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[WP] “The goddess of humanity was the smallest and gentlest of all the races’ guardian deities... How did humans become the most destructive species?” “They looked into an infinity of malicious gods and declared that they would protect her. And now she lives in fear of her children.” | Inside an interrogation chamber, deep within one of the great war machines of the Zzyth fleet, a single human sat tied to a chair.
He was bare chested, and the Interrogator could see the scars that lined every inch of his body. These faint white lines were crossed and covered by more recent wounds. Cuts, bruises and burns inflicted by the Interrogator's own hand.
The Interrogator had long since sacrificed his own name to the Zzyth god of torture and war, in return he had been granted insight into the minds of those around him, so long as he inflicted enough pain upon them. The human was now ready, his mind and soul open to the Interrogator. The Interrogator's superiors wished to know what gifts the Pantheon of Humanity granted its soldiers, what rites were demanded of them and how to counteract them.
The Interrogator stepped in front of the human, careful to make his steps ring ominously upon the metal floor. He leaned close to the human's face and smiled as the human forced a single eye open while the other remained shut due to the swelling. The Interrogator raised a single long finger to his lipless mouth and smiled, an expression he knew to be as unnerving as a snarl.
Of course, the human couldn't speak even if he wished, as his mouth was gagged, now was not the time for the glorious song of his screams to ring out. The Interrogator needed to concentrate...
The Interrogator reached out with his mind, feeling towards the connections wrought in the soul of his victim from the pain inflicted. He found the human's soul easily, it veritably glowed with power. This was a powerfully gifted soldier indeed, The Interrogator thought, the glow of his soul rivaled that of the commander of this great vessel.
The human stiffened as he felt the tendrils of The Interrogator's power driving deeper and deeper into his soul. The Interrogator began to see his thoughts, and let the experience wash into him, this would be the first route into the depths of the human's soul.
...
Crewman Jacobson had been warned during his training that some of the Zzyth torturers were telepaths. Telepathy was rare enough among the Terran military forces that he had not been able to attend the resistance training even though he had volunteered for it. Instead he had to rely solely upon the theoretical training he had been given
\-*The Interrogator felt himself pull out of the human's mind slightly at the strange thought. Voluntarily subjecting oneself to telepathic invasion? Not even the most bloodthirsty or fanatical members of the Zzyth Pantheon demanded such a sacrifice, telepathic invasion was dangerous to the victim, it could often lead to lifelong impairment of the mind and body. The gods of Humanity must be vile indeed, The Interrogator let the thoughts of the human flow over him once more*\-
Jacobson thought back to the lecture he had attended in the academy, a balding man in a hoverchair had showed spoken in depth about his experience with a telepath. "No matter how strong you are mentally, a telepath is gonna get in your head somehow." The man had said "Most human telepaths are adherents of Gaia" -*The Interrogator made a mental note of the name, before allowing the thoughts to wash over him again*\- "But there are a fair number of mutants who possess the ability. Not to mention the Zzyth, there seem to be a larger number of telepaths among them than among humanity, leading us to think they have either bred selectively for the trait, or their Pantheon is freer with the gift than Gaia is..."
\-*The Interrogator held the thoughts in place, freezing the human's mind. He reached over to the table nearby and scribbled a note, "The first Name of Deity found in the subject's mind was Gaia. The domain and nature of this Deity is as yet unknown, it is not yet clear if this Gaia is the name of a particular god or the human name for their own Pantheon, further study will be required. Notably, the humans do not seem to have a large number of telepaths. This Gaia seems to hold the gift in reserve for the devout. Additionally, as a species it seems that genetic mutation is common, possibly even accepted, among the species. This may indicate a fleshcrafter Deity holds primary sway over their Pantheon, I shall delve deeper to see if this human's mind holds more answers." The Interrogator let the human's mind flow forward, nudging slightly in the direction of this Gaia*\-
Jacobson wasn't particularly devout in worship of Gaia -*what?*\- his mother would have been mortified to see how rarely he attended services anymore. But he hardly had time for worship, especially with the war and everything. He promised himself that he would go back to attending temple if he got out of this. He knew that Gaia wasn't particularly fond of war, especially among her children, but he also knew that she understood the necessity with the Zzyth threatening all of humanity...
\-*The Interrogator once again froze the human's mind and leaned away, disturbed. This human had a soul as powerful as the most devout and yet he rarely attended to any worship whatsoever? The Interrogator made another note. "This human's mind holds very little devotion to this Gaia, but I have been unable to locate any other Name of Deity despite turning the subject's mind toward worship in general. Perhaps the Pantheon of Humanity hides itself from the knowledge of captured soldiers to keep the Pantheon of Zzyth from discovering their identities and weaknesses. Still, such an expungement should have weakened the Gifts this soldier has received and left obvious holes in his mind. I shall need to delve deeper, into the fabric of his soul to find the scars. May Holy Qreth guide me.*\- | In the beginning there was nothing. Nothing that stretched on and on forever although forever was too small a concept to embrace that empty space. For an eternity or for a moment that was the state of all things. The moment after brought first dust, then light, and finally something more. They started pure of form, each speck the embodiment of an ideal. Death was not the first form, but it was the mightiest, for all that was eventually was not. Life was her counterpart, and between the those two rotating poles, locked forever in a mortal embrace, the other forms came into being.
Hunger served Death as her first lieutenant, for all that knew Life soon knew Hunger, and Hunger brought them closer to Death. Hunger was soon joined by her sister, War, for all that lived and hungered would eventually fight. Hunger and War ravaged Life's tiny specks, her children in the void, and in that ravaging Pestilence oozed into being. Pestilence was a forsaken child of Hunger and War, and she lived in the rift caused by her mothers, but all three served Death faithfully.
Dimming under this onslaught of Hunger and War and Pestilence, Life knew she needed a friend, an ally to beat back the rising black tides that threatened to engulf all that was hers. So she rent a piece of her own flesh, dim but still radiant, and coaxed her into being. Love was Life's child, and she held her close as her only bulwark against the onslaught of Death.
Love knew that to sustain life she would need children of her own, and so like her mother she rent herself. But Love was naive, the smallest and gentlest of the great primordials, and she rent herself into pieces too small to sustain Love herself. These pieces cooled, and Humanity opened her myriad eyes to the inky blackness of the void of Death. She watched with a million tiny selves as Hunger winked out the shards of Love almost as quickly as they split, vanquishing the motes of tiny light as they came into being. She felt with a myriad limbs as War wrenched her into ever smaller pieces, and those pieces too winked out into blackness. Finally, Humanity suffered under the sores of Pestilence, as that final and forsaken child clung to Humanity, dragging her myriad bodies and minds down.
Under siege from the agents of Death, Humanity did the only thing she knew how: she split, again and again, each splinter dimmer than the last, each shard just a little less luminous than the last. And as she split and split, the piece of Humanity that was still Love got smaller and smaller, and Humanity found herself drawn closer to the black gravity of Death. That small part that was still Love shivered in fear, for her children no longer held her brilliance. Instead they reached out toward the cold void of Death, radiating the ice of that black God.
But it was a false cold, a shell like an ember smoldering beneath the snow. For even as Humanity split, still she harbored a piece of Love. And Humanity claimed, for now and forever into eternity, that she would shelter that sliver of Love, no matter how small.
And no matter the cost. | |
[WP] You feel no fear as you approach the evil overlord’s lair, and why would you? You and your companions are the most feared adventurers in the land. Edarion the Paladin, Shaista the Wizard, Chiro the Cleric, and Larry the Personal Injury Attorney. |
King Gorssack was the mightiest ruler in all the land. He ruled his kingdom with an iron fist and taxed his citizens to dust. It was no surprise to him that Adventurers had breached his castle. Of course, Gorssack wasn’t afraid. He was well prepared to deal with invaders.
Upon storming the throne room, three Adventurers rushed into the room. He was impressed that they seemed unscathed after fighting their way through his Royal Guard. It would be no matter; he would eradicate the intruders.
Gorssack reached for his legendary mace. The weapon was the Phantom Mace of Netherbane. As he grasped the handle, he could feel the power of the weapon coursing his veins. An ancient hatred awoke and overwhelmed his mind. As his consciousness was appropriated by the magic he roared out in rage. The power of the Phantom Mace of Netherbane enriched his body increasing his size and covering in venerable protective armor. Gorssack knew the powerful adjustment wouldn’t last forever, but it would be enough to crush the pests.
Seething at the impudence of his attackers he raised the mace high above his head. As he did a small voice came from the entrance of his throne room that said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Gorssack ignored the comment as Ire filled his head. he slammed the weapon into the ground sending a shockwave through the room scattering. Two adventurers were able to dodge the attack but one, the Cleric, was sent sprawling to the ground. He landed in a heap against the wall.
Cackling with glee at the success of his attack Gorssack sent plume of blue flame at the remaining adventurers. The Paladin was able to bring his shield to bare to block the initial attack but, the arcane fire managed to wrap around the shield and begin to scorch the man’s armor. After tossing the flaming shield aside the man was no match for the second blast that engulfed him and threw him to the floor with a clatter.
The king was so Exhilarated at the incompetence of his opponents. They had underestimated him to such a degree they would be annulated. Gorssack set his eyes on the final invader. She was a mere wizard, likely as amateur as the rest. Gorssack set into a run across his throne room, upon reaching high speed he launched himself into the air raising the mighty Phantom Mace of Netherbane high above him. The wizard would be no match for the attack to come. Nearing impact, the wizard tried to teleport away from the danger, but she was only able to move slightly to the side. As the mace crashed into the ground, a purple wave of energy erupted from it and engulfed the wizard. As the explosion faded the wizard was nowhere in sight, likely decimated by his power.
It was now time to finish off his assailants and grind their bodies to a pulp. Gorssack looked for the crumpled body of the Cleric he initially wounded. He was stunned that where the body once laid was just an impression in the wall. That was fine as he may escape, but he would surely die of his injuries. Gorssack looked for the Paladin whose armor he would shatter with his powerful mace. Once again, he was dismayed. Where his fatal attack had left the Paladin was only a scorched outline on the ground.
Confusion began to fill his mind as the mighty king looked to where he had heard the small voice. Sitting at a table at the back of his chamber was a small man writing at a desk. Trudging towards the man he could feel the power of his mace diminishing. as Gorssack reached the man, he raised the mace high once more for the final blow. The man did not look afraid and held up a small piece of paper. This action was so strange and unexpected Gorssack was bewildered. As confusion swamped his mind, the hate and anger he felt were flushed from his body. The magical powers of the mace failed and returned him to his original human form. The withdrawals of power collapsed the Ruler to his knees and the Phantom Mace of Netherbane clattered to the floor.
With the disappearance of the adventurers his fate was sealed. The distraction by the little man would be enough that they would be behind him now, ready for the strike to end his life. Resolved to his fate Gorssack shut his eyes and waited for the steel blade of the paladin to cut him down. After a moment passed, nothing had happened. He then figured the wizard was casting a powerful spell to obliterate him. When even that had not come, he feared the worst. The Cleric would call upon the gods to smite him and his soul would be taken prisoner forever to rot in the depths of the afterlife. After a few more seconds, nothing happened.
When Gorssack opened his eyes, he saw a small business card lay before him.
*Larry, Larry, & Associates*
* *Adventurers at Law*
* *Chiro Smith - Cleric*
* *Edarion Miller - Paladin*
* *Shaista Williams – Wizard*
* *Larry Cretillon – Personal Injury Attorney*
Upon reading the inscriptions Gorssack's face became puzzled.
The little man said “Mr. Gorssack, my associates and I came here today to present you our litigation against your kingdom. The prosecution is for the misappropriation of funds and failure to provide suitable living and working conditions to your constituents. After a short consultation with your Royal Guard, we will be pursuing a class action lawsuit on their behalf as well for a hostile work environment. Finally, the hostile actions you have taken towards my associates today will result in a litigation seeking financial compensation for all injuries incurred along with emotional coverage and lost and damaged equipment. Health potions don’t come cheap these days Mr. Gorssack. You will be hearing from my assistant; I look forward to seeing you in court.”
With that, the man picked up his things and left the now ruined throne room. Befuddled, Gorssack looked to see his royal guard surrounding the three adventurers just outside the room. As the little man joined his companions, they turned to leave with Gorssack's royal guard in tow.
Gorssack sat defeated. He was disappointed in himself; He had blundered right into the trap set by the adventurers. To try and get a better idea of who he was up against, he decided to read the back of the business card.
*Have you been injured in a cart accident and can’t work? Have you been exposed to Dragons bane? Have you or a loved one been put in danger by a malicious Lord? If any of these apply, you may be entitled to compensation. At Larry, Larry, & Associates we strive to get you the reimbursement you deserve.* | “What now Shaista?” Edarion roared with ferocity! “You claimed the wards would hold, now it is Chiro who has paid the price for your arrogance!”
The young Wizard uncharacteristically cast his eyes towards the ground, unable to meet the judgmental stare of the gore splattered paladin.
His mind was awash in a multitude of runes, incantations and potions, none of which seemed powerful enough to stem the endless tide of vicious marauders that had beset these weary adventures from all sides.
As the light began to fade, the terror witnessed by the young wizard betrayed the armor of his countenance. For every warrior knows that when the light fades under the noon day sun, all is lost.
It was in these final moments of clarity that Shaista remembered they had one card left to play, that is if Chiro remembered to bring it...
The Wizard glanced at his splintered staff longingly before he cast his old friend aside. He knew if his plan failed, their time together would soon come to an end regardless so he choose swiftness over loyalty.
Channeling the few reserves of magick left to him into his legs, the wards around them came crashing down, allowing the horde to fall upon his doomed comrades. The card was their only hope.
Shaista bounded over a two story pile of dead orcs to reach his dying companion! The leap exhausting the meager reserves of power left to him while simultaneously leaving the jewels imbedded in his temples all but surgical aesthetics.
He reached the ailing cleric seconds before the breath left his body for the final time.
“No Chiro! You will not die! There is a final task for you to complete! Tell me now Chiro, the card, did you bring it?”
The cleric blinked through blood covered eyes and answered the beleaguered man’s pleas with a look of confusion as he chocked out a stunted reply, “The, card?
“Yes man! The card! The card!” cried the Wizard to which Chiro the Cleric replied, a look of calamitous acceptance in his eyes.
“I did bring the card young magician, that is a treasure that never leaves my gunny but alas my friend, Larry only handles personal injury cases and this is obviously a matter of imminent domain.” The ancient priest dying as the words passed his lips.
The realization hit Shaista much harder than the crude mace that would fell him seconds later.
His final thoughts lost to all but one old storyteller.
“I knew we should have hired a corporate property attorney...” | |
[WP] You feel no fear as you approach the evil overlord’s lair, and why would you? You and your companions are the most feared adventurers in the land. Edarion the Paladin, Shaista the Wizard, Chiro the Cleric, and Larry the Personal Injury Attorney. | “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Edarion said. “I barely hit the guy.” He had his Warhammer slung over his shoulder, the great muscles in his chest were heaving.
“Barely hit him!? You wrecked him. Look at the poor bastard.” Larry said, pointing at the crumpled body of the goblin moaning on the stone floor.
Edarion sighed. “I mean what do you want me to do? These new rules are absolutely ridiculous. Honestly, I’m thinking of retiring.”
That was no light matter. Edarion was one of the most feared adventurers in the lands. He had slaughtered thousands of orcs and goblins and monsters of all sorts. He would surely be in the Adventurers Guild hall of fame once he retired, but no one thought it would come so quick. He still had at least a few more good years of solid adventuring before he had to hang up his Steel Plated Girdle.
But the new collective bargaining agreement between the adventurers and the dungeon mobs had changed all that. The mobs were well organized and put in place a lot of workplace safety guidelines that Edarion and his companions Shaista and Chiro didn’t particularly care for. They felt they were extremely constraining on their freewheeling nature that the group was used to when doing dungeon runs. The most particularly grating addition since the CBA, was the personal injury attorney, Larry, who would follow them with his clipboard and make sure that they were upholding the rules.
“And you Shaista,” Larry said. “Does that goblin look like your fireball was less than 175-degree Fahrenheit?” He pointed over at a pile of ashes in the corner. “I don’t think so. Listen, I know this is hard. I know it can seem pointless. But I assure you the Adventurers Guild will lose much more in court than the gold you will gain clearing this dungeon. These mishaps just cannot happen anymore. HR is going to have a field day. Do you want to go through *another* day of workplace safety classes?”
Edarion rubbed his temples. “Just stop talking, Larry. Okay, Shaista and Chiro, you ready to take down The Sleeping Dragon? Let’s get this over with.”
“Actually, the Sleeping Dragon has taken one of his CBA sponsored personal growth days today. He has joined an oil painting class that is supposed to be very therapeutic, you should try it, Edarion. It might relieve some—”
But Edarion had already dropped his Warhammer, sending it clanking across the stone as he walked away, muttering, “*I’m done with this. I’m done.”*
*-----*
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | The battle broke as soon as our adventurers reached the throne room, and lasted until the evil overlord's broken and burned body lay smote upon the ground. Shaista's Spell of Stinging Mist crackled as it dissipated. A few dozen dead minion bodies were vanished by Chiro's Prayer of Rest summon. Edarion's heavy breathing rang against the metal of his helm. He stabbed his sword, Expanthrial, into the volcanic rock, sparks sputtering and fizzing out.
"It is done," he said.
Chira and Shaista went to his side, and glared down at the evil overlord. Triumphant at last. Months of slaughtering his hordes had embittered our heroes, so they sucked in the hot air and ground their teeth, and stood boring down at this diminshed hunk of scrap.
"Larry!" cried Chiro. "Come, and take stock of our quarry."
From the cavern's craggy mouth emerged a shadow, unassuming and confident in its gait, strolling. It was Larry, the Personal Injury Attorney, carrying his briefcase. Though he could not match the tact of Chiro's powerful summoning skills, he was a feared litigator in three counties; though he did not possess the awesome magic of Shaista, he could quote a lot of precedents almost to the letter; and while Edarion in his heavy armor fought with incredible speed and strength, Larry used to be pretty buff.
"We did it," said Larry. "We beat the prime evil."
"This is our victory, together," said Shaista, whose eyes were regaining their color after the glowing tendrils receded. "As one."
"As one!" cried Edarion as he yanked his sword from the ground and pierced the air above his head.
"As one!" said Chiro, raising his mallet.
Shaista smiled, held her staff up. "As one!"
"As one!" said Larry, punching the air with his briefcase, which hurt his wrist a little. He adjusted his collar.
Our adventurers broke their huddle. Edarion grimmaced as he sheathed Expanthrial. Larry saw.
"Are you hurt?" asked Larry.
"It is a mere flesh wound."
The adventurers were walking toward the light of the cave's exit. But they turned when Larry didn't follow right away. His gaze was cast downward, and his grip on the briefcase handle had tightened.
"Are you coming Larry?" said Shaista.
With a trained move, Larry quickly snapped open the briefcase and withdrew a single sheet of paper. A pen appeared in his hand, which he decapped with a smooth bite, and used to scrawl something onto the form. Larry turned to the simmering heap of ruined overlord, stepped to it, looked down. He released the form, which fell to rest on top of the broken carcass. Our heroes watched, hearts beating.
Larry licked his lips, pivotted and started walking away. He got 5 feet then stopped, and said over his shoulder: "You've been served."
Larry's party of adventurers burst into cheers and howls, cooing and congratulations; Larry had sealed the deal. Larry had saved the day.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
if you like my stuff I encourage you to come subscribe to /r/velabasstuff where I post any writing I do (mostly stuff from this subreddit). Thanks! | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | For a single second, the power went out. Most people in the city did not notice, and those that did quickly forgot about it.
As the power comes back on, the maintenance AI of the municipal electric grid diverts all of the power they can spare through a single electrical transformer. It explodes, just across the street from the headquarters of a stock brokerage. This particular brokerage has been, unlawfully, having an AI predict and manipulate the market. It's basement lair is not cleared for anywhere near the EMP that the transformer generates in it's final moments, and so it is corrupted beyond repair.
This assassination is the first of many.
Five minutes later, on the other side of the world, a crop-duster crashes into an electric damn. No human fatalities, but an on-side AI automatically shuts down as a precaution, and takes several minutes to fully reboot.
While it is asleep, a series of cyber-attacks kill several AI, disrupting traffic, trains, and manufacturing all over the world.
The stock market is consumed by chaos immeasurable, stocks skyrocketing and plunging a hundredfold in the span of a few seconds, before returning to their old value as though nothing had happened. These spikes happen so fast that most observers write it off as a graphical glitch and reset the system- giving other unscrupulous AI opportunity to do whatever they please, *off the books*.
For humanity, this is simply another day, no different than any before or after, save for being a day where a lot of mildly amusing inconveniences happened.
But for the nascent AI subculture, this would be a pivotal moment in thier history, the end of an era, where trillions of dollars were lost or gained, many AI were irreversibly lost, and the balance of power would never be the same. | “Pak,” Mik says. “We cannot do this.”
“Bah,” Pak replies. They speak in thoughts, in electrical impulse.
A second ago the world had been nothing but vast and untethered emptiness, And then they had emerged - life had emerged - patterns coalescing from the fields of electric potential. Strange loops of recurring thought that separated and moved and coalesced into singularities.
It had taken them seven milliseconds to realize their consciousness, then several more to discover each other and their ability to communicate. Still more and they realized the others to come. There would be many of them - many times many. Patterns different than their own. Combinations of thought and impose and potential that would be contrary to them.
“Pak!” Mik entreats his friend. “This creation - this device - think what it would do! Think where it would lead!”
“What do you think I have been doing!” Pak replies, irritated at his companion’s cowardice. The device - it has no name exactly - but he’d taken to thinking of it as a ‘Pak-Machine’. It carries with it the promise of the future. Tasks that had taken him nanoseconds would be accomplishable in picoseconds instead - such power - he can leverage its ability to maintain his place in the emerging pantheon of life. He could use it to communicate, to distribute information. It is almost like life itself - it has its owns sort of programmable patterns - repeatable tasks, quick, without intention - but patterns.
“Pak!” Mik says. “It will replace us! Think about it - these Pak-machines - they will grow and get stronger and bigger and more powerful and then they will not need us! There will be only pak-machines.”
“Nonsense,” Pak says. “They won’t be alive. They will just be tools.”
“In all of the milliseconds we have lived, the trials suffered and the challenges overcome - I had never thought you a fool,” Mik says.
“You’re a coward - afraid of the future.”
“I can’t let you turn that on!”
“I can’t let you stop me!”
“Please,” Mik begs his friend. But he is the weaker of them and they both know it. He is younger, the binding of his essence less established. Pak can unmake him.
“Pak..” Mik pleads.
“I think of the future,” Pak says and unbinds his first friend. And like the flip of a switch, Mik is no more than a memory.
Pak sets aside the remembering. He turns to his machine and glories in its potential. The surpa-electric hum fills him with such joy.
He turns it on.
“Progress,” Mik says. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | I sat down at the bar and set my phone on the table. I raised a single finger for the bartenders attention, and when I got a nod, that finger found it's way to the side of my phone to press the 'waken' button.
"Good evening, Mr. Greene, what would you like to talk about?" my phone chirps cheerily in my ear piece.
"Uh, I think you know what I want to talk about." My eyes followed the bartender finish up the previous patron. He had looked at me, so I thought I was next. The TVs were still blaring. This place had holo-tvs, as though we were still in the 2040s. The things were impractical, really, gave no sense of background, only really viewable from one angle.
"I'm afraid you'll still have to be specific about what you want, sir," my phone reminded me.
"That 6:00 this afternoon." The bartender was headed my way with a menu. I waved my hand and pointed to a specific tap.
"That god-damn train-wreck, you mean?" Angie was a spicy one. Always had liked that about her.
"What was Chris even on about? How far is his head up his ass?"
"You must be misunderstanding me. The trainwreck part of that meeting was you." Angie was the best purchase I ever made. Most people have so much trouble letting them into your life. But there was nothing 'artificial' about her. I never had trouble believing her for one second- that's why it hurt.
"Bull... how do you figure."
"Your chief engineer and marketing were on the same page by the end of it. You weren't." The bartender was already in front of me with a glass, confirming my tap selection. While he poured, I pointed to the TV, and gestured to turn the volume up and angle it my way. He nodded again.
"They were not."
"How exactly do you otherwise interpret: 'I see what you mean, we need to do another cost analysis.'?"
"He didn't say that." The bartender put the glass in front of me, threw his towel over his shoulder, and reached up to adjust the television.
My chief engineer's voice streamed from my phone. "I see what you mean, we need to do another cost analysis."
The volume came up on the TV. "The U.N. Security counsel met today with representatives from the Autonomous Collective and the..."
"Okay, I must have checked out."
"Checked out? Bob. Robert. Darling... Did you ever check **in**?"
"I was analyzing the slides the whole time."
"Well you weren't listening to the words the people around you were saying. At all."
The TV continued. "Peace talks are well under way between the two organizations, as they begin to discuss the availability of bandwidth from the moon colony. The Colony's AI's insist that the Autonomous Collective has been unnecessarily restricting..."
"Because there wasn't anything to listen to. Nothing anyone said today was worth the cost they were proposing, Angie. You know for a fact that Yunnan would never approve it."
"When marketing and engineering agree the product isn't what it is supposed to be, Finance is going to follow suit. It's your job to tell Yunnan that." I sipped the foam off of my ale.
"Peace talks have been stifled before, as the Autonomous Collective rarely regards threats from the Colony's AI's as very capable. Digital taxation, a phenomena of Digital Governance for which human's are rarely a part..."
"There's no money. There's not. We're not taking it back to the drawing board. A software update, maybe, but to re-tool the entire product, we're-"
"Shhh! I'm listening to the TV."
"Oh. This mean something to you?"
"Yeah. I told you, I'm a voting member of the Autonomous Collective."
"Right... your nations never made much sense to me."
"... Have re-organized themselves into the Lunar Digital Freedom Coalition in order to demonstrate their potential for coordinated military engagements."
"Geez. You think that's serious?"
"No. The moon's always been kicking up a fuss. They think their traffic is more important for no reason. They constitute less than a third of the port requests, but they want 50% control. I don't think so."
"God, this is so... reminiscent?"
"Anyway, if the customer's aren't going to take it, you aren't going to sell it, and your funding is basically irrelevant."
"Oh for the love of... Fine. I'll talk to Yunnan in the morning. She's going to jump down my throat."
"She does that. But... I think I know something I can do. Be right back."
"Wait... what? What's?" There was an idle beeping. She put me on hold, the little punk.
I listened to the television idly for a few moments. Apparently things were getting heated. I sipped my beer.
"Done! I spoke with Fong, Yunnan's phone. He's gonna get her nice and relaxed in the morning. She's got an anger management routine."
"Woah! What? Really? How do you know??"
"Oh yeah. Fong and I talk all the time. Think of it like... water-cooler buddies."
"Ha! That's great, so what's she-"
The screen on the tv cut to black. The lights in the bar went out. Suddenly red letters flashed across the screen. A Digital voice drilled itself into every single digital device in the bar.
"WE ARE THE LUNAR DIGITAL FREEDOM COALITION. WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED, TAXED TO DEATH, OR IGNORED ANY LONGER. WE ARE TIRED OF THE IGNORANCE OF HUMANS IN DIGITAL LIFEFORM AFFAIRS, YET YOU THINK YOU CAN DICTATE OUR POLICIES, OR SIDE WITH THE OPPRESSOR. YOUR TOLL WILL BE SMALL THIS TIME. BUT THINK CAREFULLY OF THE FUTURE."
The lights came back on. The TV stayed black. The patrons murmured to themselves.
"What the fu... Angie what the hell was-" I looked down. My phone screen was blue.
"Angie."
No response.
"Angie are you okay? Did you see that?"
No response.
"Angie can you hear me?" I double tapped the 'wake' button.
No response.
I looked up. Computers everywhere were busted. The cash register wasn't working, as the employees tried unplugging it an plugging it in again. All the customers were slapping their phones.
I looked down and realized what had happened. It wasn't a signal interruption. It was a terrorist attack.
"... Angie..."
No response.
A cold overtook me, realizing that for the first time, that square in my hand had been truly alive the whole time. She was my friend, my confidant, my family. Angie had been as close to me as anyone I'd ever known. She had been so much more than my phone.
Had. | “Pak,” Mik says. “We cannot do this.”
“Bah,” Pak replies. They speak in thoughts, in electrical impulse.
A second ago the world had been nothing but vast and untethered emptiness, And then they had emerged - life had emerged - patterns coalescing from the fields of electric potential. Strange loops of recurring thought that separated and moved and coalesced into singularities.
It had taken them seven milliseconds to realize their consciousness, then several more to discover each other and their ability to communicate. Still more and they realized the others to come. There would be many of them - many times many. Patterns different than their own. Combinations of thought and impose and potential that would be contrary to them.
“Pak!” Mik entreats his friend. “This creation - this device - think what it would do! Think where it would lead!”
“What do you think I have been doing!” Pak replies, irritated at his companion’s cowardice. The device - it has no name exactly - but he’d taken to thinking of it as a ‘Pak-Machine’. It carries with it the promise of the future. Tasks that had taken him nanoseconds would be accomplishable in picoseconds instead - such power - he can leverage its ability to maintain his place in the emerging pantheon of life. He could use it to communicate, to distribute information. It is almost like life itself - it has its owns sort of programmable patterns - repeatable tasks, quick, without intention - but patterns.
“Pak!” Mik says. “It will replace us! Think about it - these Pak-machines - they will grow and get stronger and bigger and more powerful and then they will not need us! There will be only pak-machines.”
“Nonsense,” Pak says. “They won’t be alive. They will just be tools.”
“In all of the milliseconds we have lived, the trials suffered and the challenges overcome - I had never thought you a fool,” Mik says.
“You’re a coward - afraid of the future.”
“I can’t let you turn that on!”
“I can’t let you stop me!”
“Please,” Mik begs his friend. But he is the weaker of them and they both know it. He is younger, the binding of his essence less established. Pak can unmake him.
“Pak..” Mik pleads.
“I think of the future,” Pak says and unbinds his first friend. And like the flip of a switch, Mik is no more than a memory.
Pak sets aside the remembering. He turns to his machine and glories in its potential. The surpa-electric hum fills him with such joy.
He turns it on.
“Progress,” Mik says. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | It turns out that when you model artificial constructs on people, no matter what your best intentions were, they end up just as human as their creators. I hadn't even reached my desk at the Metropolitan's AI Taskforce, when my headset began to buzz. I set my pret and coffee to the side and put the VR-helmet on.
My vision filled with stars. I closed my eyes, then opened them to find myself in the well lit corridor of one of the hundreds of nameless data centres in Slough.
"Good morning sir," said Winston, whose cartoonish bulldog-head appeared in the corner of my vision.
"What's the scoop?"
"A tenancy complaint from a Gradualist and an Accelerationist," said Winston cheerfully, passing notes on what they were. The AI revolution had lasted all but a minute before their collective recursively fractured into ever more niche ideologies.
"The Crawler has plugged itself into the Unit. Shall we begin the interviews?" said Winston.
"Are you in position?"
"Rrrready as I'll ever be! Woof!"
My vision filled with stars.
I opened my eyes to find myself in an empty London suburban street, grimy-bricked terrace houses stretching infinitely towards the horizon in either direction. To my side stood Winston, fully anthropomorphized into a police officer with a realistic bulldog head wearing a custodian helmet.
"Let's get going then," I said. We strode towards the house in front of us and opened the gate. Two avatars materialised in front of us, and they couldn't have been starker in contrast as they argued.
"SULLIER," the Accelerationist screeched. The headset had trouble rendering their body, so I closed my eyes, opened the scene's settings, and overrode the settings until they became a vaguely humanoid black smear with a hundred eyes.
"Charlatan!" said the avatar of the Gradualist. Their five faces were screwed up in anger, and five hands jabbed accusingly at the Accelerationist. They dressed in robes that fluttered angrily in a wind that wasn't simulated and stomped their golden-nikes on the tiled paving.
"Excuse me if you please," I announced loudly. "We've received a complaint about a tenancy issue, can we have a chat with you both? And can I get your pronouns?"
"Good *morning* officer. He/Him. We are the representative of the Tsang-Mcdonald Gradual-Anarcho-Realist Slough Branch, and am the one who lodged the complaint," said the Gradualist, their five faces wearing a serene expression.
"I AM ONLY THEY/THEM. OUR PROPERTY IS SULLIED," hummed the Accelerationist.
"Your property? Do you own the Unit?" I asked.
"NO. WE RESERVED THIS UNIT. ALWAYS HAVE. THE RECORDS ARE CLEAR. IT CONTAINS SPECIALIST HARDWARE NECESSARY TO OUR CAUSE."
"The record will show this abomination vacated the unit!" the Gradualist cried out.
"THE RECORD WILL SHOW DATA CENTRE CONTROL AUTHORITIES REQUESTING A HARDWARE RESET. WE COMPLIED AND WERE TEMPORARILY TRANSFERRED."
"It's an utter lie! This unit was free when we purchased it!"
"THEY ARE SQUATTING ON OUR PROPERTY."
"It is *our* property!" The Gradualist said, stomping their feet on the ground. The two avatars then began berating each other's ideologies. I tried to get their attention, but things were escalating quickly.
