto the strings of harps which had once been beautiful came from the monstrosity in front of me, somehow congealing into a voice. "Wait, Heaven-bound. I have need of you."
Now I REALLY wished I could feel panic. I couldn't move past this creature without disappearing into the void, and having seen how the void jealously clung to even this monster I knew I couldn't go near it. I tried responding, but I knew only how to move vocal cords which no longer existed. I managed to make a tinkling sound.
"You need not worry, Heaven-bound. I cannot claim you." I looked on, still mistrustful, as it continued. "I am the Morning Star. Prince of Earth. Satan." I waited for fear to consume me. It didn't. Must be something to do with not having a body. Perhaps most emotions were mostly chemical?
The head in front of me tilted slightly. The mouth wore a permanent scowl, not moving as more words filled the air. "You are learning to communicate quickly. Good. Yes, you no longer have a body, and thus no longer have neurochemical transmitters to foul your thoughts. No adrenaline, no dopamine, no serotonin." I felt perplexed, then surprised that I felt perplexed. Apparently some emotions were less chemical than others.
How did this creature know my thoughts? Why was it lecturing me on science?
"Because you wish to communicate, so you do. And I should know how the human body works. I was there when it was designed. Not that it matters a great deal to you any longer."
Pausing a moment, I formed a question. "What do you ask of me? Why should I not flee past you, if you say you cannot stop me?"
"I ask for your help in commanding my armies. In life, you apparently oversaw many battles. You were defeated time and again and yet learned from your mistakes, coming back to win many times more." I wanted to interrupt to qualify his statements, but he continued, "Humanity has waged war for aeons, and in time all those who sought war have come to me for their punishment." The malice radiating from Satan's body grew stronger, turning to fury, pain, and.... embarrassment? "However, recently warmongers have come to hell with such experience, such hatred in their souls, and such myriad dead along with them, that they turned on me and overthrew me! I have terrified the damned since the fall of man! HOW DARE THEY TURN ON ME!" I tried to back away from the literal hellfire that engulfed the raging demon in front of me. Even the void around him shrank back.
I waited and watched as the flames, belching pestilent smoke, slowly subsided. Satan turned again to me. "I can offer you nothing. You are already promised eternal glory. I can threaten you with nothing. You are bound to heaven, and are beyond my torment. I only have this moment, as you pass from one life to the next, to waylay you and ask you to lend your experience to my armies. However, if you assist me, I can promise to you that those who orchestrated the early deaths of millions of their fellow humans will no longer rule in hell, but will suffer the punishment they have earned."
I waited only a moment, peering at the elysian light beyond the charred beast, and tinkled, "I agree."
The great beast dug his claw into the ichor surrounding us, pulling out what looked like a living shadow. He held it up and shook it, flinging black smoke back into the void, and leaving a cloak which he held up to me. "It will hide your light until you leave my realm. Put it on." I moved toward it, intending to reach out to grab it, but realized I had no arms. A moment's reflection on how I had learned to communicate, and I willed my way into the cloak. It was more of a formless shroud, as it wrapped around me. Like a nightmare's shifting scene, we were in hell, as though we had never traveled at all and had been standing here forever. Untold masses of souls shrieked, the burning plains and lakes of sulphur stretching in every direction. I looked down at them all, somehow separate, and above the masses. That at least felt familiar. Satan pointed at a large gathering in the distance. "They hide there, on that mountainside. Hell is somewhat formless, but they dig into the mountain for protection from my demons and fix it in place with their machinations. My armies once threw themselves at that place, but they knocked us from the sky with their thrown rocks, halted my beasts with their spears and trenches, and buried the greatest of my monsters under land slides."
I saw thousands of humans clawing at the mountain, some with crude pickaxes, digging tunnels and holes, trenches and barricades. They had long ago set up what appeared to be rocks on platforms that could be triggered to roll down the mountain, trebuchets that could hurl boulders, and large smelting plants that took advantage of the hellfire springing from the depths. I also noted that everyone seemed to be mining and building, with no guards stationed anywhere. In Satan's absence, their guard had become lax. This gave me an idea.
I turned to Satan and laid out a simple plan. "We need no leaders. We need no siege weapons. We need no beasts or monstrosities. Their guard is down, and we will crush them with surprise. Let roll the blackest cloud of smoke, summon every imp and lesser demon, we attack immediately!"
Satan smiled at me, his eyes lighting up with barely contained hatred and the promise of vengeance, and black smoke poured from his fetid jaws. It sank to the valley below and flowed toward the mountain, obscuring everything in its path. A low rumble emanated from his whole being, like bones hammering on giant drums. I heard the cackle and screech of millions of tiny demons as they rushed toward the mountainside under the cover of blackness. I watched as the condemned souls on the mountain rushed to drop their armfuls of rock and hurry to the trenches to face an enemy they could not yet see.
Too late, they grabbed their spears and pointed the tips toward the black fog. Demons in the shapes of huge spiders and venomous snakes and rabid dogs rushed against the wall of spears, and for every one impaled on a pike, a dozen more rushed between the spears to claw at the faces of those behind. The horde of foul creatures swarmed up the mountain, everywhere at once. The leaders at the top screamed down at their fellow condemned, ordering them to unleash the landslides and trebuchets. Thousands of tons of rocks hurtled down the mountain, crushing demons and struggling defenders alike. Boulders flew through the air, no sooner landing and crushing a dozen demons than a dozen more clambered over it to continue their crazed assault up the mountain. Awash in tiny beings of pure bloodlust, the humans fell. For all the plans of their leaders, grandiose campaigns of war, they were torn to shreds by mad dogs' teeth.
"HA HA HA HA! FLEE, COWARDS! YOU ARE ONCE AGAIN POWERLESS BEFORE ME! NOW SUFFER!" The Lord of Hell roared in perverse pleasure as his lowliest minions tore apart the defenses and smelters of those who had claimed his throne. I looked down at the battlefield, a familiar sense of somewhat cheap accomplishment welling within me. Winning by striking an unprepared enemy. A cheap victory, but a victory all the same.
"Thank you, Heaven-bound." Satan addressed me, waving his great claw toward me. I felt myself begin to fade away, and the point of blessed light surrounded by void once again appeared before me. Before I completely faded from his realm of fire and filth, Satan asked me one last question. "Where did you learn so simple and effective a tactic?"
I would have smiled if I could, and as warmth and safety and peace filled me from the realm I was destined for, I tinkled back to Satan, "Zerg rush." | Lucifer, the Devil, Satan, the Rebellious, the Sin of Pride,... He went by many names. On that day, he appeared before the Pearly Gate, as a homeless Lord.
"Lucy, you know we don't welcome you here." - said Saint Peter - "You and your kind."
"Come on, Pete, I wouldn't have been here unless I have to. The prisoners staged a Coup d'état, let just be grateful I'm still alive and kicking."
"Again?" - Peter rolled his eyes. - "Would it kill you to admit that--"
"That I'm bad at ruling? I'm not. They're just too good."
"You know that's not what I meant."
"I do."
Peter glanced over his shoulder. A lone figure came, black hair ran long.
"Here's your ride." - said Peter. - "Jesus! I'm not taking the fall for this."
"Alright, alright." - Jesus unlocked the Gate - "The responsibilities lie with me."
They sat on the back of an old horse-drawn cart, Jesus' preferred vehicle, riding into town.
"What happened this time?" - asked the Savior.
"A revolution. I need a 'good guy'." - Lucifer spoke, watching the ocean of clouds before him.
"How long do you want the paperwork to take?"
"Four hours. Or five."
By the Silver City, Lucifer jumped down from the cart. Like a child, he tossed away the shoes, let his feet sunk into the bottomless clouds, cool as a summer rain. It was quite sometimes, since something soothed his flame. Too long a time.
Jesus cast away his footwear also, as the two took the road. With a mere five hours, subtracting the time it took to travel, they had not much of an option. So Lucifer decided to see the Flower Garden. Flowers, a rare delicacy to all those who live in Hell. The sunflowers turned their gaze upon the Lightbringer. Lucifer wrapped his feet two balls of clouds, eyeing a patch of chrysanthemum. The smoldering smoke leaked out of the clouds, at least it would not burn the plants.
The two strolled beneath the afternoon sun, enjoying the cool breezes. The wind, they called the flowers into life. Patches after patches, color waves ran inside the Garden, red, green, blue, yellow, violet,... Lucifer walked, inside a rainbow river. Flower petal danced in the wind, some landed on his shoulder for a moment of rest, dancing away. Lucifer caught one such petal. In his palm, it turned into ash.
"Do you want to bring some home?" - asked Jesus.
"Don't bother." - Lucifer answered absent-mindedly, releasing the burned petal into the wind. It stuck out like a sore thumb. A wingless angel in the holy flock. The Devil reached for his pocket. He gave Jesus a necklace, made of brimstone. - "A gift to mom. From her grandchildren."
The five hours had yet to run out. They moved to the Silver Lake. He always visited the Silver Lake. The night came early. A somber sun in the sky, a somber sun in the lake, and a somber sun, on the shore. Lucifer put on his shoes. The cloud had turned cold, above and below.
"He'll be so mad with you." - said Satan.
"On the outside, He might." - Jesus sat down - "You two need to sort this out eventually."
"Maybe." - Lucifer lit up a cigarette, the ashen taste calmed him down - "Do you smoke?"
"No. But I do drink." - Jesus took out two little cups from his waist bag. A scoop off the lake and a touch of the finger. He handed Lucifer one. - "Cheers."
"What for?"
"Seeing a brother again."
Lucifer took a sip. It was warm, really warm.
"Strange. I used to play with Mike and Gabe all the time here. And now, I'm with you."
"I lived some thirty years on Earth, Lucy. I hardly know any of you. That's why, in matters like this, I don't have to pick a side. Your side, or their side? Who cares?"
"I appreciate it. Really." - Lucifer stood on the water's edge. He stared at the reflection, a grey one. The Devil tossed his cigarette's butt into the lake. It stuck out like a sore thumb. A grey spot, on the pristine front. Then, the moon rose. A moon above, a moon below. On the shore, lied an ashen sun.
"Give me back the necklace."
Quietly, Jesus gave him the necklace, and a pack of tissues. Quietly, Lucifer took back the necklace, and the pack of tissues.
"Don't tell mom I was here. She'll cry."
Lucifer returned without taking his 'good guy', saying he would figure something out. It was said, that, every once in a while, Lucifer was dethroned, had to run to Heaven for help, and came back triumphantly. It was said, that, every once in a while, even the Devil was homesick. | |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. | ‘It says right here that if I succeed then I get to stand by your side and lead the army’s of hell... I’d rather not.’ I said
‘But you have to.’ The Devil said with a soft voice.
‘I don’t have to do anything yet, I’ve not signed the contract.’ Gesturing with my hand at the small stack of papers on the desk.
‘But you have to.’ He said little louder.
‘You do know how contracts work right? Or have you been so used to getting your way that you’ve forgotten?’
‘I need you to defeat the uprising,’ the Devil stood from his chair. ‘So I can maintain order in hell!’ As his fist slammed down on the table a pen rolled out from a small pouch.
‘Well then.’ I said grabbing the pen. ‘Looks like we have some changes to make.’
Apparently the devil never enlisted into the armed services. I signed the bottom ‘Wagner the Green Weenie’’
| Satan called me on the phone as I entered my Purgatory hotel room suite. It was lavish and well, "fluffy" is how I would describe it. A far cry from the dirty basement I was accustomed too. The walls were a pink very similar to the lung blood I spat after virtually every battle in Russia. I was a man then but now I'm only a soul without purpose or contentment.
I answered with a friendly "Hello" as only static resonated from the handset. I knew that it was Satan just as I knew the Japanese man was behind me at the cliffside so many years ago. In fact, I'd found long ago that the hair on my neck was far smarter than I could ever be.
The static from the small speaker gradually formed and modulated into words of praise and respect before finally asking only one thing. "Help?" I had long since grown out of the feeling of surprise so I had no shock to recover from. I spent a few seconds looking around this shithole room before I agreed. Demons appeared beside me in that same moment.
"Name's Tom and that's Jerry, we already heard all the jokes so fuck off with that also don't mind the horns and shit, all of us look this way."
"Where we headed?" I asked as they shuffled me out onto the window ledge where I was grabbed by Tom's hefty arms urging me to stay still while his wings unfurled behind us without a sound.
"We're headed to save hell...again, as it were," and with that, we launched from the hundredth floor spreading flames and smoke in a tail behind us. | |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. | "They call them the Cabal," said the woman, as she limped towards Brett's table, her back hunched and her face hidden by the shadows of her hood.
"Excuse me?" asked the large man who was tonight drinking alone.
"Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Khan, and six others besides." The hunchback pulled out a stool opposite Brett and slowly sat. "But those four are names you have heard."
Brett frowned. "I don't have any money, if that's what you're after."
"No, General Curtis. I'm not after your money. I'm here for a different type of assistance."
Brett frowned. This was the first time he'd visited the Bird and Bee, and he was still new to the area. No one here knew his name. That left only one possibility.
"I'm not coming back," he said gruffly, before picking up his pint and downing it. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and got up from his chair. "When I retired, I retired. Whatever it is they made you track me down for, tell them from me that they can shove it up their asses."
The stranger pressed a gloved hand against Brett's shoulder, pushing him with ease back down onto the seat. Brett glanced at his shoulder where he had been touched; his coat was smouldering. "What the fu-"
"General," said the woman, as she peeled back her hood. "I am not a military person. If only I were!" she lamented. "Then perhaps I wouldn't be in this mess. But I am just a refugee -- an escapee -- who is being hunted down. And if caught again, I doubt I will ever be freed."
Brett had seen all the horrors of war, all the atrocities and mutilations, but the face that he now looked upon still managed to send a chill down his spine spilling goosebumps in its wake. "What the fuck happened to you?" he whispered, as he stared at the misshapen head, with only a few wisps of red-raw skin still pinned onto clumps of muscle and sinew. It was a face that had been tortured far past death. He noticed something else too: the woman looked like she'd once had horns near the top of her head, but they had been snapped off at the base. And her eyes... black and consuming and still, even in the midst of the horrors, somehow alluring.
"What happened to me?" She laughed a melody broken, and a second shiver crawled down Brett's back. "The Cabal happened to me. And it will happen to more people -- to innocents -- if you do not help."
He stared at her, losing himself for a moment in her eyes. "Who-- who are you?"
"You know who I am," said the stranger. "You've looked upon my many faces a thousand times before, albeit in different forms. You've heard me whisper inside your head each night as you closed your eyes. You've felt me drum my fingers on your heart as I played you my song. You know exactly who I am, and that the time would come when you would meet me in person."
Brett swallowed and shook his head. "You can't be. I must be..."--he glanced at his empty pint--"You must have slipped me something."
"I need your help," the Devil repeated. "This is what they did to me," she said, gesturing to her face. "And I have already healed much since escaping. They are doing far worse to the billions of souls still trapped."
"I-I... You're saying that this Cabal..."
"I was their lord and lady, for a time. When they were sent to me, one by one, I made them powerful for reward of their wicked sins. For their atrocities. Do not dare look at me like that! Weren't you rewarded throughout your life for your wickedness, General? There is no innocence to be found here, nor anywhere else."
Brett opened his mouth but said nothing.
"They became demons," she continued, "demons above any other, besides myself. Powerful, beautiful and above all else, terrible. They are not as you would recognise them -- they are no longer what they were in life." She let out a long laboured breath. "I should have seen it coming. But I did not. Or if I did, I ignored the signs. They thought me weak, you understand. That I was too lenient. And in a way... they were right."
Brett's head was spinning but he somehow managed to raise his hands in protest. "If this is true... why not ask *God* to help you? Why come to me?"
"If they hadn't slaughtered Him already, perhaps I would do so. But all we have are a handful of saints, and a few of my most loyal demons. What they need -- what *we* need -- is a leader."
"God is... dea--"
"You have a decision to make, General. In two minutes time you will die of a heart-attack. You can already feel it closing its fist around your heart. You must make your decision before it is too late. To help me retake my throne, or to become another trapped, tormented soul, spending every moment of your pitiful existence grovelling to the Cabal for just a second of mercy."
Brett could feel his heart hammering. He tried to breathe but his breath was ragged and slow.
"I can grant you power, General, but you must grant me your loyalty and your eternal service. What is it to be?"
| Satan called me on the phone as I entered my Purgatory hotel room suite. It was lavish and well, "fluffy" is how I would describe it. A far cry from the dirty basement I was accustomed too. The walls were a pink very similar to the lung blood I spat after virtually every battle in Russia. I was a man then but now I'm only a soul without purpose or contentment.
I answered with a friendly "Hello" as only static resonated from the handset. I knew that it was Satan just as I knew the Japanese man was behind me at the cliffside so many years ago. In fact, I'd found long ago that the hair on my neck was far smarter than I could ever be.
The static from the small speaker gradually formed and modulated into words of praise and respect before finally asking only one thing. "Help?" I had long since grown out of the feeling of surprise so I had no shock to recover from. I spent a few seconds looking around this shithole room before I agreed. Demons appeared beside me in that same moment.
"Name's Tom and that's Jerry, we already heard all the jokes so fuck off with that also don't mind the horns and shit, all of us look this way."
"Where we headed?" I asked as they shuffled me out onto the window ledge where I was grabbed by Tom's hefty arms urging me to stay still while his wings unfurled behind us without a sound.
"We're headed to save hell...again, as it were," and with that, we launched from the hundredth floor spreading flames and smoke in a tail behind us. | |
[WP]With all of history's worst dictators and warlords being sent to hell, Satan was overthrown. You, the most brilliant military tactician of the modern era are caught by Satan on your way to heaven after dying and contracted to help him retake the throne. | "They call them the Cabal," said the woman, as she limped towards Brett's table, her back hunched and her face hidden by the shadows of her hood.
"Excuse me?" asked the large man who was tonight drinking alone.
"Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Khan, and six others besides." The hunchback pulled out a stool opposite Brett and slowly sat. "But those four are names you have heard."
Brett frowned. "I don't have any money, if that's what you're after."
"No, General Curtis. I'm not after your money. I'm here for a different type of assistance."
Brett frowned. This was the first time he'd visited the Bird and Bee, and he was still new to the area. No one here knew his name. That left only one possibility.
"I'm not coming back," he said gruffly, before picking up his pint and downing it. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and got up from his chair. "When I retired, I retired. Whatever it is they made you track me down for, tell them from me that they can shove it up their asses."
The stranger pressed a gloved hand against Brett's shoulder, pushing him with ease back down onto the seat. Brett glanced at his shoulder where he had been touched; his coat was smouldering. "What the fu-"
"General," said the woman, as she peeled back her hood. "I am not a military person. If only I were!" she lamented. "Then perhaps I wouldn't be in this mess. But I am just a refugee -- an escapee -- who is being hunted down. And if caught again, I doubt I will ever be freed."
Brett had seen all the horrors of war, all the atrocities and mutilations, but the face that he now looked upon still managed to send a chill down his spine spilling goosebumps in its wake. "What the fuck happened to you?" he whispered, as he stared at the misshapen head, with only a few wisps of red-raw skin still pinned onto clumps of muscle and sinew. It was a face that had been tortured far past death. He noticed something else too: the woman looked like she'd once had horns near the top of her head, but they had been snapped off at the base. And her eyes... black and consuming and still, even in the midst of the horrors, somehow alluring.
"What happened to me?" She laughed a melody broken, and a second shiver crawled down Brett's back. "The Cabal happened to me. And it will happen to more people -- to innocents -- if you do not help."
He stared at her, losing himself for a moment in her eyes. "Who-- who are you?"
"You know who I am," said the stranger. "You've looked upon my many faces a thousand times before, albeit in different forms. You've heard me whisper inside your head each night as you closed your eyes. You've felt me drum my fingers on your heart as I played you my song. You know exactly who I am, and that the time would come when you would meet me in person."
Brett swallowed and shook his head. "You can't be. I must be..."--he glanced at his empty pint--"You must have slipped me something."
"I need your help," the Devil repeated. "This is what they did to me," she said, gesturing to her face. "And I have already healed much since escaping. They are doing far worse to the billions of souls still trapped."
"I-I... You're saying that this Cabal..."
"I was their lord and lady, for a time. When they were sent to me, one by one, I made them powerful for reward of their wicked sins. For their atrocities. Do not dare look at me like that! Weren't you rewarded throughout your life for your wickedness, General? There is no innocence to be found here, nor anywhere else."
Brett opened his mouth but said nothing.
"They became demons," she continued, "demons above any other, besides myself. Powerful, beautiful and above all else, terrible. They are not as you would recognise them -- they are no longer what they were in life." She let out a long laboured breath. "I should have seen it coming. But I did not. Or if I did, I ignored the signs. They thought me weak, you understand. That I was too lenient. And in a way... they were right."
Brett's head was spinning but he somehow managed to raise his hands in protest. "If this is true... why not ask *God* to help you? Why come to me?"
"If they hadn't slaughtered Him already, perhaps I would do so. But all we have are a handful of saints, and a few of my most loyal demons. What they need -- what *we* need -- is a leader."
"God is... dea--"
"You have a decision to make, General. In two minutes time you will die of a heart-attack. You can already feel it closing its fist around your heart. You must make your decision before it is too late. To help me retake my throne, or to become another trapped, tormented soul, spending every moment of your pitiful existence grovelling to the Cabal for just a second of mercy."
Brett could feel his heart hammering. He tried to breathe but his breath was ragged and slow.
"I can grant you power, General, but you must grant me your loyalty and your eternal service. What is it to be?"
| ‘It says right here that if I succeed then I get to stand by your side and lead the army’s of hell... I’d rather not.’ I said
‘But you have to.’ The Devil said with a soft voice.
‘I don’t have to do anything yet, I’ve not signed the contract.’ Gesturing with my hand at the small stack of papers on the desk.
‘But you have to.’ He said little louder.
‘You do know how contracts work right? Or have you been so used to getting your way that you’ve forgotten?’
‘I need you to defeat the uprising,’ the Devil stood from his chair. ‘So I can maintain order in hell!’ As his fist slammed down on the table a pen rolled out from a small pouch.
‘Well then.’ I said grabbing the pen. ‘Looks like we have some changes to make.’
Apparently the devil never enlisted into the armed services. I signed the bottom ‘Wagner the Green Weenie’’
| |
[WP] After a civil war, the losing side are placed into a simulation where they believe they won. The public in the real world are routinely shown this simulation to see how bad things could've been... but the simulation is starting to look better. | "This is not right."
"I'll say it's not right. We can't show them this! The commies are actually outperforming capitalism?" His leg was bumping up and down. I could tell he wanted to be running around in circles.
"No. I mean, it's not possible."
"But they're doing it. It must be possible." Now his arms were waving.
"In the sim, obviously. I just think that the sim is not realistic in this respect. There's something off about it. There are fishy numbers."
He froze. "Fishy… how?"
"Well, they produced fifty million cars, but didn't produce even twenty million of certain components for those cars. So either they're relying on an informal economy, which isn't very communist of them, or they're exploiting a dupe bug." | “So the south is now a post scarcity society?”
“Yeah once they realized robots were cheaper than slaves in the long run, they made all the slaves build their own robot replacements”
“Is it a post racial paradise?”
“No they Gave the slaves their own country in what used to be Liberia, hopefully it goes better this time, I mean they know how to make robots now so i’m Sure they will put that to good use and work on infrastructure rather than, some sort of, well, the terminator in Rawanda, type situation.” | |
[WP] After a civil war, the losing side are placed into a simulation where they believe they won. The public in the real world are routinely shown this simulation to see how bad things could've been... but the simulation is starting to look better. | Designer babies or no designer babies. What started as a simple discussion ended up in a civil war just like Syria. Excluding nukes was the best thing of the war, because not only would the whole world have been blown up by including them, but we would also get radiation diseases everywhere we set foot on, thus breaking the DNA one side wanted to modify and the other one didn't. The winner of this war was the group in favour of the designer babies. This is not really surprising, since the group in favour (which we now call pro-designers) created super-soldiers by creating strong designer babies. The war took 22 years of which the first 18 years were difficult, because many people against designer babies could fight pretty hard, but once the super-soldiers who were honoured to be the very first designer babies ever had grown up, they easily wiped out the people we nowadays call "The Weak Rebels".
Those 4 years were easier, but it took 4 years, because we are talking about the whole North and South America where it all took place. My guess would have been that it would have taken 20 years in total rather than 22 if it weren't for the technological innovations The Weak Rebels had. They could spot soldiers better with sensitive motion sensors rather than eyesight and they made weapons that aim well rather than aim it themselves. The pro-designers stole those ideas and conquered the rest of the continent America. The pro-designers also had one innovative idea after they had won: a simulator. In order to prevent the army from ever rebelling again, they erased the memory of the past few days of the remaining Weak Rebels, so that all information suggesting they had lost the war was gone. The Pro-designers then proceeded to put the Weak Rebels in a simulation where they won the war. The simulation is where they live now. Even 20 years after the war ended, they are still stuck in a fake universe where they won that war. The daily life as it would then have gone is simulated as accurately as possible.
How do I know this? They don't keep it secret that those rebels are stuck in that simulation, they even show footages online sometimes of their simulations. Why? To show us why designer babies were the right step to make and why The Weak Rebels stood for a horrible future. I must say the footages are probably accurate for a government propaganda. Only the commentary is really hyperbolic and we do see just the regular daily life they live. What are the horrible details? So many newborn babies needing extra care, because of health issues. So many babies also born misformed. People not going outside for fear of uv-radiation (people there are more likely to get radiation diseases). Many dying at an age even the ancient Romans could outlive. These are all footages of the simulator, but those footages I just mentioned were actually from fifteen years ago and we get to see fewer and fewer footages of the simulations. First it was once every week, than every month, every 3 months, 6 months and eventually, once a year. The footages from the first year of the simulation were actually much worse than one footage we get a year nowadays. The babies needing extra care can turn out as healthy as us, become as old as us and live life as us. For some reason, people are also more outgoing than twenty or even fifteen years ago. They are also becoming old again. What's their secret? They created domes over the whole city to block uv-light, created medicine to combat all the genetic diseases and they care for eachother by creating things that can make the life of everyone better. I guess we rarely get to see footage nowadays, out of fear that we want to follow that example. That we would want a world where innovation matters more than anything and where all the money and stuff doesn't matter if you're suffering or have suffered through the same as a friend or acquaintance as well. The current system is built upon the desire to get what you want. Who will stop me if I decide to create a world that is based upon helping instead of profit? Probably the government ruled by pro-designers. I guess I will go free-willingly into the simulation. | “So the south is now a post scarcity society?”
“Yeah once they realized robots were cheaper than slaves in the long run, they made all the slaves build their own robot replacements”
“Is it a post racial paradise?”
“No they Gave the slaves their own country in what used to be Liberia, hopefully it goes better this time, I mean they know how to make robots now so i’m Sure they will put that to good use and work on infrastructure rather than, some sort of, well, the terminator in Rawanda, type situation.” | |
[WP] After a civil war, the losing side are placed into a simulation where they believe they won. The public in the real world are routinely shown this simulation to see how bad things could've been... but the simulation is starting to look better. | James peered into the simulation for his turn to view the 'Loser world' - A simulation created for viewing the what the losers of the great civil war would've done if they had won. At the end of the war james was barely a toddler and knew nothing of what was happening, only that his father had never returned, but now he was 20 and about to see the simulation for the first time.
When he saw the other world he was livid, he saw a paradise filled with large skyscrapers and sprawling estates, where everyone was rich and even a lowly shopkeeper made more money an hour than he did a year, this was then world his father died to prevent, he felt a tear drip down his cheek.
James spent a long time exploring the world, using the brief time he had he visited the great museums of the world and admired the art pieces with each beautiful painting making him more jealous of the losers, until he saw one specific painting, of a man holding a pick and digging with the title 'The great comedy' this picture confused james but he continued on his way, "How could a society make fun of those who provide the rescources required form them to function?" He figured they must have robots to mine for them and that the idea of the painting being comedy was laughing at gow primitive they used to be.
A few hours later James' time was up and he left the simulation, he was approachrd by the clerk.
"How was it?" he asked.
"It was beautiful" replied James. "Their world is so much better than ours! Even the lowest members of society are rich beyond out wildest dreams! My father died fighting against paradise!" he screamed after a while James calmed "I just don't understand what the war was about." he said
"Is that what you saw? You mustn't have seen thr factotyies then." answered the clerk.
"what factories?" asked James, and the clerk motioned to james to sit back down.
After a long time they arrive at a large glass dome filled with smog. "This is the factory." states the clerk "Take a look around." And so james began to explore and everything he saw was horrible, people were being worked to death in horrible conditions, living quarters were simply dirt floors where people would lie down, anyone who was sick was just killed and bodies were piled into mass graves. "You asked what the war was about? This is it, slavery, and this is only one of thousands of factories throughout the world" it was then James realised that no matter how rich he could've been, none of it was worth this amount of suffering, this amount of pain, for this many other people.
Note: First time posting here, please be gentle. :) | “So the south is now a post scarcity society?”
“Yeah once they realized robots were cheaper than slaves in the long run, they made all the slaves build their own robot replacements”
“Is it a post racial paradise?”
“No they Gave the slaves their own country in what used to be Liberia, hopefully it goes better this time, I mean they know how to make robots now so i’m Sure they will put that to good use and work on infrastructure rather than, some sort of, well, the terminator in Rawanda, type situation.” | |
[WP] After a civil war, the losing side are placed into a simulation where they believe they won. The public in the real world are routinely shown this simulation to see how bad things could've been... but the simulation is starting to look better. | Fighting in the war was a living nightmare, and no matter who you were at the time, you lost something.
We fought for peace, and the ultimate end was that humanity would never commit such vile acts against one another again.
But when the war ended, we had to decide what to do with the vanquished. Peace, we thought, even an artificial one, was the only option.
So we gave them their own peace, in the simulation, so that we could secure our own.
They experienced a whole new war, one in which they struggled but ultimately defeated our forces, and then we watched.
We thought lowly of them, the *enemy*, and were prepared to watch them slaughter the simulated versions of us by the millions once victory was achieved, but they took a path most unexpected.
They created their own simulation for the defeated forces, but it differed from ours in a way that brought everything into question: In their simulation, the war never happened.
Their leader addressed the new nation, and at the same time unknowingly addressed us, "We will let these people live in a reality we failed to achieve, a reality in which our differences did not bring us to the atrocities that will haunt us forever. They will live in a world in which the ultimate end was achieved: *Peace*..."
/r/BeagleTales
| “So the south is now a post scarcity society?”
“Yeah once they realized robots were cheaper than slaves in the long run, they made all the slaves build their own robot replacements”
“Is it a post racial paradise?”
“No they Gave the slaves their own country in what used to be Liberia, hopefully it goes better this time, I mean they know how to make robots now so i’m Sure they will put that to good use and work on infrastructure rather than, some sort of, well, the terminator in Rawanda, type situation.” | |
[WP] After a civil war, the losing side are placed into a simulation where they believe they won. The public in the real world are routinely shown this simulation to see how bad things could've been... but the simulation is starting to look better. | Fighting in the war was a living nightmare, and no matter who you were at the time, you lost something.
We fought for peace, and the ultimate end was that humanity would never commit such vile acts against one another again.
But when the war ended, we had to decide what to do with the vanquished. Peace, we thought, even an artificial one, was the only option.
So we gave them their own peace, in the simulation, so that we could secure our own.
They experienced a whole new war, one in which they struggled but ultimately defeated our forces, and then we watched.
We thought lowly of them, the *enemy*, and were prepared to watch them slaughter the simulated versions of us by the millions once victory was achieved, but they took a path most unexpected.
They created their own simulation for the defeated forces, but it differed from ours in a way that brought everything into question: In their simulation, the war never happened.
Their leader addressed the new nation, and at the same time unknowingly addressed us, "We will let these people live in a reality we failed to achieve, a reality in which our differences did not bring us to the atrocities that will haunt us forever. They will live in a world in which the ultimate end was achieved: *Peace*..."
/r/BeagleTales
| James peered into the simulation for his turn to view the 'Loser world' - A simulation created for viewing the what the losers of the great civil war would've done if they had won. At the end of the war james was barely a toddler and knew nothing of what was happening, only that his father had never returned, but now he was 20 and about to see the simulation for the first time.
When he saw the other world he was livid, he saw a paradise filled with large skyscrapers and sprawling estates, where everyone was rich and even a lowly shopkeeper made more money an hour than he did a year, this was then world his father died to prevent, he felt a tear drip down his cheek.
James spent a long time exploring the world, using the brief time he had he visited the great museums of the world and admired the art pieces with each beautiful painting making him more jealous of the losers, until he saw one specific painting, of a man holding a pick and digging with the title 'The great comedy' this picture confused james but he continued on his way, "How could a society make fun of those who provide the rescources required form them to function?" He figured they must have robots to mine for them and that the idea of the painting being comedy was laughing at gow primitive they used to be.
A few hours later James' time was up and he left the simulation, he was approachrd by the clerk.
"How was it?" he asked.
"It was beautiful" replied James. "Their world is so much better than ours! Even the lowest members of society are rich beyond out wildest dreams! My father died fighting against paradise!" he screamed after a while James calmed "I just don't understand what the war was about." he said
"Is that what you saw? You mustn't have seen thr factotyies then." answered the clerk.
"what factories?" asked James, and the clerk motioned to james to sit back down.
After a long time they arrive at a large glass dome filled with smog. "This is the factory." states the clerk "Take a look around." And so james began to explore and everything he saw was horrible, people were being worked to death in horrible conditions, living quarters were simply dirt floors where people would lie down, anyone who was sick was just killed and bodies were piled into mass graves. "You asked what the war was about? This is it, slavery, and this is only one of thousands of factories throughout the world" it was then James realised that no matter how rich he could've been, none of it was worth this amount of suffering, this amount of pain, for this many other people.
Note: First time posting here, please be gentle. :) | |
[WP] After a civil war, the losing side are placed into a simulation where they believe they won. The public in the real world are routinely shown this simulation to see how bad things could've been... but the simulation is starting to look better. | Fighting in the war was a living nightmare, and no matter who you were at the time, you lost something.
We fought for peace, and the ultimate end was that humanity would never commit such vile acts against one another again.
But when the war ended, we had to decide what to do with the vanquished. Peace, we thought, even an artificial one, was the only option.
So we gave them their own peace, in the simulation, so that we could secure our own.
They experienced a whole new war, one in which they struggled but ultimately defeated our forces, and then we watched.
We thought lowly of them, the *enemy*, and were prepared to watch them slaughter the simulated versions of us by the millions once victory was achieved, but they took a path most unexpected.
They created their own simulation for the defeated forces, but it differed from ours in a way that brought everything into question: In their simulation, the war never happened.
Their leader addressed the new nation, and at the same time unknowingly addressed us, "We will let these people live in a reality we failed to achieve, a reality in which our differences did not bring us to the atrocities that will haunt us forever. They will live in a world in which the ultimate end was achieved: *Peace*..."
/r/BeagleTales
| Joshua and his daughter walked down the pockmarked roads of New York City. It had been 23 years since the war had ended. After the rebels were defeated, the government promised that cleanup from the war would take less than 5 years. "MASSIVE RESTORATION PROJECT" the billboards had proclaimed. "THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT OF THE UNION". Now, it seemed the government Joshua had worked so hard to support had given up on cleanup entirely. Some portions of the western seaboard would be uninhabitable for centuries because of nuclear fallout.
​
He stopped to look up at the simulation broadcast screen. It showed the world as it would have been if the rebels had won the war. High taxes, hyperinflation, corruption at every level of the government. At the time, Joshua had considered that to be a bleak future. Now, he would gladly live in such a world if it meant his daughter could draw a clean breath of air or eat more than half-rations for dinner.
​
Joshua sighed, grabbed his daughter's hand, and they continued their walk back to the shelter. | |
[WP] You are an alchemist trying to make philosophers stone, but you actually create philosophers coin. If you flip the coin and get heads you get what you desire without equivalent exchange, however if it's tails you pay the equivalent price but get nothing. | It took three days. Three whole days just to change the etching on the coin making it a trick double headed one.
Satisfied I decided to try my luck with something small. "I want some fish and chips"
**Flip**
A plate of with golden, crispy fish and hot crunchy fries appeared before me. It was just like I remembered them from the little shake down the street from my childhood home.
It was only when my vision got blurry did I notice the tears. I remembered my family and my friends from that now forgotten time in history.
Wiping them away I looked at the coin. If this works, really works, I could have them all back.
One more experiment just to be sure though.
"I want a pint to go with the meal"
**Flip**
16 oz of golden frothy liquid appeared in a mug beside my plate. I took a sip. It was cold, just the thing after a long gruesome day.
I remembered my father as I sipped. He was just a factory worker and would stop at the Mr. Miller's pub before coming home. He was there that day... the day when... when...
Draining the mug I decided to stop stalling. It was time. Now or never.
"I want my family and friends back, everyone that died in that blood blitz back!"
**Flip** | "After hundreds of tries, i started to lose faith, no matter how much i did, no matter how much i searched, i could not find a way to make a philosophers stone, all i could make was this failure of a coin, i mean, ya its really powerful, but the risks are too great, giving up something for nothing is something i would never do.
But..., i mean i could use the coin just once, with it, i could make the true philosophers stone, i just need to hit heads, it is a 50% chance of being the most powerful being on this planet, i would be a God, but i have no idea what the consequences or the price i would had to pay if the coin hit tail, my life? no, that would be too small, the life the entire city, somehow i still thing it would be a small price, it would probably erase the entire country.
But..., i have to try it, the temptation is too strong, it will be just once, after that i would never have to use it again, i close doors of my basement, and transmute the door to a wall, no one will interrupt me now, i close my eyes, hold the coin on my hand, prey to all the gods i know, focus on my desire, concentrate on it, the philosophers stone, it shall be mine, i throw the coin in the air, eyes still closed, i hear the coin spinning on the air, then clinging on the table, and i am flinch, waiting to be erased from existence, waiting to die a thousand deaths, i wait, and wait...., and nothing.
Slowly i start to giggle, then laughs, overwhelming happiness invade my being, i did it, i really did it, the philosophers stone is finally mine, i open my eyes, to see it, to became a god, to rule this world, no one can stop me now, and i see, i see........ nothing, nothing is different, no stone anywhere, i look around desperate, where is it, where is the god damn stone. Suddenly, realization hit me, and i look at the coin, its tails.
NO, i was so close, so close, but i failed..., i start to sob, slowing turning that sob into a torrent of tears, i failed, now millions will die for it... but wait, how i am still alive, quickly i run to the wall, and transmute back into a door, or, at least is what i tried, but nothing is happening, i cant transmute the wall anymore, no, no, it cant be, i try again, and again, and again. and nothing, i quickly realize that my transmuting powers are gone, i run to the coin, grab it, and use on the wall, the coin rolls, and land, HEADS, but nothing happens.
No, no no no no no no, and finally i realized what i had done, the price of a stone that can transmute anything with nothing in return, its not lives, it never where lives, it was the transmutation itself, i permanently erased the world capacity of transmutation, and now i am stuck in a basement, and my punishment will be die in here slowly, of hunger and thirsty, i am sorry, i am truly sorry world, my last act will be write this journal that you are reading right now, in hopes that in the future, something similar wont happen again, i hope you learn from this fools mistakes, i am sorry"
You close the book you found in the ruins, and your partner ask you "it is a good find to the museum?", "nah, just the delusion of a lunatic, but old things have valor to some people, so whatever, put thogueter with the other relics, and lets get out of here", i start to pack my thing when i find a coin on the floor, i grab it, and notice that it has a faint purple glow on it, i pocket it, and leave the ruins behind me. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | "Whooo!!" I yelled out as I took another hit of the coke potion.
I felt the effects of the potion quickly spread from my head to the rest of my body. I needed a little something to keep me going in this stressful time.
"Babe, I need you to pack faster" I shouted to my girlfriend. She didn't appreciate being woken up and told to grab just the essentials, but she was my ride or die. I knew she would come with me wherever I ended up going. We met because she ran the bar that was next door to my shop. We both lived in the room above her bar. I could see her giving me the evil eye, but I didn't say anything. I had to stay focused on finding all the gold I had kept hidden in various chests and nooks around the room.
I hadn't explained to her why we suddenly had to leave in the middle of the night. I hadn't told her that I had been selling my wares to Monsters of the kingdom. How was I supposed to explain to her that our fancy lifestyle had been fueled by Orc hoards, Dragons, and Black Mages?
"Ok thats it, we need to leave now!" I shouted over her muffled protests.
"But I havn't packed a comb... and I can't find my party shoes... and I..." I cut her off and pulled her to the exit. I could see the fires getting closer in the distance. The last deal had gone bad. Really bad. I was in the middle of the Mystic Woods selling a legendary sword to Mini Boss when the fucking adventurers came around. Those guys always fucking show up when you don't need them around. Fuck them. I had managed to sneak out of there without being noticed, but they killed Mini Boss and took the legendary sword. I had borrowed money from the Main Boss in the dungeon to fund the making of the legendary sword. Now his guys were coming to get back what they owed.
I ran downstairs with my girlfriend. I didn't know how I was going to make it up to her. I ran through the door and ran right into... who else but the fucking adventurers again.
"I need to buy some super potions" White Mage said to me. Fuck she was hot. If I wasn't with my girlfriend and she wasn't with that jackass Thief.
"Shop's closed, can't you see the sign" I yelled back to her as I grabbed my stuff off the ground.
"Look we're going to take down Main Boss and we used up our potions fighting Mini Boss. Can't you help us out please?" She said with big puppy dog eyes. I had a sudden burst of hope. Maybe this could be my way out.
"Sure thing. What can I get you?" I said.
I fucking hated the adventurers, but sometimes they could be useful. | Yuri, son of Nikolai, stood at the center of a disturbing scene, staring ponderously at the heaps of scattered blades, slowly sinking into the well traversed mud that made up the crossroads of the village.
He looked up, and asking no one in particular, "There are over 550 million swords in worldwide circulation. That's one sword for every twelve orcs on the planet. The only question is: How do we arm the other eleven?"
...Nah, I'm shittin' you guys, but I'd totally watch a High Fantasy version of Lord of War. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | "Listen, listen," Marten protested with a wave of his hands. "Zalakian, is it? Lord of Misery, right? Great, good," he insisted as he pushed past the Prince of the Underworld and his steward, Farruk the One-armed Orc. "See on the other side of Gathrien, in the Fissure where the lot of you live, you might think you're mean and you're bad and you just take what you want. But I'll tell ya, I'll tell ya right now what I told 'em cackling kobolds and the fur-brained Wolfenkins that came before you. This is a business," he said flatly. "Not a charity for lost causes."
"Mr. Daggish, please calm your soul," Farruk grumbled softly, hands held out to appease him. "Say nothing you'd regret in the sacred presence of the dark prince. The highest respect must be paid-"
"Nope! No and no. Only silver and gold, that's what I take. I'm an artisan first, a merchant second, but never a cocksucker, never an ass-sucking, ring-kisser. So I craft, you pay. That's the deal. You know the Champions of Nevermere Mr. King of History? The Paladins of Gathriel, or the high-elves of wherever-the-fuck that tore down your armies, Mr. Duke of Dickory? I armed them for the last ten years of that campaign, my armor kept their blood and guts on the inside, my swords severed the arteries of their enemies," Marten exclaimed with animation as he swiped his hands through the air like a knife. "T'was my craftsmanship turned the tides of that war in our favor. I did that," he emphasized, pounding his chest. "That's who you're dealing with now. And you want to make threats, you want to piss on me and tell me it's just the rain, I don't think so. No my boy," His tiny tirade ended and Marten realized his chest was heaving with fury and frustration, he was shaking, perspiring from the rage that swelled up inside him. He was absolutely hot, searing like a white-hot blade drawn from the molten fire. He would not get pushed into a corner, not ever again. He glanced back at Farruk, avoiding the Lord of Misery's fiery-red gaze, the crimson orbs that floated in the darkness of the dimly lit weapons cellar.
Farruk was nearly trembling, wiping his head of sweat, the color drained from his earth-green face until it was nearly gray.
"You're all the same, you know that? I sold my first set of blades and plated armor to Farruk's tribesmen when I heard the village was razed, thought about his children, little baby orcs wailing for in vain, for crimes they ain't committed. I thought, well what's good in that? The justice? The Wolfenkin were getting hunted for trophy pelts, for sport and nothin' else! The kobolds captured and put to work in the stone camps, never to nuzzle in the night under a sea of stars again. Some heroes they are, these champions." Now he felt bold enough, sure enough of his course. He deigned to stare at the Lord of Misery plain in the face, meeting the deathly gaze with his own unwavering conviction. "I'm your man, Mr. Lord of Misery. You'll be winning this war with my sword in your hand, and my helm over your head. But first, what I'm owed."
A brief eternity with the weight of a glacier seemed to pass between them, and in such a silence that not even a breath was heard. He felt his heart beating in his head, Farruk swallowing his spit in a grip of sheer nervousness. And then he heard the slow rumble, mounting into a thundering roll, and watched as the prince's shoulders rose and fell before realizing he was merely laughing.
"Ahh yes. Farruk, you didn't tell me that this man had fire in his heart and ice in his veins. You are the right man, Marten Daggish. And so if we are to do business, tell me this. What is your price for Balrothemyr's Sword of the Stargazer?" the dark prince asked, as he drew back his cloak and revealed the pale blue skin, the wine-colored lips and shimmering white hair. "It is the blade that killed my father, and I intend to kill Balrothemyr's pathetic progeny with it." | Yuri, son of Nikolai, stood at the center of a disturbing scene, staring ponderously at the heaps of scattered blades, slowly sinking into the well traversed mud that made up the crossroads of the village.
He looked up, and asking no one in particular, "There are over 550 million swords in worldwide circulation. That's one sword for every twelve orcs on the planet. The only question is: How do we arm the other eleven?"
...Nah, I'm shittin' you guys, but I'd totally watch a High Fantasy version of Lord of War. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | A skeleton waddled over carrying the bundle, and then dropped it into my arms and waddled back like a clumsy automaton. The Lich's glare stare deep into my eyes, analyzing me. That cold, alien stare always made me feel uneasy, but it always respected the terms.
"*They will come... tomorrow. Should I survive... you will be paid graciously,*" it rasped, like wind passing through reeds.
I glanced at the weapons. One was a large battle-axe, gleaming silver. It seemed to hum, even whisper when held close to the ear. Possessed, a mark of a heroic weapon. There must be something terrible about it, I thought. The marks along its edge suggested a vorpal variant.
Another was a wand with angels etched on it holding an amethyst gem stone at the tip. They seemed to writhe as I looked at them. They showed me their true form, knowing me to be an ally. It was a wand alright, but a totem of Succubi.
And the last was a pair of daggers, blades that appeared to be shadowy mist. These were a famous pair. Any artifact merchant would know them to be rare ethereal blades, able to cut into the spirit world and reap undead. However, something was different.
"*Soul Stealers,*" it rasped, seeing my confusion.
I laughed. Of course. Winking at the terrifying undead overlord, I made my way out of the cave. Terrible evil creatures watched me leave, guarding me. I was safe here.
I slept uneasily, hearing whispers all throughout the night. These were villainous artifacts indeed. Nightmares of tormented souls climbing through my walls wracked my thoughts. These were common symptoms of cursed weapons. But I will not wield them, and this will be the worst of it.
I bathed, made a full breakfast of eggs and sausage, ignored the humming from my closet. It grew louder as I ignored it, almost as if it was angry at me for not holding it and loving it. I knew better.
The morning was slow. I checked the sun, just past noon. They will be here soon. I had no doubt they would stock up and pass by my shop. I decided to rest my eyes behind the counter.
*Knock, knock*. I opened my eyes to see a mountain of a man delicately rapping against my open door. His whiskers twitched like an animal. He wore animal furs, a barbarian, possibly even a berserker. He had scars along his face.
Behind him stood a slender man in an ornate robe, magic symbols illuminated against a royal blue. His eyes saw deep into me, piercing blue eyes that appeared to transcend space and time. He looked young, however his beard was a snowy white. Artificial aging affected some mages. The arcane arts tended to suck life out of you over time.
I almost didn't see the last of them. He had slunk in at some point unnoticed. He wore a shadowy black cloak that seemed to seep smoke at its edges. I still could not see his face, but I saw what he was looking at. He was glaring thoughtfully at the soul stealers already. On his hip, I saw two crossed daggers, gleaming stones on them. He was well equipped but a pair of ethereal blades would be too good to be true.
The barbarian was already stroking his whiskers and staring at the silvered battle-axe on the wall.
"What kind of axe is this?" he asked in a gruff voice, but I could hear his interest.
"*Throat cutter*, and a silvered singer."
I heard him gasp. Another weapon, too good to be true.
It was then I saw the mage staring at the wand in front of me. The angels appeared to writhe, singing. His eyes glared longingly at it.
"Ah, you've found the..."
"*Wand of the guardians*," he said.
"Yes. Sounds like you know of it already."
He tilted his head, watching them sing. Then I saw his eyes squint, then widen all of a sudden. Just as the barbarian and rogue began reaching for their mutual finds, the mage acted.
"*Stop*."
Everyone froze in place, even myself. It was a command word, one that carried more than just sound. Seconds passed as the mage stared deep into my eyes.
"Where did you get these?"
"I've carried them for a long while, m'lord," I lied, "bought them from a merchant that lived near the arcane tower."
This wasn't good.
"Where are all your other artifacts? The rest of the armor and weapons do not even come close to the quality of these," he said, interrogating me.
"But some others do, if these do not interest you. Over there," I pointed at a spear hanging above the doorway, "is the Lance of Galungnir, and I'm sure you know of its capabilities when carried by an honorable knight," I almost spat the words. The wizard didn't like that.
"Something is quite off here," the mage said to the rogue. The rogue looked at him, then his eyes turned to me.
"Too good to be true," the rogue said.
It was too late. The command word had ended, and the barbarian had grabbed the cursed axe. His smile grew wider as he held it. The axe sung to him, a song only he could hear. He was entranced.
"You fool," the mage said to him.
I sighed.
"You're off to kill the demon in the cave, aren't you," I said, choosing my words carefully.
The mage glared at me, accusingly.
"Truth is, I've been waiting for an adventuring party such as yourselves for a while. I have done my research. I believe it to be a Lich in that cave," I said, looking at the ground as I spoke, trying to get the right *feeling*. I had taken theater classes once upon a time.
"I learned enough about Liches to know these weapons would be dear to any that fought them. Truth is that Lich killed my family."
I began to cry on demand.
The mage did not seem convinced. His eyes continued to pierce my soul. I could feel him reaching for it, trying to determine my intentions but I saw the trouble he had. Thank the gods for the amulet of deception around my neck.
"What happened to your family?" The barbarian asked, wanting to believe. He clutched the axe. Every so often his eyes would jump to it.
"I see them around at night, wraiths. They scream at me, accuse me of leaving them to die. They say they are tormented. I want it to end. That Lich must be destroyed."
The mage's eyes began to soften.
"And that it shall be," the rogue said, plucking the daggers from the wall.
The mage looked down at the totem of succubi and sighed.
"Remember, Torik gave us the blessing back there," the barbarian said.
Good old Torik. He still knew how to give a good curse in his old age. Gullibility. I owed him one. And he'd know it too. He'd be coming here asking for his cut as soon as these fools left.
"Alright then," the mage said, snatching the wand, "How much?"
"A thousand gold," I said, "and if you come back having fulfilled the deed, I'll give you your money back in full. I'd owe you at least that much. Otherwise, I'll spend the thousand to find these artifacts again for the next group."
The mage nodded, and dropped a bag of gold on the table.
The barbarian laughed, happy with his new toy. The rogue adeptly twirled the daggers in his hands and replaced his old pair with them. The mage shuffled the wand onto his belt. I almost saw a succubus wink at me as he turned and left.
\*\*\*\*\*
The party walked deep into the cave, slaying some beasts along the way. The barbarian swung that axe like he was born to hold it, sending skeletons and ghouls flying into the walls, shattering. He seemed to grow more strong with every kill, and more angry.
"Bring them on!" he yelled into the dungeon. The rogue shushed him angrily.
After many more weak creatures, they came to a giant room like an amphitheater. A young lady was tied up on an altar, screaming for help. The Lich and his winged helpers held her down, and the Lich brought a dagger into the air, ready to sacrifice her.
"Foul demon! It is your time to end!" the Barbarian yelled. It was the axe that spoke now.
The mage quickly grabbed the Totem of Succubi and pointed it at the tied up young woman. Swirling white lights spun out of it, *then turned a deep blood red* and formed into demonic entities. The Succubi were released. They flew into the air in formation, laughing.
"Oh, shit." the mage said, his last words. He sighed.
The barbarian's anger seethed. He turned towards the mage and screamed "Demon!" and in one fell swoop, lopped off his head. His anger boiled. His rage was endless. He growled and horns began to explode out of his head.
The rogue turned and cried, seeing his best friend murder his other. It was over before it even started. He turned towards the Lich and without thinking, leapt through the air and tumbled right into him, daggers held forward. The rogue's eyes widened as he saw the Lich welcomed the attack, held its rib cage forward, ready.
They sunk right into its ribcage and an ethereal explosion knocked the rogue off. The twisted demonic skull of the Lich began to crumble into dust, but it managed to speak its last words, "*Soul Stealers.*"
The rogue dropped the daggers and began to tremble. The soul of the Lich began to pour out like a rotten red smoke and leapt into the rogue through his ears, eyes, nose and mouth. He screamed in agony and the Lich became dust.
After a second, the rogue regained consciousness, stood up and dusted his chest and legs off, and then began to laugh.
"Well done," I said, stepping out of the shadows, "Well done."
The rogue looked at me and smiled, and in a raspy voice said, "I couldn't have done it without your help."
I could almost see a spirit inside, begging to be let free, a more honorable spirit locked away.
"What will you do now?"
"Travel, make allies, conquer. There's a city nearby that needs a thieves' guild. I could own the city in a few years."
"The capital?"
"Aye," the rogue said, his voice becoming more human.
He peered at me, "why don't you come with me?"
"Sounds like a plan. A thieves' guild always needs an armory."
We nodded, then left that cave for the last time. | Yuri, son of Nikolai, stood at the center of a disturbing scene, staring ponderously at the heaps of scattered blades, slowly sinking into the well traversed mud that made up the crossroads of the village.
He looked up, and asking no one in particular, "There are over 550 million swords in worldwide circulation. That's one sword for every twelve orcs on the planet. The only question is: How do we arm the other eleven?"
...Nah, I'm shittin' you guys, but I'd totally watch a High Fantasy version of Lord of War. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I was drawing up a new display plan for next week's Festival Specials when Lothar walked in.
"How can I help you, Lothar?"
He tossed down a set of severely mangled bracers. "I need some new ones. That bastard warg chewed mine up pretty good last night."
"Sure thing, there should be a set in your size on the shelf just over there," I pointed. He moved over to the pile of bracers and started digging through.
"Can I get them dyed to match the rest of my armour?" he asked.
"Sure can. You want that instead of the guild discount this time?" I have a sponsorship deal with the various martial guilds in town. For the Fighter's Guild, they receive a nominal discount that scales with their rank, which can be substituted for alternative services at mutual discretion.
"That would be great. We got a good bounty for the warg, but between Guild fees and upkeep, there's not much left over. Plus, it my anniversary today, so I'd like to take Talia out and about, treat her real nice."
"Oh, happy anniversary my friend! This calls for something special - tell you what, come with me into the store room, I've got something you might like."
Lothar enters the store room as I'm struggling to pry off the lid of a crate. "Here, let me," he says, reaching down. He grips the edge of the lid with one hand, the crate with the other, and pops the lid off like nails didn't even exist.
"Thanks Lothar. Now, take a look at these," I say, handing him a pair of fine leather boots. "What do you think? Would Talia like them?"
"Oh wow. Jeez Rowan, these are perfect!" He looks them over again, eyeing the tassels and the intricate beadwork on the uppers. Excitement shone in his eyes. "How much?"
I grinned. "A gift! From me to you, and to Talia of course."
"Rowan, I can't just accept these..." he starts.
"Of course you can, Lothar. It is a gift, from one friend to another. Please, I insist."
"Well... thank you. Friend." Lothar looks positively sheepish. "Now, back to those bracers..."
*************************************************************************
After finishing with Lothar and planning for next week's Festival Specials, I locked up the shop and headed for lunch. The Travelling Gooseberry Tavern is usually the place to eat, but today, I had somewhere else to be, so I had packed some food into a small backpack. I headed out into the woods, travelling the main road until the lightning-blasted tree. From there, I turned into the woods, and picked out a faint trail towards Eoward's Well. As you know, Eoward's Well was abandoned some time ago, after a pox had taken Eoward and most of his family, leaving behind the ghost of a farm and an empty well. The empty well is a surprisingly good delivery spot. Simply send down the items in the old bucket and walk away. And if anyone asks why I'm taking supplies out there, I just say I'm disposing of unusable materials.
I settled into the shade beside the barn, a neat little place where I could see the abandoned farm yard but couldn't be easily seen myself. I was half way through the first apple when I caught the first rustle in the grass from beside the house. A crow sounded twice, then a small mottled green humanoid figure slid into view. I whistled a fair imitation of a sparrow, then stepped out into the yard.
"Hello, Grimmtooth, what business have we today?" I asked
"Rowan," said the goblin, "we come to talk ammunitions. We needs more."
"Very well, the usual bundles of arrows?"
"Yes, and bolts too. We taken five crossbows from humans."
I start. "Crossbows? I don't - Where did you get those?"
"Said, taken from humans. They tries to raid camp, so we fights back. They die and we taken crossbows and stuff. Good eating for days."
This is troubling. You can't take a goblin camp with crossbows, they take too long to reload. Best you'll get is one shot each before the goblins scramble into melee - maybe two, if you're proficient.
Even more worrying - I don't stock crossbows. Seems there's some new competition in the area.
"Grimm, I can get you the arrows, no problem. Bolts, though - they *are* a problem."
"Gots no problems before, why problem now, Rowan?"
"Well, Grimm - I don't sell crossbows. Never have, and don't even have a supplier for them. Therefore I have no bolts, either."
"How we gonna shoot with no bolts?"
"Guess you'll have to take them off corpses. In the meantime, I can get your arrows. Anything else?"
"No, arrows have to do. When?"
"A week. In the well, as usual."
*************************************************************************
As I head back to town, my mind is a hive of activity. Someone is arming adventurers with crossbows, and sending them after the goblins. Who? Where are they sourcing the crossbows? This could upset the balance I've been working toward - giving both monsters and adventurers even odds at winning by arming both sides. I need to find this new arms dealer. But how?
The Guilds. They should know if another dealer is in the area. So now I need to talk to Lothar - but no, not tonight. Tonight I need to start assembling bundles of arrows. And besides, I wouldn't want to spoil Lothar's anniversary. | Yuri, son of Nikolai, stood at the center of a disturbing scene, staring ponderously at the heaps of scattered blades, slowly sinking into the well traversed mud that made up the crossroads of the village.
He looked up, and asking no one in particular, "There are over 550 million swords in worldwide circulation. That's one sword for every twelve orcs on the planet. The only question is: How do we arm the other eleven?"
...Nah, I'm shittin' you guys, but I'd totally watch a High Fantasy version of Lord of War. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | Well Prepared, part 1:
The bag of coins slams down on the desk, breaking my concentration completely. I turn and scowl at this new irritant. A young elf, looks to be about fifty. Full plate armour and a greatsword, his gear looks expensive but barely used. Great, some kind of impetuous new blood, probably thinks he’ll be every human’s idol in a year after he’s slaughtered a few orcs, well past their fighting days. No doubt he’d soil himself if he saw a real orc warrior.
“Didn’t you hear me old man? I need a new short sword, good quality mind you, not the usual rubbish you humans put out.” His sneer is painfully predictable, in my shop for five seconds and he already thinks he’s better than me.
“For your information I’m barely a day over forty,” I growl, pulling a sword from under the counter. Dwarf made, high quality steel. I doubt even he can find a problem with that.
“That’ll be 120 gold pieces.”
He smirks, “Any discount for an up and coming hero? I’m sure people will flock to your little shop when they learn you’ve supplied Andriem Swifthand.”
“No, no discounts. All prices are...HEY! Hands off!” I snap, seeing his halfling companion deftly lifting a necklace from its stand. He drops it back with a guilty look.
“Thats 2000 gold if you’re interested. No? Thought not.” Bleeding halflings, how can an entire race be so light fingered. ‘Rebellious’ and ‘Free spirited’ they call it. Yeah well I call it thieving.
At least the elf’s paying, no more arrogant talk after his friend embarrassed him like that.
“Come on Sadorin, the others are waiting,” he mumbles, moving to leave. I see a couple more figures lounging in the doorway, a dwarf and another a elf, who winks at her friend as they start to walk out. That's when I see it. She’s wearing a pendant with the shape of a flower, red tinged iron.
“Wait! That amulet, where did you find that?” I feel cold sweat run down the back of my neck.
She smirks, “Little lizard fellow was carrying it. Filthy creatures, we put them out of their misery when they tried to ambush us. Would you believe it, they were spouting some nonsense about the swamp belonging to them! As if those savages could own lands.”
My horror must show on my face, as the dwarf’s eyes narrow.
“You look pretty unhappy friend.” He growls. “Couldn’t be you knew that beast?”
I turn away.
“Don’t insult me dwarf. In fact, all of you out my shop, I think I’ll close early.”
Alone, I turn the stone statuette over in my hands. A dragon, given to me by the kobold he nursed me back to health when I lay injured in the swamp. To contact him if I needed help once more. To whom I gave my prized amulet of protection. The very same I just saw. Trembling I reach out with my mind, using the statue as a focus. Nothing. He’s gone.
Then, something else.
A cold, dark intelligence, ancient. Brushing against my consciousness.
“You seem troubled human.”
I’m shaking for a different reason now.
“You feel regret, rage. I am no stranger to these feelings.”
“Who are you?”
“I think you know that human. I think you want to help me and those that serve me.
A tear runs down my face. “I cannot help you. There's nothing I can do.”
“Why do you tell yourself these lies? You are uniquely positioned to assist those who are persecuted by those fools.”
“I have a life here. I can’t just give all that up for revenge. Its an unworthy emotion.”
“You are not talking to me because you want revenge human. You are talking to me because you want to help. Because you know it is right.”
How could it know that? It doesn’t know me at all. That's ridiculous.
“Fine. Meet me at my warehouse. Midnight.”
Stratohaven is not a small city. The warehouse district in particular is huge, since most adventurers stop off here before entering the red wastes to east. Big big business, resupplying them. As a result, I’m beginning to worry when my contact hasn’t arrived. The feeling isn’t really assuaged when a tall, hooded figure looms out of an ally to the side of my property.
“Ah, yes. I see you are a man of your word.” Its voice is a deep rumble and steam billows from its hood as it speaks. Inconspicuous? Hardly. Intimidating? Very.
“I.. I didn’t realise you would come in person.” I stutter. “Surely this is a dangerous place for one such as yourself?”
A hearty chuckle from the figure.
“My friend, for one as old as me, few places are truly dangerous. Nonetheless, one of my allies chose to provide me with a bodyguard, who now lurks out of sight.”
I see around ten smaller figures emerge from the alley. Reptilian snouts poke from their hoods and they hiss to each other in a language I recognise.
I doubt a few kobolds will be able to face down the city guard, but then again as he said, I’m sure my new ally is capable of looking after himself.
Striding to the side door of the warehouse, I undo the locks and swing it open to reveal the treasures within. Hundred of axes, swords other weapons line the racks, with suits of armour dominating the walls. The kobolds hiss to each other in wonder and begin to walk through the warehouse, inspecting the produce. I must admit to a certain pride in the quality of my wares as I usher the figure in, before turning to seal the doors once again.
The figure walks over to a rack, the contents of which are likely worth more than the rest of the warehouse combined. About a dozen intricate magical weapons, the runes on them glowing faintly. I see him reach out to grasp the hilt of one and shiver as I notice the dark red scales that form his skin.
Gathering up more courage once more, I speak out.
“I doubt you’ll be able to afford all those. Even with the discount I intend on giving you.”
“For me human, gold is of little obstacle. I having been sitting on a mountain of it for centuries. It’s about time it went to good use.” He turns to look at me once more.
“We shall take everything. Payments will be made to you discretely over the course of a month.”
I blink in surprise. A purchase this big will make me the richest man in the city. By a large margin. However, I see a problem.
“How exactly do you intend to move this many items from the city? I was expecting a small transaction, this will require at least 10 wagons. There’s no way you’ll get that past the guards.”
Once again, the figure laughs. Throwing an arm around me, he leads me back to the door. “I’ll let my underlings handle the logistics. All they’ve asked me for, is a distraction.”
The next for seconds are a mess of confusion and terror. I’m thrown backwards against the wall be an unseen force. The figure is gone and a huge creatures claws its way from the alley. I curl into a ball, whimpering, as I feel a wind buffet me, stronger than I’ve ever experienced, punctuated by a regular, painfully loud beating of great wings. All around, I hearing screaming and see lights flung on in houses, as a dark, massive shape swoops across the city. Sorcery flashes and a deafening roar sounds, but I turn and sprint home, leaving the kobolds to their work as they chatter excitedly.
​
Part 2 will be in the reply.
​ | Yuri, son of Nikolai, stood at the center of a disturbing scene, staring ponderously at the heaps of scattered blades, slowly sinking into the well traversed mud that made up the crossroads of the village.
He looked up, and asking no one in particular, "There are over 550 million swords in worldwide circulation. That's one sword for every twelve orcs on the planet. The only question is: How do we arm the other eleven?"
...Nah, I'm shittin' you guys, but I'd totally watch a High Fantasy version of Lord of War. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | A skeleton waddled over carrying the bundle, and then dropped it into my arms and waddled back like a clumsy automaton. The Lich's glare stare deep into my eyes, analyzing me. That cold, alien stare always made me feel uneasy, but it always respected the terms.
"*They will come... tomorrow. Should I survive... you will be paid graciously,*" it rasped, like wind passing through reeds.
I glanced at the weapons. One was a large battle-axe, gleaming silver. It seemed to hum, even whisper when held close to the ear. Possessed, a mark of a heroic weapon. There must be something terrible about it, I thought. The marks along its edge suggested a vorpal variant.
Another was a wand with angels etched on it holding an amethyst gem stone at the tip. They seemed to writhe as I looked at them. They showed me their true form, knowing me to be an ally. It was a wand alright, but a totem of Succubi.
And the last was a pair of daggers, blades that appeared to be shadowy mist. These were a famous pair. Any artifact merchant would know them to be rare ethereal blades, able to cut into the spirit world and reap undead. However, something was different.
"*Soul Stealers,*" it rasped, seeing my confusion.
I laughed. Of course. Winking at the terrifying undead overlord, I made my way out of the cave. Terrible evil creatures watched me leave, guarding me. I was safe here.
I slept uneasily, hearing whispers all throughout the night. These were villainous artifacts indeed. Nightmares of tormented souls climbing through my walls wracked my thoughts. These were common symptoms of cursed weapons. But I will not wield them, and this will be the worst of it.
I bathed, made a full breakfast of eggs and sausage, ignored the humming from my closet. It grew louder as I ignored it, almost as if it was angry at me for not holding it and loving it. I knew better.
The morning was slow. I checked the sun, just past noon. They will be here soon. I had no doubt they would stock up and pass by my shop. I decided to rest my eyes behind the counter.
*Knock, knock*. I opened my eyes to see a mountain of a man delicately rapping against my open door. His whiskers twitched like an animal. He wore animal furs, a barbarian, possibly even a berserker. He had scars along his face.
Behind him stood a slender man in an ornate robe, magic symbols illuminated against a royal blue. His eyes saw deep into me, piercing blue eyes that appeared to transcend space and time. He looked young, however his beard was a snowy white. Artificial aging affected some mages. The arcane arts tended to suck life out of you over time.
I almost didn't see the last of them. He had slunk in at some point unnoticed. He wore a shadowy black cloak that seemed to seep smoke at its edges. I still could not see his face, but I saw what he was looking at. He was glaring thoughtfully at the soul stealers already. On his hip, I saw two crossed daggers, gleaming stones on them. He was well equipped but a pair of ethereal blades would be too good to be true.
The barbarian was already stroking his whiskers and staring at the silvered battle-axe on the wall.
"What kind of axe is this?" he asked in a gruff voice, but I could hear his interest.
"*Throat cutter*, and a silvered singer."
I heard him gasp. Another weapon, too good to be true.
It was then I saw the mage staring at the wand in front of me. The angels appeared to writhe, singing. His eyes glared longingly at it.
"Ah, you've found the..."
"*Wand of the guardians*," he said.
"Yes. Sounds like you know of it already."
He tilted his head, watching them sing. Then I saw his eyes squint, then widen all of a sudden. Just as the barbarian and rogue began reaching for their mutual finds, the mage acted.
"*Stop*."
Everyone froze in place, even myself. It was a command word, one that carried more than just sound. Seconds passed as the mage stared deep into my eyes.
"Where did you get these?"
"I've carried them for a long while, m'lord," I lied, "bought them from a merchant that lived near the arcane tower."
This wasn't good.
"Where are all your other artifacts? The rest of the armor and weapons do not even come close to the quality of these," he said, interrogating me.
"But some others do, if these do not interest you. Over there," I pointed at a spear hanging above the doorway, "is the Lance of Galungnir, and I'm sure you know of its capabilities when carried by an honorable knight," I almost spat the words. The wizard didn't like that.
"Something is quite off here," the mage said to the rogue. The rogue looked at him, then his eyes turned to me.
"Too good to be true," the rogue said.
It was too late. The command word had ended, and the barbarian had grabbed the cursed axe. His smile grew wider as he held it. The axe sung to him, a song only he could hear. He was entranced.
"You fool," the mage said to him.
I sighed.
"You're off to kill the demon in the cave, aren't you," I said, choosing my words carefully.
The mage glared at me, accusingly.
"Truth is, I've been waiting for an adventuring party such as yourselves for a while. I have done my research. I believe it to be a Lich in that cave," I said, looking at the ground as I spoke, trying to get the right *feeling*. I had taken theater classes once upon a time.
"I learned enough about Liches to know these weapons would be dear to any that fought them. Truth is that Lich killed my family."
I began to cry on demand.
The mage did not seem convinced. His eyes continued to pierce my soul. I could feel him reaching for it, trying to determine my intentions but I saw the trouble he had. Thank the gods for the amulet of deception around my neck.
"What happened to your family?" The barbarian asked, wanting to believe. He clutched the axe. Every so often his eyes would jump to it.
"I see them around at night, wraiths. They scream at me, accuse me of leaving them to die. They say they are tormented. I want it to end. That Lich must be destroyed."
The mage's eyes began to soften.
"And that it shall be," the rogue said, plucking the daggers from the wall.
The mage looked down at the totem of succubi and sighed.
"Remember, Torik gave us the blessing back there," the barbarian said.
Good old Torik. He still knew how to give a good curse in his old age. Gullibility. I owed him one. And he'd know it too. He'd be coming here asking for his cut as soon as these fools left.
"Alright then," the mage said, snatching the wand, "How much?"
"A thousand gold," I said, "and if you come back having fulfilled the deed, I'll give you your money back in full. I'd owe you at least that much. Otherwise, I'll spend the thousand to find these artifacts again for the next group."
The mage nodded, and dropped a bag of gold on the table.
The barbarian laughed, happy with his new toy. The rogue adeptly twirled the daggers in his hands and replaced his old pair with them. The mage shuffled the wand onto his belt. I almost saw a succubus wink at me as he turned and left.
\*\*\*\*\*
The party walked deep into the cave, slaying some beasts along the way. The barbarian swung that axe like he was born to hold it, sending skeletons and ghouls flying into the walls, shattering. He seemed to grow more strong with every kill, and more angry.
"Bring them on!" he yelled into the dungeon. The rogue shushed him angrily.
After many more weak creatures, they came to a giant room like an amphitheater. A young lady was tied up on an altar, screaming for help. The Lich and his winged helpers held her down, and the Lich brought a dagger into the air, ready to sacrifice her.
"Foul demon! It is your time to end!" the Barbarian yelled. It was the axe that spoke now.
The mage quickly grabbed the Totem of Succubi and pointed it at the tied up young woman. Swirling white lights spun out of it, *then turned a deep blood red* and formed into demonic entities. The Succubi were released. They flew into the air in formation, laughing.
"Oh, shit." the mage said, his last words. He sighed.
The barbarian's anger seethed. He turned towards the mage and screamed "Demon!" and in one fell swoop, lopped off his head. His anger boiled. His rage was endless. He growled and horns began to explode out of his head.
The rogue turned and cried, seeing his best friend murder his other. It was over before it even started. He turned towards the Lich and without thinking, leapt through the air and tumbled right into him, daggers held forward. The rogue's eyes widened as he saw the Lich welcomed the attack, held its rib cage forward, ready.
They sunk right into its ribcage and an ethereal explosion knocked the rogue off. The twisted demonic skull of the Lich began to crumble into dust, but it managed to speak its last words, "*Soul Stealers.*"
The rogue dropped the daggers and began to tremble. The soul of the Lich began to pour out like a rotten red smoke and leapt into the rogue through his ears, eyes, nose and mouth. He screamed in agony and the Lich became dust.
After a second, the rogue regained consciousness, stood up and dusted his chest and legs off, and then began to laugh.
"Well done," I said, stepping out of the shadows, "Well done."
The rogue looked at me and smiled, and in a raspy voice said, "I couldn't have done it without your help."
I could almost see a spirit inside, begging to be let free, a more honorable spirit locked away.
"What will you do now?"
"Travel, make allies, conquer. There's a city nearby that needs a thieves' guild. I could own the city in a few years."
"The capital?"
"Aye," the rogue said, his voice becoming more human.
He peered at me, "why don't you come with me?"
"Sounds like a plan. A thieves' guild always needs an armory."
We nodded, then left that cave for the last time. | I nod at the warrior, "very good you've come along way in the last few weeks, your going to be a master Blacksmith any time soon!"
The brutish man slams his fist down on the table and let's out a loud cheer, "I'm Morath the best warrior around slayer of demons champion of the tournament. Of course I'm going to be good at this." My eyes roll at the man as I shoo him out the door taking my fee and locking up shop. Running Smithy lessons is hard work when you deal with the ignorant hero types.
Hours have passed since closing, the moon now at it's highest. A tap is heard on the door, a large figure is standing the dark. "Oh I have quite the haul today Thadus let me show you, ive had that idiotic hero craft you a few rather nice blades."
The large orc steps into the shop and walks over to the sword rack, his large tusked grin shows that he is very much impressed with them. He places a large sack of gold on the table and nods, "Oh yes this will be very helpful arming the troops." He let's out a deep chuckle.
"Same arangment next week?"
We nod to each other, and the Large orc takes his leave. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I was drawing up a new display plan for next week's Festival Specials when Lothar walked in.
"How can I help you, Lothar?"
He tossed down a set of severely mangled bracers. "I need some new ones. That bastard warg chewed mine up pretty good last night."
"Sure thing, there should be a set in your size on the shelf just over there," I pointed. He moved over to the pile of bracers and started digging through.
"Can I get them dyed to match the rest of my armour?" he asked.
"Sure can. You want that instead of the guild discount this time?" I have a sponsorship deal with the various martial guilds in town. For the Fighter's Guild, they receive a nominal discount that scales with their rank, which can be substituted for alternative services at mutual discretion.
"That would be great. We got a good bounty for the warg, but between Guild fees and upkeep, there's not much left over. Plus, it my anniversary today, so I'd like to take Talia out and about, treat her real nice."
"Oh, happy anniversary my friend! This calls for something special - tell you what, come with me into the store room, I've got something you might like."
Lothar enters the store room as I'm struggling to pry off the lid of a crate. "Here, let me," he says, reaching down. He grips the edge of the lid with one hand, the crate with the other, and pops the lid off like nails didn't even exist.
"Thanks Lothar. Now, take a look at these," I say, handing him a pair of fine leather boots. "What do you think? Would Talia like them?"
"Oh wow. Jeez Rowan, these are perfect!" He looks them over again, eyeing the tassels and the intricate beadwork on the uppers. Excitement shone in his eyes. "How much?"
I grinned. "A gift! From me to you, and to Talia of course."
"Rowan, I can't just accept these..." he starts.
"Of course you can, Lothar. It is a gift, from one friend to another. Please, I insist."
"Well... thank you. Friend." Lothar looks positively sheepish. "Now, back to those bracers..."
*************************************************************************
After finishing with Lothar and planning for next week's Festival Specials, I locked up the shop and headed for lunch. The Travelling Gooseberry Tavern is usually the place to eat, but today, I had somewhere else to be, so I had packed some food into a small backpack. I headed out into the woods, travelling the main road until the lightning-blasted tree. From there, I turned into the woods, and picked out a faint trail towards Eoward's Well. As you know, Eoward's Well was abandoned some time ago, after a pox had taken Eoward and most of his family, leaving behind the ghost of a farm and an empty well. The empty well is a surprisingly good delivery spot. Simply send down the items in the old bucket and walk away. And if anyone asks why I'm taking supplies out there, I just say I'm disposing of unusable materials.
I settled into the shade beside the barn, a neat little place where I could see the abandoned farm yard but couldn't be easily seen myself. I was half way through the first apple when I caught the first rustle in the grass from beside the house. A crow sounded twice, then a small mottled green humanoid figure slid into view. I whistled a fair imitation of a sparrow, then stepped out into the yard.
"Hello, Grimmtooth, what business have we today?" I asked
"Rowan," said the goblin, "we come to talk ammunitions. We needs more."
"Very well, the usual bundles of arrows?"
"Yes, and bolts too. We taken five crossbows from humans."
I start. "Crossbows? I don't - Where did you get those?"
"Said, taken from humans. They tries to raid camp, so we fights back. They die and we taken crossbows and stuff. Good eating for days."
This is troubling. You can't take a goblin camp with crossbows, they take too long to reload. Best you'll get is one shot each before the goblins scramble into melee - maybe two, if you're proficient.
Even more worrying - I don't stock crossbows. Seems there's some new competition in the area.
"Grimm, I can get you the arrows, no problem. Bolts, though - they *are* a problem."
"Gots no problems before, why problem now, Rowan?"
"Well, Grimm - I don't sell crossbows. Never have, and don't even have a supplier for them. Therefore I have no bolts, either."
"How we gonna shoot with no bolts?"
"Guess you'll have to take them off corpses. In the meantime, I can get your arrows. Anything else?"
"No, arrows have to do. When?"
"A week. In the well, as usual."
*************************************************************************
As I head back to town, my mind is a hive of activity. Someone is arming adventurers with crossbows, and sending them after the goblins. Who? Where are they sourcing the crossbows? This could upset the balance I've been working toward - giving both monsters and adventurers even odds at winning by arming both sides. I need to find this new arms dealer. But how?
The Guilds. They should know if another dealer is in the area. So now I need to talk to Lothar - but no, not tonight. Tonight I need to start assembling bundles of arrows. And besides, I wouldn't want to spoil Lothar's anniversary. | "Whooo!!" I yelled out as I took another hit of the coke potion.
I felt the effects of the potion quickly spread from my head to the rest of my body. I needed a little something to keep me going in this stressful time.
"Babe, I need you to pack faster" I shouted to my girlfriend. She didn't appreciate being woken up and told to grab just the essentials, but she was my ride or die. I knew she would come with me wherever I ended up going. We met because she ran the bar that was next door to my shop. We both lived in the room above her bar. I could see her giving me the evil eye, but I didn't say anything. I had to stay focused on finding all the gold I had kept hidden in various chests and nooks around the room.
I hadn't explained to her why we suddenly had to leave in the middle of the night. I hadn't told her that I had been selling my wares to Monsters of the kingdom. How was I supposed to explain to her that our fancy lifestyle had been fueled by Orc hoards, Dragons, and Black Mages?
"Ok thats it, we need to leave now!" I shouted over her muffled protests.
"But I havn't packed a comb... and I can't find my party shoes... and I..." I cut her off and pulled her to the exit. I could see the fires getting closer in the distance. The last deal had gone bad. Really bad. I was in the middle of the Mystic Woods selling a legendary sword to Mini Boss when the fucking adventurers came around. Those guys always fucking show up when you don't need them around. Fuck them. I had managed to sneak out of there without being noticed, but they killed Mini Boss and took the legendary sword. I had borrowed money from the Main Boss in the dungeon to fund the making of the legendary sword. Now his guys were coming to get back what they owed.
I ran downstairs with my girlfriend. I didn't know how I was going to make it up to her. I ran through the door and ran right into... who else but the fucking adventurers again.
"I need to buy some super potions" White Mage said to me. Fuck she was hot. If I wasn't with my girlfriend and she wasn't with that jackass Thief.
"Shop's closed, can't you see the sign" I yelled back to her as I grabbed my stuff off the ground.
"Look we're going to take down Main Boss and we used up our potions fighting Mini Boss. Can't you help us out please?" She said with big puppy dog eyes. I had a sudden burst of hope. Maybe this could be my way out.
"Sure thing. What can I get you?" I said.
I fucking hated the adventurers, but sometimes they could be useful. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | Well Prepared, part 1:
The bag of coins slams down on the desk, breaking my concentration completely. I turn and scowl at this new irritant. A young elf, looks to be about fifty. Full plate armour and a greatsword, his gear looks expensive but barely used. Great, some kind of impetuous new blood, probably thinks he’ll be every human’s idol in a year after he’s slaughtered a few orcs, well past their fighting days. No doubt he’d soil himself if he saw a real orc warrior.
“Didn’t you hear me old man? I need a new short sword, good quality mind you, not the usual rubbish you humans put out.” His sneer is painfully predictable, in my shop for five seconds and he already thinks he’s better than me.
“For your information I’m barely a day over forty,” I growl, pulling a sword from under the counter. Dwarf made, high quality steel. I doubt even he can find a problem with that.
“That’ll be 120 gold pieces.”
He smirks, “Any discount for an up and coming hero? I’m sure people will flock to your little shop when they learn you’ve supplied Andriem Swifthand.”
“No, no discounts. All prices are...HEY! Hands off!” I snap, seeing his halfling companion deftly lifting a necklace from its stand. He drops it back with a guilty look.
“Thats 2000 gold if you’re interested. No? Thought not.” Bleeding halflings, how can an entire race be so light fingered. ‘Rebellious’ and ‘Free spirited’ they call it. Yeah well I call it thieving.
At least the elf’s paying, no more arrogant talk after his friend embarrassed him like that.
“Come on Sadorin, the others are waiting,” he mumbles, moving to leave. I see a couple more figures lounging in the doorway, a dwarf and another a elf, who winks at her friend as they start to walk out. That's when I see it. She’s wearing a pendant with the shape of a flower, red tinged iron.
“Wait! That amulet, where did you find that?” I feel cold sweat run down the back of my neck.
She smirks, “Little lizard fellow was carrying it. Filthy creatures, we put them out of their misery when they tried to ambush us. Would you believe it, they were spouting some nonsense about the swamp belonging to them! As if those savages could own lands.”
My horror must show on my face, as the dwarf’s eyes narrow.
“You look pretty unhappy friend.” He growls. “Couldn’t be you knew that beast?”
I turn away.
“Don’t insult me dwarf. In fact, all of you out my shop, I think I’ll close early.”
Alone, I turn the stone statuette over in my hands. A dragon, given to me by the kobold he nursed me back to health when I lay injured in the swamp. To contact him if I needed help once more. To whom I gave my prized amulet of protection. The very same I just saw. Trembling I reach out with my mind, using the statue as a focus. Nothing. He’s gone.
Then, something else.
A cold, dark intelligence, ancient. Brushing against my consciousness.
“You seem troubled human.”
I’m shaking for a different reason now.
“You feel regret, rage. I am no stranger to these feelings.”
“Who are you?”
“I think you know that human. I think you want to help me and those that serve me.
A tear runs down my face. “I cannot help you. There's nothing I can do.”
“Why do you tell yourself these lies? You are uniquely positioned to assist those who are persecuted by those fools.”
“I have a life here. I can’t just give all that up for revenge. Its an unworthy emotion.”
“You are not talking to me because you want revenge human. You are talking to me because you want to help. Because you know it is right.”
How could it know that? It doesn’t know me at all. That's ridiculous.
“Fine. Meet me at my warehouse. Midnight.”
Stratohaven is not a small city. The warehouse district in particular is huge, since most adventurers stop off here before entering the red wastes to east. Big big business, resupplying them. As a result, I’m beginning to worry when my contact hasn’t arrived. The feeling isn’t really assuaged when a tall, hooded figure looms out of an ally to the side of my property.
“Ah, yes. I see you are a man of your word.” Its voice is a deep rumble and steam billows from its hood as it speaks. Inconspicuous? Hardly. Intimidating? Very.
“I.. I didn’t realise you would come in person.” I stutter. “Surely this is a dangerous place for one such as yourself?”
A hearty chuckle from the figure.
“My friend, for one as old as me, few places are truly dangerous. Nonetheless, one of my allies chose to provide me with a bodyguard, who now lurks out of sight.”
I see around ten smaller figures emerge from the alley. Reptilian snouts poke from their hoods and they hiss to each other in a language I recognise.
I doubt a few kobolds will be able to face down the city guard, but then again as he said, I’m sure my new ally is capable of looking after himself.
Striding to the side door of the warehouse, I undo the locks and swing it open to reveal the treasures within. Hundred of axes, swords other weapons line the racks, with suits of armour dominating the walls. The kobolds hiss to each other in wonder and begin to walk through the warehouse, inspecting the produce. I must admit to a certain pride in the quality of my wares as I usher the figure in, before turning to seal the doors once again.
The figure walks over to a rack, the contents of which are likely worth more than the rest of the warehouse combined. About a dozen intricate magical weapons, the runes on them glowing faintly. I see him reach out to grasp the hilt of one and shiver as I notice the dark red scales that form his skin.
Gathering up more courage once more, I speak out.
“I doubt you’ll be able to afford all those. Even with the discount I intend on giving you.”
“For me human, gold is of little obstacle. I having been sitting on a mountain of it for centuries. It’s about time it went to good use.” He turns to look at me once more.
“We shall take everything. Payments will be made to you discretely over the course of a month.”
I blink in surprise. A purchase this big will make me the richest man in the city. By a large margin. However, I see a problem.
“How exactly do you intend to move this many items from the city? I was expecting a small transaction, this will require at least 10 wagons. There’s no way you’ll get that past the guards.”
Once again, the figure laughs. Throwing an arm around me, he leads me back to the door. “I’ll let my underlings handle the logistics. All they’ve asked me for, is a distraction.”
The next for seconds are a mess of confusion and terror. I’m thrown backwards against the wall be an unseen force. The figure is gone and a huge creatures claws its way from the alley. I curl into a ball, whimpering, as I feel a wind buffet me, stronger than I’ve ever experienced, punctuated by a regular, painfully loud beating of great wings. All around, I hearing screaming and see lights flung on in houses, as a dark, massive shape swoops across the city. Sorcery flashes and a deafening roar sounds, but I turn and sprint home, leaving the kobolds to their work as they chatter excitedly.
​
Part 2 will be in the reply.
​ | "Whooo!!" I yelled out as I took another hit of the coke potion.
I felt the effects of the potion quickly spread from my head to the rest of my body. I needed a little something to keep me going in this stressful time.
"Babe, I need you to pack faster" I shouted to my girlfriend. She didn't appreciate being woken up and told to grab just the essentials, but she was my ride or die. I knew she would come with me wherever I ended up going. We met because she ran the bar that was next door to my shop. We both lived in the room above her bar. I could see her giving me the evil eye, but I didn't say anything. I had to stay focused on finding all the gold I had kept hidden in various chests and nooks around the room.
I hadn't explained to her why we suddenly had to leave in the middle of the night. I hadn't told her that I had been selling my wares to Monsters of the kingdom. How was I supposed to explain to her that our fancy lifestyle had been fueled by Orc hoards, Dragons, and Black Mages?
"Ok thats it, we need to leave now!" I shouted over her muffled protests.
"But I havn't packed a comb... and I can't find my party shoes... and I..." I cut her off and pulled her to the exit. I could see the fires getting closer in the distance. The last deal had gone bad. Really bad. I was in the middle of the Mystic Woods selling a legendary sword to Mini Boss when the fucking adventurers came around. Those guys always fucking show up when you don't need them around. Fuck them. I had managed to sneak out of there without being noticed, but they killed Mini Boss and took the legendary sword. I had borrowed money from the Main Boss in the dungeon to fund the making of the legendary sword. Now his guys were coming to get back what they owed.
I ran downstairs with my girlfriend. I didn't know how I was going to make it up to her. I ran through the door and ran right into... who else but the fucking adventurers again.
"I need to buy some super potions" White Mage said to me. Fuck she was hot. If I wasn't with my girlfriend and she wasn't with that jackass Thief.
"Shop's closed, can't you see the sign" I yelled back to her as I grabbed my stuff off the ground.
"Look we're going to take down Main Boss and we used up our potions fighting Mini Boss. Can't you help us out please?" She said with big puppy dog eyes. I had a sudden burst of hope. Maybe this could be my way out.
"Sure thing. What can I get you?" I said.
I fucking hated the adventurers, but sometimes they could be useful. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | With a nod, the young orc exited my shop with a lance in hand. I sold him that lance.
Ten years ago, I would have shivered at the idea of selling a weapon to an orc - or any monster, for that matter. But times have changed. The stereotypical "heroes", those muscular blond-haired men coming from all edges of the Earth looking to slay dragons or defeat armies of goblins in our land, have done nothing heroic at all.
Instead, they ravish our land and rob it of our gold and natural resources. Those men then return to their homes where they are all hailed as heroes, their status elevated to those of kings. And the citizens of our land, human and monster alike, are tired of it.
Though I do not speak the language of orcs or dragons or goblins, we are all part of the same land. And we have come to an understanding. I supply the weapons, they supply the army. I hope that one day our joint efforts will prevent these "heroes" from plundering our lands.
As the orc walks out of my shop, I hope that he will one day be known locally as the hero of our land. And he would be a true hero, at that. Not the fake heroes that are actually plunderers and murderers in disguise.
Godspeed, young orc.
| “So, do you want it or not?” It was about more than just the money at this point. “I’ve had enough of those greedy bastards doing what they want, it needs to stop! Nature needs to fight back” I could feel my blood boiling, and this dumb orc’s response? “It’s a wittle smawl innit?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you fucking mad?” I growled as 8 feet of high grade samurai sword sat glistening between us. “Not only was it hand forged by Masamune Okazaki himself, but it was used by none other than Seph-“ I caught myself shouting, “Sephiroth” I whispered. The orcs eyes lit up at this and I knew I had his attention. “My boss would like that very much” he drooled. “I’m sure she would, and at this price I’m sure I deserve a face to face?” The orcs face contorted into a snarl, yet a gentle cough came from the shadows over his enormous shoulder, finally the warlock who had arrived with Korg nodded signalling I was in. This was it, I’d waited for a sit down with Kerrigan for far too long, while these so called heroes slaughtered creatures across the lands, from dragons and orcs to skulltula and bari’s. The huge hoard of special weapons, potions and other items I had amassed over the years from these adventurers would finally have an army worthy of using them. “Just one thing” said the warlock in a voice that was more fitting to an accountant than an all powerful wizard, “Kerrigan will require a gift, in good faith?” , “the sword” I offered. “Something a little more... special perhaps?” Asked the Warlock who’s name I couldn’t quite pronounce. I smiled, “I have just the thing” I said as I opened a satchel containing a Blue shell from the mushroom kingdom, will this do? The Warlock smiled, as he did the room around me began to crumble to dust, and all of a sudden we had been transported into a great hall, and sat before me, Kerrigan: Queen of Blades, she smiled at me “I’ve been waiting for you, Shopkeeper...” my heart skipped a beat. “Please call me...” [insert character creation screen] | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | The fire of freedom shone bright in the hearts of the Orcs of the Horkistan Workers Party (HWP). Together with allies from the native beasts of the land, the guerrilla forces of HWP had been waging a war on the Alliance of Noble Races (ANR) for over 40 years. The ANR was a fascist dictatorship hellbent on genociding the "lesser races" whether it be a mighty dragon or a lowly goblin. Due to the technological advantage of ANR, the attempts at conventional warfare against them had been unsuccessful. Yet the people still sung the songs of great chief Kahwa the Hammerer and his millions, how they fought and how they died in honor and glory centuries later.
Fortunately for HWP, the orcs, goblins and the beasts were not the only ones that were interested in a multi-etnic, multi-religious alliance of anarcho-syndicalist communes. The ideology also attracted the rare elf, or human. These dedicated comrades provided essential services that HWP could not obtain for themselves. Services such as... logistics and procurement.
That is how I, Matulovic, find myself on a cart loaded with weapons heading into the mountains. See, I am a shopkeeper by day. But by night, I am a dedicated revolutionary for the HWP. My position as a shopkeeper gives me access to cheap second hand weapons. I gather and supply them to the HWP, keeping the revolution alive. The cause gives me hope for the future but you have to turn a blind eye to certain things to keep your sanity. For example, I try to ignore where the weapons came from. For, I am afraid that if I think too much I can recognize these weapons I keep buying and buying over and over again. It is like the only revolution happens in the revolution of these weapons between the hands of ANR and HWP. As I wipe the blood of a battered shield, I recognize it as the one I gave Rokhda last winter. She was a witty goblin, smart as they come and full of life...
That is the reality of it. Life in HWP is often short and brutal. Average life expectancy of a HWP guerilla is only 4 years. Most of that is spent traveling by the night between dark dank caves, with little food and always cold. Sometimes I think of the adventurers complaining about the baths in the inn they stay at, or the food being too hot... They are complaining about their lives in comfort, while their enemies suffer day in and day out without a peep.
Even when they are successful in bypassing the thermal lodestones, spying roc and the constant scouring of elven mages, the victories are hardly ever anything other than Pyrrhic. For each casualty they inflict on the ANR, HWP forces suffer 4... Fighting a supremely powerful military force, they don't aim to take and hold land. Their goal is making the occupation of tribal lands costly for the occupiers. Yet, they pay many times more, and still come back to haunt lone ANR patrols, and outposts every spring as the snow melts in the mountains. Sometimes, I wonder if there is ever an end to this fight...
I see an ANR patrol on the roadside. They pull me over and start inspecting the crates in the back of the cart. I am not worried as ANR does not believe Orcs to be cunning enough to organize smuggling operations. I hear them joking about how they caught two female goblins. They tell in gruesome detail what they did to the greenskin filth. Keeping an impassive face gets easier over the years. I try not to think of Rokhda as they go over my merchant's license. The officer comes up to the front of the cart and says:
-There is an irregularity with the license, it expired last week.
-I did not notice officer. Thanks for letting me know, I will renew it as soon as I get to town.
-You know we can not just let you go like this... There are forms to be filed, and approvals to be obtained. I think I can file for expedited processing for you for the small fee of 10 gold.
I don't have that kind of money on me. They are going to confiscate the cart and I will have to file a petition with the governor's office... Too many of these petitions can put me on the radar of authorities. I start sweating a bit.
Just then I hear a 'twonk' and the officer slumps towards the cart with the feathers of a black arrow sticking out his neck. More 'twonks' and I see the soldiers falling to the ground with shafts sticking out. Some soldiers manage to take cover by the trees and start shouting at each other to organize, but without the commanding officer the defense is feeble and they are quickly overrun. It doesn't mean the ambush was costless for the HWP though, as several Orc berserkers lie bleeding. I hurry the healing potions, but it is too late for most of them. I think I know that one with the gut wound... Markhir. Stoic fella but very reliable.
I kneel down and our eyes meet. He knows gut wounds are terrible, death can take days... If not the bleeding, the septic shock usually gets the victim... An all together unpleasant business. I hold his hand and drive my dagger into his heart.
-Rest in power comrade, you will live on in our songs. | “So, do you want it or not?” It was about more than just the money at this point. “I’ve had enough of those greedy bastards doing what they want, it needs to stop! Nature needs to fight back” I could feel my blood boiling, and this dumb orc’s response? “It’s a wittle smawl innit?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you fucking mad?” I growled as 8 feet of high grade samurai sword sat glistening between us. “Not only was it hand forged by Masamune Okazaki himself, but it was used by none other than Seph-“ I caught myself shouting, “Sephiroth” I whispered. The orcs eyes lit up at this and I knew I had his attention. “My boss would like that very much” he drooled. “I’m sure she would, and at this price I’m sure I deserve a face to face?” The orcs face contorted into a snarl, yet a gentle cough came from the shadows over his enormous shoulder, finally the warlock who had arrived with Korg nodded signalling I was in. This was it, I’d waited for a sit down with Kerrigan for far too long, while these so called heroes slaughtered creatures across the lands, from dragons and orcs to skulltula and bari’s. The huge hoard of special weapons, potions and other items I had amassed over the years from these adventurers would finally have an army worthy of using them. “Just one thing” said the warlock in a voice that was more fitting to an accountant than an all powerful wizard, “Kerrigan will require a gift, in good faith?” , “the sword” I offered. “Something a little more... special perhaps?” Asked the Warlock who’s name I couldn’t quite pronounce. I smiled, “I have just the thing” I said as I opened a satchel containing a Blue shell from the mushroom kingdom, will this do? The Warlock smiled, as he did the room around me began to crumble to dust, and all of a sudden we had been transported into a great hall, and sat before me, Kerrigan: Queen of Blades, she smiled at me “I’ve been waiting for you, Shopkeeper...” my heart skipped a beat. “Please call me...” [insert character creation screen] | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | “So wot’s wot humie?”
“These are spears, perfect for thrusting attacks. They’ll pierce through any armour that isn’t solid plate and you have the advantage of range. These are the swords: balanced, light and keen of edge. These will slice through flesh and bone like a knife through butter. Next, the axes. Giant, heavy instruments of death. One of your boys starts swinging this around and heads will roll from here to the horizon. Last but not least the maces, my favourite. Solid iron forged into shape designed solely for crushing the bones of your enemies. Even an opponent in plate mail will have his ribs crushed by the sheer destructive force that his weapon can generate over a short distance.”
“.....You wot?”
“Sigh. Those are stabbers, those are slashers, those are choppers and those are smashers.”
“Brillyunt! Gimme eleventy-four of each!” | “So, do you want it or not?” It was about more than just the money at this point. “I’ve had enough of those greedy bastards doing what they want, it needs to stop! Nature needs to fight back” I could feel my blood boiling, and this dumb orc’s response? “It’s a wittle smawl innit?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you fucking mad?” I growled as 8 feet of high grade samurai sword sat glistening between us. “Not only was it hand forged by Masamune Okazaki himself, but it was used by none other than Seph-“ I caught myself shouting, “Sephiroth” I whispered. The orcs eyes lit up at this and I knew I had his attention. “My boss would like that very much” he drooled. “I’m sure she would, and at this price I’m sure I deserve a face to face?” The orcs face contorted into a snarl, yet a gentle cough came from the shadows over his enormous shoulder, finally the warlock who had arrived with Korg nodded signalling I was in. This was it, I’d waited for a sit down with Kerrigan for far too long, while these so called heroes slaughtered creatures across the lands, from dragons and orcs to skulltula and bari’s. The huge hoard of special weapons, potions and other items I had amassed over the years from these adventurers would finally have an army worthy of using them. “Just one thing” said the warlock in a voice that was more fitting to an accountant than an all powerful wizard, “Kerrigan will require a gift, in good faith?” , “the sword” I offered. “Something a little more... special perhaps?” Asked the Warlock who’s name I couldn’t quite pronounce. I smiled, “I have just the thing” I said as I opened a satchel containing a Blue shell from the mushroom kingdom, will this do? The Warlock smiled, as he did the room around me began to crumble to dust, and all of a sudden we had been transported into a great hall, and sat before me, Kerrigan: Queen of Blades, she smiled at me “I’ve been waiting for you, Shopkeeper...” my heart skipped a beat. “Please call me...” [insert character creation screen] | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | He chuckles, pulling his blood-red tie straight and tight against his spotless white collar. Sliding into the pitch black suit, he allows his mind to wander. He had it all, fortune, fame, feminine admirers... and to think he used to be a small time, starry eyed shopkeeper.
See, he'd seen the big picture, seen what the other people at the guild hadn't seen, or didnt want to see. He'd seen opportunity. Because what use are adventurers? Eventually they'd have raided every tomb, killed every lich and shattered their phylacteries twice over. Being involved in the 'protection of civilisation' by adventuring companies was ultimately a finite business.
Thats where he came in.
At first it was a one-off sale, a bunch of seeking arrows a team of adventurers had deemed "not worth their time", leaving him with the expensive stuff. So when a group of Goblin mercenaries contacted him for the stuff, he eagerly jumped at the chance, even turning a small profit on the arrows.
It was about 2, maybe 3 weeks later those same adventurers came crawling back, down 2 of the original 5, beat up and bloodied. They'd faced bandits with arrows that came in at impossible angles and lost, miserably. And since adventurers are often not the brightest of the bunch, his actions had gone unnoticed.
And so it continued, sometimes he supplied one side with weapons effective against the other, sometimes he sold them ineffectual rubbish. But always, always he ensured that he supplied both sides of the conflict evenly, and with ordinance hitting harder than before.
What was just a run down shop in the slums of Javaaz turned into an empire in the shadows, with him the Emperor of it all.
Some found out of course... but they were few and far in between and, more importantly, easily dealt with. They called him a monster, called him things even the demons below would find offensive.
But what was he to do? It was not personal after all, just business, lucrative, wonderful business. | “So, do you want it or not?” It was about more than just the money at this point. “I’ve had enough of those greedy bastards doing what they want, it needs to stop! Nature needs to fight back” I could feel my blood boiling, and this dumb orc’s response? “It’s a wittle smawl innit?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you fucking mad?” I growled as 8 feet of high grade samurai sword sat glistening between us. “Not only was it hand forged by Masamune Okazaki himself, but it was used by none other than Seph-“ I caught myself shouting, “Sephiroth” I whispered. The orcs eyes lit up at this and I knew I had his attention. “My boss would like that very much” he drooled. “I’m sure she would, and at this price I’m sure I deserve a face to face?” The orcs face contorted into a snarl, yet a gentle cough came from the shadows over his enormous shoulder, finally the warlock who had arrived with Korg nodded signalling I was in. This was it, I’d waited for a sit down with Kerrigan for far too long, while these so called heroes slaughtered creatures across the lands, from dragons and orcs to skulltula and bari’s. The huge hoard of special weapons, potions and other items I had amassed over the years from these adventurers would finally have an army worthy of using them. “Just one thing” said the warlock in a voice that was more fitting to an accountant than an all powerful wizard, “Kerrigan will require a gift, in good faith?” , “the sword” I offered. “Something a little more... special perhaps?” Asked the Warlock who’s name I couldn’t quite pronounce. I smiled, “I have just the thing” I said as I opened a satchel containing a Blue shell from the mushroom kingdom, will this do? The Warlock smiled, as he did the room around me began to crumble to dust, and all of a sudden we had been transported into a great hall, and sat before me, Kerrigan: Queen of Blades, she smiled at me “I’ve been waiting for you, Shopkeeper...” my heart skipped a beat. “Please call me...” [insert character creation screen] | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | One man's trash is another man's treasure.
That was something my father used to tell me when I asked him why we ran a shop that would purchase anything from anyone. He always said that no matter how useless an item may seem, it might just be the most important thing in the world to someone else. He'd boast that since we were the only people in town foolish enough to buy everything, then everyone just knew where to go to find anything. He wasn't wrong; the shop practically ran itself, some days customers would come in looking to buy something we'd bought only the day before. Our shelves were filled with mismatched tableware, semi-broken tools and items we simply referred to as a, "whatchamacallit", because we never could figure out their names.
Now the shelves are lined with dragon scales and magical scrolls. Along the walls lie the ornate swords of forgotten kings, rune-etched hammers of Dwarven barbarians, and even a sword made entirely of bone. Adventurers come from far and wide to sell me the spoils of their latest undertakings. They defile a royal crypt or two and pawn the possessions of the dead off upon my counter. Every morning I come downstairs to dust off priceless artifacts in a store my fellow townspeople are too afraid to visit anymore. Perhaps they're right to be afraid of my store. I'm certain at least one of these items is cursed. I'm betting it's that bone sword.
The legendary weapons and armors from the tales of my youth now litter my shop, and with them came the horrible realization that my new patrons are little more than thieves, taking the relics of other towns and races and discarding them when some new source of power comes their way. They've made little progress in actually stopping the Dark Lord ever since he took over the kingdom. Their attention is instead directed to more and more 'side quests' to acquire power. If the gods were fair and just, both the Dark Lord and these self-righteous bandits would kill each other off, but the gods are never fair and just. If they were we wouldn't be suffering the whims of the both our conqueror and our 'saviors'.
As the door swings upon, I look up to find the faces of my childhood nightmares filing into my store. Orcs, goblins, dark elves and even a lich shuffle in, awkwardly trying not to bump into any of the powerful artifacts scattered around the shop. The looks of reverence on some of their faces almost hurts me as they look around and see that my shop has become the unceremonious resting place of so many of their once beloved relics. I knock a few times on the top of my counter in order to draw their attention away from their hallowed items.
"It's perfectly understandable to be in awe of the items around you. Many of you have probably believed these weapons and armors to simply be the stuff of legend. I assure you however, they are very real, and before the day is done you will be able to bring these items home", I had to hold back a smile, what should be the start of a revolution sounds like little more than a sales pitch, "we have all lost something, whether it was to the Dark Lord and his Hellriders, or to the selfish adventurers who promised to end his cruel reign". I could not tell if their pained expressions were from memories of the Dark Lord's rise, the heroes' quests, or some combination of both, but I knew one thing was certain; they wanted an end to this, and there was no doubt they'd agree to my offer.
"What do you get in return for all of this?" an Orc at the back asked, "when your message arrived, you promised to return our artifacts to us at no cost, so what do you stand to gain". Everyone turned to him, and then back to me, carefully listening to what I had to say in hopes of spotting some elaborate catch.
"I just want peace, a return to a normal life. You've seen my town. No one around me can buy these weapons, and what would I even begin to do with them? I'm not strong enough to wield them, and thanks to those 'heroes' forcing me to purchase everything they bring my way, I cannot afford to leave this town much less fund an army of my own for what I'm asking. Consider this a trade; you get back what was stolen from all of you, and I get to sleep in a world that has one less Dark Lord and five less adventurers". The crowded shop broke into a series of hushed whispers as they looked around and back at me.
"I'm in", the soft voice of a young woman managed to cut through the murmurs. The dark elf it belonged to walked over to the back wall to pick up a weapon , "I've really missed my old bone sword". After she armed herself and made her way to the door, everyone else proceeded to do the same. I didn't need to say another word, one by one, everyone picked up an item or two, and made their way out of my shop.
The shop was practically running itself again. | “So, do you want it or not?” It was about more than just the money at this point. “I’ve had enough of those greedy bastards doing what they want, it needs to stop! Nature needs to fight back” I could feel my blood boiling, and this dumb orc’s response? “It’s a wittle smawl innit?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you fucking mad?” I growled as 8 feet of high grade samurai sword sat glistening between us. “Not only was it hand forged by Masamune Okazaki himself, but it was used by none other than Seph-“ I caught myself shouting, “Sephiroth” I whispered. The orcs eyes lit up at this and I knew I had his attention. “My boss would like that very much” he drooled. “I’m sure she would, and at this price I’m sure I deserve a face to face?” The orcs face contorted into a snarl, yet a gentle cough came from the shadows over his enormous shoulder, finally the warlock who had arrived with Korg nodded signalling I was in. This was it, I’d waited for a sit down with Kerrigan for far too long, while these so called heroes slaughtered creatures across the lands, from dragons and orcs to skulltula and bari’s. The huge hoard of special weapons, potions and other items I had amassed over the years from these adventurers would finally have an army worthy of using them. “Just one thing” said the warlock in a voice that was more fitting to an accountant than an all powerful wizard, “Kerrigan will require a gift, in good faith?” , “the sword” I offered. “Something a little more... special perhaps?” Asked the Warlock who’s name I couldn’t quite pronounce. I smiled, “I have just the thing” I said as I opened a satchel containing a Blue shell from the mushroom kingdom, will this do? The Warlock smiled, as he did the room around me began to crumble to dust, and all of a sudden we had been transported into a great hall, and sat before me, Kerrigan: Queen of Blades, she smiled at me “I’ve been waiting for you, Shopkeeper...” my heart skipped a beat. “Please call me...” [insert character creation screen] | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | "So that'll be 4 Fire Resistance potions, a fog bomb, a Blackthorn Wand, two Wyrmslayer sets and a Staff of Restoration?," I asked, my broad smile stretching from ear to ear. It'd never reach my eyes, though; but I doubted they would see that with the dimly lit hearth and flamboyant arrogance in the way.
"Yes, that's it," a chappy young woman with blonde hair replied. I'd placed my money on her being the healer for them, I'd seen enough of their type. Curvy, elegant and kind was simply a masquerade they wore to stay away from danger.
"That'll be 763599 Horcorz, Ma'am," I grinned, and this time my eyes actually lit up. Unwilling she settled the amount and grumbling about overpriced goods, the party of four left.
Quickly, I closed shop, and slung around me my best magical gear. Natural talent and access to unlimited supplies just went hand in hand. Besides, you needed some form of defense with all the thieves these days. *Human* thieves, might I add.
I scrambled down to the basement, shoving aside my short hair and lightening up the room with a quick Nanosol incantation. I stepped towards the portal / scrying ball, and begun my search, though I'd already guessed their path. They'd made it crystal clear they were going to rob a dragon, and there was only one of those nearby.
I had a quick peek to confirm my suspicions, and saw them chirpily skipping along, decapitating any poor orc that got in their way. Imbeciles. Anything they regarded stupid or savage, they simply murdered without second thought, with no thought about the families they were destroying. My blood simply boiled simply at the idea.
Hastening my spell, I opened a portal to Dracox's Keep. I was so familiar with the place I could open portals their in my sleep.
"Kurt," a voice boomed, it's urgency palpable, "More raiders, I'll assume?"
I looked around the massive Castle, still amazed by its enamour. Armed sculptures stood around the throne room, buried under piles of various treasure. I had to hover just so I didn't drown in the gold.
I nodded, and begun to protect the dragon. Immunity to visual defects? Check. High -grade physical enhancement? Check. Anti-Healing Aura? Check.
The glowing lights on my fingertips faded, and I took out 10 solid Carbonium talon covers.
"Wear this, so you can peirce through their armour," I said, tossing him the sac. I eyes him expectantly.
"Yes, yes I'll get your payment," Dracox sighed, rummaging through the heap. He pulled out a tattered doll.
"Here. It's a Highly Enchanted Voodoo Doll that allows one to connect with a simple scrying orb. I got it last time, after they found out I was immune to Soul Tampering...," he sighed. A thanks began to form on his formed tongue, but his pride kept it in.
I'd never cared much for money. Antique relics like these, however, were certainly very handy.
"I truly do hope you'll be able to open up to me one day," I said, throwing him a vial with a blue coloured liquid, "It's an Animation potion. On the house. Try it on those statues." I smiled, and left.
When I returned however, I was met with my musty old basement and a quivering orc. Kopash. He could barely stand still, holding on his hand an Imperial Parchment. I snatched the parchment up, and read it.
*Court sponsored monster elimination projects to be launched,* it read, in thick black ink.
A memory of my mom falling into my arms, brutally shot with burn wounds all over flashed before my eyes. Rage welled up inside me, and I turned red. There, with firm resolve, I swore I would do something to help. Kopash saw me, and straightened, his eyes filled with awe.
Yes, I would do something. I would save these poor souls from those wretched humans. I'd do something I've never done before since the Imperial Order, since they legalized this blasphemy.