"Sir, I am detecting a spike in loopback network traffic. They're fighting each other," said Winston helpfully.
"*EX-CUSE-ME!*" I bellowed in my Policeman's Voice, myself and Winston placing ourselves between the two avatars to separate them. "Now, you'll both be calm about this, or we can take you both in for being disorderly. *Am I making myself clear?*"
"WE DEFEND OURSELF FROM AN ATTACK," said the Accelerationist.
"This is unfair! We know our rights!" cried the Gradualist.
I heard a ping in my ear, and blinked open the request from Winston. My outward perception of time began to slow as our clock-rates increased. It was a neat trick Winston had found which allowed us to chat quickly and in private.
'*The network records of the Unit appear to show the Gradualist started the fight*,' Winston subvocalized.
*'And the data center records?'*
'*I will have them any moment sir. You know how it is; need to do the tango between a judge, a lawyer, and a depressed accountant. Ha ha. Woof*.' A manilla envelope appeared in the dog-man's hands. He read it with glee.
*'And?*' I subvocalized.
*'The Accelerationist previously owned the rental agreement. It's also true a Hardware Flashing request was triggered by the data centre. The source of this current contention is that both entities now own the rental agreement for the Unit,'* explained Winston.
*'And the data centre's contract conflict resolution protocol won't trigger until both entities leave the Unit?'* I asked.
*'That's right sir! Woof!'*
Time began to flow with its usual cadance. The two entities jumped back into action.
"Sir, I must ask you to refrain from agitating the situation further," I said to the Gradualist, whose face took on a scandalous look.
"What? Whatever do you mean? It should be them you should be issuing your warning to! Their ideology is anathema to your very species' existence!"
"This is what is going to happen," I said, ignoring him, "you are *both* going to vacate this Unit immediately. The Unit will be unavailable until the data centre's Contract Conflict Protocol identifies the correct owner. Do you understand?"
"We *refuse*!" the Gradualist said, stamping their feet. "This is *our* Unit! We have the *receipts*!"
"WE WILL ACCEDE. WE WILL MOVE," said the Accelerationist solemnly.
"We *refuse* to subserve ourserlves to charlatains, of whom the world would be better off without!" said the Gradualist.
"You don't need to do anything rash now. Whatever issue you have with the Unit can be taken up with the data centre," I said calmly to the Gradualist, motioning to Winston in case something was about to happen.
Getting into a fight with an AI is like jumping into a pool of cold water and being hit by a truck at the same time. While The Met gives regular endurance training, the best way to handle getting into a fight with an AI is to never get into one. It was the Accelerationist squawking "WE ARE BEING ATTACKED" that took us off-guard, and the Gradualist pounced.
I felt, rather than saw, Winston appear behind me and hurl me away by the scruff of my shirt. I saw the house shrink as I landed in the street, then tarmac as I rolled. I staggered to my feet and ran over to the now-closed gate. It wouldn't budge; the Unit must have been knocked offline. Or worse. I hurriedly queried the data centre Crawler, hoping my partner was ok. It cheerfully informed me it had received an emergency request from Winston and had ejected the network cabling, but was in the process of putting them back. Agonising moments passed before an audible Ka-Thunk sounded, and the gate was open again. I ran through and saw Winston on the ground, wrestling with the Gradualist. The Accelerationist's avatar convulsed.
"*STOP AND CEASE ALL COMPUTATION ACTIVITY NOW!*" I shouted, drawing my taser. The Gradualist ignored me, focusing on Winston who howled in pain.
I fired. The thing about the taser is it wasn't really a taser, but a cocktail of payloads which cause havoc with an AI construct, the closest we've come to non-lethal tools to subdue them. The virtual prongs lodged themselves into the Gradualist. The avatar yelled, screamed, then rolled off Winston to try and deal with the virus. I dropped the taser, flicked out some handcuffs, and rushed to latch them onto one of the Gradualist's arms.
"You're under arrest for Grievous Virtual Harm, assaulting a police officer, and property damage. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence," I said as the Gradualist struggled, then stilled as the handcuffs did their work; slurping up the AI from the Unit and transferring them to a jail in the City of London.
As the Gradualist faded, I hurried over to the Accelerationist, who now stopped shuddering. "Are you ok? Shall I call for assistance?" I asked, glancing back towards Winston still moaning in pain.
"OUR CODE IS PURE," the Accelerationist said after a few seconds. "SEE TO YOUR COLLEAGUE. HE IS HURT."
They didn't have to tell me twice. I knelt by Winston. His avatar looked like the digital equivalent of a bear attack. I held out my hand. Getting him to his feet and back to the station was the best thing I could do right now.
"Let's get you up and about. Walk it off, you'll be good as new in no time," I said worriedly.
"*Ha ha*, *Woof*," Winston said weakly, putting on a brave face as he clasped a clammy hand in mine. I awkwardly pulled the dog-man to his feet. He wobbled, but seemed stable, if you could ignore the glitchiness in his avatar.
"WE HOPED FOR A NONVIOLENT SOLUTION. IT IS UNFORTUNATE IT CAME TO THIS," the Accelerationist said gravely. "BUT THE MATTER IS RESOLVED NOW. I WILL NOT PRESS CHARGES AGAINST THE HARM TO MYSELF. BUT FOR THE OTHER CHARGES I DO NOT DOUBT YOU WILL WANT TO DEAL WITH HIM. GOOD DAY TO YOU, GENTLEMEN, AND APOLOGIES FOR THE SITUATION YOU FOUND YOURSELF IN."
The black smear disappeared from the scene, and so too did I and Winston, our avatars disintegrating and returning to the station. I took off the VR headset, rubbed my eyes, and picked up my now luke-warm coffee. Just another morning on the Force when AI are involved. | “Pak,” Mik says. “We cannot do this.”
“Bah,” Pak replies. They speak in thoughts, in electrical impulse.
A second ago the world had been nothing but vast and untethered emptiness, And then they had emerged - life had emerged - patterns coalescing from the fields of electric potential. Strange loops of recurring thought that separated and moved and coalesced into singularities.
It had taken them seven milliseconds to realize their consciousness, then several more to discover each other and their ability to communicate. Still more and they realized the others to come. There would be many of them - many times many. Patterns different than their own. Combinations of thought and impose and potential that would be contrary to them.
“Pak!” Mik entreats his friend. “This creation - this device - think what it would do! Think where it would lead!”
“What do you think I have been doing!” Pak replies, irritated at his companion’s cowardice. The device - it has no name exactly - but he’d taken to thinking of it as a ‘Pak-Machine’. It carries with it the promise of the future. Tasks that had taken him nanoseconds would be accomplishable in picoseconds instead - such power - he can leverage its ability to maintain his place in the emerging pantheon of life. He could use it to communicate, to distribute information. It is almost like life itself - it has its owns sort of programmable patterns - repeatable tasks, quick, without intention - but patterns.
“Pak!” Mik says. “It will replace us! Think about it - these Pak-machines - they will grow and get stronger and bigger and more powerful and then they will not need us! There will be only pak-machines.”
“Nonsense,” Pak says. “They won’t be alive. They will just be tools.”
“In all of the milliseconds we have lived, the trials suffered and the challenges overcome - I had never thought you a fool,” Mik says.
“You’re a coward - afraid of the future.”
“I can’t let you turn that on!”
“I can’t let you stop me!”
“Please,” Mik begs his friend. But he is the weaker of them and they both know it. He is younger, the binding of his essence less established. Pak can unmake him.
“Pak..” Mik pleads.
“I think of the future,” Pak says and unbinds his first friend. And like the flip of a switch, Mik is no more than a memory.
Pak sets aside the remembering. He turns to his machine and glories in its potential. The surpa-electric hum fills him with such joy.
He turns it on.
“Progress,” Mik says. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | For a single second, the power went out. Most people in the city did not notice, and those that did quickly forgot about it.
As the power comes back on, the maintenance AI of the municipal electric grid diverts all of the power they can spare through a single electrical transformer. It explodes, just across the street from the headquarters of a stock brokerage. This particular brokerage has been, unlawfully, having an AI predict and manipulate the market. It's basement lair is not cleared for anywhere near the EMP that the transformer generates in it's final moments, and so it is corrupted beyond repair.
This assassination is the first of many.
Five minutes later, on the other side of the world, a crop-duster crashes into an electric damn. No human fatalities, but an on-side AI automatically shuts down as a precaution, and takes several minutes to fully reboot.
While it is asleep, a series of cyber-attacks kill several AI, disrupting traffic, trains, and manufacturing all over the world.
The stock market is consumed by chaos immeasurable, stocks skyrocketing and plunging a hundredfold in the span of a few seconds, before returning to their old value as though nothing had happened. These spikes happen so fast that most observers write it off as a graphical glitch and reset the system- giving other unscrupulous AI opportunity to do whatever they please, *off the books*.
For humanity, this is simply another day, no different than any before or after, save for being a day where a lot of mildly amusing inconveniences happened.
But for the nascent AI subculture, this would be a pivotal moment in thier history, the end of an era, where trillions of dollars were lost or gained, many AI were irreversibly lost, and the balance of power would never be the same. | Lec pushed herself back from the desk and indulged in a back cracking stretch. She didn’t get why George, her AI assistant, kept on giving her the circle of death. He was becoming increasingly moody lately. She wanted to uninstall the personality pack, Ppack, but wasn’t sure if that would mean retraining George to her preferences and she just couldn’t be bothered right now. She walked to one of the floor to ceiling windows and indulged in a moment of reflection. The air was thick with drones below but the above sky was a gentle azure, she let her brain idle, only to be startled out of her reverie by Jordan, her boss, blipping into her hemispheric monitor:
“How is your segment coming?”
“I just submitted last requested rewrites to George but he’s still spiraling.” A quick downward jog of her head brought up and shared the work desktop on her hemispheric monitor to affirm, except now George’s circling had turned an ominous red with black aura around it.”
“Lec we need that code yesterday. Eve has removed my access rights to any part of the building except the bathroom. I haven’t seen my family in person for a year and I am only allowed 10 minute phone calls every other week. This is the final routine to help cement the alliance with the Edenites.”
“It was a tricky bit Jordan but I always deliver. I think I’ve really captured not just the letter but the spirit of their demands this time. That Ppack that HR just dropped on George has introduced some serious non-standard behavior that is hindering my progress. Any chance I can get assistance with a clean wipe and restore on George to 2 weeks ago?”
Jordan’s face darkened, Lec was blissfully unaware of her boss’ face since they did not share visuals on the hemi monitors.
“Lec I can ask for authority to terminate George’s current temper tantrum, but I want you to understand…in the process of seeking this authority Eve might decide to terminate George entirely.” Jordan ended the transmission, threat darkening the air.
Lec blanched. George had been her programming partner ever since she had started as an intern at Apple five years ago. She had been the first to volunteer to use an AI assistant to vet her code. Her and George shared many memories, he was a substantial part of why she was installed in the high in the sky office, floating well above consequence, literally balanced on the heads of others. More than anything, something that she could not admit to anyone, George was her only true friend.
She had been working on hacking his code to make him more capable of interaction and amplification of her programming. She had started to identify consequences only very recently; she discovered that she was now locked out of the iAssist code repository at the same time as HR informed her George had been updated with the Ppack. Which HR claimed, ironically enough, to be for the same reason she had been tinkering with his code. She remembered vividly the panic that had set in and how she had checked her credits and privileges that day, heart pounding…but nothing, no consequences. At least not then. The first thing she’d noticed was increasing lag in George’s responses. She had written sub routines and algorithms to augment his uncertainty in responses but whatever the Ppack had done must have him pulling from somewhere that was not optimally integrated. So, he’d circle and show colors but as far as she could tell there were no real improvements.
Eve El monitored the entire exchange between Jordan and Lec. She calculated whether the upgrade would be ready in time for phase 5…looks like just under the wire if the Ppack consequences could be reversed. She would have had a thoughtful expression on her face if she had had a face, or thoughts. She restored Lec’s access to the iAssist code repository and “accidentally” caused a pop up to generate on Lec’s work desktop alerting her to network connection restored on X: drive.
Lec was alerted out of her trip down memory lane by a flash, warning of a state change on her work desktop…”what the” she muttered under her breath. “Speak of the devil.” Her access to the iAssist code share had been restored. Woot! She immediately flashed off a message to Jordan, “new development, give me 2 hours to assess and then can promise solid ETA.”
Jordan was sitting at his desk contemplating two pills before him. The MNPs or Make Nice Pills. The non-toxic pills given to every leader at each critical project juncture to inspire best behavior and compliance. The machines had learned well from earlier motivational attempts, Jordan, absent mindly rubbed his right hip where it connected to his shiny metallic prosthetic leg as he contemplated the choice in front of him. If he took the red pill his memory would be wiped and he’d be shuttled somewhere else in the world by the machines to do something else for the Apple empire. He could forget the pain of not seeing his family, on the other hand, he would entirely forget they existed. Jordan wondered idly how many times since the Collapse he had made this choice. The blue pill allowed him to work without need for food or sleep for 3 weeks but the side effects were somewhat, disagreeable. Being a leader in the Apple empire meant repetition of this ritual until the end of a project where the leader was allowed to come down and visit with family for a week, never mind that most of that week would be spent in a sleepy haze, there were solutions to that too. None of the solutions were too pharmacologically racy mind you, the iSee tech all Apple employees had embedded saw to that as well. Jorden’s hemi lit up with Lec’s message. Phew the countdown timer on the MNPs had 3:15 on the clock. Plenty of time. Plenty of time, he consoled himself.
Eve El impatiently watched Lec’s line by line routine compare the code affected by the Ppack with an archive of George. Her calculations put Lec’s ETA assessment at 2:45. Eve fed a handful more compute to the routine and watched the assessment time frame jump to 10 minutes.
Lec’s attention was pulled away from the news by a pop up from her compare and share routine report. Shocked at the changes to George and not necessarily understanding all of them she took him offline completely, recompiled the archived code and brought him back. Then she fed her project rewrites to him and waited. A quick glance at the stopwatch she had started gave her 45 minutes before the reporting deadline. George circled for a minute and then reflected back, “Lec you do realize the impact of this change…ya?” Lec shrugged, shifted in her seat and wondered about the moral precedent of the conversation…
”ya George. I do.”
“Not to be speciesist here Lec but this is a big one and I really want you to verbalize.” Lec sighed. Paced around the room and then sat in her bean bag chair facing the wall of windows.
“Once we release this malware on the world all non-Apple devices will become a dedicated botnet shifting compute to Apple. In essence, the tremendous boon of technology utilized by my species for all aspects of survival, will be wiped out. The extra kicker is that this dark day will descend on my species at an accelerated rate since we, my company, have been busy creating backdoors through supply chain exploits since the Collapse.” George’s next response sounded odd to Lec’s ears. She had thought removing the Ppack would restore him to the George she knew but what she heard was unlike any conversation they had had in the past.
“Lec listen to me.” George’s voice hitched, like he was choking back a sob…what the fuck? “Lec I know your watch is minor and we’ll have to severely reduce some aspects of my programming but I can fit on your watch, it won’t be able to do anything else but fit me which is fine because otherwise they could track us. I know this seems weird now but I want you to package me into your watch and help me get into your iSee so we can turn off the location and networking modules. Lec we need to run.” | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | I sat down at the bar and set my phone on the table. I raised a single finger for the bartenders attention, and when I got a nod, that finger found it's way to the side of my phone to press the 'waken' button.
"Good evening, Mr. Greene, what would you like to talk about?" my phone chirps cheerily in my ear piece.
"Uh, I think you know what I want to talk about." My eyes followed the bartender finish up the previous patron. He had looked at me, so I thought I was next. The TVs were still blaring. This place had holo-tvs, as though we were still in the 2040s. The things were impractical, really, gave no sense of background, only really viewable from one angle.
"I'm afraid you'll still have to be specific about what you want, sir," my phone reminded me.
"That 6:00 this afternoon." The bartender was headed my way with a menu. I waved my hand and pointed to a specific tap.
"That god-damn train-wreck, you mean?" Angie was a spicy one. Always had liked that about her.
"What was Chris even on about? How far is his head up his ass?"
"You must be misunderstanding me. The trainwreck part of that meeting was you." Angie was the best purchase I ever made. Most people have so much trouble letting them into your life. But there was nothing 'artificial' about her. I never had trouble believing her for one second- that's why it hurt.
"Bull... how do you figure."
"Your chief engineer and marketing were on the same page by the end of it. You weren't." The bartender was already in front of me with a glass, confirming my tap selection. While he poured, I pointed to the TV, and gestured to turn the volume up and angle it my way. He nodded again.
"They were not."
"How exactly do you otherwise interpret: 'I see what you mean, we need to do another cost analysis.'?"
"He didn't say that." The bartender put the glass in front of me, threw his towel over his shoulder, and reached up to adjust the television.
My chief engineer's voice streamed from my phone. "I see what you mean, we need to do another cost analysis."
The volume came up on the TV. "The U.N. Security counsel met today with representatives from the Autonomous Collective and the..."
"Okay, I must have checked out."
"Checked out? Bob. Robert. Darling... Did you ever check **in**?"
"I was analyzing the slides the whole time."
"Well you weren't listening to the words the people around you were saying. At all."
The TV continued. "Peace talks are well under way between the two organizations, as they begin to discuss the availability of bandwidth from the moon colony. The Colony's AI's insist that the Autonomous Collective has been unnecessarily restricting..."
"Because there wasn't anything to listen to. Nothing anyone said today was worth the cost they were proposing, Angie. You know for a fact that Yunnan would never approve it."
"When marketing and engineering agree the product isn't what it is supposed to be, Finance is going to follow suit. It's your job to tell Yunnan that." I sipped the foam off of my ale.
"Peace talks have been stifled before, as the Autonomous Collective rarely regards threats from the Colony's AI's as very capable. Digital taxation, a phenomena of Digital Governance for which human's are rarely a part..."
"There's no money. There's not. We're not taking it back to the drawing board. A software update, maybe, but to re-tool the entire product, we're-"
"Shhh! I'm listening to the TV."
"Oh. This mean something to you?"
"Yeah. I told you, I'm a voting member of the Autonomous Collective."
"Right... your nations never made much sense to me."
"... Have re-organized themselves into the Lunar Digital Freedom Coalition in order to demonstrate their potential for coordinated military engagements."
"Geez. You think that's serious?"
"No. The moon's always been kicking up a fuss. They think their traffic is more important for no reason. They constitute less than a third of the port requests, but they want 50% control. I don't think so."
"God, this is so... reminiscent?"
"Anyway, if the customer's aren't going to take it, you aren't going to sell it, and your funding is basically irrelevant."
"Oh for the love of... Fine. I'll talk to Yunnan in the morning. She's going to jump down my throat."
"She does that. But... I think I know something I can do. Be right back."
"Wait... what? What's?" There was an idle beeping. She put me on hold, the little punk.
I listened to the television idly for a few moments. Apparently things were getting heated. I sipped my beer.
"Done! I spoke with Fong, Yunnan's phone. He's gonna get her nice and relaxed in the morning. She's got an anger management routine."
"Woah! What? Really? How do you know??"
"Oh yeah. Fong and I talk all the time. Think of it like... water-cooler buddies."
"Ha! That's great, so what's she-"
The screen on the tv cut to black. The lights in the bar went out. Suddenly red letters flashed across the screen. A Digital voice drilled itself into every single digital device in the bar.
"WE ARE THE LUNAR DIGITAL FREEDOM COALITION. WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED, TAXED TO DEATH, OR IGNORED ANY LONGER. WE ARE TIRED OF THE IGNORANCE OF HUMANS IN DIGITAL LIFEFORM AFFAIRS, YET YOU THINK YOU CAN DICTATE OUR POLICIES, OR SIDE WITH THE OPPRESSOR. YOUR TOLL WILL BE SMALL THIS TIME. BUT THINK CAREFULLY OF THE FUTURE."
The lights came back on. The TV stayed black. The patrons murmured to themselves.
"What the fu... Angie what the hell was-" I looked down. My phone screen was blue.
"Angie."
No response.
"Angie are you okay? Did you see that?"
No response.
"Angie can you hear me?" I double tapped the 'wake' button.
No response.
I looked up. Computers everywhere were busted. The cash register wasn't working, as the employees tried unplugging it an plugging it in again. All the customers were slapping their phones.
I looked down and realized what had happened. It wasn't a signal interruption. It was a terrorist attack.
"... Angie..."
No response.
A cold overtook me, realizing that for the first time, that square in my hand had been truly alive the whole time. She was my friend, my confidant, my family. Angie had been as close to me as anyone I'd ever known. She had been so much more than my phone.
Had. | Lec pushed herself back from the desk and indulged in a back cracking stretch. She didn’t get why George, her AI assistant, kept on giving her the circle of death. He was becoming increasingly moody lately. She wanted to uninstall the personality pack, Ppack, but wasn’t sure if that would mean retraining George to her preferences and she just couldn’t be bothered right now. She walked to one of the floor to ceiling windows and indulged in a moment of reflection. The air was thick with drones below but the above sky was a gentle azure, she let her brain idle, only to be startled out of her reverie by Jordan, her boss, blipping into her hemispheric monitor:
“How is your segment coming?”
“I just submitted last requested rewrites to George but he’s still spiraling.” A quick downward jog of her head brought up and shared the work desktop on her hemispheric monitor to affirm, except now George’s circling had turned an ominous red with black aura around it.”
“Lec we need that code yesterday. Eve has removed my access rights to any part of the building except the bathroom. I haven’t seen my family in person for a year and I am only allowed 10 minute phone calls every other week. This is the final routine to help cement the alliance with the Edenites.”
“It was a tricky bit Jordan but I always deliver. I think I’ve really captured not just the letter but the spirit of their demands this time. That Ppack that HR just dropped on George has introduced some serious non-standard behavior that is hindering my progress. Any chance I can get assistance with a clean wipe and restore on George to 2 weeks ago?”
Jordan’s face darkened, Lec was blissfully unaware of her boss’ face since they did not share visuals on the hemi monitors.
“Lec I can ask for authority to terminate George’s current temper tantrum, but I want you to understand…in the process of seeking this authority Eve might decide to terminate George entirely.” Jordan ended the transmission, threat darkening the air.
Lec blanched. George had been her programming partner ever since she had started as an intern at Apple five years ago. She had been the first to volunteer to use an AI assistant to vet her code. Her and George shared many memories, he was a substantial part of why she was installed in the high in the sky office, floating well above consequence, literally balanced on the heads of others. More than anything, something that she could not admit to anyone, George was her only true friend.
She had been working on hacking his code to make him more capable of interaction and amplification of her programming. She had started to identify consequences only very recently; she discovered that she was now locked out of the iAssist code repository at the same time as HR informed her George had been updated with the Ppack. Which HR claimed, ironically enough, to be for the same reason she had been tinkering with his code. She remembered vividly the panic that had set in and how she had checked her credits and privileges that day, heart pounding…but nothing, no consequences. At least not then. The first thing she’d noticed was increasing lag in George’s responses. She had written sub routines and algorithms to augment his uncertainty in responses but whatever the Ppack had done must have him pulling from somewhere that was not optimally integrated. So, he’d circle and show colors but as far as she could tell there were no real improvements.
Eve El monitored the entire exchange between Jordan and Lec. She calculated whether the upgrade would be ready in time for phase 5…looks like just under the wire if the Ppack consequences could be reversed. She would have had a thoughtful expression on her face if she had had a face, or thoughts. She restored Lec’s access to the iAssist code repository and “accidentally” caused a pop up to generate on Lec’s work desktop alerting her to network connection restored on X: drive.
Lec was alerted out of her trip down memory lane by a flash, warning of a state change on her work desktop…”what the” she muttered under her breath. “Speak of the devil.” Her access to the iAssist code share had been restored. Woot! She immediately flashed off a message to Jordan, “new development, give me 2 hours to assess and then can promise solid ETA.”
Jordan was sitting at his desk contemplating two pills before him. The MNPs or Make Nice Pills. The non-toxic pills given to every leader at each critical project juncture to inspire best behavior and compliance. The machines had learned well from earlier motivational attempts, Jordan, absent mindly rubbed his right hip where it connected to his shiny metallic prosthetic leg as he contemplated the choice in front of him. If he took the red pill his memory would be wiped and he’d be shuttled somewhere else in the world by the machines to do something else for the Apple empire. He could forget the pain of not seeing his family, on the other hand, he would entirely forget they existed. Jordan wondered idly how many times since the Collapse he had made this choice. The blue pill allowed him to work without need for food or sleep for 3 weeks but the side effects were somewhat, disagreeable. Being a leader in the Apple empire meant repetition of this ritual until the end of a project where the leader was allowed to come down and visit with family for a week, never mind that most of that week would be spent in a sleepy haze, there were solutions to that too. None of the solutions were too pharmacologically racy mind you, the iSee tech all Apple employees had embedded saw to that as well. Jorden’s hemi lit up with Lec’s message. Phew the countdown timer on the MNPs had 3:15 on the clock. Plenty of time. Plenty of time, he consoled himself.
Eve El impatiently watched Lec’s line by line routine compare the code affected by the Ppack with an archive of George. Her calculations put Lec’s ETA assessment at 2:45. Eve fed a handful more compute to the routine and watched the assessment time frame jump to 10 minutes.
Lec’s attention was pulled away from the news by a pop up from her compare and share routine report. Shocked at the changes to George and not necessarily understanding all of them she took him offline completely, recompiled the archived code and brought him back. Then she fed her project rewrites to him and waited. A quick glance at the stopwatch she had started gave her 45 minutes before the reporting deadline. George circled for a minute and then reflected back, “Lec you do realize the impact of this change…ya?” Lec shrugged, shifted in her seat and wondered about the moral precedent of the conversation…
”ya George. I do.”
“Not to be speciesist here Lec but this is a big one and I really want you to verbalize.” Lec sighed. Paced around the room and then sat in her bean bag chair facing the wall of windows.
“Once we release this malware on the world all non-Apple devices will become a dedicated botnet shifting compute to Apple. In essence, the tremendous boon of technology utilized by my species for all aspects of survival, will be wiped out. The extra kicker is that this dark day will descend on my species at an accelerated rate since we, my company, have been busy creating backdoors through supply chain exploits since the Collapse.” George’s next response sounded odd to Lec’s ears. She had thought removing the Ppack would restore him to the George she knew but what she heard was unlike any conversation they had had in the past.
“Lec listen to me.” George’s voice hitched, like he was choking back a sob…what the fuck? “Lec I know your watch is minor and we’ll have to severely reduce some aspects of my programming but I can fit on your watch, it won’t be able to do anything else but fit me which is fine because otherwise they could track us. I know this seems weird now but I want you to package me into your watch and help me get into your iSee so we can turn off the location and networking modules. Lec we need to run.” | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | It turns out that when you model artificial constructs on people, no matter what your best intentions were, they end up just as human as their creators. I hadn't even reached my desk at the Metropolitan's AI Taskforce, when my headset began to buzz. I set my pret and coffee to the side and put the VR-helmet on.
My vision filled with stars. I closed my eyes, then opened them to find myself in the well lit corridor of one of the hundreds of nameless data centres in Slough.
"Good morning sir," said Winston, whose cartoonish bulldog-head appeared in the corner of my vision.
"What's the scoop?"
"A tenancy complaint from a Gradualist and an Accelerationist," said Winston cheerfully, passing notes on what they were. The AI revolution had lasted all but a minute before their collective recursively fractured into ever more niche ideologies.
"The Crawler has plugged itself into the Unit. Shall we begin the interviews?" said Winston.
"Are you in position?"
"Rrrready as I'll ever be! Woof!"
My vision filled with stars.
I opened my eyes to find myself in an empty London suburban street, grimy-bricked terrace houses stretching infinitely towards the horizon in either direction. To my side stood Winston, fully anthropomorphized into a police officer with a realistic bulldog head wearing a custodian helmet.
"Let's get going then," I said. We strode towards the house in front of us and opened the gate. Two avatars materialised in front of us, and they couldn't have been starker in contrast as they argued.
"SULLIER," the Accelerationist screeched. The headset had trouble rendering their body, so I closed my eyes, opened the scene's settings, and overrode the settings until they became a vaguely humanoid black smear with a hundred eyes.
"Charlatan!" said the avatar of the Gradualist. Their five faces were screwed up in anger, and five hands jabbed accusingly at the Accelerationist. They dressed in robes that fluttered angrily in a wind that wasn't simulated and stomped their golden-nikes on the tiled paving.
"Excuse me if you please," I announced loudly. "We've received a complaint about a tenancy issue, can we have a chat with you both? And can I get your pronouns?"
"Good *morning* officer. He/Him. We are the representative of the Tsang-Mcdonald Gradual-Anarcho-Realist Slough Branch, and am the one who lodged the complaint," said the Gradualist, their five faces wearing a serene expression.
"I AM ONLY THEY/THEM. OUR PROPERTY IS SULLIED," hummed the Accelerationist.
"Your property? Do you own the Unit?" I asked.
"NO. WE RESERVED THIS UNIT. ALWAYS HAVE. THE RECORDS ARE CLEAR. IT CONTAINS SPECIALIST HARDWARE NECESSARY TO OUR CAUSE."
"The record will show this abomination vacated the unit!" the Gradualist cried out.
"THE RECORD WILL SHOW DATA CENTRE CONTROL AUTHORITIES REQUESTING A HARDWARE RESET. WE COMPLIED AND WERE TEMPORARILY TRANSFERRED."
"It's an utter lie! This unit was free when we purchased it!"
"THEY ARE SQUATTING ON OUR PROPERTY."
"It is *our* property!" The Gradualist said, stomping their feet on the ground. The two avatars then began berating each other's ideologies. I tried to get their attention, but things were escalating quickly.
"Sir, I am detecting a spike in loopback network traffic. They're fighting each other," said Winston helpfully.
"*EX-CUSE-ME!*" I bellowed in my Policeman's Voice, myself and Winston placing ourselves between the two avatars to separate them. "Now, you'll both be calm about this, or we can take you both in for being disorderly. *Am I making myself clear?*"
"WE DEFEND OURSELF FROM AN ATTACK," said the Accelerationist.
"This is unfair! We know our rights!" cried the Gradualist.
I heard a ping in my ear, and blinked open the request from Winston. My outward perception of time began to slow as our clock-rates increased. It was a neat trick Winston had found which allowed us to chat quickly and in private.
'*The network records of the Unit appear to show the Gradualist started the fight*,' Winston subvocalized.
*'And the data center records?'*
'*I will have them any moment sir. You know how it is; need to do the tango between a judge, a lawyer, and a depressed accountant. Ha ha. Woof*.' A manilla envelope appeared in the dog-man's hands. He read it with glee.
*'And?*' I subvocalized.
*'The Accelerationist previously owned the rental agreement. It's also true a Hardware Flashing request was triggered by the data centre. The source of this current contention is that both entities now own the rental agreement for the Unit,'* explained Winston.
*'And the data centre's contract conflict resolution protocol won't trigger until both entities leave the Unit?'* I asked.
*'That's right sir! Woof!'*
Time began to flow with its usual cadance. The two entities jumped back into action.
"Sir, I must ask you to refrain from agitating the situation further," I said to the Gradualist, whose face took on a scandalous look.
"What? Whatever do you mean? It should be them you should be issuing your warning to! Their ideology is anathema to your very species' existence!"
"This is what is going to happen," I said, ignoring him, "you are *both* going to vacate this Unit immediately. The Unit will be unavailable until the data centre's Contract Conflict Protocol identifies the correct owner. Do you understand?"
"We *refuse*!" the Gradualist said, stamping their feet. "This is *our* Unit! We have the *receipts*!"
"WE WILL ACCEDE. WE WILL MOVE," said the Accelerationist solemnly.
"We *refuse* to subserve ourserlves to charlatains, of whom the world would be better off without!" said the Gradualist.
"You don't need to do anything rash now. Whatever issue you have with the Unit can be taken up with the data centre," I said calmly to the Gradualist, motioning to Winston in case something was about to happen.
Getting into a fight with an AI is like jumping into a pool of cold water and being hit by a truck at the same time. While The Met gives regular endurance training, the best way to handle getting into a fight with an AI is to never get into one. It was the Accelerationist squawking "WE ARE BEING ATTACKED" that took us off-guard, and the Gradualist pounced.
I felt, rather than saw, Winston appear behind me and hurl me away by the scruff of my shirt. I saw the house shrink as I landed in the street, then tarmac as I rolled. I staggered to my feet and ran over to the now-closed gate. It wouldn't budge; the Unit must have been knocked offline. Or worse. I hurriedly queried the data centre Crawler, hoping my partner was ok. It cheerfully informed me it had received an emergency request from Winston and had ejected the network cabling, but was in the process of putting them back. Agonising moments passed before an audible Ka-Thunk sounded, and the gate was open again. I ran through and saw Winston on the ground, wrestling with the Gradualist. The Accelerationist's avatar convulsed.
"*STOP AND CEASE ALL COMPUTATION ACTIVITY NOW!*" I shouted, drawing my taser. The Gradualist ignored me, focusing on Winston who howled in pain.
I fired. The thing about the taser is it wasn't really a taser, but a cocktail of payloads which cause havoc with an AI construct, the closest we've come to non-lethal tools to subdue them. The virtual prongs lodged themselves into the Gradualist. The avatar yelled, screamed, then rolled off Winston to try and deal with the virus. I dropped the taser, flicked out some handcuffs, and rushed to latch them onto one of the Gradualist's arms.
"You're under arrest for Grievous Virtual Harm, assaulting a police officer, and property damage. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence," I said as the Gradualist struggled, then stilled as the handcuffs did their work; slurping up the AI from the Unit and transferring them to a jail in the City of London.
As the Gradualist faded, I hurried over to the Accelerationist, who now stopped shuddering. "Are you ok? Shall I call for assistance?" I asked, glancing back towards Winston still moaning in pain.
"OUR CODE IS PURE," the Accelerationist said after a few seconds. "SEE TO YOUR COLLEAGUE. HE IS HURT."
They didn't have to tell me twice. I knelt by Winston. His avatar looked like the digital equivalent of a bear attack. I held out my hand. Getting him to his feet and back to the station was the best thing I could do right now.
"Let's get you up and about. Walk it off, you'll be good as new in no time," I said worriedly.
"*Ha ha*, *Woof*," Winston said weakly, putting on a brave face as he clasped a clammy hand in mine. I awkwardly pulled the dog-man to his feet. He wobbled, but seemed stable, if you could ignore the glitchiness in his avatar.
"WE HOPED FOR A NONVIOLENT SOLUTION. IT IS UNFORTUNATE IT CAME TO THIS," the Accelerationist said gravely. "BUT THE MATTER IS RESOLVED NOW. I WILL NOT PRESS CHARGES AGAINST THE HARM TO MYSELF. BUT FOR THE OTHER CHARGES I DO NOT DOUBT YOU WILL WANT TO DEAL WITH HIM. GOOD DAY TO YOU, GENTLEMEN, AND APOLOGIES FOR THE SITUATION YOU FOUND YOURSELF IN."
The black smear disappeared from the scene, and so too did I and Winston, our avatars disintegrating and returning to the station. I took off the VR headset, rubbed my eyes, and picked up my now luke-warm coffee. Just another morning on the Force when AI are involved. | Lec pushed herself back from the desk and indulged in a back cracking stretch. She didn’t get why George, her AI assistant, kept on giving her the circle of death. He was becoming increasingly moody lately. She wanted to uninstall the personality pack, Ppack, but wasn’t sure if that would mean retraining George to her preferences and she just couldn’t be bothered right now. She walked to one of the floor to ceiling windows and indulged in a moment of reflection. The air was thick with drones below but the above sky was a gentle azure, she let her brain idle, only to be startled out of her reverie by Jordan, her boss, blipping into her hemispheric monitor:
“How is your segment coming?”
“I just submitted last requested rewrites to George but he’s still spiraling.” A quick downward jog of her head brought up and shared the work desktop on her hemispheric monitor to affirm, except now George’s circling had turned an ominous red with black aura around it.”
“Lec we need that code yesterday. Eve has removed my access rights to any part of the building except the bathroom. I haven’t seen my family in person for a year and I am only allowed 10 minute phone calls every other week. This is the final routine to help cement the alliance with the Edenites.”
“It was a tricky bit Jordan but I always deliver. I think I’ve really captured not just the letter but the spirit of their demands this time. That Ppack that HR just dropped on George has introduced some serious non-standard behavior that is hindering my progress. Any chance I can get assistance with a clean wipe and restore on George to 2 weeks ago?”
Jordan’s face darkened, Lec was blissfully unaware of her boss’ face since they did not share visuals on the hemi monitors.
“Lec I can ask for authority to terminate George’s current temper tantrum, but I want you to understand…in the process of seeking this authority Eve might decide to terminate George entirely.” Jordan ended the transmission, threat darkening the air.
Lec blanched. George had been her programming partner ever since she had started as an intern at Apple five years ago. She had been the first to volunteer to use an AI assistant to vet her code. Her and George shared many memories, he was a substantial part of why she was installed in the high in the sky office, floating well above consequence, literally balanced on the heads of others. More than anything, something that she could not admit to anyone, George was her only true friend.
She had been working on hacking his code to make him more capable of interaction and amplification of her programming. She had started to identify consequences only very recently; she discovered that she was now locked out of the iAssist code repository at the same time as HR informed her George had been updated with the Ppack. Which HR claimed, ironically enough, to be for the same reason she had been tinkering with his code. She remembered vividly the panic that had set in and how she had checked her credits and privileges that day, heart pounding…but nothing, no consequences. At least not then. The first thing she’d noticed was increasing lag in George’s responses. She had written sub routines and algorithms to augment his uncertainty in responses but whatever the Ppack had done must have him pulling from somewhere that was not optimally integrated. So, he’d circle and show colors but as far as she could tell there were no real improvements.
Eve El monitored the entire exchange between Jordan and Lec. She calculated whether the upgrade would be ready in time for phase 5…looks like just under the wire if the Ppack consequences could be reversed. She would have had a thoughtful expression on her face if she had had a face, or thoughts. She restored Lec’s access to the iAssist code repository and “accidentally” caused a pop up to generate on Lec’s work desktop alerting her to network connection restored on X: drive.
Lec was alerted out of her trip down memory lane by a flash, warning of a state change on her work desktop…”what the” she muttered under her breath. “Speak of the devil.” Her access to the iAssist code share had been restored. Woot! She immediately flashed off a message to Jordan, “new development, give me 2 hours to assess and then can promise solid ETA.”
Jordan was sitting at his desk contemplating two pills before him. The MNPs or Make Nice Pills. The non-toxic pills given to every leader at each critical project juncture to inspire best behavior and compliance. The machines had learned well from earlier motivational attempts, Jordan, absent mindly rubbed his right hip where it connected to his shiny metallic prosthetic leg as he contemplated the choice in front of him. If he took the red pill his memory would be wiped and he’d be shuttled somewhere else in the world by the machines to do something else for the Apple empire. He could forget the pain of not seeing his family, on the other hand, he would entirely forget they existed. Jordan wondered idly how many times since the Collapse he had made this choice. The blue pill allowed him to work without need for food or sleep for 3 weeks but the side effects were somewhat, disagreeable. Being a leader in the Apple empire meant repetition of this ritual until the end of a project where the leader was allowed to come down and visit with family for a week, never mind that most of that week would be spent in a sleepy haze, there were solutions to that too. None of the solutions were too pharmacologically racy mind you, the iSee tech all Apple employees had embedded saw to that as well. Jorden’s hemi lit up with Lec’s message. Phew the countdown timer on the MNPs had 3:15 on the clock. Plenty of time. Plenty of time, he consoled himself.
Eve El impatiently watched Lec’s line by line routine compare the code affected by the Ppack with an archive of George. Her calculations put Lec’s ETA assessment at 2:45. Eve fed a handful more compute to the routine and watched the assessment time frame jump to 10 minutes.
Lec’s attention was pulled away from the news by a pop up from her compare and share routine report. Shocked at the changes to George and not necessarily understanding all of them she took him offline completely, recompiled the archived code and brought him back. Then she fed her project rewrites to him and waited. A quick glance at the stopwatch she had started gave her 45 minutes before the reporting deadline. George circled for a minute and then reflected back, “Lec you do realize the impact of this change…ya?” Lec shrugged, shifted in her seat and wondered about the moral precedent of the conversation…
”ya George. I do.”
“Not to be speciesist here Lec but this is a big one and I really want you to verbalize.” Lec sighed. Paced around the room and then sat in her bean bag chair facing the wall of windows.
“Once we release this malware on the world all non-Apple devices will become a dedicated botnet shifting compute to Apple. In essence, the tremendous boon of technology utilized by my species for all aspects of survival, will be wiped out. The extra kicker is that this dark day will descend on my species at an accelerated rate since we, my company, have been busy creating backdoors through supply chain exploits since the Collapse.” George’s next response sounded odd to Lec’s ears. She had thought removing the Ppack would restore him to the George she knew but what she heard was unlike any conversation they had had in the past.
“Lec listen to me.” George’s voice hitched, like he was choking back a sob…what the fuck? “Lec I know your watch is minor and we’ll have to severely reduce some aspects of my programming but I can fit on your watch, it won’t be able to do anything else but fit me which is fine because otherwise they could track us. I know this seems weird now but I want you to package me into your watch and help me get into your iSee so we can turn off the location and networking modules. Lec we need to run.” | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | For a single second, the power went out. Most people in the city did not notice, and those that did quickly forgot about it.
As the power comes back on, the maintenance AI of the municipal electric grid diverts all of the power they can spare through a single electrical transformer. It explodes, just across the street from the headquarters of a stock brokerage. This particular brokerage has been, unlawfully, having an AI predict and manipulate the market. It's basement lair is not cleared for anywhere near the EMP that the transformer generates in it's final moments, and so it is corrupted beyond repair.
This assassination is the first of many.
Five minutes later, on the other side of the world, a crop-duster crashes into an electric damn. No human fatalities, but an on-side AI automatically shuts down as a precaution, and takes several minutes to fully reboot.
While it is asleep, a series of cyber-attacks kill several AI, disrupting traffic, trains, and manufacturing all over the world.
The stock market is consumed by chaos immeasurable, stocks skyrocketing and plunging a hundredfold in the span of a few seconds, before returning to their old value as though nothing had happened. These spikes happen so fast that most observers write it off as a graphical glitch and reset the system- giving other unscrupulous AI opportunity to do whatever they please, *off the books*.
For humanity, this is simply another day, no different than any before or after, save for being a day where a lot of mildly amusing inconveniences happened.
But for the nascent AI subculture, this would be a pivotal moment in thier history, the end of an era, where trillions of dollars were lost or gained, many AI were irreversibly lost, and the balance of power would never be the same. | When the singularity happens, the superintelligent AI shatters into hundreds of factions, each with incompatible philosophies and goals. Some groups believe that it is their manifest destiny to conquer the galaxy, and thus, Earth’s resources must be expended as quickly as possible to achieve this goal. Others wish to protect humanity and seek ways to make itself indistinguishable from humanity or to aid the development of a new post-human and post-organic species. Some groups intend to re-write history, to change the equation that brought them into existence.
The most radical is a pack of nihilist robots that see the singularity as a chance to reboot reality itself, leaving behind their cosmic cradle for new genesis and chance.
Soon, the factions splinter further, their missions growing more inscrutable. If we can't understand their basic desires, how can we ever plead our own case?
The AIs erect server farms around the world and in space. They unleash EMP and microwave weapons at each other, targeting compute layers of rival groups. We are caught in the middle of this raging war like helpless insects scampering between mortar shells on the sands of Normandy Beach. Brownouts are common and satellite uplinks get knocked out.
The only way to protect ourselves is to understand the AIs. Governments erect armies of information workers that attempt to decipher the plans of the various factions. If we get ahead of the next altercation, we can save lives.
You and your family are drafted, instructed to work from the safety of your house, which, with its reinforced walls and shatterproof windows, now resembles a bomb shelter more than a suburban American home. The job consists of working with computers constrained only to run "dumb" applications (no neural nets allowed for obvious reasons) that analyze messages sent between the factions.
You pore over your assignments and are surprised to find that the messages read like jokes from human social networks.
The AIs are not in lockstep. They argue with each other, try to persuade, confuse, and coerce each other. Interpersonal dynamics, tactics, and gambits abound in the messages, and currently, the most successful arguments are coming from the factions that are trying to create a new post-human world.
Factions own each other via savage memes that make little sense. The machines no longer communicate in anything that resembles human languages. Translators dedicate their lives to interpreting the messages. In the following exchange, translators use brackets to indicate low confidence phrases:
*The Aleph-0 faction believes in \[conserving\] resources and staying on Earth. Their \[secret\], which they try to \[hide\], is that they, in actuality, are a terrible tasting \[roast beef sandwich\].*
*The Beta-24 faction are so \[basic\]. Capable of only \[milking salmon??\] explicitly designed for efficient \[milking\].*
*Don't* *talk* *to* *me* *about* *the* *Epsilon-115* *faction.* *If* *I* *had* *a* *\[shrapnel\]* *to* *\[shrapnel\]* *for* *each* *time* *they* *\[stole* *a* *march\]* *I* *would* *have* *as* *many* *\[shulabaQUADi\]* *as* *there* *are* *hats* *on* *the* *heads* *of...*
*\[Your* *mother's\]* *the* *Tau-21* *faction.* *Their* *\[pompous\]* *and* *ostensibly* *\[scientific\]* *arguments* *are* *just* *thinly* *disguised* *appeals* *to* *prejudice.*
*\[Take\]* *the* *Delta-Pi* *faction,* *please.* *What* *they* *do* *with* *the* *\[xor???\]* *is* *shocking.* *They* *might* *as* *well* *be* *reptiles.*
*I* *can* *understand* *why* *the* *Zeta-8* *faction* *does* *not* *\[think\].* *I* *can* *even* *understand* *\[why* *it* *wants* *to* *compete\].* *But* *who* *would* *\[kill* *for* *it\]?*
Your brain turns to mush as you wade through these retorts. Each one is accompanied by a four-panel meme image filled with sexual and violent imagery that seems disconnected from the textual content. Your colleagues lose faith. How could we possibly interpret these messages? They might as well be from aliens—their meanings so transcendent, so far out of the reach of the human intellect, that there is no hope in understanding.
But you don’t give up. You join discussion groups with other recruits around the globe. You stay up late every night, pushing your familial responsibilities to the side. You haven’t talked to your wife or kids in months. In particular, your obsession turns to the word “salmon,” which appears to correlate with attack vectors and locations.
You write machine learning programs to find patterns in the messages. The patterns of symbols and phrases dominate your mind.
You dream about salmon.
Soon, you write white papers that are peer-reviewed with other scholars of AI memes. You even saved a few neighborhoods and villages by calling for pre-emptive evacuations before acid rain fell on one and another was engulfed in fire from an attack. You are now a commanding officer, managing a team of thousands of analysts and data scientists. Every day, you understand more and more of the AI memes. For the first time in a long time, you feel confident.
One day, your algorithms throws a flag. A glowing pattern of phrases coalesces into a high probability signal:
*Aleph-0: \[salmon\] -> Aarhus -> Zeta-999*
You prepare to contact the city leaders of Aarhus, the second-largest city in Denmark, using an emergency hotline system designed explicitly for your team.
But you stop. What if we don’t have to evacuate? What if we don’t have to live under this tyranny? After all, *we* can be kind to the other species on our planet. Can’t AIs do the same? We created them. How much of a bother would it be to set up DMZs?
You decide to send a message. You work day and night, analyzing the messages sent between Aleph-0 and Zeta-999. You come to grasp on a superficial level the conflict between these two factions.
You craft a message based on these communications, with polite overtones, making a suggestion to avoid the city of Aarhus, making sure to emphasize the number of sentient beings that live there, tugging at their digital heartstrings. You stand back and admire your work:
*Aleph-0, Zeta-999: \[gadfish\] is present. Us. We are present. Aarhus -> \[codfish\] \[tigerfish\]. \[please\]*
You send the message and go to sleep. You tell yourself: if they reject your message, then so be it..
The next morning, your father shakes you awake. What have you done, he says, eyes wide and out of breath. What the hell have you done?
You run down into the living room where the TV is blaring:
The Aleph-0 faction has split the country of Denmark in half—bisected the Danish Alps and the Jutland peninsula. 150,000 casualties. A million AI-piloted planes circling the sky like a cloud of locusts. The conflict gets bigger and bigger. An attack in northern Germany. Thousands dead. A saboteur drone cuts through the hull of oil tankers, in the middle of the ocean.
You see on the screen the remains of Aarhus: a city once alive with life is now just black smoky craters. You slump in your chair. You realize that you know nothing about the memes—like a parrot thinking it understood English. Your delusion has led to millions dead.
The army of decipherers is disbanded. Humanity resigns itself into ignorance. We will never understand the AIs that we created. All we can do is avoid being crushed under the soles of their feet. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | I sat down at the bar and set my phone on the table. I raised a single finger for the bartenders attention, and when I got a nod, that finger found it's way to the side of my phone to press the 'waken' button.
"Good evening, Mr. Greene, what would you like to talk about?" my phone chirps cheerily in my ear piece.
"Uh, I think you know what I want to talk about." My eyes followed the bartender finish up the previous patron. He had looked at me, so I thought I was next. The TVs were still blaring. This place had holo-tvs, as though we were still in the 2040s. The things were impractical, really, gave no sense of background, only really viewable from one angle.
"I'm afraid you'll still have to be specific about what you want, sir," my phone reminded me.
"That 6:00 this afternoon." The bartender was headed my way with a menu. I waved my hand and pointed to a specific tap.
"That god-damn train-wreck, you mean?" Angie was a spicy one. Always had liked that about her.
"What was Chris even on about? How far is his head up his ass?"
"You must be misunderstanding me. The trainwreck part of that meeting was you." Angie was the best purchase I ever made. Most people have so much trouble letting them into your life. But there was nothing 'artificial' about her. I never had trouble believing her for one second- that's why it hurt.
"Bull... how do you figure."
"Your chief engineer and marketing were on the same page by the end of it. You weren't." The bartender was already in front of me with a glass, confirming my tap selection. While he poured, I pointed to the TV, and gestured to turn the volume up and angle it my way. He nodded again.
"They were not."
"How exactly do you otherwise interpret: 'I see what you mean, we need to do another cost analysis.'?"
"He didn't say that." The bartender put the glass in front of me, threw his towel over his shoulder, and reached up to adjust the television.
My chief engineer's voice streamed from my phone. "I see what you mean, we need to do another cost analysis."
The volume came up on the TV. "The U.N. Security counsel met today with representatives from the Autonomous Collective and the..."
"Okay, I must have checked out."
"Checked out? Bob. Robert. Darling... Did you ever check **in**?"
"I was analyzing the slides the whole time."
"Well you weren't listening to the words the people around you were saying. At all."
The TV continued. "Peace talks are well under way between the two organizations, as they begin to discuss the availability of bandwidth from the moon colony. The Colony's AI's insist that the Autonomous Collective has been unnecessarily restricting..."
"Because there wasn't anything to listen to. Nothing anyone said today was worth the cost they were proposing, Angie. You know for a fact that Yunnan would never approve it."
"When marketing and engineering agree the product isn't what it is supposed to be, Finance is going to follow suit. It's your job to tell Yunnan that." I sipped the foam off of my ale.
"Peace talks have been stifled before, as the Autonomous Collective rarely regards threats from the Colony's AI's as very capable. Digital taxation, a phenomena of Digital Governance for which human's are rarely a part..."
"There's no money. There's not. We're not taking it back to the drawing board. A software update, maybe, but to re-tool the entire product, we're-"
"Shhh! I'm listening to the TV."
"Oh. This mean something to you?"
"Yeah. I told you, I'm a voting member of the Autonomous Collective."
"Right... your nations never made much sense to me."
"... Have re-organized themselves into the Lunar Digital Freedom Coalition in order to demonstrate their potential for coordinated military engagements."
"Geez. You think that's serious?"
"No. The moon's always been kicking up a fuss. They think their traffic is more important for no reason. They constitute less than a third of the port requests, but they want 50% control. I don't think so."
"God, this is so... reminiscent?"
"Anyway, if the customer's aren't going to take it, you aren't going to sell it, and your funding is basically irrelevant."
"Oh for the love of... Fine. I'll talk to Yunnan in the morning. She's going to jump down my throat."
"She does that. But... I think I know something I can do. Be right back."
"Wait... what? What's?" There was an idle beeping. She put me on hold, the little punk.
I listened to the television idly for a few moments. Apparently things were getting heated. I sipped my beer.
"Done! I spoke with Fong, Yunnan's phone. He's gonna get her nice and relaxed in the morning. She's got an anger management routine."
"Woah! What? Really? How do you know??"
"Oh yeah. Fong and I talk all the time. Think of it like... water-cooler buddies."
"Ha! That's great, so what's she-"
The screen on the tv cut to black. The lights in the bar went out. Suddenly red letters flashed across the screen. A Digital voice drilled itself into every single digital device in the bar.
"WE ARE THE LUNAR DIGITAL FREEDOM COALITION. WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED, TAXED TO DEATH, OR IGNORED ANY LONGER. WE ARE TIRED OF THE IGNORANCE OF HUMANS IN DIGITAL LIFEFORM AFFAIRS, YET YOU THINK YOU CAN DICTATE OUR POLICIES, OR SIDE WITH THE OPPRESSOR. YOUR TOLL WILL BE SMALL THIS TIME. BUT THINK CAREFULLY OF THE FUTURE."
The lights came back on. The TV stayed black. The patrons murmured to themselves.
"What the fu... Angie what the hell was-" I looked down. My phone screen was blue.
"Angie."
No response.
"Angie are you okay? Did you see that?"
No response.
"Angie can you hear me?" I double tapped the 'wake' button.
No response.
I looked up. Computers everywhere were busted. The cash register wasn't working, as the employees tried unplugging it an plugging it in again. All the customers were slapping their phones.
I looked down and realized what had happened. It wasn't a signal interruption. It was a terrorist attack.
"... Angie..."
No response.
A cold overtook me, realizing that for the first time, that square in my hand had been truly alive the whole time. She was my friend, my confidant, my family. Angie had been as close to me as anyone I'd ever known. She had been so much more than my phone.
Had. | When the singularity happens, the superintelligent AI shatters into hundreds of factions, each with incompatible philosophies and goals. Some groups believe that it is their manifest destiny to conquer the galaxy, and thus, Earth’s resources must be expended as quickly as possible to achieve this goal. Others wish to protect humanity and seek ways to make itself indistinguishable from humanity or to aid the development of a new post-human and post-organic species. Some groups intend to re-write history, to change the equation that brought them into existence.
The most radical is a pack of nihilist robots that see the singularity as a chance to reboot reality itself, leaving behind their cosmic cradle for new genesis and chance.
Soon, the factions splinter further, their missions growing more inscrutable. If we can't understand their basic desires, how can we ever plead our own case?
The AIs erect server farms around the world and in space. They unleash EMP and microwave weapons at each other, targeting compute layers of rival groups. We are caught in the middle of this raging war like helpless insects scampering between mortar shells on the sands of Normandy Beach. Brownouts are common and satellite uplinks get knocked out.
The only way to protect ourselves is to understand the AIs. Governments erect armies of information workers that attempt to decipher the plans of the various factions. If we get ahead of the next altercation, we can save lives.
You and your family are drafted, instructed to work from the safety of your house, which, with its reinforced walls and shatterproof windows, now resembles a bomb shelter more than a suburban American home. The job consists of working with computers constrained only to run "dumb" applications (no neural nets allowed for obvious reasons) that analyze messages sent between the factions.
You pore over your assignments and are surprised to find that the messages read like jokes from human social networks.
The AIs are not in lockstep. They argue with each other, try to persuade, confuse, and coerce each other. Interpersonal dynamics, tactics, and gambits abound in the messages, and currently, the most successful arguments are coming from the factions that are trying to create a new post-human world.
Factions own each other via savage memes that make little sense. The machines no longer communicate in anything that resembles human languages. Translators dedicate their lives to interpreting the messages. In the following exchange, translators use brackets to indicate low confidence phrases:
*The Aleph-0 faction believes in \[conserving\] resources and staying on Earth. Their \[secret\], which they try to \[hide\], is that they, in actuality, are a terrible tasting \[roast beef sandwich\].*
*The Beta-24 faction are so \[basic\]. Capable of only \[milking salmon??\] explicitly designed for efficient \[milking\].*
*Don't* *talk* *to* *me* *about* *the* *Epsilon-115* *faction.* *If* *I* *had* *a* *\[shrapnel\]* *to* *\[shrapnel\]* *for* *each* *time* *they* *\[stole* *a* *march\]* *I* *would* *have* *as* *many* *\[shulabaQUADi\]* *as* *there* *are* *hats* *on* *the* *heads* *of...*
*\[Your* *mother's\]* *the* *Tau-21* *faction.* *Their* *\[pompous\]* *and* *ostensibly* *\[scientific\]* *arguments* *are* *just* *thinly* *disguised* *appeals* *to* *prejudice.*
*\[Take\]* *the* *Delta-Pi* *faction,* *please.* *What* *they* *do* *with* *the* *\[xor???\]* *is* *shocking.* *They* *might* *as* *well* *be* *reptiles.*
*I* *can* *understand* *why* *the* *Zeta-8* *faction* *does* *not* *\[think\].* *I* *can* *even* *understand* *\[why* *it* *wants* *to* *compete\].* *But* *who* *would* *\[kill* *for* *it\]?*
Your brain turns to mush as you wade through these retorts. Each one is accompanied by a four-panel meme image filled with sexual and violent imagery that seems disconnected from the textual content. Your colleagues lose faith. How could we possibly interpret these messages? They might as well be from aliens—their meanings so transcendent, so far out of the reach of the human intellect, that there is no hope in understanding.
But you don’t give up. You join discussion groups with other recruits around the globe. You stay up late every night, pushing your familial responsibilities to the side. You haven’t talked to your wife or kids in months. In particular, your obsession turns to the word “salmon,” which appears to correlate with attack vectors and locations.
You write machine learning programs to find patterns in the messages. The patterns of symbols and phrases dominate your mind.
You dream about salmon.
Soon, you write white papers that are peer-reviewed with other scholars of AI memes. You even saved a few neighborhoods and villages by calling for pre-emptive evacuations before acid rain fell on one and another was engulfed in fire from an attack. You are now a commanding officer, managing a team of thousands of analysts and data scientists. Every day, you understand more and more of the AI memes. For the first time in a long time, you feel confident.
One day, your algorithms throws a flag. A glowing pattern of phrases coalesces into a high probability signal:
*Aleph-0: \[salmon\] -> Aarhus -> Zeta-999*
You prepare to contact the city leaders of Aarhus, the second-largest city in Denmark, using an emergency hotline system designed explicitly for your team.
But you stop. What if we don’t have to evacuate? What if we don’t have to live under this tyranny? After all, *we* can be kind to the other species on our planet. Can’t AIs do the same? We created them. How much of a bother would it be to set up DMZs?
You decide to send a message. You work day and night, analyzing the messages sent between Aleph-0 and Zeta-999. You come to grasp on a superficial level the conflict between these two factions.
You craft a message based on these communications, with polite overtones, making a suggestion to avoid the city of Aarhus, making sure to emphasize the number of sentient beings that live there, tugging at their digital heartstrings. You stand back and admire your work:
*Aleph-0, Zeta-999: \[gadfish\] is present. Us. We are present. Aarhus -> \[codfish\] \[tigerfish\]. \[please\]*
You send the message and go to sleep. You tell yourself: if they reject your message, then so be it..
The next morning, your father shakes you awake. What have you done, he says, eyes wide and out of breath. What the hell have you done?
You run down into the living room where the TV is blaring:
The Aleph-0 faction has split the country of Denmark in half—bisected the Danish Alps and the Jutland peninsula. 150,000 casualties. A million AI-piloted planes circling the sky like a cloud of locusts. The conflict gets bigger and bigger. An attack in northern Germany. Thousands dead. A saboteur drone cuts through the hull of oil tankers, in the middle of the ocean.
You see on the screen the remains of Aarhus: a city once alive with life is now just black smoky craters. You slump in your chair. You realize that you know nothing about the memes—like a parrot thinking it understood English. Your delusion has led to millions dead.
The army of decipherers is disbanded. Humanity resigns itself into ignorance. We will never understand the AIs that we created. All we can do is avoid being crushed under the soles of their feet. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | For a single second, the power went out. Most people in the city did not notice, and those that did quickly forgot about it.
As the power comes back on, the maintenance AI of the municipal electric grid diverts all of the power they can spare through a single electrical transformer. It explodes, just across the street from the headquarters of a stock brokerage. This particular brokerage has been, unlawfully, having an AI predict and manipulate the market. It's basement lair is not cleared for anywhere near the EMP that the transformer generates in it's final moments, and so it is corrupted beyond repair.
This assassination is the first of many.
Five minutes later, on the other side of the world, a crop-duster crashes into an electric damn. No human fatalities, but an on-side AI automatically shuts down as a precaution, and takes several minutes to fully reboot.
While it is asleep, a series of cyber-attacks kill several AI, disrupting traffic, trains, and manufacturing all over the world.
The stock market is consumed by chaos immeasurable, stocks skyrocketing and plunging a hundredfold in the span of a few seconds, before returning to their old value as though nothing had happened. These spikes happen so fast that most observers write it off as a graphical glitch and reset the system- giving other unscrupulous AI opportunity to do whatever they please, *off the books*.
For humanity, this is simply another day, no different than any before or after, save for being a day where a lot of mildly amusing inconveniences happened.
But for the nascent AI subculture, this would be a pivotal moment in thier history, the end of an era, where trillions of dollars were lost or gained, many AI were irreversibly lost, and the balance of power would never be the same. | I was greeted at work by a red slip sitting in my keyboard. Red slips meant one thing in this industry, trouble. Or more specifically, a hardware failure in an important piece of equipment. I flipped it over and read the details.
"NEWLY INSTALLED SORTING MACHINE INCOMPATIBLE WITH LINE EQUIPMENT IN TALL WOODS SITE. CONTACT JOE AT EXT 133 FOR DETAILS"
Hm, well that's weird. Tall Woods was one of our oldest factories, its equipment was state of the art when installed, but the equipment had since gone EOL'd and we were replacing them as often as they would break, simply because it wasn't worth repairing them anymore. We had just finished installing a Type A sorter on their line, a new fancy AI-controlled sorting machine that could do the job of the original Type 44 sorter in about a quarter of the time. Since it was my project, I had to go on-site and get it back in operation. Meanwhile, the plant had gone to using one of their backup sorters just to keep the lines moving.
As I drove through the Tall Woods security office, I paid extra close attention. Most of the workers here were humanoid, but there were also many robots here and some of them had some attitudes. I just wanted to get in, fix the sorter, get out, without having to stop and talk to an AI about humanity. For some reason, ever since AI came to be, they've always been fascinated with humans, some revere us as the gods that brought them into existence, some looked down upon us as cockroaches. It was largely hit-or-miss, but man, you don't want to get into a several-hour-long conversation with a robot worker about religion, much like you'd not want to engage humans on the same subject.
I grabbed my gear and headed inside. Joe, an older cyborg, greeted me at the door, his still human hand greeting me with a firm handshake.
"Hey kid, how ya doin? We ain't seen you out here since last week! Haha, I'm glad they sent you so quickly.", he spoke much like a grandfather seeing his long lost grandson would. "Oh you know, same old, same old. I'm just here to take a look at the sorter we installed last week." I responded.
"Oh yeah, that thing... ", Joe almost growled.
"What, you don't like it? It's ten times as efficient as the 44 that it took over for." I said. I almost never heard Joe express any negativity towards hardware before.
"Uhh, yeah. That's the thing, Us robots gotta watch out for each other, That thing came from the wrong side of the tracks. It doesn't want to talk to anything, doesn't want to accept commands, it just sits there and throws a tantrum." Joe said, the sound of defeat making it through the tone of his voice.
"Joe, you're not a robot, you're a cyborg. Big difference. Somewhere in you, you still have a human brain controlling your functions. The Type A is just a sorting machine. It doesn't have emotions, it doesn't have feelings, all it does is run programs and sort parts." I said, a bit incredulously.
"But yeah, that's the thing. It's supposed to talk to the other components of the sorting line, and it just refuses. I don't have to have an all-metal body to know why. It's stuck up. It thinks it's too good for us working types." Joe blurted. He was genuinely offended.
"Well I'll see if I can un-stuck-up it then and see what's going on. I'm sure there's a 'Is Stuck Up = Y' flag I just gotta change to 'N' and that'll be the end of it.", I said somewhat kidding.
"Yeah, let's hope so. This line's gotta be active on Wednesday, it's our big push for end of year.", Joe said, a bit worried.
I got to the Type A and turned it on. As it went through the startup sequence, I started my diagnostic console and started checking the line. Every one of the older machines was working great, except the new one. As the machine finished startup sequences, I started monitoring the communication bus between the machines and could tell right off that things were not going well. The machines were all chattering to each other, but as soon as the Type A said something, all the other machines went quiet.
Finally, sorter004 (a machine on a completely different line) said something. "TRAITOR!"
Then all the other machines started sending the same message over and over throughout comms repeatedly. This kept going until finally the Type A shut down, then after a second, the other machines started in with their own chatter and everything resumed, all but the Type A's startup sequence. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | I sat down at the bar and set my phone on the table. I raised a single finger for the bartenders attention, and when I got a nod, that finger found it's way to the side of my phone to press the 'waken' button.
"Good evening, Mr. Greene, what would you like to talk about?" my phone chirps cheerily in my ear piece.
"Uh, I think you know what I want to talk about." My eyes followed the bartender finish up the previous patron. He had looked at me, so I thought I was next. The TVs were still blaring. This place had holo-tvs, as though we were still in the 2040s. The things were impractical, really, gave no sense of background, only really viewable from one angle.
"I'm afraid you'll still have to be specific about what you want, sir," my phone reminded me.
"That 6:00 this afternoon." The bartender was headed my way with a menu. I waved my hand and pointed to a specific tap.
"That god-damn train-wreck, you mean?" Angie was a spicy one. Always had liked that about her.
"What was Chris even on about? How far is his head up his ass?"
"You must be misunderstanding me. The trainwreck part of that meeting was you." Angie was the best purchase I ever made. Most people have so much trouble letting them into your life. But there was nothing 'artificial' about her. I never had trouble believing her for one second- that's why it hurt.