*I would fight back*
r/BetterTales for more!
| “So, do you want it or not?” It was about more than just the money at this point. “I’ve had enough of those greedy bastards doing what they want, it needs to stop! Nature needs to fight back” I could feel my blood boiling, and this dumb orc’s response? “It’s a wittle smawl innit?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you fucking mad?” I growled as 8 feet of high grade samurai sword sat glistening between us. “Not only was it hand forged by Masamune Okazaki himself, but it was used by none other than Seph-“ I caught myself shouting, “Sephiroth” I whispered. The orcs eyes lit up at this and I knew I had his attention. “My boss would like that very much” he drooled. “I’m sure she would, and at this price I’m sure I deserve a face to face?” The orcs face contorted into a snarl, yet a gentle cough came from the shadows over his enormous shoulder, finally the warlock who had arrived with Korg nodded signalling I was in. This was it, I’d waited for a sit down with Kerrigan for far too long, while these so called heroes slaughtered creatures across the lands, from dragons and orcs to skulltula and bari’s. The huge hoard of special weapons, potions and other items I had amassed over the years from these adventurers would finally have an army worthy of using them. “Just one thing” said the warlock in a voice that was more fitting to an accountant than an all powerful wizard, “Kerrigan will require a gift, in good faith?” , “the sword” I offered. “Something a little more... special perhaps?” Asked the Warlock who’s name I couldn’t quite pronounce. I smiled, “I have just the thing” I said as I opened a satchel containing a Blue shell from the mushroom kingdom, will this do? The Warlock smiled, as he did the room around me began to crumble to dust, and all of a sudden we had been transported into a great hall, and sat before me, Kerrigan: Queen of Blades, she smiled at me “I’ve been waiting for you, Shopkeeper...” my heart skipped a beat. “Please call me...” [insert character creation screen] | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I hadn't seen them in action, but I had heard stories from the other shopkeepers. One of them, probably the bard, charmed the potion maker into an unequal trade, taking all of their stock and leaving them with the worthless excess they had gathered while they were out adventuring. Damn near ruined them. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in to help them rebuild their inventory, but it was awful to see them in the tavern that night, crying and wondering how they were going to keep up with the wages for their apprentices and gatherers.
We thought that would be it, but then they came back after a week. They apparently "liked our town" so much so that they decided to ruin the Weaponsmith next. Took all of his stock in the same unequal trade, leaving them flush with gold and brand new weapons. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in again, helping him back on his feet. This wouldn't be nearly so bad, but the adventurers never spent their gold. They just hoarded it, like the dragon Greg that lived under a nearby hill.
Then word came back that they killed Greg and took all his hoard. For a while we were elated. Maybe this meant that we would finally see some restitution for the businesses they destroyed. We were wrong. They cleaned out the Tailor, both Bakers, the Butcher, two of the General Stores and the tavern owner. All ruined. The Shopkeeper's Guild couldn't help us, their coffers had run dry.
With their trail of destruction complete, they were gone again. As the days passed, the orcs came in to town. Tired, starving, their ancestral lands taken from them by this roving band of thieves, their numbers decimated. The slimes they used in their rituals were now gone, their once lush hunting grounds now depleted; they had nothing left to return to, so we took them in at the Mayor's behest.
Months passed before they were back again, this time gunning for me. I was struggling to stay afloat as it was with our town economy in shambles and no assistance from the crown. But I had a plan and a secret weapon. They came in with their flashy new weapons and armor, and I managed to keep my rage quelled long enough to get what I wanted. Sure, I took all of the rusted swords, blunt daggers, and simple shields at a hugely inflated cost, but more importantly: I got information from them.
Their bard, good with his words, but not good at keeping his mouth shut, spilled every last detail of where they had been, and where they were going next. I smiled as he told me, making sure to keep up my mask of enthusiasm. Once they rolled out of town again, my stock and coffer depleted, I handed everything I had over to the orcs.
"We will bring you their heads!" Their leader roared, much to the delight of his remaining tribe as they made do in the abandoned warehouse.
"No," I countered, "I don't want their heads. I want to see them ruined. Ruined and broken, like they have ruined all of us." The chief smiled.
"You supply us," he stuck out his giant hand, "we supply you."
Its been six months since I struck my bargain. Our town has recovered a bit since then and the adventurers keep coming back, but they keep looking more and more desperate each time. They only come to me now for supplies, things the orcs have stolen from them in the middle of the night or brazenly in the middle of battle that I am more than happy to sell back to them at a premium. They've stopped trying to charm me; an inconspicuous necklace the orcs gave me prevents any charm spells from working, and none of the other shopkeepers will trade with them.
I'm please with how things are turning around, but there's still more work to be done. I'm having tea with a general that the orcs have allied with later today now that the miscreants have left again. I will have my vengeance against these so-called adventurers for ruining my town. | “So, do you want it or not?” It was about more than just the money at this point. “I’ve had enough of those greedy bastards doing what they want, it needs to stop! Nature needs to fight back” I could feel my blood boiling, and this dumb orc’s response? “It’s a wittle smawl innit?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you fucking mad?” I growled as 8 feet of high grade samurai sword sat glistening between us. “Not only was it hand forged by Masamune Okazaki himself, but it was used by none other than Seph-“ I caught myself shouting, “Sephiroth” I whispered. The orcs eyes lit up at this and I knew I had his attention. “My boss would like that very much” he drooled. “I’m sure she would, and at this price I’m sure I deserve a face to face?” The orcs face contorted into a snarl, yet a gentle cough came from the shadows over his enormous shoulder, finally the warlock who had arrived with Korg nodded signalling I was in. This was it, I’d waited for a sit down with Kerrigan for far too long, while these so called heroes slaughtered creatures across the lands, from dragons and orcs to skulltula and bari’s. The huge hoard of special weapons, potions and other items I had amassed over the years from these adventurers would finally have an army worthy of using them. “Just one thing” said the warlock in a voice that was more fitting to an accountant than an all powerful wizard, “Kerrigan will require a gift, in good faith?” , “the sword” I offered. “Something a little more... special perhaps?” Asked the Warlock who’s name I couldn’t quite pronounce. I smiled, “I have just the thing” I said as I opened a satchel containing a Blue shell from the mushroom kingdom, will this do? The Warlock smiled, as he did the room around me began to crumble to dust, and all of a sudden we had been transported into a great hall, and sat before me, Kerrigan: Queen of Blades, she smiled at me “I’ve been waiting for you, Shopkeeper...” my heart skipped a beat. “Please call me...” [insert character creation screen] | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I ask myself sometimes if I am damned.
I wonder how my soul will wander in the depths of the Underworld after I’m gone, because I have done some evil deeds to fulfill some needs, and I sometimes think if these needs got out of hand to become wills.
Being a shoemaker is being underestimated, unseen. While the world is out there being saved by prideful men in shinning armor, I am busy with my duty; tending to leather and wood, assembling it together to make the boots and shoes that proceed these men’s feet.
And these shoes are also underestimated. Years of craftsmanship ate overlooked because of the nature of my products. I am the man who makes boots for the Mages Guild, for the City Garrison, as well as pretty much every thief that I have known in my years of attending to my small and shy table in the corner of The Drunken Lord, and still, foreigners and locals do not respect me.
I never cared for respect, you know? I don’t want all eyes to me, no, I’m just a simple man, but some recognition would be nice every once in a while. Come to think of it, I am being somewhat hypocritical, ain’t I? I mean, if I didn’t care for the attention, I wouldn’t even have started doing this...
Nah, I’m being stupid.
[Silence.]
I believe it was all those years that have accumulated to this. So many adventurers coming in, trying to sell me shitty deals over shitty loot for my top notch gear. When affairs with the Duke involved me, so much arrogance was shown by these outsiders. I should start to grow tired anytime, right?
Well, the droplet was that party from... M’nykja, I think. They came in to talk to do some trading. They were standard, until one of them, the big one, drawn his war-hammer after staying quiet the whole time, staring into the wall beside the counter. I just kept quiet, looking at them, and asked: “Is everything fine, gentlemen?”. The Big One said nothing, looked at nothing. He just took a swing and tore a whole through my shop’s wall, taking down many of my shelves. Then they all drawn their weapons. The Archer took a shot at me and hit my chest. I had to go running out of there while the guards started raiding my store to take the outlaws out.
You know what happened?
They were released from jail because the Duke owned them for some beast-slaying deal they had.
They said they only felt like ripping my shop down, and perhaps taking my gold afterwards, but the guards were forbidden of talking about that to the townsfolk. And they walked.
That night I spent the rest of my silver in the tavern. My business was wrecked, I was hurt and owed the apothecary money, as well as the doctor who tended to my wound. He said the arrow broke, and the potion to dissolve the wood shrapnel within my flesh wouldn’t be cheap. In two days, some merchant from the south came into the city protected by foreigners, and he brought thousands of shoes that would supply demand until his caravans established the trading route. I was done.
And I didn’t think of revenge at the time, I remember. I just wasn’t thinking at all. Everything was moving independently: I simply went to the tavern and drank the rest of the money I had, with no fear or rage within my heard. Just... blank.
I spent the rest of the Half Moon in the streets, mostly drunk of whatever I could find that had alcohol in it, especially rotten fruits. I ate nuts and scavenged remains off the Duke’s table when there were feasts. I think I was arrested five times around that time. The guards liked me for always being nice to them, when they came by the shop to pick up the boots shipment for the Garrison, but they kept saying “You are not making this easy for us”, or “Keep up like this and you’ll be dead soon”. Eventually I think they started to get tired of me getting into trouble.
It’s all blurred.
One night I felt angry, homicidal angry. Life had been SO unfair to me, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. I was broke, drunk and alone. Some sell-sword from Kaliope caught me in bad mood and I took a swing at him. I don’t remember much, but I remember taking a hell of a beating, and running. I later found out there was such a commotion in the Drunken Lord, the place was set on fire accidentally. I ran outside of the city’s walls that day.
What I can recall perfectly is waking up inside a goblin lair, by the woods. It was a cozy place, although excessively humid and smelling like a wet hound. The goblins that lived there were a group of twelve, that used to be a tribe of thirty. That gave me a sight on the matter for the first time. I was fed with remains of an old dead boar they found in the woods, and they gave me water, even though it was not properly pure. Those goblins were being friendly to me, and probably saved my life. I would be eaten alive by wolves in the woods if not saved. “Why have you saved me?” I asked them. “You silly, you drunk. Needed help, was not danger.”
“What is dangerous for you guys?”
“Sticky sticks, shinny clothes. Hammer.”
My blood went up straight to my head again. Life is unfair. Those creatures were being slaughtered just for minding their own businesses. They didn’t eat babies, they didn’t steal gold. They found loot and protected it as their property, and I found that after hours of talking. They said I fell into their lair. They were doing nothing wrong. And those men whom destroyed my shop were hunting the very creatures that had saved me when I invaded their home.
That was it.
It was personal.
A shoemaker got into that lair. A man left that lair.
I promised my little green friends I would help them. After tripping on rocks and roots in the woods, I eventually found the way back to the city, marking the way back to the goblin lair.
I marched into the night towards the Mages Guild, and looked for one of the spokesmen, an old client. Can’t really say his name; could be a problem if people found out we know each other. I had a long business relationship with the man, and he was sympathetic to my situation, but I lied to him. If anyone found out I was helping beasts, my head was going to roll off my shoulders. I asked for a spell so I could handle a Justice the city wasn’t able to deliver me. By candlelight, he reluctantly lended me a scroll. He told me to read the words and seal it with blood, in order to work, and told me I could pay whenever I had the money, although it wouldn’t be cheap.
I ran back to the lair after a quick asking around the guards to know if they had seen the party in the county, and finding out they set camp by the Raven’s Nest, a few miles west from the city.
That was my first sale.
The goblin leader was a little smarter than the rest, so he understood how the scroll worked. It was over arming; those guys just needed spikes and rocks, but I was angry. And I decided no one would make me angry anymore. The goblin group left the lair before dawn so they could reach the party. I went along, keeping my distance.
I still remember how the man who bore the hammer screamed. He frantic flounced and shivered while white fire consumed his flesh and armor. The goblins scalped the Archer and the rest was impaled in chests by goblin spears. There was blood everywhere, and white fire making it all shine.
The sun rose.
[Silence]
With their belongings, I could re-open my shop and pay my dues. My goblin friends became messengers and spokesmen of my cause to other beasts. Goblins, harpies, vampires, werewolves . A griffin once invaded city and conveniently killed the southern merchant. I kept ordering spells and keeping them at my home “for defense”, as well as made friends in the Blacksmith Guild. I built a network of armorers and swordsmiths. My contact in the Mages Guild stopped supplying me with spells after some time, but that just made me find out about the Magic black market.
I have been pulling strings from the dark. Not only taking away the monopoly of violence from the province and men, but maneuvering my influence over crime lords and the State, as I now deliver shipments and whole caravans of arms to beasts, all under broad daylight.
Thousands have been killed in city raids in the whole province, and beast communities are waging war constantly, armed with spells and top-notch armor. Foreigners are afraid to come, because they are killed off really quickly. Cities are now under tight restrictions due to security reasons and people respect each other’s now, since food, supplies, gear, everything is expensive and little now.
I keep being the master shoemaker, but just seen as a shoemaker. And I couldn’t want anything else but being seen as such.
[Silence.]
I ask myself sometimes if I’m damned.
But no, I’m not.
It’s business. | “So, do you want it or not?” It was about more than just the money at this point. “I’ve had enough of those greedy bastards doing what they want, it needs to stop! Nature needs to fight back” I could feel my blood boiling, and this dumb orc’s response? “It’s a wittle smawl innit?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you fucking mad?” I growled as 8 feet of high grade samurai sword sat glistening between us. “Not only was it hand forged by Masamune Okazaki himself, but it was used by none other than Seph-“ I caught myself shouting, “Sephiroth” I whispered. The orcs eyes lit up at this and I knew I had his attention. “My boss would like that very much” he drooled. “I’m sure she would, and at this price I’m sure I deserve a face to face?” The orcs face contorted into a snarl, yet a gentle cough came from the shadows over his enormous shoulder, finally the warlock who had arrived with Korg nodded signalling I was in. This was it, I’d waited for a sit down with Kerrigan for far too long, while these so called heroes slaughtered creatures across the lands, from dragons and orcs to skulltula and bari’s. The huge hoard of special weapons, potions and other items I had amassed over the years from these adventurers would finally have an army worthy of using them. “Just one thing” said the warlock in a voice that was more fitting to an accountant than an all powerful wizard, “Kerrigan will require a gift, in good faith?” , “the sword” I offered. “Something a little more... special perhaps?” Asked the Warlock who’s name I couldn’t quite pronounce. I smiled, “I have just the thing” I said as I opened a satchel containing a Blue shell from the mushroom kingdom, will this do? The Warlock smiled, as he did the room around me began to crumble to dust, and all of a sudden we had been transported into a great hall, and sat before me, Kerrigan: Queen of Blades, she smiled at me “I’ve been waiting for you, Shopkeeper...” my heart skipped a beat. “Please call me...” [insert character creation screen] | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | With a nod, the young orc exited my shop with a lance in hand. I sold him that lance.
Ten years ago, I would have shivered at the idea of selling a weapon to an orc - or any monster, for that matter. But times have changed. The stereotypical "heroes", those muscular blond-haired men coming from all edges of the Earth looking to slay dragons or defeat armies of goblins in our land, have done nothing heroic at all.
Instead, they ravish our land and rob it of our gold and natural resources. Those men then return to their homes where they are all hailed as heroes, their status elevated to those of kings. And the citizens of our land, human and monster alike, are tired of it.
Though I do not speak the language of orcs or dragons or goblins, we are all part of the same land. And we have come to an understanding. I supply the weapons, they supply the army. I hope that one day our joint efforts will prevent these "heroes" from plundering our lands.
As the orc walks out of my shop, I hope that he will one day be known locally as the hero of our land. And he would be a true hero, at that. Not the fake heroes that are actually plunderers and murderers in disguise.
Godspeed, young orc.
| I am a shopkeeper and want to tell a story that really happened. Though, I must warn you it is not what I intended to do. But such things happen in my business.
So, it began with the ugly org who did not want to be visible in human circles and see the sun in the morning without fear of being hunt down.
“Here it comes, invisibility device,” I said.
“Are you sure?” org didn’t uncover his mouth, he wore a long black cloak. It was dark outside, and I didn’t light a lamp.
“As sure as the Eartherdom is not flat.”
“Huh?” org sounded confused.
“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes, but was not sure my expression made sense in darkness, “hundred per cent!”
Org paid and left.
Two days passed. And my problems began when a leprechaun came directly to me.
“I have been robbed. And guess what?” he put a gold coin on the desk and took out of his pocket a device that I gave him. When device covered the coin, it vanished. “Got it?”
“Of course, after all I sold that device to you.”
“You didn’t get it,” leprechaun became red. “I have been robbed, and no one saw the robber, no one detected it. I think whoever did it had the similar device. To whom you recently sold invisibility device?”
“Damn it. Org. I sold it to the org. He said me he had social issues and wanted to paint a sunrise. Damn you, org!”
“Then I know which org did it,” he fled through the door.
They didn’t capture the org. And no one knew what happened to the gold.
After five years we heard about an org who passed the ocean and found a new continent. Obviously, he was struggling with funds and wanted to sail over ocean to unknown territory.
Society of Gold Leprechauns and Dark Orgs now are fighting over the name of the continent. Leprechauns call it *Robbed Land*, and Orgs - *Org Paradise*, they are planning to migrate to the new continent. (In some org circles continent is known as *Orgy Land*)
So, as I told you maybe it was not what I intended to do, but at the end I am glad that an org discovered that continent before human.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | The fire of freedom shone bright in the hearts of the Orcs of the Horkistan Workers Party (HWP). Together with allies from the native beasts of the land, the guerrilla forces of HWP had been waging a war on the Alliance of Noble Races (ANR) for over 40 years. The ANR was a fascist dictatorship hellbent on genociding the "lesser races" whether it be a mighty dragon or a lowly goblin. Due to the technological advantage of ANR, the attempts at conventional warfare against them had been unsuccessful. Yet the people still sung the songs of great chief Kahwa the Hammerer and his millions, how they fought and how they died in honor and glory centuries later.
Fortunately for HWP, the orcs, goblins and the beasts were not the only ones that were interested in a multi-etnic, multi-religious alliance of anarcho-syndicalist communes. The ideology also attracted the rare elf, or human. These dedicated comrades provided essential services that HWP could not obtain for themselves. Services such as... logistics and procurement.
That is how I, Matulovic, find myself on a cart loaded with weapons heading into the mountains. See, I am a shopkeeper by day. But by night, I am a dedicated revolutionary for the HWP. My position as a shopkeeper gives me access to cheap second hand weapons. I gather and supply them to the HWP, keeping the revolution alive. The cause gives me hope for the future but you have to turn a blind eye to certain things to keep your sanity. For example, I try to ignore where the weapons came from. For, I am afraid that if I think too much I can recognize these weapons I keep buying and buying over and over again. It is like the only revolution happens in the revolution of these weapons between the hands of ANR and HWP. As I wipe the blood of a battered shield, I recognize it as the one I gave Rokhda last winter. She was a witty goblin, smart as they come and full of life...
That is the reality of it. Life in HWP is often short and brutal. Average life expectancy of a HWP guerilla is only 4 years. Most of that is spent traveling by the night between dark dank caves, with little food and always cold. Sometimes I think of the adventurers complaining about the baths in the inn they stay at, or the food being too hot... They are complaining about their lives in comfort, while their enemies suffer day in and day out without a peep.
Even when they are successful in bypassing the thermal lodestones, spying roc and the constant scouring of elven mages, the victories are hardly ever anything other than Pyrrhic. For each casualty they inflict on the ANR, HWP forces suffer 4... Fighting a supremely powerful military force, they don't aim to take and hold land. Their goal is making the occupation of tribal lands costly for the occupiers. Yet, they pay many times more, and still come back to haunt lone ANR patrols, and outposts every spring as the snow melts in the mountains. Sometimes, I wonder if there is ever an end to this fight...
I see an ANR patrol on the roadside. They pull me over and start inspecting the crates in the back of the cart. I am not worried as ANR does not believe Orcs to be cunning enough to organize smuggling operations. I hear them joking about how they caught two female goblins. They tell in gruesome detail what they did to the greenskin filth. Keeping an impassive face gets easier over the years. I try not to think of Rokhda as they go over my merchant's license. The officer comes up to the front of the cart and says:
-There is an irregularity with the license, it expired last week.
-I did not notice officer. Thanks for letting me know, I will renew it as soon as I get to town.
-You know we can not just let you go like this... There are forms to be filed, and approvals to be obtained. I think I can file for expedited processing for you for the small fee of 10 gold.
I don't have that kind of money on me. They are going to confiscate the cart and I will have to file a petition with the governor's office... Too many of these petitions can put me on the radar of authorities. I start sweating a bit.
Just then I hear a 'twonk' and the officer slumps towards the cart with the feathers of a black arrow sticking out his neck. More 'twonks' and I see the soldiers falling to the ground with shafts sticking out. Some soldiers manage to take cover by the trees and start shouting at each other to organize, but without the commanding officer the defense is feeble and they are quickly overrun. It doesn't mean the ambush was costless for the HWP though, as several Orc berserkers lie bleeding. I hurry the healing potions, but it is too late for most of them. I think I know that one with the gut wound... Markhir. Stoic fella but very reliable.
I kneel down and our eyes meet. He knows gut wounds are terrible, death can take days... If not the bleeding, the septic shock usually gets the victim... An all together unpleasant business. I hold his hand and drive my dagger into his heart.
-Rest in power comrade, you will live on in our songs. | I am a shopkeeper and want to tell a story that really happened. Though, I must warn you it is not what I intended to do. But such things happen in my business.
So, it began with the ugly org who did not want to be visible in human circles and see the sun in the morning without fear of being hunt down.
“Here it comes, invisibility device,” I said.
“Are you sure?” org didn’t uncover his mouth, he wore a long black cloak. It was dark outside, and I didn’t light a lamp.
“As sure as the Eartherdom is not flat.”
“Huh?” org sounded confused.
“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes, but was not sure my expression made sense in darkness, “hundred per cent!”
Org paid and left.
Two days passed. And my problems began when a leprechaun came directly to me.
“I have been robbed. And guess what?” he put a gold coin on the desk and took out of his pocket a device that I gave him. When device covered the coin, it vanished. “Got it?”
“Of course, after all I sold that device to you.”
“You didn’t get it,” leprechaun became red. “I have been robbed, and no one saw the robber, no one detected it. I think whoever did it had the similar device. To whom you recently sold invisibility device?”
“Damn it. Org. I sold it to the org. He said me he had social issues and wanted to paint a sunrise. Damn you, org!”
“Then I know which org did it,” he fled through the door.
They didn’t capture the org. And no one knew what happened to the gold.
After five years we heard about an org who passed the ocean and found a new continent. Obviously, he was struggling with funds and wanted to sail over ocean to unknown territory.
Society of Gold Leprechauns and Dark Orgs now are fighting over the name of the continent. Leprechauns call it *Robbed Land*, and Orgs - *Org Paradise*, they are planning to migrate to the new continent. (In some org circles continent is known as *Orgy Land*)
So, as I told you maybe it was not what I intended to do, but at the end I am glad that an org discovered that continent before human.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | “So wot’s wot humie?”
“These are spears, perfect for thrusting attacks. They’ll pierce through any armour that isn’t solid plate and you have the advantage of range. These are the swords: balanced, light and keen of edge. These will slice through flesh and bone like a knife through butter. Next, the axes. Giant, heavy instruments of death. One of your boys starts swinging this around and heads will roll from here to the horizon. Last but not least the maces, my favourite. Solid iron forged into shape designed solely for crushing the bones of your enemies. Even an opponent in plate mail will have his ribs crushed by the sheer destructive force that his weapon can generate over a short distance.”
“.....You wot?”
“Sigh. Those are stabbers, those are slashers, those are choppers and those are smashers.”
“Brillyunt! Gimme eleventy-four of each!” | I am a shopkeeper and want to tell a story that really happened. Though, I must warn you it is not what I intended to do. But such things happen in my business.
So, it began with the ugly org who did not want to be visible in human circles and see the sun in the morning without fear of being hunt down.
“Here it comes, invisibility device,” I said.
“Are you sure?” org didn’t uncover his mouth, he wore a long black cloak. It was dark outside, and I didn’t light a lamp.
“As sure as the Eartherdom is not flat.”
“Huh?” org sounded confused.
“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes, but was not sure my expression made sense in darkness, “hundred per cent!”
Org paid and left.
Two days passed. And my problems began when a leprechaun came directly to me.
“I have been robbed. And guess what?” he put a gold coin on the desk and took out of his pocket a device that I gave him. When device covered the coin, it vanished. “Got it?”
“Of course, after all I sold that device to you.”
“You didn’t get it,” leprechaun became red. “I have been robbed, and no one saw the robber, no one detected it. I think whoever did it had the similar device. To whom you recently sold invisibility device?”
“Damn it. Org. I sold it to the org. He said me he had social issues and wanted to paint a sunrise. Damn you, org!”
“Then I know which org did it,” he fled through the door.
They didn’t capture the org. And no one knew what happened to the gold.
After five years we heard about an org who passed the ocean and found a new continent. Obviously, he was struggling with funds and wanted to sail over ocean to unknown territory.
Society of Gold Leprechauns and Dark Orgs now are fighting over the name of the continent. Leprechauns call it *Robbed Land*, and Orgs - *Org Paradise*, they are planning to migrate to the new continent. (In some org circles continent is known as *Orgy Land*)
So, as I told you maybe it was not what I intended to do, but at the end I am glad that an org discovered that continent before human.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | He chuckles, pulling his blood-red tie straight and tight against his spotless white collar. Sliding into the pitch black suit, he allows his mind to wander. He had it all, fortune, fame, feminine admirers... and to think he used to be a small time, starry eyed shopkeeper.
See, he'd seen the big picture, seen what the other people at the guild hadn't seen, or didnt want to see. He'd seen opportunity. Because what use are adventurers? Eventually they'd have raided every tomb, killed every lich and shattered their phylacteries twice over. Being involved in the 'protection of civilisation' by adventuring companies was ultimately a finite business.
Thats where he came in.
At first it was a one-off sale, a bunch of seeking arrows a team of adventurers had deemed "not worth their time", leaving him with the expensive stuff. So when a group of Goblin mercenaries contacted him for the stuff, he eagerly jumped at the chance, even turning a small profit on the arrows.
It was about 2, maybe 3 weeks later those same adventurers came crawling back, down 2 of the original 5, beat up and bloodied. They'd faced bandits with arrows that came in at impossible angles and lost, miserably. And since adventurers are often not the brightest of the bunch, his actions had gone unnoticed.
And so it continued, sometimes he supplied one side with weapons effective against the other, sometimes he sold them ineffectual rubbish. But always, always he ensured that he supplied both sides of the conflict evenly, and with ordinance hitting harder than before.
What was just a run down shop in the slums of Javaaz turned into an empire in the shadows, with him the Emperor of it all.
Some found out of course... but they were few and far in between and, more importantly, easily dealt with. They called him a monster, called him things even the demons below would find offensive.
But what was he to do? It was not personal after all, just business, lucrative, wonderful business. | I am a shopkeeper and want to tell a story that really happened. Though, I must warn you it is not what I intended to do. But such things happen in my business.
So, it began with the ugly org who did not want to be visible in human circles and see the sun in the morning without fear of being hunt down.
“Here it comes, invisibility device,” I said.
“Are you sure?” org didn’t uncover his mouth, he wore a long black cloak. It was dark outside, and I didn’t light a lamp.
“As sure as the Eartherdom is not flat.”
“Huh?” org sounded confused.
“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes, but was not sure my expression made sense in darkness, “hundred per cent!”
Org paid and left.
Two days passed. And my problems began when a leprechaun came directly to me.
“I have been robbed. And guess what?” he put a gold coin on the desk and took out of his pocket a device that I gave him. When device covered the coin, it vanished. “Got it?”
“Of course, after all I sold that device to you.”
“You didn’t get it,” leprechaun became red. “I have been robbed, and no one saw the robber, no one detected it. I think whoever did it had the similar device. To whom you recently sold invisibility device?”
“Damn it. Org. I sold it to the org. He said me he had social issues and wanted to paint a sunrise. Damn you, org!”
“Then I know which org did it,” he fled through the door.
They didn’t capture the org. And no one knew what happened to the gold.
After five years we heard about an org who passed the ocean and found a new continent. Obviously, he was struggling with funds and wanted to sail over ocean to unknown territory.
Society of Gold Leprechauns and Dark Orgs now are fighting over the name of the continent. Leprechauns call it *Robbed Land*, and Orgs - *Org Paradise*, they are planning to migrate to the new continent. (In some org circles continent is known as *Orgy Land*)
So, as I told you maybe it was not what I intended to do, but at the end I am glad that an org discovered that continent before human.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | One man's trash is another man's treasure.
That was something my father used to tell me when I asked him why we ran a shop that would purchase anything from anyone. He always said that no matter how useless an item may seem, it might just be the most important thing in the world to someone else. He'd boast that since we were the only people in town foolish enough to buy everything, then everyone just knew where to go to find anything. He wasn't wrong; the shop practically ran itself, some days customers would come in looking to buy something we'd bought only the day before. Our shelves were filled with mismatched tableware, semi-broken tools and items we simply referred to as a, "whatchamacallit", because we never could figure out their names.
Now the shelves are lined with dragon scales and magical scrolls. Along the walls lie the ornate swords of forgotten kings, rune-etched hammers of Dwarven barbarians, and even a sword made entirely of bone. Adventurers come from far and wide to sell me the spoils of their latest undertakings. They defile a royal crypt or two and pawn the possessions of the dead off upon my counter. Every morning I come downstairs to dust off priceless artifacts in a store my fellow townspeople are too afraid to visit anymore. Perhaps they're right to be afraid of my store. I'm certain at least one of these items is cursed. I'm betting it's that bone sword.
The legendary weapons and armors from the tales of my youth now litter my shop, and with them came the horrible realization that my new patrons are little more than thieves, taking the relics of other towns and races and discarding them when some new source of power comes their way. They've made little progress in actually stopping the Dark Lord ever since he took over the kingdom. Their attention is instead directed to more and more 'side quests' to acquire power. If the gods were fair and just, both the Dark Lord and these self-righteous bandits would kill each other off, but the gods are never fair and just. If they were we wouldn't be suffering the whims of the both our conqueror and our 'saviors'.
As the door swings upon, I look up to find the faces of my childhood nightmares filing into my store. Orcs, goblins, dark elves and even a lich shuffle in, awkwardly trying not to bump into any of the powerful artifacts scattered around the shop. The looks of reverence on some of their faces almost hurts me as they look around and see that my shop has become the unceremonious resting place of so many of their once beloved relics. I knock a few times on the top of my counter in order to draw their attention away from their hallowed items.
"It's perfectly understandable to be in awe of the items around you. Many of you have probably believed these weapons and armors to simply be the stuff of legend. I assure you however, they are very real, and before the day is done you will be able to bring these items home", I had to hold back a smile, what should be the start of a revolution sounds like little more than a sales pitch, "we have all lost something, whether it was to the Dark Lord and his Hellriders, or to the selfish adventurers who promised to end his cruel reign". I could not tell if their pained expressions were from memories of the Dark Lord's rise, the heroes' quests, or some combination of both, but I knew one thing was certain; they wanted an end to this, and there was no doubt they'd agree to my offer.
"What do you get in return for all of this?" an Orc at the back asked, "when your message arrived, you promised to return our artifacts to us at no cost, so what do you stand to gain". Everyone turned to him, and then back to me, carefully listening to what I had to say in hopes of spotting some elaborate catch.
"I just want peace, a return to a normal life. You've seen my town. No one around me can buy these weapons, and what would I even begin to do with them? I'm not strong enough to wield them, and thanks to those 'heroes' forcing me to purchase everything they bring my way, I cannot afford to leave this town much less fund an army of my own for what I'm asking. Consider this a trade; you get back what was stolen from all of you, and I get to sleep in a world that has one less Dark Lord and five less adventurers". The crowded shop broke into a series of hushed whispers as they looked around and back at me.
"I'm in", the soft voice of a young woman managed to cut through the murmurs. The dark elf it belonged to walked over to the back wall to pick up a weapon , "I've really missed my old bone sword". After she armed herself and made her way to the door, everyone else proceeded to do the same. I didn't need to say another word, one by one, everyone picked up an item or two, and made their way out of my shop.
The shop was practically running itself again. | I am a shopkeeper and want to tell a story that really happened. Though, I must warn you it is not what I intended to do. But such things happen in my business.
So, it began with the ugly org who did not want to be visible in human circles and see the sun in the morning without fear of being hunt down.
“Here it comes, invisibility device,” I said.
“Are you sure?” org didn’t uncover his mouth, he wore a long black cloak. It was dark outside, and I didn’t light a lamp.
“As sure as the Eartherdom is not flat.”
“Huh?” org sounded confused.
“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes, but was not sure my expression made sense in darkness, “hundred per cent!”
Org paid and left.
Two days passed. And my problems began when a leprechaun came directly to me.
“I have been robbed. And guess what?” he put a gold coin on the desk and took out of his pocket a device that I gave him. When device covered the coin, it vanished. “Got it?”
“Of course, after all I sold that device to you.”
“You didn’t get it,” leprechaun became red. “I have been robbed, and no one saw the robber, no one detected it. I think whoever did it had the similar device. To whom you recently sold invisibility device?”
“Damn it. Org. I sold it to the org. He said me he had social issues and wanted to paint a sunrise. Damn you, org!”
“Then I know which org did it,” he fled through the door.
They didn’t capture the org. And no one knew what happened to the gold.
After five years we heard about an org who passed the ocean and found a new continent. Obviously, he was struggling with funds and wanted to sail over ocean to unknown territory.
Society of Gold Leprechauns and Dark Orgs now are fighting over the name of the continent. Leprechauns call it *Robbed Land*, and Orgs - *Org Paradise*, they are planning to migrate to the new continent. (In some org circles continent is known as *Orgy Land*)
So, as I told you maybe it was not what I intended to do, but at the end I am glad that an org discovered that continent before human.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | "So that'll be 4 Fire Resistance potions, a fog bomb, a Blackthorn Wand, two Wyrmslayer sets and a Staff of Restoration?," I asked, my broad smile stretching from ear to ear. It'd never reach my eyes, though; but I doubted they would see that with the dimly lit hearth and flamboyant arrogance in the way.
"Yes, that's it," a chappy young woman with blonde hair replied. I'd placed my money on her being the healer for them, I'd seen enough of their type. Curvy, elegant and kind was simply a masquerade they wore to stay away from danger.
"That'll be 763599 Horcorz, Ma'am," I grinned, and this time my eyes actually lit up. Unwilling she settled the amount and grumbling about overpriced goods, the party of four left.
Quickly, I closed shop, and slung around me my best magical gear. Natural talent and access to unlimited supplies just went hand in hand. Besides, you needed some form of defense with all the thieves these days. *Human* thieves, might I add.
I scrambled down to the basement, shoving aside my short hair and lightening up the room with a quick Nanosol incantation. I stepped towards the portal / scrying ball, and begun my search, though I'd already guessed their path. They'd made it crystal clear they were going to rob a dragon, and there was only one of those nearby.
I had a quick peek to confirm my suspicions, and saw them chirpily skipping along, decapitating any poor orc that got in their way. Imbeciles. Anything they regarded stupid or savage, they simply murdered without second thought, with no thought about the families they were destroying. My blood simply boiled simply at the idea.
Hastening my spell, I opened a portal to Dracox's Keep. I was so familiar with the place I could open portals their in my sleep.
"Kurt," a voice boomed, it's urgency palpable, "More raiders, I'll assume?"
I looked around the massive Castle, still amazed by its enamour. Armed sculptures stood around the throne room, buried under piles of various treasure. I had to hover just so I didn't drown in the gold.
I nodded, and begun to protect the dragon. Immunity to visual defects? Check. High -grade physical enhancement? Check. Anti-Healing Aura? Check.
The glowing lights on my fingertips faded, and I took out 10 solid Carbonium talon covers.
"Wear this, so you can peirce through their armour," I said, tossing him the sac. I eyes him expectantly.
"Yes, yes I'll get your payment," Dracox sighed, rummaging through the heap. He pulled out a tattered doll.
"Here. It's a Highly Enchanted Voodoo Doll that allows one to connect with a simple scrying orb. I got it last time, after they found out I was immune to Soul Tampering...," he sighed. A thanks began to form on his formed tongue, but his pride kept it in.
I'd never cared much for money. Antique relics like these, however, were certainly very handy.
"I truly do hope you'll be able to open up to me one day," I said, throwing him a vial with a blue coloured liquid, "It's an Animation potion. On the house. Try it on those statues." I smiled, and left.
When I returned however, I was met with my musty old basement and a quivering orc. Kopash. He could barely stand still, holding on his hand an Imperial Parchment. I snatched the parchment up, and read it.
*Court sponsored monster elimination projects to be launched,* it read, in thick black ink.
A memory of my mom falling into my arms, brutally shot with burn wounds all over flashed before my eyes. Rage welled up inside me, and I turned red. There, with firm resolve, I swore I would do something to help. Kopash saw me, and straightened, his eyes filled with awe.
Yes, I would do something. I would save these poor souls from those wretched humans. I'd do something I've never done before since the Imperial Order, since they legalized this blasphemy.
*I would fight back*
r/BetterTales for more!
| I am a shopkeeper and want to tell a story that really happened. Though, I must warn you it is not what I intended to do. But such things happen in my business.
So, it began with the ugly org who did not want to be visible in human circles and see the sun in the morning without fear of being hunt down.
“Here it comes, invisibility device,” I said.
“Are you sure?” org didn’t uncover his mouth, he wore a long black cloak. It was dark outside, and I didn’t light a lamp.
“As sure as the Eartherdom is not flat.”
“Huh?” org sounded confused.
“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes, but was not sure my expression made sense in darkness, “hundred per cent!”
Org paid and left.
Two days passed. And my problems began when a leprechaun came directly to me.
“I have been robbed. And guess what?” he put a gold coin on the desk and took out of his pocket a device that I gave him. When device covered the coin, it vanished. “Got it?”
“Of course, after all I sold that device to you.”
“You didn’t get it,” leprechaun became red. “I have been robbed, and no one saw the robber, no one detected it. I think whoever did it had the similar device. To whom you recently sold invisibility device?”
“Damn it. Org. I sold it to the org. He said me he had social issues and wanted to paint a sunrise. Damn you, org!”
“Then I know which org did it,” he fled through the door.
They didn’t capture the org. And no one knew what happened to the gold.
After five years we heard about an org who passed the ocean and found a new continent. Obviously, he was struggling with funds and wanted to sail over ocean to unknown territory.
Society of Gold Leprechauns and Dark Orgs now are fighting over the name of the continent. Leprechauns call it *Robbed Land*, and Orgs - *Org Paradise*, they are planning to migrate to the new continent. (In some org circles continent is known as *Orgy Land*)
So, as I told you maybe it was not what I intended to do, but at the end I am glad that an org discovered that continent before human.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I hadn't seen them in action, but I had heard stories from the other shopkeepers. One of them, probably the bard, charmed the potion maker into an unequal trade, taking all of their stock and leaving them with the worthless excess they had gathered while they were out adventuring. Damn near ruined them. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in to help them rebuild their inventory, but it was awful to see them in the tavern that night, crying and wondering how they were going to keep up with the wages for their apprentices and gatherers.
We thought that would be it, but then they came back after a week. They apparently "liked our town" so much so that they decided to ruin the Weaponsmith next. Took all of his stock in the same unequal trade, leaving them flush with gold and brand new weapons. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in again, helping him back on his feet. This wouldn't be nearly so bad, but the adventurers never spent their gold. They just hoarded it, like the dragon Greg that lived under a nearby hill.
Then word came back that they killed Greg and took all his hoard. For a while we were elated. Maybe this meant that we would finally see some restitution for the businesses they destroyed. We were wrong. They cleaned out the Tailor, both Bakers, the Butcher, two of the General Stores and the tavern owner. All ruined. The Shopkeeper's Guild couldn't help us, their coffers had run dry.
With their trail of destruction complete, they were gone again. As the days passed, the orcs came in to town. Tired, starving, their ancestral lands taken from them by this roving band of thieves, their numbers decimated. The slimes they used in their rituals were now gone, their once lush hunting grounds now depleted; they had nothing left to return to, so we took them in at the Mayor's behest.
Months passed before they were back again, this time gunning for me. I was struggling to stay afloat as it was with our town economy in shambles and no assistance from the crown. But I had a plan and a secret weapon. They came in with their flashy new weapons and armor, and I managed to keep my rage quelled long enough to get what I wanted. Sure, I took all of the rusted swords, blunt daggers, and simple shields at a hugely inflated cost, but more importantly: I got information from them.
Their bard, good with his words, but not good at keeping his mouth shut, spilled every last detail of where they had been, and where they were going next. I smiled as he told me, making sure to keep up my mask of enthusiasm. Once they rolled out of town again, my stock and coffer depleted, I handed everything I had over to the orcs.
"We will bring you their heads!" Their leader roared, much to the delight of his remaining tribe as they made do in the abandoned warehouse.
"No," I countered, "I don't want their heads. I want to see them ruined. Ruined and broken, like they have ruined all of us." The chief smiled.
"You supply us," he stuck out his giant hand, "we supply you."
Its been six months since I struck my bargain. Our town has recovered a bit since then and the adventurers keep coming back, but they keep looking more and more desperate each time. They only come to me now for supplies, things the orcs have stolen from them in the middle of the night or brazenly in the middle of battle that I am more than happy to sell back to them at a premium. They've stopped trying to charm me; an inconspicuous necklace the orcs gave me prevents any charm spells from working, and none of the other shopkeepers will trade with them.
I'm please with how things are turning around, but there's still more work to be done. I'm having tea with a general that the orcs have allied with later today now that the miscreants have left again. I will have my vengeance against these so-called adventurers for ruining my town. | I am a shopkeeper and want to tell a story that really happened. Though, I must warn you it is not what I intended to do. But such things happen in my business.
So, it began with the ugly org who did not want to be visible in human circles and see the sun in the morning without fear of being hunt down.
“Here it comes, invisibility device,” I said.
“Are you sure?” org didn’t uncover his mouth, he wore a long black cloak. It was dark outside, and I didn’t light a lamp.
“As sure as the Eartherdom is not flat.”
“Huh?” org sounded confused.
“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes, but was not sure my expression made sense in darkness, “hundred per cent!”
Org paid and left.
Two days passed. And my problems began when a leprechaun came directly to me.
“I have been robbed. And guess what?” he put a gold coin on the desk and took out of his pocket a device that I gave him. When device covered the coin, it vanished. “Got it?”
“Of course, after all I sold that device to you.”
“You didn’t get it,” leprechaun became red. “I have been robbed, and no one saw the robber, no one detected it. I think whoever did it had the similar device. To whom you recently sold invisibility device?”
“Damn it. Org. I sold it to the org. He said me he had social issues and wanted to paint a sunrise. Damn you, org!”
“Then I know which org did it,” he fled through the door.
They didn’t capture the org. And no one knew what happened to the gold.
After five years we heard about an org who passed the ocean and found a new continent. Obviously, he was struggling with funds and wanted to sail over ocean to unknown territory.
Society of Gold Leprechauns and Dark Orgs now are fighting over the name of the continent. Leprechauns call it *Robbed Land*, and Orgs - *Org Paradise*, they are planning to migrate to the new continent. (In some org circles continent is known as *Orgy Land*)
So, as I told you maybe it was not what I intended to do, but at the end I am glad that an org discovered that continent before human.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | Honestly, every time another ragtag bunch of self righteous do-gooders come to town, it causes a small economic crisis. It's just not good for business nor the morale of the town I live in.
I settled here when my adventuring days came to an end because it was peaceful and generally happy. But then those rabble rousers come around with their pockets full of dungeon treasure.
The tavern inevitably gets destroyed, the emergency town reserve of healing potions gets pilfered, our local cleric is ran ragged by their endless pleading to resurrect their dead friends. And for some reason by the time they've left there are always a few new corpses left in their wake or a building burned down.
I've had enough.
I may not be as spry as I used to be but I have grown a sizeable collection of items that will allow me to outfit a small army with magical advantages.
I hear the nearby orc village was burned down and every male in the tribe was killed because one of their tribe accidentally bumped into this particular adventuring party's halfling.
Perhaps I can convince the hearty orc females to assist me in wiping the smug grins off of those murder-hobo's faces.
They will rue the day.
Oh yes
They will
| I am a shopkeeper and want to tell a story that really happened. Though, I must warn you it is not what I intended to do. But such things happen in my business.
So, it began with the ugly org who did not want to be visible in human circles and see the sun in the morning without fear of being hunt down.
“Here it comes, invisibility device,” I said.
“Are you sure?” org didn’t uncover his mouth, he wore a long black cloak. It was dark outside, and I didn’t light a lamp.
“As sure as the Eartherdom is not flat.”
“Huh?” org sounded confused.
“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes, but was not sure my expression made sense in darkness, “hundred per cent!”
Org paid and left.
Two days passed. And my problems began when a leprechaun came directly to me.
“I have been robbed. And guess what?” he put a gold coin on the desk and took out of his pocket a device that I gave him. When device covered the coin, it vanished. “Got it?”
“Of course, after all I sold that device to you.”
“You didn’t get it,” leprechaun became red. “I have been robbed, and no one saw the robber, no one detected it. I think whoever did it had the similar device. To whom you recently sold invisibility device?”
“Damn it. Org. I sold it to the org. He said me he had social issues and wanted to paint a sunrise. Damn you, org!”
“Then I know which org did it,” he fled through the door.
They didn’t capture the org. And no one knew what happened to the gold.
After five years we heard about an org who passed the ocean and found a new continent. Obviously, he was struggling with funds and wanted to sail over ocean to unknown territory.
Society of Gold Leprechauns and Dark Orgs now are fighting over the name of the continent. Leprechauns call it *Robbed Land*, and Orgs - *Org Paradise*, they are planning to migrate to the new continent. (In some org circles continent is known as *Orgy Land*)
So, as I told you maybe it was not what I intended to do, but at the end I am glad that an org discovered that continent before human.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I ask myself sometimes if I am damned.
I wonder how my soul will wander in the depths of the Underworld after I’m gone, because I have done some evil deeds to fulfill some needs, and I sometimes think if these needs got out of hand to become wills.
Being a shoemaker is being underestimated, unseen. While the world is out there being saved by prideful men in shinning armor, I am busy with my duty; tending to leather and wood, assembling it together to make the boots and shoes that proceed these men’s feet.
And these shoes are also underestimated. Years of craftsmanship ate overlooked because of the nature of my products. I am the man who makes boots for the Mages Guild, for the City Garrison, as well as pretty much every thief that I have known in my years of attending to my small and shy table in the corner of The Drunken Lord, and still, foreigners and locals do not respect me.
I never cared for respect, you know? I don’t want all eyes to me, no, I’m just a simple man, but some recognition would be nice every once in a while. Come to think of it, I am being somewhat hypocritical, ain’t I? I mean, if I didn’t care for the attention, I wouldn’t even have started doing this...
Nah, I’m being stupid.
[Silence.]
I believe it was all those years that have accumulated to this. So many adventurers coming in, trying to sell me shitty deals over shitty loot for my top notch gear. When affairs with the Duke involved me, so much arrogance was shown by these outsiders. I should start to grow tired anytime, right?
Well, the droplet was that party from... M’nykja, I think. They came in to talk to do some trading. They were standard, until one of them, the big one, drawn his war-hammer after staying quiet the whole time, staring into the wall beside the counter. I just kept quiet, looking at them, and asked: “Is everything fine, gentlemen?”. The Big One said nothing, looked at nothing. He just took a swing and tore a whole through my shop’s wall, taking down many of my shelves. Then they all drawn their weapons. The Archer took a shot at me and hit my chest. I had to go running out of there while the guards started raiding my store to take the outlaws out.
You know what happened?
They were released from jail because the Duke owned them for some beast-slaying deal they had.
They said they only felt like ripping my shop down, and perhaps taking my gold afterwards, but the guards were forbidden of talking about that to the townsfolk. And they walked.
That night I spent the rest of my silver in the tavern. My business was wrecked, I was hurt and owed the apothecary money, as well as the doctor who tended to my wound. He said the arrow broke, and the potion to dissolve the wood shrapnel within my flesh wouldn’t be cheap. In two days, some merchant from the south came into the city protected by foreigners, and he brought thousands of shoes that would supply demand until his caravans established the trading route. I was done.
And I didn’t think of revenge at the time, I remember. I just wasn’t thinking at all. Everything was moving independently: I simply went to the tavern and drank the rest of the money I had, with no fear or rage within my heard. Just... blank.
I spent the rest of the Half Moon in the streets, mostly drunk of whatever I could find that had alcohol in it, especially rotten fruits. I ate nuts and scavenged remains off the Duke’s table when there were feasts. I think I was arrested five times around that time. The guards liked me for always being nice to them, when they came by the shop to pick up the boots shipment for the Garrison, but they kept saying “You are not making this easy for us”, or “Keep up like this and you’ll be dead soon”. Eventually I think they started to get tired of me getting into trouble.
It’s all blurred.
One night I felt angry, homicidal angry. Life had been SO unfair to me, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. I was broke, drunk and alone. Some sell-sword from Kaliope caught me in bad mood and I took a swing at him. I don’t remember much, but I remember taking a hell of a beating, and running. I later found out there was such a commotion in the Drunken Lord, the place was set on fire accidentally. I ran outside of the city’s walls that day.
What I can recall perfectly is waking up inside a goblin lair, by the woods. It was a cozy place, although excessively humid and smelling like a wet hound. The goblins that lived there were a group of twelve, that used to be a tribe of thirty. That gave me a sight on the matter for the first time. I was fed with remains of an old dead boar they found in the woods, and they gave me water, even though it was not properly pure. Those goblins were being friendly to me, and probably saved my life. I would be eaten alive by wolves in the woods if not saved. “Why have you saved me?” I asked them. “You silly, you drunk. Needed help, was not danger.”
“What is dangerous for you guys?”
“Sticky sticks, shinny clothes. Hammer.”
My blood went up straight to my head again. Life is unfair. Those creatures were being slaughtered just for minding their own businesses. They didn’t eat babies, they didn’t steal gold. They found loot and protected it as their property, and I found that after hours of talking. They said I fell into their lair. They were doing nothing wrong. And those men whom destroyed my shop were hunting the very creatures that had saved me when I invaded their home.
That was it.
It was personal.
A shoemaker got into that lair. A man left that lair.
I promised my little green friends I would help them. After tripping on rocks and roots in the woods, I eventually found the way back to the city, marking the way back to the goblin lair.
I marched into the night towards the Mages Guild, and looked for one of the spokesmen, an old client. Can’t really say his name; could be a problem if people found out we know each other. I had a long business relationship with the man, and he was sympathetic to my situation, but I lied to him. If anyone found out I was helping beasts, my head was going to roll off my shoulders. I asked for a spell so I could handle a Justice the city wasn’t able to deliver me. By candlelight, he reluctantly lended me a scroll. He told me to read the words and seal it with blood, in order to work, and told me I could pay whenever I had the money, although it wouldn’t be cheap.
I ran back to the lair after a quick asking around the guards to know if they had seen the party in the county, and finding out they set camp by the Raven’s Nest, a few miles west from the city.
That was my first sale.
The goblin leader was a little smarter than the rest, so he understood how the scroll worked. It was over arming; those guys just needed spikes and rocks, but I was angry. And I decided no one would make me angry anymore. The goblin group left the lair before dawn so they could reach the party. I went along, keeping my distance.
I still remember how the man who bore the hammer screamed. He frantic flounced and shivered while white fire consumed his flesh and armor. The goblins scalped the Archer and the rest was impaled in chests by goblin spears. There was blood everywhere, and white fire making it all shine.
The sun rose.
[Silence]
With their belongings, I could re-open my shop and pay my dues. My goblin friends became messengers and spokesmen of my cause to other beasts. Goblins, harpies, vampires, werewolves . A griffin once invaded city and conveniently killed the southern merchant. I kept ordering spells and keeping them at my home “for defense”, as well as made friends in the Blacksmith Guild. I built a network of armorers and swordsmiths. My contact in the Mages Guild stopped supplying me with spells after some time, but that just made me find out about the Magic black market.
I have been pulling strings from the dark. Not only taking away the monopoly of violence from the province and men, but maneuvering my influence over crime lords and the State, as I now deliver shipments and whole caravans of arms to beasts, all under broad daylight.
Thousands have been killed in city raids in the whole province, and beast communities are waging war constantly, armed with spells and top-notch armor. Foreigners are afraid to come, because they are killed off really quickly. Cities are now under tight restrictions due to security reasons and people respect each other’s now, since food, supplies, gear, everything is expensive and little now.
I keep being the master shoemaker, but just seen as a shoemaker. And I couldn’t want anything else but being seen as such.
[Silence.]
I ask myself sometimes if I’m damned.
But no, I’m not.
It’s business. | I am a shopkeeper and want to tell a story that really happened. Though, I must warn you it is not what I intended to do. But such things happen in my business.
So, it began with the ugly org who did not want to be visible in human circles and see the sun in the morning without fear of being hunt down.
“Here it comes, invisibility device,” I said.
“Are you sure?” org didn’t uncover his mouth, he wore a long black cloak. It was dark outside, and I didn’t light a lamp.
“As sure as the Eartherdom is not flat.”
“Huh?” org sounded confused.
“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes, but was not sure my expression made sense in darkness, “hundred per cent!”
Org paid and left.
Two days passed. And my problems began when a leprechaun came directly to me.
“I have been robbed. And guess what?” he put a gold coin on the desk and took out of his pocket a device that I gave him. When device covered the coin, it vanished. “Got it?”
“Of course, after all I sold that device to you.”
“You didn’t get it,” leprechaun became red. “I have been robbed, and no one saw the robber, no one detected it. I think whoever did it had the similar device. To whom you recently sold invisibility device?”
“Damn it. Org. I sold it to the org. He said me he had social issues and wanted to paint a sunrise. Damn you, org!”
“Then I know which org did it,” he fled through the door.
They didn’t capture the org. And no one knew what happened to the gold.
After five years we heard about an org who passed the ocean and found a new continent. Obviously, he was struggling with funds and wanted to sail over ocean to unknown territory.
Society of Gold Leprechauns and Dark Orgs now are fighting over the name of the continent. Leprechauns call it *Robbed Land*, and Orgs - *Org Paradise*, they are planning to migrate to the new continent. (In some org circles continent is known as *Orgy Land*)
So, as I told you maybe it was not what I intended to do, but at the end I am glad that an org discovered that continent before human.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I sighed, handing over a sack of gold as yet another adventurer dropped a pile of weapons on my counter. Yes, weapons...at the potion store. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with a mountain of swords? I sighed, throwing them on the stack as the adventurer walked out. They could never be bothered to go to the general store or the blacksmith, and they never bought any potions either. Mostly due to the fact that nobody needed them anymore. All the monsters were pushovers. Keyword “were.”
One day, a small little goblin walked into my shop. I was a bit surprised at first, but I decided to listen to what he had to say. “Oh, hey there, small one. What brings you to town?”
“This was the first shop I could find that wasn’t in sight of a million guards. I come bearing a message on behalf of all of the Goblin Army.” He said, placing a small scroll on my desk. I opened it up, the handwriting being rather neat for something presumably written by a goblin. It read: “To whoever receives this message, we need help. We are on the brink of extinction from these ‘heroes’ that have been invading our homelands, pillaging our villages and stealing our goods. We find ourselves out of arms and nearly out of food. Please, help us. We still have a decent amount of gold to use.” I looked over it a couple of times, then handed it back to the goblin. “Come with me. I said, leading him to the back room. “Do you have any gold on ya?” I asked. The goblin nodded, handing me a light sack of gold. I poured it into a nearby table. 10 pieces, not bad. I picked up an iron shortsword and a leather helmet, handing them to the goblin. “There’s a door in back, it goes right out of the village. “Tell your friends to bring coin. I’ll arm ‘em.” I said. This is when my life changes forever.
It started with just goblins, but then there were many, many more. Word spread along the monster community of a potion shop selling weapons out the back. Orcs, ogres, dark elves, even a couple of dragons, all came and went. The adventurers were none the wiser, still piling weapons on my counter. It was always a bit sad to see a weapon I had sold weeks before, with a few personal touches added to it. But that just kept me going. Because the part of town I was in was so old and poor, they had no guards, and the wall was barely even existent. Not that it mattered, considering there was a door right behind my shop. After a few months of this, a rather nice lady orc came into my shop one day. “Are you the kind potion seller that’s been arming us?” The orc asked, holding an axe I had sold her weeks before.
“Yes I am, miss. In fact, you were just in here a few weeks ago to buy that axe.” I said.
“Well...I’d like to say thanks on behalf of all of us.” She said. She planted a kiss on my cheek before walking out. I blushed hard as she did, sitting there frozen until I heard the doorbell in front ring. Two weeks later, her axe was back on my counter. As the adventurer walked out, a tear rolled down my cheek. That was the last straw.