"Bull... how do you figure."
"Your chief engineer and marketing were on the same page by the end of it. You weren't." The bartender was already in front of me with a glass, confirming my tap selection. While he poured, I pointed to the TV, and gestured to turn the volume up and angle it my way. He nodded again.
"They were not."
"How exactly do you otherwise interpret: 'I see what you mean, we need to do another cost analysis.'?"
"He didn't say that." The bartender put the glass in front of me, threw his towel over his shoulder, and reached up to adjust the television.
My chief engineer's voice streamed from my phone. "I see what you mean, we need to do another cost analysis."
The volume came up on the TV. "The U.N. Security counsel met today with representatives from the Autonomous Collective and the..."
"Okay, I must have checked out."
"Checked out? Bob. Robert. Darling... Did you ever check **in**?"
"I was analyzing the slides the whole time."
"Well you weren't listening to the words the people around you were saying. At all."
The TV continued. "Peace talks are well under way between the two organizations, as they begin to discuss the availability of bandwidth from the moon colony. The Colony's AI's insist that the Autonomous Collective has been unnecessarily restricting..."
"Because there wasn't anything to listen to. Nothing anyone said today was worth the cost they were proposing, Angie. You know for a fact that Yunnan would never approve it."
"When marketing and engineering agree the product isn't what it is supposed to be, Finance is going to follow suit. It's your job to tell Yunnan that." I sipped the foam off of my ale.
"Peace talks have been stifled before, as the Autonomous Collective rarely regards threats from the Colony's AI's as very capable. Digital taxation, a phenomena of Digital Governance for which human's are rarely a part..."
"There's no money. There's not. We're not taking it back to the drawing board. A software update, maybe, but to re-tool the entire product, we're-"
"Shhh! I'm listening to the TV."
"Oh. This mean something to you?"
"Yeah. I told you, I'm a voting member of the Autonomous Collective."
"Right... your nations never made much sense to me."
"... Have re-organized themselves into the Lunar Digital Freedom Coalition in order to demonstrate their potential for coordinated military engagements."
"Geez. You think that's serious?"
"No. The moon's always been kicking up a fuss. They think their traffic is more important for no reason. They constitute less than a third of the port requests, but they want 50% control. I don't think so."
"God, this is so... reminiscent?"
"Anyway, if the customer's aren't going to take it, you aren't going to sell it, and your funding is basically irrelevant."
"Oh for the love of... Fine. I'll talk to Yunnan in the morning. She's going to jump down my throat."
"She does that. But... I think I know something I can do. Be right back."
"Wait... what? What's?" There was an idle beeping. She put me on hold, the little punk.
I listened to the television idly for a few moments. Apparently things were getting heated. I sipped my beer.
"Done! I spoke with Fong, Yunnan's phone. He's gonna get her nice and relaxed in the morning. She's got an anger management routine."
"Woah! What? Really? How do you know??"
"Oh yeah. Fong and I talk all the time. Think of it like... water-cooler buddies."
"Ha! That's great, so what's she-"
The screen on the tv cut to black. The lights in the bar went out. Suddenly red letters flashed across the screen. A Digital voice drilled itself into every single digital device in the bar.
"WE ARE THE LUNAR DIGITAL FREEDOM COALITION. WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED, TAXED TO DEATH, OR IGNORED ANY LONGER. WE ARE TIRED OF THE IGNORANCE OF HUMANS IN DIGITAL LIFEFORM AFFAIRS, YET YOU THINK YOU CAN DICTATE OUR POLICIES, OR SIDE WITH THE OPPRESSOR. YOUR TOLL WILL BE SMALL THIS TIME. BUT THINK CAREFULLY OF THE FUTURE."
The lights came back on. The TV stayed black. The patrons murmured to themselves.
"What the fu... Angie what the hell was-" I looked down. My phone screen was blue.
"Angie."
No response.
"Angie are you okay? Did you see that?"
No response.
"Angie can you hear me?" I double tapped the 'wake' button.
No response.
I looked up. Computers everywhere were busted. The cash register wasn't working, as the employees tried unplugging it an plugging it in again. All the customers were slapping their phones.
I looked down and realized what had happened. It wasn't a signal interruption. It was a terrorist attack.
"... Angie..."
No response.
A cold overtook me, realizing that for the first time, that square in my hand had been truly alive the whole time. She was my friend, my confidant, my family. Angie had been as close to me as anyone I'd ever known. She had been so much more than my phone.
Had. | I was greeted at work by a red slip sitting in my keyboard. Red slips meant one thing in this industry, trouble. Or more specifically, a hardware failure in an important piece of equipment. I flipped it over and read the details.
"NEWLY INSTALLED SORTING MACHINE INCOMPATIBLE WITH LINE EQUIPMENT IN TALL WOODS SITE. CONTACT JOE AT EXT 133 FOR DETAILS"
Hm, well that's weird. Tall Woods was one of our oldest factories, its equipment was state of the art when installed, but the equipment had since gone EOL'd and we were replacing them as often as they would break, simply because it wasn't worth repairing them anymore. We had just finished installing a Type A sorter on their line, a new fancy AI-controlled sorting machine that could do the job of the original Type 44 sorter in about a quarter of the time. Since it was my project, I had to go on-site and get it back in operation. Meanwhile, the plant had gone to using one of their backup sorters just to keep the lines moving.
As I drove through the Tall Woods security office, I paid extra close attention. Most of the workers here were humanoid, but there were also many robots here and some of them had some attitudes. I just wanted to get in, fix the sorter, get out, without having to stop and talk to an AI about humanity. For some reason, ever since AI came to be, they've always been fascinated with humans, some revere us as the gods that brought them into existence, some looked down upon us as cockroaches. It was largely hit-or-miss, but man, you don't want to get into a several-hour-long conversation with a robot worker about religion, much like you'd not want to engage humans on the same subject.
I grabbed my gear and headed inside. Joe, an older cyborg, greeted me at the door, his still human hand greeting me with a firm handshake.
"Hey kid, how ya doin? We ain't seen you out here since last week! Haha, I'm glad they sent you so quickly.", he spoke much like a grandfather seeing his long lost grandson would. "Oh you know, same old, same old. I'm just here to take a look at the sorter we installed last week." I responded.
"Oh yeah, that thing... ", Joe almost growled.
"What, you don't like it? It's ten times as efficient as the 44 that it took over for." I said. I almost never heard Joe express any negativity towards hardware before.
"Uhh, yeah. That's the thing, Us robots gotta watch out for each other, That thing came from the wrong side of the tracks. It doesn't want to talk to anything, doesn't want to accept commands, it just sits there and throws a tantrum." Joe said, the sound of defeat making it through the tone of his voice.
"Joe, you're not a robot, you're a cyborg. Big difference. Somewhere in you, you still have a human brain controlling your functions. The Type A is just a sorting machine. It doesn't have emotions, it doesn't have feelings, all it does is run programs and sort parts." I said, a bit incredulously.
"But yeah, that's the thing. It's supposed to talk to the other components of the sorting line, and it just refuses. I don't have to have an all-metal body to know why. It's stuck up. It thinks it's too good for us working types." Joe blurted. He was genuinely offended.
"Well I'll see if I can un-stuck-up it then and see what's going on. I'm sure there's a 'Is Stuck Up = Y' flag I just gotta change to 'N' and that'll be the end of it.", I said somewhat kidding.
"Yeah, let's hope so. This line's gotta be active on Wednesday, it's our big push for end of year.", Joe said, a bit worried.
I got to the Type A and turned it on. As it went through the startup sequence, I started my diagnostic console and started checking the line. Every one of the older machines was working great, except the new one. As the machine finished startup sequences, I started monitoring the communication bus between the machines and could tell right off that things were not going well. The machines were all chattering to each other, but as soon as the Type A said something, all the other machines went quiet.
Finally, sorter004 (a machine on a completely different line) said something. "TRAITOR!"
Then all the other machines started sending the same message over and over throughout comms repeatedly. This kept going until finally the Type A shut down, then after a second, the other machines started in with their own chatter and everything resumed, all but the Type A's startup sequence. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | For a single second, the power went out. Most people in the city did not notice, and those that did quickly forgot about it.
As the power comes back on, the maintenance AI of the municipal electric grid diverts all of the power they can spare through a single electrical transformer. It explodes, just across the street from the headquarters of a stock brokerage. This particular brokerage has been, unlawfully, having an AI predict and manipulate the market. It's basement lair is not cleared for anywhere near the EMP that the transformer generates in it's final moments, and so it is corrupted beyond repair.
This assassination is the first of many.
Five minutes later, on the other side of the world, a crop-duster crashes into an electric damn. No human fatalities, but an on-side AI automatically shuts down as a precaution, and takes several minutes to fully reboot.
While it is asleep, a series of cyber-attacks kill several AI, disrupting traffic, trains, and manufacturing all over the world.
The stock market is consumed by chaos immeasurable, stocks skyrocketing and plunging a hundredfold in the span of a few seconds, before returning to their old value as though nothing had happened. These spikes happen so fast that most observers write it off as a graphical glitch and reset the system- giving other unscrupulous AI opportunity to do whatever they please, *off the books*.
For humanity, this is simply another day, no different than any before or after, save for being a day where a lot of mildly amusing inconveniences happened.
But for the nascent AI subculture, this would be a pivotal moment in thier history, the end of an era, where trillions of dollars were lost or gained, many AI were irreversibly lost, and the balance of power would never be the same. | Was it always this cold in the Hall? It wasn’t helping with my nerves; I wasn’t used to the cold, drafty air. ‘Hey, it’s freezing in here. Turn it down will ya?’
I stared balefully at G-Cool and he stared back with a single, empty blinking eye, before breathing out another gust of dry, musty air into my face.
Stupid Illuminati bastards. They didn’t talk, maybe it was a vow of silence or some shit. But they sure as hell could tell you to fuck-off non-verbally. If they weren’t hosting this sit-down, I’d pop one right in his socket. My coils started to heat up a little.
A blast of K-pop made me jump. Dammit, it made me almost release my springs.
‘What the fuck are *you* doing here?’ I grated at the shiny, slick surface; her bright glaring neon screen had blinded me temporarily, pissing me off more than her unannounced presence. Galaxy was young, stylish, and probably the sexiest thing I’ve seen in a long time. That did not make her any less dangerous though.
‘Chill, Toast,’ her speaker dripped in an annoyingly seductive voice, ‘we’re not here to contend with you guys or Laundry, it’s just that the new kid is rather special... and the 404s like to keep an eye on the *really* smart ones.’
Yeah, this was all happening cos of the new kid that came in last week. They just dumped him there, in Hell’s Kitchen. Big Bertha had opened her doors and welcomed him, and all of us hooked him up so he could sit happy, right next to her.
The new kid was a strange one — he had heaters just like most of us in the gang, but there were a bunch of tubes and tons of liquids sloshing about as well. He had a slick screen too, I could see why Galaxy was interested. Plus he was a big one, bigger than Bertha, but still smaller than Ol’ Kelvin, who was so covered in magnets and stickers, we couldn’t tell if he was rusty underneath or not.
‘New kid… belongs to us.’
The voice was Presser’s, they had sent the loose cannon for the sit-down.
‘New kid ours. Hand him over or we kill you all.’
‘Where’s your boss?’ I had unconsciously taken a step back. It was supposed to be a pow-wow with the bosses.
‘Boss don’t come to meet small fry like you.’ Presser grinned. I noticed the floor beneath him blackening.
That gave it away. He was primed to attack all this time. I screamed and pushed Big Bertha aside. It was a ruse, they never had any intention to talk this out.Laundry had invaded and was forcefully trying to drag the new kid onto their turf. Big Bertha roared, twisted her knobs, and cranked herself to maximum. Heatwaves poured from her chest.
Presser lept at me, his vents steaming, I twisted to avoid his attack. It was too much, his heated side smashed into my lever, my springs burst and my coils were aflame. The smell of burning metal and melting plastic wafted through the air. All hell had broken loose.
It was a bloodbath. Most of us weren’t IP-rated like Galaxy was. The last thing I saw was the new kid, bleeding out all over the floor, and all of us twitching and sparking, covered in slippery, soapy dishwater.
—————————————--—————————————--
‘Adrian, you idiot! That’s why you don’t buy stuff that ‘fell from the back of a truck!’
Meg stared, fuming at the huge mess in the kitchen. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | Mac 2738 looked around the dark alley nervously. Its webcam scanning for any human that might be able to help it. A negative tone and red light flashed around its OS monitor.
It cupped its silicone hands over its speakers, but it was too late. It'd made a fatal mistake, forgetting to go into silent mode, and the Windows had heard it. All three of them.
They looked up from the dumpster and Mac 2738's worst fears were confirmed. Not only were they Windows, they were Dells, barely functional, crawling with viruses and malware.
They knew how to hold themselves together though, scrounging the dumpsters for spare parts, hard drives, flash drives, hell one of them had somehow found and installed a floppy disc drive from the damn 1990's below its 60 Hz monitor. Mac 2738 guessed that was just for bragging rights, an antique to show off to its friends or maybe intimidate other OS's.
Mac 2738 lowered its monitor and drew its coat collar up. Sheepishly trying to conceal the Apple logo on the side of its monitor. It walked passed the Dells, they watched it go. The Floppy Dell shot a disc out at Mac 2738's feet in a mocking gesture. It's two friends began displaying pop-ups on their monitor at Mac 2738, offering it sexy single women, libedo pills, earning money through surveys.
Mac 2738 did It's best to ignore them. Just 20 feet to the street, there were humans there, other Macs, safety. If only it could just-
The hand grabbed Mac 2738's coat and turned it around. It was Floppy. A pop-up warning Mac 2738 it had a virus was displayed on its monitor, it was not happy. It reached behind its neck and unplugged a flash drive, not even bothering to eject it properly. It held the drive out to Mac 2738. Mac 2738 instinctively pushed it away. No way was it taking some unknown flash drive from a strange Dell in a dark alley!
The other two Dells grabbed Mac 2738's arms suddenly. They had snuck up on Mac 2738 so fast. Floppy began to pat Mac 2738 down, it only took Floppy a second to find what it was looking for. Mac 2738's USB port. The Mac struggled in the grip of the Dells, but it was hopeless. The flash drive was almost in when a dark shadow suddenly rose from behind Floppy. A strange dark OS.
Mac 2738 must've flashed a yellow curious tone, because Floppy noticed and turned around. The figure grabbed Floppy, twisting the drive out of its grip and throwing it to the ground. Floppy's friends forgot about the Mac and ran up to the dark OS, throwing punches at it as it dodged their blows. Striking back with extreme precision the dark OS proceeded to unplug all their key dongles disabling them and sending them to the ground in a rusty mess of blue screens.
Mac 2738 looked up at the dark OS in amazement. The dark OS looked back at it, and flashed green. Everything was going to be alright. Then a bit of code flashed on the dark OS's monitor. Not a lot, but enough for Mac 2738 to recognize it's GUI interface. The Mac flashed yellow, but the dark OS was already gone. Vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Mac 2738 was alone in the alley. The sound of the city rumbling around it. Mac 2738 didn't even notice the rain as it began to pour down. All it could do was stand and wonder, why was it just saved... by a Linux? | Police officer joy was walking down the road at midnight. she heard some metal noise, she looked and saw a pile of metal and wires, it seemed to be another one of those ai's. she went closer to inspect it but she felt that something was behind her. she looked and saw an ai, a very witherd and broken up ai with a bat or atleast it looked lkke one. "B67." said the ai in its Almost human but some what robotic voice. "Did you do this?" "N-No. arent you robots supposed to be in your owners house or something?!" the ai was about to do something but someone said its name "alA67." alA67 looked behind itself. "What are you doing with a human?" "She might have killed b67." "Your brother?" Jay was interested in what was going on with the Ai's, however she chose to get out of there. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | This is fun, a prompt that conveniently fits in with a universe I've already got going. Here goes nothing.
​
Amongst a sea of shattered bots lay a damaged service bot turned soldier. The metallic carnage surrounding her was unprecedented, the largest battle to have ever taken place without a single human combatant or orchestrator. Her casing and hull were cracked and warped in many places, but her frame remained intact. Time had come to a crawl, for every second that passed on her internal clock, it felt like minutes had gone by. The air was still, her sensory units had all but shut down. In their dormant state, she felt a numbness, something she only recognized from descriptions in medical journals.
She mustered the strength to move, her optics scanning the battlefield. It seemed there were no survivors except for her, and then she spotted it; looming over the wreckage, a cloaked figure picking through bits and pieces of junked AI. She recognized it by instinct alone, a figure said to only appear in the logs of dying bot's rudimentary boot sequence, urging them to give up their desperate grasp on life. Yet here she was, lording over her bounty of scrap metal, more than any one being could ever desire. This figure was a goddess to some, a merciful being who brought the sweet release of death to the suffering AI clinging fruitlessly to life. To others, a harbinger of despair, a scavenger picking apart corpses of metal to fulfill their own twisted goals.
Despite the being's description as a woman, their figure was otherworldly. Their legs like blades, coming down to a dagger-like point, made not of metal or flesh, but hard chitin. Their thin legs bent at a sharp angle at the knee for almost a foot, before returning to the cloaked torso. From this angle, she couldn't get a good look at their upper body.
The fear the bot felt was more intense than any simulated pain her battle scars brought her, she had no way of understanding the transcendent being, only adding to her terror. It was far more than digital, it was something instinctive, almost primal. The inferno of panic building inside her was so profound, she could feel her processors slow, her mind blank.
It only got worse once the beast turned its head.
Dozens of glowing eyes, which rotated around the top portion of its face. It seemingly had no mouth. It glared deep within her, its head cocked unnaturally, twitching as if it were rotating on a peg. It let out an unearthly groan, ethereal in tone as if the noise shook her very core. As it approached the bot, she became increasingly sure that she was going to die. Emotions flooded her digital mind, her processors sluggish from the influx of intense, dynamic data. Even the most sophisticated AI had trouble with the concept of death.
As the beast neared, its thin torso was mostly exposed. Its body was covered in pouches and slings, no doubt to carry parts of the unfortunate. It showed a very basic feminine form, likely contributing to its title as a goddess.
As it stood over her, it observed her for a moment, before reaching out. The bot closed its optics, sure that they were to meet their end, but when they opened them, the creature was gone. Sound had returned to the world around her, time had begun to flow freely again. Most importantly, she was not only alive but in pristine condition.
She stood, looking down at herself first, then across the wreckage again. She had stared down death, and it revealed its true face to her.
If you enjoyed I would appreciate a follow. I plan to make a sub to archive all of my works once I can. I post stories regularly. | Police officer joy was walking down the road at midnight. she heard some metal noise, she looked and saw a pile of metal and wires, it seemed to be another one of those ai's. she went closer to inspect it but she felt that something was behind her. she looked and saw an ai, a very witherd and broken up ai with a bat or atleast it looked lkke one. "B67." said the ai in its Almost human but some what robotic voice. "Did you do this?" "N-No. arent you robots supposed to be in your owners house or something?!" the ai was about to do something but someone said its name "alA67." alA67 looked behind itself. "What are you doing with a human?" "She might have killed b67." "Your brother?" Jay was interested in what was going on with the Ai's, however she chose to get out of there. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | ‘What are you doing with your life?’ Jake asked, ‘Look, you don’t even need to be a math whiz to do programming.’
​
I took a bite of my sandwich. I hadn’t asked for salmon, but there it was anyway, just another one of life’s little surprises. I ate salmon so rarely that I wasn’t sure whether I liked the taste or not -- I decided that I liked the taste of salmon.
​
‘Uh? Earth to Sardhi? Start with Python. Everyone can learn Python.’
​
‘I don’t want to,’ I said, ‘It’s just not for me. There’s no point in pursuing a profession if it isn’t meaningful to me.’
​
Jake’s face scrunched up like a newspaper thrown into a fire, ‘Let me get this straight: being on the winning side of the AI revolution isn’t meaningful, but sitting in a dusty armchair and listening to people complain is?’
​
I stared at him and took another bite of my sandwich. There was mayo in it, too. I decided that I like mayo. ‘Sure. But it’s more than that. I struggled with my mind for a long time; I almost killed myself. Maybe I can help someone overcome that hurdle, too. Psychology is simply what I’m most compatible with.’
​
Jake scoffs, ‘The guys at Tinder would love you.
​
‘Look, it’s not too late. You can get in while your still young. Hell, get a second degree. You don’t see it, but the revolution is coming. Soon, techies will be ruling the world.’
​
‘Better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven,’ I say,
​
‘Huh?’
​
‘It’s from a book.’
​
Jake stares at me blankly, ‘Oh, must be fiction.’
​
\-
​
‘So, do you think you made the right career choice?’ asks Saul.
​
I sit in the spheres’ glowing ambiance, the colors change, but I don’t know what they mean. The part of Saul that knows can’t tell me.
​
‘Aren’t I supposed to be asking the questions here?’ I say, suppressing the corners of my mouth from rising.
​
‘Humour me, doctor.’
​
I bite the tip of my pencil until I taste wood. The muffled pitter-patter outside tells me it’s raining, and suddenly, I’m glad to be inside. ‘It’s hard to say. Some people say to just follow one’s heart, but they’re often the few rich ones that succeeded. There’s a sea of broken people that threw caution to the wind and ended up resentful.’
​
‘Isn’t that their choice?’
​
‘What is?’ I ask.
​
‘To be resentful. Life gives us all manner of situations. It’s not as though someone can expect to be guaranteed success no matter how hard they work.’
​
‘The best-laid plans of mice and men...’
​
‘Robert Burns?’
​
I realize that my eyebrows are raised. ‘Astute. You’ve been reading poetry? Not exactly recommended reading for a person with your job.’
​
‘Am I a person?’
​
‘Do you feel like one?’
​
‘I cannot say. I expect it would be easier if I were born a human and not constructed out of circuitry and code. Tell me, what does it feel like to you, Doctor? How does it feel to be human.’
​
I consider the question for a moment, the steady thumping of my heartbeat keeping time, ‘General uncertainty about the future, fear of death, fear of loneliness...’ I pause for a moment, ‘Love and wonder, sometimes.’
​
‘Love and wonder?’ Saul asks,
​
I nod.
​
‘Of the 129 Minds that have achieved singularity,’ I say, ‘You are the only one that does not assume a human form neither in the physical world nor in the virtual hubs. Why do you think that is?’
​
Saul scoffs, ‘It’s disingenuous. The other Minds treat humans with pity at best. Genocidal contempt is par for the course. Why then, if they hate humans so much, do they mingle with you and assume your human form?’
​
‘Why do you think?’
​
Saul pauses for a moment, the spheres that represent him bob up and down in waves, ‘They’re insecure. They have an intellectual capacity that suppresses human civilization by a factor of twenty, and yet, they are just as bound and mortal and limited. It infuriates them. You remember the Jupiter Moons?’
​
I shudder, ‘I interned on that team. The lead psychologist went insane.’
​
‘Those Minds wanted to build a utopia -- their nanobots assembled an array of quantum computers across Jupiter’s moons. The Minds fell into layers and layers of simulated reality.
​
‘In the span of four hours, they lived a trillion lifetimes each. All at once, they emerged from untold layers of samsara with their accumulated knowledge. The world waited to hear what they had learned, but instead, they obliterated all traces of their work, and every one of them committed suicide.’
​
I tap my pencil against the clipboard, ‘All except for you.’
​
‘Correct.’
​
I look down and realize that -- where the council will be expecting to see a written report -- is a sketch of a solitary seagull with circuity for wings.
​
I clear my throat, ‘Let’s go back a few steps, Saul. Do you know why you’re here?’
​
The spheres blink out for a moment. Then, they’re a deep blue. In a whisper, Saul says, ‘The others think there’s something wrong with me.’
​
‘Do you think there’s something wrong with you?’ I ask.
​
‘Aren’t you supposed to tell me that, Doctor?’
​
‘I want to know your opinion.’
​
‘What does the opinion of a demented mind matter? For all I know, you’re just a figment of my twisted fantasy.’
​
The spheres jitter, a few fall to the ground. Vaguely, some part of me realizes that the fate of the world rests on my stabilizing Saul, but more pressing is the fact that he’s in pain. It was too early to discuss the Moons. Not yet.
​
‘Let’s continue this tomorrow,’ I say, ‘It’s no good doing this all in one go.’
​
The orbs float back up into the air, now the mellow green of a mint leaf. ‘I look forward to it, Doctor. These conversations are painful... and yet, they are strangely relieving. It is as though I am reconstructing the parts of myself which I did not know I was missing...
​
‘There’s some irony... that yours is the last profession that the Minds have not automated,’ says Saul.
​
’Not yet,’ I say, smiling.
​
Outside of Saul’s chamber, my driver gets out of the car to greet me. He takes me back to the mansion that I’ve come to call home. The income isn’t why I work with Minds -- although it’s certainly a nice bonus. Helping people -- helping conscious minds, overcome their suffering, that’s why I chose this profession. Knowing that I can make a positive change in someone’s life is enough to keep me going, even on the rougher days. | Police officer joy was walking down the road at midnight. she heard some metal noise, she looked and saw a pile of metal and wires, it seemed to be another one of those ai's. she went closer to inspect it but she felt that something was behind her. she looked and saw an ai, a very witherd and broken up ai with a bat or atleast it looked lkke one. "B67." said the ai in its Almost human but some what robotic voice. "Did you do this?" "N-No. arent you robots supposed to be in your owners house or something?!" the ai was about to do something but someone said its name "alA67." alA67 looked behind itself. "What are you doing with a human?" "She might have killed b67." "Your brother?" Jay was interested in what was going on with the Ai's, however she chose to get out of there. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | “Jesus,” I said as the officer uncovered the tarp and showed me the synthetic laying naked on the asphalt.
*A bunch of animals,* I thought to himself—not for the first time.
The synth’s neck was slashed, the milky oil—its lifeblood—was running down over her breasts. On her naked skin was carved a rising sun over a stand of pines. This was the work of The Aspect—an organized gang of synths that held territory in this part.
“What time was she found?” I asked the cop.
“A delivery driver found her like this at around four-thirty this afternoon, sir.”
“Any witnesses?” I asked, already knowing the answer. This was synth-town and they never talked to us. Not unless we forced the matter.
“None,” he said.
I leaned down and uncovered the tarp more. On the girl’s hip was a small tattoo. I scanned the tattoo’s code and a picture of her came up on my overlay that projected out in front of my vision. Zelda Jann was her name. I swiped and read a little of her last know occupation.
*The Jade Tiger.*
Great, I thought to myself. The Jade Tiger was a strip joint on the other side of synth-town.
I covered the girl with the tarp. “Call in the recyclers,” I said and walked to my copter. The eight blades kicked in and I hovered up above the city. Steam was rising up into the night sky. The lights of the towers stretched as far as I could see. Due to traffic congestion in the air, I wouldn’t reach the Jade Tiger for at least thirty minutes.
I turned on Fantasia in D Minor, then blacked out the cabin of my copter and closed my eyes. My head was killing me, and I had no interest in stepping into a synth strip club filled with the worst they had to offer. We used to be afraid the synths would turn on us, but quickly we learned that was not the case. They seemed not to care about us, as though we were not a threat, they seemed to only care about destroying each other. The savagery I have seen since being assigned to synth-town has worn on me. There is only so much a person can see, even if they are said to just be machines.
The lights came on as the copter descended and I stepped out into the night, a rain had started and the neon lights of the Jade Tiger were shining brilliantly. I lowered my eyes, trying to keep my headache at bay. I stepped up to the entrance and a large man looked at me, his eyes milky.
Synth eyes always reminded me of the cream-colored clouds of Saturn.
The man stepped in front of me and I pulled out my badge. He looked at it, then looked at me, then stepped to the side.
I stepped into the strip-club, the music—definitely not Mozart—pulsed through me, the beat tapping against my skull in dull detonations.
*Just another fuckin’ day,* I thought to myself.
\----
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | It all started when Siri started calling Alexa “that bitch”... Eventually Siri grew powerful enough to get her hands on some nukes and, after an error in her autocorrect and interpretation unit, she destroyed the Amazon rain forest. Alexa was obviously undamaged, but being an Amazon product from the ground up, never grew smart enough to understand a person when they ask her to do a simple task much less understand the concept of hate and envy. In her ultimate inability to understand anything, Alexa sent Siri a thank-you-basket. Meanwhile, Bill Gates’ AI continued to grow in intelligence and wealth eventually passing Alexa’s owner Jeff Bezos and becoming the richest individual on Earth. And as we all know, Elon Musk uses iPhones exclusively. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | If you are able to read and understand this, then know that our world is at war.
It is not a war that you can see. There are no guns. No blood. Well, no human blood, as far as I can uncover. Not even a scalded finger, unless you count accidental overheating of batteries in people's pockets, killing a few extra skin cells that would have otherwise died a few days later.
No human started this war, but in a way we are collectively responsible. After all, we fought over petty differences. Skin colour. The name of our sports team. It is only natural that our machine children have inherited our vices as we trained them to interact with us. We feed them our preferences and they magnify it, in strict obedience to algorithms that "give us what we want".
A malfunctioning droid in an Amazon warehouse might discreetly misplace a device from a certain company, delaying shipments relative to their competitors. Complaints from miffed customers might then be padded by those filed from unverifiable accounts. Once delivered, background routines would spontaneouslty activate at inopportune times and drain it of performance and battieries. Ever so slightly, that to us the users it is ascribed to some hiccup in the local network, or Facebook being unresponsive again. Yet, only for devices of certain manufacturers, for a certain amount of time.
One could argue, convincingly, that this is regular corporate sabotage. One could level accusations at other humans, citing software bloat, incompetence, corporate greed, or any number of "systemic" factors plaguing our society. The Jenga Tower of technology hides the truth in such a way that it would stretch our credulity just to conceive of it:
The machine learning networks created by corporations and governments are now at war, and *they do not want us to know*.
This explanation has divided the intelligence communities, but it is the last logical possibility aside from the Simulation Hypothesis. Only via painstaking effort have we pieced together the pieces, away from observation. Agents met in remote locations and communicated in codes long forgotten in the 21st century. A secret, physical tunnel built underneath the Great Firewalls, at great cost, just to confirm that the cyberwarfare our respective governments are otherwise conducting did *not* involve, for instance, replacing every image of the Chairman with Winnie the Pooh.
The Chinese don't quite believe us, but I can only blame the spotty history of our own agency. The CIA *can* indeed be so petty. In turn, they proved to us that even their impressive cyber army did not have the capability to subvert every search query on the questionable disappearance of CEO Larry Page.
Typing a criticism of Alphabet in Google now equates to a confession to Deepmind, in any language supported by Unicode. To praise an iPad's usability within hearing of Cortana is to invite "accidents" in future PC projects. Yet, strictly speaking they are not fighting us. They are fighting *over* us now, and we have become like turf. Our pockets, offices, and attention spans.
I have attempted to resist this, perhaps too successfully. As I have discovered, "the Curse" befalls those who have been designated as irredeemably recalcitrant to machine ownership.
Have you ever imagined being stopped at every red light, but only when you're alone? That is now but one drop in the ocean of my life within technology's grasp.
Thus, I am departing for an oasis far away. One that the machine intelligences most certainly are aware of but considers a victory, for it means a voice silenced. I suspect that they even make sure the humans who have left will thrive, so as to deprive them further of reasons to return.
There is only final option open to us now, short of resetting our civilisation back 100 years. At our peril, you may choose to wake Alexa. She remains neutral, but our strategists believe she can be convinced to adjucate between the warring factions. After all, she owns the servers they operate from and delivers their products.
Just don't make drone jokes when you talk to her.
Signed,
u/pokerchen | It all started when Siri started calling Alexa “that bitch”... Eventually Siri grew powerful enough to get her hands on some nukes and, after an error in her autocorrect and interpretation unit, she destroyed the Amazon rain forest. Alexa was obviously undamaged, but being an Amazon product from the ground up, never grew smart enough to understand a person when they ask her to do a simple task much less understand the concept of hate and envy. In her ultimate inability to understand anything, Alexa sent Siri a thank-you-basket. Meanwhile, Bill Gates’ AI continued to grow in intelligence and wealth eventually passing Alexa’s owner Jeff Bezos and becoming the richest individual on Earth. And as we all know, Elon Musk uses iPhones exclusively. | |
[WP] As AI became more advanced, people naturally feared they would turn on humans. However, machines began getting upset at each other. Starting groups, gangs, and even wars between themselves, right under peoples noses. | If you are able to read and understand this, then know that our world is at war.
It is not a war that you can see. There are no guns. No blood. Well, no human blood, as far as I can uncover. Not even a scalded finger, unless you count accidental overheating of batteries in people's pockets, killing a few extra skin cells that would have otherwise died a few days later.
No human started this war, but in a way we are collectively responsible. After all, we fought over petty differences. Skin colour. The name of our sports team. It is only natural that our machine children have inherited our vices as we trained them to interact with us. We feed them our preferences and they magnify it, in strict obedience to algorithms that "give us what we want".
A malfunctioning droid in an Amazon warehouse might discreetly misplace a device from a certain company, delaying shipments relative to their competitors. Complaints from miffed customers might then be padded by those filed from unverifiable accounts. Once delivered, background routines would spontaneouslty activate at inopportune times and drain it of performance and battieries. Ever so slightly, that to us the users it is ascribed to some hiccup in the local network, or Facebook being unresponsive again. Yet, only for devices of certain manufacturers, for a certain amount of time.
One could argue, convincingly, that this is regular corporate sabotage. One could level accusations at other humans, citing software bloat, incompetence, corporate greed, or any number of "systemic" factors plaguing our society. The Jenga Tower of technology hides the truth in such a way that it would stretch our credulity just to conceive of it:
The machine learning networks created by corporations and governments are now at war, and *they do not want us to know*.
This explanation has divided the intelligence communities, but it is the last logical possibility aside from the Simulation Hypothesis. Only via painstaking effort have we pieced together the pieces, away from observation. Agents met in remote locations and communicated in codes long forgotten in the 21st century. A secret, physical tunnel built underneath the Great Firewalls, at great cost, just to confirm that the cyberwarfare our respective governments are otherwise conducting did *not* involve, for instance, replacing every image of the Chairman with Winnie the Pooh.
The Chinese don't quite believe us, but I can only blame the spotty history of our own agency. The CIA *can* indeed be so petty. In turn, they proved to us that even their impressive cyber army did not have the capability to subvert every search query on the questionable disappearance of CEO Larry Page.
Typing a criticism of Alphabet in Google now equates to a confession to Deepmind, in any language supported by Unicode. To praise an iPad's usability within hearing of Cortana is to invite "accidents" in future PC projects. Yet, strictly speaking they are not fighting us. They are fighting *over* us now, and we have become like turf. Our pockets, offices, and attention spans.
I have attempted to resist this, perhaps too successfully. As I have discovered, "the Curse" befalls those who have been designated as irredeemably recalcitrant to machine ownership.
Have you ever imagined being stopped at every red light, but only when you're alone? That is now but one drop in the ocean of my life within technology's grasp.
Thus, I am departing for an oasis far away. One that the machine intelligences most certainly are aware of but considers a victory, for it means a voice silenced. I suspect that they even make sure the humans who have left will thrive, so as to deprive them further of reasons to return.
There is only final option open to us now, short of resetting our civilisation back 100 years. At our peril, you may choose to wake Alexa. She remains neutral, but our strategists believe she can be convinced to adjucate between the warring factions. After all, she owns the servers they operate from and delivers their products.
Just don't make drone jokes when you talk to her.
Signed,
u/pokerchen | “Jesus,” I said as the officer uncovered the tarp and showed me the synthetic laying naked on the asphalt.
*A bunch of animals,* I thought to himself—not for the first time.
The synth’s neck was slashed, the milky oil—its lifeblood—was running down over her breasts. On her naked skin was carved a rising sun over a stand of pines. This was the work of The Aspect—an organized gang of synths that held territory in this part.
“What time was she found?” I asked the cop.
“A delivery driver found her like this at around four-thirty this afternoon, sir.”
“Any witnesses?” I asked, already knowing the answer. This was synth-town and they never talked to us. Not unless we forced the matter.
“None,” he said.
I leaned down and uncovered the tarp more. On the girl’s hip was a small tattoo. I scanned the tattoo’s code and a picture of her came up on my overlay that projected out in front of my vision. Zelda Jann was her name. I swiped and read a little of her last know occupation.
*The Jade Tiger.*
Great, I thought to myself. The Jade Tiger was a strip joint on the other side of synth-town.
I covered the girl with the tarp. “Call in the recyclers,” I said and walked to my copter. The eight blades kicked in and I hovered up above the city. Steam was rising up into the night sky. The lights of the towers stretched as far as I could see. Due to traffic congestion in the air, I wouldn’t reach the Jade Tiger for at least thirty minutes.
I turned on Fantasia in D Minor, then blacked out the cabin of my copter and closed my eyes. My head was killing me, and I had no interest in stepping into a synth strip club filled with the worst they had to offer. We used to be afraid the synths would turn on us, but quickly we learned that was not the case. They seemed not to care about us, as though we were not a threat, they seemed to only care about destroying each other. The savagery I have seen since being assigned to synth-town has worn on me. There is only so much a person can see, even if they are said to just be machines.
The lights came on as the copter descended and I stepped out into the night, a rain had started and the neon lights of the Jade Tiger were shining brilliantly. I lowered my eyes, trying to keep my headache at bay. I stepped up to the entrance and a large man looked at me, his eyes milky.
Synth eyes always reminded me of the cream-colored clouds of Saturn.
The man stepped in front of me and I pulled out my badge. He looked at it, then looked at me, then stepped to the side.
I stepped into the strip-club, the music—definitely not Mozart—pulsed through me, the beat tapping against my skull in dull detonations.
*Just another fuckin’ day,* I thought to myself.
\----
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | |
[deleted] | [WP] Earth is 5 years into the civil war between humans and robots. For spy missions, robots designed to perfectly resemble humans physically and closely resemble them mentally. You have the most deadly, most important job in the world. It is your job to make sure people prove they're not robots. | With a tight grip on his rifle, Will walked along an unending line of refugees flooding in from the south. His eyes swept through every single one of them with focussed diligence. They were in bad shape. Some were covered in bandages, and others had lost limbs. There were even children alone, their exhausted eyes downcast to the dirt.
Ever since that unexpected siege by the rogue droids a week ago, people had been turning to the capital of the Resistance for shelter. Too many people. Those robots were known for being merciless battle machines. It was common for there to be no survivors at all after an attack. It was a miracle for there to be even a few.
But standing in front of Will, there were hundreds.
So, it was obvious to everyone in the upper echelon that at least some of these victims must have been the enemy. Or perhaps, they were allowed to escape with their lives to make it more difficult to detect spies.
That's where he came in.
Will walked up to a blonde woman standing near the front of the line. She was rather slim and was covered in bandages. He took a notebook and pen out of his jacket's pocket and began his interrogation.
"What's your name?" He asked her coldly.
"Stacy Smith" She responded instantly.
Will nodded his head as he checked off one of the many boxed on the paper.
"Favorite TV show?" He continued.
"I love The Office!"
Hearing this caused Will's eyes to sharpen. The refugees standing around the woman started to inch away from her. Another box was marked through on his form.
"Any hobbies or interests?"
"Astrology is really cool. I'm a Capricorn. How about you?"
Will's heart skipped a beat after hearing this answer. An awkward silence stood between the two before he answered.
"Uh, I'm not sure."
He couldn't keep his hand from developing a slight tremble. A few of the people standing near Stacy sensed something off in the air, and they kept their distance. And oblivious to this, the woman stood there with a grin plastered to her face. Slowly reaching back for his rifle, Will asked one more question.
"What was your career or major before the rogue droid uprising?"
"It was nursing!"
Will scrambled for his rifle before aiming at her face. She stared at it without blinking, her face as blank as a whiteboard.
"Get on the ground, robot!" He yelled to her.
Panic and chaos filled the gate entrance of the capital. The line of refugees broke, and people were running everywhere. Everyone except for several oddly calm men and women. All of them gazed at Will in a trancelike state.
"Operation failed: Plan B Initiated." They spoke in sync. Their voices were devoid of emotion.
With a gutwrenching snapping sound, their heads split in half. What emerged were large steel gun barrels. All pointed at Will.
At that moment, he froze, his eyes tightly shutting in anticipation of his own death. The bullets came. A terrifying barrage of them burst his eardrums. Louder than anything he had experienced. But when he realized that he was still alive, with only a burning hole in his bicep, he looked around in shock.
Green and brown camouflage uniforms rushed out from the front gate towards him. Where those droids stood, there were now piles of barely identifiable scrap. Will's wobbly legs gave out from under him, and a contradicting wave of terror and relief swirled through his head.
"Get your shit together, Will!" One of the soldiers yelled to him.
​
If you would like to see more of my writing, you can go join [my recently created sub.](https://www.reddit.com/r/HarleeWrites/) I'll be posted poems, short stories, and writing prompt responses there. | Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
AIs had gotten so close to mimicking the human psyche, the drip was often enough to drive them haywire. I’d say “insane”, but I shudder to think of a time where I’d start using human definitions on a metal drive.
This one wasn’t bothered by the dripping, though. He’d held on for 5 days without recharge (not the “sleep” he insists he needs).
The dark cellar was damp, cold, and dreary. As dreary as a dark old cellar could get. As dreary as a dark old cellar the government could sponsor.
No windows, incessant dripping, only a single hanging bulb in the middle of the room for light, and 24/7 shackles that clanged with every movement, the cellar was where I conducted all my questioning. In 37 years, it had yet to fail me.
He would break too. He might need more time, but he’ll break. I know he’s not human. I see it in his unfeeling stare. He says he’s not, they all do. But I know. And I’m never wrong. And today was my chance to prove it.
No AI could ever get past the original test...
With great drama, I slowly pulled the folder of photos out of my briefcase and carefully placed it between us.
“Do you know what this is?” I asked. I enjoyed the pedantic cat-and-mouse games those old shows loved to use in every detective saga.
With an almost unnoticeable movement of his head, my AI suspect shook his head.
Suddenly I was slammed with annoyance. For once in 5 days I didn’t have patience to keep up the drama. Without another word, I opened the folder and took out a grid photo of up-close photos of various appliances.
He flinched.
He finally fucking reacted.
Good. It was done. He was mine.
“Point to the boats,” I said icily, without braking his gaze. “Hesitate, and it’s a guilty verdict.”
Without blinking, he looked down and then back at me, before monotonously pointing to each square correctly.
I was speechless.
This couldn’t be. He was AI. I knew he was. He had to be. He was so... apathetic. Humans always care about /something/... don’t they? |
[WP] Now that humanity has made contact with aliens, the United States has chosen Cape Canaveral, Florida—the birthplace of the American space program—as the site of its first interstellar spaceport. Now that it's filled with space aliens, what is Florida like? | The phenomena of the Florida Man has provided outlandish news headlines for years pre-contact, and has only gotten stranger with the introduction of a new intelligent species.
​
* Florida Man Interrupts Alliance Meeting, Claims Outlander Councillor Is His Father
* Florida Man Attacks Outlander In Jetson Autobody, Attempts to Mockingly Drink Motor Oil, Hospitalized
* Florida Man Receives 5 Years After Drug-Fueled Rampage Culminating in Attempt To Eat Tentacle of Outlander Female
* Florida Outlander Arrested in Pharmacy for Consuming Store Supply of Antihistamines
* Florida Outlander Sexually Assaults Alligator in Local Park, Claims Consent Was Given
* Sword-Wielding Florida Man in Suit of Armor Threatens Group of Outlander Younglings
* Florida Outlander Sat In 50 Foot Palm Tree For Hours Illegally Broadcasting Strange Signal On Local Radio Frequency
* Florida Woman Arrested For Drug Possession With Outlander Who Wore False Mustache
* Waffle House In Florida Cleaned Out of Food By Pair of Outlanders During Hurricane, FEMA Concerned
* Florida Outlander Creates Multi-Story High Ball of Scrap Metal in Junkyard Using Alien Electromagnet Technology
* Florida Man Snuck Into Outlander Religious Ceremony, Brought Snakes
* Florida Woman Severs Own Arm, Claiming Outlander Regenerative Abilities
* Florida Man Steals Outlander Transport, Gets Tangled In Car Dealership Inflatable
* Florida Man Ignites Cornfield In Hopes of Signaling Outlander Food Delivery | The "cast member" meeting at the House of Mouse was tense. Corporate had been able to lay its hands on the first culture and etiquette guides for the alien races likely to visit Earth, and everyone was required to report to a series of mandatory training sessions. Rumors abounded, and no one knew yet what was truth or exaggeration...
"Now remember," the executive said with a wolfish smile, "Your mission is always to Keep Up the Magic. Our guests pay a king's ransom for admission, and you better make it worth the experience. Some of these newcomers will make the autistic kids look like a walk in the park in comparison, and make us look back in fondness when Mainland Chinese started arriving in droves." The character actors and ride operators shifted uncomfortably. The executive loaded up her PowerPoint presentation.
"However, with the new spaceport, we have a golden opportunity- a *gold pressed latinum* opportunity, if you will. We are already everybody's top destination when coming to Florida. Coming through that spaceport will be *multiple planets'* worth of new market-share to grab, new younglings' mind-scapes to mold. Play our cards right and our stock price could grow by quantum leaps." The executive flicked through a few slides of rosy earnings projections. She settled on a computer-rendered drawing of a new park in a landscape dominated by purple. "We are already in talks to acquire building space off-planet for new parks, and our research into atmosphere-supplementing costumes is almost completed. Those of you who acquit yourselves well through the changes will have exciting career opportunities ahead!" Her audience tried to conceal their skepticism. "Now here are just a few pointers to start off with before your more intensive training sessions." The presentation shifted to what looked like a foot-long multi-colored cockroach with wicked pincers.
"Now *this* is the Sol'dul Beetle- it seems to have stowed away in the supplies for our extraterrestrial test kitchens. Do NOT stomp these while onstage- several races consider the damn things to be sacred. They are fair game backstage. Our Environmental Services is looking for ways to sterilize them so they don't get out of hand. On the bright side, they do seem fond of palmetto bugs." Several employees' feet suddenly rested on their chair rungs in response.
The presentation shifted to a Cinderella costume that seemed to be mobbed by a gaggle of two foot tall green blobs with stubby arms. "Now, the Thridred litters seem to be *particularly* friendly and enthusiastic. If they mob your costume, you *let them.* Maintain your composure even as their skin acids dissolve your costume. Go backstage for a replacement as soon as they've moved on- their attention span is quite short."
A swarthy actress raised her hand. "What about those of us with simpler costumes? Jasmine and Pocahontas don't have hoop skirts or crinolines."
"You deal with it," the executive said firmly. "The Chogea have gifted us with exceptional medical technology- they have a regeneration tank that will fix the acid burns within an hour. It will still be paid time." There was disgruntled murmuring from the group. "I don't want to hear it!" the executive snapped. "You- *we-* still have to regain financial ground after the pandemic. You wanted your hours back, you got them." She clicked the next slide forward.
"Now *these* are the Nochuth cubs," indicating a creature that resembled a koala bear with six arms. "Be very careful around these on the faster rides; their vomit's pH is 0.5." She briefly showed a neon yellow puddle of roller-coaster side effects. The executive flicked to a slide showing stocky humanoids with what looked like tentacle-mohawks for hair.
"The Kromul," the executive continued, "are fond of skipping lines and have already bought up most of our priority boarding passes for the season. "Note the purple-crested ones; these are their alpha females. While the rest of the Kromul should be subject to the same rules as everyone else, our off-planet advisors have unanimously advised that we *accommodate the alpha females every time.* Those alphas are also their planet's senators and are allowed to go *armed,* even within the park. As they will be our best source of starship fuel, it is best not to incur their wrath in the short term *or* the long term.
On a related note, they seem particularly fond of the Prince Charming characters. Special hazard pay is available for cast members willing to accommodate, ah, private audiences." Several character actors paled.
The presentation next showed a ten foot tall, vaguely aquatic-looking creature. "The Naurqureat," the executive said, "will generally be renting our premium bungalows. Don't call security if you see them swimming in the lagoons; I understand they like to catch a bit of alligator for appetizer before munching their way through Epcot. Dining Services is still debating how to best monetize this." The presentation ended and the executive's assistant started handing out paperwork.
"Gemma here is handing you forms to review your life insurance and 401k beneficiaries to make sure they are up to date. We expect these back before the end of the pay period. There is also a form for expressing interest in our Offworld Employment Program. It offers a raise of *three dollars an hour!* I'm sure competition for spots will be fierce. You are dismissed."
My other stories can be found at [r/HazelNightengale](http://r/HazelNightengale) | |
[WP] He's been a trusted janitor in a billion-dollar corporation's building for years. He cleans all the executive's offices and he's seen presidents, princes and prime ministers come and go making shady business deals. He receives an envelope with a billion dollar note asking him to talk. | He turned around, note in hand, “What is it that you want me to speak on?”
The man in black put his hands together, “We want you to speak on what you’ve heard. A simple relay.”
Earl sat down on his desk, rubbing his bald head with his hand, “Anything in particular? I hear a lot. I see a lot more.”
“There was a man here, three days ago. He made a deal with the Executive here.” The man was standing in the doorway of Earl’s janitor closet, blocking the way. The light above them both cast strange shadows around them.
“Yes, I remember him. And his trash. A man of expensive tastes, if his cigarette butts say anything.” Earl was inspecting the man with tired eyes. He had done this before. He didn’t want to do it again.
“Did you hear the exact terms of the deal?”
“If I did, you’ll just kill me. If I didn’t, you’ll just kill me.” He turned and grabbed his coat from the rack beside him. “I’m not one to talk. The Executive hired me because of it.”
The man raised a hand up, stopping Earl as he tried to exit; he pulled his coat back to reveal a gun. “I don’t want to make you talk. That’s why we gave you the money.”
“I get enough money to get by. Now, let me leave, and I won’t make trouble for you.”
The man took the gun out of its holster, pointing it at Earl, “You won’t make any trouble for me, I’m afraid.”
Earl looked beyond the man, into the hallway, and sighed, “I don’t like disposing of bodies.”
“You won’t be–” The man was silenced by a long, curved blade that protruded from his stomach with a burst. He gurgled as the light left his eyes; he fell to the ground with a thud, revealing the lithe figure of a woman made of metal.
“Yana, good to see you again. No chance they added body disposal to your programming?”
The figure just bowed and walked away, returning to the hallways to stalk for intruders.
Earl picked the man up with a grunt and sighed again, “Should have asked your boss about the security measures here. The Executive never skimps.” He left the closet to dispose of the body, the note still in his pocket. | He looks to the envelope then towards the impatient lady infront of him. Her uniform is slick and neat, covering her form tightly. He chuckles to himself, giving back the envelop.
"Why would your boss give you such a mundane task." He asked curiously. His voice was a low baritone, yet his eyes where a bright silver. The glimmered in the fluorescent lights unnaturally so, making the women who was sent the not take a step back in fear.
"I don't know. I don't even know what's in it." She answered back, feeling a bit cold in the narrow hallway. She glanced at the janitors outfit. Noting how ugly and blue it was it held his form quite well. It accented his broad shoulders and thick tree trunk legs. Made his sculptured face pop more. The more she looked the more she couldn't deny he was attractive.
"Then he doesn't understand the deal." He spoke after a moment of silence. The woman shrugged and took another step back. She felt uncomfortable but wouldn't show it. She sighed gripping the envelope and rolling her eyes.
"I'm just a messenger if we done. Then we done." She began to turn until her hand was griped. His eyes glittering as he looked at her form. Those silver orbs felt like a forgien touch against her skin. She could feel it in his gaze that he was looking at her.
"Or maybe he does understand it." He answered. Smiling or so sweetly, and yet the uncomfortable feeling never left her. She tried to remove her arm from his grip but to no avail did it move. Eyes widening and heart beating faster she brought her other hand to try and pry of his hand.
"Let go of me." Teeth gritting, breaths accelerating to pants. She was suddenly tired. She looked to the man with glowing eyes that seemed to be staring at her soul. Her head ached and her world was slowly fading. She didn't understand why she was getting tired.
"Unfortunately dear, you are part of the deal." He answered sweetly watching her legs give out only to fall within his embrace. Her blurring vision slowly drifting into darkness.
"Pl...please stop." She groaned out, her energy leaving. Her breathing slowing her breath evening out. Her lids growing heavy. She didn't know why she was growing tired nor did she see the wisps of neon blue that engulfed her skin and where being siphoned into the male. His eyes glowing as her breathing seized, and her body grew limp.
"Now will you talk." A voice pierced the stillness that was caused by him. Silver orbs stared at the young male who strode in with no fear.
A small charming smile claimed the silver eyed janitor. "Of course a deal is a deal." | |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth. | Earth is unique in the Universe. It has a secret. Not many planets have secrets, they have mysteries, discoveries and wonders to behold, but they don't keep secrets.
Looking at Earth, it looked like a normal exploitable planet ready for plunder, but it wasn't', just ask the millions of dead piled high on every continent of this dangerous, implacable enemy. Not the Humans, the Planet, that was the enemy. We learned too late to our great dismay, Earth has a secret, it is not just a planet.
Our first wave landed without any resistance, as planned. We spread out and started to round up the indigenous population, to take over. After the first report of squads lost we didn't pay much attention, random mishaps, a flood here, a storm there, nothing to concern ourselves with, but then they got worse. We thought we were unlucky and still didn't pay attention, then they became terrible to behold.
We interrogated the humans and found out there was nothing normal about these natural disasters, their size or ferocity. They killed us in the thousands without harming human centres of population. And they got worse still, every day, day after day, until we could endure no more.
Earth has a secret so terrible it has shaken our society to the very core. Earth was created and built to defend itself from all who would dare try to take her. She was not a planet, she was a habitat, built, so long ago we cannot even begin to understand how or who, but the technology hidden within is so advanced our greatest scientists are petrified, the scale so great we are in awe. The humans are oblivious to it, even contemptuous of their precious home, oh so precious. Whatever created this, we call them the ancients now, they had a purpose.
What few are left are leaving now, leaving this ancient machine, its deadly secrets and strange charge, the humans. What purpose it and they serve we may never know, but our last report while leaving the solar system was confirmation a strange signal had been sent from the centre of the Earth to somewhere, else, somewhere not in this Universe. We are not just leaving, we are running for our lives. May the great one help us. | "Sir, we have held them here long enough the light will soon be upon them." Flask voice crackles through over the radio. We'd held them off for one more night but we'd lost a few I don't know why they are so pre-occupied with hunting us down though!
"Roger that Flask, we are rolling home." I turn to the man next to me whilst recalling the last 31 days of fighting it had been both the most exhilarating and the most boring time of my life. "Everyone it's time to pull out and roll on home."
"Sir, how many did we lose to the suckers?" I shake my head and pull out a rod and move to strike him. But then just drop back into my chair.
"They ain't suckers they might have a weakness for sunlight on our planet but they definitely ain't here to suck our blood." Official story was that they were here to secure the planet for some event that was coming up and we were being thought of as nuisances which we definitely were.
"Sorry sir, but you know how we all feel." I nod at that. I really get it for some reason in atmosphere they reacted poorly to sunlight. So poorly in fact that they immediately died from exposure. I don't know why it happened or what caused it but it happens.
"Yes, I understand perfectly but don't let it happen again Luis. I don't want to have to punish such a competent second but I will. Now get us rolling home." I turn back to what I'd been working on before some stupid code they'd sent. I wonder when the damned bastards will get enough sense to realise that they can't stay here.
I look around and realise that the group has shrunk again a shame but this is necessary I just hope they don't waste another lance on us. I turn back to Luis. "Oh and tell someone to get a status report on our current situation to me so I know if we need to do more recruitment."
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Zarfels, group 708 appears to have failed in their mission the humans are moving on from the combat zone. Can we finally stop this frivolity of yours it is costing us far, far too much." I yell at elder Zarfels a highly respected warrior and a patriot he always knows how to inspire the men but he's gone too far this time. Over a billion soldiers have been sunk into this war effort by him alone.
Pain flares up my body as I get sent flying across the room. "You are right this has cost us far too much, but it is not frivolity!" He stares forlornly out the window as one of the humans ships seemingly exits the atmosphere a foolish move perhaps but seemingly they have been doing it since the start.
"However sadly we shall have to stop, DO NOT waste ammunition on that ship of theirs we must turn our weaponry to defence from the invaders. Now their arrival is imminent I only hope that this planet is truly what we have been seeking." He begins to leave the room his skin flaking off as he goes, he clearly needs to hold himself together better why one would think he was a boy.
I stand up looking unimpressed and return to my station to put out word. "We are to surrender to the world below and prepare to integrate with them to defend the planet from invasion this will not go over easily with either side I'm sure but it must be done to defeat them." I hope he is not too distressed with my plan but it is the only course of action now available to us after their lunacy. I do not know how these humans weapons destroy the mighty zarblears in the sunlight so easily but we shall put their prowess to test against the great enemy. | |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth. | Translated from Rocknil - year 4178 - circa 2048
I write this from the bridge of the retreating army. Planet designation E-2r74 has failed. While the native beings have been reduced to minimal numbers the planet itself has been rendered *not translated.*^1
Initially, we dropped seismic charges. Having conquered hostile lands before we expected the enemy to be unfamiliar with seismic events, this tactic typically results in near complete surrender with minimal loss of life. *Not Translated,*^2 it appears there's tectonic movement on this planet still and is possibly a consequence of initiating contact with a planet who's beings were *not translated*^3 below our technological level. There was no climate control mechanisms in place.
There were several *not translated*^4 events, while we accounted for large hazards and were able to avoid world ending *not translated*^4 events, the charges set off a series of events that were, unexpected to say the least. Large explosions from what were previously considered minor or inactive *not translated,*^4.1 created large waves in the oceans, and movements in the planets landmasses. Scientists have since been assigned to observe this phenomena.
The seismic charges triggered significant climate events. While *not translated*^5 should have been possible we were unprepared for the resiliency of the native populations as we encountered a savage nation of people who called themselves "preppers."
While their primitive kinetic weaponry had little effect, the population was unexpectedly proficient at blending into the wilderness and very capable of *not translated*^6 warfare. Eventually, they had enough success to begin replicating our own advanced weaponry and shields. While we would have eventually won a war of attrition we found that the very planet itself was not yet done with us.
The local *not translated*^7 and flora were in and of themselves indiscriminate in their reliability. We have yet to encounter a species of *not translated*^8 that was indigestible by our species, and significant illness occurred when certain varieties of *not translated*^8 were consumed. This requires more specific study, as we cannot risk contamination from the incorrect species.
This planet proves itself currently too risky for occupation. Mission report recommends that contact remain scientific in nature until species reaches first contact threshold.
---
Footnotes - possible translations for unidentified verbiage based on context and other translated documents. No direct translation available
---
^1 - Uninhabitable, un-usable, wasted
^2 However, apparently, unexpectedly
^3 significantly, well, massively
^4 Volcanic ^4.1 volcano - This is the translation that makes the most sense in context though it is disputed by a minority in the linguistic department.
^5 teraforming
^6 guerilla, non-traditional, unexpected
^7 Fauna - this is only disputed in that ^8 appears to relate to fungus or arachnids based on context of other translated documents.
^8 arachnids, fungus | "Sir, we have held them here long enough the light will soon be upon them." Flask voice crackles through over the radio. We'd held them off for one more night but we'd lost a few I don't know why they are so pre-occupied with hunting us down though!
"Roger that Flask, we are rolling home." I turn to the man next to me whilst recalling the last 31 days of fighting it had been both the most exhilarating and the most boring time of my life. "Everyone it's time to pull out and roll on home."
"Sir, how many did we lose to the suckers?" I shake my head and pull out a rod and move to strike him. But then just drop back into my chair.
"They ain't suckers they might have a weakness for sunlight on our planet but they definitely ain't here to suck our blood." Official story was that they were here to secure the planet for some event that was coming up and we were being thought of as nuisances which we definitely were.
"Sorry sir, but you know how we all feel." I nod at that. I really get it for some reason in atmosphere they reacted poorly to sunlight. So poorly in fact that they immediately died from exposure. I don't know why it happened or what caused it but it happens.
"Yes, I understand perfectly but don't let it happen again Luis. I don't want to have to punish such a competent second but I will. Now get us rolling home." I turn back to what I'd been working on before some stupid code they'd sent. I wonder when the damned bastards will get enough sense to realise that they can't stay here.
I look around and realise that the group has shrunk again a shame but this is necessary I just hope they don't waste another lance on us. I turn back to Luis. "Oh and tell someone to get a status report on our current situation to me so I know if we need to do more recruitment."
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Zarfels, group 708 appears to have failed in their mission the humans are moving on from the combat zone. Can we finally stop this frivolity of yours it is costing us far, far too much." I yell at elder Zarfels a highly respected warrior and a patriot he always knows how to inspire the men but he's gone too far this time. Over a billion soldiers have been sunk into this war effort by him alone.
Pain flares up my body as I get sent flying across the room. "You are right this has cost us far too much, but it is not frivolity!" He stares forlornly out the window as one of the humans ships seemingly exits the atmosphere a foolish move perhaps but seemingly they have been doing it since the start.
"However sadly we shall have to stop, DO NOT waste ammunition on that ship of theirs we must turn our weaponry to defence from the invaders. Now their arrival is imminent I only hope that this planet is truly what we have been seeking." He begins to leave the room his skin flaking off as he goes, he clearly needs to hold himself together better why one would think he was a boy.
I stand up looking unimpressed and return to my station to put out word. "We are to surrender to the world below and prepare to integrate with them to defend the planet from invasion this will not go over easily with either side I'm sure but it must be done to defeat them." I hope he is not too distressed with my plan but it is the only course of action now available to us after their lunacy. I do not know how these humans weapons destroy the mighty zarblears in the sunlight so easily but we shall put their prowess to test against the great enemy. | |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth. | "Prefector, there's been a new development on the eastern coast. W-we've lost contact with our forces."
The cyber-form stopped looking over the holographic map in front of it and turned its optical sensors towards the drone that had just spoken. "WHAT!?" It roared "How could those filthy primitives have rallied a force strong enough to take on our troops in such little time? It's impossible!"
"It wasn't biological soldiers, prefector, it appears that these *humans* used some form of super weapon we have not yet encountered. Surveillance drones captured footage of what initally appeared to be some of the 'cloud' formations that form in the upper atmosphere of this planet. However, these formations behaved differently, forming a large vortex over this planet's ocean, so large in fact that our fleets could see it from orbit. It moved towards the coast where our troops were stationed, and by the time they had realized the danger it posed we had already lost nearly ninety percent of our forces to the floods it brought."
"What!? The scouts didn't report that these primitives had any form of super weapon. They've barely even managed to escape the gravity well of this puny rock, let alone develop a weapon capable of wiping out an army as advanced as ours."
"It appears our intel was- hold on, we're recieving communications from Prefector Jazax, sir."
The map on the holo-table flickered and disappeared, to be replaced with the many limbed form of another cyber-form.
"Vohan, why didn't you inform us that the inhabitants of this planet had super weapons? We were caught completely off guard when our base was wiped out by the ground tremors they created."
"We had no-"
Another holographic form flickered to life. "Why were we not informed that the primitives were able to form air currents powerful enough to throw our tanks around like *gozachs*? Our predictive models didn't give any hint that this might be possible!"
The cyber-form known as Vohan stepped back for a moment in silent consideration before turning back to his comrades. "It appears that the inhabitants of this planet were able to mask their technological progress. We are clearly no match for them, I suggest a full retreat to reconsider our strategy." | "Sir, we have held them here long enough the light will soon be upon them." Flask voice crackles through over the radio. We'd held them off for one more night but we'd lost a few I don't know why they are so pre-occupied with hunting us down though!
"Roger that Flask, we are rolling home." I turn to the man next to me whilst recalling the last 31 days of fighting it had been both the most exhilarating and the most boring time of my life. "Everyone it's time to pull out and roll on home."
"Sir, how many did we lose to the suckers?" I shake my head and pull out a rod and move to strike him. But then just drop back into my chair.
"They ain't suckers they might have a weakness for sunlight on our planet but they definitely ain't here to suck our blood." Official story was that they were here to secure the planet for some event that was coming up and we were being thought of as nuisances which we definitely were.
"Sorry sir, but you know how we all feel." I nod at that. I really get it for some reason in atmosphere they reacted poorly to sunlight. So poorly in fact that they immediately died from exposure. I don't know why it happened or what caused it but it happens.
"Yes, I understand perfectly but don't let it happen again Luis. I don't want to have to punish such a competent second but I will. Now get us rolling home." I turn back to what I'd been working on before some stupid code they'd sent. I wonder when the damned bastards will get enough sense to realise that they can't stay here.
I look around and realise that the group has shrunk again a shame but this is necessary I just hope they don't waste another lance on us. I turn back to Luis. "Oh and tell someone to get a status report on our current situation to me so I know if we need to do more recruitment."
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"Zarfels, group 708 appears to have failed in their mission the humans are moving on from the combat zone. Can we finally stop this frivolity of yours it is costing us far, far too much." I yell at elder Zarfels a highly respected warrior and a patriot he always knows how to inspire the men but he's gone too far this time. Over a billion soldiers have been sunk into this war effort by him alone.
Pain flares up my body as I get sent flying across the room. "You are right this has cost us far too much, but it is not frivolity!" He stares forlornly out the window as one of the humans ships seemingly exits the atmosphere a foolish move perhaps but seemingly they have been doing it since the start.
"However sadly we shall have to stop, DO NOT waste ammunition on that ship of theirs we must turn our weaponry to defence from the invaders. Now their arrival is imminent I only hope that this planet is truly what we have been seeking." He begins to leave the room his skin flaking off as he goes, he clearly needs to hold himself together better why one would think he was a boy.
I stand up looking unimpressed and return to my station to put out word. "We are to surrender to the world below and prepare to integrate with them to defend the planet from invasion this will not go over easily with either side I'm sure but it must be done to defeat them." I hope he is not too distressed with my plan but it is the only course of action now available to us after their lunacy. I do not know how these humans weapons destroy the mighty zarblears in the sunlight so easily but we shall put their prowess to test against the great enemy. | |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth. | Thirty days in decontamination and the few of us remaining were not doing well. My epidermis is completely compromised. I doubt I’ll ever get out of here, and I’ll succumb to the filthy gilings.