The next time a goblin walked in, I gave him a healing potion with his purchase. Nobody bought them anyways, so I decided that the playing field wasn’t level enough yet. My potions soon became quite popular, and I began selling them individually. I prided myself on those potions, and their quality became renowned in the monster world. Business was booming, and I could barely keep up. I was almost constantly brewing potions, and they were flying off the shelf. I let out a sigh of contentment, mixing another batch of potions. “Finally, a damn good income and a sense of belonging...I might wanna consider becoming a blacksmith soon...or just right up moving in with these guys...they aren’t that bad.” | I am a shopkeeper and want to tell a story that really happened. Though, I must warn you it is not what I intended to do. But such things happen in my business.
So, it began with the ugly org who did not want to be visible in human circles and see the sun in the morning without fear of being hunt down.
“Here it comes, invisibility device,” I said.
“Are you sure?” org didn’t uncover his mouth, he wore a long black cloak. It was dark outside, and I didn’t light a lamp.
“As sure as the Eartherdom is not flat.”
“Huh?” org sounded confused.
“Nothing,” I rolled my eyes, but was not sure my expression made sense in darkness, “hundred per cent!”
Org paid and left.
Two days passed. And my problems began when a leprechaun came directly to me.
“I have been robbed. And guess what?” he put a gold coin on the desk and took out of his pocket a device that I gave him. When device covered the coin, it vanished. “Got it?”
“Of course, after all I sold that device to you.”
“You didn’t get it,” leprechaun became red. “I have been robbed, and no one saw the robber, no one detected it. I think whoever did it had the similar device. To whom you recently sold invisibility device?”
“Damn it. Org. I sold it to the org. He said me he had social issues and wanted to paint a sunrise. Damn you, org!”
“Then I know which org did it,” he fled through the door.
They didn’t capture the org. And no one knew what happened to the gold.
After five years we heard about an org who passed the ocean and found a new continent. Obviously, he was struggling with funds and wanted to sail over ocean to unknown territory.
Society of Gold Leprechauns and Dark Orgs now are fighting over the name of the continent. Leprechauns call it *Robbed Land*, and Orgs - *Org Paradise*, they are planning to migrate to the new continent. (In some org circles continent is known as *Orgy Land*)
So, as I told you maybe it was not what I intended to do, but at the end I am glad that an org discovered that continent before human.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I hadn't seen them in action, but I had heard stories from the other shopkeepers. One of them, probably the bard, charmed the potion maker into an unequal trade, taking all of their stock and leaving them with the worthless excess they had gathered while they were out adventuring. Damn near ruined them. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in to help them rebuild their inventory, but it was awful to see them in the tavern that night, crying and wondering how they were going to keep up with the wages for their apprentices and gatherers.
We thought that would be it, but then they came back after a week. They apparently "liked our town" so much so that they decided to ruin the Weaponsmith next. Took all of his stock in the same unequal trade, leaving them flush with gold and brand new weapons. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in again, helping him back on his feet. This wouldn't be nearly so bad, but the adventurers never spent their gold. They just hoarded it, like the dragon Greg that lived under a nearby hill.
Then word came back that they killed Greg and took all his hoard. For a while we were elated. Maybe this meant that we would finally see some restitution for the businesses they destroyed. We were wrong. They cleaned out the Tailor, both Bakers, the Butcher, two of the General Stores and the tavern owner. All ruined. The Shopkeeper's Guild couldn't help us, their coffers had run dry.
With their trail of destruction complete, they were gone again. As the days passed, the orcs came in to town. Tired, starving, their ancestral lands taken from them by this roving band of thieves, their numbers decimated. The slimes they used in their rituals were now gone, their once lush hunting grounds now depleted; they had nothing left to return to, so we took them in at the Mayor's behest.
Months passed before they were back again, this time gunning for me. I was struggling to stay afloat as it was with our town economy in shambles and no assistance from the crown. But I had a plan and a secret weapon. They came in with their flashy new weapons and armor, and I managed to keep my rage quelled long enough to get what I wanted. Sure, I took all of the rusted swords, blunt daggers, and simple shields at a hugely inflated cost, but more importantly: I got information from them.
Their bard, good with his words, but not good at keeping his mouth shut, spilled every last detail of where they had been, and where they were going next. I smiled as he told me, making sure to keep up my mask of enthusiasm. Once they rolled out of town again, my stock and coffer depleted, I handed everything I had over to the orcs.
"We will bring you their heads!" Their leader roared, much to the delight of his remaining tribe as they made do in the abandoned warehouse.
"No," I countered, "I don't want their heads. I want to see them ruined. Ruined and broken, like they have ruined all of us." The chief smiled.
"You supply us," he stuck out his giant hand, "we supply you."
Its been six months since I struck my bargain. Our town has recovered a bit since then and the adventurers keep coming back, but they keep looking more and more desperate each time. They only come to me now for supplies, things the orcs have stolen from them in the middle of the night or brazenly in the middle of battle that I am more than happy to sell back to them at a premium. They've stopped trying to charm me; an inconspicuous necklace the orcs gave me prevents any charm spells from working, and none of the other shopkeepers will trade with them.
I'm please with how things are turning around, but there's still more work to be done. I'm having tea with a general that the orcs have allied with later today now that the miscreants have left again. I will have my vengeance against these so-called adventurers for ruining my town. | With a nod, the young orc exited my shop with a lance in hand. I sold him that lance.
Ten years ago, I would have shivered at the idea of selling a weapon to an orc - or any monster, for that matter. But times have changed. The stereotypical "heroes", those muscular blond-haired men coming from all edges of the Earth looking to slay dragons or defeat armies of goblins in our land, have done nothing heroic at all.
Instead, they ravish our land and rob it of our gold and natural resources. Those men then return to their homes where they are all hailed as heroes, their status elevated to those of kings. And the citizens of our land, human and monster alike, are tired of it.
Though I do not speak the language of orcs or dragons or goblins, we are all part of the same land. And we have come to an understanding. I supply the weapons, they supply the army. I hope that one day our joint efforts will prevent these "heroes" from plundering our lands.
As the orc walks out of my shop, I hope that he will one day be known locally as the hero of our land. And he would be a true hero, at that. Not the fake heroes that are actually plunderers and murderers in disguise.
Godspeed, young orc.
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | He chuckles, pulling his blood-red tie straight and tight against his spotless white collar. Sliding into the pitch black suit, he allows his mind to wander. He had it all, fortune, fame, feminine admirers... and to think he used to be a small time, starry eyed shopkeeper.
See, he'd seen the big picture, seen what the other people at the guild hadn't seen, or didnt want to see. He'd seen opportunity. Because what use are adventurers? Eventually they'd have raided every tomb, killed every lich and shattered their phylacteries twice over. Being involved in the 'protection of civilisation' by adventuring companies was ultimately a finite business.
Thats where he came in.
At first it was a one-off sale, a bunch of seeking arrows a team of adventurers had deemed "not worth their time", leaving him with the expensive stuff. So when a group of Goblin mercenaries contacted him for the stuff, he eagerly jumped at the chance, even turning a small profit on the arrows.
It was about 2, maybe 3 weeks later those same adventurers came crawling back, down 2 of the original 5, beat up and bloodied. They'd faced bandits with arrows that came in at impossible angles and lost, miserably. And since adventurers are often not the brightest of the bunch, his actions had gone unnoticed.
And so it continued, sometimes he supplied one side with weapons effective against the other, sometimes he sold them ineffectual rubbish. But always, always he ensured that he supplied both sides of the conflict evenly, and with ordinance hitting harder than before.
What was just a run down shop in the slums of Javaaz turned into an empire in the shadows, with him the Emperor of it all.
Some found out of course... but they were few and far in between and, more importantly, easily dealt with. They called him a monster, called him things even the demons below would find offensive.
But what was he to do? It was not personal after all, just business, lucrative, wonderful business. | “So wot’s wot humie?”
“These are spears, perfect for thrusting attacks. They’ll pierce through any armour that isn’t solid plate and you have the advantage of range. These are the swords: balanced, light and keen of edge. These will slice through flesh and bone like a knife through butter. Next, the axes. Giant, heavy instruments of death. One of your boys starts swinging this around and heads will roll from here to the horizon. Last but not least the maces, my favourite. Solid iron forged into shape designed solely for crushing the bones of your enemies. Even an opponent in plate mail will have his ribs crushed by the sheer destructive force that his weapon can generate over a short distance.”
“.....You wot?”
“Sigh. Those are stabbers, those are slashers, those are choppers and those are smashers.”
“Brillyunt! Gimme eleventy-four of each!” | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | "So that'll be 4 Fire Resistance potions, a fog bomb, a Blackthorn Wand, two Wyrmslayer sets and a Staff of Restoration?," I asked, my broad smile stretching from ear to ear. It'd never reach my eyes, though; but I doubted they would see that with the dimly lit hearth and flamboyant arrogance in the way.
"Yes, that's it," a chappy young woman with blonde hair replied. I'd placed my money on her being the healer for them, I'd seen enough of their type. Curvy, elegant and kind was simply a masquerade they wore to stay away from danger.
"That'll be 763599 Horcorz, Ma'am," I grinned, and this time my eyes actually lit up. Unwilling she settled the amount and grumbling about overpriced goods, the party of four left.
Quickly, I closed shop, and slung around me my best magical gear. Natural talent and access to unlimited supplies just went hand in hand. Besides, you needed some form of defense with all the thieves these days. *Human* thieves, might I add.
I scrambled down to the basement, shoving aside my short hair and lightening up the room with a quick Nanosol incantation. I stepped towards the portal / scrying ball, and begun my search, though I'd already guessed their path. They'd made it crystal clear they were going to rob a dragon, and there was only one of those nearby.
I had a quick peek to confirm my suspicions, and saw them chirpily skipping along, decapitating any poor orc that got in their way. Imbeciles. Anything they regarded stupid or savage, they simply murdered without second thought, with no thought about the families they were destroying. My blood simply boiled simply at the idea.
Hastening my spell, I opened a portal to Dracox's Keep. I was so familiar with the place I could open portals their in my sleep.
"Kurt," a voice boomed, it's urgency palpable, "More raiders, I'll assume?"
I looked around the massive Castle, still amazed by its enamour. Armed sculptures stood around the throne room, buried under piles of various treasure. I had to hover just so I didn't drown in the gold.
I nodded, and begun to protect the dragon. Immunity to visual defects? Check. High -grade physical enhancement? Check. Anti-Healing Aura? Check.
The glowing lights on my fingertips faded, and I took out 10 solid Carbonium talon covers.
"Wear this, so you can peirce through their armour," I said, tossing him the sac. I eyes him expectantly.
"Yes, yes I'll get your payment," Dracox sighed, rummaging through the heap. He pulled out a tattered doll.
"Here. It's a Highly Enchanted Voodoo Doll that allows one to connect with a simple scrying orb. I got it last time, after they found out I was immune to Soul Tampering...," he sighed. A thanks began to form on his formed tongue, but his pride kept it in.
I'd never cared much for money. Antique relics like these, however, were certainly very handy.
"I truly do hope you'll be able to open up to me one day," I said, throwing him a vial with a blue coloured liquid, "It's an Animation potion. On the house. Try it on those statues." I smiled, and left.
When I returned however, I was met with my musty old basement and a quivering orc. Kopash. He could barely stand still, holding on his hand an Imperial Parchment. I snatched the parchment up, and read it.
*Court sponsored monster elimination projects to be launched,* it read, in thick black ink.
A memory of my mom falling into my arms, brutally shot with burn wounds all over flashed before my eyes. Rage welled up inside me, and I turned red. There, with firm resolve, I swore I would do something to help. Kopash saw me, and straightened, his eyes filled with awe.
Yes, I would do something. I would save these poor souls from those wretched humans. I'd do something I've never done before since the Imperial Order, since they legalized this blasphemy.
*I would fight back*
r/BetterTales for more!
| “So wot’s wot humie?”
“These are spears, perfect for thrusting attacks. They’ll pierce through any armour that isn’t solid plate and you have the advantage of range. These are the swords: balanced, light and keen of edge. These will slice through flesh and bone like a knife through butter. Next, the axes. Giant, heavy instruments of death. One of your boys starts swinging this around and heads will roll from here to the horizon. Last but not least the maces, my favourite. Solid iron forged into shape designed solely for crushing the bones of your enemies. Even an opponent in plate mail will have his ribs crushed by the sheer destructive force that his weapon can generate over a short distance.”
“.....You wot?”
“Sigh. Those are stabbers, those are slashers, those are choppers and those are smashers.”
“Brillyunt! Gimme eleventy-four of each!” | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I hadn't seen them in action, but I had heard stories from the other shopkeepers. One of them, probably the bard, charmed the potion maker into an unequal trade, taking all of their stock and leaving them with the worthless excess they had gathered while they were out adventuring. Damn near ruined them. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in to help them rebuild their inventory, but it was awful to see them in the tavern that night, crying and wondering how they were going to keep up with the wages for their apprentices and gatherers.
We thought that would be it, but then they came back after a week. They apparently "liked our town" so much so that they decided to ruin the Weaponsmith next. Took all of his stock in the same unequal trade, leaving them flush with gold and brand new weapons. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in again, helping him back on his feet. This wouldn't be nearly so bad, but the adventurers never spent their gold. They just hoarded it, like the dragon Greg that lived under a nearby hill.
Then word came back that they killed Greg and took all his hoard. For a while we were elated. Maybe this meant that we would finally see some restitution for the businesses they destroyed. We were wrong. They cleaned out the Tailor, both Bakers, the Butcher, two of the General Stores and the tavern owner. All ruined. The Shopkeeper's Guild couldn't help us, their coffers had run dry.
With their trail of destruction complete, they were gone again. As the days passed, the orcs came in to town. Tired, starving, their ancestral lands taken from them by this roving band of thieves, their numbers decimated. The slimes they used in their rituals were now gone, their once lush hunting grounds now depleted; they had nothing left to return to, so we took them in at the Mayor's behest.
Months passed before they were back again, this time gunning for me. I was struggling to stay afloat as it was with our town economy in shambles and no assistance from the crown. But I had a plan and a secret weapon. They came in with their flashy new weapons and armor, and I managed to keep my rage quelled long enough to get what I wanted. Sure, I took all of the rusted swords, blunt daggers, and simple shields at a hugely inflated cost, but more importantly: I got information from them.
Their bard, good with his words, but not good at keeping his mouth shut, spilled every last detail of where they had been, and where they were going next. I smiled as he told me, making sure to keep up my mask of enthusiasm. Once they rolled out of town again, my stock and coffer depleted, I handed everything I had over to the orcs.
"We will bring you their heads!" Their leader roared, much to the delight of his remaining tribe as they made do in the abandoned warehouse.
"No," I countered, "I don't want their heads. I want to see them ruined. Ruined and broken, like they have ruined all of us." The chief smiled.
"You supply us," he stuck out his giant hand, "we supply you."
Its been six months since I struck my bargain. Our town has recovered a bit since then and the adventurers keep coming back, but they keep looking more and more desperate each time. They only come to me now for supplies, things the orcs have stolen from them in the middle of the night or brazenly in the middle of battle that I am more than happy to sell back to them at a premium. They've stopped trying to charm me; an inconspicuous necklace the orcs gave me prevents any charm spells from working, and none of the other shopkeepers will trade with them.
I'm please with how things are turning around, but there's still more work to be done. I'm having tea with a general that the orcs have allied with later today now that the miscreants have left again. I will have my vengeance against these so-called adventurers for ruining my town. | “So wot’s wot humie?”
“These are spears, perfect for thrusting attacks. They’ll pierce through any armour that isn’t solid plate and you have the advantage of range. These are the swords: balanced, light and keen of edge. These will slice through flesh and bone like a knife through butter. Next, the axes. Giant, heavy instruments of death. One of your boys starts swinging this around and heads will roll from here to the horizon. Last but not least the maces, my favourite. Solid iron forged into shape designed solely for crushing the bones of your enemies. Even an opponent in plate mail will have his ribs crushed by the sheer destructive force that his weapon can generate over a short distance.”
“.....You wot?”
“Sigh. Those are stabbers, those are slashers, those are choppers and those are smashers.”
“Brillyunt! Gimme eleventy-four of each!” | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I hadn't seen them in action, but I had heard stories from the other shopkeepers. One of them, probably the bard, charmed the potion maker into an unequal trade, taking all of their stock and leaving them with the worthless excess they had gathered while they were out adventuring. Damn near ruined them. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in to help them rebuild their inventory, but it was awful to see them in the tavern that night, crying and wondering how they were going to keep up with the wages for their apprentices and gatherers.
We thought that would be it, but then they came back after a week. They apparently "liked our town" so much so that they decided to ruin the Weaponsmith next. Took all of his stock in the same unequal trade, leaving them flush with gold and brand new weapons. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in again, helping him back on his feet. This wouldn't be nearly so bad, but the adventurers never spent their gold. They just hoarded it, like the dragon Greg that lived under a nearby hill.
Then word came back that they killed Greg and took all his hoard. For a while we were elated. Maybe this meant that we would finally see some restitution for the businesses they destroyed. We were wrong. They cleaned out the Tailor, both Bakers, the Butcher, two of the General Stores and the tavern owner. All ruined. The Shopkeeper's Guild couldn't help us, their coffers had run dry.
With their trail of destruction complete, they were gone again. As the days passed, the orcs came in to town. Tired, starving, their ancestral lands taken from them by this roving band of thieves, their numbers decimated. The slimes they used in their rituals were now gone, their once lush hunting grounds now depleted; they had nothing left to return to, so we took them in at the Mayor's behest.
Months passed before they were back again, this time gunning for me. I was struggling to stay afloat as it was with our town economy in shambles and no assistance from the crown. But I had a plan and a secret weapon. They came in with their flashy new weapons and armor, and I managed to keep my rage quelled long enough to get what I wanted. Sure, I took all of the rusted swords, blunt daggers, and simple shields at a hugely inflated cost, but more importantly: I got information from them.
Their bard, good with his words, but not good at keeping his mouth shut, spilled every last detail of where they had been, and where they were going next. I smiled as he told me, making sure to keep up my mask of enthusiasm. Once they rolled out of town again, my stock and coffer depleted, I handed everything I had over to the orcs.
"We will bring you their heads!" Their leader roared, much to the delight of his remaining tribe as they made do in the abandoned warehouse.
"No," I countered, "I don't want their heads. I want to see them ruined. Ruined and broken, like they have ruined all of us." The chief smiled.
"You supply us," he stuck out his giant hand, "we supply you."
Its been six months since I struck my bargain. Our town has recovered a bit since then and the adventurers keep coming back, but they keep looking more and more desperate each time. They only come to me now for supplies, things the orcs have stolen from them in the middle of the night or brazenly in the middle of battle that I am more than happy to sell back to them at a premium. They've stopped trying to charm me; an inconspicuous necklace the orcs gave me prevents any charm spells from working, and none of the other shopkeepers will trade with them.
I'm please with how things are turning around, but there's still more work to be done. I'm having tea with a general that the orcs have allied with later today now that the miscreants have left again. I will have my vengeance against these so-called adventurers for ruining my town. | He chuckles, pulling his blood-red tie straight and tight against his spotless white collar. Sliding into the pitch black suit, he allows his mind to wander. He had it all, fortune, fame, feminine admirers... and to think he used to be a small time, starry eyed shopkeeper.
See, he'd seen the big picture, seen what the other people at the guild hadn't seen, or didnt want to see. He'd seen opportunity. Because what use are adventurers? Eventually they'd have raided every tomb, killed every lich and shattered their phylacteries twice over. Being involved in the 'protection of civilisation' by adventuring companies was ultimately a finite business.
Thats where he came in.
At first it was a one-off sale, a bunch of seeking arrows a team of adventurers had deemed "not worth their time", leaving him with the expensive stuff. So when a group of Goblin mercenaries contacted him for the stuff, he eagerly jumped at the chance, even turning a small profit on the arrows.
It was about 2, maybe 3 weeks later those same adventurers came crawling back, down 2 of the original 5, beat up and bloodied. They'd faced bandits with arrows that came in at impossible angles and lost, miserably. And since adventurers are often not the brightest of the bunch, his actions had gone unnoticed.
And so it continued, sometimes he supplied one side with weapons effective against the other, sometimes he sold them ineffectual rubbish. But always, always he ensured that he supplied both sides of the conflict evenly, and with ordinance hitting harder than before.
What was just a run down shop in the slums of Javaaz turned into an empire in the shadows, with him the Emperor of it all.
Some found out of course... but they were few and far in between and, more importantly, easily dealt with. They called him a monster, called him things even the demons below would find offensive.
But what was he to do? It was not personal after all, just business, lucrative, wonderful business. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | "So that'll be 4 Fire Resistance potions, a fog bomb, a Blackthorn Wand, two Wyrmslayer sets and a Staff of Restoration?," I asked, my broad smile stretching from ear to ear. It'd never reach my eyes, though; but I doubted they would see that with the dimly lit hearth and flamboyant arrogance in the way.
"Yes, that's it," a chappy young woman with blonde hair replied. I'd placed my money on her being the healer for them, I'd seen enough of their type. Curvy, elegant and kind was simply a masquerade they wore to stay away from danger.
"That'll be 763599 Horcorz, Ma'am," I grinned, and this time my eyes actually lit up. Unwilling she settled the amount and grumbling about overpriced goods, the party of four left.
Quickly, I closed shop, and slung around me my best magical gear. Natural talent and access to unlimited supplies just went hand in hand. Besides, you needed some form of defense with all the thieves these days. *Human* thieves, might I add.
I scrambled down to the basement, shoving aside my short hair and lightening up the room with a quick Nanosol incantation. I stepped towards the portal / scrying ball, and begun my search, though I'd already guessed their path. They'd made it crystal clear they were going to rob a dragon, and there was only one of those nearby.
I had a quick peek to confirm my suspicions, and saw them chirpily skipping along, decapitating any poor orc that got in their way. Imbeciles. Anything they regarded stupid or savage, they simply murdered without second thought, with no thought about the families they were destroying. My blood simply boiled simply at the idea.
Hastening my spell, I opened a portal to Dracox's Keep. I was so familiar with the place I could open portals their in my sleep.
"Kurt," a voice boomed, it's urgency palpable, "More raiders, I'll assume?"
I looked around the massive Castle, still amazed by its enamour. Armed sculptures stood around the throne room, buried under piles of various treasure. I had to hover just so I didn't drown in the gold.
I nodded, and begun to protect the dragon. Immunity to visual defects? Check. High -grade physical enhancement? Check. Anti-Healing Aura? Check.
The glowing lights on my fingertips faded, and I took out 10 solid Carbonium talon covers.
"Wear this, so you can peirce through their armour," I said, tossing him the sac. I eyes him expectantly.
"Yes, yes I'll get your payment," Dracox sighed, rummaging through the heap. He pulled out a tattered doll.
"Here. It's a Highly Enchanted Voodoo Doll that allows one to connect with a simple scrying orb. I got it last time, after they found out I was immune to Soul Tampering...," he sighed. A thanks began to form on his formed tongue, but his pride kept it in.
I'd never cared much for money. Antique relics like these, however, were certainly very handy.
"I truly do hope you'll be able to open up to me one day," I said, throwing him a vial with a blue coloured liquid, "It's an Animation potion. On the house. Try it on those statues." I smiled, and left.
When I returned however, I was met with my musty old basement and a quivering orc. Kopash. He could barely stand still, holding on his hand an Imperial Parchment. I snatched the parchment up, and read it.
*Court sponsored monster elimination projects to be launched,* it read, in thick black ink.
A memory of my mom falling into my arms, brutally shot with burn wounds all over flashed before my eyes. Rage welled up inside me, and I turned red. There, with firm resolve, I swore I would do something to help. Kopash saw me, and straightened, his eyes filled with awe.
Yes, I would do something. I would save these poor souls from those wretched humans. I'd do something I've never done before since the Imperial Order, since they legalized this blasphemy.
*I would fight back*
r/BetterTales for more!
| One man's trash is another man's treasure.
That was something my father used to tell me when I asked him why we ran a shop that would purchase anything from anyone. He always said that no matter how useless an item may seem, it might just be the most important thing in the world to someone else. He'd boast that since we were the only people in town foolish enough to buy everything, then everyone just knew where to go to find anything. He wasn't wrong; the shop practically ran itself, some days customers would come in looking to buy something we'd bought only the day before. Our shelves were filled with mismatched tableware, semi-broken tools and items we simply referred to as a, "whatchamacallit", because we never could figure out their names.
Now the shelves are lined with dragon scales and magical scrolls. Along the walls lie the ornate swords of forgotten kings, rune-etched hammers of Dwarven barbarians, and even a sword made entirely of bone. Adventurers come from far and wide to sell me the spoils of their latest undertakings. They defile a royal crypt or two and pawn the possessions of the dead off upon my counter. Every morning I come downstairs to dust off priceless artifacts in a store my fellow townspeople are too afraid to visit anymore. Perhaps they're right to be afraid of my store. I'm certain at least one of these items is cursed. I'm betting it's that bone sword.
The legendary weapons and armors from the tales of my youth now litter my shop, and with them came the horrible realization that my new patrons are little more than thieves, taking the relics of other towns and races and discarding them when some new source of power comes their way. They've made little progress in actually stopping the Dark Lord ever since he took over the kingdom. Their attention is instead directed to more and more 'side quests' to acquire power. If the gods were fair and just, both the Dark Lord and these self-righteous bandits would kill each other off, but the gods are never fair and just. If they were we wouldn't be suffering the whims of the both our conqueror and our 'saviors'.
As the door swings upon, I look up to find the faces of my childhood nightmares filing into my store. Orcs, goblins, dark elves and even a lich shuffle in, awkwardly trying not to bump into any of the powerful artifacts scattered around the shop. The looks of reverence on some of their faces almost hurts me as they look around and see that my shop has become the unceremonious resting place of so many of their once beloved relics. I knock a few times on the top of my counter in order to draw their attention away from their hallowed items.
"It's perfectly understandable to be in awe of the items around you. Many of you have probably believed these weapons and armors to simply be the stuff of legend. I assure you however, they are very real, and before the day is done you will be able to bring these items home", I had to hold back a smile, what should be the start of a revolution sounds like little more than a sales pitch, "we have all lost something, whether it was to the Dark Lord and his Hellriders, or to the selfish adventurers who promised to end his cruel reign". I could not tell if their pained expressions were from memories of the Dark Lord's rise, the heroes' quests, or some combination of both, but I knew one thing was certain; they wanted an end to this, and there was no doubt they'd agree to my offer.
"What do you get in return for all of this?" an Orc at the back asked, "when your message arrived, you promised to return our artifacts to us at no cost, so what do you stand to gain". Everyone turned to him, and then back to me, carefully listening to what I had to say in hopes of spotting some elaborate catch.
"I just want peace, a return to a normal life. You've seen my town. No one around me can buy these weapons, and what would I even begin to do with them? I'm not strong enough to wield them, and thanks to those 'heroes' forcing me to purchase everything they bring my way, I cannot afford to leave this town much less fund an army of my own for what I'm asking. Consider this a trade; you get back what was stolen from all of you, and I get to sleep in a world that has one less Dark Lord and five less adventurers". The crowded shop broke into a series of hushed whispers as they looked around and back at me.
"I'm in", the soft voice of a young woman managed to cut through the murmurs. The dark elf it belonged to walked over to the back wall to pick up a weapon , "I've really missed my old bone sword". After she armed herself and made her way to the door, everyone else proceeded to do the same. I didn't need to say another word, one by one, everyone picked up an item or two, and made their way out of my shop.
The shop was practically running itself again. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I hadn't seen them in action, but I had heard stories from the other shopkeepers. One of them, probably the bard, charmed the potion maker into an unequal trade, taking all of their stock and leaving them with the worthless excess they had gathered while they were out adventuring. Damn near ruined them. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in to help them rebuild their inventory, but it was awful to see them in the tavern that night, crying and wondering how they were going to keep up with the wages for their apprentices and gatherers.
We thought that would be it, but then they came back after a week. They apparently "liked our town" so much so that they decided to ruin the Weaponsmith next. Took all of his stock in the same unequal trade, leaving them flush with gold and brand new weapons. The Shopkeeper's Guild stepped in again, helping him back on his feet. This wouldn't be nearly so bad, but the adventurers never spent their gold. They just hoarded it, like the dragon Greg that lived under a nearby hill.
Then word came back that they killed Greg and took all his hoard. For a while we were elated. Maybe this meant that we would finally see some restitution for the businesses they destroyed. We were wrong. They cleaned out the Tailor, both Bakers, the Butcher, two of the General Stores and the tavern owner. All ruined. The Shopkeeper's Guild couldn't help us, their coffers had run dry.
With their trail of destruction complete, they were gone again. As the days passed, the orcs came in to town. Tired, starving, their ancestral lands taken from them by this roving band of thieves, their numbers decimated. The slimes they used in their rituals were now gone, their once lush hunting grounds now depleted; they had nothing left to return to, so we took them in at the Mayor's behest.
Months passed before they were back again, this time gunning for me. I was struggling to stay afloat as it was with our town economy in shambles and no assistance from the crown. But I had a plan and a secret weapon. They came in with their flashy new weapons and armor, and I managed to keep my rage quelled long enough to get what I wanted. Sure, I took all of the rusted swords, blunt daggers, and simple shields at a hugely inflated cost, but more importantly: I got information from them.
Their bard, good with his words, but not good at keeping his mouth shut, spilled every last detail of where they had been, and where they were going next. I smiled as he told me, making sure to keep up my mask of enthusiasm. Once they rolled out of town again, my stock and coffer depleted, I handed everything I had over to the orcs.
"We will bring you their heads!" Their leader roared, much to the delight of his remaining tribe as they made do in the abandoned warehouse.
"No," I countered, "I don't want their heads. I want to see them ruined. Ruined and broken, like they have ruined all of us." The chief smiled.
"You supply us," he stuck out his giant hand, "we supply you."
Its been six months since I struck my bargain. Our town has recovered a bit since then and the adventurers keep coming back, but they keep looking more and more desperate each time. They only come to me now for supplies, things the orcs have stolen from them in the middle of the night or brazenly in the middle of battle that I am more than happy to sell back to them at a premium. They've stopped trying to charm me; an inconspicuous necklace the orcs gave me prevents any charm spells from working, and none of the other shopkeepers will trade with them.
I'm please with how things are turning around, but there's still more work to be done. I'm having tea with a general that the orcs have allied with later today now that the miscreants have left again. I will have my vengeance against these so-called adventurers for ruining my town. | One man's trash is another man's treasure.
That was something my father used to tell me when I asked him why we ran a shop that would purchase anything from anyone. He always said that no matter how useless an item may seem, it might just be the most important thing in the world to someone else. He'd boast that since we were the only people in town foolish enough to buy everything, then everyone just knew where to go to find anything. He wasn't wrong; the shop practically ran itself, some days customers would come in looking to buy something we'd bought only the day before. Our shelves were filled with mismatched tableware, semi-broken tools and items we simply referred to as a, "whatchamacallit", because we never could figure out their names.
Now the shelves are lined with dragon scales and magical scrolls. Along the walls lie the ornate swords of forgotten kings, rune-etched hammers of Dwarven barbarians, and even a sword made entirely of bone. Adventurers come from far and wide to sell me the spoils of their latest undertakings. They defile a royal crypt or two and pawn the possessions of the dead off upon my counter. Every morning I come downstairs to dust off priceless artifacts in a store my fellow townspeople are too afraid to visit anymore. Perhaps they're right to be afraid of my store. I'm certain at least one of these items is cursed. I'm betting it's that bone sword.
The legendary weapons and armors from the tales of my youth now litter my shop, and with them came the horrible realization that my new patrons are little more than thieves, taking the relics of other towns and races and discarding them when some new source of power comes their way. They've made little progress in actually stopping the Dark Lord ever since he took over the kingdom. Their attention is instead directed to more and more 'side quests' to acquire power. If the gods were fair and just, both the Dark Lord and these self-righteous bandits would kill each other off, but the gods are never fair and just. If they were we wouldn't be suffering the whims of the both our conqueror and our 'saviors'.
As the door swings upon, I look up to find the faces of my childhood nightmares filing into my store. Orcs, goblins, dark elves and even a lich shuffle in, awkwardly trying not to bump into any of the powerful artifacts scattered around the shop. The looks of reverence on some of their faces almost hurts me as they look around and see that my shop has become the unceremonious resting place of so many of their once beloved relics. I knock a few times on the top of my counter in order to draw their attention away from their hallowed items.
"It's perfectly understandable to be in awe of the items around you. Many of you have probably believed these weapons and armors to simply be the stuff of legend. I assure you however, they are very real, and before the day is done you will be able to bring these items home", I had to hold back a smile, what should be the start of a revolution sounds like little more than a sales pitch, "we have all lost something, whether it was to the Dark Lord and his Hellriders, or to the selfish adventurers who promised to end his cruel reign". I could not tell if their pained expressions were from memories of the Dark Lord's rise, the heroes' quests, or some combination of both, but I knew one thing was certain; they wanted an end to this, and there was no doubt they'd agree to my offer.
"What do you get in return for all of this?" an Orc at the back asked, "when your message arrived, you promised to return our artifacts to us at no cost, so what do you stand to gain". Everyone turned to him, and then back to me, carefully listening to what I had to say in hopes of spotting some elaborate catch.
"I just want peace, a return to a normal life. You've seen my town. No one around me can buy these weapons, and what would I even begin to do with them? I'm not strong enough to wield them, and thanks to those 'heroes' forcing me to purchase everything they bring my way, I cannot afford to leave this town much less fund an army of my own for what I'm asking. Consider this a trade; you get back what was stolen from all of you, and I get to sleep in a world that has one less Dark Lord and five less adventurers". The crowded shop broke into a series of hushed whispers as they looked around and back at me.
"I'm in", the soft voice of a young woman managed to cut through the murmurs. The dark elf it belonged to walked over to the back wall to pick up a weapon , "I've really missed my old bone sword". After she armed herself and made her way to the door, everyone else proceeded to do the same. I didn't need to say another word, one by one, everyone picked up an item or two, and made their way out of my shop.
The shop was practically running itself again. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I ask myself sometimes if I am damned.
I wonder how my soul will wander in the depths of the Underworld after I’m gone, because I have done some evil deeds to fulfill some needs, and I sometimes think if these needs got out of hand to become wills.
Being a shoemaker is being underestimated, unseen. While the world is out there being saved by prideful men in shinning armor, I am busy with my duty; tending to leather and wood, assembling it together to make the boots and shoes that proceed these men’s feet.
And these shoes are also underestimated. Years of craftsmanship ate overlooked because of the nature of my products. I am the man who makes boots for the Mages Guild, for the City Garrison, as well as pretty much every thief that I have known in my years of attending to my small and shy table in the corner of The Drunken Lord, and still, foreigners and locals do not respect me.
I never cared for respect, you know? I don’t want all eyes to me, no, I’m just a simple man, but some recognition would be nice every once in a while. Come to think of it, I am being somewhat hypocritical, ain’t I? I mean, if I didn’t care for the attention, I wouldn’t even have started doing this...
Nah, I’m being stupid.
[Silence.]
I believe it was all those years that have accumulated to this. So many adventurers coming in, trying to sell me shitty deals over shitty loot for my top notch gear. When affairs with the Duke involved me, so much arrogance was shown by these outsiders. I should start to grow tired anytime, right?
Well, the droplet was that party from... M’nykja, I think. They came in to talk to do some trading. They were standard, until one of them, the big one, drawn his war-hammer after staying quiet the whole time, staring into the wall beside the counter. I just kept quiet, looking at them, and asked: “Is everything fine, gentlemen?”. The Big One said nothing, looked at nothing. He just took a swing and tore a whole through my shop’s wall, taking down many of my shelves. Then they all drawn their weapons. The Archer took a shot at me and hit my chest. I had to go running out of there while the guards started raiding my store to take the outlaws out.
You know what happened?
They were released from jail because the Duke owned them for some beast-slaying deal they had.
They said they only felt like ripping my shop down, and perhaps taking my gold afterwards, but the guards were forbidden of talking about that to the townsfolk. And they walked.
That night I spent the rest of my silver in the tavern. My business was wrecked, I was hurt and owed the apothecary money, as well as the doctor who tended to my wound. He said the arrow broke, and the potion to dissolve the wood shrapnel within my flesh wouldn’t be cheap. In two days, some merchant from the south came into the city protected by foreigners, and he brought thousands of shoes that would supply demand until his caravans established the trading route. I was done.
And I didn’t think of revenge at the time, I remember. I just wasn’t thinking at all. Everything was moving independently: I simply went to the tavern and drank the rest of the money I had, with no fear or rage within my heard. Just... blank.
I spent the rest of the Half Moon in the streets, mostly drunk of whatever I could find that had alcohol in it, especially rotten fruits. I ate nuts and scavenged remains off the Duke’s table when there were feasts. I think I was arrested five times around that time. The guards liked me for always being nice to them, when they came by the shop to pick up the boots shipment for the Garrison, but they kept saying “You are not making this easy for us”, or “Keep up like this and you’ll be dead soon”. Eventually I think they started to get tired of me getting into trouble.
It’s all blurred.
One night I felt angry, homicidal angry. Life had been SO unfair to me, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. I was broke, drunk and alone. Some sell-sword from Kaliope caught me in bad mood and I took a swing at him. I don’t remember much, but I remember taking a hell of a beating, and running. I later found out there was such a commotion in the Drunken Lord, the place was set on fire accidentally. I ran outside of the city’s walls that day.
What I can recall perfectly is waking up inside a goblin lair, by the woods. It was a cozy place, although excessively humid and smelling like a wet hound. The goblins that lived there were a group of twelve, that used to be a tribe of thirty. That gave me a sight on the matter for the first time. I was fed with remains of an old dead boar they found in the woods, and they gave me water, even though it was not properly pure. Those goblins were being friendly to me, and probably saved my life. I would be eaten alive by wolves in the woods if not saved. “Why have you saved me?” I asked them. “You silly, you drunk. Needed help, was not danger.”
“What is dangerous for you guys?”
“Sticky sticks, shinny clothes. Hammer.”
My blood went up straight to my head again. Life is unfair. Those creatures were being slaughtered just for minding their own businesses. They didn’t eat babies, they didn’t steal gold. They found loot and protected it as their property, and I found that after hours of talking. They said I fell into their lair. They were doing nothing wrong. And those men whom destroyed my shop were hunting the very creatures that had saved me when I invaded their home.
That was it.
It was personal.
A shoemaker got into that lair. A man left that lair.
I promised my little green friends I would help them. After tripping on rocks and roots in the woods, I eventually found the way back to the city, marking the way back to the goblin lair.
I marched into the night towards the Mages Guild, and looked for one of the spokesmen, an old client. Can’t really say his name; could be a problem if people found out we know each other. I had a long business relationship with the man, and he was sympathetic to my situation, but I lied to him. If anyone found out I was helping beasts, my head was going to roll off my shoulders. I asked for a spell so I could handle a Justice the city wasn’t able to deliver me. By candlelight, he reluctantly lended me a scroll. He told me to read the words and seal it with blood, in order to work, and told me I could pay whenever I had the money, although it wouldn’t be cheap.
I ran back to the lair after a quick asking around the guards to know if they had seen the party in the county, and finding out they set camp by the Raven’s Nest, a few miles west from the city.
That was my first sale.
The goblin leader was a little smarter than the rest, so he understood how the scroll worked. It was over arming; those guys just needed spikes and rocks, but I was angry. And I decided no one would make me angry anymore. The goblin group left the lair before dawn so they could reach the party. I went along, keeping my distance.
I still remember how the man who bore the hammer screamed. He frantic flounced and shivered while white fire consumed his flesh and armor. The goblins scalped the Archer and the rest was impaled in chests by goblin spears. There was blood everywhere, and white fire making it all shine.
The sun rose.
[Silence]
With their belongings, I could re-open my shop and pay my dues. My goblin friends became messengers and spokesmen of my cause to other beasts. Goblins, harpies, vampires, werewolves . A griffin once invaded city and conveniently killed the southern merchant. I kept ordering spells and keeping them at my home “for defense”, as well as made friends in the Blacksmith Guild. I built a network of armorers and swordsmiths. My contact in the Mages Guild stopped supplying me with spells after some time, but that just made me find out about the Magic black market.
I have been pulling strings from the dark. Not only taking away the monopoly of violence from the province and men, but maneuvering my influence over crime lords and the State, as I now deliver shipments and whole caravans of arms to beasts, all under broad daylight.
Thousands have been killed in city raids in the whole province, and beast communities are waging war constantly, armed with spells and top-notch armor. Foreigners are afraid to come, because they are killed off really quickly. Cities are now under tight restrictions due to security reasons and people respect each other’s now, since food, supplies, gear, everything is expensive and little now.
I keep being the master shoemaker, but just seen as a shoemaker. And I couldn’t want anything else but being seen as such.
[Silence.]
I ask myself sometimes if I’m damned.
But no, I’m not.
It’s business. | Honestly, every time another ragtag bunch of self righteous do-gooders come to town, it causes a small economic crisis. It's just not good for business nor the morale of the town I live in.
I settled here when my adventuring days came to an end because it was peaceful and generally happy. But then those rabble rousers come around with their pockets full of dungeon treasure.
The tavern inevitably gets destroyed, the emergency town reserve of healing potions gets pilfered, our local cleric is ran ragged by their endless pleading to resurrect their dead friends. And for some reason by the time they've left there are always a few new corpses left in their wake or a building burned down.
I've had enough.
I may not be as spry as I used to be but I have grown a sizeable collection of items that will allow me to outfit a small army with magical advantages.
I hear the nearby orc village was burned down and every male in the tribe was killed because one of their tribe accidentally bumped into this particular adventuring party's halfling.
Perhaps I can convince the hearty orc females to assist me in wiping the smug grins off of those murder-hobo's faces.
They will rue the day.
Oh yes
They will
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I sighed, handing over a sack of gold as yet another adventurer dropped a pile of weapons on my counter. Yes, weapons...at the potion store. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with a mountain of swords? I sighed, throwing them on the stack as the adventurer walked out. They could never be bothered to go to the general store or the blacksmith, and they never bought any potions either. Mostly due to the fact that nobody needed them anymore. All the monsters were pushovers. Keyword “were.”
One day, a small little goblin walked into my shop. I was a bit surprised at first, but I decided to listen to what he had to say. “Oh, hey there, small one. What brings you to town?”
“This was the first shop I could find that wasn’t in sight of a million guards. I come bearing a message on behalf of all of the Goblin Army.” He said, placing a small scroll on my desk. I opened it up, the handwriting being rather neat for something presumably written by a goblin. It read: “To whoever receives this message, we need help. We are on the brink of extinction from these ‘heroes’ that have been invading our homelands, pillaging our villages and stealing our goods. We find ourselves out of arms and nearly out of food. Please, help us. We still have a decent amount of gold to use.” I looked over it a couple of times, then handed it back to the goblin. “Come with me. I said, leading him to the back room. “Do you have any gold on ya?” I asked. The goblin nodded, handing me a light sack of gold. I poured it into a nearby table. 10 pieces, not bad. I picked up an iron shortsword and a leather helmet, handing them to the goblin. “There’s a door in back, it goes right out of the village. “Tell your friends to bring coin. I’ll arm ‘em.” I said. This is when my life changes forever.
It started with just goblins, but then there were many, many more. Word spread along the monster community of a potion shop selling weapons out the back. Orcs, ogres, dark elves, even a couple of dragons, all came and went. The adventurers were none the wiser, still piling weapons on my counter. It was always a bit sad to see a weapon I had sold weeks before, with a few personal touches added to it. But that just kept me going. Because the part of town I was in was so old and poor, they had no guards, and the wall was barely even existent. Not that it mattered, considering there was a door right behind my shop. After a few months of this, a rather nice lady orc came into my shop one day. “Are you the kind potion seller that’s been arming us?” The orc asked, holding an axe I had sold her weeks before.
“Yes I am, miss. In fact, you were just in here a few weeks ago to buy that axe.” I said.
“Well...I’d like to say thanks on behalf of all of us.” She said. She planted a kiss on my cheek before walking out. I blushed hard as she did, sitting there frozen until I heard the doorbell in front ring. Two weeks later, her axe was back on my counter. As the adventurer walked out, a tear rolled down my cheek. That was the last straw.
The next time a goblin walked in, I gave him a healing potion with his purchase. Nobody bought them anyways, so I decided that the playing field wasn’t level enough yet. My potions soon became quite popular, and I began selling them individually. I prided myself on those potions, and their quality became renowned in the monster world. Business was booming, and I could barely keep up. I was almost constantly brewing potions, and they were flying off the shelf. I let out a sigh of contentment, mixing another batch of potions. “Finally, a damn good income and a sense of belonging...I might wanna consider becoming a blacksmith soon...or just right up moving in with these guys...they aren’t that bad.” | Honestly, every time another ragtag bunch of self righteous do-gooders come to town, it causes a small economic crisis. It's just not good for business nor the morale of the town I live in.
I settled here when my adventuring days came to an end because it was peaceful and generally happy. But then those rabble rousers come around with their pockets full of dungeon treasure.
The tavern inevitably gets destroyed, the emergency town reserve of healing potions gets pilfered, our local cleric is ran ragged by their endless pleading to resurrect their dead friends. And for some reason by the time they've left there are always a few new corpses left in their wake or a building burned down.
I've had enough.
I may not be as spry as I used to be but I have grown a sizeable collection of items that will allow me to outfit a small army with magical advantages.
I hear the nearby orc village was burned down and every male in the tribe was killed because one of their tribe accidentally bumped into this particular adventuring party's halfling.
Perhaps I can convince the hearty orc females to assist me in wiping the smug grins off of those murder-hobo's faces.
They will rue the day.
Oh yes
They will
| |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I ask myself sometimes if I am damned.
I wonder how my soul will wander in the depths of the Underworld after I’m gone, because I have done some evil deeds to fulfill some needs, and I sometimes think if these needs got out of hand to become wills.
Being a shoemaker is being underestimated, unseen. While the world is out there being saved by prideful men in shinning armor, I am busy with my duty; tending to leather and wood, assembling it together to make the boots and shoes that proceed these men’s feet.
And these shoes are also underestimated. Years of craftsmanship ate overlooked because of the nature of my products. I am the man who makes boots for the Mages Guild, for the City Garrison, as well as pretty much every thief that I have known in my years of attending to my small and shy table in the corner of The Drunken Lord, and still, foreigners and locals do not respect me.
I never cared for respect, you know? I don’t want all eyes to me, no, I’m just a simple man, but some recognition would be nice every once in a while. Come to think of it, I am being somewhat hypocritical, ain’t I? I mean, if I didn’t care for the attention, I wouldn’t even have started doing this...
Nah, I’m being stupid.
[Silence.]
I believe it was all those years that have accumulated to this. So many adventurers coming in, trying to sell me shitty deals over shitty loot for my top notch gear. When affairs with the Duke involved me, so much arrogance was shown by these outsiders. I should start to grow tired anytime, right?
Well, the droplet was that party from... M’nykja, I think. They came in to talk to do some trading. They were standard, until one of them, the big one, drawn his war-hammer after staying quiet the whole time, staring into the wall beside the counter. I just kept quiet, looking at them, and asked: “Is everything fine, gentlemen?”. The Big One said nothing, looked at nothing. He just took a swing and tore a whole through my shop’s wall, taking down many of my shelves. Then they all drawn their weapons. The Archer took a shot at me and hit my chest. I had to go running out of there while the guards started raiding my store to take the outlaws out.
You know what happened?
They were released from jail because the Duke owned them for some beast-slaying deal they had.
They said they only felt like ripping my shop down, and perhaps taking my gold afterwards, but the guards were forbidden of talking about that to the townsfolk. And they walked.
That night I spent the rest of my silver in the tavern. My business was wrecked, I was hurt and owed the apothecary money, as well as the doctor who tended to my wound. He said the arrow broke, and the potion to dissolve the wood shrapnel within my flesh wouldn’t be cheap. In two days, some merchant from the south came into the city protected by foreigners, and he brought thousands of shoes that would supply demand until his caravans established the trading route. I was done.
And I didn’t think of revenge at the time, I remember. I just wasn’t thinking at all. Everything was moving independently: I simply went to the tavern and drank the rest of the money I had, with no fear or rage within my heard. Just... blank.
I spent the rest of the Half Moon in the streets, mostly drunk of whatever I could find that had alcohol in it, especially rotten fruits. I ate nuts and scavenged remains off the Duke’s table when there were feasts. I think I was arrested five times around that time. The guards liked me for always being nice to them, when they came by the shop to pick up the boots shipment for the Garrison, but they kept saying “You are not making this easy for us”, or “Keep up like this and you’ll be dead soon”. Eventually I think they started to get tired of me getting into trouble.
It’s all blurred.
One night I felt angry, homicidal angry. Life had been SO unfair to me, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. I was broke, drunk and alone. Some sell-sword from Kaliope caught me in bad mood and I took a swing at him. I don’t remember much, but I remember taking a hell of a beating, and running. I later found out there was such a commotion in the Drunken Lord, the place was set on fire accidentally. I ran outside of the city’s walls that day.
What I can recall perfectly is waking up inside a goblin lair, by the woods. It was a cozy place, although excessively humid and smelling like a wet hound. The goblins that lived there were a group of twelve, that used to be a tribe of thirty. That gave me a sight on the matter for the first time. I was fed with remains of an old dead boar they found in the woods, and they gave me water, even though it was not properly pure. Those goblins were being friendly to me, and probably saved my life. I would be eaten alive by wolves in the woods if not saved. “Why have you saved me?” I asked them. “You silly, you drunk. Needed help, was not danger.”
“What is dangerous for you guys?”
“Sticky sticks, shinny clothes. Hammer.”
My blood went up straight to my head again. Life is unfair. Those creatures were being slaughtered just for minding their own businesses. They didn’t eat babies, they didn’t steal gold. They found loot and protected it as their property, and I found that after hours of talking. They said I fell into their lair. They were doing nothing wrong. And those men whom destroyed my shop were hunting the very creatures that had saved me when I invaded their home.
That was it.
It was personal.
A shoemaker got into that lair. A man left that lair.
I promised my little green friends I would help them. After tripping on rocks and roots in the woods, I eventually found the way back to the city, marking the way back to the goblin lair.
I marched into the night towards the Mages Guild, and looked for one of the spokesmen, an old client. Can’t really say his name; could be a problem if people found out we know each other. I had a long business relationship with the man, and he was sympathetic to my situation, but I lied to him. If anyone found out I was helping beasts, my head was going to roll off my shoulders. I asked for a spell so I could handle a Justice the city wasn’t able to deliver me. By candlelight, he reluctantly lended me a scroll. He told me to read the words and seal it with blood, in order to work, and told me I could pay whenever I had the money, although it wouldn’t be cheap.
I ran back to the lair after a quick asking around the guards to know if they had seen the party in the county, and finding out they set camp by the Raven’s Nest, a few miles west from the city.
That was my first sale.
The goblin leader was a little smarter than the rest, so he understood how the scroll worked. It was over arming; those guys just needed spikes and rocks, but I was angry. And I decided no one would make me angry anymore. The goblin group left the lair before dawn so they could reach the party. I went along, keeping my distance.
I still remember how the man who bore the hammer screamed. He frantic flounced and shivered while white fire consumed his flesh and armor. The goblins scalped the Archer and the rest was impaled in chests by goblin spears. There was blood everywhere, and white fire making it all shine.
The sun rose.
[Silence]
With their belongings, I could re-open my shop and pay my dues. My goblin friends became messengers and spokesmen of my cause to other beasts. Goblins, harpies, vampires, werewolves . A griffin once invaded city and conveniently killed the southern merchant. I kept ordering spells and keeping them at my home “for defense”, as well as made friends in the Blacksmith Guild. I built a network of armorers and swordsmiths. My contact in the Mages Guild stopped supplying me with spells after some time, but that just made me find out about the Magic black market.
I have been pulling strings from the dark. Not only taking away the monopoly of violence from the province and men, but maneuvering my influence over crime lords and the State, as I now deliver shipments and whole caravans of arms to beasts, all under broad daylight.
Thousands have been killed in city raids in the whole province, and beast communities are waging war constantly, armed with spells and top-notch armor. Foreigners are afraid to come, because they are killed off really quickly. Cities are now under tight restrictions due to security reasons and people respect each other’s now, since food, supplies, gear, everything is expensive and little now.
I keep being the master shoemaker, but just seen as a shoemaker. And I couldn’t want anything else but being seen as such.
[Silence.]
I ask myself sometimes if I’m damned.
But no, I’m not.
It’s business. | “Enough of this overbearing interference!” Adel mumbled as she cleaned her new batch of swords. “These outsiders come in here and kill the poor orcs that keep the dire rat populations in check and the little slimies that help fertilize our fallow fields. Next they’ll want to hunt our beloved birdmen for sport!”
She placed the sword down and nodded resolutely to the empty room, “It ends today.”
Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light and a towering, bearded man in a swag robe appeared, a blazing staff clutched in one powerful hand.
“Adel of Backwoods!” he boomed. “I am Arben Grandstaff and you are the treasonous snake that launched my adventuring career years ago. I have come back in time to slay you now before you have the chance to arm the orcs and pay birdman mercenaries to burn your own village to the ground!”
“Mr. Grandstaff?” she tittered nervously as the man’s eyes glowered with arcane fire. “I-if what you say is true. I-if I’m the reason you became a powerful, uh, wizard-person, if I-I’m the one who made you this, then won’t, um, killing me in your past lead to some sort of time paradox that will ruin everything for you afterwards?”
Arben glared at her for a moment and then launched a deadly fireball at her, “I’m chaotic, I’ll risk it.” | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I sighed, handing over a sack of gold as yet another adventurer dropped a pile of weapons on my counter. Yes, weapons...at the potion store. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with a mountain of swords? I sighed, throwing them on the stack as the adventurer walked out. They could never be bothered to go to the general store or the blacksmith, and they never bought any potions either. Mostly due to the fact that nobody needed them anymore. All the monsters were pushovers. Keyword “were.”
One day, a small little goblin walked into my shop. I was a bit surprised at first, but I decided to listen to what he had to say. “Oh, hey there, small one. What brings you to town?”
“This was the first shop I could find that wasn’t in sight of a million guards. I come bearing a message on behalf of all of the Goblin Army.” He said, placing a small scroll on my desk. I opened it up, the handwriting being rather neat for something presumably written by a goblin. It read: “To whoever receives this message, we need help. We are on the brink of extinction from these ‘heroes’ that have been invading our homelands, pillaging our villages and stealing our goods. We find ourselves out of arms and nearly out of food. Please, help us. We still have a decent amount of gold to use.” I looked over it a couple of times, then handed it back to the goblin. “Come with me. I said, leading him to the back room. “Do you have any gold on ya?” I asked. The goblin nodded, handing me a light sack of gold. I poured it into a nearby table. 10 pieces, not bad. I picked up an iron shortsword and a leather helmet, handing them to the goblin. “There’s a door in back, it goes right out of the village. “Tell your friends to bring coin. I’ll arm ‘em.” I said. This is when my life changes forever.
It started with just goblins, but then there were many, many more. Word spread along the monster community of a potion shop selling weapons out the back. Orcs, ogres, dark elves, even a couple of dragons, all came and went. The adventurers were none the wiser, still piling weapons on my counter. It was always a bit sad to see a weapon I had sold weeks before, with a few personal touches added to it. But that just kept me going. Because the part of town I was in was so old and poor, they had no guards, and the wall was barely even existent. Not that it mattered, considering there was a door right behind my shop. After a few months of this, a rather nice lady orc came into my shop one day. “Are you the kind potion seller that’s been arming us?” The orc asked, holding an axe I had sold her weeks before.
“Yes I am, miss. In fact, you were just in here a few weeks ago to buy that axe.” I said.
“Well...I’d like to say thanks on behalf of all of us.” She said. She planted a kiss on my cheek before walking out. I blushed hard as she did, sitting there frozen until I heard the doorbell in front ring. Two weeks later, her axe was back on my counter. As the adventurer walked out, a tear rolled down my cheek. That was the last straw.
The next time a goblin walked in, I gave him a healing potion with his purchase. Nobody bought them anyways, so I decided that the playing field wasn’t level enough yet. My potions soon became quite popular, and I began selling them individually. I prided myself on those potions, and their quality became renowned in the monster world. Business was booming, and I could barely keep up. I was almost constantly brewing potions, and they were flying off the shelf. I let out a sigh of contentment, mixing another batch of potions. “Finally, a damn good income and a sense of belonging...I might wanna consider becoming a blacksmith soon...or just right up moving in with these guys...they aren’t that bad.” | “Enough of this overbearing interference!” Adel mumbled as she cleaned her new batch of swords. “These outsiders come in here and kill the poor orcs that keep the dire rat populations in check and the little slimies that help fertilize our fallow fields. Next they’ll want to hunt our beloved birdmen for sport!”