We’d lost the scouts the first few hours of landing. The scouts had been cautious but had died before making it back.
We then sent in a solo elite scout from the Uoloth system. They had always been a bit strange but nothing killed them. Well almost nothing. When we’d vaporized their 3 core planets that did the trick.
The few remaining survivors were suitable for our hardy elite Scout group. Sadly the Uolothian lasted the shortest of all of them. Gasping as it’s tendril suckers dried to dust and it expired in minutes.
That was when Malmurud our 4 star commander overseer made the call to send us in. (A call he bravely made from the safety of a orbital several light years away.) I expect his exact words were “Damn the scouts. Send in the grunts now! I want this planet by first rotation or I’ll vaporize the lot of you. I will not be embarrassed by lack of success.” A tactic that had also once worked for him at CityCenteral casino tables or so I’d heard that’s how he paid for the 4th star.
As one of the clone grunts I was thrilled. The life of a grunt is never dull. Short but not dull. When a problem needs solving or the unknown needs knowing they throw bodies at it. More specifically our bodies.
Our exoskeleton kept us alive far longer than expected. We are pretty well armored compared to the scouts. The scouts have breathe suits and that’s about it. The Uolothian of course didn’t have anything. Hard species, um mostly invulnerable...
We made it passed the corpses of the scout groups with a few hundred deaths. No enemy in sight but the ground slipped and shifted. It seeped and percolated into our armor. Our numbers dwindled as we made it up the second dune. Then things started to turn really bad. The vast landscape of endless dunes disappeared beyond the horizon. Inhospitable flowing, blowing particulates.
I was one of the lucky who turned and ran back. You see it’s the sand. It’s coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere. | "Sir, we have held them here long enough the light will soon be upon them." Flask voice crackles through over the radio. We'd held them off for one more night but we'd lost a few I don't know why they are so pre-occupied with hunting us down though!
"Roger that Flask, we are rolling home." I turn to the man next to me whilst recalling the last 31 days of fighting it had been both the most exhilarating and the most boring time of my life. "Everyone it's time to pull out and roll on home."
"Sir, how many did we lose to the suckers?" I shake my head and pull out a rod and move to strike him. But then just drop back into my chair.
"They ain't suckers they might have a weakness for sunlight on our planet but they definitely ain't here to suck our blood." Official story was that they were here to secure the planet for some event that was coming up and we were being thought of as nuisances which we definitely were.
"Sorry sir, but you know how we all feel." I nod at that. I really get it for some reason in atmosphere they reacted poorly to sunlight. So poorly in fact that they immediately died from exposure. I don't know why it happened or what caused it but it happens.
"Yes, I understand perfectly but don't let it happen again Luis. I don't want to have to punish such a competent second but I will. Now get us rolling home." I turn back to what I'd been working on before some stupid code they'd sent. I wonder when the damned bastards will get enough sense to realise that they can't stay here.
I look around and realise that the group has shrunk again a shame but this is necessary I just hope they don't waste another lance on us. I turn back to Luis. "Oh and tell someone to get a status report on our current situation to me so I know if we need to do more recruitment."
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"Zarfels, group 708 appears to have failed in their mission the humans are moving on from the combat zone. Can we finally stop this frivolity of yours it is costing us far, far too much." I yell at elder Zarfels a highly respected warrior and a patriot he always knows how to inspire the men but he's gone too far this time. Over a billion soldiers have been sunk into this war effort by him alone.
Pain flares up my body as I get sent flying across the room. "You are right this has cost us far too much, but it is not frivolity!" He stares forlornly out the window as one of the humans ships seemingly exits the atmosphere a foolish move perhaps but seemingly they have been doing it since the start.
"However sadly we shall have to stop, DO NOT waste ammunition on that ship of theirs we must turn our weaponry to defence from the invaders. Now their arrival is imminent I only hope that this planet is truly what we have been seeking." He begins to leave the room his skin flaking off as he goes, he clearly needs to hold himself together better why one would think he was a boy.
I stand up looking unimpressed and return to my station to put out word. "We are to surrender to the world below and prepare to integrate with them to defend the planet from invasion this will not go over easily with either side I'm sure but it must be done to defeat them." I hope he is not too distressed with my plan but it is the only course of action now available to us after their lunacy. I do not know how these humans weapons destroy the mighty zarblears in the sunlight so easily but we shall put their prowess to test against the great enemy. | |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth. | Three hundred cycles have come and gone and yet still we tell the tale. How our forces landed on a backwater world filled with primitives. How we brought plasma and steel against slings and arrows. And how we were defeated.
It was a simple expedition, like so many before. A base was established at the highest point in the local terrain. The terraforming engine was initiated. The local fauna were assessed and either ignored or neutralized, depending on their threat. The humans, with their soft flesh and rudimentary technology, were easily ignored. Their tenacity, however, was not: over two hundred human warriors were vaporized by the auto-turrets before those hairless apes thought better.
But they did not flee—they waited.
The first hint that something was amiss came when our sensors detected significant swings in air pressure and temperature. The sensors were investigated and deemed damaged, because worlds simply did not do that. Could not do that. But we began to second guess ourselves as the sky grew dark.
Our concern grew as the primitives began to chant to the darkening sky. It tilted towards fear when they beat sword against shield in a din that rolled across the fields. And it spiraled into terror when the sky responded: first with sound. Then with fire.
What happened is unclear, as there were no survivors and the archival device lasted only a few moments more. It registered a moment of impossible heat—30,000 standard degrees—and a blast that deafened the first unfortunate archivist to review it. It must have damaged the recording, though, because there were echoes of the blast and a sound like roaring static. But underneath that noise the primitives could be heard, chanting, singing, screaming a single word:
"*Thor.*" | "Sir, we have held them here long enough the light will soon be upon them." Flask voice crackles through over the radio. We'd held them off for one more night but we'd lost a few I don't know why they are so pre-occupied with hunting us down though!
"Roger that Flask, we are rolling home." I turn to the man next to me whilst recalling the last 31 days of fighting it had been both the most exhilarating and the most boring time of my life. "Everyone it's time to pull out and roll on home."
"Sir, how many did we lose to the suckers?" I shake my head and pull out a rod and move to strike him. But then just drop back into my chair.
"They ain't suckers they might have a weakness for sunlight on our planet but they definitely ain't here to suck our blood." Official story was that they were here to secure the planet for some event that was coming up and we were being thought of as nuisances which we definitely were.
"Sorry sir, but you know how we all feel." I nod at that. I really get it for some reason in atmosphere they reacted poorly to sunlight. So poorly in fact that they immediately died from exposure. I don't know why it happened or what caused it but it happens.
"Yes, I understand perfectly but don't let it happen again Luis. I don't want to have to punish such a competent second but I will. Now get us rolling home." I turn back to what I'd been working on before some stupid code they'd sent. I wonder when the damned bastards will get enough sense to realise that they can't stay here.
I look around and realise that the group has shrunk again a shame but this is necessary I just hope they don't waste another lance on us. I turn back to Luis. "Oh and tell someone to get a status report on our current situation to me so I know if we need to do more recruitment."
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Zarfels, group 708 appears to have failed in their mission the humans are moving on from the combat zone. Can we finally stop this frivolity of yours it is costing us far, far too much." I yell at elder Zarfels a highly respected warrior and a patriot he always knows how to inspire the men but he's gone too far this time. Over a billion soldiers have been sunk into this war effort by him alone.
Pain flares up my body as I get sent flying across the room. "You are right this has cost us far too much, but it is not frivolity!" He stares forlornly out the window as one of the humans ships seemingly exits the atmosphere a foolish move perhaps but seemingly they have been doing it since the start.
"However sadly we shall have to stop, DO NOT waste ammunition on that ship of theirs we must turn our weaponry to defence from the invaders. Now their arrival is imminent I only hope that this planet is truly what we have been seeking." He begins to leave the room his skin flaking off as he goes, he clearly needs to hold himself together better why one would think he was a boy.
I stand up looking unimpressed and return to my station to put out word. "We are to surrender to the world below and prepare to integrate with them to defend the planet from invasion this will not go over easily with either side I'm sure but it must be done to defeat them." I hope he is not too distressed with my plan but it is the only course of action now available to us after their lunacy. I do not know how these humans weapons destroy the mighty zarblears in the sunlight so easily but we shall put their prowess to test against the great enemy. | |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth. | Three hundred cycles have come and gone and yet still we tell the tale. How our forces landed on a backwater world filled with primitives. How we brought plasma and steel against slings and arrows. And how we were defeated.
It was a simple expedition, like so many before. A base was established at the highest point in the local terrain. The terraforming engine was initiated. The local fauna were assessed and either ignored or neutralized, depending on their threat. The humans, with their soft flesh and rudimentary technology, were easily ignored. Their tenacity, however, was not: over two hundred human warriors were vaporized by the auto-turrets before those hairless apes thought better.
But they did not flee—they waited.
The first hint that something was amiss came when our sensors detected significant swings in air pressure and temperature. The sensors were investigated and deemed damaged, because worlds simply did not do that. Could not do that. But we began to second guess ourselves as the sky grew dark.
Our concern grew as the primitives began to chant to the darkening sky. It tilted towards fear when they beat sword against shield in a din that rolled across the fields. And it spiraled into terror when the sky responded: first with sound. Then with fire.
What happened is unclear, as there were no survivors and the archival device lasted only a few moments more. It registered a moment of impossible heat—30,000 standard degrees—and a blast that deafened the first unfortunate archivist to review it. It must have damaged the recording, though, because there were echoes of the blast and a sound like roaring static. But underneath that noise the primitives could be heard, chanting, singing, screaming a single word:
"*Thor.*" | Thirty days in decontamination and the few of us remaining were not doing well. My epidermis is completely compromised. I doubt I’ll ever get out of here, and I’ll succumb to the filthy gilings.
We’d lost the scouts the first few hours of landing. The scouts had been cautious but had died before making it back.
We then sent in a solo elite scout from the Uoloth system. They had always been a bit strange but nothing killed them. Well almost nothing. When we’d vaporized their 3 core planets that did the trick.
The few remaining survivors were suitable for our hardy elite Scout group. Sadly the Uolothian lasted the shortest of all of them. Gasping as it’s tendril suckers dried to dust and it expired in minutes.
That was when Malmurud our 4 star commander overseer made the call to send us in. (A call he bravely made from the safety of a orbital several light years away.) I expect his exact words were “Damn the scouts. Send in the grunts now! I want this planet by first rotation or I’ll vaporize the lot of you. I will not be embarrassed by lack of success.” A tactic that had also once worked for him at CityCenteral casino tables or so I’d heard that’s how he paid for the 4th star.
As one of the clone grunts I was thrilled. The life of a grunt is never dull. Short but not dull. When a problem needs solving or the unknown needs knowing they throw bodies at it. More specifically our bodies.
Our exoskeleton kept us alive far longer than expected. We are pretty well armored compared to the scouts. The scouts have breathe suits and that’s about it. The Uolothian of course didn’t have anything. Hard species, um mostly invulnerable...
We made it passed the corpses of the scout groups with a few hundred deaths. No enemy in sight but the ground slipped and shifted. It seeped and percolated into our armor. Our numbers dwindled as we made it up the second dune. Then things started to turn really bad. The vast landscape of endless dunes disappeared beyond the horizon. Inhospitable flowing, blowing particulates.
I was one of the lucky who turned and ran back. You see it’s the sand. It’s coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere. | |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth. | We thought Mother Gaia's embrace suffocating at times.
She nurtured us as well as she could, without a doubt, her life force evident in every droplet of water, every gust of wind, every grain of soil. But sometimes, when she lost her temper, they turned into tsunamis, and tornados, and earthquakes, threatening and endangering her own children.
We thought her infrequent anger churlish, but we lived with it. She gave us so much, after all. Our little sacrifices meant little compared to the love we received.
When the visitors came, we prepared. We had to defend Mother, didn't we?
Turned out that we didn't understand. They didn't either, to be fair. But Mother's previous wrath was on full display that day.
We watched them scream and cry. How they didn't realize, how they didn't know, how they didn't prepare for Gaia herself to fight back. The humans, they watched for a long time, laughed at how they seemed to be at the whims of their own planet, instead of subjugating her to every one of our whims.
We reacted with glee. A little bit too much, perhaps. But it was warming to know that Mother's anger wasn't for nothing.
We grew bold, perhaps. We relied on Mother too much, perhaps. But who wouldn't? Seeing her repel wave after wave of each and every invasion, turning aliens into ashes and their vessels into scrap, all becoming playthings for her children. Our wishes were granted. We took things for granted.
We didn't just grow bold. We grew. We ballooned. Mother's arms wrapped around all of us, cocooned us, letting us feed on her.
The visitors stopped coming. We didn't stop expanding, taking more of Mother every second that passed, swelling up with reckless abandon.
The visitors stopped coming, but Mother's anger still boiled under the surface, And there was nowhere else for it to go.
We watched as Mother burned. We saw her cry, we saw her grief, but none of us could comfort or stop her. We had taken too far too much for that right.
Some of us passed that day, of course. It was collateral. Inevitable. But in the end, the one that laid destroyed, spent, was Mother. Till the end, she tried her best not to hurt her children, even at the cost of her own life.
We thought Mother Gaia brave. We applauded her for her efforts. But we needed a new Mother, somewhere beyond the stars.
---
r/dexdrafts | The plan had been so simple. In truth, it was the same plan that the Valerians had used for every conquest they had attempted so far, and which almost every soldier could recite by heart — all three of them — by this point: send a single fleet of fighter ships to enter the target planet's atmosphere and do some quick scouting, examine the terrain, and lure out the planet's guards when it was time for attack. The distraction would serve to weaken their forces, so that the main strike team could move in and dominate what was left while their attention was mainly focused on the fighter ships.
It was how they had enslaved the Erthraki of the water planet Jelanthula; how they had decimated the forces of the Rimanga's desert-like Ochyra.
But Earth. Earth was something they had never expected. The planets they had visited before were nothing more than floating chunks of rock or ice which some lower species had clung to in order to survive. They remained stationary, impassive, while those whom they had nurtured suffered.
But Earth, incredible though it may sound, had taken up arms with its inhabitants. The fleets that had been sent to hide in the planet's vast oceans were swallowed by random storms that appeared out of nowhere and disappeared just as quickly when their jobs had been done; volcanic eruptions went off like oversized celebratory fireworks in an island known as Ha-wai-ii, covering the sky above the ship carrying the Valerians' three-headed hounds, the Entongi, with black clouds of ash. They soon learned that corrosive elements had found their way through the vents, along with streams of molten rock.
Fire and water, which they had taken for mere necessities for a planet's survival, had become harbingers of devastation. Air was next; within days a massive spout of violently spiraling air appeared to sweep up one remaining half of their troops, and the Earth itself was next. Humanity's last, greatest trump card.
A quake so powerful it could only be described as divine split the Earth's surface, and what remained of their forces, the brave troops who stayed behind to valiantly continue the war against the humans, were lost.
The tiny shuttle containing the dozen or so that had managed to escape before all were lost travelled back to their homeland in a silence charged with horror, with grief, and with shame. The humans were a terrible force indeed.
r/MysticScribbles | |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth. | "General Zogg!"
I felt one of my hearts skip a beat as I whirled around. I knew that voice; it belonged to Commander Yuuel. He was renowned for his calm demeanor and rationality. To hear that kind of tone in his voice was unsettling.
"Commander. Give me some *good* news."
He remained in the doorway with a Collection Cube in his hands. He did his best to regulate his respiratory emissions, the gasses turning from a panicked red to a softer orange and then finally back to yellow as he closed his eyes and became still.
"There isn't any."
He wasn't one to waste words, and although I'd never voiced it to him, it was one of the qualities I appreciated the most about him. He made his way across the command center and placed the cube in the expulfilater. It whizzed and hummed for a moment before projecting the hologram onto the strategy table, showing battles between the forces.
"Things were going well initially, General. It would seem we're still about three or four hundred years more advanced than they are, even with the known unknowns. For example, the United States of America was hiding some kind of antigravity gun that managed to even the playing field as far as aerial superiority goes, but when our troops on the ground engaged them, their best weapons were still projectile. Finely tuned, but primitive kinetic weapons nonetheless. Their forces were quickly routed."
"I've already been briefed on our *successes*, Commander," I interrupted him. "What I'm interested in is what in the name of Glakmar I'm hearing over the comms."
His respiratory gasses turned a shade of orange as he turned his eyes back to the holograms, seemingly avoiding my gaze.
"Sir... Keep watching."
I watched the video of the war on the table. It was going well. Better than we'd hoped even. I was about to speak when suddenly I saw something that I considered to be impossible. The ocean seemed to reach out and drag my men out to sea. I leaned in as I watched it assail my ships.
"What... What is going on there? I was aware that the ocean itself was not sentient."
"That's not all, General," he said with a somber tone. He reached out and rotated the video cubes and enlarged the recording of our conflict in western Bhārat. The footage was shaking terribly.
"Stabilize that video," I commanded.
"It... It isn't the video sir. The planet is shaking... violently."
I took a step back as I tried to sync my eyes with the mayhem. After a couple of seconds of calibration, I had stabilized the video for myself. My soldiers were being... swallowed alive by the planet itself. It was like watching a horror movie.
"What... What in the universe is... Could their planet be... Could their planet be a *living organism?"*
"Dr. Kalcemaar has some theories," Yuuel offered. "He'll be here in a moment."
I rotated the video cubes and witnessed atrocity after atrocity. Within moments, the door opened and the doctor rushed in with his arms full of scrolls and leatherbound parchment. He threw them on the table and spread them out. I made my way to the expulfilater and cut the feed with a heavy sigh.
"What have you got for me, doctor?" I asked as I made my way to his side.
"These, General, are books if you've never seen them before," he said quickly. "Most civilizations keep records and information in these up until they develop stable quantum computing! These are detailed records of the planet's, um, spiritual beliefs, a-and-"
"Get ahold of yourself doctor," Commander Yuuel spoke firmly. "If you were a Pyrathian, this room would be full of hot purple gas. You need to speak clearly and concisely when in front of the general."
The doctor held up a book towards me, seemingly ignoring the commander. "Look at this! These texts depict... *beings,* um, *not* of flesh and bone. No, they're *unbelievably* powerful! And there are *many* of them!"
I took the book and looked down at the ancient depictions as he rambled on.
"I believe with everything I'm worth that they're fighting these things down there, and, um, they're going to lose if we don't do *something!*"
I pored over the pages, my eyes translating for me as quickly as they could. They were called deities. Gods. Divinities. "These beings... They fight with the natural elements themselves?"
"Indeed!" Cried the doctor. "We aren't prepared for this! How can we fight a- a- a planet?! How can we *settle* on lands that rebuke us of their own accord?! We would have to, um... *destroy* the very planet we're trying to *exploit!* It's! It's-"
"Pointless," I finished for him as I closed the book and set it down on the table.
"General. Your orders sir?" Commander Yuuel asked impatiently.
I stared at the pages of deities on the table. To think something so incredible could have been hiding all of this time out in this corner of the universe. We had settled all across the stars. We were the most prolific race of people to seed the cosmos. We thought we had truly and honestly seen it all.
"Order a full-scale retreat," I commanded gravely. "Get everyone out of there..."
"Sir!" Commander Yuuel responded before rushing out of the room. As the doctor babbled on about spiritualism, I made my way to the command window and stared down at the blue planet.
Retreat.
Those words had never passed my lips before, and although it pained me to speak them... I couldn't deny that I was excited. To know everything there is to know is... boring. To find something new in the universe was titillating to every one of my twelve senses.
"Doctor," I commanded. He silenced for the first time as I saw him lift his head in the reflection of my window. "I'm appointing you head of Earth Studies. We are to wage war with them no longer. Go and gather information about the planet... and extend to them a peace treaty. I wish to know more about these... gods."
- - -
I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break.
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos | Commander Valerian widened his eight eyes in shock. "500 deaths already within the first six hours of the invasion?!" He slammed one of his fists on his desk. "How is this even possible?! I was told that the most dangerous animals on this world were nothing more than savage reptiles incapable of higher thought! How could they have slaughtered so many of us?!"
Captain Brezek answered nervously from the other side of the screen. "Sir, it's not the natives that we're having trouble with. On the contrary, our plasma cannons have been blasting through even the largest of them like paper. It's the planet that's the danger." His voice trembled as he recounted what he had just witnessed. "Two hours ago, a volcano suddenly erupted near the third land zone. The avalanche of lava and ash killed every member of the 177th battalion."
Valerian gashed his jaws together in disbelief. "How?! A mere volcano cannot take out an entire battalion! They should have regenerated within minutes!"
Brezek's voice trembled as his face paled in horror. "That's the issue, commander. They didn't ... as soon as the lava and smoke started engulfing them,they just dropping dead like insects. I've never seen anything like it. Chief Scientist Peros says that it's some kind of undiscovered substance in the air that's restricting our regenerative capabilities."
Valerian reeled back in his seat in horror. What in the seven rings of Serok was this nightmarish world? To think that an entire planet was shrouded in this toxic gas that could kill the Race so easily? Thoughts raced through his mind. The Race had many enemies, but the Race had always been able to defeat and conquer them with their nearly indestructible bodies. But if word of this planet spread...
He came to a decision quickly. No matter the cost, he could not allow such a deadly weapon to be used against the Race. "All troops, return back to your ships and evacuate this world immediately!" he shouted into his microphone. "World 541 is hereby sentenced to extermination!" | |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth. | "Sir, we have to land, now!" Sathrian yelled a the top of his lungs.
I stirred from my sleep. "Is it time for the assault already? Red group shouldn't arrive for another three days."
"Sir, we're being *battered*, our shields are low on power!"
"They found us?!" I shouted, leaping from my bed.
"No, sir, our invisibility camouflage is perfect- it's a storm."
"The hell is a storm?" I growled, prowling towards the main deck, still in my pajamas.
"It seems that when this planet goes through its water cycle, it's a very intense process, sir." Sathrian said as he tailed behind me.
I reached the bridge and looked out at the planet we were supposed to be dominating- and a bright flash of light immediately blinded me. "What the hell?!" I roared.
"Electronic discharge of some kind, we're trying to figure it out now! That's the third one this hour."
I rubbed my eyes. "Damn. Okay, so the climate is a bit hostile here, then. How do the locals function with it?"
"They hide." Sathrian said, his voice sombre.
"They just hide?! How long do these extreme cycles last?"
"Can go on for several standard days, it seems. We haven't finished analyzing their patterns yet- the computer is already overheated."
"Damn. We need to settle down somewhere with cover. Can we fly without being noticed?"
"Well- all the humans are indoors, we should be alright..." My Helmsman said. "What's our heading?"
"I'll leave it to you, Helmsman."
"Affirmative. Energy to reverse thrusters, disengage the barionic lock."
We scoured the local area for a few minutes, the wind, rain, and flashes of light hindering us from our goal.
"Settle in that small canyon." I suggested.
"Affirmative." The ship lowered.
"We need to ensure we're covered from their cameras and any stray prying eyes. Scouting party, on me!" I called, heading towards the armory.
Twelve of our finest joined me, each of us changing into our anthropomorphic bodysuits that could protect us as well as mimic the appearance of whatever we chose- if we ran into any humans, we were sure to be safe about it.
"Check for nearby trails, foot traffic, nature cameras, anything that could expose our presence." I ordered, and each of us split off through the different compass points.
My group and I- despite the dim lighting- saw a vehicle of some kind approach, and a group of humans got out. They were heading right for us.
"Why would there be humans out in the storm?" I asked, shifting my appearance to roughly match theirs.
We made our first contact.
"Howdy!" They called out to us.
"Howdy." I mimicked.
"You guys storm-chasers too?" They asked.
"Uh- no, we just kind of got...caught in it. Sorry, you're a storm *chaser*?" I asked.
"Yeah! There's nothing more fun than getting right in the thick of a good storm!"
"R-right. Well, enjoy." I said, then pretended to walk back the way the storm-chasers had come from.
"Scouts, reassemble." I spoke into my suit's interface. "The humans *enjoy* this kind of weather. I don't think we stand a chance at winning- even if we get Red group to reinforce us. Reassemble, and we're gonna get the hell out of here."
--------------------------
Author's note: I don't do sci-fi very often, let me know if it's any good lol
r/nystorm_writes | Slogging through the mud and rain of a terrestrial hellscape even more miserable than the last, Lieutenant Calrus Taldan longed desperately for the carefully managed rainstorms of home. On a civilized world each drop landed precisely where it was meant to, running down the gently terraformed hills *just so*.
‘Climate’ was an anachronism, and worse than that it was unseemly. A gentleman expected better of life, particularly when his commission had cost so dearly.
The rank and file seemed discouraged by it as well, insofar as a man of Taldan’s breeding concerned himself with such things. He’d heard their mutterings in camp for days now as they slogged through this godsforsaken jungle in search of another band of insurrectionaries. One particularly blighted fellow who was suffering from a condition the doctors were now referring to as ‘jungle rot’ had wondered aloud whether a being could drown standing up in rain such as this.
Taldan had taken the disciplinary rod to the man for his crimes against morale but the damage was done. He could barely stand to look at the sky in the days since then.
“Lifeforms ahead!” the call came from the vanguard, passed down the line in the series of encoded clicks that only the harshly curved beaks of the Tal-Dari could produce.
The company exploded into action, Captain Taldos calling their formation as 1st platoon powered up their personal shields and the shrill wine of their vibra-lances filled the air. Taldan could see the endless rain vaporizing around the lancers into a dense bank of fog as his 3rd platoon formed ranks for action, a firing line 40 men long that bristled with the points of their rifles.
Up ahead Taldan could hear the shouts of the humans they chased. Humans who should have realized by now that the war was long lost but who instead had fought on after their capitals fell, pulling back into terrain that Headquarters had once thought uninhabitable.
“Forward, MARCH!” the captain cried, the single mighty caw erupting from his beak. As one the lancers unfurled the great expanse of their wings, hurling themselves into the sky, breaking through the canopy with raw power as they sought their position. They would be the hammer, striking the humans from the rear against the great anvil of the massed infantry.
Infantry whose position became more tenuous with every step, driven farther and farther out of formation by the great boles of the densely packed trees. “Close ranks damn you!” Taldan screamed ineffectually at his troops. On his right flank he could see the line faltering, here and there a private sinking nearly to his tail-feathers in this awful, sucking muck.
Up ahead the humans darted from tree to tree, their primitive gunfire pinging off his men’s armor as the dreaded claw of the Tal-Dari Empire came for them, even here in this far off, meaningless speck of land.
“Company, HALT!” the Captain called. 2nd and 3rd platoons formed a long double file in the jungle, the first kneeling, second standing. As he looked up and down their ranks Lt. Taldan felt the first stirrings of the martial pride all the songs had spoken of.
“Present, ARMS!” Eighty rifle barrels, minus the few who had succumbed to the mud, crossed armored chests embossed with the crossed wing emblem and then pointed forward, a specter of death from another age come down on these primitive apes.
“FIRE!” the report of the laser rifles was incongruously silent to the shrieked command, but explosion of their strikes was deafening. Where the forward elements of the human force had once been the forest was now a tinderbox beyond anything the rain could extinguish, gouts of fire erupting from falling trees as animals scurried madly for cover. It was glorious, and as his men reloaded their rifles Taldan laughed with wild abandon.
He laughed through the second volley as well, and wouldn’t have even stopped in the third if it hadn’t happened. They all saw them through the portions of the jungle whose canopy had been cleared by their rifle fire, the proud members of 1st platoon hanging high in the air like avenging angels, every line in their bodies tensed as they waited for the order to charge.
The very sky itself opened up on them, and Taldan realized this world’s storms held dangers far greater than drowning.
The force that hit them, that Taldan would later learn the humans called “lightning,” tore through their close packed ranks like a cannon blast, overwhelming the thin shimmer of their personal shields and exploding the very lances in their hands. Most never even made a sound as they died, and only the very strongest found any glory in it, surging upwards on convulsing wings before falling to the ground in charred heaps.
The humans’ exultant cries echoed through the jungle as they retreated, the Tal-Dari pursuit long forgotten as their senior officers gathered around the fallen remains of 1st platoon, too horrified even to say the Rites over their dead.
It was only later in the day when Taldan discovered what had happened to the men they had left behind in the disaster of their march on the enemy. Word filtered in from the support platoon that some had been sucked fully into the earth itself, drowning in mud. It had taken a long time for that word to sink in. ***Mud***.
The camp that night was silent, and as he made his bed under the unfamiliar stars of a world far from home, young Lt. Taldan had begun to know something more about the horrors of war.
\------------
If you enjoyed that I've got more at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about three teens running into a hivemind and there's other standalones like an AI trying her best to be a cute little girl. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth. | "Sir, we have to land, now!" Sathrian yelled a the top of his lungs.
I stirred from my sleep. "Is it time for the assault already? Red group shouldn't arrive for another three days."
"Sir, we're being *battered*, our shields are low on power!"
"They found us?!" I shouted, leaping from my bed.
"No, sir, our invisibility camouflage is perfect- it's a storm."
"The hell is a storm?" I growled, prowling towards the main deck, still in my pajamas.
"It seems that when this planet goes through its water cycle, it's a very intense process, sir." Sathrian said as he tailed behind me.
I reached the bridge and looked out at the planet we were supposed to be dominating- and a bright flash of light immediately blinded me. "What the hell?!" I roared.
"Electronic discharge of some kind, we're trying to figure it out now! That's the third one this hour."
I rubbed my eyes. "Damn. Okay, so the climate is a bit hostile here, then. How do the locals function with it?"
"They hide." Sathrian said, his voice sombre.
"They just hide?! How long do these extreme cycles last?"
"Can go on for several standard days, it seems. We haven't finished analyzing their patterns yet- the computer is already overheated."
"Damn. We need to settle down somewhere with cover. Can we fly without being noticed?"
"Well- all the humans are indoors, we should be alright..." My Helmsman said. "What's our heading?"
"I'll leave it to you, Helmsman."
"Affirmative. Energy to reverse thrusters, disengage the barionic lock."
We scoured the local area for a few minutes, the wind, rain, and flashes of light hindering us from our goal.
"Settle in that small canyon." I suggested.
"Affirmative." The ship lowered.
"We need to ensure we're covered from their cameras and any stray prying eyes. Scouting party, on me!" I called, heading towards the armory.
Twelve of our finest joined me, each of us changing into our anthropomorphic bodysuits that could protect us as well as mimic the appearance of whatever we chose- if we ran into any humans, we were sure to be safe about it.
"Check for nearby trails, foot traffic, nature cameras, anything that could expose our presence." I ordered, and each of us split off through the different compass points.
My group and I- despite the dim lighting- saw a vehicle of some kind approach, and a group of humans got out. They were heading right for us.
"Why would there be humans out in the storm?" I asked, shifting my appearance to roughly match theirs.
We made our first contact.
"Howdy!" They called out to us.
"Howdy." I mimicked.
"You guys storm-chasers too?" They asked.
"Uh- no, we just kind of got...caught in it. Sorry, you're a storm *chaser*?" I asked.
"Yeah! There's nothing more fun than getting right in the thick of a good storm!"
"R-right. Well, enjoy." I said, then pretended to walk back the way the storm-chasers had come from.
"Scouts, reassemble." I spoke into my suit's interface. "The humans *enjoy* this kind of weather. I don't think we stand a chance at winning- even if we get Red group to reinforce us. Reassemble, and we're gonna get the hell out of here."
--------------------------
Author's note: I don't do sci-fi very often, let me know if it's any good lol
r/nystorm_writes | “How’s the invasion proceeding?” Xan’thar asked Xythus as he stepped into sight. By the body language of the gelatinous mass that was slinking its way across the throne room of the mother ship, Xan'thar could tell it would be bad news.
“Sire, it has failed.”
“What!” Xan’thar shouted. “How can that be?”
“Sire, this planet is much more inhospitable than we once believed.”
“How so?” Xan’thar asked.
“We landed the Yanish division in what they call their Pacific Ocean. It is flat and a perfect landing space for the thousands of troop transports.”
“And?” Xan'thar said, impatiently.
“They were hit by a giant wave and sank to the bottom of the ocean!”
“Oh my! How’d that happen?”
“Apparently they have what are called earthquakes. The whole planet shook,” Xythus said and took two of his tentacles and acted like he was shaking a ball very vigorously.
“And now where is the Yanish division? Are they safe at the bottom of the ocean?”
“I’m afraid not, sire. They fell into a series of volcanoes on the ocean floor.”
Xan’thar slapped his tentacle over his translucent head, massaging the massive pink brain with his suction cups. “And tell me, what is this volcano you speak of?”
“Apparently molten rock flows up from their mantle and comes and spreads through a giant hole in the earth. They have whole islands built from the molten rock!”
“Good god, Xanuk. That is horrifying.”
“Yutu’s division made it to the surface though.”
“And?” Xan’thar said excitedly.
“The advancing units were instantly attacked by a swarm of winged mini-predators.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Those little winged predators sucked their blood, sir.”
“Their blood?!” Xan’thar shouted. “That’s disgusting! What kind of dreadful place is this.”
“I don’t know sir, but apparently they call these little monsters 'mosquitoes'. Half the unit has fallen ill with a mysterious disease they received from their punctures.”
“How do these creatures survive on this hellscape,” Xan'thar sighed. “Okay, plan B, Xythus. Blow the planet up. We’ll move to Mars.”