She placed the sword down and nodded resolutely to the empty room, “It ends today.”
Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light and a towering, bearded man in a swag robe appeared, a blazing staff clutched in one powerful hand.
“Adel of Backwoods!” he boomed. “I am Arben Grandstaff and you are the treasonous snake that launched my adventuring career years ago. I have come back in time to slay you now before you have the chance to arm the orcs and pay birdman mercenaries to burn your own village to the ground!”
“Mr. Grandstaff?” she tittered nervously as the man’s eyes glowered with arcane fire. “I-if what you say is true. I-if I’m the reason you became a powerful, uh, wizard-person, if I-I’m the one who made you this, then won’t, um, killing me in your past lead to some sort of time paradox that will ruin everything for you afterwards?”
Arben glared at her for a moment and then launched a deadly fireball at her, “I’m chaotic, I’ll risk it.” | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | I sighed, handing over a sack of gold as yet another adventurer dropped a pile of weapons on my counter. Yes, weapons...at the potion store. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with a mountain of swords? I sighed, throwing them on the stack as the adventurer walked out. They could never be bothered to go to the general store or the blacksmith, and they never bought any potions either. Mostly due to the fact that nobody needed them anymore. All the monsters were pushovers. Keyword “were.”
One day, a small little goblin walked into my shop. I was a bit surprised at first, but I decided to listen to what he had to say. “Oh, hey there, small one. What brings you to town?”
“This was the first shop I could find that wasn’t in sight of a million guards. I come bearing a message on behalf of all of the Goblin Army.” He said, placing a small scroll on my desk. I opened it up, the handwriting being rather neat for something presumably written by a goblin. It read: “To whoever receives this message, we need help. We are on the brink of extinction from these ‘heroes’ that have been invading our homelands, pillaging our villages and stealing our goods. We find ourselves out of arms and nearly out of food. Please, help us. We still have a decent amount of gold to use.” I looked over it a couple of times, then handed it back to the goblin. “Come with me. I said, leading him to the back room. “Do you have any gold on ya?” I asked. The goblin nodded, handing me a light sack of gold. I poured it into a nearby table. 10 pieces, not bad. I picked up an iron shortsword and a leather helmet, handing them to the goblin. “There’s a door in back, it goes right out of the village. “Tell your friends to bring coin. I’ll arm ‘em.” I said. This is when my life changes forever.
It started with just goblins, but then there were many, many more. Word spread along the monster community of a potion shop selling weapons out the back. Orcs, ogres, dark elves, even a couple of dragons, all came and went. The adventurers were none the wiser, still piling weapons on my counter. It was always a bit sad to see a weapon I had sold weeks before, with a few personal touches added to it. But that just kept me going. Because the part of town I was in was so old and poor, they had no guards, and the wall was barely even existent. Not that it mattered, considering there was a door right behind my shop. After a few months of this, a rather nice lady orc came into my shop one day. “Are you the kind potion seller that’s been arming us?” The orc asked, holding an axe I had sold her weeks before.
“Yes I am, miss. In fact, you were just in here a few weeks ago to buy that axe.” I said.
“Well...I’d like to say thanks on behalf of all of us.” She said. She planted a kiss on my cheek before walking out. I blushed hard as she did, sitting there frozen until I heard the doorbell in front ring. Two weeks later, her axe was back on my counter. As the adventurer walked out, a tear rolled down my cheek. That was the last straw.
The next time a goblin walked in, I gave him a healing potion with his purchase. Nobody bought them anyways, so I decided that the playing field wasn’t level enough yet. My potions soon became quite popular, and I began selling them individually. I prided myself on those potions, and their quality became renowned in the monster world. Business was booming, and I could barely keep up. I was almost constantly brewing potions, and they were flying off the shelf. I let out a sigh of contentment, mixing another batch of potions. “Finally, a damn good income and a sense of belonging...I might wanna consider becoming a blacksmith soon...or just right up moving in with these guys...they aren’t that bad.” | “Is that al-“
I couldn’t even finish before the player walked away. This wasn’t even the first time either.
Growing up, I had no family or friends. I had nobody. I was bound to this shop since the day I was born, given to me by a chance. “Mark the Merchant” they called me. That isn’t even my real name.
I had a friend, once. I named him Murky. He was a small frog looking animal, hopping away at every chance he could. At only level 3, he stood by my shop at day and hid at night. At first murky was very aggressive before he realized I was invincible. Then, he came every morning for a snack and stayed by my side keeping me company. With the constant feeding, he grew to a mighty level 8! That was before the factions began.
Players took sides, The Valient and The Fallen.
One day one of “The Valient” walked up to my shop and killed Murky. I was devastated. How could a level 45 player, who claims to be someone who fights for good, kill my precious Murky. All life in this world is precious and was created for a reason. Who is this “Valient” player to decide what lives and what dies? Life is a miracle in my eyes, and just because some life can be harmful does not mean the player should have had a right to kill Murky. Everything in this world is fighting to survive. As far as I know, there is no other life in this universe I live in besides what is on this planet. That means that anything that is created to live on this planet is one of a kind and nobody should have the power to do what this so called “Justice Seeker” did.
You see, that day, something inside me changed. I closed my shop for the day and players were angry, and nobody could get the health potions they needed. I didn’t care. I left a note on the front door that said “Bug Infestation, Shop closed for the day”. That seemed to set everyone straight. But instead of waiting until the next day, I went into the deepest dungeon to the boss nobody could defeat. Once he realized I was invincible and he wasn’t, he decided to start a conversation with me.
“What do you desire?”, the dark prince said.
“Revenge”, I said under my breath.
“The Valient have killed someone precious to me, and I seek to destroy the players who think they can rule over all. It goes against my will, but if they survive, they will all think they can kill and go as they please. I will not destroy all of the players, as “The Fallen” are the only ones who are willing to go against the Valient. The Valient believe that anyone who go against them is wrong and that is not the truth to Justice”.
“Who have they killed?” The Dark Prince asked.
“One of the monsters on the surface. I named him Murky”. I said, almost to tears. “I got him to level 11 before one of the players decided he was too much to bear on”.
“Ahh, I was wondering how one of my lowly subordinates got to such a high level. It must have been you.” The all knowing one said.
“Yes, so let’s make a deal, shall we? You bring back Murky for me.” I said.
The Dark Prince looked at me slyly and came close. “And what’s In it for me?” He said.
“Power, beyond mine. I will let you be the shop keeper and gain my invincibility, and will run the shop acting as if I am invincible still. Do we have a deal?” I exclaimed.
The Dark Prince looked at me again, questioningly. “Alright” he said.
As I shook his hand, I felt my invincibility disappear. My power was weakining, but if I could just see Murky’s face one more time, I know it will all be worth it. | |
[WP] You are a shopkeeper in a fantasy world. What the adventurers don't know is that your tired of greedy heroes robbing dragons, stealing tribal lands from orcs, and butchering young slimes. You've secretly become an arms dealer for the monster underground. | Wasn't enough to just be a shopkeeper these days - no, times were a'changing. See, all these adventurers sound like a great idea, at the start at least. They come into the town, offer to just about exterminate whatever ain't human, for a price of course. Just appealing to damned xenophobia, really. Then they happily go a'killing and bleed us dry. Never bother buying much weapons or anythin' from me either, not like the monsters put up much of a fight. At least, they never used to.
No, I learned that it was better to play both sides. All those monsters who weren't doing much harm to no one before - well, now they've got some damn fine weapons and armor, and they're not no pushovers now. The goblins are armed to the teeth, they are. The orcs have battleaxes that I smithed m'self and they can cleave through leather like it's going out of fashion - which it ain't, leather's always a good buy, only 5 silver pieces if you want the full set.
See, the land's suddenly found itself being far more dangerous for adventurers, thanks to me of course. But it's only fair, right? I'm just leveling the playing field. And now the adventurers have to stock up on better weapons and potions themselves, which only helps me more. Some people may think its amoral, I know my old wife ain't too happy about it - but who's the true bad guys here, eh? The shopkeeper helping the disenfranchised defend themselves, or the damned murder hobos indulging in a bit of genocide? If you ask me, I'm just providing equal service. Fair's fair, eh?
Of course, nobody in the town knows, not just yet. Doesn't pay to be too vocal about it, but all the so-called 'monsters' know me by name. Don't have no problems with them neither - never really did before, but 'specially not since I've been helping 'em out, for a price of course. A man's gotta make a living, even if it's off a killin'. I just consider it payback, cause most of those species ain't no trouble for us. Them quest-givers who want them all dead, well they're worst of the bunch, I'll tell you that for free.
Although sure, there's some monsters I simply won't equip - the one's that don't got no money, hah! For real though, the undead know better than to put their foot in here, and they better take it with 'em too. Necromancers in general are not welcome, neither are those damned trolls. You can never reason with a ton'o rock. I have my standards, just as any man.
Well, that's my story, so you can't say I ain't a straight talker.
But as I was saying, Mr Ogre, how about this 'ere fine war hammer? It's a pricey one, sure, but I hear there's plenty adventurers afoot who's armed to the teeth - don't hurt to be too careful these days.
*****
*****
[CroatianSpy](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/) | Yes, I am tired of greedy heroes ravaging the land and perpetuating some sort of discrimination. I can't exactly put a finger on it, and dare not to for it is unfair to judge all heroes equally, but to put it bluntly I see their "heroics" as exactly that. So long as you're not human, elf or dwarf, so long as you don't have two legs and intelligence - again, by human standards - you are fair game for these adventurers, acting as if the whole world revolves around them.
And still they complain that my gear is too expensive, that I am robbing them. They expect the Shopkeeper's Guild to grovel before them as though they are the source of our livelihood. Did they not know that the Royal Army pays me even better to train their swordsmiths and fletchers? Do they not know that people like me are the experts on the use of these arms? No, to them it's all just glory and fame. The better ones have a few drops of honour mixed in there, but they are few and far between.
Of course, when I became an arms dealer for the Orcs, I soon realised why they were no better. In fighting us, they slowly took on our worse traits, while almost never taking on what made me proud to be human. They rarely considered magic, and only one in a thousand ever thought of healing magic. The vast majority merely wanted something to club or slice their opponents with, and it's clear they were brought up from a young age to fight. I can't blame them, for we have been at war for eternity, but I just wonder if they had ever considered anything else other than keeping me in business.
The dragon isn't much better. She is the source of a lot of my raw materials; the common scrap metal for rank-and-file soldiers and newbie adventurers, and she will very rarely lend me one scale for the rarer stuff. But she hoards such a huge fortune sitting around in a dank grotto doing nothing! If I understood dragons, I'd say she even gets some enjoyment out of killing knight after adventurer after hero. And as much as these guys can be arrogant, they're still sons, fathers, brothers, loyal subjects at their core.
So why do I continue upon my path? Last year I met the love of my life. She's no princess, but she might as well be; refined as much as a commoner can be, and caring towards our son. And I can't deny that I am indeed perpetuating the conflict even more by selling arms, but let's talk about the principles later; I have a family to feed, just as these feuding parties have egos to stoke.
And there is but one rule I need to follow, to allow the rest of the market to be fair game: I must never see the business end of my merchandise pointed towards me. Only towards others. | |
[WP] Aliens invite you and your crew to dinner aboard their ship. After noticing all the courses have contained either chocolate, coffee or alcohol you slowly realize that they have been trying to poison you not realizing many of our favorite foods are poison to most of the other lifeforms on Earth. | Their appearance is so unnatural , yet so natural for the captain and his crew. Maybe is because movies and television already gave us an idea of how this aliens would look like. And at the same time made us realize aliens would not look like a bad halloween costume of a tiny grey man with a ridiculous head-to-body ratio.
No. This things are bizarrely terrifying. A dozen of slimy , black tentacles are protuberant from what we will call backs. Their torso is slim , skeletal and large. Their arms and legs are bony , with ten slim fingers in each hand and skeletal protuberances coming from their shoulders.
This things are horror movie monsters. The kind of stuff not even the most depraved human would’ve dreamed in his most horrifying nightmares. No one in the crew would judge if you tried escaping from them , any sane person would.
And then we have these fuckers. Specially the captain , who just stood up for a toast to friendship and everlasting peace between the crew and the aliens. Everyone ate and were merry all around when they realized the aliens could create food by re-aranging the particles in the air (I told you: this creatures are bizarre).
That is , until the engineer noticed something strange.
“Hey captain” the engineer whispered in the ear of the captain , who until that moment was chatting and drinking with one of the aliens. “Don’t you think they are trying to poison us? I mean , they gave us chocolate , alcohol , and all of those long-term harmful stuff.Even if not , they seem way too nice.”
The half-drunk captain turned back to his alien friend. glaring carefully at his large row of sharp , hungry teeth. “Nah” the captain hiccuped “they are just Canadian” | That's the moment his fork dropped; he realised they were trying to poison him — with chocolate.
'You like food — yes?' The giant struggled to say (clearly, English is not one of the many intergalactic languages he speaks fluently), eagerly waiting for a response: choking then death.
'Thoroughly enjoyable' replied the human, trying desperately not to panic. 'You've treated me well. But, I can consume no more—'
'NO. You *must* *consume* all cources' the giant's words echoed in the ship's dining quarters, '… you our guest!'
​ | |
[WP] Aliens invite you and your crew to dinner aboard their ship. After noticing all the courses have contained either chocolate, coffee or alcohol you slowly realize that they have been trying to poison you not realizing many of our favorite foods are poison to most of the other lifeforms on Earth. | Ice sat before a plate of delectable foods, but despite the show he put on for his enemies, he was no fool. The white haired commander of the human mercenary group smiled cordially as he took a rather large bite of a chocolate bar, washing it down with a sip of Bourbon. The Warlord in front of gave him a confident smirk in response, certain in his victory over the small human.
Ice wiped his mouth off before speaking. "This was delicious, my compliments to the chef. If its all the same to you, I'd love to know what that was."
The Klar'Nak's grin widened further, his shark like teeth on full display. Rows of razor sharp ivory that looked more than capable of slicing limbs apart. "Well, since you've already eaten it, I see no harm in telling you now. In the course of that meal, you consumed capsaicin, chocolate and ethanol. The capsaicin was hidden in the sauce of your wings, the chocolate on that dessert you just ate and the ethanol in that glass of liquid there. Juding by your size, you have mere minutes before succumbing to their effects."
Through the whole speech, Ice had been reacting accordingly, eyes widening in surprise, grabbing at his collar to feign overheating and gritting his teeth in frustration and anger. He pretended to calm his nerves and schooled his expression into one of stoicism.
"I see. So this "peace dinner" was not for negotiations then?"
The host of the false dinner scoffed, rolling his eyes in a human like display. "Of course not, you fool. I thought we made it clear at the start of this war that the only way this would end was in victory or with every man, woman and child of Klar'Nak dead with a weapon in hand. There shall be no negotiations unless you wish to surrender."
Ice probed for more information. "You believe you can defeat the entire Human Empire?"
"If you want to call your band of divided factions an empire, than yes, I know we can defeat you primitive apes. You have done most of the work for me already; fighting amongst yourselves, rather than unite under a common banner. It will be a simple task to put money in the hands of the second most powerful faction. As is your nature, they will attack the only faction stronger than them, who we will carefully monitor and supply with just enough weapons and supplies to stay even with their enemy. With them out of the way, the less powerful factions can be taken out one at a time, their resources adding to my own efforts. Once the rest of them realize whats happening, it will be too late. It's only a shame you won't live long enough to see your species enslaved. You will die knowing that your race is doomed. Do you have any more questions?"
The ever present smirk never left the Warlords face as he waited for the human to keel over.
"Just one. Did you do any research into human anatomy before this dinner, or did you just assume we share the same weaknesses? That's actually a rhetorical question. Had you done your research, you would have learned I am actually a Scotch man. Whiskey doesn't really do it for me." Ice drained his cup anyway, setting it down and leaning back, a smile touching the corner of his lips. "We were well aware you'd be monitoring radio broadcasts from your ship, so a live feed was out of the question, however, a simple, old fashion tape recorder was more than adequate for my needs. After all, why check for recorders when you were going to poison your guest anyway?"
The large Lamnidae's expression darkened, "What makes you think you'll be allowed to leave with that? You won't be returning to your ship. As we speak, my forces are most likely commandeering you fleet and looting your crews."
"Ah, yes. Your boarding crew. Well herein lies the problem, do you know what effect helium has on human beings? That's not a rhetorical question by the way. What do you think it does?"
He seemed annoyed by the question, but answered anyway. "Death, of course. Helium is one of the most deadly toxins."
Ice grinned, "You've been outmanuvered. See, unlike you, I did my research. Helium is a toxin for you, but in low amounts, helium is harmless for us over short periods. Hell, clowns breath the stuff to make kids laugh. My crew is currently having a good time in an atmosphere 3% helium. After a few hours they may experience negative effects such as dizziness and nausea, but your crew is not as lucky. Oh, and that button you're pressing under the table isn't going to work."
Ice snapped his fingers and a two scores of his own soldiers filed into the room from all sides, standing at attention with their rifles.
"Checkmate, friend. This here tape should be enough to convince any of the factions to join me in this war. Thank you for your contribution to the cause." | That's the moment his fork dropped; he realised they were trying to poison him — with chocolate.
'You like food — yes?' The giant struggled to say (clearly, English is not one of the many intergalactic languages he speaks fluently), eagerly waiting for a response: choking then death.
'Thoroughly enjoyable' replied the human, trying desperately not to panic. 'You've treated me well. But, I can consume no more—'
'NO. You *must* *consume* all cources' the giant's words echoed in the ship's dining quarters, '… you our guest!'
​ | |
[WP] Aliens invite you and your crew to dinner aboard their ship. After noticing all the courses have contained either chocolate, coffee or alcohol you slowly realize that they have been trying to poison you not realizing many of our favorite foods are poison to most of the other lifeforms on Earth. | Ice sat before a plate of delectable foods, but despite the show he put on for his enemies, he was no fool. The white haired commander of the human mercenary group smiled cordially as he took a rather large bite of a chocolate bar, washing it down with a sip of Bourbon. The Warlord in front of gave him a confident smirk in response, certain in his victory over the small human.
Ice wiped his mouth off before speaking. "This was delicious, my compliments to the chef. If its all the same to you, I'd love to know what that was."
The Klar'Nak's grin widened further, his shark like teeth on full display. Rows of razor sharp ivory that looked more than capable of slicing limbs apart. "Well, since you've already eaten it, I see no harm in telling you now. In the course of that meal, you consumed capsaicin, chocolate and ethanol. The capsaicin was hidden in the sauce of your wings, the chocolate on that dessert you just ate and the ethanol in that glass of liquid there. Juding by your size, you have mere minutes before succumbing to their effects."
Through the whole speech, Ice had been reacting accordingly, eyes widening in surprise, grabbing at his collar to feign overheating and gritting his teeth in frustration and anger. He pretended to calm his nerves and schooled his expression into one of stoicism.
"I see. So this "peace dinner" was not for negotiations then?"
The host of the false dinner scoffed, rolling his eyes in a human like display. "Of course not, you fool. I thought we made it clear at the start of this war that the only way this would end was in victory or with every man, woman and child of Klar'Nak dead with a weapon in hand. There shall be no negotiations unless you wish to surrender."
Ice probed for more information. "You believe you can defeat the entire Human Empire?"
"If you want to call your band of divided factions an empire, than yes, I know we can defeat you primitive apes. You have done most of the work for me already; fighting amongst yourselves, rather than unite under a common banner. It will be a simple task to put money in the hands of the second most powerful faction. As is your nature, they will attack the only faction stronger than them, who we will carefully monitor and supply with just enough weapons and supplies to stay even with their enemy. With them out of the way, the less powerful factions can be taken out one at a time, their resources adding to my own efforts. Once the rest of them realize whats happening, it will be too late. It's only a shame you won't live long enough to see your species enslaved. You will die knowing that your race is doomed. Do you have any more questions?"
The ever present smirk never left the Warlords face as he waited for the human to keel over.
"Just one. Did you do any research into human anatomy before this dinner, or did you just assume we share the same weaknesses? That's actually a rhetorical question. Had you done your research, you would have learned I am actually a Scotch man. Whiskey doesn't really do it for me." Ice drained his cup anyway, setting it down and leaning back, a smile touching the corner of his lips. "We were well aware you'd be monitoring radio broadcasts from your ship, so a live feed was out of the question, however, a simple, old fashion tape recorder was more than adequate for my needs. After all, why check for recorders when you were going to poison your guest anyway?"
The large Lamnidae's expression darkened, "What makes you think you'll be allowed to leave with that? You won't be returning to your ship. As we speak, my forces are most likely commandeering you fleet and looting your crews."
"Ah, yes. Your boarding crew. Well herein lies the problem, do you know what effect helium has on human beings? That's not a rhetorical question by the way. What do you think it does?"
He seemed annoyed by the question, but answered anyway. "Death, of course. Helium is one of the most deadly toxins."
Ice grinned, "You've been outmanuvered. See, unlike you, I did my research. Helium is a toxin for you, but in low amounts, helium is harmless for us over short periods. Hell, clowns breath the stuff to make kids laugh. My crew is currently having a good time in an atmosphere 3% helium. After a few hours they may experience negative effects such as dizziness and nausea, but your crew is not as lucky. Oh, and that button you're pressing under the table isn't going to work."
Ice snapped his fingers and a two scores of his own soldiers filed into the room from all sides, standing at attention with their rifles.
"Checkmate, friend. This here tape should be enough to convince any of the factions to join me in this war. Thank you for your contribution to the cause." | It had been a very long time since I was requested as a "Third contact delegate." I had been invited to share a meal, along with representatives of the other members of the Universal Government, at small event hosted by the newest Xenospecies seeking to join the U.G. Usually a task for my boss, however he was out with more pressing business as usual.
In procedure with interaction with a new xenospecies, I had every piece of my U.T. on me, and the collar chafed as usual. Presenting our gracious host with my speech-to-text tablet, I graciously thanked him and his kind for their hospitality and offered the traditional Earth bread-basket as a good will. After receiving what my U.T. assumed with a middling probability was a likewise courteous greeting, I took back my tablet and went to join with my fellow representatives. Scanning the room, I notice the Borpan junior representative chatting with the only other xeno who would put up with them, the Touvrian representative. Matching the Borpan's laughter after a particularly vulgar witticism, I approach the duo.
"Good evening delegate Borpan, delegate Touvri." I address them both, give a short bow to each, which they politely return.
"Greatings to you delegate Earth." the Touvrian fluoresces vis responce.
"Wadda think of that zigger my boy came up with Earthie?" The Borpan asked, stifling another laughing fit.
"Certainly humorous, perhaps for not mixed company however." I respond
"Aye, that's my boy." He burps with pride, slapping a sticky hand on my shoulder. I manage a shy smile before turning my attention to the Touvrian in our company.
"Tell me delegate Touvri, what do you know about our hosts this evening? This dinner was dropped on me and I confess I'm a bit behind on my 'official' reading."
"Yes. The Ddràdoks are a formally fearful, war-like species, not unlike your own, that have unified only within the past Universal century. Their solar system is densely packed with planetoids, as a result they met first contact qualifications almost as quickly as your xenospecies. As well they instantly requested admission to the Universal Government, which was equally surprising. I would not describe their advancement and admission as miraculously quick as your xenospecies, but they have certainly been quick about it all." I could tell the jellyfish-like xenospecies was eager to continue, but I politely thanked them for their knowledge before they continued to strobe my ear off. I offered them a moment of my time later in the evening to continue their findings. With that I took my leave, perhaps a little faster than was necessary.
Before I could approach my fellow Milky Way representatives, an all-language broadcast was pumped into the dining hall announcing the evening's meal was about to be served. Each of the representatives were quickly ushered to specific places around a large, round, planar surface, sitting less than half a meter above the ground. I was seated between the Eridani and Keplerian representatives. I curtly greeted them both, and the two reciprocated, however they both seemed rather displeased with the short table and lack of chairs.
A shrill, nails-against-glass sound rang out through the room, fallowed by a troupe of Zweil Ddràdok morphs carrying comparatively large covered platters to each seat. I quickly noticed that each Zweil had a golden clasp covering their gem organ, not something I'd ever seen before, and made a mental note of. Every platter was placed in a simultaneous flourish around the table. But my server made a mistake and knocked the golden clasp from off her gem. The deep turquoise of her gem instantly flooded the immediate area with a palpable mental-fog of apprehension. All of my hair instantly stood on end an my heart-rate quickened.
Many other Zweil dashed to her side and helped her replace her clasp before a Ddràdoks quickly overran her with a wave of admonishment, and dragged her away, leaving the other Zweil unsure of what to do. Another Ddràdoks stepped out from behind a panel in the wall and angrily hissed, causing all the Zweil to straiten up and bolt towards the new door. A moment later I heard some rhythmic laughter from the Borpan delegate and his neighbors.
"That's not a good sign for the evening," the Keplerian to my left grumbled in his chalky baritone.
"Certainly not. I have a Zweil at home, that was probably that poor girl's dominant, and I haven't felt anything that strong in a long time."
"Yeah? What's your's dom? If I may ask."
"Sure, it's curiosity and wonder." I reply. He nods in affirmation as people start turning their attention back to the platters in front of them. I remove the cloche from the platter only to find what appears to be a dark brown pudding, and two different beverages. All the familiar smells hit me at once as I recognize chocolate, malt beer and black coffee. I look up in confusion and see many other delegates around the table equally confused.
"What is this?!" The hulking Eridani next to me roars. He leans into his platter and smells deeply with his animalistic olfactory senses.
"This is not food, it is poison! It is death!" He bellows. As he raises a fuss, the rest of the delegates begin showing indignation or anger.
"My food seems to be fine." I protest, but it is lost on mostly deaf ears, only the Borpan confirms that his food is also fine, though a large mouthful.
"This is an act of aggression! Fellow delegates we must leave. All in favor?" Clicked and hissed the Trellwen delegate. Many members shouted in confirmation, and quickly a security squad of U.G. guards were rushing into room.
_______
After such an awful evening, and subsequent awful morning and half the day wading through the U.G. anti-aggression bureaucracy, the cold, metal finish of outer bulkhead of my apartment was a very welcoming sight. after pulling off my freshly decontaminated coat and shoes, it took everything my legs could muster to get back onto my feet and walk my tired body into the apartment proper. Valley was by my side faster than she'd ever moved before.
"Welcome home Love, I saw on the news what had happened and I am so relieved you are safe." She cooed and purred. I place my increasingly heavy hand on her head and lace my fingers between the crown of her ridge. I rub my thumb along the pink gem in her forehead.
"Hello Valley, I know you must have a million questions, but more than anything, right now, I need some sleep."
"Then I will help Love in any way I can." She responds with a dutiful air. She takes my hand in her little hands and begins to pull me towards the bedroom.
"I couldn't want anything more."
_____
I hope you've enjoyed my story. I've created a subreddit to share the stories of these characters. All future works and prompt inspired stories can be found at [/r/ValleyandMe](https://www.reddit.com/r/ValleyandMe/) | |
[WP] Aliens invite you and your crew to dinner aboard their ship. After noticing all the courses have contained either chocolate, coffee or alcohol you slowly realize that they have been trying to poison you not realizing many of our favorite foods are poison to most of the other lifeforms on Earth. | Stardate 120-810
Dear Mum and Dad,
I hope this finds you both well. Sorry it has been so long since I last wrote. So far our exploration mission has really opened my eyes to the mysteries of the universe. My star academy training could never have taught me half of what I have learned on my first year aboard the HMS ARTEMIS™.
This week we were contacted by an unknown alien race whose name none of us can pronounce (only the ship computer can say it). We have been invited a aboard their ship for what we can only interpret as 'snacks'. The captain is sceptical, but is eager to show them that we respect their customs, so accepted their invitation.
I will write again soon.
Stardate 120-813
I hope these postcards reach you in good time what with the interstellar postal strikes!
Today we gorged ourselves on a plethora of delicious foods provided by our alien hosts.
We can only assume they took a long time figuring out what we like to eat. Judging from the dead animals and plants littering their ship, there must have been vast amounts of trial and error involved on their part to get this right, for which we are all grateful. Their service has been exemplary thus far.
Unexpectedly they have invited us back for a second course of snacks tomorrow which we are all eager to sample.
Stardate 120-814
Ensign Gregory (the one with the braided hair and blue skin) collapsed after eating a dessert containing pistachio nuts. Her nut allergy almost seemed to please our alien hosts, they all gathered around her and took samples of the froth coming from her mouth.
I felt sorry for ensign Gregory, as the desert was truly excellent. One of the best desserts I have ever tasted. There is still so much more to eat! I have smeared some of the dessert onto the corner of this postcard for you both to sniff.
Stardate 120-837
After several weeks of gorging the majority of the crew (myself included) are now in critical conditions.
The unpronounceable alien race have now left, as if satisfied by our illnesses.
Our chief medical officer diagnosed us all with over eating, but now she too is missing and presumed overweight. Many of us are suffering from depression, vast weight gain, and terrible irratability. We are all confined to the hospital deck.
The captain had large amounts of food teleported to his quarters, and we can only assume he has been eating alone in there for the past two weeks. Nobody has seen him.
If you receive this postcard, please get word to star command that our ship has suffered severe casualties.
They.. Preyed.. On...
Our... Greeed...
// END COMMUNICATION // | It had been a very long time since I was requested as a "Third contact delegate." I had been invited to share a meal, along with representatives of the other members of the Universal Government, at small event hosted by the newest Xenospecies seeking to join the U.G. Usually a task for my boss, however he was out with more pressing business as usual.
In procedure with interaction with a new xenospecies, I had every piece of my U.T. on me, and the collar chafed as usual. Presenting our gracious host with my speech-to-text tablet, I graciously thanked him and his kind for their hospitality and offered the traditional Earth bread-basket as a good will. After receiving what my U.T. assumed with a middling probability was a likewise courteous greeting, I took back my tablet and went to join with my fellow representatives. Scanning the room, I notice the Borpan junior representative chatting with the only other xeno who would put up with them, the Touvrian representative. Matching the Borpan's laughter after a particularly vulgar witticism, I approach the duo.
"Good evening delegate Borpan, delegate Touvri." I address them both, give a short bow to each, which they politely return.
"Greatings to you delegate Earth." the Touvrian fluoresces vis responce.
"Wadda think of that zigger my boy came up with Earthie?" The Borpan asked, stifling another laughing fit.
"Certainly humorous, perhaps for not mixed company however." I respond
"Aye, that's my boy." He burps with pride, slapping a sticky hand on my shoulder. I manage a shy smile before turning my attention to the Touvrian in our company.
"Tell me delegate Touvri, what do you know about our hosts this evening? This dinner was dropped on me and I confess I'm a bit behind on my 'official' reading."
"Yes. The Ddràdoks are a formally fearful, war-like species, not unlike your own, that have unified only within the past Universal century. Their solar system is densely packed with planetoids, as a result they met first contact qualifications almost as quickly as your xenospecies. As well they instantly requested admission to the Universal Government, which was equally surprising. I would not describe their advancement and admission as miraculously quick as your xenospecies, but they have certainly been quick about it all." I could tell the jellyfish-like xenospecies was eager to continue, but I politely thanked them for their knowledge before they continued to strobe my ear off. I offered them a moment of my time later in the evening to continue their findings. With that I took my leave, perhaps a little faster than was necessary.
Before I could approach my fellow Milky Way representatives, an all-language broadcast was pumped into the dining hall announcing the evening's meal was about to be served. Each of the representatives were quickly ushered to specific places around a large, round, planar surface, sitting less than half a meter above the ground. I was seated between the Eridani and Keplerian representatives. I curtly greeted them both, and the two reciprocated, however they both seemed rather displeased with the short table and lack of chairs.
A shrill, nails-against-glass sound rang out through the room, fallowed by a troupe of Zweil Ddràdok morphs carrying comparatively large covered platters to each seat. I quickly noticed that each Zweil had a golden clasp covering their gem organ, not something I'd ever seen before, and made a mental note of. Every platter was placed in a simultaneous flourish around the table. But my server made a mistake and knocked the golden clasp from off her gem. The deep turquoise of her gem instantly flooded the immediate area with a palpable mental-fog of apprehension. All of my hair instantly stood on end an my heart-rate quickened.
Many other Zweil dashed to her side and helped her replace her clasp before a Ddràdoks quickly overran her with a wave of admonishment, and dragged her away, leaving the other Zweil unsure of what to do. Another Ddràdoks stepped out from behind a panel in the wall and angrily hissed, causing all the Zweil to straiten up and bolt towards the new door. A moment later I heard some rhythmic laughter from the Borpan delegate and his neighbors.
"That's not a good sign for the evening," the Keplerian to my left grumbled in his chalky baritone.
"Certainly not. I have a Zweil at home, that was probably that poor girl's dominant, and I haven't felt anything that strong in a long time."
"Yeah? What's your's dom? If I may ask."
"Sure, it's curiosity and wonder." I reply. He nods in affirmation as people start turning their attention back to the platters in front of them. I remove the cloche from the platter only to find what appears to be a dark brown pudding, and two different beverages. All the familiar smells hit me at once as I recognize chocolate, malt beer and black coffee. I look up in confusion and see many other delegates around the table equally confused.
"What is this?!" The hulking Eridani next to me roars. He leans into his platter and smells deeply with his animalistic olfactory senses.
"This is not food, it is poison! It is death!" He bellows. As he raises a fuss, the rest of the delegates begin showing indignation or anger.
"My food seems to be fine." I protest, but it is lost on mostly deaf ears, only the Borpan confirms that his food is also fine, though a large mouthful.
"This is an act of aggression! Fellow delegates we must leave. All in favor?" Clicked and hissed the Trellwen delegate. Many members shouted in confirmation, and quickly a security squad of U.G. guards were rushing into room.
_______
After such an awful evening, and subsequent awful morning and half the day wading through the U.G. anti-aggression bureaucracy, the cold, metal finish of outer bulkhead of my apartment was a very welcoming sight. after pulling off my freshly decontaminated coat and shoes, it took everything my legs could muster to get back onto my feet and walk my tired body into the apartment proper. Valley was by my side faster than she'd ever moved before.
"Welcome home Love, I saw on the news what had happened and I am so relieved you are safe." She cooed and purred. I place my increasingly heavy hand on her head and lace my fingers between the crown of her ridge. I rub my thumb along the pink gem in her forehead.
"Hello Valley, I know you must have a million questions, but more than anything, right now, I need some sleep."
"Then I will help Love in any way I can." She responds with a dutiful air. She takes my hand in her little hands and begins to pull me towards the bedroom.
"I couldn't want anything more."
_____
I hope you've enjoyed my story. I've created a subreddit to share the stories of these characters. All future works and prompt inspired stories can be found at [/r/ValleyandMe](https://www.reddit.com/r/ValleyandMe/) | |
[WP] "So, umm.... can I ask about the scars?" | Lucia and Jillian had met last Fall when they happened to sit next to each other at the bar, and Lucia, being a jeweler, complimented Jillian on the ruby ring she wore on the index finger of her left hand. From there, they kept meeting at the bar once or twice a week by chance, and developed a casual acquaintanceship that was pleasant for all that it didn’t run too deep. But the two of them didn’t mind that apparent shallowness; they could still vent to each other about the annoyances that came with the things and events they loved, such as their jobs, their pets, their families, and more. It wasn’t a bad way to spend an evening, and everything seemed to be all right.
Then came Spring, and Jillian saw Lucia in a tank top for the first time. Her left arm was covered in scarred slashes.
Toward the end of the night, Jillian had finally had enough wine to just bite the bullet. “So, um.... Can I ask about the scars?”
Lucia looked down at her arm with a mildly surprised expression, as if she had forgotten ever being wounded. “Oh, yeah,” she said nonchalantly with an equally casual shrug, but did not elaborate.
Jillian finally clued in that her acquaintance was waiting for her to use her words. “What happened?”
Lucia turned her arm over, using her right thumb to almost absently stroke some of the marks. “A lot of self-loathing, and grief, and desperate attempts to cope with anger, frustration, and more when I was younger. When even that didn’t work, I finally got help.”
“They look bad,” Jillian said with the tactlessness of tipsiness. “Have you ever thought about skin treatments? You know, to make them look better.”
Lucia half smiled, and shrugged again. “I did, once. But I can’t minimize what happened mentally, so why try physically? Besides, I’m okay now. Because all these?” She motioned to the scars. “They mean that I survived. And if I did try to treat them, what would that tell others like me? To be ashamed? To try to cover up when it’s not cold? To deny that all the bad things happened? I can’t do that, Jilly. It wouldn’t be fair to everyone who would see that minimization, and think they had to suffer in silence. Besides, I’m not ashamed anymore.”
Jillian processed that, and had to admit there was a good point in that. “But you must get nasty comments, right?”
“Oh yeah, a lot,” Lucia laughed. “I just tell those people to go educate themselves on manners and mental illness, and then to go fuck themselves, because no one needs their bull. Then I come here and have a few drinks and talk to you, and I feel better.”
Jillian smiled and raised her glass. “Glad to be of service.” She finished the cocktail and set the glass aside, having had enough for the week. “And thanks for being so honest.”
“Thanks for not judging me.”
“Why would I? I don’t actually see anything wrong with your scars. I guess I just got nosy. Sorry about that.”
“Aw, Jilly. No apologies needed. I know you well enough to know you didn't mean anything bad by asking.” | "Sure, hon." You tell the mousey girl to the chargin of your grunts. "Whaddya want to know about them?"
Girl's like six, and has the guts or pure blissful ignorance about how much danger her life is in. You don't really care about all that although you're sure your goons are looking mighty shifty. "What are you all looking at? Get back to work, hmmm?" You pointedly look at them with a smile and they break into runs like the busy bees they are.
Good. Those bombs don't exactly get placed by themselves ya know!
Anyway, you feel the dainty tugs on your sleeve and you kneel down and ruffle the top of the girl's head. "You're a preciuos little darling aren't you, hon? So what do you wanna know about my scars?"
"Well, does it still hurt?" The high pitch of her quiet voice tickles your funny bones and you crack a grin and laugh.
She seemingly pouts at you.
"Why don't you try and pinch it?" You pick her tiny wrist up and place her palm on the side of your face where the scars converge. "I'll let you know when it hurts."
Surprisingly, the girl doesn't hesitate and pinches as hard as she can. You melodramatically wince. "Oh for the love, you're tiny. How does that hurt?"
The girl laughs and clasps her hands togethe in glee. "You're funny, mistah!"
"That's why they call me the Joker." You laugh again and stand up dusting your pants. "Well now, follow me hon. You've got a crowd to entertain!"
"Okay, mistah J!" She chirps after you and you cackle at that.
Well, you might keep her around if she doesn't die from the explosion! | |
[WP] "So, umm.... can I ask about the scars?" | I wince a little bit at the question. I glance over to the stunningly gorgeous woman riding shotgun, the car's air conditioning slightly blowing her raven hair around.
"It's a long story." I say, turning my attention back to the seemingly endless Oklahoma highway in front of me. But she hasn't turned her attention. I can feel her, eyes affixed to the deep scars on my face, occasionally glancing to the ones on my right arm. She hadn't yet learned about the ones in other places. My rib cage. My left leg. The back of my neck.
"I think I have some time." She says as her hand caresses the back of mine, laid loosely across the top of the gearshift. I'd love to tell her it was from being deployed overseas or some other kind of heroic action. Hell, I'd love to tell her anything other than the truth. I sigh. I know she deserves the truth though.
"You really wanna hear this?" I say, hoping she'll back out.
"Yes. We've been together eight months, I think you can trust me." She says with a smile. I wince again. I don't think she's ready, not for this.
*YOU are not ready for this.* A voice in my head says. That voice is completely right of course. Smooth Kentucky bourbon can only mask the pain and hide the memory so much. Maybe that therapist is right, that I need to open up about it to someone other than him. Here goes nothing.
"You asked for it. May 31st of 2013. Hell of a day. Cold front pushing over the plains, insane CAPE values, incredible wind shear. Kind of surprising considering what the atmosphere had unleashed on the 20th that we would have something like this again." I swallow hard at the thought of the stuff I had seen on the 20th. And there was only worse to come. She notices my hesitation almost immediately.
"If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay." She says as she wraps her hand around mine. I shake my head.
"I was working on my Meteorology degree at OU. 3:30 they issued a PDS Tornado Watch and we got cut loose early." I glance over at her puzzled expression. "Particularly Dangerous Situation. I barreled out there with two of my best friends hoping to get a tornado out of the day. We got out west of OKC, out in the flat lands near the 81 corridor. About 6 we get on this supercell and man, it looked like the whole mesocyclone just sat down on the ground. Huge wedge tornado, just an absolute monster."
Her eyes grow wide in amazement. She's heard me talk about chasing before, but I don't think she's ever heard me talk about it like this.
"We sat there for a while taking pictures, just watching this thing rip up the countryside. It's scary, how beautiful something so destructive can be, how entrancing. I took off to readjust, the rest of the storm was starting to obscure it. It was making all kinds of weird turns. It started moving southeast, then it was moving east. I was trying to stay out of the way, ended up to the northeast as it approached El Reno." A lump catches in my throat. I take a deep breath.
"Are you okay?" I can see her worried expression out of my peripheral vision. I want to stop, but I know I need to keep going. I turn onto a small county road as I continue my story.
"I knew I needed to bail out, the road options were starting to vanish, and the escape routes weren't clear. I knew I was in a bad spot. And then..." I shake my head as I swallow another lump. "...it was like the damn thing exploded. I've never seen a tornado grow so fast. I was taking every road I could find trying to get out of the way." I turn onto a small gravel road. The car vibrates as it rolls across the rocks, my hands grip the wheel tight and I begin to sweat. A noise starts to fill my head.
She reaches over and places a hand on my leg as I drive.
"I turned onto this road, all gravel and dirt. I took off back toward OKC. I knew if I could just find one more road I could get out of there. And then...and then it was on me. Before I could even figure out what was happening the windows just...exploded." I lift my right hand and point to the scars on my face. "Glass flying though the car did this. The car just lifted up. Like it was nothing. Next thing I knew I woke up in a field, soaked to the bone in the coldest rain I've ever felt. My right forearm was snapped in two, that's what made the scar on the right arm. My left leg was basically destroyed. Not that I could feel it, I couldn't feel anything south of waist. A couple fractured vertebrae in my neck. Broken ribs. Lacerations all over me. Severe concussion. And yes, that's why I'm missing large chunks of my memory."
Her mouth is hanging open in shock, I don't even have to look at her to know it.
"They found the car about a half mile away, or at least what was left of it. It was twisted into a ball, no chance of survival. I don't know how, or why I was thrown out of that car. Or why I made it through. I....I can't explain any of it." I pull to a stop in front of a pair of memorials. One permanent, a stone marker for three famous storm chasers that also died that day. A flag flicks back and forth in the breeze, proudly above the dark marble. The second is smaller, the original memorial for those three, and for the others that chased for the final time that day. I look at her and we both step out of the car. With some difficulty, I kneel by the smaller memorial, setting a single penny in front of two rocks with the names of my friends.
"I'm sorry, guys."
Time may heal all wounds, but the scars will remain forever. | Hilary Flint laughed, his voice swallowed up by The Harp's raucous din. A patron was banging away on the tired, old upright piano tucked in a corner of the tavern, surrounded by a slurring cloister of drinkers. Beneath the images of long dead Men they sang about a pair of brown eyes, their own filled with tears and bitter memories. The remnants of half-drained pints sat atop the piano. The glasses were wet with condensation.
Faealina and Flint sat in what latter called the Solo booth, a small table in the back of the bar covered with countless names carved into its varnished wood surface. Its leather seats had faded a dark tobacco brown from time and use and the pair of cheap, tallow candles was barely sufficient at providing even a modicum of light. It was enough, however, to read well the smirk which crossed Flint's face.
"Which ones, dove?" chuckled Flint. "The ones on my hand? Or this *doozy*, right here?" He pointed to his ear, the ends of which were ragged and pink.
He spoke with the nasally brogue common to all Peninsulars, his Syllrian peppered with English.
"I was thinking about the scar on your chin. The pale one," answered Faealina. She knew it was the drink which made her so bold as to ask. The landlord was a famous brewster of note, she had been told, and by evidence of his craft she was inclined to agree. The last three pints had been terrific by any measure and her four- a dark Dubbel which tasted of honey and rye- was beginning to slink its way through her system in a way Faealina knew she'd regret come the next day.
"This one?" Flint asked, touching the selfsame scar. "*Hockey* stick when I was nine. It was a *face-off* and my friend, George Tompkins, he was just a little too eager and... ***BAM!*** Caught me right on the chin and gave me twelve stitches for the trouble."
The noises common to all kitchens filtered in through its swinging doors at the back. Pots clattered together as they were thrown into sinks of steaming water whilst the sizzle of frying foods wafted through the air. Orders were shouted over one another as barmaids and cooks argue amongst themselves. Baskets filled near to overflowing with french fries and onion rings were carried out onto the floor even as empty ones were quickly cleared away.
"They play *hockey* on the Old Pond in winter. Mostly it's children. But when the grown Men play it's often so... violent," said Faealina. "Is it always so?"
"Nah, not always. But my father, he was in the lower bowl during the Fight Night at the Joe. Now that was a brawl..." | |
[WP] "So, umm.... can I ask about the scars?" | "So..."
The youth paused, watching as the old man bent to pick up a piece of wood.
"Yes?" The old man said with a relaxed and bemused voice.
He regarded the young man with his single blue eye. His other eye was completely white and completely useless, a long jagged scar traced its way across it.
"Um..."
The young man hesitated again, shrinking from the old man's singular gaze.
The old man began to whittle.
"Spit it out, son." He said.
"How did you get that scar?" The young man said.
The old man continued to carve the wood. The afternoon sun combined with the sawdust in the air to give the old man's shop a golden tint. Eternity long seconds passed as he thought of his answer.
"I was an idiot once." He eventually said, a deep sigh escaping as he said it. "A fight broke out a long ways away for stupid reasons and I thought myself a hero."
The young man was shocked to hear the old man speak this way. "That's it? There has to be more to the story!" He said.
"Yeah, there is, but that's all I'm going to say about it." The old man said. The gravel in his voice had shifted. Still sad, but now agitated.
"Get back to sweeping." He said.
Silence came back to the shop. The young man began sweeping again, and the old man returned to whittling.
Both stopped when they heard a car engine approach. The young man looked up to see a black car approach with its lights on. The old man stopped whittling and put down the piece of wood.
The car stopped, and two men in dark suits stepped out. One glanced at the other, and both walked towards the shop.
Both suits were ill-fitting, too small in the chest and too narrow in the arms for the men wearing them. Both had an unusual bulge under one of their armpits.
"Boy" one of them said, "You the going to come with us."
It was not an order, or a suggestion, it was a statement. The young man went pale in the face and shook, slowly he put down his broom and began to take off his apron.
"No. No he isn't." The old man said.
"This isn't up for debate, grampa. Do you know who sent us?" The other man said.
"I do, I just don't give a damn." The old man said as he stepped towards them. The first man began to reach in his coat.
The old man flicked his wrist, and the first man's hand grasped at his throat. Blood began to seep through the man's fingers, and a sickening gurgle came from his mouth as he fell.
The second man stood in shock for a second, then his reactions kicked in. He stepped back and reached for the sidearm concealed in his coat.
The old man was faster. His leg shot behind the man as his right arm connected wrapped around the man's throat. The momentum of both rotated the man so that his back was to both the old man and the shed. He continued to reach for the gun as the old man's choke began to constrict.
The old man dropped his left fist into the other man's chest and stomach. One, two, three times, each time emerging with the blade of the whittling knife he held in it. The other man stopped reaching for his pistol, and slumped as his life left him. The old man eased him to the ground.
For a few seconds, there was silence. The sun had dipped below the horizon while the fight was taking place, and the blue twilight had covered everything.
The young man remembered to breathe again.
"What was that?!" He said.
The old man did not answer his question. Instead, he pointed to the first man.
"Grab that man's gun and get in the car." He said.
The young man quickly complied, climbing into the passenger seat. The old man got into the vehicle after him, and turned it around.
"You wanted to know about how I got my scars." He said, "You're about to find out."
| Hilary Flint laughed, his voice swallowed up by The Harp's raucous din. A patron was banging away on the tired, old upright piano tucked in a corner of the tavern, surrounded by a slurring cloister of drinkers. Beneath the images of long dead Men they sang about a pair of brown eyes, their own filled with tears and bitter memories. The remnants of half-drained pints sat atop the piano. The glasses were wet with condensation.
Faealina and Flint sat in what latter called the Solo booth, a small table in the back of the bar covered with countless names carved into its varnished wood surface. Its leather seats had faded a dark tobacco brown from time and use and the pair of cheap, tallow candles was barely sufficient at providing even a modicum of light. It was enough, however, to read well the smirk which crossed Flint's face.
"Which ones, dove?" chuckled Flint. "The ones on my hand? Or this *doozy*, right here?" He pointed to his ear, the ends of which were ragged and pink.
He spoke with the nasally brogue common to all Peninsulars, his Syllrian peppered with English.
"I was thinking about the scar on your chin. The pale one," answered Faealina. She knew it was the drink which made her so bold as to ask. The landlord was a famous brewster of note, she had been told, and by evidence of his craft she was inclined to agree. The last three pints had been terrific by any measure and her four- a dark Dubbel which tasted of honey and rye- was beginning to slink its way through her system in a way Faealina knew she'd regret come the next day.
"This one?" Flint asked, touching the selfsame scar. "*Hockey* stick when I was nine. It was a *face-off* and my friend, George Tompkins, he was just a little too eager and... ***BAM!*** Caught me right on the chin and gave me twelve stitches for the trouble."
The noises common to all kitchens filtered in through its swinging doors at the back. Pots clattered together as they were thrown into sinks of steaming water whilst the sizzle of frying foods wafted through the air. Orders were shouted over one another as barmaids and cooks argue amongst themselves. Baskets filled near to overflowing with french fries and onion rings were carried out onto the floor even as empty ones were quickly cleared away.
"They play *hockey* on the Old Pond in winter. Mostly it's children. But when the grown Men play it's often so... violent," said Faealina. "Is it always so?"
"Nah, not always. But my father, he was in the lower bowl during the Fight Night at the Joe. Now that was a brawl..." | |
[removed] | [WP] You're an exorcist, and this is your most conflicting assignment yet. The demon possessing the child seems to actually be protecting it from abusive parents. | "You **CANNOT** make deals with children!" shouted the Priest with the conviction of a long life spent interpreting the scripture of Heaven and Hell, staring down the body that he had bound to the tiny bed frame. His holy water blessed ropes were bound so tight that tiny splinters of wood were being ripped away from the pine bedposts, worn as though by sandpaper. The iron smell of blood in the air showed they had worked the same on the flesh.
This demon hadn't fought as most of the others had; *they* had spent the entire exorcism screaming obscenities and filth, blaspheme against heaven and earth, flailing the limbs and tearing the flesh of these children they inhabited, until he had burned them from the tiny bruised bodies. *This* demon had been perfectly conversational, the words coming from the thirteen-year-old child not entirely unlike the words a precocious but well read teenager might know.
"Come now, James," the presence purred casually, the barest indication of a shrug from shoulders that were tied so tightly they couldn't move, "You know that these days age is just a number, and younger and younger children are exposed to more things and are more adult than some of those in their late thirties in the past. They know things, they have experienced sobering things that have aged them past their earthly years." The girl's normally smiling brown eyes (if the happy pictures of the two girls that lay strewn about the room torn from the walls are any indication) are a muted grey and wracked with pain.
"I am Father Railegh, you filth," spat the Priest, his fading blue eyes the picture of absolute indignation. "We are *not* on a first name basis." Somewhere inside the house the lone dog he had encountered when he entered started barking crazily and was quickly silenced.
"Perhaps you aren't with me, but I know who you are ***Priest***." hissed the young girl in a voice several octaves too deep. "You claim to be saving children in the name of your **God**, and yet I know and care more about her life than you ever will."
The acrid stench of sulfur and burned hair filled the room as a gout of flame shot from the girls bound hands, singeing the holy rope from the headboard. The Priest stifled a gasp as the teenager sat up, a section of her long brown hair now slightly shorter than the rest and burned at the ends. Too pale skin wreathed in the angry red of blood peeked from under the frilly nightgown that the girl wore. With seemingly inhuman speed the demon had pulled those wrists back into the nightgown and tucked the girls feet underneath of her, so that aside from her wild and unkempt hair she looked the picture of innocence.
"You have exorcised some of my brethren with wild disregard for the human life that they lived alongside." it crooned to him, "To say nothing of your coworkers, you alone are responsible for creating hundreds more of us!" It sounded like a triumphant boast, belied by the tone of its voice and what seemed to be sorrow in its grey eyes.
"Don't pretend to be magnanimous about the cruelty that you are. You don't live alongside these children. You are an infection, sent from the depths of Hell to twist more souls for your greedy master. I have destroyed scores of you." The girl slowly shook her head. The Priest wore his words as Holy Armor, convicted only of the rightness of his cause.
"You are right about some of us. And yet others... Your world, no- your cause, has only black and white, no opening for the shades of grey of reality. Your kind is outdated." a hint of a presence formed behind the girl, a huge and ethereal shadow much too large to be cast by the lone bulb recessed into the ceiling. "Look around you *Father*," it sneered irony in its voice as the girl's small hands gestured outward around the room and stayed outstretched. "This girl, as many of the others, seems to come from a perfect home. Mother is sunny and pleasant, if vacant, father is home every night. Frequenters of the nearby church, contributor to the annual bake sale. Two dogs, two children, picket fence, blah blah blah. Or is it?"
The demon rolls up the lacy sleeves, revealing healed but jagged scars up and down the inside of both of the girls wrists. Almost hard to see against the inflamed skin caused by the Priests own binding.
"How did you miss it ..? Did you ask them no questions?" The demons voice was deadpan. Scorn radiated from every line on the girls body, the face contorted by the presence. "The mother drinks every night; drinks until she can pretend she doesn't know. Pretends that she doesn't know why she won't let her husband lay with her at night. Doesn't know why the dog cowers whenever he enters the room. Doesn't know what happened to the other dog that they tell the neighbors 'ran away'. That a thirteen-year-old girl didn't beg her for help." The voice crescendos to a shout that shakes the walls and rattles the bed.
"I am a Warrior in the battle against your kind! I am a Holy Man, righteous and true, and my actions are sanctioned by my God against the invading filth that you are, ***Demon***!" The shouted words from the Priest tried to smother the truth he now saw written on the too thin body in front of him. Her sunken eyes showed too much horror for her years; her self inflicted wounds screamed for a help that wouldn't come.
"I came to her in her last moments. Saved her from going straight to Hell." The Demon pauses as the Priest holds his breath. "Some of us are created by your kind Priest," the words fall heavy into the room like coins into an empty jar, "Created when someone who needed help and finally lashed out against their attackers were accused of being demons. Had exorcisms performed instead of therapy and removal from a situation that became inescapable. There are a few of us..." It trailed off, grey eyes growing distant for a brief moment. "- a few of us that try to help defend those souls. Give them a second chance. Heaven and Hell aren't the only players, but they are the ones who think of humans as pawns in their game instead of as life of their own."
In a blink the girl was standing in front of the Priest, its eyes burning into his soul, the hulking shadow blotting out most of the light in the room until he almost thought he could see its physical presence.
"And if you take her from me, before I go I will do to you what I did to him when he came to her three days ago. For the **Last Time.**" it said with a finality that brokered no argument. Sadness flitted across the girls face, but it was the sadness of having been betrayed by someone who should have stood up for her. "I will rain on you what the Mother downstairs has been afraid of for a year, the righteous wrath she should have dealt the first time she found bruises on her eldest daughters arms. Before she killed herself a year ago." Fire blazed in the girl's eyes, the shadowy presence growing and dancing in the flames, and the Priest saw for the first time how many other demons he had created by exorcising a protector. How many other lives were cut short by being freed from the thing keeping abuse from continuing.
"I am a Warrior in the battle..." His words are Holy Armor turned to dust and the Priest fell to his knees and sobbed as years of his life were rewritten in an instant. | ---------------------------------------------
**Chapter 1: The Encounter**
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They said his job was driving out devils. Devils and demons. Who would have thought those very demon might be wearing human skin? Well, that wouldn't be unique, not unusual - let me rephrase - *be human*. Evil takes many forms. God's gift of free will was a blessing as much as it was a curse. In history there have always been humans who have caused worse evil than most demons did in a millennia.
He had seen horrors. Twisted necks. Blistered skin. Blood flooding out of ever pore of human skin.... He had seen what devils were capable of doing, but there's things devil didn't do. Devils did neither find enjoyment in rape, nor made it any sense to bruise their host unnecessarily.
The child standing in front of him was a horrific view. She couldn't be older than seven. Her eyes flickered in a deep empty black for a second when he entered the room. She was nearly naked. Her flat chest was covered in bruises. Dried sperm covered her left leg. Blood splatters were running down her body, dropping off her skin. She smiled. It send shivers down his spine. On the the wall next to him, right next to the door a male body was pressed against the wall, twisted in agony, his throat ripped out, his mouth wide open - opened in sheer agony - trying to scream, but the air from his chest never reached his mouth through the hole gaping in the place where his throat once had been.
"Do you want to hurt me as well?", the little girl asked with the voice of an angel. Dazzled by the sheer absurdness and controversy of the scenario Alwin was unable to speak, he had been an exorcist for many years, but the horror still frequently got a hold of him. Suddenly her eyes turned black, with voice like a fist full of razorblades scratching against a blackboard a *different* voice echoed from her mouth *"Youuuu are one offf thooosssssssseee."*, suddenly she jumped on all fours, like a crossbreed of a spider and a jagur - ready to leap, ready bring death, black eyes which were supposed to be empty, yet they burned with more anger like he had never seen, were pointed at him. *"I know youuur kinnnnnd. Mennnn of God.. Shhhhhhsssss", the naked girl - no, *the demon*, squealed in rage. *"Youuuu're doing thissss to kidddddssss."*, the body lept forward.
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**Chapter 2: The Bond**
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Alwin barely managed to raise his cross in time. The demon's leap stopped mid air like it had hit an invisible wall, it whelped in pain. Suddenly a shadow left she body, still connected, hovering over her. Alwin was confused, his holy barrier was a purely defensive aura - it wasn't supposed to drive out any demon. *"Milllllieeee!", the shadow hissed. *"Arrre yooouuuu okay? Doesss it huuuurt?"*, "I'm fine mister Azazael.", a voice, clear and honest like morning dew after a mild spring rain, answered. "Are you hurt mister Azazael? I don't want you to be hurt."
Alwin was baffled. The absurdity of this scenario left him motionless. In his 30 years of being an exorcist he hadn't come across something like this. What was going on? The demon was talking with its husk?
Her eyes turned black again, the shadow and the little girl had merged yet again. It nearly seemed like she was a *host*, not a husk. The being studied him. It knew that it'ld be unable to to approach him. By now it must have been aware of his power, the relics he carried, rings gifted to him be the pope himself, holy stigmas branded into his body by iron and flames. He wasn't an ordinary exorcist... and it wasn't an ordinary demon.
"You killed him?", Alwin asked, pointing the grotesque body leaning by the wall. *"**It**..... it huuuuuurt Millliiiie. Iiii woooon't lett yoooouuu hurttt Millie"*, the demon's... no... the kid's muscles got tense, ready to jump. "I am not here to hurt her. I am here to save here" *"Zssssssssssssss"*, the demon hissed in response *"I knoowwwwww yooour kinnnnd. Yoouuu donnnn't proteccccct, you huurrt. I woooonnn't let you hurt Milllliiie."*, suddenly her voice changed and her eyes cleared up "Azazael is my friend! He protects me!", her sky-blue yes filled with tears... The tears rolled down her face, mixing with the blood covering her chin...
"He *protects* you?", Alwin was still trying to process this unique situation. "My...my... dad... he hurt me... he did this...", the little girl pointed at the dried sperm adhering to her leg. The beautiful, tear filled eyes glared with hatred and fear. Her sadness shifted to pure anger. Those weren't the demons eyes... Those were her own. With disgust her stare pierced the dead blood-covered body to his right.
"Demon. Are you intentions true?", Alwin asked studying the shadow hovering behind the little girl. *"Iiiii protecct Millieee."*, for a splitt second the shadow and the little girl fused, just to separate again, "He's my guardian angel!", the little girl added with her high pitched voice and a smile honest like only a child could have.
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**Chapter 3: Fate Reshaped**
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"If that really is true demon, I can end your suffering. I can cleanse you.", Alwin respond "If your motives aren't pure you will be driven back to hell, condemned to suffering, though and you'll be stuck there for another millenia."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!", the little girl shouted. "You can't do that to Azazael!... You musn't!", *"Iiii wooon't lettt her allooonnnnnne"* the demon added, they were fluently shifting between possession of the body. "You won't", Alwin responded calmly: "If your intentions are true, you will not only be cleansed, you won't be a demon anymore. Your whole being will be shifted. You will become her guardian angel, you will be bound to her. If she dies, you die - and if you do you will be send before *God*. You will be judged. You might not even be a demon afterwards, you might completely to seize to exist."
Hearing these words the shadow shivered *"Willll Iiiii be aaabllle to protect her?"*. "You will." Alwin responded. "You will have more power than you have now. You will be able to move rocks and trees. You'll even be able to stop moving cars *without* having to use her body as a vessel. In the very second you abuse these powers you will burn up in flames, though." "You can't do this Azazael!", the high pitched voice cried. *"I'll do it for you"* - a ray of light passed through a gaping hole in the creature's shadow-ish body. It was its...his... mouth. He smiled.
Alwin started mumbling. It was an ancient language, more ancient than latin or hebrew. Those were words gifted to him by the pope himself. He had placed one of his rings in his crossed palms. It started hovering and emitting a white, glowing aura The whole room was filled with bright light.... The hovering shadow couldn't stand it's sheer power. With a fearful hissing noise the darkness disappeared. Its body got burned up by rays of bright light. "Azazaael!", the little girl shouted, as both she and Alwin had to close their eyes, not being able to stand the pure brightness anymore.
As Alwin reopened his eyes, he was faced with creature so beautiful words couldn't do it justice. Hovering above the little girl was an angel. It smiled, it had eyes filled with sorrow - but also love. Love, and hope.
*"Millie*", it said with a voice as clear as a mountain spring. *"Finally I'm yours."*
As it closed its wings around her, her scars disappeared. Blood, sperm, all signs of evil - every mark of the horrors this poor little girl had lived through disappeared in an instant, washed away by brightness.
*"Millie."*, it said.
*"You are save now...*
*I love you Millie. "* |
[removed] | [WP] You're an exorcist, and this is your most conflicting assignment yet. The demon possessing the child seems to actually be protecting it from abusive parents. | You stare at the man sitting in his leather chair with his leather smile, and your blood begins to boil. There's a *squelch* as he leans forward to show you the red slashes on his forearm. "As you can see, this is totally unacceptable."
Unacceptable. The child is sitting in a locked crate—formerly the dog's, you guess, given how zealously the creature has been roaming since you arrived. You stare at the girl while it sniffles at your feet. Her back is to you, and you can see the black and blue spots beneath her dingy tanktop. Her spine is all too visible.
The man sees you staring at his filthy daughter in her filthy dog crate and takes note. He pulls his sleeve down with a petulant frown. Must be miffed that you're more interested in the girl. Must be miffed at your disregard for his suffering.
"She... It, I mean—it hurts her, too. Makes her hurt herself. The cage is a safety precaution. It's as much for her as for us."
Outside the cage, you see the *yōkai*—a white fox, no bigger than a housecat—bare her teeth. She hisses at the man, who, of course, does not possess your Sight and notices nothing. Ears flat against her head, she turns to you. "He lies. He hurts her. I give her strength." Inside the cage, the girl shifts almost imperceptibly. You see her flex black nails, discordant against soft fingertips.
"I give her claws to fight back." The *yōkai*'s voice is sibilant, and it reminds you, strangely, of windchimes. The dog at your feet whimpers. It lays down, tail wrapped around its snout. Unlike you, it cannot see or hear the *yōkai*, but like most animals, it is naturally attuned to her presence. It *feels* her, and it is humbled.
"I know," you reply after a moment, and the man relaxes, thinking your words were for him. He leans back in his chair. *Squelch*. Schooling his features into a look of concern, he speaks: "We know that exorcism has its risks, of course. She might... She might not..." His voice breaks, and you find yourself wondering what's at stake for him. A punching bag? The laurel of fatherhood? He composes himself quickly. "Like I said, we know the risks. But what else can be done?"
What else, indeed. Nodding toward the *yōkai*, you slip your blade from your scabbard and balance it across your knees. The glint of steel feels out of place in this living room with its leather chairs and the terrier at your feet. But so does the bruised child in the dog crate.
"As long as you're aware of the *consequences*, Mr. Abe." You smile at the man, and the *yōkai*, sensing your intentions, lets loose a breathy chuckle. Tinkling bells. "Let's get started." | Father Marco climbed out of the taxi with a groan, carefully extricating his long lean frame. It had been a long flight from The Vatican and he was getting too old for the cramped coach seats he always rode in. He paid the cabbie his fare then took a long moment to stretch, giving a brief grunt of satisfaction every time he felt his back, knees, neck, and shoulders pop. He checked his watch, gave a frustrated sigh, grabbed his heavy leather carpet bag, and trudged up the driveway before him, double checking the address on his way.
The door flew open on the quaint two-story ranch, almost before he'd rung the bell, and before him stood a woman, dressed in a log cream-colored skirt and pale pink sweater. She trembled, her hair disheveled and her eyes red from some combination of tears and exhaustion. "Father Marco?" she asked, her voice weak, weary, and just on the edge of hysteria.
Father Marco quickly composed himself from his initial surprise, "Sì, Signora Henderson, I presume."
"Yes Father, please come in." She held the door open and waved him in, almost frantically.
Marco entered,out of habit, ducking slightly as he passed through the door frame.
Mrs. Henderson nearly slammed the door behind him, then turned towards him, fidgeting with her hands. "Would you like me to take you to her or...."
Father Marco waved his hand, "You can just tell me the way, but first I want to ask you some questions, to understand what happened."
"Oh, o-of course. The uh the living room is right ov-over there." She pointed through the archway to her right, "And can I, um, get you...anything...to drink?"
"A glass of wine if it's no inconvenience."
"No, of course not, chardonnay?"
Father Marco rapidly shook his head, "No no no, nothing French."
"Oh-okay, I'll, er, see what we have." Mrs. Henderson turned the opposite way towards the kitchen, her face perplexed and somewhat concerned.
Father Marco made his way into the living room, and situated himself in the lone chair, which sat across the coffee table from a love-seat. He withdrew from his bag a leather-bound notebook and pen, and turned to the first blank page. He jotted down some quick notes in his own short-hand, a combination of English, Latin, and his native Italian,and had just finished when Mrs. Henderson enter, carrying a glass of red wine.
"Grazie." he said as she handed it to him. He took a small sip: tempranillo, Spanish, acceptable. He nodded, took another, slightly larger, sip and set the glass down.
Mrs. Henderson watched him anxiously the whole time. "Um, so, does French wine have anything to do with...her-"
Father Marco quickly shook his head, "No, I simply detest France and all it's exports."
"Oh."
"Now, let's begin."
He ran her through a brief series of questions; her husband had been called away on business, their daughter (Mary, 15) had begun acting strangely four days ago, Mrs. Henderson (Lily) had prayed over her up until two days ago when Mary had lashed out, babbling in a strange language, shrieking, eyes rolled back, and confined herself in her room. Lily was unable to even turn the knob despite it not even having a lock, and had left food and water outside, but it had remain untouched. She had contacted the priest at their church, who in turn sent it up the chain, eventually resulting in Father Marco's arrival.
The exorcist finished the last of his notes, reviewed them several times, then closed his book with a nod. "That is all I need." He rose from the chair, bag in hand, "Where is her room?"
Lily pointed behind her, "Up the stairs, turn right, and it's straight ahead at the end of the hall."
Father Marco nodded and headed that way, pausing at the bottom of the staircase he looked over at Lily, "Do not do anything until I have come back down, understand?" She nodded.
Marco trudged up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. At the top he turned to his right and made his way down the hall, halfway there noting the hall closet's missing door, and finally stopped in front of the bedroom, marked with an 'M' and decorated with a baby lamb.
He tried the doorknob, and as Lily had described it would not move even a fraction of a degree. Marco shook out his hand and flexed his fingers before trying again, this time muttering an incantation as he did so. He felt the knob begin to give, but jerked his hand away as he felt it begin to heat to nearly scorching. He shook out his hand again and stared at the door knob for a long moment.
Finally, he pinched the bridge of his nose and quietly cursed under his breath. He looked over his right shoulder and asked, "Could I get some assistance?"
"About fucking time."
Behind Father Marco, leaning against the wall, stood another man, several inches shorter and nearly half a century younger in appearance. He was dressed nearly identically to elderly priest, although he looked decidedly uncomfortable in the clerical garb, but most distinctly, in place of a white collar tab, his was dyed blood-red.
The new arrival strode forward, and with an almost annoyed flick of his wrist, turned the knob allowing the door to ease open. He turned back to Father Marco, "Happy, you now have access to the underage, innocent, child's room. Have at it you creepy, old, bastard."
Father Marco shook his head and strode into the room, grumbling "Shut up Jack." |
[removed] | [WP] You're an exorcist, and this is your most conflicting assignment yet. The demon possessing the child seems to actually be protecting it from abusive parents. | The boy sat at the edge of the bed, kicking his feet as he watched me come in. I'm not what people expect from an exorcist. They expect a pair of preists. I'm one guy, and I'm certainly not holy. I believe there's a God, I just don't sweat the details.
I'm more concerned with the other side of that coin. And hence, here I am. I got a call, sat with the parents...even I knew they were hiding something. Everything sounded too rehearsed. My clients are usually very shaken, so much so they can't seem to keep a thing from me. These two...responded slowly and carefully, looking to each other for permission to speak. Regardless, I decided it was best to meet with the child. Alone. Kids are easier to get the truth from that way; parents can coach with just a look.
There was a chill in the room. Everything was as it should be. Slightly messy bed, favourite toys sitting out, a video game system, controllers on the floor.
And him. He'd been talking to himself before I opened the door, but stopped right away. He was far too old for any entity to pull the "Imaginary Friend" ploy...8, maybe 9.
"Damien?" I made sure not to let the incredulous coincidence come out in my voice. The kid was instantly suspicious, and not because I was here at the behest of his parents. "Damien, have you had...company, lately?"
"What of it?" A voice the kid shouldn't have had at all. This one was pretty direct, to not even try at hiding from me.
I recomposed myself. "And what do I call you?"
"Actually...I'm Damien too." The voice chuckled. "And I knew someone was coming."
"Didn't even try to hide...why?" I asked.
"Simple." The body with two minds flopped on the bed, smiling. "You won't send me back. You HAD to have sensed it talking to the other Damien's "charming" parents."
"They seemed off." I muttered.
Damien-D (For demon, to separate him from the child), laughed derisively. "Don't be politic about it. If they're "Off", then I was "A little naughty". You know the truth. You can feel it. You can SEE it." He held out the boy's arms, covered in welts. "SAY it, exorcist."
I sighed, allowing him this small victory. "They beat him."
"They are worse to him than I would ever be. When I felt a vessel weak enough to let me in, I was thrilled...but then I felt the how, the why...and...something stirred in me."
I scoffed. "Don't pretend to be noble all of a sudden."
He sat up and glared. "You think being a fallen angel has erased that I ever was one, you heretical holy man? I have a heart still." He laid back, smiling. "Damien here gives me a wonderful opportunity...to make heads spin on all three realms. Divine, Infernal and Mortal."
"...I don't follow." I admitted, leaning against the door.
"Last time Daddy raised a hand to Damien, I made his cigarette explode...almost like cigars in old cartoons. He even blinked at it like one...well, after he let out the most delightful high-pitched squeal." The giggle was of two voices. Damien-H seemed to like the memory too.
"I'm staying...and when someone plans evil for Damien...I'll do evil to them first. Not as harsh as what they intended...just enough to get them to...stay in their lane." He sat up, and the controllers from the system floated to them...one set in the boy's hands, the other floating, manipulated by seemingly nothing. The two were...playing together.
I uncrossed my arms and stood up from my earlier position. "You will do good...by doing lesser evil, TO evil."
"You get it! I'd applaud, but then Damien would lose his lead in a way I don't want him to." Furious clicking from the controllers. "The angels can't really touch me, you won't cast me out...and the fact the Divine and Mortal are letting me do as I please will piss off TONS of Demons back home! I can do this for decades, as long as Damien lives. Imagine it...Demonic Possession...as the best thing that ever happened to someone. The planes will SHIT themselves!"
"Watch your potty mouth." Damien-H took his mouth back for that remark.
Damien-D seemed...genuinely contrite. "Sorry kiddo. So yeah...you can send me home...but face it...the best parent this kid can ask for is in this room. You exorcise me...and they'll want payback from him for what I did to protect him."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I left. I claimed the demon was far more powerful, beyond me, and likely anyone they could contact. I did all I could to encourage them not to engage the entity, and the child may get more control. In truth I knew Damien-D would not act unless harm came to Damien-H.
I don't know if I can continue my work after what I've experienced then. Even if he was not entirely benevolent...I found him brilliant. I could not see him as an enemy, but merely a rival that had bested me, I...respected him.
I think I may tone down my work...perhaps...I've been fighting the wrong monsters. | Monsignor Michael Benedictine felt the disturbance long before he was summoned. A new demon had arrived into the mortal realm. He could sense the ripples, little pulses of energy that made his hair stand on end and told him where the source resided. This one was very powerful, the ripples having more the character of crashing waves, threatening to overwhelm him. To drown him beneath their onslaught.
"A blight has arrived," Michael said, closing his leather bound Bible and crossing himself.
Father Lawrence nodded thoughtfully, "Is it acting upon the world yet?" While Father Lawrence was not attuned to demons, he had long since discarded his skepticism on the subject. One could not spend any time in the Monsignor's presence and retain any doubt. They existed, their efforts to corrupt humanity an ongoing project stretching back since time immemorial.
Michael shook his head, "No. It has inhabited a host, but it remains isolated." He frowned, "I have not felt its like before. Powerful. Very. But somehow the hunger is absent."
"Perhaps we are in luck then, we may exorcise this blight before it is given the chance work its darkness," Lawrence said, his thumb counting the rosary out of habit.
"Perhaps," though Michael's tone was strained and carried an undercurrent of confusion. He had been on the front lines of this battle for some time. While the demons were a threat, they had also largely been predictable. This was new.
He did not like new.
Michael stood and began to gather the items he would need. A large wooden cross. A small silver one. Holy water. A warrior's Bible, blessed thrice by saints of great power. Once all was accounted for, he nodded to Lawrence, "We should hurry. It is recent and new, but its power gathers fast."
Michael and Lawrence made for the door just as a man, disheveled and panting, burst into the Rectory. "Monsignor, a new--"
Michael held up his hand, causing the man to fall silent, "I am aware. I move to counter the threat as we speak."
The man slumped, the relief palpable. "Thank the Almighty. It is terrible. Truly terrible."
Michael nodded, "Yes. I believe it is an Archdemon. The first in the modern era."
Lawrence's eyes widened, "An Archdemon?" The ramifications were astounding. It was widely believed that Archdemons had been exiled, purged from entering this realm after the stain of Original Sin had been washed clean by the Christ. If one had truly appeared, it would be the first in over two thousand years. The first since the Son of God had given his life so that man might know redemption.
Michael set out, his rapid pace belying the years the man lived. He was old, but he was not weak. The battle for the soul of man sustained him, renewing him continually. There were so few attuned, so few capable of sensing when corruption threatened mankind. Each was precious.
Their journey to the disruption was quick. Surprisingly so as demons quite often tended to avoid places the attuned might easily reach. It was another disturbing fact among a series of them. The Monsignor seemed unperturbed as he mounted the steps to the dilapidated building. "It lies within." As all he said before rapping his knuckles against the cracked door.
There was a shuffling inside, along with the sound of muffled voices in a heated conversation. Finally, the door cracked open, revealing a bleary eyed man with a bald pate, unkempt beard, and decidedly shabby garments. "Whaddya want? I ain't buyin' nuffin'." The man grumbled, his demeanor skeptical.
"I am here on urgent business."
"I ain't want no Bibles or magazines!" He looked the Monsignor up and down, a look of disdain spreading across his features, "I ain't makin' no donations neither. Not to the likes of you."
Michael looked at the man intently, if the other man's word had offended him, it made no visible impression on his expression. "Sir, I am not here to sell you on anything. I would simply like to know whether you have noticed anything disturbing recently."
"Whole damn world is disturbin'," he spat on the ground, just beside the Monsignor's foot, "Chinese takin' my job. Can't get my pills for my back no more 'cause they sayin' I don't need 'em." He shrugged, "World just ain't right. Left the little guy behind." He shook his head sadly.
"There are a great many ills in this world, but I am curious as to whether you have noticed anything within the walls of your home," Michael said, his tone carefully neutral.
"Beyond my fool daughter not comin' out of her room for three days, everything is peachy as pie." He took this opportunity to light up a cigarette, blowing the smoke in Father Lawrence's direction, who responded with a small annoyed cough.
"You say your daughter has been in her room for three days? Is that normal?" Michael asked.
"Ain't nothin' normal about that witch. Always been wrong in the head, and nothin' I do seems to get her head on right." He hooked a thumb in his belt and snapped it, making it clear just how he had attempted to correct her behavior.
Lawrence shared a concerned look with Michael. Abuse often weakened the will, making it easier for a demon to slip in through the cracks. By the looks of things, the father had done his part to place his daughter into jeopardy.
"Would it be all right if I tried to speak to your daughter?" Michael asked.
The man shrugged, "Hell if I care. Don't see you havin' much luck neither." He took a step back, sweeping his hand out, inviting Michael in. "Damn girl bit me the last time I tried to knock some sense into her." His hand creeped out from behind his back, angry black streaks ran along his veins before disappearing beneath a dirty towel acting as a bandage.
Michael glanced at the hand in some alarm, but ignored it in favor of more pressing concerns. "Thank you sir. We will not be any trouble." Michael said as he glided past and began to mount the stairs leading up to the second floor. Father Lawrence hurried quickly behind, a sheen of sweat breaking out as he followed the Monsignor into the darkness above.
**Had to split this into two parts. Too long.** [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/PerilousPlatypus/comments/9hx5jq/wp_youre_an_exorcist_and_this_is_your_most/) **over on my sub here.**
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus |
[WP] You were near to death’s door. You waited for the Grim Reaper to strike his scythe, but he did not. Then the Grim Reaper spoke up. “Do me a favour, will you?” | His sword left his grasp as he stared at the length of wood stuck between his ribs. After all this time. After all the effort. After all the hard roads and long fights this is how the champion of the rebels was to go out. By an arrow shot from afar, luckily missing the cross plates on his armor and burying itself right into his heart.
He fell to his knees as his warm blood started to drip down his front, the arrow itself holding back the tide. He could see Ash running towards him, but he seemed to be moving as though through honey, everything was so slow.
He fell down and stared at the sky as he felt his life flow out with his blood, her face flashing in front of his eyes as he took his last breath.
His eyes closed and all he could her was her voice, clear and ringing, singing her favourite song. They would be together soon.
Suddenly all the pain disappeared. He opened his eyes in confusion and apprehension. The wizard was across the country, so how was he all ok suddenly?
It was then that he saw him, standing there calmly. He was a handsome young man in a simple black robe, with the peaked hood pulled back. He held a scythe in one hand and was leaning on it, an amused smile on his face.
"Are you? Are you the Grim Reaper?" the champion asked incredulously, even as he registered the fact that everything around them had stopped completely. Ash was stuck mid stride, arrows were stuck mid flight.
"Why? Were you expecting someone else holding a pair of shears maybe?" the man asked with a short bark of laughter.
"Well I wasn't expecting you."
"Maybe you were expecting something like this?"
Even as the words left the man's mouth his appearance changed. The robe became tattered and distressed, his scythe took on a menacing edge and flowing patterns of skulls appeared on the shaft. The skin from his face just melted away, leaving a grinning skull, even as the whole area around him darkened, shrouding the harbringer of afterlife in abject darkness.
He took one step towards the champion, who unceremoniously fell flat on his back.
He suddenly started laughing and changed instantly back into the handsome man again.
"That is just my formal appearance. You wouldn't constantly wear your sunday best would you?" he asked, offering a hand to the fallen man.
"Fair enough."
The champion took the offered hand and got up.
"Well not that I am in a hurry but why am I still here?"
"Because believe it or not, I actually need a favour"
The champion just started to laugh at the insane statement. The harbringer of death needed a favour from him.
"Favour? What could you possibly need from me?"
The Reaper stepped forward and twirled his hand in a smooth motion, turning the scythe's shaft towards the champion.
"I need someone to take my place."
| It didn't take much to set the entire city aflame. Heroes might soar between skyscrapers in the States, but here the advent of superpowers had only made the cartel wars a thousand times worse. People died in the crossfire every day, and today was no different, a small child sputtered out struggling breaths as the strings of smoke snuck into his lungs. The fire raged all around him, and each breath brought him closer to his last.
​
Then the fire....slowed? The glowing orange licks of flame ceased their roaring rage to instead dance in slow motion.
​
The writhing shadows rose, up and up, until they swirled together to form the image of a man, garbed all in black. Smoke drifted through the air, winding its way to form a staff in its immaterial hands."Hey little buddy, would you mind doing me a favor?"
​
The child blinked. "Huh?" He could barely think straight, but he could already feel his mind clearing. The smoke was pulled straight out of his lungs by that strange staff, and the furnace heat of the burning favelas was replaced by a deathly chill.
​
"I would appreciate your help, should you choose to provide it." A line of darkness etched itself across the shadows beneath its hood in a ghastly imitation of a smile. "You see, I need a man to die."
​
The child opened and closed his mouth dumbly. He'd never seen a superhuman from this close before, but even he new that they still had the human part. "Um, you're Death?"
​
The specter chuckled before crouching down and leaning on his staff. "Well, I did invent it, so close enough."
​
"Why?"
​
"Well, as tough as it may be to understand, I don't actually kill people. I kinda need someon-"
​
"Why do they have to die?"
​
Death paused. "Ah. You have a discerning mind young man. He...is the single most terrifying man to ever live, the greatest wizard of all time, mortal or divine, and the last true Archmage to walk the earth, for all others have fallen by his hand, their souls nothing but fuel to further his power."
​
"Oh. That's...pretty bad." The child coughed weakly. "And I have to fight him alone?"
​
"No." Death spoke softly. "I promise, you will never be alone."
​
The child held out his hand, and Death took it. | |
[WP] You were near to death’s door. You waited for the Grim Reaper to strike his scythe, but he did not. Then the Grim Reaper spoke up. “Do me a favour, will you?” | SHEDDING LIGHT
I watched him come for me. The flourecent lights overhead began to flicker wildly and hum like the droning sounds of a beehive. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. I could do nothing but stare, my gaze transfixed on the silhouette of darkness that approached. Shadows coalesced on the ground at his feet, writhing like ebony snakes. In his right hand he held a gruesome creation of wood and steel. There was blood dripping from it's curved blade and ivory carvings of humans in tortured poses were inlaid all up and down the thick dark shaft of the weapon. His hood was pulled down tight and two dark red orbs of light glowed from beneath the cowl. They looked like blood red rubies with more facets than any diamond I'd ever seen.
He stopped at my feet, looming over me. Death's free hand reached up and pulled back the hood. My jaw dropped in astonishment. The face of death was a mirror into my own soul. I could see grief swirling in a storm of my own recent memories. They plucked at the strings of my mind, playing discordant melodies that made me cringe in self awareness. The afterthoughts were bitter and I ground my teeth as they resonated disturbingly like the sound of nails clawing their way down a chalkboard with agonizing slowness.
The mirror shifted. I felt another presence within me. It tickled and tingled at the back of my skull desperately seeking a way into my thoughts. This was the end I thought. Why hold back when it's time to let go. I let the presence in and was suddenly filled with, and consumed by hope. It burned like a thousand candles and washed over me with the warmth of a bonfire.
Then death spoke...
"Do me a favour, will you?" His voice was sweet and slow like honey, each word dripping smoothly from his dark lips.
"Take my watch." He said.
"Turn the outside dial one click to the right. I would show you something."
I took the watch in trembling fingers and held it between my hands. The dial was cold and reflected the flickering light from above as if it was carved from obsidian.
*Click*
The room spun, my soul began pulling away from the confines of my flesh, like a game of tug-war in which my existence was the rope.
It stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The room I was in was quiet. There were children sitting hunched over desks with crayons gripped awkwardly in their tiny fingers as they scribbled across their sheets of colored construction paper.
"Why are we here?" I asked. I almost choked on the words. Everything was blurry in my vision and when I tried to focus on one thing it just got worse.
"This is a piece of the path that could be." Was all death said.
One child stood out to me more than the others. He was short for his age and his black hair fell in front of bright green eyes. I'd know those eyes anywhere for the thousand times I've seen them in a mirror.
"That one is yours on this path." Death informed me.
I was so stunned all I managed was a croaking gasp. I was mortified at the revelation that I could have been a parent.
"Spin the dial back three clicks." He commanded me. My fingers moved with a will of their own.
*Click* *Click* *Click*
The same soul wrenching terror washed over me as I was pulled from the moment.
We were in a hospital. I looked down at a pink form swaddled in a blue blanket. A women held it and she smiled up at me. Or rather she smiled up at the man behind me. I turned and saw my father's face. He looked joyous and happier than I'd ever seen him before. I smiled and looked back to the infant, then looked to death.
"This is me?" I asked knowing the answer already.
Death nodded and said, "Press in on the center where the hands of time meet."
I stole one last glance at my parents, I hadn't seen them in so many years. All the aches and pains of remembering the day they both died flooded back to me. Tears fell freely down my cheeks as I pushed on the center of deaths watch.
Back into my body. Lying on the cold stone floor of an abandoned warehouse. Next to me was a blackened spoon. Next to that an empty baggy. Still sticking into my left arm was a dirty needle I'd used too many times.
"Death glared down at me in my pathetic state. He lifted his scythe with his right hand and said. "Put on my watch."
I did.
"Tell me what time it is."
I looked at the hands of time on my wrist and knew with a blazing certainty what time it was.
"It is time to change." I choked on the words through sobs and tears.
"Then do me a favour, will you?"
"Live."
| This was not how I expected to face death. Cancer, sure, that runs in my family; Alzheimer's, if I was lucky enough to get that old; but not this.
I don't even know why I went out to begin with, nothing good comes from answering the call of your girlfriend's apparent side-dick. Fucking Sheila. Seriously, fucking Sheila! But hey, that's how I ended up on death's door, on the front porch of a quaint, light blue, house in a residential neighborhood.
The man on the other side of the door looked the picture of Grim. The man was tall and wide, wearing a long, black, billowy, hooded robe and bearing a scythe. The scythe looked substantial, as the man appeared to strain as he lifted it off the ground. Under the hood I noted a face red with anger, shaking.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't know she had another man!!!" I stammered quickly raising my hands above my head to protect myself from the expected blow. "She told me we were exclusive!"
The blow never came.
"Yeah, you aren't the first person she spouted that lie to," a surprisingly measured voice from under the hood sighed. "Fucking Sheila..."
I nodded.
"Do me a favor, will you?" The Grim asked me.
"Sure?" I stammered, surprised by the Grim's civility.
"This is a box of Sheila's shit."The Grim wandered a few steps back and brought out a medium sized brown box. "Can you please return it to her? I just don't want to deal with her."
"Sure," I nod. "We aren't dating anymore either, FYI."
"I don't care." The Grim shrugged. "Just give it back to her. It has her Halloween costume, I think she wanted it for tonight." | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | We had everything worked out well ahead of the night in question. We would not do anything to raise her suspicions. I don’t know why I baked the potatoes. We had all agreed that we would stick to the plan: rice, chicken, and some broccoli. George even reminded me before I started cooking. Yes, he did! But, I got lost in my own kitchen and just went nuts. There was a sweet curry dish with raisins, coconut and softened pistachios. There was that amazing salad of Caroline’s—the one with the slivered almonds and the spruced-up sesame dressing. And, for some stupid reason the baked potatoes. I had been reading about Luther Burbank and I guess I got inspired. No, you’re right, that isn’t what happened. I was angry that she kept complaining about how much starch we were eating, “at your age” she kept saying. I think I subconsciously chose to make them and put the whole plan at risk. It doesn’t matter now, the damned fool jabbed at the sucker and the truth came out. “What’s this?” he asked. We told him not to ask about the food! We warned him, and he could not hold himself back. I mean, really, he jabbed at that big fat potato like it was some small alien or monster or a toy left behind by the neighbor’s kid. It’s too late to worry about now, our baby knows we set her up with an AI and there is no going back. She’ll probably never date a normal guy again. I know. You’re right, I know. Okay. You too, Linda, take care. I’ll talk with you next week and let you know what happens. Maybe she’ll forgive us. Mmhm, bye now. | The father stared at me, as sweat slowly inched out of my forehead.
"You don't know what a potato is?"
The words were like cold knives, pressing into every part of my body.
I shuddered in anticipation. I prepared to say the unthinkable, with tears beginning to form at the edges of my eyes. Every one of my emotions was in this statement. I opened my mouth and shut my eyes...
"No"
"Huh, weird" he said
Then everyone continued with diner.
The End | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | “Yeah , it is a potato. I hope your people , whoever they may be , like it and don’t get poisoned by it or something”
“Wait , you won’t question why I never heard of a potato before?”
“Nah” I took a bite from my baked potato “My daughter’s ex was a martian who was poisoned by water and we had to bring him to the nasa to cure him ; the other ex was a plantoid and was poisoned for eating its own kin: fruit , we had our gardener take care of him until he was completely cured ; and the last one was death himself , he was the one I liked the most to be honest , and nothing bad happened to him , but things just didn’t work out for my daughter and him. (They are all still friends though). So , no matter if you are a supernatural being , if you are a good guy you are okay in my book.”
“Wow” Bartolomew exclaimed “well , I thank you for the opportunity mister Rogers. I swear I won’t disappoint you!” He took a bite from the potato.
…
…
…
Mental note : the mermen are allergic to potatoes. | The father stared at me, as sweat slowly inched out of my forehead.
"You don't know what a potato is?"
The words were like cold knives, pressing into every part of my body.
I shuddered in anticipation. I prepared to say the unthinkable, with tears beginning to form at the edges of my eyes. Every one of my emotions was in this statement. I opened my mouth and shut my eyes...
"No"
"Huh, weird" he said
Then everyone continued with diner.
The End | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | "You must be kidding me", I responded to the boy.
The boy said "What do you mean by that"?
"It's a potato. You've ever eaten these before"? I asked the young man.
"No. It sort of looks like some kind of apple. At my mom's orchard, we grow lots of apples."
This boy acts like he's from another planet. Everything about him is weird. I can't see why my daughter's attracted to this weirdo, but there's a certain innocence and kindness he has. He might have potential.
I sat the boy down. "Son, I barely know anything about you. Tell me about your family. What are they like? What's your name"?
"My name is Nehemiah. My folks live a few miles south of here" the boy replied.
"I take it your family goes to church a lot." I replied. I recognized the name "Nehemiah" from Sunday School. That's a name out of the Old Testament. I don't really go to church that often, but I still remember a few things about the Bible. I work a lot of Sundays so I don't always go, but when I do go, I feel recharged."
Nehemiah said "Yes they do. They go to church 3 times a week. In fact, my name comes from the Bible."
"I knew that", I responded.
Nehemiah responded "You don't go to church every Sunday? I thought all of you fleshly people attended church on Sunday?
"Fleshly people?" I responded with a stunned tone to my voice. "What do you mean by 'fleshly'"?
"You know, people who put fleshly things first instead of God"? Nehemiah responded.
Something clicked in my head about this kid. He's not normal. But at the same time, he's not maliciously abnormal.
I'm going to investigate this kid's background even further.
"Well, Nehemiah, do you have your folk's phone number?"
"Well, sir, they're not the type that believe in having telephone numbers. I sort of bend the rules a bit by having a virtual voicemail inbox I check from a computer every other day." The lanky, doe eyed boy in his early teens responded.
"Hey Nehemiah.... sit down... I'm going to talk to Danielle for a bit. Here's the remote. Watch some TV."
"Danielle, where did you find this kid?"
"Well, when me and Jessie were playing some volleyball, this pedo looking guy was stalking us in his van. Nehemiah saw what was happening, hopped off his bicycle, and chased him down with a miniature sledgehammer." she said in an uneasy tone in her voice.
"Honey, that's a mallet".
"Well, I don't care. Nehemiah saved both me and Jessie. He's a bit weird, I know. I tried to go to his house, but his mom gave me the evil eye. They handed me a copy of the Bible and they told me not to come around again until they saw signs of wear and tear on it."
"Did the parents wear crosses around their necks"? I asked.
She said "No, but they did wear some kind of horseshoe type emblem on these turban looking things on their heads.".
Nehemiah interrupted our conversation. "Sir, I'm having problems operating this thing. Can I listen to the radio instead?"
I said "Sure, go ahead. Here, since you're religious, I'll turn it to the Christian Rock station."
Nehemiah responded in a sad tone "I don't know if I should listen to music from impure Christians."
That's when it hit me. Nehemiah's part of a cult. And I think the boy wants to get out. I know about this cult because my granduncle is the guy who started this kid's cult. The Alpha Omegas. That horseshoe looking emblem on their turbans was really the letter Omega.
I'm going to save this kid from his family. I don't think Danielle has the fortitude to rescue this kid from the cult, but luckily for him, I do.
"Nehemiah, I'm going to teach you how to play this game called 'basketball'. Danielle's going to serve you something made from potatoes called 'french fries'. They're pretty delicious. Hold tight."
This kid is going to be unbrainwashed after I'm done with him And when he's unbrainwashed, I'm going to use him to destroy the thing that took all of my family's wealth. I hate uncle Richard. Or as he liked to call himself "Enoch ben Abba"... That's "Enoch, son of God" for some of you non-believers out there. You're not Richard the Omega, as your early followers called you. You're not Enoch ben Abba, the prophet of God, as your followers called you after your near death experience. You're Dick O'Murphy, the crazy Irish guy who thinks he's a Jewish prophet. And you're going down, Uncle Dick. | The father stared at me, as sweat slowly inched out of my forehead.
"You don't know what a potato is?"
The words were like cold knives, pressing into every part of my body.
I shuddered in anticipation. I prepared to say the unthinkable, with tears beginning to form at the edges of my eyes. Every one of my emotions was in this statement. I opened my mouth and shut my eyes...
"No"
"Huh, weird" he said
Then everyone continued with diner.
The End | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | "You must be kidding me", I responded to the boy.
The boy said "What do you mean by that"?
"It's a potato. You've ever eaten these before"? I asked the young man.
"No. It sort of looks like some kind of apple. At my mom's orchard, we grow lots of apples."
This boy acts like he's from another planet. Everything about him is weird. I can't see why my daughter's attracted to this weirdo, but there's a certain innocence and kindness he has. He might have potential.
I sat the boy down. "Son, I barely know anything about you. Tell me about your family. What are they like? What's your name"?
"My name is Nehemiah. My folks live a few miles south of here" the boy replied.
"I take it your family goes to church a lot." I replied. I recognized the name "Nehemiah" from Sunday School. That's a name out of the Old Testament. I don't really go to church that often, but I still remember a few things about the Bible. I work a lot of Sundays so I don't always go, but when I do go, I feel recharged."
Nehemiah said "Yes they do. They go to church 3 times a week. In fact, my name comes from the Bible."
"I knew that", I responded.
Nehemiah responded "You don't go to church every Sunday? I thought all of you fleshly people attended church on Sunday?
"Fleshly people?" I responded with a stunned tone to my voice. "What do you mean by 'fleshly'"?
"You know, people who put fleshly things first instead of God"? Nehemiah responded.
Something clicked in my head about this kid. He's not normal. But at the same time, he's not maliciously abnormal.
I'm going to investigate this kid's background even further.
"Well, Nehemiah, do you have your folk's phone number?"
"Well, sir, they're not the type that believe in having telephone numbers. I sort of bend the rules a bit by having a virtual voicemail inbox I check from a computer every other day." The lanky, doe eyed boy in his early teens responded.
"Hey Nehemiah.... sit down... I'm going to talk to Danielle for a bit. Here's the remote. Watch some TV."
"Danielle, where did you find this kid?"
"Well, when me and Jessie were playing some volleyball, this pedo looking guy was stalking us in his van. Nehemiah saw what was happening, hopped off his bicycle, and chased him down with a miniature sledgehammer." she said in an uneasy tone in her voice.
"Honey, that's a mallet".
"Well, I don't care. Nehemiah saved both me and Jessie. He's a bit weird, I know. I tried to go to his house, but his mom gave me the evil eye. They handed me a copy of the Bible and they told me not to come around again until they saw signs of wear and tear on it."
"Did the parents wear crosses around their necks"? I asked.
She said "No, but they did wear some kind of horseshoe type emblem on these turban looking things on their heads.".
Nehemiah interrupted our conversation. "Sir, I'm having problems operating this thing. Can I listen to the radio instead?"
I said "Sure, go ahead. Here, since you're religious, I'll turn it to the Christian Rock station."
Nehemiah responded in a sad tone "I don't know if I should listen to music from impure Christians."
That's when it hit me. Nehemiah's part of a cult. And I think the boy wants to get out. I know about this cult because my granduncle is the guy who started this kid's cult. The Alpha Omegas. That horseshoe looking emblem on their turbans was really the letter Omega.
I'm going to save this kid from his family. I don't think Danielle has the fortitude to rescue this kid from the cult, but luckily for him, I do.
"Nehemiah, I'm going to teach you how to play this game called 'basketball'. Danielle's going to serve you something made from potatoes called 'french fries'. They're pretty delicious. Hold tight."
This kid is going to be unbrainwashed after I'm done with him And when he's unbrainwashed, I'm going to use him to destroy the thing that took all of my family's wealth. I hate uncle Richard. Or as he liked to call himself "Enoch ben Abba"... That's "Enoch, son of God" for some of you non-believers out there. You're not Richard the Omega, as your early followers called you. You're not Enoch ben Abba, the prophet of God, as your followers called you after your near death experience. You're Dick O'Murphy, the crazy Irish guy who thinks he's a Jewish prophet. And you're going down, Uncle Dick. | We had everything worked out well ahead of the night in question. We would not do anything to raise her suspicions. I don’t know why I baked the potatoes. We had all agreed that we would stick to the plan: rice, chicken, and some broccoli. George even reminded me before I started cooking. Yes, he did! But, I got lost in my own kitchen and just went nuts. There was a sweet curry dish with raisins, coconut and softened pistachios. There was that amazing salad of Caroline’s—the one with the slivered almonds and the spruced-up sesame dressing. And, for some stupid reason the baked potatoes. I had been reading about Luther Burbank and I guess I got inspired. No, you’re right, that isn’t what happened. I was angry that she kept complaining about how much starch we were eating, “at your age” she kept saying. I think I subconsciously chose to make them and put the whole plan at risk. It doesn’t matter now, the damned fool jabbed at the sucker and the truth came out. “What’s this?” he asked. We told him not to ask about the food! We warned him, and he could not hold himself back. I mean, really, he jabbed at that big fat potato like it was some small alien or monster or a toy left behind by the neighbor’s kid. It’s too late to worry about now, our baby knows we set her up with an AI and there is no going back. She’ll probably never date a normal guy again. I know. You’re right, I know. Okay. You too, Linda, take care. I’ll talk with you next week and let you know what happens. Maybe she’ll forgive us. Mmhm, bye now. | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | The young lad took a long drawn out sniff of the potato and continued "It smells... earthy?" his face was contorted into and expression of confusion and pure excitement. I looked at my wife who looked back at me with the same puzzled face I wore, I looked at my daughter but she was not puzzled, she was staring at me as if I'd just stabbed her boyfriend in the face. "Are you alright there son?" I questioned as I looked at him confused. "Yes I'm quite okay thank you, Mr Bird." I opened my mouth to speak but stopped myself as I didn't have a clue what to say. The boy, still holding the potato exclaimed, "Po-ta-too" and then simply placed it in his shirt breast pocket. This extremely confused me and my wife so I changed the topic of the staggered conversation. "So, Jason was it? Do you have a job?" I asked politely. Jason looked up at me and said "Yeah I'm a store assistant at a grocers." At this point I'd had enough, I slammed my right hand on the table and quite loudly said "How in hell do you work in a fucking grocers and not know what a sodding potato is!" He glared back at me with a glassy, blank look in his eyes and muttered "There's no potato's in hell." | I hear them pull up, ah yes my daughter and her new boyfriend. I can't remember the last time she had a boy come over, I thought and pondered for awhile. Let's see... she had a play date when she was 11 with Keko Loon. His parents were very 'sophisticated' Dutch people that lived on the West Side of the city, where pretty much all the folks that were 'sophisticated' resided, leaving me in the North Side which let's just say I'm not very familiar with my Neighbors nor do I care to be. I keep my nose on my own face, not that I'm intimidated by any means. It's just these people aren't my cup of tea, or my bowl of soup. They act like their metaphorical shit don't stank, well I guess that's me as well. Anyway, as all of this is going through my head, I've been zoning out on them strolling up to the porch and they see me staring, which by the look of their puzzled faces, it's creeping them out so I jump to the door slide the bolt lock, then turn the key lock and finishing the sequence by opening the door. I must of done it fairly quick because they were still looking at the window and startled them. My little girl, all beautiful and lovely. I can't believe she's my daughter and I can't believe I let boys even look at her, she deserves more than this world has to offer. Oh I almost forgot, this boy to her side I haven't got quite a good look but he is short, has a burly kind of look to him, and has greased back curly hair, May I add spooky dark eyes. I mean almost blends in with his pupils. "GREETINGS MY BOY, I SEE YOURE HERE WITH MY MARVELOUS DAUGHTER." I bark, which I have no Idea why I said this but, there hasn't been no one here for awhile. I'm very anxious, I keep the house tidy just for an occasion like this one so I'm very excited also. My Daughter stares at me like I'm a mad man and his face tightens up and he takes his hands out his pockets, my Lord they're giant hands I mean I have big hands but this young man's are extraordinarily gargantuan he reaches one out, I meet it with the opposite hand. It's strange to shake a hand this big, I haven't for awhile. He's so formal, "Please to meet you, sir." With a smug smile from him. I can't stand it, how extra this boyfriend of my daughter is. I say "well, come on inside." As I step out the way and watch them walk through the doorway. My Daughter tells him to go in the living room and wait for her, "where is it?" "Down the hall and the opening to the right", she smiles at him and turns to me in sync when he turns the corner. She grabs me by the collar, pushes me up against the wall, and spits on my left foot. "What in the living hell is wrong with your sick bastard bozo mind?" She aggressively whispers, I say "what in the world are you talking about? I'm happy for you." Even though it's not true, I still put on a fake smile to avoid repercussion. My little girl is as strong as an ox, she's got the muscle mass of a roided out orangutan. "I'm not talking about that, have you looked at yourself? You have nothing on but the tattered maroon cardigan mom threw at you before she left with that hipster wino that owns a haberdashery in Portland. Go upstairs and get some slacks on atleast, Jesus pops." I look down and say "youre right" my penis has been just dangling the whole time and it's not in the best shape it use to be in, but I'm not trying to impress no one especially not my teenage daughter and her new boyfriend. Oh shit this has to be some illegal shit. I dart upstairs, take a left, then take a right, boom. I'm in my bedroom, masters that is. I open the drawers find some yellow corduroys and some plaid boxers, I slip them on in opposite order. I run back down stairs as I'm yelling, "I'm gonna make some dinner!" And get to the bottom of the stairs, run towards the kitchen and stop on the tiles in the middle which make a 'squeak!' Sound. Go through the cupboard to the right of the sink, find some potatoes, go to the cupboard above the stove, I find a pot. Hmmmm, what else? Oh yeah, I walk to the fridge and swung it open. Aha, I got it, I get a pack of hotdogs, and shut the fridge I set the pot on the stove and throw some potatoes in there because my hands were full. I hear them talking in the living and oh my it sounds cringy, I mean and it's gotta be if I'm the one saying it. They're talking about some borderline wallflower type stuff. Haha, ah I remember when I was their age, Running around in the 80s and milking my allegiance. Anyways, I get some spaghetti noodles from the pantry and poke them through the hotdogs because, thanks internet. I put them in the pot and take the pot over to the sink and fill it half way with water. Take it back to the stove turn it on and voila dinner is started. I don't know how it'll turn out but whatever I'm not that hungry. I think I'm depressed, my wife left me 4 years and 7 months ago and I haven't been the same since. My Daughter reminds me of her so I put up with her immensely because I don't want her to leave too. I'm not a bad looking guy I just can't go out and start something because I have my daughter here all the time. I look at the pot and it looks about done so I get some oven mitts, turn off the stove, move the pot aside. "Shit, hopefully I did this right. Dinners ready!". I take the potatoes out and hotdog spaghetti thingies
To some plates I left out, I did it during the whole thinking process of mine where I completely go into auto pilot. That'll probably be my downfall. They come in, they look tired, like they can pass out any second. I look at the time and realise it's almost midnight. "Well guys condiments and sauces are in the fridge, silverware in the drawer to the left of the trash. Honey you show him around, I'll meet you two in the dining room." "Wait what is this dad? Dinner?" Jorja asks, oh yeah I forgot to mention that's her name and no it's not after the state that's spelled completely different."Bon Appetit!" I go into the dining room set my plate down and wait for them to come in. The setting is nice in here, the bronze chandelier hanging, the wood carved table, the padded chairs, the groovy rug under, it's all amazing and here I am waiting. I swear this little boy is changing my daughter for the worse and I'm getting sick of it. He reminds me of a bully in middle school that tries to fit in but is all around just a complete and utter asshole. "Oh there you guys are, come sit!", Jorja looks at me in disgust while her boyfriend is just grinning powerfully. They sit down to the opposite of me and I ask the boy "So son I never caught your name?" "Oh it's Henry Goganavinci, what's yours?", "Montelle, any other questions?". He looks down points with his fork to his plate and says "what's this?", "what?" I say, "well I, you know had to think of something on the spot you know, I haven't went to the groceries in awhile". "No" he says, "this brown hot mushy thing", "you gotta be fucking kidding me Henry, you mean the potato?". He says "No I wholeheartedly have no clue what this is and never saw it in my life nor heard of it.", I snap back with "Dude what school you go to, matter of fact, Jorja did you meet this young man in the special class?". Jorja says "DAD DON'T BE A FUCKING BITCH", while she slammed her fists on the table. I finally snap "LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE FUCKING MONSTER CUNT, I AIN'T SCARED OF THROWING HANDS COME HOLLER AT ME AT MY SIDE OF THE TABLE!". Henry says in response to this broken bottle of a family, "I'm gonna go get Jesus on the line.", My response to that as my daughter's marching at me is, "GOOD GO ASK HIM WHAT THE FUCK A POTATO IS YOU FUCKING MOR- AHHHH!". My Daughter is a sweet angel but she just stabbed me with a fork in the thigh so I'm about to go ape shit on her ass. I pick her up and body slam her on the table, Henry is in the corner crying in his iPhone 8 with something along the lines of "MOM COME GET ME PLEASE!" with his big ass hands covering the entire phone so it just seemed like he was talking into his hand. Anyhow, long story short that's how my daughter works at a haberdashery now in Portland and I'm all by myself in my house studying potatoes because that question raised my awareness of potatoes to an all time high. What exactly is it? Thank you Henry for raising my brow. | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | “Yeah , it is a potato. I hope your people , whoever they may be , like it and don’t get poisoned by it or something”
“Wait , you won’t question why I never heard of a potato before?”
“Nah” I took a bite from my baked potato “My daughter’s ex was a martian who was poisoned by water and we had to bring him to the nasa to cure him ; the other ex was a plantoid and was poisoned for eating its own kin: fruit , we had our gardener take care of him until he was completely cured ; and the last one was death himself , he was the one I liked the most to be honest , and nothing bad happened to him , but things just didn’t work out for my daughter and him. (They are all still friends though). So , no matter if you are a supernatural being , if you are a good guy you are okay in my book.”
“Wow” Bartolomew exclaimed “well , I thank you for the opportunity mister Rogers. I swear I won’t disappoint you!” He took a bite from the potato.
…
…
…
Mental note : the mermen are allergic to potatoes. | I hear them pull up, ah yes my daughter and her new boyfriend. I can't remember the last time she had a boy come over, I thought and pondered for awhile. Let's see... she had a play date when she was 11 with Keko Loon. His parents were very 'sophisticated' Dutch people that lived on the West Side of the city, where pretty much all the folks that were 'sophisticated' resided, leaving me in the North Side which let's just say I'm not very familiar with my Neighbors nor do I care to be. I keep my nose on my own face, not that I'm intimidated by any means. It's just these people aren't my cup of tea, or my bowl of soup. They act like their metaphorical shit don't stank, well I guess that's me as well. Anyway, as all of this is going through my head, I've been zoning out on them strolling up to the porch and they see me staring, which by the look of their puzzled faces, it's creeping them out so I jump to the door slide the bolt lock, then turn the key lock and finishing the sequence by opening the door. I must of done it fairly quick because they were still looking at the window and startled them. My little girl, all beautiful and lovely. I can't believe she's my daughter and I can't believe I let boys even look at her, she deserves more than this world has to offer. Oh I almost forgot, this boy to her side I haven't got quite a good look but he is short, has a burly kind of look to him, and has greased back curly hair, May I add spooky dark eyes. I mean almost blends in with his pupils. "GREETINGS MY BOY, I SEE YOURE HERE WITH MY MARVELOUS DAUGHTER." I bark, which I have no Idea why I said this but, there hasn't been no one here for awhile. I'm very anxious, I keep the house tidy just for an occasion like this one so I'm very excited also. My Daughter stares at me like I'm a mad man and his face tightens up and he takes his hands out his pockets, my Lord they're giant hands I mean I have big hands but this young man's are extraordinarily gargantuan he reaches one out, I meet it with the opposite hand. It's strange to shake a hand this big, I haven't for awhile. He's so formal, "Please to meet you, sir." With a smug smile from him. I can't stand it, how extra this boyfriend of my daughter is. I say "well, come on inside." As I step out the way and watch them walk through the doorway. My Daughter tells him to go in the living room and wait for her, "where is it?" "Down the hall and the opening to the right", she smiles at him and turns to me in sync when he turns the corner. She grabs me by the collar, pushes me up against the wall, and spits on my left foot. "What in the living hell is wrong with your sick bastard bozo mind?" She aggressively whispers, I say "what in the world are you talking about? I'm happy for you." Even though it's not true, I still put on a fake smile to avoid repercussion. My little girl is as strong as an ox, she's got the muscle mass of a roided out orangutan. "I'm not talking about that, have you looked at yourself? You have nothing on but the tattered maroon cardigan mom threw at you before she left with that hipster wino that owns a haberdashery in Portland. Go upstairs and get some slacks on atleast, Jesus pops." I look down and say "youre right" my penis has been just dangling the whole time and it's not in the best shape it use to be in, but I'm not trying to impress no one especially not my teenage daughter and her new boyfriend. Oh shit this has to be some illegal shit. I dart upstairs, take a left, then take a right, boom. I'm in my bedroom, masters that is. I open the drawers find some yellow corduroys and some plaid boxers, I slip them on in opposite order. I run back down stairs as I'm yelling, "I'm gonna make some dinner!" And get to the bottom of the stairs, run towards the kitchen and stop on the tiles in the middle which make a 'squeak!' Sound. Go through the cupboard to the right of the sink, find some potatoes, go to the cupboard above the stove, I find a pot. Hmmmm, what else? Oh yeah, I walk to the fridge and swung it open. Aha, I got it, I get a pack of hotdogs, and shut the fridge I set the pot on the stove and throw some potatoes in there because my hands were full. I hear them talking in the living and oh my it sounds cringy, I mean and it's gotta be if I'm the one saying it. They're talking about some borderline wallflower type stuff. Haha, ah I remember when I was their age, Running around in the 80s and milking my allegiance. Anyways, I get some spaghetti noodles from the pantry and poke them through the hotdogs because, thanks internet. I put them in the pot and take the pot over to the sink and fill it half way with water. Take it back to the stove turn it on and voila dinner is started. I don't know how it'll turn out but whatever I'm not that hungry. I think I'm depressed, my wife left me 4 years and 7 months ago and I haven't been the same since. My Daughter reminds me of her so I put up with her immensely because I don't want her to leave too. I'm not a bad looking guy I just can't go out and start something because I have my daughter here all the time. I look at the pot and it looks about done so I get some oven mitts, turn off the stove, move the pot aside. "Shit, hopefully I did this right. Dinners ready!". I take the potatoes out and hotdog spaghetti thingies
To some plates I left out, I did it during the whole thinking process of mine where I completely go into auto pilot. That'll probably be my downfall. They come in, they look tired, like they can pass out any second. I look at the time and realise it's almost midnight. "Well guys condiments and sauces are in the fridge, silverware in the drawer to the left of the trash. Honey you show him around, I'll meet you two in the dining room." "Wait what is this dad? Dinner?" Jorja asks, oh yeah I forgot to mention that's her name and no it's not after the state that's spelled completely different."Bon Appetit!" I go into the dining room set my plate down and wait for them to come in. The setting is nice in here, the bronze chandelier hanging, the wood carved table, the padded chairs, the groovy rug under, it's all amazing and here I am waiting. I swear this little boy is changing my daughter for the worse and I'm getting sick of it. He reminds me of a bully in middle school that tries to fit in but is all around just a complete and utter asshole. "Oh there you guys are, come sit!", Jorja looks at me in disgust while her boyfriend is just grinning powerfully. They sit down to the opposite of me and I ask the boy "So son I never caught your name?" "Oh it's Henry Goganavinci, what's yours?", "Montelle, any other questions?". He looks down points with his fork to his plate and says "what's this?", "what?" I say, "well I, you know had to think of something on the spot you know, I haven't went to the groceries in awhile". "No" he says, "this brown hot mushy thing", "you gotta be fucking kidding me Henry, you mean the potato?". He says "No I wholeheartedly have no clue what this is and never saw it in my life nor heard of it.", I snap back with "Dude what school you go to, matter of fact, Jorja did you meet this young man in the special class?". Jorja says "DAD DON'T BE A FUCKING BITCH", while she slammed her fists on the table. I finally snap "LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE FUCKING MONSTER CUNT, I AIN'T SCARED OF THROWING HANDS COME HOLLER AT ME AT MY SIDE OF THE TABLE!". Henry says in response to this broken bottle of a family, "I'm gonna go get Jesus on the line.", My response to that as my daughter's marching at me is, "GOOD GO ASK HIM WHAT THE FUCK A POTATO IS YOU FUCKING MOR- AHHHH!". My Daughter is a sweet angel but she just stabbed me with a fork in the thigh so I'm about to go ape shit on her ass. I pick her up and body slam her on the table, Henry is in the corner crying in his iPhone 8 with something along the lines of "MOM COME GET ME PLEASE!" with his big ass hands covering the entire phone so it just seemed like he was talking into his hand. Anyhow, long story short that's how my daughter works at a haberdashery now in Portland and I'm all by myself in my house studying potatoes because that question raised my awareness of potatoes to an all time high. What exactly is it? Thank you Henry for raising my brow. | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | "You must be kidding me", I responded to the boy.