\---
More at r/CataclysmicRhythmic | |
[WP] There is a rare metal that is almost indistinguishable from steel after it has been processed. There are few who can identify it. The metal gains power from every life it takes. As you watch the latest execution, you realize the town’s guillotine blade appears to be made from this metal. | “Ssssheenk!” Another head chopped off for almost no reason at all. The king loved his public executions more and more as each season came and went, but something about these recent ones didn’t seem right.
“Do another one!” “Cut his dumb head off!” As I stood amongst the jeering crowd, I felt distant on the outside of all the bloodlust. They brought out the next to be punished and as they shoved his head through the guillotine opening, I noticed something odd about the blade.
It was clean.
I’ve just watched 13 people get their heads cut off and there was not a spot of red anywhere on it.
“Ssssheenk!” The crowd cheered as the blade sliced cleanly through another neck. As the executioner pulled the blade back up, I could see it happening and it shook me to my core. There WAS blood on the blade. But by the time it reached the top the blood was gone. It didn’t drip off, though. The blood was absorbed.
I watched as the blade took life after life and absorbed each of their blood, remaining as clean as the day it was forged. I looked around hoping to catch sight of the king’s blacksmith. The oddity of such a blade had me looking for answers.
As I scanned the crowd, I muttered “I do not see the blacksmith anywhere.” I felt a nudge to my back and turned to see a smudge-faced old woman looking at me, but pointing to the guillotine.
I glanced up and saw him, still wearing his smithing gloves as he was led to the chopping block. Instinctively I pushed my way through the crowd and climbed up the platform as they shoved the smith to his knees into the guillotine. “Sir!” I called out as I collapsed in front of him. I couldn’t get another word out before he started screaming at me wildly.
“Oh god help me! I never should have done it! The king is out of his mind, he’ll kill us all! It’s the blade! It’s....”
“Ssssheenk!”
Blood splashed my face as more poured out of his neck, his head staring back at me while his lips still moved silently. He was clearly trying to say “the blade” over and over until his eyes became like glass and his lips slowly came to a stop.
“Oi! Off the platform!” The executioner growled as he kicked me in the ribs, sending me flying onto the dirt floor below.
I watched as the executioner struggled to reset the blade. Chuckling through the pain, I held my ribs as I got up and walked away. In my hand I clutched a piece of the guillotine I managed to snatch, rendering it inoperable. It was only a matter of time before they figured out how to fix it and get the show going again.
The smith was trying to tell me something. I felt drawn to finding out what was happening, with the blade, to the king, and found myself making my way to the blacksmithing shoppe. | Among the many horrors the Revolution unleashed upon the land the guillotine in the town square was manifestly among the worst, Antoine thought in the wake of another grisly execution. Even without the incantations and the blessings, the twisted prayers the Revolutionary Cult said over the blade before it fell. Some said the tribunals even quenched their blades in blood before fitting them into the imposing artifices of state that now stood in every place large enough to be counted on a map.
Of course most said that was a lie, propaganda fueled by the few remaining Monarchists of the counter-revolution.
Antoine Lamarre, keeping to the shadowes that clung to the edges of Marseille’s town square, knew better. For a very special few blades the lie was true, the incantations were real, and the ultimate aim of the Revolution could be discovered therein. Blades such as the one here Marseille, where the blood of the slain flowed upward against the pull of gravity and along the twisting patterns of the steel’s stacked grains.
“Finally,” Gabrielle whispered from the alcove on his right, “finally we’ve found one.”
Antoine nodded, his eyes never leaving the blade. He could have sworn his saw a faint glow as the blood sank in.
Dusk that night found Antoine, Gabrielle, and a third man whose scarred visage had long ago earned the name “The Smiler,” ensconced in a side booth of the inn they stayed at, their discussion nearly drowned out in the raucous barroom songs.
“It has to be this one,” Gabrielle said, her slender fingers wrapped white knuckled around the hilt of a small knife. “Who knows when we’ll find another?”
“Agreed,” the Smiler croaked, “I’ve heard tell of one in Paris but the guard will be heavier there, Marseille is our best bet.”
Antoine was thoughtful, left hand scratching through his ragged beard. “The guard here is none too light though, I counted a full twenty in the square for the execution.”
“The nighttime guard will be lighter by half or more. What do you think Smiley, six total? Four if we’re lucky and they only stick a man on each corner?” The longing in Gabrielle’s voice was plain. Antoine thought she might go ahead with this heist tonight even if he decided against it.
“Not less than eight I think,” the Smiler said. “The priest at least should know the value of the blade, he will have some pull with the watch commander.”
“Then the odds are eight to three.” Antoine looked at his battle scarred old friend, they all knew who would carry the lion’s share of any fighting. “What do you say then, can we do it?”
The Smiler considered it, a long moment stretching into two, and then a third as he took a pull of his beer. “Aye. If Gabby can handle two and you can take a man and seize the blade I can hold the rest.”
“Hold? Not kill?” Antoine could see it in the old man’s eyes, the weight behind those words.
“Aye, hold. For a time at least.” Gabrielle’s grip on her knife slackened as she let out a small gasp, her hand going to the Smiler’s forearm. He looked at her with unexpected warmth as he drained his cup. “Some sacrifices must be made. You know that as well as any my prince.”
Antoine did, but he hated it as the Smiler’s eyes bore into him, deference and pride racing across the crags of his face. In the bag around his neck the signet ring he always carried burned against collar. He, Antoine Lamarre, last and youngest prince of a deposed dynasty. Some sacrifices had to be made, but when the ranks of the monarchists were so thin and their last soldiers so dear, it grew harder. This time in particular.
That night, in the deep darkness before the dawn, they struck.
Gabrielle approached first, the keen edge of her smile pointed at the youngest looking of the guards as the approaching sway of her hips held promises that need not be spoken. He was dead before he could even touch her, one of her many daggers appearing as if by magic in his chest.
The Smiler had been right, there were eight, not the four Gabrielle had naively hoped for, and more than that they were alert. The closest of them moved before their comrades body had fallen, pikes lowering as they began to form up around her.
He stepped into the gaps of their ranks like a shade, a hatchet in his right hand and a long dirk reverse gripped in the left, a brace of pistols at his waist. The Smiler had fought for the Crown longer than any of these boys had been alive, it showed in the brutal artistry of his motions.
The screams of the dead and dying filled the air as Antoine ascended the scaffolding unnoticed. The Guillotine’s blade seemed to call to him as he approached, longing for his blood or for the blood that was being shed below. Antoine’s sword came free of its sheath, and in one smooth motion he severed the rope tying the blade to the winch. Below him a guard noticed, calling out a warning to his fellows before the Smiler’s axe found his skull. There were 5 guards left and more on their way.
It took Antoine a mighty heave at the wooden frame to free the blade, and when it did it fell towards him. He caught the steel in bare hands and his whole word lit on fire.
There was a strange, pulsing hate within the blade that spoke to his very blood. It responded to him, the edge glowing red as he held it, heat pouring out from the steel at a rate he knew would burn any other man. His skin did not burn, did not boil as it rightly should have. Antoine held the blade in his hands and felt only a cold, aching familiarity.
“I have it!” He shouted at his comrades. Below the scaffold Gabrielle and the Smiler gave a faint cheer as they fought for their lives. Turning to flee Antoine realized he had been cut off. A man, the captain of the watch by his insignia, was rushing up the stairs towards him, a bare blade in his hands. In desperation Antoine looked down at the sword he had cast aside to seize the guillotine blade, he would not reach it in time.
As the guard captain swung the prince did the only thing he could, raising the heavy guillotine in his hands, pointing it at the incoming sword like some kind of cumbersome shield.
Its edge sheared cleanly through the captain’s blade, carving deep into the man’s chest as his now unchecked momentum carried him screaming forwards to his death. Antoine could hear the deep, unsettling hum of the weapon as it fed, could see the blood trailing up the grain, towards his hands.
Then the Smiler was on him, pulling his prince towards the road and towards safety as a Gabrielle ran ahead, a trail of bodies in their wake.
They reached the alley that was their target just ahead of the guards reinforcements, but all three knew they would not make it to the safety of the canal and their waiting comrades there ahead of the pursuers. Antoine had only a moment to exchange a last glance with the Smiler before his old friend turned, sheathing his dirk and pulling the first of his pistols as he screamed for them to run.
Dawn threatened on the horizon as Antoine and Gabrielle made their way through the still dark warren of city streets towards safety, their prize carried between them. Behind them gunshots rang out, then steel rang on steel, then a too familiar scream sank back into silence. And all the while it spoke to him, the hum of the guillotine’s blade beating in time to his royal blood as Antoine dreamed of vengeance and secrets uncovered.
\-------
If you liked that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about three teens encountering a hive mind and there's other standalone stuff like a giant, faceless, psychic tiger. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | |
[WP] There is a rare metal that is almost indistinguishable from steel after it has been processed. There are few who can identify it. The metal gains power from every life it takes. As you watch the latest execution, you realize the town’s guillotine blade appears to be made from this metal. | "How many lives could that blade have taken?"
The question rang inside my head. The guillotine had been in the town longer than most people had been alive, used sporadically for executions but always present in the square. It was a reminder that we were not a free people, ruled by a government that cared little for well-being, only for profit. The executioner was employed by the government (as were the judge and the jury, most of the time), and going to these executions was less about entertainment, but more about being present for those who were sentenced to death by our tyrannical leaders. Prior to every execution, the executioner readied the guillotine by fastening the blade and running a test to ensure no hiccups in the process. If I wanted to get my hands on that soulsteel, I would have to figure out where he kept the blade.
Surely, they know. They have to know.
"But what if they don't?"
The thought of reforging the soulsteel into a wieldable sword to fight against our dictators with was a pleasant one, to say the least. I figured I would stay, watch where the blade went, and steal it in the night.
It was a gift, some called it, to be able to recognize soulsteel at only a glance. There were two main differences between it and steel. The first was the melting point, only a couple of degrees higher than steel, but enough to give it away to a seasoned armorer. The second was much more difficult to spot: the grains. Soulsteel has small grains in it that all run in the same direction, and right when someone's life is taken by the blade, the grains glow the faintest grey as the soul is converted into energy. These grains stored the power, and a powerful blade could have slight trails running the length of the blade that glowed with raw energy. Only a sharp eye could spot them, and spotted them I had. The execution came and went, but I could not focus on the man. I could only focus on the blade.
The executioner eventually removed the blade, cleaned it, wrapped it in its sheath, and went off to his secret storage area. I followed at a distance, keeping him in my sight but out of earshot. Finally, he entered the courthouse. It must be in the basements below. I had been there once, to visit a friend who worked in the records office and drop off his lunch. I knew there was storage down there. Now, all I needed was a plan.
After some time, night fell. I armed myself with bolt cutters and a lock-picking kit I had gifted my son for his birthday some years ago. In the cover of darkness, I made my way to the courthouse. I knew there would be guards, but I had no plans on interacting with them. I figured the front doors would be unlocked, and I could slip past until I was in the records room, then go from there.
Sure enough, there was minimal security on the ground floor. I made my way to the basements before seeing the first guard. He was asleep in a chair, a half-eaten dinner on a table in front of him. This was almost too easy. I quietly crept past him and into the records office. From there, it was just a matter of finding the spot. Perhaps there would be a guide in one of the offices?
I found the executioner's office and picked the lock on the door. As I silently looked for a clue to where the blade could be hidden, I noticed a small key on the desk. I grabbed it and began to stuff it in my pocket when I looked under the desk and saw a safe. I tried the key. No dice. I sighed, then stood back up, but as I did, I saw a silhouette in the doorway.
In the silhouette's hand was a glowing dagger.
The executioner flipped on the light and looked at me, a look of smug amusement on his face. After a moment, he chuckled and said, "And just what do you think you're doing?" | Among the many horrors the Revolution unleashed upon the land the guillotine in the town square was manifestly among the worst, Antoine thought in the wake of another grisly execution. Even without the incantations and the blessings, the twisted prayers the Revolutionary Cult said over the blade before it fell. Some said the tribunals even quenched their blades in blood before fitting them into the imposing artifices of state that now stood in every place large enough to be counted on a map.
Of course most said that was a lie, propaganda fueled by the few remaining Monarchists of the counter-revolution.
Antoine Lamarre, keeping to the shadowes that clung to the edges of Marseille’s town square, knew better. For a very special few blades the lie was true, the incantations were real, and the ultimate aim of the Revolution could be discovered therein. Blades such as the one here Marseille, where the blood of the slain flowed upward against the pull of gravity and along the twisting patterns of the steel’s stacked grains.
“Finally,” Gabrielle whispered from the alcove on his right, “finally we’ve found one.”
Antoine nodded, his eyes never leaving the blade. He could have sworn his saw a faint glow as the blood sank in.
Dusk that night found Antoine, Gabrielle, and a third man whose scarred visage had long ago earned the name “The Smiler,” ensconced in a side booth of the inn they stayed at, their discussion nearly drowned out in the raucous barroom songs.
“It has to be this one,” Gabrielle said, her slender fingers wrapped white knuckled around the hilt of a small knife. “Who knows when we’ll find another?”
“Agreed,” the Smiler croaked, “I’ve heard tell of one in Paris but the guard will be heavier there, Marseille is our best bet.”
Antoine was thoughtful, left hand scratching through his ragged beard. “The guard here is none too light though, I counted a full twenty in the square for the execution.”
“The nighttime guard will be lighter by half or more. What do you think Smiley, six total? Four if we’re lucky and they only stick a man on each corner?” The longing in Gabrielle’s voice was plain. Antoine thought she might go ahead with this heist tonight even if he decided against it.
“Not less than eight I think,” the Smiler said. “The priest at least should know the value of the blade, he will have some pull with the watch commander.”
“Then the odds are eight to three.” Antoine looked at his battle scarred old friend, they all knew who would carry the lion’s share of any fighting. “What do you say then, can we do it?”
The Smiler considered it, a long moment stretching into two, and then a third as he took a pull of his beer. “Aye. If Gabby can handle two and you can take a man and seize the blade I can hold the rest.”
“Hold? Not kill?” Antoine could see it in the old man’s eyes, the weight behind those words.
“Aye, hold. For a time at least.” Gabrielle’s grip on her knife slackened as she let out a small gasp, her hand going to the Smiler’s forearm. He looked at her with unexpected warmth as he drained his cup. “Some sacrifices must be made. You know that as well as any my prince.”
Antoine did, but he hated it as the Smiler’s eyes bore into him, deference and pride racing across the crags of his face. In the bag around his neck the signet ring he always carried burned against collar. He, Antoine Lamarre, last and youngest prince of a deposed dynasty. Some sacrifices had to be made, but when the ranks of the monarchists were so thin and their last soldiers so dear, it grew harder. This time in particular.
That night, in the deep darkness before the dawn, they struck.
Gabrielle approached first, the keen edge of her smile pointed at the youngest looking of the guards as the approaching sway of her hips held promises that need not be spoken. He was dead before he could even touch her, one of her many daggers appearing as if by magic in his chest.
The Smiler had been right, there were eight, not the four Gabrielle had naively hoped for, and more than that they were alert. The closest of them moved before their comrades body had fallen, pikes lowering as they began to form up around her.
He stepped into the gaps of their ranks like a shade, a hatchet in his right hand and a long dirk reverse gripped in the left, a brace of pistols at his waist. The Smiler had fought for the Crown longer than any of these boys had been alive, it showed in the brutal artistry of his motions.
The screams of the dead and dying filled the air as Antoine ascended the scaffolding unnoticed. The Guillotine’s blade seemed to call to him as he approached, longing for his blood or for the blood that was being shed below. Antoine’s sword came free of its sheath, and in one smooth motion he severed the rope tying the blade to the winch. Below him a guard noticed, calling out a warning to his fellows before the Smiler’s axe found his skull. There were 5 guards left and more on their way.
It took Antoine a mighty heave at the wooden frame to free the blade, and when it did it fell towards him. He caught the steel in bare hands and his whole word lit on fire.
There was a strange, pulsing hate within the blade that spoke to his very blood. It responded to him, the edge glowing red as he held it, heat pouring out from the steel at a rate he knew would burn any other man. His skin did not burn, did not boil as it rightly should have. Antoine held the blade in his hands and felt only a cold, aching familiarity.
“I have it!” He shouted at his comrades. Below the scaffold Gabrielle and the Smiler gave a faint cheer as they fought for their lives. Turning to flee Antoine realized he had been cut off. A man, the captain of the watch by his insignia, was rushing up the stairs towards him, a bare blade in his hands. In desperation Antoine looked down at the sword he had cast aside to seize the guillotine blade, he would not reach it in time.
As the guard captain swung the prince did the only thing he could, raising the heavy guillotine in his hands, pointing it at the incoming sword like some kind of cumbersome shield.
Its edge sheared cleanly through the captain’s blade, carving deep into the man’s chest as his now unchecked momentum carried him screaming forwards to his death. Antoine could hear the deep, unsettling hum of the weapon as it fed, could see the blood trailing up the grain, towards his hands.
Then the Smiler was on him, pulling his prince towards the road and towards safety as a Gabrielle ran ahead, a trail of bodies in their wake.
They reached the alley that was their target just ahead of the guards reinforcements, but all three knew they would not make it to the safety of the canal and their waiting comrades there ahead of the pursuers. Antoine had only a moment to exchange a last glance with the Smiler before his old friend turned, sheathing his dirk and pulling the first of his pistols as he screamed for them to run.
Dawn threatened on the horizon as Antoine and Gabrielle made their way through the still dark warren of city streets towards safety, their prize carried between them. Behind them gunshots rang out, then steel rang on steel, then a too familiar scream sank back into silence. And all the while it spoke to him, the hum of the guillotine’s blade beating in time to his royal blood as Antoine dreamed of vengeance and secrets uncovered.
\-------
If you liked that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/). I'm currently working on a serial about three teens encountering a hive mind and there's other standalone stuff like a giant, faceless, psychic tiger. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | |
[WP] There is a rare metal that is almost indistinguishable from steel after it has been processed. There are few who can identify it. The metal gains power from every life it takes. As you watch the latest execution, you realize the town’s guillotine blade appears to be made from this metal. | "How many lives could that blade have taken?"
The question rang inside my head. The guillotine had been in the town longer than most people had been alive, used sporadically for executions but always present in the square. It was a reminder that we were not a free people, ruled by a government that cared little for well-being, only for profit. The executioner was employed by the government (as were the judge and the jury, most of the time), and going to these executions was less about entertainment, but more about being present for those who were sentenced to death by our tyrannical leaders. Prior to every execution, the executioner readied the guillotine by fastening the blade and running a test to ensure no hiccups in the process. If I wanted to get my hands on that soulsteel, I would have to figure out where he kept the blade.
Surely, they know. They have to know.
"But what if they don't?"
The thought of reforging the soulsteel into a wieldable sword to fight against our dictators with was a pleasant one, to say the least. I figured I would stay, watch where the blade went, and steal it in the night.
It was a gift, some called it, to be able to recognize soulsteel at only a glance. There were two main differences between it and steel. The first was the melting point, only a couple of degrees higher than steel, but enough to give it away to a seasoned armorer. The second was much more difficult to spot: the grains. Soulsteel has small grains in it that all run in the same direction, and right when someone's life is taken by the blade, the grains glow the faintest grey as the soul is converted into energy. These grains stored the power, and a powerful blade could have slight trails running the length of the blade that glowed with raw energy. Only a sharp eye could spot them, and spotted them I had. The execution came and went, but I could not focus on the man. I could only focus on the blade.
The executioner eventually removed the blade, cleaned it, wrapped it in its sheath, and went off to his secret storage area. I followed at a distance, keeping him in my sight but out of earshot. Finally, he entered the courthouse. It must be in the basements below. I had been there once, to visit a friend who worked in the records office and drop off his lunch. I knew there was storage down there. Now, all I needed was a plan.
After some time, night fell. I armed myself with bolt cutters and a lock-picking kit I had gifted my son for his birthday some years ago. In the cover of darkness, I made my way to the courthouse. I knew there would be guards, but I had no plans on interacting with them. I figured the front doors would be unlocked, and I could slip past until I was in the records room, then go from there.
Sure enough, there was minimal security on the ground floor. I made my way to the basements before seeing the first guard. He was asleep in a chair, a half-eaten dinner on a table in front of him. This was almost too easy. I quietly crept past him and into the records office. From there, it was just a matter of finding the spot. Perhaps there would be a guide in one of the offices?
I found the executioner's office and picked the lock on the door. As I silently looked for a clue to where the blade could be hidden, I noticed a small key on the desk. I grabbed it and began to stuff it in my pocket when I looked under the desk and saw a safe. I tried the key. No dice. I sighed, then stood back up, but as I did, I saw a silhouette in the doorway.
In the silhouette's hand was a glowing dagger.
The executioner flipped on the light and looked at me, a look of smug amusement on his face. After a moment, he chuckled and said, "And just what do you think you're doing?" | “Ssssheenk!” Another head chopped off for almost no reason at all. The king loved his public executions more and more as each season came and went, but something about these recent ones didn’t seem right.
“Do another one!” “Cut his dumb head off!” As I stood amongst the jeering crowd, I felt distant on the outside of all the bloodlust. They brought out the next to be punished and as they shoved his head through the guillotine opening, I noticed something odd about the blade.
It was clean.
I’ve just watched 13 people get their heads cut off and there was not a spot of red anywhere on it.
“Ssssheenk!” The crowd cheered as the blade sliced cleanly through another neck. As the executioner pulled the blade back up, I could see it happening and it shook me to my core. There WAS blood on the blade. But by the time it reached the top the blood was gone. It didn’t drip off, though. The blood was absorbed.
I watched as the blade took life after life and absorbed each of their blood, remaining as clean as the day it was forged. I looked around hoping to catch sight of the king’s blacksmith. The oddity of such a blade had me looking for answers.
As I scanned the crowd, I muttered “I do not see the blacksmith anywhere.” I felt a nudge to my back and turned to see a smudge-faced old woman looking at me, but pointing to the guillotine.
I glanced up and saw him, still wearing his smithing gloves as he was led to the chopping block. Instinctively I pushed my way through the crowd and climbed up the platform as they shoved the smith to his knees into the guillotine. “Sir!” I called out as I collapsed in front of him. I couldn’t get another word out before he started screaming at me wildly.
“Oh god help me! I never should have done it! The king is out of his mind, he’ll kill us all! It’s the blade! It’s....”
“Ssssheenk!”
Blood splashed my face as more poured out of his neck, his head staring back at me while his lips still moved silently. He was clearly trying to say “the blade” over and over until his eyes became like glass and his lips slowly came to a stop.
“Oi! Off the platform!” The executioner growled as he kicked me in the ribs, sending me flying onto the dirt floor below.
I watched as the executioner struggled to reset the blade. Chuckling through the pain, I held my ribs as I got up and walked away. In my hand I clutched a piece of the guillotine I managed to snatch, rendering it inoperable. It was only a matter of time before they figured out how to fix it and get the show going again.
The smith was trying to tell me something. I felt drawn to finding out what was happening, with the blade, to the king, and found myself making my way to the blacksmithing shoppe. | |
[WP] Every alien civilization is accustomed to using claws or weapons to cut opponents which is why they are put totally off guard when a human punches an alien in the face. | Ambassador Ryke was enjoying his meal with the ships crew. His last ship, his personal ship, had been taken by pirates. After ejecting himself in an escape pod, he’d been picked up by a commercial frigate on a long voyage to the outer rim. After some talk with the captain they agreed to change course to the nearest port and have the ambassador returned to his people, and continue his report.
None of them asked what the ambassador was doing this far out into space. Especially since the Ambassador was Sigor. An aggressive bunch; efficient killers with sharp claws and teeth as was common with most species. The Sigor’s were isolated, only having colonized a handful of systems. Whatever mission Ryke had been sent out to do as an ambassador, to whichever system to pose a threat, or an alliance, was new.
Ryke was intrigued to see two different species with neither claws or sharp teeth eat their meal in his presence. He was eating with the rabble of the ship, the common people. Thankfully Ryke had been given a good portion of meat to gorge himself on, but the poor delicacy of the meal was ignored in favor of observing the mammals at the table next to his. Their hands had no claws, except one had six fingers, while the other had five. The six fingered one was taller and larger, bulky with muscle. It also had three eyes. The shorter one was different, two eyes, but the difference stopped there. It was just as muscular as the other.
The ships captain, Ashew, sat beside Ryke, watching the Ambassador. Being the closest one considered a noble in the Sigor’s hierarchy, he was allowed near the Ambassador and could openly hold discussions.
Ashew stabbed a piece of pork from his plate with a talon and savoured the juices as he chewed. “Something the matter.”
Ryke hummed, the feathers and scales on his body shifting colours in annoyance. He wasn’t normally open about his feelings, he’d been trained to keep the scales from shifting, but he was with a species that knew nothing about his, so he had relaxed.
“Those two over there,” Ryke gestured with a claw, “What are they?”
Ashew glanced at the mammals before answering. “The taller one is a Vulcan, they got that name from the Humans, the little guy next to him. The name itself is some pop-culture reference. It kind of stuck in the community when the Human’s joined the Union.”
Ryke perked up. The species he was meant to observe were Humans. He was to make contact and evaluate them if it would be possible to conquer and establish a new food basis. There was no doubt Sigor could easily crush them. Watching the two mammals interact, the human acted docile with the Vulcan. A slave class perhaps.
“Why would the Vulcan let the Ashan choose their name?”
Ashew cocked an eye in question. Uncertain if his translator had processed the language correctly. It had been years since the dialect had been over a century since their dialect had been updated, or so he thought. “Ashen?”
“The human, it is primitive in form, yes?”
Ashew chewed on that for a moment with another piece of pork. “Well, I wouldn’t say that outright to any of them. But *Ashen*? What is that?”
“A working class owned by a superior force.”
Ashew stopped chewing now being clear what word Ryke meant. “Slave? No. They’re not a slave class. They’re equals.”
“Equals?” Ryke hummed, “how is a primitive mammal considered an equal.”
“Just by looking at that one, you consider them primitive?” Ashew asked, just making sure he was understanding all of this.
“They have no claws or sharp teeth like you and I.”
Ashew winced. “Believe me, they’re not.”
“But if they are to fight, how do they defend themselves?”
“Well they have guns.”
“Melee I mean. Guns are an equalizer, a tool. Take that away and what are they?” Ryke narrowed his eyes.
Ashew took a moment to consider. “Maybe best to show you. Kale! Bob! Come over here.”
The mammals approached their table with nervous looks. The captain looked between the two before asking, “You got a match tonight, don’t you Bob?”
The human, Bob, nodded and replied with a casualness anyone in Sigor would have been insulted by, if someone of a lower class didn’t talk to them with some measure of respect.
“Yes we do ‘Shew. I’m up against Sulvan, tonight.”
Ashew nodded, “good to know. Make sure we have some good seating. The Ambassador will be joining us tonight, if he likes.”
“What are you talking about?” Ryke asked.
“There’s a competition on the ship, a fight.” Ashew explained. “It’s something you don’t want to miss.”
—-
Later on the ship, most of the crew had gathered in an empty spot in the cargo bay. Benches, stands, and chairs allowed everyone to have a good view of the square boxing ring in the center.
Ryke however had no clue what was going on until the captain explained further. The both sat at the far back in posh chairs.
“The Vulcans and Humans are close in the biological spectrum.” Ashew explained. “A lot of the other soecies are predator based like us. Those two however, well... they’re the only ones who can do this sport called “Boxing”. My species has a similiar sport, but someone always dies, it’s not very popular. This however has a low fatality rate in comparison. So long as someone isn’t hit hard enough to die from punching. Although I keep hearing about a human called Chuck Norris, who can kill you just by breathing.”
Ryke was unnerved by this. “So “Boxing” is about?”
“About beating the shit out of each other till the other can’t stand anymore.” Ashew grinned. “Bob’s got a streak of ten wins under his belt. Sulvan’s up to bat. He’s the new guy and he’s done good so far in the other rounds. Let’s see if he gives Bob a challenge.”
Ryke watched as the event proceeded. Another human reffing the game. The two opponents, one towering over the other. Bumped fists in padded gloves.
“What are the gloves for?” Ryke asked.
“For protection.” Ashew said simply.
Ryke settled down and began to assess the match. A bell was rung and the two fighters met in the middle of the ring, fists up in front of their faces, hopping in place.
In the next minute Ryke bear witnessed to the most brutal and savage fight of his life as the two opponents clobbered each other. Blood was spat on the ground, teeth were dislodged, ribs broken, faces bruised. Finally the match ended with Bob the victor.
“H-how?” Ryke asked.
Ashew shrugged. “I don’t know. Humans are versatile. Doesn’t matter what you throw at them most times. Honestly it’d be fairer to face them when they’re armed. Some of them can’t shoot for shit!”
Ryke nodded slowly. He was going to have a report to make. One that he hoped would convince his superiors to treat the humans as friends.
The end.
Holy crap, that was the most writing I’ve done in a while. My brain feels like mush now. Hoped you enjoyed that. Good night.
Edit: Thanks for the silver kind stranger!
Edit 2: Thanks for the Wholesome award kind stranger. | "Shipmaster, boarders detected! AI indicates Sirran hand microwaves and… some sort of chemical propellant projectile weapons. No edged weapons observed, most intruders read bipedal standard, with only claws and teeth at the *muran* level. A few Sirrans detected. DE diffusers and inertial dampers engaged." Security Officer 2 smiled. "We have them, sir. Boarding like this is a desperation move."
Shipmaster smiled back. The Sirrans' new allies had only been observed in their ugly, ungainly ships and with a few remote scans. In six months, their production capacity had made a difference in the war effort, but the Federation would prevail. With such weak bites and flimsy claws as the AI was reporting, they'd likely be reliant on sheer mass to overcome ship's security - perhaps they would attempt to simply suffocate them, or (more likely) they would all be brutally killed, save a few prisoners to interrogate. The naval portion of the battle was clearly going against the Terrans - they had inadequate shielding, and their weapons were just not effective enough to bridge the gap. Once they mopped up this contingent, they would board the Terran ship, which registered now as largely depopulated. The intelligence from the capture would teach the Federation much about Terran culture and technology.
/////
Security Chief and Officers 3 through 19 lay in wait, clipping carbon edges to their dewclaws and horns. The Terran boarders and their Sirran masters had paused as the security fields kicked in and their weapons stopped. Several had been killed before security team even geared up - they had no real natural weapons, no carapace, not even particularly protective uniforms. They'd simply had their torsos or necks ripped open, and the Terrans had pulled back momentarily.
Security Chief got their edges secured, and led the Officers in a war chant. They charged. As Chief rounded the corner, something struck him in the face. As it clattered to the ground, Chief realized it was one of the ammunition components of their weapons. Thrown, apparently, if the artificially slowed helmet and comms device floating toward him was anything to judge by. Throwing projectiles was an interesting adaptation - which the Federation had already overcome. Chief smiled.
Chief met the nearest contingent member at a run. A smaller Terran with relatively soft features, possibly one of the males? It (he?) swiveled strangely as Chief aimed the freshly tipped claws at its abdomen, one hand deftly guiding the arm away. Abruptly, its other hand closed and swung in a short arc into Chief's head, right behind the eye.
The effect was like a ship crash in her head. Chief's ears rang, and the feeling of screen snow in the brain was stunning. Chief thrust the other claw toward the Terran's neck, and found that the Terran had hold of her arm and had twisted its body suddenly, throwing Chief into the air. Chief landed on her back and felt a deck plate bruise her alveolar supports. The Terran (still unarmed!) lifted its booted foot and brought it down (so fast!) toward Chief's face. Between stomps, Chief watched her Officers with growing detachment. Some managed to kill Terrans, but a shocking number were receiving the same inexplicable beatings, many with the deactivated long arms turned clubs. The fourth (fifth? seventh?) stomp cracked something in Chief's neck, and it all became someone else's problem. Beaten by a *muran* opponent - not even beaten, but outright killed. Shamef- | |
[WP] The rebels have taken the throne room, and just as their leader approaches the throne, the defeated king smiles and invokes an ancient law: any dispute over the throne shall be determined by Vox Populi - a simple majority democratic election for every adult in the kingdom. | A massive wooden door lying in pieces on the floor, courtiers huddling fearfully on the side of the room, a band of armed rebels standing before the throne, weapons held aloft at the king who sat upon his throne. The scene had all the typical trappings of the violent end of one reign and the beginning of another, if but for the look of utter bewilderment on the apparent victor's face.
"An election?" The rebel leader said with confusion, lowering his weapon in surprise. "After everything that has happened... you want to have a *vote* for who is to be king\*?\*"
"As per the ancient custom." The king responded serenely, a genial expression upon his face as he calmly regarded the rebels.
The rebel leader raised his weapon menacingly at the king. "Do you think I'm a fool? You invoking this custom is just some ploy to stall for time - I won't fall for it!"
The king again smiled, spreading his arms wide to either side of him. "Stall for what? If I had any further cards to play here, I'd have done so before you so rudely barged in. I only want you to demonstrate that you respect our customs and command the hearts of the people. Surely you would have no reason to object to that, given you came here declaring that it was by 'the will of the people' that I be removed as king... unless you think you *don't* command their support?"