The boy said "What do you mean by that"?
"It's a potato. You've ever eaten these before"? I asked the young man.
"No. It sort of looks like some kind of apple. At my mom's orchard, we grow lots of apples."
This boy acts like he's from another planet. Everything about him is weird. I can't see why my daughter's attracted to this weirdo, but there's a certain innocence and kindness he has. He might have potential.
I sat the boy down. "Son, I barely know anything about you. Tell me about your family. What are they like? What's your name"?
"My name is Nehemiah. My folks live a few miles south of here" the boy replied.
"I take it your family goes to church a lot." I replied. I recognized the name "Nehemiah" from Sunday School. That's a name out of the Old Testament. I don't really go to church that often, but I still remember a few things about the Bible. I work a lot of Sundays so I don't always go, but when I do go, I feel recharged."
Nehemiah said "Yes they do. They go to church 3 times a week. In fact, my name comes from the Bible."
"I knew that", I responded.
Nehemiah responded "You don't go to church every Sunday? I thought all of you fleshly people attended church on Sunday?
"Fleshly people?" I responded with a stunned tone to my voice. "What do you mean by 'fleshly'"?
"You know, people who put fleshly things first instead of God"? Nehemiah responded.
Something clicked in my head about this kid. He's not normal. But at the same time, he's not maliciously abnormal.
I'm going to investigate this kid's background even further.
"Well, Nehemiah, do you have your folk's phone number?"
"Well, sir, they're not the type that believe in having telephone numbers. I sort of bend the rules a bit by having a virtual voicemail inbox I check from a computer every other day." The lanky, doe eyed boy in his early teens responded.
"Hey Nehemiah.... sit down... I'm going to talk to Danielle for a bit. Here's the remote. Watch some TV."
"Danielle, where did you find this kid?"
"Well, when me and Jessie were playing some volleyball, this pedo looking guy was stalking us in his van. Nehemiah saw what was happening, hopped off his bicycle, and chased him down with a miniature sledgehammer." she said in an uneasy tone in her voice.
"Honey, that's a mallet".
"Well, I don't care. Nehemiah saved both me and Jessie. He's a bit weird, I know. I tried to go to his house, but his mom gave me the evil eye. They handed me a copy of the Bible and they told me not to come around again until they saw signs of wear and tear on it."
"Did the parents wear crosses around their necks"? I asked.
She said "No, but they did wear some kind of horseshoe type emblem on these turban looking things on their heads.".
Nehemiah interrupted our conversation. "Sir, I'm having problems operating this thing. Can I listen to the radio instead?"
I said "Sure, go ahead. Here, since you're religious, I'll turn it to the Christian Rock station."
Nehemiah responded in a sad tone "I don't know if I should listen to music from impure Christians."
That's when it hit me. Nehemiah's part of a cult. And I think the boy wants to get out. I know about this cult because my granduncle is the guy who started this kid's cult. The Alpha Omegas. That horseshoe looking emblem on their turbans was really the letter Omega.
I'm going to save this kid from his family. I don't think Danielle has the fortitude to rescue this kid from the cult, but luckily for him, I do.
"Nehemiah, I'm going to teach you how to play this game called 'basketball'. Danielle's going to serve you something made from potatoes called 'french fries'. They're pretty delicious. Hold tight."
This kid is going to be unbrainwashed after I'm done with him And when he's unbrainwashed, I'm going to use him to destroy the thing that took all of my family's wealth. I hate uncle Richard. Or as he liked to call himself "Enoch ben Abba"... That's "Enoch, son of God" for some of you non-believers out there. You're not Richard the Omega, as your early followers called you. You're not Enoch ben Abba, the prophet of God, as your followers called you after your near death experience. You're Dick O'Murphy, the crazy Irish guy who thinks he's a Jewish prophet. And you're going down, Uncle Dick. | I hear them pull up, ah yes my daughter and her new boyfriend. I can't remember the last time she had a boy come over, I thought and pondered for awhile. Let's see... she had a play date when she was 11 with Keko Loon. His parents were very 'sophisticated' Dutch people that lived on the West Side of the city, where pretty much all the folks that were 'sophisticated' resided, leaving me in the North Side which let's just say I'm not very familiar with my Neighbors nor do I care to be. I keep my nose on my own face, not that I'm intimidated by any means. It's just these people aren't my cup of tea, or my bowl of soup. They act like their metaphorical shit don't stank, well I guess that's me as well. Anyway, as all of this is going through my head, I've been zoning out on them strolling up to the porch and they see me staring, which by the look of their puzzled faces, it's creeping them out so I jump to the door slide the bolt lock, then turn the key lock and finishing the sequence by opening the door. I must of done it fairly quick because they were still looking at the window and startled them. My little girl, all beautiful and lovely. I can't believe she's my daughter and I can't believe I let boys even look at her, she deserves more than this world has to offer. Oh I almost forgot, this boy to her side I haven't got quite a good look but he is short, has a burly kind of look to him, and has greased back curly hair, May I add spooky dark eyes. I mean almost blends in with his pupils. "GREETINGS MY BOY, I SEE YOURE HERE WITH MY MARVELOUS DAUGHTER." I bark, which I have no Idea why I said this but, there hasn't been no one here for awhile. I'm very anxious, I keep the house tidy just for an occasion like this one so I'm very excited also. My Daughter stares at me like I'm a mad man and his face tightens up and he takes his hands out his pockets, my Lord they're giant hands I mean I have big hands but this young man's are extraordinarily gargantuan he reaches one out, I meet it with the opposite hand. It's strange to shake a hand this big, I haven't for awhile. He's so formal, "Please to meet you, sir." With a smug smile from him. I can't stand it, how extra this boyfriend of my daughter is. I say "well, come on inside." As I step out the way and watch them walk through the doorway. My Daughter tells him to go in the living room and wait for her, "where is it?" "Down the hall and the opening to the right", she smiles at him and turns to me in sync when he turns the corner. She grabs me by the collar, pushes me up against the wall, and spits on my left foot. "What in the living hell is wrong with your sick bastard bozo mind?" She aggressively whispers, I say "what in the world are you talking about? I'm happy for you." Even though it's not true, I still put on a fake smile to avoid repercussion. My little girl is as strong as an ox, she's got the muscle mass of a roided out orangutan. "I'm not talking about that, have you looked at yourself? You have nothing on but the tattered maroon cardigan mom threw at you before she left with that hipster wino that owns a haberdashery in Portland. Go upstairs and get some slacks on atleast, Jesus pops." I look down and say "youre right" my penis has been just dangling the whole time and it's not in the best shape it use to be in, but I'm not trying to impress no one especially not my teenage daughter and her new boyfriend. Oh shit this has to be some illegal shit. I dart upstairs, take a left, then take a right, boom. I'm in my bedroom, masters that is. I open the drawers find some yellow corduroys and some plaid boxers, I slip them on in opposite order. I run back down stairs as I'm yelling, "I'm gonna make some dinner!" And get to the bottom of the stairs, run towards the kitchen and stop on the tiles in the middle which make a 'squeak!' Sound. Go through the cupboard to the right of the sink, find some potatoes, go to the cupboard above the stove, I find a pot. Hmmmm, what else? Oh yeah, I walk to the fridge and swung it open. Aha, I got it, I get a pack of hotdogs, and shut the fridge I set the pot on the stove and throw some potatoes in there because my hands were full. I hear them talking in the living and oh my it sounds cringy, I mean and it's gotta be if I'm the one saying it. They're talking about some borderline wallflower type stuff. Haha, ah I remember when I was their age, Running around in the 80s and milking my allegiance. Anyways, I get some spaghetti noodles from the pantry and poke them through the hotdogs because, thanks internet. I put them in the pot and take the pot over to the sink and fill it half way with water. Take it back to the stove turn it on and voila dinner is started. I don't know how it'll turn out but whatever I'm not that hungry. I think I'm depressed, my wife left me 4 years and 7 months ago and I haven't been the same since. My Daughter reminds me of her so I put up with her immensely because I don't want her to leave too. I'm not a bad looking guy I just can't go out and start something because I have my daughter here all the time. I look at the pot and it looks about done so I get some oven mitts, turn off the stove, move the pot aside. "Shit, hopefully I did this right. Dinners ready!". I take the potatoes out and hotdog spaghetti thingies
To some plates I left out, I did it during the whole thinking process of mine where I completely go into auto pilot. That'll probably be my downfall. They come in, they look tired, like they can pass out any second. I look at the time and realise it's almost midnight. "Well guys condiments and sauces are in the fridge, silverware in the drawer to the left of the trash. Honey you show him around, I'll meet you two in the dining room." "Wait what is this dad? Dinner?" Jorja asks, oh yeah I forgot to mention that's her name and no it's not after the state that's spelled completely different."Bon Appetit!" I go into the dining room set my plate down and wait for them to come in. The setting is nice in here, the bronze chandelier hanging, the wood carved table, the padded chairs, the groovy rug under, it's all amazing and here I am waiting. I swear this little boy is changing my daughter for the worse and I'm getting sick of it. He reminds me of a bully in middle school that tries to fit in but is all around just a complete and utter asshole. "Oh there you guys are, come sit!", Jorja looks at me in disgust while her boyfriend is just grinning powerfully. They sit down to the opposite of me and I ask the boy "So son I never caught your name?" "Oh it's Henry Goganavinci, what's yours?", "Montelle, any other questions?". He looks down points with his fork to his plate and says "what's this?", "what?" I say, "well I, you know had to think of something on the spot you know, I haven't went to the groceries in awhile". "No" he says, "this brown hot mushy thing", "you gotta be fucking kidding me Henry, you mean the potato?". He says "No I wholeheartedly have no clue what this is and never saw it in my life nor heard of it.", I snap back with "Dude what school you go to, matter of fact, Jorja did you meet this young man in the special class?". Jorja says "DAD DON'T BE A FUCKING BITCH", while she slammed her fists on the table. I finally snap "LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE FUCKING MONSTER CUNT, I AIN'T SCARED OF THROWING HANDS COME HOLLER AT ME AT MY SIDE OF THE TABLE!". Henry says in response to this broken bottle of a family, "I'm gonna go get Jesus on the line.", My response to that as my daughter's marching at me is, "GOOD GO ASK HIM WHAT THE FUCK A POTATO IS YOU FUCKING MOR- AHHHH!". My Daughter is a sweet angel but she just stabbed me with a fork in the thigh so I'm about to go ape shit on her ass. I pick her up and body slam her on the table, Henry is in the corner crying in his iPhone 8 with something along the lines of "MOM COME GET ME PLEASE!" with his big ass hands covering the entire phone so it just seemed like he was talking into his hand. Anyhow, long story short that's how my daughter works at a haberdashery now in Portland and I'm all by myself in my house studying potatoes because that question raised my awareness of potatoes to an all time high. What exactly is it? Thank you Henry for raising my brow. | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | "Yeah, it's a potato. Have you never had one before?" I asked.
"Never. It seems pretty interesting. Do these grow on trees?"
"No, uhhh, they actually grow in the ground."
"Amazing. I've never heard of them before."
"You've never had a french fry?"
"A what?"
"A french fry, from McDonald's?"
"I've never heard of them. Are they expensive?"
"What? No, fries are cheap."
"Oh, that's amazing. I'll have to start looking out for them. Are they imported from France?"
"No, it's just a name. You've really never heard of potatoes?"
"Never! But they're really tasty!"
"That's umm... really interesting, son," I told him. "You know, in celebration of your first dinner with us, I baked up a special dessert. I'll be right back."
Me and the missus went back into the kitchen and just started dying laughing. Yeah, this little punk thought he was playing me, but just because I'm old doesn't mean I've never heard of Reddit. On the contrary, I'm a karma-whoring, Dagobah-swamping, The_Donald-trollin', Blacktwitter-following, certified 5/7 shitposter from way back and everybody knows it. I’ve been ShittyMorphed, Wild Sketched, and gotten a poem for my sprog (whatever the fuck that is). I could do an AMA with two broken arms. Potatoes. Fuck him and his potatoes. We quickly whipped up a little something for dessert and came back out.
"Are you ready for a treat?" my wife asked.
"Oh, yummy, after the potato I'm really excited to see what else you guys make," the little punk answered.
"Our favorite," I said, "a coconut and some jolly ranchers. Enjoy!" | I hear them pull up, ah yes my daughter and her new boyfriend. I can't remember the last time she had a boy come over, I thought and pondered for awhile. Let's see... she had a play date when she was 11 with Keko Loon. His parents were very 'sophisticated' Dutch people that lived on the West Side of the city, where pretty much all the folks that were 'sophisticated' resided, leaving me in the North Side which let's just say I'm not very familiar with my Neighbors nor do I care to be. I keep my nose on my own face, not that I'm intimidated by any means. It's just these people aren't my cup of tea, or my bowl of soup. They act like their metaphorical shit don't stank, well I guess that's me as well. Anyway, as all of this is going through my head, I've been zoning out on them strolling up to the porch and they see me staring, which by the look of their puzzled faces, it's creeping them out so I jump to the door slide the bolt lock, then turn the key lock and finishing the sequence by opening the door. I must of done it fairly quick because they were still looking at the window and startled them. My little girl, all beautiful and lovely. I can't believe she's my daughter and I can't believe I let boys even look at her, she deserves more than this world has to offer. Oh I almost forgot, this boy to her side I haven't got quite a good look but he is short, has a burly kind of look to him, and has greased back curly hair, May I add spooky dark eyes. I mean almost blends in with his pupils. "GREETINGS MY BOY, I SEE YOURE HERE WITH MY MARVELOUS DAUGHTER." I bark, which I have no Idea why I said this but, there hasn't been no one here for awhile. I'm very anxious, I keep the house tidy just for an occasion like this one so I'm very excited also. My Daughter stares at me like I'm a mad man and his face tightens up and he takes his hands out his pockets, my Lord they're giant hands I mean I have big hands but this young man's are extraordinarily gargantuan he reaches one out, I meet it with the opposite hand. It's strange to shake a hand this big, I haven't for awhile. He's so formal, "Please to meet you, sir." With a smug smile from him. I can't stand it, how extra this boyfriend of my daughter is. I say "well, come on inside." As I step out the way and watch them walk through the doorway. My Daughter tells him to go in the living room and wait for her, "where is it?" "Down the hall and the opening to the right", she smiles at him and turns to me in sync when he turns the corner. She grabs me by the collar, pushes me up against the wall, and spits on my left foot. "What in the living hell is wrong with your sick bastard bozo mind?" She aggressively whispers, I say "what in the world are you talking about? I'm happy for you." Even though it's not true, I still put on a fake smile to avoid repercussion. My little girl is as strong as an ox, she's got the muscle mass of a roided out orangutan. "I'm not talking about that, have you looked at yourself? You have nothing on but the tattered maroon cardigan mom threw at you before she left with that hipster wino that owns a haberdashery in Portland. Go upstairs and get some slacks on atleast, Jesus pops." I look down and say "youre right" my penis has been just dangling the whole time and it's not in the best shape it use to be in, but I'm not trying to impress no one especially not my teenage daughter and her new boyfriend. Oh shit this has to be some illegal shit. I dart upstairs, take a left, then take a right, boom. I'm in my bedroom, masters that is. I open the drawers find some yellow corduroys and some plaid boxers, I slip them on in opposite order. I run back down stairs as I'm yelling, "I'm gonna make some dinner!" And get to the bottom of the stairs, run towards the kitchen and stop on the tiles in the middle which make a 'squeak!' Sound. Go through the cupboard to the right of the sink, find some potatoes, go to the cupboard above the stove, I find a pot. Hmmmm, what else? Oh yeah, I walk to the fridge and swung it open. Aha, I got it, I get a pack of hotdogs, and shut the fridge I set the pot on the stove and throw some potatoes in there because my hands were full. I hear them talking in the living and oh my it sounds cringy, I mean and it's gotta be if I'm the one saying it. They're talking about some borderline wallflower type stuff. Haha, ah I remember when I was their age, Running around in the 80s and milking my allegiance. Anyways, I get some spaghetti noodles from the pantry and poke them through the hotdogs because, thanks internet. I put them in the pot and take the pot over to the sink and fill it half way with water. Take it back to the stove turn it on and voila dinner is started. I don't know how it'll turn out but whatever I'm not that hungry. I think I'm depressed, my wife left me 4 years and 7 months ago and I haven't been the same since. My Daughter reminds me of her so I put up with her immensely because I don't want her to leave too. I'm not a bad looking guy I just can't go out and start something because I have my daughter here all the time. I look at the pot and it looks about done so I get some oven mitts, turn off the stove, move the pot aside. "Shit, hopefully I did this right. Dinners ready!". I take the potatoes out and hotdog spaghetti thingies
To some plates I left out, I did it during the whole thinking process of mine where I completely go into auto pilot. That'll probably be my downfall. They come in, they look tired, like they can pass out any second. I look at the time and realise it's almost midnight. "Well guys condiments and sauces are in the fridge, silverware in the drawer to the left of the trash. Honey you show him around, I'll meet you two in the dining room." "Wait what is this dad? Dinner?" Jorja asks, oh yeah I forgot to mention that's her name and no it's not after the state that's spelled completely different."Bon Appetit!" I go into the dining room set my plate down and wait for them to come in. The setting is nice in here, the bronze chandelier hanging, the wood carved table, the padded chairs, the groovy rug under, it's all amazing and here I am waiting. I swear this little boy is changing my daughter for the worse and I'm getting sick of it. He reminds me of a bully in middle school that tries to fit in but is all around just a complete and utter asshole. "Oh there you guys are, come sit!", Jorja looks at me in disgust while her boyfriend is just grinning powerfully. They sit down to the opposite of me and I ask the boy "So son I never caught your name?" "Oh it's Henry Goganavinci, what's yours?", "Montelle, any other questions?". He looks down points with his fork to his plate and says "what's this?", "what?" I say, "well I, you know had to think of something on the spot you know, I haven't went to the groceries in awhile". "No" he says, "this brown hot mushy thing", "you gotta be fucking kidding me Henry, you mean the potato?". He says "No I wholeheartedly have no clue what this is and never saw it in my life nor heard of it.", I snap back with "Dude what school you go to, matter of fact, Jorja did you meet this young man in the special class?". Jorja says "DAD DON'T BE A FUCKING BITCH", while she slammed her fists on the table. I finally snap "LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE FUCKING MONSTER CUNT, I AIN'T SCARED OF THROWING HANDS COME HOLLER AT ME AT MY SIDE OF THE TABLE!". Henry says in response to this broken bottle of a family, "I'm gonna go get Jesus on the line.", My response to that as my daughter's marching at me is, "GOOD GO ASK HIM WHAT THE FUCK A POTATO IS YOU FUCKING MOR- AHHHH!". My Daughter is a sweet angel but she just stabbed me with a fork in the thigh so I'm about to go ape shit on her ass. I pick her up and body slam her on the table, Henry is in the corner crying in his iPhone 8 with something along the lines of "MOM COME GET ME PLEASE!" with his big ass hands covering the entire phone so it just seemed like he was talking into his hand. Anyhow, long story short that's how my daughter works at a haberdashery now in Portland and I'm all by myself in my house studying potatoes because that question raised my awareness of potatoes to an all time high. What exactly is it? Thank you Henry for raising my brow. | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | “Po-ta-to! You can boil’em, mash’em, stick’em in a stew.”
Reluctantly the gangly creature decided to try the potato. He loved it! Kept wanting more and more.
I think we finally bonded that day. Until later, when he bit my friend’s finger off and I had to push him into lava. I’m gonna miss that little guy. | I hear them pull up, ah yes my daughter and her new boyfriend. I can't remember the last time she had a boy come over, I thought and pondered for awhile. Let's see... she had a play date when she was 11 with Keko Loon. His parents were very 'sophisticated' Dutch people that lived on the West Side of the city, where pretty much all the folks that were 'sophisticated' resided, leaving me in the North Side which let's just say I'm not very familiar with my Neighbors nor do I care to be. I keep my nose on my own face, not that I'm intimidated by any means. It's just these people aren't my cup of tea, or my bowl of soup. They act like their metaphorical shit don't stank, well I guess that's me as well. Anyway, as all of this is going through my head, I've been zoning out on them strolling up to the porch and they see me staring, which by the look of their puzzled faces, it's creeping them out so I jump to the door slide the bolt lock, then turn the key lock and finishing the sequence by opening the door. I must of done it fairly quick because they were still looking at the window and startled them. My little girl, all beautiful and lovely. I can't believe she's my daughter and I can't believe I let boys even look at her, she deserves more than this world has to offer. Oh I almost forgot, this boy to her side I haven't got quite a good look but he is short, has a burly kind of look to him, and has greased back curly hair, May I add spooky dark eyes. I mean almost blends in with his pupils. "GREETINGS MY BOY, I SEE YOURE HERE WITH MY MARVELOUS DAUGHTER." I bark, which I have no Idea why I said this but, there hasn't been no one here for awhile. I'm very anxious, I keep the house tidy just for an occasion like this one so I'm very excited also. My Daughter stares at me like I'm a mad man and his face tightens up and he takes his hands out his pockets, my Lord they're giant hands I mean I have big hands but this young man's are extraordinarily gargantuan he reaches one out, I meet it with the opposite hand. It's strange to shake a hand this big, I haven't for awhile. He's so formal, "Please to meet you, sir." With a smug smile from him. I can't stand it, how extra this boyfriend of my daughter is. I say "well, come on inside." As I step out the way and watch them walk through the doorway. My Daughter tells him to go in the living room and wait for her, "where is it?" "Down the hall and the opening to the right", she smiles at him and turns to me in sync when he turns the corner. She grabs me by the collar, pushes me up against the wall, and spits on my left foot. "What in the living hell is wrong with your sick bastard bozo mind?" She aggressively whispers, I say "what in the world are you talking about? I'm happy for you." Even though it's not true, I still put on a fake smile to avoid repercussion. My little girl is as strong as an ox, she's got the muscle mass of a roided out orangutan. "I'm not talking about that, have you looked at yourself? You have nothing on but the tattered maroon cardigan mom threw at you before she left with that hipster wino that owns a haberdashery in Portland. Go upstairs and get some slacks on atleast, Jesus pops." I look down and say "youre right" my penis has been just dangling the whole time and it's not in the best shape it use to be in, but I'm not trying to impress no one especially not my teenage daughter and her new boyfriend. Oh shit this has to be some illegal shit. I dart upstairs, take a left, then take a right, boom. I'm in my bedroom, masters that is. I open the drawers find some yellow corduroys and some plaid boxers, I slip them on in opposite order. I run back down stairs as I'm yelling, "I'm gonna make some dinner!" And get to the bottom of the stairs, run towards the kitchen and stop on the tiles in the middle which make a 'squeak!' Sound. Go through the cupboard to the right of the sink, find some potatoes, go to the cupboard above the stove, I find a pot. Hmmmm, what else? Oh yeah, I walk to the fridge and swung it open. Aha, I got it, I get a pack of hotdogs, and shut the fridge I set the pot on the stove and throw some potatoes in there because my hands were full. I hear them talking in the living and oh my it sounds cringy, I mean and it's gotta be if I'm the one saying it. They're talking about some borderline wallflower type stuff. Haha, ah I remember when I was their age, Running around in the 80s and milking my allegiance. Anyways, I get some spaghetti noodles from the pantry and poke them through the hotdogs because, thanks internet. I put them in the pot and take the pot over to the sink and fill it half way with water. Take it back to the stove turn it on and voila dinner is started. I don't know how it'll turn out but whatever I'm not that hungry. I think I'm depressed, my wife left me 4 years and 7 months ago and I haven't been the same since. My Daughter reminds me of her so I put up with her immensely because I don't want her to leave too. I'm not a bad looking guy I just can't go out and start something because I have my daughter here all the time. I look at the pot and it looks about done so I get some oven mitts, turn off the stove, move the pot aside. "Shit, hopefully I did this right. Dinners ready!". I take the potatoes out and hotdog spaghetti thingies
To some plates I left out, I did it during the whole thinking process of mine where I completely go into auto pilot. That'll probably be my downfall. They come in, they look tired, like they can pass out any second. I look at the time and realise it's almost midnight. "Well guys condiments and sauces are in the fridge, silverware in the drawer to the left of the trash. Honey you show him around, I'll meet you two in the dining room." "Wait what is this dad? Dinner?" Jorja asks, oh yeah I forgot to mention that's her name and no it's not after the state that's spelled completely different."Bon Appetit!" I go into the dining room set my plate down and wait for them to come in. The setting is nice in here, the bronze chandelier hanging, the wood carved table, the padded chairs, the groovy rug under, it's all amazing and here I am waiting. I swear this little boy is changing my daughter for the worse and I'm getting sick of it. He reminds me of a bully in middle school that tries to fit in but is all around just a complete and utter asshole. "Oh there you guys are, come sit!", Jorja looks at me in disgust while her boyfriend is just grinning powerfully. They sit down to the opposite of me and I ask the boy "So son I never caught your name?" "Oh it's Henry Goganavinci, what's yours?", "Montelle, any other questions?". He looks down points with his fork to his plate and says "what's this?", "what?" I say, "well I, you know had to think of something on the spot you know, I haven't went to the groceries in awhile". "No" he says, "this brown hot mushy thing", "you gotta be fucking kidding me Henry, you mean the potato?". He says "No I wholeheartedly have no clue what this is and never saw it in my life nor heard of it.", I snap back with "Dude what school you go to, matter of fact, Jorja did you meet this young man in the special class?". Jorja says "DAD DON'T BE A FUCKING BITCH", while she slammed her fists on the table. I finally snap "LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE FUCKING MONSTER CUNT, I AIN'T SCARED OF THROWING HANDS COME HOLLER AT ME AT MY SIDE OF THE TABLE!". Henry says in response to this broken bottle of a family, "I'm gonna go get Jesus on the line.", My response to that as my daughter's marching at me is, "GOOD GO ASK HIM WHAT THE FUCK A POTATO IS YOU FUCKING MOR- AHHHH!". My Daughter is a sweet angel but she just stabbed me with a fork in the thigh so I'm about to go ape shit on her ass. I pick her up and body slam her on the table, Henry is in the corner crying in his iPhone 8 with something along the lines of "MOM COME GET ME PLEASE!" with his big ass hands covering the entire phone so it just seemed like he was talking into his hand. Anyhow, long story short that's how my daughter works at a haberdashery now in Portland and I'm all by myself in my house studying potatoes because that question raised my awareness of potatoes to an all time high. What exactly is it? Thank you Henry for raising my brow. | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | "How long *have* you been on Earth, anyway?"
Everyone stopped. This was the question we all had desperately wanted to ask. The only thing we wanted more than the answer was not to offend our guest.
"Is it that obvious?" He looked crestfallen.
"Well, yeah... I mean, potatoes are what we call a staple food. I think something like half the planet's population eats them regularly."
He scratched his head, the laughed. "I guess I should have studied more about Earth food, and less about deep sea animals. I just didn't realise how important food is here... Hold on though, I should check and make sure this won't kill me if I eat it."
"It won't." My daughter just smiled a little, like she does when she has a good hand at cards.
"Oh? I thought you were a teacher? When did you pick up xenobiology?"
"You had french fries earlier, hon. They didn't kill you."
"What does that have to do with a potato?" | I hear them pull up, ah yes my daughter and her new boyfriend. I can't remember the last time she had a boy come over, I thought and pondered for awhile. Let's see... she had a play date when she was 11 with Keko Loon. His parents were very 'sophisticated' Dutch people that lived on the West Side of the city, where pretty much all the folks that were 'sophisticated' resided, leaving me in the North Side which let's just say I'm not very familiar with my Neighbors nor do I care to be. I keep my nose on my own face, not that I'm intimidated by any means. It's just these people aren't my cup of tea, or my bowl of soup. They act like their metaphorical shit don't stank, well I guess that's me as well. Anyway, as all of this is going through my head, I've been zoning out on them strolling up to the porch and they see me staring, which by the look of their puzzled faces, it's creeping them out so I jump to the door slide the bolt lock, then turn the key lock and finishing the sequence by opening the door. I must of done it fairly quick because they were still looking at the window and startled them. My little girl, all beautiful and lovely. I can't believe she's my daughter and I can't believe I let boys even look at her, she deserves more than this world has to offer. Oh I almost forgot, this boy to her side I haven't got quite a good look but he is short, has a burly kind of look to him, and has greased back curly hair, May I add spooky dark eyes. I mean almost blends in with his pupils. "GREETINGS MY BOY, I SEE YOURE HERE WITH MY MARVELOUS DAUGHTER." I bark, which I have no Idea why I said this but, there hasn't been no one here for awhile. I'm very anxious, I keep the house tidy just for an occasion like this one so I'm very excited also. My Daughter stares at me like I'm a mad man and his face tightens up and he takes his hands out his pockets, my Lord they're giant hands I mean I have big hands but this young man's are extraordinarily gargantuan he reaches one out, I meet it with the opposite hand. It's strange to shake a hand this big, I haven't for awhile. He's so formal, "Please to meet you, sir." With a smug smile from him. I can't stand it, how extra this boyfriend of my daughter is. I say "well, come on inside." As I step out the way and watch them walk through the doorway. My Daughter tells him to go in the living room and wait for her, "where is it?" "Down the hall and the opening to the right", she smiles at him and turns to me in sync when he turns the corner. She grabs me by the collar, pushes me up against the wall, and spits on my left foot. "What in the living hell is wrong with your sick bastard bozo mind?" She aggressively whispers, I say "what in the world are you talking about? I'm happy for you." Even though it's not true, I still put on a fake smile to avoid repercussion. My little girl is as strong as an ox, she's got the muscle mass of a roided out orangutan. "I'm not talking about that, have you looked at yourself? You have nothing on but the tattered maroon cardigan mom threw at you before she left with that hipster wino that owns a haberdashery in Portland. Go upstairs and get some slacks on atleast, Jesus pops." I look down and say "youre right" my penis has been just dangling the whole time and it's not in the best shape it use to be in, but I'm not trying to impress no one especially not my teenage daughter and her new boyfriend. Oh shit this has to be some illegal shit. I dart upstairs, take a left, then take a right, boom. I'm in my bedroom, masters that is. I open the drawers find some yellow corduroys and some plaid boxers, I slip them on in opposite order. I run back down stairs as I'm yelling, "I'm gonna make some dinner!" And get to the bottom of the stairs, run towards the kitchen and stop on the tiles in the middle which make a 'squeak!' Sound. Go through the cupboard to the right of the sink, find some potatoes, go to the cupboard above the stove, I find a pot. Hmmmm, what else? Oh yeah, I walk to the fridge and swung it open. Aha, I got it, I get a pack of hotdogs, and shut the fridge I set the pot on the stove and throw some potatoes in there because my hands were full. I hear them talking in the living and oh my it sounds cringy, I mean and it's gotta be if I'm the one saying it. They're talking about some borderline wallflower type stuff. Haha, ah I remember when I was their age, Running around in the 80s and milking my allegiance. Anyways, I get some spaghetti noodles from the pantry and poke them through the hotdogs because, thanks internet. I put them in the pot and take the pot over to the sink and fill it half way with water. Take it back to the stove turn it on and voila dinner is started. I don't know how it'll turn out but whatever I'm not that hungry. I think I'm depressed, my wife left me 4 years and 7 months ago and I haven't been the same since. My Daughter reminds me of her so I put up with her immensely because I don't want her to leave too. I'm not a bad looking guy I just can't go out and start something because I have my daughter here all the time. I look at the pot and it looks about done so I get some oven mitts, turn off the stove, move the pot aside. "Shit, hopefully I did this right. Dinners ready!". I take the potatoes out and hotdog spaghetti thingies
To some plates I left out, I did it during the whole thinking process of mine where I completely go into auto pilot. That'll probably be my downfall. They come in, they look tired, like they can pass out any second. I look at the time and realise it's almost midnight. "Well guys condiments and sauces are in the fridge, silverware in the drawer to the left of the trash. Honey you show him around, I'll meet you two in the dining room." "Wait what is this dad? Dinner?" Jorja asks, oh yeah I forgot to mention that's her name and no it's not after the state that's spelled completely different."Bon Appetit!" I go into the dining room set my plate down and wait for them to come in. The setting is nice in here, the bronze chandelier hanging, the wood carved table, the padded chairs, the groovy rug under, it's all amazing and here I am waiting. I swear this little boy is changing my daughter for the worse and I'm getting sick of it. He reminds me of a bully in middle school that tries to fit in but is all around just a complete and utter asshole. "Oh there you guys are, come sit!", Jorja looks at me in disgust while her boyfriend is just grinning powerfully. They sit down to the opposite of me and I ask the boy "So son I never caught your name?" "Oh it's Henry Goganavinci, what's yours?", "Montelle, any other questions?". He looks down points with his fork to his plate and says "what's this?", "what?" I say, "well I, you know had to think of something on the spot you know, I haven't went to the groceries in awhile". "No" he says, "this brown hot mushy thing", "you gotta be fucking kidding me Henry, you mean the potato?". He says "No I wholeheartedly have no clue what this is and never saw it in my life nor heard of it.", I snap back with "Dude what school you go to, matter of fact, Jorja did you meet this young man in the special class?". Jorja says "DAD DON'T BE A FUCKING BITCH", while she slammed her fists on the table. I finally snap "LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE FUCKING MONSTER CUNT, I AIN'T SCARED OF THROWING HANDS COME HOLLER AT ME AT MY SIDE OF THE TABLE!". Henry says in response to this broken bottle of a family, "I'm gonna go get Jesus on the line.", My response to that as my daughter's marching at me is, "GOOD GO ASK HIM WHAT THE FUCK A POTATO IS YOU FUCKING MOR- AHHHH!". My Daughter is a sweet angel but she just stabbed me with a fork in the thigh so I'm about to go ape shit on her ass. I pick her up and body slam her on the table, Henry is in the corner crying in his iPhone 8 with something along the lines of "MOM COME GET ME PLEASE!" with his big ass hands covering the entire phone so it just seemed like he was talking into his hand. Anyhow, long story short that's how my daughter works at a haberdashery now in Portland and I'm all by myself in my house studying potatoes because that question raised my awareness of potatoes to an all time high. What exactly is it? Thank you Henry for raising my brow. | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | “Yeah , it is a potato. I hope your people , whoever they may be , like it and don’t get poisoned by it or something”
“Wait , you won’t question why I never heard of a potato before?”
“Nah” I took a bite from my baked potato “My daughter’s ex was a martian who was poisoned by water and we had to bring him to the nasa to cure him ; the other ex was a plantoid and was poisoned for eating its own kin: fruit , we had our gardener take care of him until he was completely cured ; and the last one was death himself , he was the one I liked the most to be honest , and nothing bad happened to him , but things just didn’t work out for my daughter and him. (They are all still friends though). So , no matter if you are a supernatural being , if you are a good guy you are okay in my book.”
“Wow” Bartolomew exclaimed “well , I thank you for the opportunity mister Rogers. I swear I won’t disappoint you!” He took a bite from the potato.
…
…
…
Mental note : the mermen are allergic to potatoes. | The young lad took a long drawn out sniff of the potato and continued "It smells... earthy?" his face was contorted into and expression of confusion and pure excitement. I looked at my wife who looked back at me with the same puzzled face I wore, I looked at my daughter but she was not puzzled, she was staring at me as if I'd just stabbed her boyfriend in the face. "Are you alright there son?" I questioned as I looked at him confused. "Yes I'm quite okay thank you, Mr Bird." I opened my mouth to speak but stopped myself as I didn't have a clue what to say. The boy, still holding the potato exclaimed, "Po-ta-too" and then simply placed it in his shirt breast pocket. This extremely confused me and my wife so I changed the topic of the staggered conversation. "So, Jason was it? Do you have a job?" I asked politely. Jason looked up at me and said "Yeah I'm a store assistant at a grocers." At this point I'd had enough, I slammed my right hand on the table and quite loudly said "How in hell do you work in a fucking grocers and not know what a sodding potato is!" He glared back at me with a glassy, blank look in his eyes and muttered "There's no potato's in hell." | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | "You must be kidding me", I responded to the boy.
The boy said "What do you mean by that"?
"It's a potato. You've ever eaten these before"? I asked the young man.
"No. It sort of looks like some kind of apple. At my mom's orchard, we grow lots of apples."
This boy acts like he's from another planet. Everything about him is weird. I can't see why my daughter's attracted to this weirdo, but there's a certain innocence and kindness he has. He might have potential.
I sat the boy down. "Son, I barely know anything about you. Tell me about your family. What are they like? What's your name"?
"My name is Nehemiah. My folks live a few miles south of here" the boy replied.
"I take it your family goes to church a lot." I replied. I recognized the name "Nehemiah" from Sunday School. That's a name out of the Old Testament. I don't really go to church that often, but I still remember a few things about the Bible. I work a lot of Sundays so I don't always go, but when I do go, I feel recharged."
Nehemiah said "Yes they do. They go to church 3 times a week. In fact, my name comes from the Bible."
"I knew that", I responded.
Nehemiah responded "You don't go to church every Sunday? I thought all of you fleshly people attended church on Sunday?
"Fleshly people?" I responded with a stunned tone to my voice. "What do you mean by 'fleshly'"?
"You know, people who put fleshly things first instead of God"? Nehemiah responded.
Something clicked in my head about this kid. He's not normal. But at the same time, he's not maliciously abnormal.
I'm going to investigate this kid's background even further.
"Well, Nehemiah, do you have your folk's phone number?"
"Well, sir, they're not the type that believe in having telephone numbers. I sort of bend the rules a bit by having a virtual voicemail inbox I check from a computer every other day." The lanky, doe eyed boy in his early teens responded.
"Hey Nehemiah.... sit down... I'm going to talk to Danielle for a bit. Here's the remote. Watch some TV."
"Danielle, where did you find this kid?"
"Well, when me and Jessie were playing some volleyball, this pedo looking guy was stalking us in his van. Nehemiah saw what was happening, hopped off his bicycle, and chased him down with a miniature sledgehammer." she said in an uneasy tone in her voice.
"Honey, that's a mallet".
"Well, I don't care. Nehemiah saved both me and Jessie. He's a bit weird, I know. I tried to go to his house, but his mom gave me the evil eye. They handed me a copy of the Bible and they told me not to come around again until they saw signs of wear and tear on it."
"Did the parents wear crosses around their necks"? I asked.
She said "No, but they did wear some kind of horseshoe type emblem on these turban looking things on their heads.".
Nehemiah interrupted our conversation. "Sir, I'm having problems operating this thing. Can I listen to the radio instead?"
I said "Sure, go ahead. Here, since you're religious, I'll turn it to the Christian Rock station."
Nehemiah responded in a sad tone "I don't know if I should listen to music from impure Christians."
That's when it hit me. Nehemiah's part of a cult. And I think the boy wants to get out. I know about this cult because my granduncle is the guy who started this kid's cult. The Alpha Omegas. That horseshoe looking emblem on their turbans was really the letter Omega.
I'm going to save this kid from his family. I don't think Danielle has the fortitude to rescue this kid from the cult, but luckily for him, I do.
"Nehemiah, I'm going to teach you how to play this game called 'basketball'. Danielle's going to serve you something made from potatoes called 'french fries'. They're pretty delicious. Hold tight."
This kid is going to be unbrainwashed after I'm done with him And when he's unbrainwashed, I'm going to use him to destroy the thing that took all of my family's wealth. I hate uncle Richard. Or as he liked to call himself "Enoch ben Abba"... That's "Enoch, son of God" for some of you non-believers out there. You're not Richard the Omega, as your early followers called you. You're not Enoch ben Abba, the prophet of God, as your followers called you after your near death experience. You're Dick O'Murphy, the crazy Irish guy who thinks he's a Jewish prophet. And you're going down, Uncle Dick. | The young lad took a long drawn out sniff of the potato and continued "It smells... earthy?" his face was contorted into and expression of confusion and pure excitement. I looked at my wife who looked back at me with the same puzzled face I wore, I looked at my daughter but she was not puzzled, she was staring at me as if I'd just stabbed her boyfriend in the face. "Are you alright there son?" I questioned as I looked at him confused. "Yes I'm quite okay thank you, Mr Bird." I opened my mouth to speak but stopped myself as I didn't have a clue what to say. The boy, still holding the potato exclaimed, "Po-ta-too" and then simply placed it in his shirt breast pocket. This extremely confused me and my wife so I changed the topic of the staggered conversation. "So, Jason was it? Do you have a job?" I asked politely. Jason looked up at me and said "Yeah I'm a store assistant at a grocers." At this point I'd had enough, I slammed my right hand on the table and quite loudly said "How in hell do you work in a fucking grocers and not know what a sodding potato is!" He glared back at me with a glassy, blank look in his eyes and muttered "There's no potato's in hell." | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | "You must be kidding me", I responded to the boy.
The boy said "What do you mean by that"?
"It's a potato. You've ever eaten these before"? I asked the young man.
"No. It sort of looks like some kind of apple. At my mom's orchard, we grow lots of apples."
This boy acts like he's from another planet. Everything about him is weird. I can't see why my daughter's attracted to this weirdo, but there's a certain innocence and kindness he has. He might have potential.
I sat the boy down. "Son, I barely know anything about you. Tell me about your family. What are they like? What's your name"?
"My name is Nehemiah. My folks live a few miles south of here" the boy replied.
"I take it your family goes to church a lot." I replied. I recognized the name "Nehemiah" from Sunday School. That's a name out of the Old Testament. I don't really go to church that often, but I still remember a few things about the Bible. I work a lot of Sundays so I don't always go, but when I do go, I feel recharged."
Nehemiah said "Yes they do. They go to church 3 times a week. In fact, my name comes from the Bible."
"I knew that", I responded.
Nehemiah responded "You don't go to church every Sunday? I thought all of you fleshly people attended church on Sunday?
"Fleshly people?" I responded with a stunned tone to my voice. "What do you mean by 'fleshly'"?
"You know, people who put fleshly things first instead of God"? Nehemiah responded.
Something clicked in my head about this kid. He's not normal. But at the same time, he's not maliciously abnormal.
I'm going to investigate this kid's background even further.
"Well, Nehemiah, do you have your folk's phone number?"
"Well, sir, they're not the type that believe in having telephone numbers. I sort of bend the rules a bit by having a virtual voicemail inbox I check from a computer every other day." The lanky, doe eyed boy in his early teens responded.
"Hey Nehemiah.... sit down... I'm going to talk to Danielle for a bit. Here's the remote. Watch some TV."
"Danielle, where did you find this kid?"
"Well, when me and Jessie were playing some volleyball, this pedo looking guy was stalking us in his van. Nehemiah saw what was happening, hopped off his bicycle, and chased him down with a miniature sledgehammer." she said in an uneasy tone in her voice.
"Honey, that's a mallet".
"Well, I don't care. Nehemiah saved both me and Jessie. He's a bit weird, I know. I tried to go to his house, but his mom gave me the evil eye. They handed me a copy of the Bible and they told me not to come around again until they saw signs of wear and tear on it."
"Did the parents wear crosses around their necks"? I asked.
She said "No, but they did wear some kind of horseshoe type emblem on these turban looking things on their heads.".
Nehemiah interrupted our conversation. "Sir, I'm having problems operating this thing. Can I listen to the radio instead?"
I said "Sure, go ahead. Here, since you're religious, I'll turn it to the Christian Rock station."
Nehemiah responded in a sad tone "I don't know if I should listen to music from impure Christians."
That's when it hit me. Nehemiah's part of a cult. And I think the boy wants to get out. I know about this cult because my granduncle is the guy who started this kid's cult. The Alpha Omegas. That horseshoe looking emblem on their turbans was really the letter Omega.
I'm going to save this kid from his family. I don't think Danielle has the fortitude to rescue this kid from the cult, but luckily for him, I do.
"Nehemiah, I'm going to teach you how to play this game called 'basketball'. Danielle's going to serve you something made from potatoes called 'french fries'. They're pretty delicious. Hold tight."
This kid is going to be unbrainwashed after I'm done with him And when he's unbrainwashed, I'm going to use him to destroy the thing that took all of my family's wealth. I hate uncle Richard. Or as he liked to call himself "Enoch ben Abba"... That's "Enoch, son of God" for some of you non-believers out there. You're not Richard the Omega, as your early followers called you. You're not Enoch ben Abba, the prophet of God, as your followers called you after your near death experience. You're Dick O'Murphy, the crazy Irish guy who thinks he's a Jewish prophet. And you're going down, Uncle Dick. | “Yeah , it is a potato. I hope your people , whoever they may be , like it and don’t get poisoned by it or something”
“Wait , you won’t question why I never heard of a potato before?”
“Nah” I took a bite from my baked potato “My daughter’s ex was a martian who was poisoned by water and we had to bring him to the nasa to cure him ; the other ex was a plantoid and was poisoned for eating its own kin: fruit , we had our gardener take care of him until he was completely cured ; and the last one was death himself , he was the one I liked the most to be honest , and nothing bad happened to him , but things just didn’t work out for my daughter and him. (They are all still friends though). So , no matter if you are a supernatural being , if you are a good guy you are okay in my book.”
“Wow” Bartolomew exclaimed “well , I thank you for the opportunity mister Rogers. I swear I won’t disappoint you!” He took a bite from the potato.
…
…
…
Mental note : the mermen are allergic to potatoes. | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | "You must be kidding me", I responded to the boy.
The boy said "What do you mean by that"?
"It's a potato. You've ever eaten these before"? I asked the young man.
"No. It sort of looks like some kind of apple. At my mom's orchard, we grow lots of apples."
This boy acts like he's from another planet. Everything about him is weird. I can't see why my daughter's attracted to this weirdo, but there's a certain innocence and kindness he has. He might have potential.
I sat the boy down. "Son, I barely know anything about you. Tell me about your family. What are they like? What's your name"?
"My name is Nehemiah. My folks live a few miles south of here" the boy replied.
"I take it your family goes to church a lot." I replied. I recognized the name "Nehemiah" from Sunday School. That's a name out of the Old Testament. I don't really go to church that often, but I still remember a few things about the Bible. I work a lot of Sundays so I don't always go, but when I do go, I feel recharged."
Nehemiah said "Yes they do. They go to church 3 times a week. In fact, my name comes from the Bible."
"I knew that", I responded.
Nehemiah responded "You don't go to church every Sunday? I thought all of you fleshly people attended church on Sunday?
"Fleshly people?" I responded with a stunned tone to my voice. "What do you mean by 'fleshly'"?
"You know, people who put fleshly things first instead of God"? Nehemiah responded.
Something clicked in my head about this kid. He's not normal. But at the same time, he's not maliciously abnormal.
I'm going to investigate this kid's background even further.
"Well, Nehemiah, do you have your folk's phone number?"
"Well, sir, they're not the type that believe in having telephone numbers. I sort of bend the rules a bit by having a virtual voicemail inbox I check from a computer every other day." The lanky, doe eyed boy in his early teens responded.
"Hey Nehemiah.... sit down... I'm going to talk to Danielle for a bit. Here's the remote. Watch some TV."
"Danielle, where did you find this kid?"
"Well, when me and Jessie were playing some volleyball, this pedo looking guy was stalking us in his van. Nehemiah saw what was happening, hopped off his bicycle, and chased him down with a miniature sledgehammer." she said in an uneasy tone in her voice.
"Honey, that's a mallet".
"Well, I don't care. Nehemiah saved both me and Jessie. He's a bit weird, I know. I tried to go to his house, but his mom gave me the evil eye. They handed me a copy of the Bible and they told me not to come around again until they saw signs of wear and tear on it."
"Did the parents wear crosses around their necks"? I asked.
She said "No, but they did wear some kind of horseshoe type emblem on these turban looking things on their heads.".
Nehemiah interrupted our conversation. "Sir, I'm having problems operating this thing. Can I listen to the radio instead?"
I said "Sure, go ahead. Here, since you're religious, I'll turn it to the Christian Rock station."
Nehemiah responded in a sad tone "I don't know if I should listen to music from impure Christians."
That's when it hit me. Nehemiah's part of a cult. And I think the boy wants to get out. I know about this cult because my granduncle is the guy who started this kid's cult. The Alpha Omegas. That horseshoe looking emblem on their turbans was really the letter Omega.
I'm going to save this kid from his family. I don't think Danielle has the fortitude to rescue this kid from the cult, but luckily for him, I do.
"Nehemiah, I'm going to teach you how to play this game called 'basketball'. Danielle's going to serve you something made from potatoes called 'french fries'. They're pretty delicious. Hold tight."
This kid is going to be unbrainwashed after I'm done with him And when he's unbrainwashed, I'm going to use him to destroy the thing that took all of my family's wealth. I hate uncle Richard. Or as he liked to call himself "Enoch ben Abba"... That's "Enoch, son of God" for some of you non-believers out there. You're not Richard the Omega, as your early followers called you. You're not Enoch ben Abba, the prophet of God, as your followers called you after your near death experience. You're Dick O'Murphy, the crazy Irish guy who thinks he's a Jewish prophet. And you're going down, Uncle Dick. | 'Yeah, potatoes don't really grow around here. My dad sometimes sends them from up north,' I informed him.
​
'Do they taste good?'
​
'I dunno, try 'em.'
​
He held a spoonful of it, inquisitively, slowly raising it to his mouth. He stuck out his tongue, testing the waters. Needless to say, he liked it. Everyone likes my grandmother's potato recipe.
​
'Don't forget to eat your asparagus, now!'
​
Both my daughter and her boyfriend groaned. It's always a hassle getting them to eat their veggies.
​
'If you eat everything on your plate, you guys can go to the park afterwards.'
​
After some pretty skilled negotiating on my part, they managed to finish everything. Truly an amazing trade deal.
​
'Now, you two don't stay out \*too\* late. School starts tomorrow. Be back by 7.'
'But that's only 1 hour!' She started pouting.
​
'I want you to be up early. Besides, his mom's gonna be here soon. I called her before dinner.'
​
With that, they were off. I've never understood love at such a young age. It's not long before she breaks up with this boyfriend and finds a new one in her class. As long as she's not having problems, I don't think I need to stick my nose in that.
​
​ | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | "Yeah, it's a potato. Have you never had one before?" I asked.
"Never. It seems pretty interesting. Do these grow on trees?"
"No, uhhh, they actually grow in the ground."
"Amazing. I've never heard of them before."
"You've never had a french fry?"
"A what?"
"A french fry, from McDonald's?"
"I've never heard of them. Are they expensive?"
"What? No, fries are cheap."
"Oh, that's amazing. I'll have to start looking out for them. Are they imported from France?"
"No, it's just a name. You've really never heard of potatoes?"
"Never! But they're really tasty!"
"That's umm... really interesting, son," I told him. "You know, in celebration of your first dinner with us, I baked up a special dessert. I'll be right back."
Me and the missus went back into the kitchen and just started dying laughing. Yeah, this little punk thought he was playing me, but just because I'm old doesn't mean I've never heard of Reddit. On the contrary, I'm a karma-whoring, Dagobah-swamping, The_Donald-trollin', Blacktwitter-following, certified 5/7 shitposter from way back and everybody knows it. I’ve been ShittyMorphed, Wild Sketched, and gotten a poem for my sprog (whatever the fuck that is). I could do an AMA with two broken arms. Potatoes. Fuck him and his potatoes. We quickly whipped up a little something for dessert and came back out.
"Are you ready for a treat?" my wife asked.
"Oh, yummy, after the potato I'm really excited to see what else you guys make," the little punk answered.
"Our favorite," I said, "a coconut and some jolly ranchers. Enjoy!" | 'Yeah, potatoes don't really grow around here. My dad sometimes sends them from up north,' I informed him.
​
'Do they taste good?'
​
'I dunno, try 'em.'
​
He held a spoonful of it, inquisitively, slowly raising it to his mouth. He stuck out his tongue, testing the waters. Needless to say, he liked it. Everyone likes my grandmother's potato recipe.
​
'Don't forget to eat your asparagus, now!'
​
Both my daughter and her boyfriend groaned. It's always a hassle getting them to eat their veggies.
​
'If you eat everything on your plate, you guys can go to the park afterwards.'
​
After some pretty skilled negotiating on my part, they managed to finish everything. Truly an amazing trade deal.
​
'Now, you two don't stay out \*too\* late. School starts tomorrow. Be back by 7.'
'But that's only 1 hour!' She started pouting.
​
'I want you to be up early. Besides, his mom's gonna be here soon. I called her before dinner.'
​
With that, they were off. I've never understood love at such a young age. It's not long before she breaks up with this boyfriend and finds a new one in her class. As long as she's not having problems, I don't think I need to stick my nose in that.
​
​ | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | “Po-ta-to! You can boil’em, mash’em, stick’em in a stew.”
Reluctantly the gangly creature decided to try the potato. He loved it! Kept wanting more and more.
I think we finally bonded that day. Until later, when he bit my friend’s finger off and I had to push him into lava. I’m gonna miss that little guy. | 'Yeah, potatoes don't really grow around here. My dad sometimes sends them from up north,' I informed him.
​
'Do they taste good?'
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'I dunno, try 'em.'
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He held a spoonful of it, inquisitively, slowly raising it to his mouth. He stuck out his tongue, testing the waters. Needless to say, he liked it. Everyone likes my grandmother's potato recipe.
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'Don't forget to eat your asparagus, now!'
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Both my daughter and her boyfriend groaned. It's always a hassle getting them to eat their veggies.
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'If you eat everything on your plate, you guys can go to the park afterwards.'
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After some pretty skilled negotiating on my part, they managed to finish everything. Truly an amazing trade deal.
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'Now, you two don't stay out \*too\* late. School starts tomorrow. Be back by 7.'
'But that's only 1 hour!' She started pouting.
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'I want you to be up early. Besides, his mom's gonna be here soon. I called her before dinner.'
​
With that, they were off. I've never understood love at such a young age. It's not long before she breaks up with this boyfriend and finds a new one in her class. As long as she's not having problems, I don't think I need to stick my nose in that.
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[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | "How long *have* you been on Earth, anyway?"
Everyone stopped. This was the question we all had desperately wanted to ask. The only thing we wanted more than the answer was not to offend our guest.
"Is it that obvious?" He looked crestfallen.
"Well, yeah... I mean, potatoes are what we call a staple food. I think something like half the planet's population eats them regularly."
He scratched his head, the laughed. "I guess I should have studied more about Earth food, and less about deep sea animals. I just didn't realise how important food is here... Hold on though, I should check and make sure this won't kill me if I eat it."
"It won't." My daughter just smiled a little, like she does when she has a good hand at cards.
"Oh? I thought you were a teacher? When did you pick up xenobiology?"
"You had french fries earlier, hon. They didn't kill you."
"What does that have to do with a potato?" | 'Yeah, potatoes don't really grow around here. My dad sometimes sends them from up north,' I informed him.
​
'Do they taste good?'
​
'I dunno, try 'em.'
​
He held a spoonful of it, inquisitively, slowly raising it to his mouth. He stuck out his tongue, testing the waters. Needless to say, he liked it. Everyone likes my grandmother's potato recipe.
​
'Don't forget to eat your asparagus, now!'
​
Both my daughter and her boyfriend groaned. It's always a hassle getting them to eat their veggies.
​
'If you eat everything on your plate, you guys can go to the park afterwards.'
​
After some pretty skilled negotiating on my part, they managed to finish everything. Truly an amazing trade deal.
​
'Now, you two don't stay out \*too\* late. School starts tomorrow. Be back by 7.'
'But that's only 1 hour!' She started pouting.
​
'I want you to be up early. Besides, his mom's gonna be here soon. I called her before dinner.'
​
With that, they were off. I've never understood love at such a young age. It's not long before she breaks up with this boyfriend and finds a new one in her class. As long as she's not having problems, I don't think I need to stick my nose in that.
​
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[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | Mother and father looked at one another from across the table with astounded expressions on their faces.
"Excuse me?" asked my dad. "You've never seen a baked potato before?"
"No." replied my boyfriend as he poked at the various eyes of the potato with his fork.
I tired to steer the conversation away from this and soon enough everything was going smoothly. My boyfriend and father started talking about the Cubs winning the world series last week. In the meantime my mother went into the kitchen to bring out the main dish - a whole baked salmon. One eye visible as it lay on its side with little slices of lemons surrounding the fish. The eye pointed towards where my boyfriend was sitting at.
"Is this a fish?" he asked.
At this point my mother made a nervous glance towards me.
"Yes honey," I replied "and its delicious try it." I said with daggers shooting from my eyes.
He stuck his tongue out a bit slowly, then quickly put it back in his mouth and said "yeah I don't think so."
"Why not?" asked my father "are you some kind of vegetarian?"
"Sir, I just think its wrong. Your daughter owns fish how could she eat them?"
I let out a sigh as I turned my head to the side. I shouldn't have introduced him to my parents yet. It hadn't been enough time. I had decided to speed things up and introduce him now because I was growing tired of their questions. I was a single 32 year old woman with a pretty good career. Yet my parents would ask me all the time why I wasn't dating. Would tell me that I should get married soon. Would remind me that I shouldn't wait much longer because time went by too quickly. That's why I introduced him now rather than later especially since I planned to take him with me to my cousin's wedding next month.
I sat their wondering what were they going to say now. That I shouldn't be with a weirdo? From the moment he stepped into the house he was brimming with curiosity.. you see - its the first time he's been to anyone else's house. My parents noticed his odd ways.
He ended up not eating anything but in a way that turned out to be a good thing. I'm so lazy when it comes to cleaning him up.
As we got up after dessert to go home. My mother approached me. "He seems a little odd. But he sure seems like a nice guy. He has a very beautiful smile and he's very handsome. A whiz at computers too! I'm happy for you."
"I gave her a crooked smile and a small hug."
My father awkwardly shook hands with him. Then me and my boyfriend with the megawatt smile both stepped out onto the porch. A wave of relief washed over me.
"It wasn't too bad right?" asked my boyfriend as I walked towards the driver's seat.
"I guess." I responded.
I shouldn't have been so cheap to not order him with the food package. I simply thought I would be able to teach him all those trivial things like the various foods and it didn't seem important at the time cause he doesn't even eat anyways. I was always busy though. Now I see why it was a recommend package.
"I'm craving some french fries." I said to my boyfriend.
"Let's go to that golden arches place." he said with a smile.
"I then remembered I had never once brought a potato into my apartment unless it already came as a fry of course. | I didn't say anything at first. Actually, I didn't say anything at all. Sometime between childhood and adulthood was a 20 year gap where I hadn't so much as tasted fresh produce either. That was back before I landed a good job. Kids these days had it rough, and I took great pride in the fact that Sharon got solid food on most days.
Others weren't so lucky. Sharon had already given me a briefing on Evan. He'd grown up poor, sometimes struggling even to get three bottles of Soylent a day. To him, food was the stuff of television and fairy tales. Sharon must have looked like royalty to him, sometimes giving him blueberries during lunch. In the back of my mind I wondered what Olivia would say about him later tonight; she'd already expressed that she wouldn't stand for our daughter dating a poor boy.
Snapping out of my reverie, I forced a smile. "Potatoes were a staple food back when my father was growing up. They're not easy to come by now, but they sure are tasty." | |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | He said it with a hint of disgust in his voice. Or maybe that was just how teenagers talk now. Whatever, I'm not taking the bait and making this a bad scene.
"Yeah... a *potato*. Enjoy."
I read somewhere once that the bane of every adult was the following generation's idiosyncrasies. For instance, our youngest swears that she hates tomatoes, but needs ketchup on everything. And I *do* mean everything. I'm pretty sure I saw her dipping gummy worms in it a few weeks back. Our eldest, Sheena, loves the absolutely worst music. I have obviously failed as a parent, a role model, and today, a cook.
So, in this case, I just blamed his parents in turn. Jeff was a nice enough kid, but probably had a mother with one of those severe talk-to-the-manager dye bobs and probably a half dozen different made-up ills and complaints about life that she aped off of scammy Facebook articles. Gluten free this, cage free that, all while drinking hundreds of dollars-worth of Starbucks coffee, shitty slimming milkshakes, and garbage essential oils.
I finished serving the rest of my family their plates, plopped down sour cream, chives, butter, and even a big bottle of Heinz for Janey in the middle of the dinner table, and sat down at the head. Just the four of us, and the new kid who didn't know what the hell a potato was.
We don't do that praying thing, but I was going to be polite. I glanced over to Jeff ,who had his face screwed up into a curious grimace.
Oh boy... we got a live one.
"Something wrong, sport?"
"Nossir. I'm... I'm fine. Thank you for having me for dinner. And for the uh... po-tay-doh."
He poked gently at it with his fork, and I swear i saw a little shudder of revulsion. Is this some bullshit youtube prank? Suddenly he doesn't know what a potato is?
Nah, the kid looked like he was on the verge of crying. Not a prank then?
Jesus Christ, if I had served it with a burger after slicing frying the thing, there wouldn't be any problem. Or, he's one of those coddled, spoiled bastards that only eat nuggets and fries.
"Well, there's sour cream right there, and chives. Oh, and butter. That's how I like em. Or you can eat em like lil' Janey, which is mostly just ketchup and pepper. I know each family does things differently, and trying new stuff can be weird. But I'd appreciate it if you could try a bite, cool?"
I bit back my tongue and busied myself with sipping my water. I could feel Sheena tensing up across the table. I'm sure I was going to hear about it later. Me making things awkward around the new boyfriend. The dad life is tough, yo.
But my attention kept flitting back to Jeff. I couldn't help but look at him out of the corner of my eye. The guy was white as a goddamned sheet... that Idaho Russet had him scared shitless. Poor Sheena, looks like this boyfriend is going to bail sooner rather than later.
I glanced back down at my plate, snagged my knife and held back a smirk. Might as well have fun with it.
"So uh, Jeff, what classes do you have with my Sheena?" One deft slice through the tater, right down the middle.
I heard a muted gag. "Uh... um... yeah we're uh... in biology together."
I continued to carve my potato with a few slices crosswise, and heard an audible gulp.
"Oh, Mrs. Wenfrey's class? Nice, she's got good grades in that one. Are you to blame for that?" I jabbed at the cut sections with my fork, creating a sort of mashed crater in the center.
A moan of horror. "No sir. I mean... yes. Yes sir. I mean... I... oh god."
I kept my eyes down on my plate, to keep from dying of laughter. I spooned out some sour cream onto my baked potato. Each time he winced. Get a load of this kid!
I looked up from my dinner. right at him. He was a sickly green, eyes welling with tears as they drilled holes into the ceiling, avoiding my plate.
"You okay over there, champ?"
He was sweating. Over a goddamned potato? What a weirdo. I shot my wife a look.
Her eyes bored back into mine, a mix of fear and worry.
*... the fuck?* I'm not going to play any bullshit games just to keep some kid happy. Boys his age usually attempt to eat their weight in chips and fries, but because his mom thinks potatoes are empty carbs, he's stuck eating free-range kale-n-quinoa salads and doesn't know how to function in polite society.
"Daddy?" My little one was trying to catch my attention. I obviously didn't put on the required pint of ketchup on her plate.
"Yeah babygirl? Need ketchup?" I reached towards the bottle in front of me.
"... I don't like this. I don't want it."
"What? Why? What's wrong now?"
She was at that super weird stage of pickiness. No tomatoes, yes ketchup. Yes gravy, but only if it was brown. Carrots must be round, not squares. Typical little kid bs.
"This is uck." She pointed at her potato. Obviously I slacked on the ketchup. Whoops.
"Fine. Sorry. Here, tomato blood for you, all over your 'tato. Cool? Cool." I made a big flourish of squirting the ketchup over the potato, even getting it to make a fart noise.
"Ew daddy thats dis CUSS teen!" She made dramatically silly coughing and choking noises.
"Yeah yeah yeah... eat up anyway. It's okay if Jeff doesn't eat his potato, but you still have to eat yours."
I picked up my fork to eat, and I heard my wife clear her throat. Oh yeah.
A panicked double-shift of her head towards the kitchen. I nodded back. "Excuse us a bit folks." We both rose and left the 3 kids at the table.
We barely made it into the kitchen proper, before she pulled me close and hissed in my ear.
"What the unholy fuck do you think you're doing?"
"Sorry babe, I was just having fun."
Wrong answer.
"How in the *fuck* do you think what you're doing is fun? What the *fuck* is wrong with you?" She accented the language with harsher squeezes on my arm.
I stood up, kinda pissed off. Look, I don't know how you guys do things at your house, but my hospitality ends right about the point that made up bullshit 'food is bad' memes threaten a pretty goddamned good meal. Pork tenderloin medallions in my special ‘dragon glaze’, paired with a blend of fresh chopped-that-day veggies, lightly buttered and herbed. And, of course, some kickass russets damn near as big as my fist. And some rolls, but whatever.
I tamped down the anger and whispered back. "Look, I realize I'm supposed to hate any boy that tries to woo our daughter, but he's been a good kid so far. I still reserve the right to poke a little fun at some pretty fucking out there weirdness."
"He's not being weird. **You** are being weird. What the hell is going on with you today?" Her grip increased.
"Nothing? Look, she asked, we agreed. I even volunteered to make dinner. It's your standard traditional American fare. No big deal, okay? I'll shut up about it." I moved away towards the dining room.
She snatched me back by my arm. "No, you listen here, we need to talk right *fucking* now."
From the dining room, our youngest. "Daddy? I need help…"
I turned back to Mary. "Honey, I'm sorry. I'll figure something out and smooth this over. I'm going back." I yanked my arm (probably a bit more forcefully than I should have) from her grip and made way back to the table.
Sheena sat and fidgeted. Jeff fidgeted and sat. Neither made eye contact with me or Jeff's plate. Jane looked like she was about to cry.
"I'm back, sorry little one. What's wrong." More ketchup, probably.
"I don't like this. It's ucky. I don't want it."
Her potato sat, pre-cut and drenched in ketchup. No bites taken. Jesus Christ, now this fucking kid's parents have infected my kids with their bullshit. Why can't I just deal with a vegan instead? Mary slunk back in from the kitchen, staring daggers.
"Okay guys, obviously I made a few mistakes. Jeff, I'm sorry if I made you feel unwelcome here. My uh... humor is a bit rough around the edges. No hard feelings, okay?"
He blinked and stared over my shoulder. "Uh, yeah... okay."
"So... let's all eat and have a good time, and if you want, we can all play a boardgame or something later alright?"
Jane started to whimper. "Daddy no..."
I sat and looked over at her. She was way beyond verklempt and headed straight towards toddler-crying-tantrum town. I started to get angry.
"Jane? Honey? What's wrong now? Just eat your dinner."
She began to quietly cry. Now I'm mad.
"Okay look. Maybe we got off to a bad start here, but obviously we can all act like humans and work this out. Let's all just take a deep breath, chill out, and we'll all laugh about this later. Okay? Awesome. Let's eat."
With that, I grabbed a big forkful of tater, and took a bite.
And all hell broke loose.
Jeff leapt away from the table and almost made it to the garbage can in the kitchen before barfing his guts out all over our linoleum. Jane erupted into huge sobbing wails. My wife began to scream at me. And Sheena fled the room.
She bared her teeth in rage at me. "What is wrong with you? What is your damn problem? You took this too damn far!"
I lost it. "What the hell are you talking about? I made peace. And I'm gonna eat my damn dinner! And it's not my fault the guy was raised by a pack of morons!"
"You are absolutely awful! I can't believe you'd do this! How immature **are** you?"
I blanched at that. I had a half-dozen dad jokes prepared just for this night, and even had a secret photo album with dozens of Sheena's baby and kid pictures in it. And I'm being immature? Jeff continued to heave in the kitchen. I picked up Jane and attempted to calm her down, dropping my voice a few decibels.
"I can **not** believe this. All this for some poor kid raised by a bunch of idiots infatuated with essential oils and made up conspiracy theories? Over *dinner*? Screw this. I worked hard, and this food is damn good. Meat's perfect, veggies are a delight, and yes, the potato was damn good too."
Her expression went awry. "God dammit, Jake! This is what I'm talking about! What the hell did you put on our plates, and what the fuck is a *potato*?" | Kevin
---
Kevin was fourteen and so tall it looked painful. He hadn't filled out, yet, so he seemed to be all bones. His face, despite the sharp angles, was earnest, handsome, and terrified. He was nervous, mousy, if you can use that to describe someone nearly six feet tall.
Serena had always been attracted to strange men, people who looked at the world with fractured eyes. The last boy she brought home dressed in yellow and called himself D-9. He was a rapper, but all his songs were about anime and the girls he would never meet.
Kevin seemed normal, despite the way his head pivoted like a jerky horse. He seemed to be waiting for something to shatter. I think, deep down, he expected me to yell at him. To send him to bed without supper. To be cruel.
When Miranda welcomed him, he remained stiff in the embrace. I made a noise in the back of my throat and Miranda moved away. Kevin sat on the couch and talked about school, always asking if he could help set the table or if he was talking too much.
Serena took his hand and told him, "You're fine, *babe*, absolutely fine."
It was hard to see my daughter like that, being adult and motherly to this vulture of a child. Serena, despite being fifteen, had always had her mother's kind eyes. Kevin seemed trapped in a world he didn't understand, like Tom Hanks in that one movie... Junior?
There was something very baby horse about Kevin. He was teetering through the world like he was going to fall to pieces at any moment. I liked the kid, despite that, or *because of* that.
He was polite and listened with bright eyes. He was smart but seemed unable to understand that he was. He would end every sentence with "...yeah, I think."
Miranda was the first person to pick up on the truth. I thought Kevin was a little uncertain, but I had been raised by two complete parents. Miranda had the sort of puzzle parents that show up drunk and think buying you a horse solves the beatings.
When Kevin looked down at his plate and said, "What is this?" I laughed. I thought it was funny.
"Miranda isn't the best cook," I said.
"No. What *is* this?" he said. "I have never seen this before."
He said it politely as if he was trying to ask about our culture.
"It's a potato," Serena said. It was gentle.
I just gazed at him. I opened my mouth but Miranda kicked me in the leg. She then smiled, so softly, it might have been missed. It was her baby smile, the "this is my new project" smile.
I knew then I would be seeing a lot of Kevin around. At least until he was fattened up.
Which, seeing him devour four plates, might take longer than I thought.
| |
[WP] Your daughter brings over her boyfriend for dinner for the first time. The kid seems nice, but then, while eating, he pokes a baked potato on his plate and says "This looks very interesting. What is this? A 'potato'? Oh interesting. Never heard of a potato, looks pretty good." | I stopped, spoon midway to my mouth, looked at Jenny's face that's clearly warning me off, and lowered the spoon.
"Well I'm glad you're learning new things while you're with our Jenny." I gave my best smile, all teeth.
"Oh yes sir. Jenny is teaching me all kinds of new things. She's amazing!"
I had to remember to keep smiling. Just. keep. SMILING! "And what other new things have you experience?"
"DAD!" Jenny cried, Her face was so red that I just knew I hit a nerve. Mother fu-
"Oh the other day we stopped by something called a drive through. Didn't even have to leave the vehicle to get our nourishment!"
I eyed him suspiciously. "And what else?"
He had to think that over and I quieted Jenny's outburst with one very, very, VERY angry glare.
"Well... She taught me a few interesting words. Swearing isn't in the curriculum you know."
That settled it. Only one person would talk like that. "Tell me, when did you hatch exactly?"
"Three days back sir. I assure you I completed my pre-hatching curriculum before that though."
I knew it. I just knew it! She got another under-aged hatchling to imprint on her. AGAIN!
"Dad I can explain!"
I banged the table with my tentacle. "Enough! Jenny go to your room. You are too young to start your own colony and he doesn't know better. You can start looking when you've reach egg laying age and not a day earlier. GO!" | Kevin
---
Kevin was fourteen and so tall it looked painful. He hadn't filled out, yet, so he seemed to be all bones. His face, despite the sharp angles, was earnest, handsome, and terrified. He was nervous, mousy, if you can use that to describe someone nearly six feet tall.
Serena had always been attracted to strange men, people who looked at the world with fractured eyes. The last boy she brought home dressed in yellow and called himself D-9. He was a rapper, but all his songs were about anime and the girls he would never meet.
Kevin seemed normal, despite the way his head pivoted like a jerky horse. He seemed to be waiting for something to shatter. I think, deep down, he expected me to yell at him. To send him to bed without supper. To be cruel.
When Miranda welcomed him, he remained stiff in the embrace. I made a noise in the back of my throat and Miranda moved away. Kevin sat on the couch and talked about school, always asking if he could help set the table or if he was talking too much.
Serena took his hand and told him, "You're fine, *babe*, absolutely fine."
It was hard to see my daughter like that, being adult and motherly to this vulture of a child. Serena, despite being fifteen, had always had her mother's kind eyes. Kevin seemed trapped in a world he didn't understand, like Tom Hanks in that one movie... Junior?
There was something very baby horse about Kevin. He was teetering through the world like he was going to fall to pieces at any moment. I liked the kid, despite that, or *because of* that.
He was polite and listened with bright eyes. He was smart but seemed unable to understand that he was. He would end every sentence with "...yeah, I think."
Miranda was the first person to pick up on the truth. I thought Kevin was a little uncertain, but I had been raised by two complete parents. Miranda had the sort of puzzle parents that show up drunk and think buying you a horse solves the beatings.
When Kevin looked down at his plate and said, "What is this?" I laughed. I thought it was funny.
"Miranda isn't the best cook," I said.
"No. What *is* this?" he said. "I have never seen this before."
He said it politely as if he was trying to ask about our culture.
"It's a potato," Serena said. It was gentle.
I just gazed at him. I opened my mouth but Miranda kicked me in the leg. She then smiled, so softly, it might have been missed. It was her baby smile, the "this is my new project" smile.
I knew then I would be seeing a lot of Kevin around. At least until he was fattened up.
Which, seeing him devour four plates, might take longer than I thought.
| |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | As the barista approached John, he noticed something.
To explain what he saw, we need a near past history lesson.
John, as you may guess from the prompt title, was driving his car when he glanced at a text. There was a human male, blue eyes, blond hair, who was jogging up the road. He was hit by John's car and killed.
John, in a panic, dumped the body in a nearby lake, went home, and forgot about it. Later, he decided to get some coffee from the local cafe, where out story will continue.
"Wait a second, you look familiar..." said John to the barista.
The barista stared angrily at John. The others sitting in the coffee shop got out of their seats, revealing themselves to be exact duplicates of the barista. John ran, and witnessed the only other person in the cafe (who was the manager and an old friend) get touched by the clones, and later joined their ranks in a puff of smoke.
John ran like he had never ran before. There were clones everywhere. He later returned home once more. To the confusion of his wife, he boarded up all of the doors and windows and put the CCTV on before entering the master bedroom.
"Honey, what is going on?" said John's wife.
"It's... it's..." mumbled John, but before he could finish his sentence, the lights around the house started flickering. Electronics were turning on and off and on and off, the cat and the goldfish were acting odd, and soon enough, a figure, later revealed to be a barista clone as he got closer to the couple, appeared. They both jumped out the window, bashing down fences to escape the multiplying clones. But then, they were cornered. A circle of clones formed around them and...
John woke up. In his prison cell. It was just a dream, how cliche, he thought to himself.
As soon as the thought came to his head, the clones started appearing throughout the prison. Then, one appeared right next to him.
The only thing it said before murdering him was this:
"You did it, bastard..." | “Can we talk privately?” I know you recognize me and what I did the other night is awful. I panicked who but that is no excuse for leaving you. I’m willing to turn myself in. I want to apologize first in case I don’t get a chance again. I hope you are ok and I’m so glad you seem to be. I’m going to wait while you call the police. The guilt has been too much and I want to pay for what I’ve done, including any medical bills you have had.”
Barista is shocked further, angry, but is on the clock. Quietly walks away and makes a call. He stays behind the counter. I walk outside and sit near the building and wait. Soon I hear sirens come in the distance. I am terrified yet relieved. I can’t hold onto one more minute of this gut wrenching guilt. I’m not that person. Sirens are closer. I think of my family, my job, my future. Sirens now wailing as people start to look out the windows. The police cars pull in and I stand up.
“Are you the person who hit and ran the other night against the man working inside this coffee shop?” Says an officer as he steps from a patrol car next to three others. He looks cautious, his hand near his weapon. Two more officers step out.
“Yes. I didn’t know what to do. I can’t believe I did that.” The officer reads my rights to me and puts the handcuffs on. I’m placed in the car. We drive away. I know now at least I can face myself and live with myself and have the peace of mind knowing the barista is alive and well enough to work. I’m ready to face my punishment head on. | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | It must be the same guy. The way his cold gaze fixes onto me - he knows.
"O-one latte, please."
I take a seat at a nearby table, anxiously waiting for my order. Maybe I should just run... I don't want to imagine the hell prison would be. He clocks out and strolls towards me with purpose, and all of a sudden I feel a dull blow to the side of my head. I instantly hit the table and pass out.
As I wake up, I see the winter snow on the ground around me. A rhythmic 'clip clop' of a horse, quiet, fearful murmuring...
A voice sounds to my right:
"Hey you, you’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us and that thief over there." | “Can we talk privately?” I know you recognize me and what I did the other night is awful. I panicked who but that is no excuse for leaving you. I’m willing to turn myself in. I want to apologize first in case I don’t get a chance again. I hope you are ok and I’m so glad you seem to be. I’m going to wait while you call the police. The guilt has been too much and I want to pay for what I’ve done, including any medical bills you have had.”
Barista is shocked further, angry, but is on the clock. Quietly walks away and makes a call. He stays behind the counter. I walk outside and sit near the building and wait. Soon I hear sirens come in the distance. I am terrified yet relieved. I can’t hold onto one more minute of this gut wrenching guilt. I’m not that person. Sirens are closer. I think of my family, my job, my future. Sirens now wailing as people start to look out the windows. The police cars pull in and I stand up.
“Are you the person who hit and ran the other night against the man working inside this coffee shop?” Says an officer as he steps from a patrol car next to three others. He looks cautious, his hand near his weapon. Two more officers step out.
“Yes. I didn’t know what to do. I can’t believe I did that.” The officer reads my rights to me and puts the handcuffs on. I’m placed in the car. We drive away. I know now at least I can face myself and live with myself and have the peace of mind knowing the barista is alive and well enough to work. I’m ready to face my punishment head on. | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | John Mcantry grew up normal enough: nice family, good friends, and even a few girlfriends. Yet something was very wrong with John.
It started small, as these things always do: cats not returning to their owner's homes, dead birds that littered the roadways, or him and his sister, Veronica staying out all night at unknown locations
Reaching the age of seventeen, John started to become worse. A murder took place on 7th street near Woodchapel Church. It seems someone wanted Kathy Nutrist dead. Her body was found with 28 stab wounds, a deep slit in her throat, 7 of her fingers missing, with the remaining ones cut off.
It wasnt long until The Wood chipper, as the papers called him, found another victim, an another, and more fell to his hand. All churchgoers, all similar injuries, all in places with woodland-like names, or in nature trails and dumped in nearby bodies of water.
When he reached 18, John had amassed 12 victims. he left evidence, and no one could find out just who this mysterious "Woodchipper" was, or why he did the things he did.
And at 14, Veronica and 3 of her friends went missing.
Veronica returned 1 week later, along with 2 of her friends, except Jenn, who only returned 5 days later, with dark bruises all over her body and missing 3 of her fingers. Police in such a small town where fairly dumbfounded
As of such the FBI eventually got involved, shortly after Jenn was found.
Agent John Frican lead the case. Luckily, or perhaps in some sort of divine intervention, he caught John in the act at Woodland Elementsry School, evidently having sexual intercourse with 11 year old Taylor Letterman, who was found missing 4 of her fingers and heavily bruises, including bruises on the throat region.
He proceed to arrest John without much of a struggle. John Mcantry got locked up at Fairwood Federal Penitentary.
John Frican drove home, and on the way hit several pedestrians, who all jumped into middle of the empty road for seemingly no reason.
Three people died in a span of about 10 minutes. Frican recognised one as Veronica Mcantry, whom he confirmed had no pulse.
The next morning Frican went out to get a cup of coffee at Beaver Black Waterfalls. He looked down at his feet until the Barista shouted "Hey!" to get his attention. He was spotted on CCTV, running away with erratic and fearful behaviour.
He was found 6 days later, at Peanut Marsh, evidently paralysed from a bullet wound to the spine; taken at point blank from bebind with a 9mm pistol. He died of thirst 4 days prior after lying paralysdled in sunlight and injesting saltwater. Research determining his killer has proven inconclusive.
His DNA was later found in 3 bodies, all found in a ditch near Ken Highway, as well as several girls at Woodland Elementary School, after it came into question why he was even there to arrest John in the first place, considering he told authorities he found the attack happening in the boiler room.
John Mcantry died in prison. his body was found in a staff only area with six stab wounds. it is currently unknown who killed John and why.
edit: I went a different way I guess. The focus wasnt on the prompt, but on other things. The prompt only came into play near the end. | “Can we talk privately?” I know you recognize me and what I did the other night is awful. I panicked who but that is no excuse for leaving you. I’m willing to turn myself in. I want to apologize first in case I don’t get a chance again. I hope you are ok and I’m so glad you seem to be. I’m going to wait while you call the police. The guilt has been too much and I want to pay for what I’ve done, including any medical bills you have had.”
Barista is shocked further, angry, but is on the clock. Quietly walks away and makes a call. He stays behind the counter. I walk outside and sit near the building and wait. Soon I hear sirens come in the distance. I am terrified yet relieved. I can’t hold onto one more minute of this gut wrenching guilt. I’m not that person. Sirens are closer. I think of my family, my job, my future. Sirens now wailing as people start to look out the windows. The police cars pull in and I stand up.
“Are you the person who hit and ran the other night against the man working inside this coffee shop?” Says an officer as he steps from a patrol car next to three others. He looks cautious, his hand near his weapon. Two more officers step out.
“Yes. I didn’t know what to do. I can’t believe I did that.” The officer reads my rights to me and puts the handcuffs on. I’m placed in the car. We drive away. I know now at least I can face myself and live with myself and have the peace of mind knowing the barista is alive and well enough to work. I’m ready to face my punishment head on. | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | "what can I get you sir?" He said. "I recommend the frappuchino, it's so cold it gives you chills!"
I opened my mouth to speak, but any word eluded me. Just a small squeak left my throat.
"Oh geez, cat got your tongue? Lost your stones?" His face turned into a scowl. "Sir! What can I help you with? There are other customers waiting."
There weren't, it's just me and him. He is mocking me.
I turned around, ready to leave. he might just be rude, it's late. He probably just looks like the guy.
"I know what you're thinking. It couldn't possibly be him. I am dreaming or some random bullshit, to justify what you did."
I froze, it's him, it's fucking him, oh Jesus fucking Christ, I'm doomed.
"Now sir, could you follow me, I wil assign you a seat."
I followed, I don't know what else I should do. He points to a boot in the corner and I sit down.
"You made a mistake, you killed a man and dumped him instead of going to the authorities. Correct?"
I nod.
"And to get any sense of normality back, you decided to get a cup of coffee? Right?"
I nod again.
"So you get in your car, go to your favourite coffee place and behold, it is me! The man you killed!"
I look down, if it's fear or shame I don't know. It feels like a mixture of both.
"Yes it's confusing isn't it, but I have some news for you as well."
I feel my eyes well up.
"You never made it to the coffee shop. You decided to go after a three day bender. You were drunk and high off your ass and decided to drive towards your coffee place. Not thinking about anyone else on the road. You crashed your car within 5 minutes, never even left the suburbs. You hit a telephone pole and went straight through the windshield."
I look up, confused.
"Don't believe me? Look to your left, you're missing half your face."
I look, my face is unbelievably messed up, there is glass everywhere. My eye is gone and so is part of my jaw. Reality is setting in, or what is left of it. I hear a snicker.
"Ain't karma a bitch?" | “Can we talk privately?” I know you recognize me and what I did the other night is awful. I panicked who but that is no excuse for leaving you. I’m willing to turn myself in. I want to apologize first in case I don’t get a chance again. I hope you are ok and I’m so glad you seem to be. I’m going to wait while you call the police. The guilt has been too much and I want to pay for what I’ve done, including any medical bills you have had.”
Barista is shocked further, angry, but is on the clock. Quietly walks away and makes a call. He stays behind the counter. I walk outside and sit near the building and wait. Soon I hear sirens come in the distance. I am terrified yet relieved. I can’t hold onto one more minute of this gut wrenching guilt. I’m not that person. Sirens are closer. I think of my family, my job, my future. Sirens now wailing as people start to look out the windows. The police cars pull in and I stand up.
“Are you the person who hit and ran the other night against the man working inside this coffee shop?” Says an officer as he steps from a patrol car next to three others. He looks cautious, his hand near his weapon. Two more officers step out.
“Yes. I didn’t know what to do. I can’t believe I did that.” The officer reads my rights to me and puts the handcuffs on. I’m placed in the car. We drive away. I know now at least I can face myself and live with myself and have the peace of mind knowing the barista is alive and well enough to work. I’m ready to face my punishment head on. | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | "Hey, uh, sorry about last night."
"Are you serious? You ran me over. Wait here, I'm calling the police."
"That's fair. But, uh... What if you didn't?" I suggested, as I dangled a fiver over the tip jar.
"You dumped my body in the lake. I'm definitely calling the police."
"Remind me, was that lake Lincoln? Or Hamilton?"
"Those aren't lakes."
"Oh you're right, how silly of me. I meant lake Jackson."
He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're a monster."
"A monster tipper." | “Can we talk privately?” I know you recognize me and what I did the other night is awful. I panicked who but that is no excuse for leaving you. I’m willing to turn myself in. I want to apologize first in case I don’t get a chance again. I hope you are ok and I’m so glad you seem to be. I’m going to wait while you call the police. The guilt has been too much and I want to pay for what I’ve done, including any medical bills you have had.”
Barista is shocked further, angry, but is on the clock. Quietly walks away and makes a call. He stays behind the counter. I walk outside and sit near the building and wait. Soon I hear sirens come in the distance. I am terrified yet relieved. I can’t hold onto one more minute of this gut wrenching guilt. I’m not that person. Sirens are closer. I think of my family, my job, my future. Sirens now wailing as people start to look out the windows. The police cars pull in and I stand up.
“Are you the person who hit and ran the other night against the man working inside this coffee shop?” Says an officer as he steps from a patrol car next to three others. He looks cautious, his hand near his weapon. Two more officers step out.
“Yes. I didn’t know what to do. I can’t believe I did that.” The officer reads my rights to me and puts the handcuffs on. I’m placed in the car. We drive away. I know now at least I can face myself and live with myself and have the peace of mind knowing the barista is alive and well enough to work. I’m ready to face my punishment head on. | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | It must be the same guy. The way his cold gaze fixes onto me - he knows.
"O-one latte, please."
I take a seat at a nearby table, anxiously waiting for my order. Maybe I should just run... I don't want to imagine the hell prison would be. He clocks out and strolls towards me with purpose, and all of a sudden I feel a dull blow to the side of my head. I instantly hit the table and pass out.
As I wake up, I see the winter snow on the ground around me. A rhythmic 'clip clop' of a horse, quiet, fearful murmuring...
A voice sounds to my right:
"Hey you, you’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us and that thief over there." | "It's fine"
"What was he thinking running in the street, at night, with a grey t-shirt on anyway?"
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Call the police and turn myself in? One life was already ruined tonight. Somehow destroying mine will make it all better?"
Michael's mind raced from one justification to another.
"I'm tired, I've been working a lot. Too much. Our sales have nearly doubled but our sales team remains the same size."
"It's not fair."
"I'm a good person."
"I just made a mistake."
Michael's hands gripped the steering wheel as his mind raced, sweat pouring down his cheeks. Michael's mind swung from one rationalization to another, just as the winding road zigzagged down the valley. The adrenaline caused his heart rate and car to accelerate. His eyes and mind were anywhere but the road. Michael was in a trance. The car began to drift slightly over the double yellow centerline as Michael reasoned that he couldn't turn himself in and do that to his mother, *it would kill her*...
​
As the seemingly endless drive continued, Michael began to slow, and entered into a state of calm and focus as he continued to drive the narrow, winding road. The blinding streetlights and headlights faded, as did his pounding heartbeat, and Michael began to feel a sense of calming numbness as he glided down the road. He continued to rationalize and justify his previous actions, but they felt more and more distant as he drove. As if they were just a bad dream he once had.
Finally, Michael arrived back to his apartment without incident. Reflecting on his lack of attention to the road that took him down from the lake, he figured his karma must still be intact as well, a thought that further calmed him and he resigned himself to rest.
But once in bed, Michael found no respite. While his adrenaline seemed to wear off, he was not tired. The feeling of numbness continued to wash over him, and he thought that perhaps he had moved on to the next stage of grief. Michael felt nothing, and just laid still for what seemed like hours. After a quick flip through the late night TV channels, he found the noise and light unbearable. Finally, Michael decided to go for a walk and grab some coffee, just to have something to do on this seemingly endless night.
The cafe was just down the hill from his apartment, but the walk seemed much longer than usual as the night's temperature continued to drop, and caused Michael to shiver through his jacket. Eventually, Michael entered to cafe, which was surprisingly busy for this hour, and queued behind the line of patrons. As he waited, Michael found that his thoughts from his previous activities that night seemed to drift further and further off, and the feelings of numbness continued to wash over him like a tide. The blaring of a television bolted to the ceiling didn't seem to bother him in the slightest now.
"Sir, are you going to order?" The Barista said, a bit agitated.
Once again snapped back to the present, Michael fumbled only muttered "coffee".
Realizing his mistake. Michael looked up and corrected himself. "I'll take a medium, coffee please".
"You got it sir". The barista said pleasantly, perhaps with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, as he turned around towards the back counter.
Michael nodded, and as he turned back to glance up at the TV, the grey t-shirt of the Barista caught his attention. It didn't match the maroon red shirts of his coworkers. The logo on the back read "Valley Point 5k".
There was no mistaking that.
Michaels mind flashed back to pushing a lifeless body wearing that same shirt into a lake earlier that night.
As the barista turned around, Michael couldn't help but recognize his face, even though that up until this point he had only seen it covered in blood. Michael simply stood there, numb.
The barista started square at Michael, smiling.
"I'm surprised you recognized me. I figured I didn't have much of a face left when you first saw me."
Michael couldn't muster a single syllable.
"I'm surprised to see you here so soon Michael. You'd think you'd be more careful after you just got away with murder." The barista said almost casually.
"Shhhh! Don't say that word!" Michael tried to whisper. "I didn't.....it was an accident....." Michael snapped back into the justifications he had reherseased so many times already.
The barista simply laughed.
"Wait a minute.....If I....if I did....then what are you doing.....*here*? How did you get back from.....?" Michael's mind raced and his voice trailed off as he realized the insanity of the situation.
The barista chuckled again playfully. He then remarked, almost sarcastically, "Oh I didn't come back. I'm still dead. I was dead as soon as your car hit me!"
"But.....then how are you back here?" Michael remained stupefied.
The barista, who continued to be rather jovial about the entire affair, finally quibbed, "Let's just say that I didn't come back."
After a slight pause, the Barista added "It's more like, you came and joined *me*."
Michael continued to stand at the counter trying to make sense of what he was just told. Finally, the Barista gestured over to the TV mounted to the ceiling, which was now playing the local news."
"...police are at the scene of the accident, where a car has seemed to have gone off the road on Valley Highway. Paramedics have declared one victim dead at the scene, who has been identified as Michael...."
Michaels jaw dropped as the television announcer said his name, and his Facebook profile picture was shown on the screen.
"Kinda funny isn't it?" The barista smirked, as he placed Michael's coffee on the counter. | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | John Mcantry grew up normal enough: nice family, good friends, and even a few girlfriends. Yet something was very wrong with John.
It started small, as these things always do: cats not returning to their owner's homes, dead birds that littered the roadways, or him and his sister, Veronica staying out all night at unknown locations
Reaching the age of seventeen, John started to become worse. A murder took place on 7th street near Woodchapel Church. It seems someone wanted Kathy Nutrist dead. Her body was found with 28 stab wounds, a deep slit in her throat, 7 of her fingers missing, with the remaining ones cut off.
It wasnt long until The Wood chipper, as the papers called him, found another victim, an another, and more fell to his hand. All churchgoers, all similar injuries, all in places with woodland-like names, or in nature trails and dumped in nearby bodies of water.
When he reached 18, John had amassed 12 victims. he left evidence, and no one could find out just who this mysterious "Woodchipper" was, or why he did the things he did.
And at 14, Veronica and 3 of her friends went missing.
Veronica returned 1 week later, along with 2 of her friends, except Jenn, who only returned 5 days later, with dark bruises all over her body and missing 3 of her fingers. Police in such a small town where fairly dumbfounded
As of such the FBI eventually got involved, shortly after Jenn was found.
Agent John Frican lead the case. Luckily, or perhaps in some sort of divine intervention, he caught John in the act at Woodland Elementsry School, evidently having sexual intercourse with 11 year old Taylor Letterman, who was found missing 4 of her fingers and heavily bruises, including bruises on the throat region.
He proceed to arrest John without much of a struggle. John Mcantry got locked up at Fairwood Federal Penitentary.
John Frican drove home, and on the way hit several pedestrians, who all jumped into middle of the empty road for seemingly no reason.
Three people died in a span of about 10 minutes. Frican recognised one as Veronica Mcantry, whom he confirmed had no pulse.
The next morning Frican went out to get a cup of coffee at Beaver Black Waterfalls. He looked down at his feet until the Barista shouted "Hey!" to get his attention. He was spotted on CCTV, running away with erratic and fearful behaviour.
He was found 6 days later, at Peanut Marsh, evidently paralysed from a bullet wound to the spine; taken at point blank from bebind with a 9mm pistol. He died of thirst 4 days prior after lying paralysdled in sunlight and injesting saltwater. Research determining his killer has proven inconclusive.
His DNA was later found in 3 bodies, all found in a ditch near Ken Highway, as well as several girls at Woodland Elementary School, after it came into question why he was even there to arrest John in the first place, considering he told authorities he found the attack happening in the boiler room.
John Mcantry died in prison. his body was found in a staff only area with six stab wounds. it is currently unknown who killed John and why.
edit: I went a different way I guess. The focus wasnt on the prompt, but on other things. The prompt only came into play near the end. | "It's fine"
"What was he thinking running in the street, at night, with a grey t-shirt on anyway?"
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Call the police and turn myself in? One life was already ruined tonight. Somehow destroying mine will make it all better?"
Michael's mind raced from one justification to another.
"I'm tired, I've been working a lot. Too much. Our sales have nearly doubled but our sales team remains the same size."
"It's not fair."
"I'm a good person."
"I just made a mistake."
Michael's hands gripped the steering wheel as his mind raced, sweat pouring down his cheeks. Michael's mind swung from one rationalization to another, just as the winding road zigzagged down the valley. The adrenaline caused his heart rate and car to accelerate. His eyes and mind were anywhere but the road. Michael was in a trance. The car began to drift slightly over the double yellow centerline as Michael reasoned that he couldn't turn himself in and do that to his mother, *it would kill her*...
​
As the seemingly endless drive continued, Michael began to slow, and entered into a state of calm and focus as he continued to drive the narrow, winding road. The blinding streetlights and headlights faded, as did his pounding heartbeat, and Michael began to feel a sense of calming numbness as he glided down the road. He continued to rationalize and justify his previous actions, but they felt more and more distant as he drove. As if they were just a bad dream he once had.
Finally, Michael arrived back to his apartment without incident. Reflecting on his lack of attention to the road that took him down from the lake, he figured his karma must still be intact as well, a thought that further calmed him and he resigned himself to rest.
But once in bed, Michael found no respite. While his adrenaline seemed to wear off, he was not tired. The feeling of numbness continued to wash over him, and he thought that perhaps he had moved on to the next stage of grief. Michael felt nothing, and just laid still for what seemed like hours. After a quick flip through the late night TV channels, he found the noise and light unbearable. Finally, Michael decided to go for a walk and grab some coffee, just to have something to do on this seemingly endless night.
The cafe was just down the hill from his apartment, but the walk seemed much longer than usual as the night's temperature continued to drop, and caused Michael to shiver through his jacket. Eventually, Michael entered to cafe, which was surprisingly busy for this hour, and queued behind the line of patrons. As he waited, Michael found that his thoughts from his previous activities that night seemed to drift further and further off, and the feelings of numbness continued to wash over him like a tide. The blaring of a television bolted to the ceiling didn't seem to bother him in the slightest now.
"Sir, are you going to order?" The Barista said, a bit agitated.
Once again snapped back to the present, Michael fumbled only muttered "coffee".
Realizing his mistake. Michael looked up and corrected himself. "I'll take a medium, coffee please".
"You got it sir". The barista said pleasantly, perhaps with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, as he turned around towards the back counter.
Michael nodded, and as he turned back to glance up at the TV, the grey t-shirt of the Barista caught his attention. It didn't match the maroon red shirts of his coworkers. The logo on the back read "Valley Point 5k".
There was no mistaking that.
Michaels mind flashed back to pushing a lifeless body wearing that same shirt into a lake earlier that night.
As the barista turned around, Michael couldn't help but recognize his face, even though that up until this point he had only seen it covered in blood. Michael simply stood there, numb.
The barista started square at Michael, smiling.
"I'm surprised you recognized me. I figured I didn't have much of a face left when you first saw me."
Michael couldn't muster a single syllable.
"I'm surprised to see you here so soon Michael. You'd think you'd be more careful after you just got away with murder." The barista said almost casually.
"Shhhh! Don't say that word!" Michael tried to whisper. "I didn't.....it was an accident....." Michael snapped back into the justifications he had reherseased so many times already.
The barista simply laughed.
"Wait a minute.....If I....if I did....then what are you doing.....*here*? How did you get back from.....?" Michael's mind raced and his voice trailed off as he realized the insanity of the situation.
The barista chuckled again playfully. He then remarked, almost sarcastically, "Oh I didn't come back. I'm still dead. I was dead as soon as your car hit me!"
"But.....then how are you back here?" Michael remained stupefied.
The barista, who continued to be rather jovial about the entire affair, finally quibbed, "Let's just say that I didn't come back."
After a slight pause, the Barista added "It's more like, you came and joined *me*."
Michael continued to stand at the counter trying to make sense of what he was just told. Finally, the Barista gestured over to the TV mounted to the ceiling, which was now playing the local news."
"...police are at the scene of the accident, where a car has seemed to have gone off the road on Valley Highway. Paramedics have declared one victim dead at the scene, who has been identified as Michael...."
Michaels jaw dropped as the television announcer said his name, and his Facebook profile picture was shown on the screen.
"Kinda funny isn't it?" The barista smirked, as he placed Michael's coffee on the counter. | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | It must be the same guy. The way his cold gaze fixes onto me - he knows.
"O-one latte, please."
I take a seat at a nearby table, anxiously waiting for my order. Maybe I should just run... I don't want to imagine the hell prison would be. He clocks out and strolls towards me with purpose, and all of a sudden I feel a dull blow to the side of my head. I instantly hit the table and pass out.
As I wake up, I see the winter snow on the ground around me. A rhythmic 'clip clop' of a horse, quiet, fearful murmuring...
A voice sounds to my right:
"Hey you, you’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us and that thief over there." | 'Wait a minute, I remember you!'
I was a statue. A statue that desperately wanted to melt into the floor and become one with the mantle.
'You're looking a bit pale. Are you alright?'
All I could do was hold eye contact with him.
'Should I... call an ambulance?'
I had to snap out of it. Talking to him would be infinitely better than explaining to authorities.
'Uh... no! No, I'm fine. Haha.'
'Oh. Well, um, remember back in 2015? Calculus 2 class?' he asked.
I... what?
'I always wanted to ask you how you did so well in that class... the teacher was absolutely fricking horrible. God, I don't think I learned a thing there. How did you even manage to get any notes out of his gibberish?'
'I don't think I remember you too well from that class. Did we talk?'
He looked a bit dispirited. 'Yeah... not too much. I was pretty shy. I sat on the other side of the class anyway, so I don't think we crossed paths much.'
Then it hit me. There \*was\* a dude that looked like him in my class.
'OH! You were the dude who fell over and soaked the dude in front of you in milk!'
I don't think anything else I could've said would make him more depressed.
'Yeah...'
My face went red with embarrassment.
'Yeah... um... I guess I was just really good at calc? I don't remember too much from that class now either.'
'Yeah. Well...' he paused. I looked at him, still in a state of minor shock, and slightly confused.
'Oh, never mind. Anyway, I have to get back to work.'
'Yeah, alright. See ya later, then.'
I was about to leave, but then a question started burning within me.
'Actually, wait. Did you happen to be at the bar further down this street last night?'
'Oh, no. I was feeling like shit yesterday, came home and slept from 6 pm to 6 am. I don't even really go to that bar, anyway. Alcohol just isn't really my thing.'
'Alright, then. Have a nice day!'
'You too!'
What are the odds... I hit a dude and he has a doppelganger in the same town. So much for forgetting this. | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | John Mcantry grew up normal enough: nice family, good friends, and even a few girlfriends. Yet something was very wrong with John.
It started small, as these things always do: cats not returning to their owner's homes, dead birds that littered the roadways, or him and his sister, Veronica staying out all night at unknown locations
Reaching the age of seventeen, John started to become worse. A murder took place on 7th street near Woodchapel Church. It seems someone wanted Kathy Nutrist dead. Her body was found with 28 stab wounds, a deep slit in her throat, 7 of her fingers missing, with the remaining ones cut off.
It wasnt long until The Wood chipper, as the papers called him, found another victim, an another, and more fell to his hand. All churchgoers, all similar injuries, all in places with woodland-like names, or in nature trails and dumped in nearby bodies of water.
When he reached 18, John had amassed 12 victims. he left evidence, and no one could find out just who this mysterious "Woodchipper" was, or why he did the things he did.
And at 14, Veronica and 3 of her friends went missing.
Veronica returned 1 week later, along with 2 of her friends, except Jenn, who only returned 5 days later, with dark bruises all over her body and missing 3 of her fingers. Police in such a small town where fairly dumbfounded
As of such the FBI eventually got involved, shortly after Jenn was found.
Agent John Frican lead the case. Luckily, or perhaps in some sort of divine intervention, he caught John in the act at Woodland Elementsry School, evidently having sexual intercourse with 11 year old Taylor Letterman, who was found missing 4 of her fingers and heavily bruises, including bruises on the throat region.
He proceed to arrest John without much of a struggle. John Mcantry got locked up at Fairwood Federal Penitentary.
John Frican drove home, and on the way hit several pedestrians, who all jumped into middle of the empty road for seemingly no reason.
Three people died in a span of about 10 minutes. Frican recognised one as Veronica Mcantry, whom he confirmed had no pulse.
The next morning Frican went out to get a cup of coffee at Beaver Black Waterfalls. He looked down at his feet until the Barista shouted "Hey!" to get his attention. He was spotted on CCTV, running away with erratic and fearful behaviour.
He was found 6 days later, at Peanut Marsh, evidently paralysed from a bullet wound to the spine; taken at point blank from bebind with a 9mm pistol. He died of thirst 4 days prior after lying paralysdled in sunlight and injesting saltwater. Research determining his killer has proven inconclusive.
His DNA was later found in 3 bodies, all found in a ditch near Ken Highway, as well as several girls at Woodland Elementary School, after it came into question why he was even there to arrest John in the first place, considering he told authorities he found the attack happening in the boiler room.
John Mcantry died in prison. his body was found in a staff only area with six stab wounds. it is currently unknown who killed John and why.
edit: I went a different way I guess. The focus wasnt on the prompt, but on other things. The prompt only came into play near the end. | 'Wait a minute, I remember you!'
I was a statue. A statue that desperately wanted to melt into the floor and become one with the mantle.
'You're looking a bit pale. Are you alright?'
All I could do was hold eye contact with him.
'Should I... call an ambulance?'
I had to snap out of it. Talking to him would be infinitely better than explaining to authorities.
'Uh... no! No, I'm fine. Haha.'
'Oh. Well, um, remember back in 2015? Calculus 2 class?' he asked.
I... what?
'I always wanted to ask you how you did so well in that class... the teacher was absolutely fricking horrible. God, I don't think I learned a thing there. How did you even manage to get any notes out of his gibberish?'
'I don't think I remember you too well from that class. Did we talk?'
He looked a bit dispirited. 'Yeah... not too much. I was pretty shy. I sat on the other side of the class anyway, so I don't think we crossed paths much.'
Then it hit me. There \*was\* a dude that looked like him in my class.
'OH! You were the dude who fell over and soaked the dude in front of you in milk!'
I don't think anything else I could've said would make him more depressed.
'Yeah...'
My face went red with embarrassment.
'Yeah... um... I guess I was just really good at calc? I don't remember too much from that class now either.'
'Yeah. Well...' he paused. I looked at him, still in a state of minor shock, and slightly confused.
'Oh, never mind. Anyway, I have to get back to work.'
'Yeah, alright. See ya later, then.'
I was about to leave, but then a question started burning within me.
'Actually, wait. Did you happen to be at the bar further down this street last night?'
'Oh, no. I was feeling like shit yesterday, came home and slept from 6 pm to 6 am. I don't even really go to that bar, anyway. Alcohol just isn't really my thing.'
'Alright, then. Have a nice day!'
'You too!'
What are the odds... I hit a dude and he has a doppelganger in the same town. So much for forgetting this. | |
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you. | John Mcantry grew up normal enough: nice family, good friends, and even a few girlfriends. Yet something was very wrong with John.
It started small, as these things always do: cats not returning to their owner's homes, dead birds that littered the roadways, or him and his sister, Veronica staying out all night at unknown locations
Reaching the age of seventeen, John started to become worse. A murder took place on 7th street near Woodchapel Church. It seems someone wanted Kathy Nutrist dead. Her body was found with 28 stab wounds, a deep slit in her throat, 7 of her fingers missing, with the remaining ones cut off.
It wasnt long until The Wood chipper, as the papers called him, found another victim, an another, and more fell to his hand. All churchgoers, all similar injuries, all in places with woodland-like names, or in nature trails and dumped in nearby bodies of water.
When he reached 18, John had amassed 12 victims. he left evidence, and no one could find out just who this mysterious "Woodchipper" was, or why he did the things he did.
And at 14, Veronica and 3 of her friends went missing.
Veronica returned 1 week later, along with 2 of her friends, except Jenn, who only returned 5 days later, with dark bruises all over her body and missing 3 of her fingers. Police in such a small town where fairly dumbfounded
As of such the FBI eventually got involved, shortly after Jenn was found.
Agent John Frican lead the case. Luckily, or perhaps in some sort of divine intervention, he caught John in the act at Woodland Elementsry School, evidently having sexual intercourse with 11 year old Taylor Letterman, who was found missing 4 of her fingers and heavily bruises, including bruises on the throat region.
He proceed to arrest John without much of a struggle. John Mcantry got locked up at Fairwood Federal Penitentary.
John Frican drove home, and on the way hit several pedestrians, who all jumped into middle of the empty road for seemingly no reason.
Three people died in a span of about 10 minutes. Frican recognised one as Veronica Mcantry, whom he confirmed had no pulse.
The next morning Frican went out to get a cup of coffee at Beaver Black Waterfalls. He looked down at his feet until the Barista shouted "Hey!" to get his attention. He was spotted on CCTV, running away with erratic and fearful behaviour.
He was found 6 days later, at Peanut Marsh, evidently paralysed from a bullet wound to the spine; taken at point blank from bebind with a 9mm pistol. He died of thirst 4 days prior after lying paralysdled in sunlight and injesting saltwater. Research determining his killer has proven inconclusive.
His DNA was later found in 3 bodies, all found in a ditch near Ken Highway, as well as several girls at Woodland Elementary School, after it came into question why he was even there to arrest John in the first place, considering he told authorities he found the attack happening in the boiler room.
John Mcantry died in prison. his body was found in a staff only area with six stab wounds. it is currently unknown who killed John and why.
edit: I went a different way I guess. The focus wasnt on the prompt, but on other things. The prompt only came into play near the end. | It was about that time i realized i had fucked up. Make it look like an accident they said, it will be easy they said. Huh. He stares for a moment then limps around the counter to get a better look. By this time ive got my buck knife concealed and ready to go. As he gets closer i see his mind starting to put it together. You bastard you almost killed me he shouts. The other customers look up in suprise. I stammer back what are you talking about man i just came in for a chai latte with non dairy creme. No no i know it was you i woke up this morning at the lake picking flakes of red paint outa my ass becuase of you he sneared. Well then i know its not me buddy i drive the blue ford outside and i would have finished the job i retorted. This makes him hobble back a bit in frustration. I keep it going. Shit if i cant get a damn cup of joe without being accused of something ill take my business elsewhere. I walk out of the shop in a huff. I can see him still staring at me from the reflection in a car windshield. At this point im hungry, thursty and mad because hes not dead. Plan b goes into effect, clearly im dealing with more than i first thought. Im not new to wet work so i knew i needed to end this today or i would be marked. I look around and find an ally heading to the back of the store. I waited for a while chain smoking and putting the butts in my pocket. In this shithole of a town cameras are non exsistant so im not to worried. I know from my source that he owns the shop and only gets help when he needs it. Looks like business has been good lately. As the day goes on his shop is close to closing time. The door creeks open as i hear him dragging a trashbag behind his gimped leg. He doesnt notice me in the shadows as i come up behind him and slip my blade between his ribs. He screams as i gag him and drive the blade deeper. I can feel the struggle leaving him as his blood starts to cover me. Its an interesting feeling being body to body with someone as the last breath hisses out of them. Its almost like the soul leaving for a better host. I layed him down near the dumpster and fiddles through his pockets setting a nice scene for the cops. Grab a few hairs i pulled from the local ymca shower drain and spread them about. A nice bit of dna evidence to lead them on a goose trip while i make my way to mexico.It had gotten cold and i still hadn't eaten so i walked back to my truck and slid into a clean shirt and jacket then drove to a little diner outside of town. A cute little waitress walked over to take my order and call me honey. As im eating i like to think of who the person i just killed might be. Maybe just a man maybe a monster im not sure. As i finish a man in a long trench coat walks up and screams my name.....wait. i take off my vr headset and trundle down the stairs to find my mom pissed off i didnt take out the trash. Uuuuhg guess it can wait till later.
Ps i did this on my phone i know its bad but it was something to pass the time.. |
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