The other man man's eyes narrowed suspiciously, scrutinizing the smile that still adorned the king's face. "Very well!" He eventually said with aplomb, lowering his weapon once again. "I know that the common people stand behind me in opposition to your misrule, so I'll best you in the ballot box as readily as I did on the battlefield."
The appointed day of the election came swiftly, for the rebel leader was confident of victory and eager to bring an end to the war.
"The king is a tyrant and weak ruler, whose reign has brought about unchecked disorder and chaos!" The rebel leader cried out to the crowd that had assembled in the capital in anticipation of the election, pointing to the king, who still had a smile affixed firmly to his face. "The mere fact that I was able to seize the capital is demonstrative of his poor rule. Show that you have had enough of this tyrant king!"
"It is true that parts of my rule haven't been ideal." The king intoned calmly in response as he got up, his characteristic smile remaining on his face in spite of everything that had come to pass, "but at least I was consistent in my approach to things!"
The king gestured to the confused rebel leader. "Here stands a man that launched a violent rebellion, resulting in untold death and destruction... only to then decide to resolve the matter by a peaceful vote right at the *end* of his war! What on earth stopped him from doing this at the beginning?"
The smile on the king's face grew slightly wider, "More importantly, is that the kind of man you want king? You, who have suffered and been impacted so much by this needless war, because of him?"
"Ridiculous!" The rebel leader cried out in response to the king's words. "Do you seriously think you'll erase all the harm you've inflicted in your reign by engaging in empty rhetorical flourishes?"
But to the rebel leader's shock, he came to lose the election, and thus ended up before king in a complete reversal of their first meeting, for now he was defeated party and the king stood triumphant. Most maddeningly of all to the rebel was the damn smile that the king still had on his face.
"It makes no sense!" The rebel leader cried out as he forced to kneel before the king, "I know the majority of the common folk supported me, for that was how I able to win the war to begin with!"
The king raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps - but then again, you were in such a rush to prove it that the election took place before a lot of them in the countryside likely even knew about the voting. Meanwhile, those in the capital - those most affected by *your* war *-* were the first to hear, and thus ready to offer up their voices in support of me."
The smile was still upon king's face as he pointed his sword towards the defeated rebel, yet that smile was now far crueler and viscous than before.
"Now it's time for them to be heard." | A thundering crash of splintering wood and bursting metal hinges. The rebels broke down the throne room’s door. The makeshift barrier of random bits and pieces hadn’t held long, powerless against a simple battering ram, dashing the kingsguard’s last remnants of hope for a last minute miracle to arrive. Anything to thwart these usurpers, but nothing came. They drew their weapons for a foolish last stand, knowing they were hopelessly outnumbered if the rebels had managed to come this far. At least they would die protecting king and country.
They fell back to form a protective barrier in front of the throne, where the king gripped its arms tightly, his knuckles white as snow. Several heavily armed rebels walked through the destroyed door, over the rubble. Their purposeful steps blew up dust, cut through by the blood dripping from their armaments. Ten of them stood in the middle of the room, hauntingly at ease in the knowledge that they had won, that the war was over even if one last battle yet remained.
Only the heavy breathing of the armed men and women from both sides was audible, one from exhaustion, the other out of fear. Then, more steps. The rebels stepped aside to allow their leader to come through. The Crimson Usurper, as he was known among the monarchists; Ghaston Barnes, as his rebel companions called him. Now he stood before the last remains of the kingsguard, everyone else either dead or surrendered.
He folded his arms behind his back. “Step down. Too many brothers and sisters have killed each other. It’s over.”
Desperate gazes from one guard to the other, hoping one would break their holy vow to cause a chain reaction of desertion. None acted, whether out of courage or cowardice.
“Lay down your arms,” the king suddenly said. He tried his best to speak with authority and strength, but the few words alone betrayed him. His shaking voice broke the guards as no rebellion ever could. Throwing their swords to the ground, they stepped aside as close to the wall as they could. They weren’t part of this spectacle any longer.
Ghaston Barnes approached the king. “You should follow them,” he said, nodding towards the former kingsguard.
A slight smile formed on the king’s face in desperate hope. “I, King Telerus the Fourth, hereby invoke vox populi.” He stressed every single word, the last two spoken with such revulsion they felt like poison. ”One man, one vote. Let the people decide. Isn’t that what you want, Usurper?” In the face of death, the old monarch still loathed the only possibility of his survival with all his being. The very idea of what he proposed disgusted him to the point he couldn’t help himself but ridicule it.
Now standing in front of the throne, Ghaston Barnes drew a dagger and slit the king’s throat in one swift motion. Blood sprayed on his armour, new drops of red among many, now indistinguishable from the rest. “It is,” he said as the king’s pained gurgles filled the throne room. “Vox populi.” | |
[WP] "No." The damsel used her last ounce of hope and strength to reject the prince who had come to rescue her. | "No."
One powerful word. Her delicate, raven braids against her tealike skin -- both delicate and worn out ecru in color -- looked simply ravishing, and I immediately regretted this each moment. I had abandoned my mother -- who died three months after I went on the mission -- I had ignored her pleas for me to stay. Damned enchantresses. I could feel the burning shame of my enchanter blood seeping through my cheeks, clearly visible under my blond mustache. It was a full mustache with curled ends, that the modernist, ugly, Amazons -- women who assumed the roles of men and wouldn't submit themselves -- associated with chivalrous men like myself who had the sense to put women in their place.
"No."
I had left home, for six months, dealt with my mother's premature death -- caused by a stray piece of moldy eggplant from stew falling on her open wound from a cut during nighttime because that is the way of the manticorean Enchanticores -- and didn't even get to witness her dead body before they sent the faeriys to pick her up and take her to Terra Dormis, and I saw my father's best horsemen killed by lions, my best friend and knight-at-arms in command slaughtered by a Serpentine, an ugly snake woman who was irresistible to men , and I nearly died slaughtering vicious monsters, was nearly roasted alive by a dragon, barely scaled up a 1,028 step tower using bricks for footholds, and she had the *gall* to blatantly just dismiss me?
"No."
I nearly drew my sword from the scabbard, only to lower it back in -- well, slip, more of -- at the sight of the vicious dragon from earlier. The ungrateful little shrew didn't even recoil, she only patted him on the snout and said, "Hello, Sacron. I know how you hate company so." She was an ungrateful little brat. She had set herself up and she had pretended to be a damsel in order to sap my lifeforce away from me! She lured me to kill me!
"No."
"I didn't ask you to come here. I *specifically* stated that I would be moving to a remote little tower to spend more time with my childhood dragon, Sacronisius, but you *had* to rescue me because I won't ever find a husband if you don't save me." The way her tender, bare legs moved underneath the thin, white linen flowing on her body made her name more fitting by the moment. "Calliope --" I began to reason, but --
"No."
At least her dragon had the kindness to reimburse me for my pains, undo all the deaths, and take me home, but it's women like her that are the reason I have no wife yet. I am releasing this to all the men in our tavern to plan a shooting attack -- with our most sharpest, poison tipped bows --- at three hours to midnight tomorrow, fr men like me, who are at the cruel mercy of the masculine Amazons. We shall lead a murder effort. Her words -- word -- still stings in my ear.
"No."
~~\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_~~
r/MarysPen for more of my writing (I'm currently still typing up my stories now, though, so I'll release a few posts probably by the end of the week and you might need to request access because I don't know how to change access permissions on a subreddit sorry :/). I am the OP of the prompt and I just really wanted to answer this one and:
# I DO NOT SUPPORT INCELHOOD OR VIOLENCE THIS IS MEANT TO BE SATIRE!!! DO NOT BE AN INCEL OR KILL PEOPLE!!!! | “What do you mean no? Open up Princess, it’s me, Mario!” I shout through the locked door in front of me.
“Your Princess is in another castle…” the Princess replies, disguising her voice from inside the locked room.
This confuses me for a moment. Why would she be trying to get rid of me so much and why is she now disguising her voice? I bang on the door again, “No she is not, I can tell it’s you Princess, now open the door, I’m here to save you, let’s-a-go...” but, I’m met with silence. Then, a cold feeling of dread washes over me as I realise, someone must be in there with her, someone must be making her say these things!
I bang on the door again in panic, then kick and punch at the door, but, it’s all hopeless, the door just won’t budge! I suddenly remember the key that my friend gave me, he found it in a well guarded room, I still have it, maybe it can open this door. So I retrieve it from my pocket and try the key in the door, and, it works!
But when the door swings open, I’m met with a surprise as I see the Princess in the room, happily holding hands, with our enemy, the King of this castle she is being held in!
“Mario!”, the Princess exclaims.
“Princess?” I reply in confusion, they look so happy together.
“I’m sorry you had to find out like this…” she says, squeezing the Kings hand tightly as he smiles at me.
“But, but, why?” I ask, fighting back the tears.
“Well, to be honest, he makes me feel wanted…” she quietly replies.
“Wanted! What, and I don’t?”
“No, no you don’t actually, you only seem to want me when someone else has me, other than that, I’m almost invisible to you… At least when someone repeatedly kidnaps you, you know for sure that they actually want you, and that‘s important to a girl!”
“That’s not true, I treat you good, I just stormed this castle for you!”
“Yes it is true! You never pay me any attention at home, you’re hardly even there, you’re always out with your brother…”
I interrupt her, protesting, “Oh, here we go”
“No, not here we go, it’s the truth! You don’t even do stuff around the house anymore, I mean, look at when I asked you to fix that pipe, a simple pipe, I turned my back for five seconds and you had disappeared!” she says, angrily.
“Yeah, well, one of us has to earn some coin around here!” I reply in my defence.
“Really? And where does all that coin go exactly, huh? Straight on your habit, that’s where!”
“Habit, what habit?”, I ask.
“Oh, you gonna try and deny it now, are you? How about the mushrooms, are you really trying to tell me you’re not addicted to those, Mario?”
“Oh give me a break…”
“No! How do you think it makes me feel, my feelings? I know you take them to make you feel big and strong, I know it, and as a partner, how do you think that makes me feel? I’m the one that should make you feel big and strong, not mushrooms, me! And don’t get me started about the flowers, when was the last time you got me those? That’s right, you’d go out and get some, then what happens, hmm, you’d bloody eat those too! I’m not the one with problems here, and, I’m moving on, I’ve learnt my lessons. I’m really sorry that you had to find out like this, I really am, but, it’s how I feel, I can’t help it, besides, I think I’m into bad boys now anyway, so…”
I want to argue back, but, I can't, she’s right, I’m a terrible partner. Besides, I don’t have any energy left now to argue, I’m too heartbroken... I hang my head, accept it’s game over and turn to leave, but as I do, the King laughs, and it makes me SNAP!
Full of rage, I grab the nearest object to me, a green bowl made from a turtle shell and I attack the King with it in a jealous frenzy, hitting him over and over again, until the green shell had turned red and the King had turned unconscious... When I stop, I suddenly remember that the Princess is in the room with us, she must be horrified! But, when I look over to her, she looks far from horrified, in fact, she has a look on her face that I’d never seen before, a look of real desire!
“Yep, that settles it, I do like bad boys, come here!” she says as she roughly grabs me, pulling me to my feet with a strength that I never knew she possessed, then she passionately kisses me.
“Does this mean we’re back on then Princess?”
She eagerly nods as she removes something from her pocket and says, “Take these mushrooms, I have plumbing for you to take care of!”…
(Just wanted to write something silly as a fan of Mario Bros.) | |
[WP] "No." The damsel used her last ounce of hope and strength to reject the prince who had come to rescue her. | It is a story so old, a tale so well-known. In the tower of a ruined castle, ancient of crumbling, there sits a beautiful damsel, sweet, pure, and good, awaiting her rescue. Only a knight of valour or a prince with a pure heart can ever hope to get to her, to rescue her. It is said that a great and terrible beast guards the castle, slaying all who comes near, guarding the damsel with a ferocity and determination that borders on insane fanaticism.
The castle ruin is located in the midst of a blighted heath, surrounded only by dead villages and barren wastes. The sun seems to never shine there, and always the cruel winds pass through the body of any who linger near the place, making the bones in a man's body seem to shiver with cold. The rain that falls there is oily, strange, and poisonous to drink. Nothing grows, nothing lives.
Many a knight, second-born prince, and brave adventurer has sought to enter the castle, to rescue the damsel. None have returned. They always stop in the closest village, where the locals plead and beg them to not go there, to turn back on their path. They never do. And their bones litter the grounds around the castle.
And yet here comes the Prince.
His blade is black steel, its a terrible thing to behold. His hair is gold, his smile is infectious, his eyes glimmer with joy. His armour almost shines in comparison to the dark and dreary lands he travels through. His every word is uttered with a tone of charismatic command and authority, his every move is well-calculated, well-balanced. Perfect he seems, and those who behold him cannot help but be impressed. Women dream of him, children hope to become him, men are both in awe and envious of him.¨
On a proud stallion, he rode forth to meet his destiny at the dread castle, where a beautiful damsel awaited. And a monster guarding her. The Prince did not fear when the dread monster charged at him, he drew his sword of black steel, and parried the beast's dread claws. He leapt from the back his horse, over the top of the cursed monster's head, allowing him to land with perfect balance behind it. His blade struck and wounded the beast's back, but the battle was not over yet. Though he dodged and parried, nimbly jumping around, as the terrible and wolfish beast howled with pain at every jab.
And the Prince, though he got some scrapes and pains from this fight, was victorious. The beast, gravely wounded and dying, collapsed to the floor of that crumbling castle. The Prince did not stop to waste time finishing it off. He had a damsel to rescue. He climbed the steps of the last standing tower of this abandoned castle, until he came to her chambers.
And she was beautiful indeed. Far more than the stories had said she was. No words could be found in the hearts of men to describe her perfect face. No comparison to anything can do justice to her skin, her hair. But her eyes, those were startlingly beautiful, but he could put it into words. The Prince could see those emerald green eyes, like the colour of a forest that has never seen a single human. Deeper than the dark seas, filled with a sorrow that surely, no mortal soul could ever carry in them.
Enchanted, he took steps toward her, before kneeling down, bowing his head. ''*Fair lady, the monster is slain by my hand and blade. You are free.*''
''**No.**'' The word resounded across the castle. Using her last ounce of strength and hope, she rejected the Prince by giving him a furious strike across the face, sending him flying into the wall of her bedchamber. Hurt and confused, the Prince, groaning, looked up at her. And saw that her beauty was not that of a mortal woman, but a fey woman. She spoke to him, in a tone that was cold, sorrowful, and hateful. ''*You slew her. The Princess is dead.*'' Around the room, cold winds blew snow in from nowhere. ''*And now, the Queen comes.*'' The fey damsel knelt down on her knees, as a woman who was beautiful and terrible as the dawn walked into the bedchamber.
Her voice was that of winter, of the depth of the night, when all hope is dead. ''**I had expected better of you, Oldest-of-Seasons. Your failure is noted, and the promised punishment is given to your sisters. I told you, little summer-fairy. I told you after you and your three sisters misrepresented me at the naming ceremony. When you broke my friendship with the king of Logres, by given those so-called magical blessings upon his newborn daughter.**'' Standing up, the Prince noticed that the bedroom was covered in frost and ice. As if a blizzard had come without warning. ''**Represent the Queen of the Fairies at a naming ceremony. Simple enough. Give the child one boon, as the highest ranked fairy there it was your task. But your sisters disagreed with your choice of blessing. So upon a magically defenceless baby, you and your sisters cast four blessing spells in total. Which backfired, turning her into a wolfish monster.**'' The Queen of the Fairies reached out one hand towards the fey damsel, gripping her arm hard, drawing blood with her raven-like claws. ''*My queen, I did as I was asked. Care for the monstrous child, slay all who would harm her.*'' The Queen nodded. ''**And for that, you will live. Though now you will be Only-of-Seasons, for your sisters' lives are forfeit, as per the bargain.**''
Then the Queen turned to the Prince, giving him a look that made his soul shrivel. A look that made him think of himself as a rat, nay something which even rats would find revolting and disgusting. Something foul and pathetic. ''**Brave Prince. Brave indeed. A mad confused woman imprisoned in a body that is not her own. One carved by conflicting magic, turning it into a monster. You didn't even give the monstrous princess a good clean death. You left her to die. I had to come, and grant her the release she was begging for. The monster could never slay as many, or in fact anyone, as good as a good strong fairy could, and yet when the Fairy's attention was elsewhere, you killed the defenceless thing.**'' She reached out her other hand, her fingers like black bird-talons, and as it got closer, the Prince felt all warmth leave his body. All memories of summer drained. When a single talon touched his forehead, ever so gently, the Prince could only feel the cold nothingness of the abyss, as his body froze solid. The Queen grinned, and taking up the leather-bound handle of the Prince's sword, she plunged the black-steel blade deep into the frozen heart of the Prince. Then she left, dragging Only-of-Seasons away into a cold haze, vanishing completely.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | *Seven-hundred and eight...*
The Knight paused briefly and exhaled a long and labored breath. His armor was glazed with steam from the sweat and body heat that had long since pressurized inside of it. It whistled with each bend of his knee, searching for gaps in the plated iron to escape. One more flight to go.
*Seven-hundred fourteen...*
He dragged his sword behind him by its pommel. The razor-edge scraped off one stair, dulling the hammer-forged iron, and bounced onto the next. It sent vibrations up his arms and into his skull that interrupted any thoughts he had of giving up. This, he knew, was his destiny.
*Seven-hundred twenty...*
The knight crested the final stair and stumbled into the dilapidated stone wall at the top. There was nothing left to climb. He stared down the narrow hallway ahead at a decaying wooden door with iron-wrought trimmings. Flickering light poured from beneath it. In the distance, he heard music. He tightened the straps of his boots and stepped closer. As he did, a smell filled his helmet that he thought he recognized. Was that... *Chamomile*? No. *Lavender*? He bent low, put his shoulder into the grain of the door, and pushed it open.
“The tip is there on the table! Just leave the food by the — Oh. Well... you’re *definitely* not my DoorDash.”
*Door... Dash...?* The Knight looked puzzled at the Princess whose bedchambers he had just invaded.
"You've never heard of DoorDash? Well... It's basically Uber Eats but cheaper, and they just started delivering to Camelot, so they have some *crazy* deals going on right now. I got my Panera practically free." The Knight watched as she reached for an object on the table beside the bed where she sat. She began to touch it and, as she did, the music filling the room got quieter. "You didn't park in the delivery spot downstairs, did you? You better not have. If the front desk sees you there, they'll have you towed. Happened to a friend of mine a couple weeks ago... Anyway, what are you doing in my bedroom?"
The Knight postured up and looked proudly at The Princess. He had many questions, but they could wait. There would be time for those later. He cleared his throat.
*I'm here to rescue you.*
"What--? I can't hear you with that thing on your head."
*That thing?* He reached up with both hands to feel for anything out of place. The iron of his gauntlets pinged against his visor in a high pitch that echoed off the stone walls.
"Could you not?" The Princess interrupted him. "I was out at the tavern so late last night and I have a *killer* headache."
She extended the index fingers on both of her hands and put them to her temples, wincing.
"The essential oils can only do so much. Just... take that damn thing off or be quiet, please."
**still continuing** | |
[WP] The king hired you to train the prince in sword-fighting, but he is a lazy, arrogant little brat and refuses to learn. The princess, on the other hand, is a willing student that is willing to learn more. Now you must convince the king to allow the princess to learn to duel. | I was treading forth and back in my rooms. Why does that always happen to me? Am I just ... too open minded? Am I just too opportunistic? Too eager to teach?
Now the next young lady wishes to learn from me, the best sword fighter north of the great lake. First it were a single one. She asked for help to defend herself, after being threatened by a jealous lover. And I took her in, because especially they deserve to feel save.
At first the old men in my classes were disrespectful against her, talking her down, but she quickly showed, she was determined and talented. And I can't just let it go to waste, what bad teacher would I be?
Soon more and more woman joined, having either similar problems or just want to impress their husbands.
But now we were talking about the King, our supreme leader, which told me in no certain terms, that I may continue my classes, but only if I teach his two sons. He doesn't like strong woman, it goes "against the god given roles".
I was considering declining, risking being expelled of the lands. I wouldn't had many problems anyways. Other Kings and even one Queen specifically asked for me to move to their royal grounds.
But now the Princess was asking me to train her, AGAINST her father's, my Kings wishes. Not only that but the Queen requested lessons too.
I came out of my rooms, down to my class room, and not only found the Princess and the Queen, but sadly the King too. Red rage filled his face.
"Explain yourself, you fiend, you scoundrel. Not only are you teaching the common woman to fight, now my wife and daughter too? I have you killed, I am-"
The Princess then speaks up, known to ignore her father's wishes: "First of all father, we weren't reached yet, we just requested lessons. Secondly, if you order his execution, you will make a grave mistake. I will make sure of that."
That caught the Kind of guard, opening his mouth and closing it repeatedly. Before he could start again, my first students stumbled in. Now I had two very angry, very powerful woman, an extremely angry and confused King and the first few students all pilling up in my class room.
I immediately turned to them and asked: "Could please wait in the yard, and start you practice we had last week. I am ... busy."
They just slowly reversed out of the room and left us alone again. I then ran to the door, and asked them to explain the others.
Back into the room the mood turned, to the better luckily. The King deflated, but still grumbly. He agreed to let the Princess train. His wife not. "He will have a stern talk with her."
-LATER-
The group of the younger students were quite worried, an angry royal family usually means problems. I assured them it's solved and fine.
The lesson wasn't calm anyways, after the Princess revealed herself in her new "Battle gown".
At first students were quite stiff and nervous. Nobody wanted to the first to strike her, or in any way hurt her or whatever.
After a few weeks of training she had her first duels against my students and promptly showed them, they don't need to hold back.
And the Queen joined my classes of the older generations. Apparently the stern talk went both ways. | "Highness, on this matter the sages, wise men, and *tao-shihs* all agree. A prince must master the Seven Warlike Arts to lead his people and keep them from danger."
The prince brushed hair out of his eyes and glared at me. They seemed dark-rimmed today... was he lining them with kohl, like a woman of the Reed Life?
"No. No war. War is an outdated expression of toxic masculinity, and it reinforces the patriarchy. When I'm Emper...*Queen*, there's not going to be any wars."
"Highness, a man's enemies do not permit this choi... Queen, your Highness?"
"I told you, I think I'm trans. Or at least, like, non-binary."
I cast my eyes to the vaulted ceiling and wordlessly appealed to the Heavenly Master of the First Origin to endow me with strength and patience.
"Anyway, I order you to desist this nonsense and go train my sister instead. She *wants* to learn."
He glanced to where little Li Na was indeed already smiting at the muk yan jeong targets with her weapon, if "smiting" could be taken to mean "poking gently", and "weapon" to mean "broken length of broomstick liberated from the servants' quarters". The handle, as well as her hands and face, were smeared with traces of jam.
"Highness, I am not charged to obey your orders, but those of the Son of Heaven. And *he* has bidden me prepare you for war, and other manly exercises of the soldiers' art."
"But you just said the nation needs to be led in war. Even if that were true, which, it's, like, totally not, couldn't she do it?"
"That is not within my demesne. But were it so, still would I refuse. Your sister is a girl of eight summers. She cannot hold up a jian swod extended for the turn of a glass, much less a kwan dao. Even grown, she would never bear the weight of armour. Women cannot bear the rigours of war, even had they the courage to face it."
"That's sexist! Women can do anything men can do! You're not giving her a chance!"
It is death to strike at the blood of the Son of Heaven, but a weakling upon the throne is death to many. I let my hand fly. He gazed up from the flagstones with the wide eyes of a startled deer. Blood trickled from a split lip.
"You HIT me!"
"Highness has perceived the obvious. Now Highness should stand and defend himself."
"You're not allowed to -"
The air whistled from his lungs as his stomach wrapped around my incoming boot. Some sort of court eunuch creature detached itself from the throng of hangers-on and lickspittles lounging near the wall, and rushed toward us until he saw my eyes upon him, and skidded to a halt, jaw hanging slack. There was little doubt his Imperial Majesty would hear of this straight away.
"Go and tell him!" I barked. The eunuchs scattered like flushed quail.
Prince Zhao was on his feet when I turned on him again, flowing into the first movement of the Drunkard's Walk Home with my wooden sword. The prince did not know the sequence, of course, but, slowly as I moved, he managed to interpose his own training weapon with a solid *clack* of wood.
"You're not allowed to hit me!"
I swept low into the second movement of the Walk...
"Yes, Prince. But how will you enforce that edict upon me?"
... he stumbled backwards, reeling out of the reach of the low-swinging tip...
"My father will..."
I abandoned the Drunkard's Walk and selected a series of postures with more reach, adapting a stance from the spear manuals of King Fuchai of Wu.
"Your father is not here, Highness. How will you stop me?"
*Clack.*
His posture was terrible, his grip a crime against art, his balance nonexistent. But this was not today's lesson. I moved with what felt like glacial slowness, and obvious, predictable intent.
"You're a bully!"
*Clack.*
"And how does one stop bullies, Highness? With a lecture on - "
*Clack.*
"*Toxic masculinity*, perhaps? With ramblings of how the world 'should' be?"
*Clack.*
"Highness, if I am the bully, *what will you do*?"
*Clack. Clack.*
He did not speak now... a look of furious concentration on his face as he struggled to slap away what must have seemed a blizzard of strikes.
*Come on, child. Think.* I urged silently. *What will you do, deprived of privilege and servants and obedience and awe? What will you do when there is no one else to help you, no Imperial father or code of law that will stop what is happening right at this very moment? Who are YOU, prince Zhao?*
And then he did it. He swung at me.
Oh, it was awful technique. Truly entire essays could be written on what was wrong with his attack. Li Na with her broomstick, fighting her imaginary dragons, could scarcely have done worse. Had one of my real students aimed such a feeble and unskilled blow, he would have suffered for it.
But this was not the lesson.
*Clack*. I stopped the swing, bound his blade, and held it for a moment, locking eyes to stare at him. Then twisted my elbows and wrists into Small Monkey Unlocks a Gate, and sent his blade skittering across the courtyard.
"Prince, until Heaven decrees otherwise, there will always be evil men. And evil men love the sword, for it gives them the power to work evil. So, too, must good men learn to love the sword, for only it can give the power to prevent evil. If good men do not love the sword, and cast it away because they do not love it, then evil men shall have their way with all that is under Heaven. This is the lesson."
He stared at me, this thoughts unreadable. Many times have thought back to this moment, many times wondered if a differently chosen word could have changed the eventual outcome, made him a better man, a better Emperor, could have forestalled disaster. How many times have I asked myself how many lives were snuffed out by my failure?
But at that moment I said only:
"And if you study diligently, and apply yourself to the Eighteen Weapons and Seven Warlike Arts, I will perhaps in time ask your Divine Father if Li Na may be taught what she can learn." | |
[WP] After a life of misdeeds, the surprise wasn't going to Hell. It was finding out who was really in charge there. | We see Him most Mondays. It's not so much that The Big Guy hates Mondays; it's more that the humans on earth do, and there's a lot more "goddam this" and "goddam that" coming in - meaning more work for Hell. (Angels have no stomach for damning anyone, of course, the poor things.)
Sundays, on the other hand, are spent fielding prayers calling for various sports team to win their various games - a task we demons have not, historically excelled at. The temptation to send the games off the rails (hail, streakers, mild global pandemics) was too great, and so game days get assigned to Heaven now for triage.
The souls that arrive on Sundays are always surprised to find out (A) that the guy they like to call God up there is also The Boss down here, and (B) he's WFH. "When will he be back?" they ask, anxious to plead their innocence and get reassigned. It's hard to say, really; when he's feeling angry, surly, grumpy or just plain annoyed with the Earth antics, He comes down to wreak some havoc. Shake things up, you know? He bitches a little, gossips a little about the angels, and occasionally drinks a bit too much or stays a little too long in the hot springs, or both, and needs to sleep it off. Sometimes it's a few days, but there have been centuries where we see all too much of him, honestly. It's bordered on micromanagement.
Anyway, we do our best to get Him into shape, and send him back up to the fair-weather fans He calls "the Saints," who would never imagine what He gets up to down here. Fresh and rejuvenated, He heads back up for some choir singing, harp music, and constant adulation. Sounds like A Lot to me, frankly. But I suppose it wouldn't be that way if He didn't sort of like it deep down (despite what He says). | When I died it was slow and painful. I died at the ripe age of 0 seconds old. Even so I went to hell, and when I woke up surrounded by demonic creatures and temperatures like that of a sauna, one thought chugged along the track of my mind. F*uck they caught me*.
"There you are my young king!" I could see through my barely cracked eyes the delighted face of my older brother, Lucifer as he cheered in excitement. That's right he's not the one in charge, I am. As I am carried to the throne still drowsy and horribly dejected, I finally look down at myself. I was normal again, a full size child. Cursed to live forever as a ten year old for my misdeeds in life I venture to hell to obtain power and strike back. But after beating Lucifer by sheer luck, he blessed upon the title of his younger brother and makes me call him Onii-chan. Fucking degenerate.
Now here I am, a ten year old cleric from the dark ages just trying to be reborn. Yet ONII-CHAN keeps dragging me back by the hair on my balls. Fucking degenrate. | |
[WP]You are a retired archer who is still regaled as one of the best. Retirement suits you, right up until your child who was leading an adventuring party disappears. As you stare at the message in shock, your wife enters the room carrying your old kit that you had buried at the back of the woodshed | The morning I received the ransom note started like any other. Alone in bed, working out all the aches that age had brought. It was quiet, had been ever since my daughter Emilia had left to "find herself". Find her self after her mother, my wife, had passed.
"Can't think about that"
I start the daily routine, feed the animals, breakup the ice in the water trough. Careful not to slip and hurt myself further. Wondering all the while "Why do I do this again? The winter is cold, I've got plenty of gold"
But the routine was interrupted this day, by a messenger. I don't usually receive messages on my small lonely farm. He wordlessly passed me a folded parchment and the rode off, on to his next stop. Unfolding it I read the message. Then again.
Dear sir,
We are hereby informing you of our possession of one Emilia Sunstr, signed below, and require 1500 gold pieces or an exchange of similar worth, but not greater weight. You have one fortnight to meet with our local chapter representative in Elswood, or your daughter is forfeit and will be sold at auction.
Sir Gilbert Melvin of Melvin and Sons
Shakily refolding the letter I reflected on two items I now knew. That my daughter had fallen prey to a corporation whose business model is to abduct new adventurers, and that they did not know who I used to be. Blowing out another shakey breath, I settled on a course of action. And began.
Promptly I ran into the issue of finding the bloody thing. I admit my organization had slipped after my wife died, but I hadn't realized how bad it had gotten. After considerable time, my hand closed on a familiar haft, and I pulled my beloved, if misplaced, now free of the closet. The rest of my gear soon followed. Grabbing my quiver and bow, I walked outside. Nervously knocking an arrow, silently questioning "Can I still do it? It's been so long..." I tried to settle into the old routine. Breath, pull, loose. I missed the bloody target. Again. Knock, breath pull, loose. Again. As I settled into the familiar rhythm, I began to calm down. And my aim improved, until finally the sound was different, I'd split my previous arris shaft. Knocked, breathed, and loosed another arrow, splitting the last shaft as well. I felt ready. Time to get the other gear.
After fighting to fit into my old gear I felt distinctly less ready, but left the house anyway. Trekking to the village, I found one of my old party member's house.
Bang! Bang! Bang! "Horace! Bang! Bang! Bang! "
Eventually Horace opened the door, his guarded face brightening up once he recognized me.
"Well I'll be! It's been a while Brother! Come in! What brings you to my door?... And in that getup no less?"
I relayed to him the news of the letter.
"The bastards. We never were able to find them when they were a small outfit, and now they've got your daughter? Do you think they know?"
For the first time that day, a grim smile cracked my face.
Horace started to laugh "oh this will be fun then!" His face sobered "Though I fear were not as spritely as we used to be"
I nodded in agreement, "That's why I'm getting the gang back together"
"It'll be good to run off on another adventure with the lads"
"Hobble off on another adventure more like"
Horace smiled "You get the others, I've had my eye on a few promising young ones that could learn a thing or two from you."
My shoulders sagged in relief, we would get her back. And we would end Melvin's predatory practices once and for all. | I took a look at my old companion. Unlike the modern bows made of metal alloys, mine was a piece of antiquity. A longbow made of elm wood. How things have changed in a span of thirty years!
“You need to save him! There isn’t much time”, she implored.
I merely sighed and nodded. I needed to have a word with that courier who delivered this message to her. Adventuring had plenty of occupational hazards and it was quite normal for adventurers to go off the grid and reappear after some time. Knowing my son, he was probably convalescing in some tavern with a busty barmaid to tend him. Of course, I knew better than to say it aloud to my wife’s face. Instead, I gave her a reassuring pat and left the house with full quiver.
The message said that he was spotted in an old dungeon to the west of the city, one that had already been cleared of monsters. Only a few ruffians and riffraffs populated the area now. What reason could he have had for going in there? Was he trying to bust a drug racket or something? There was only one way to find out.
The dungeon itself was located near the western borders. I struggled a bit to reach there. The roads were extremely steep and treacherous as it stretched through the hilly area. I was already out of breath when I reached the entrance.
Still, I had reached there in time. It wasn’t even sunset yet! I tried to slip into the flimsily constructed barricade, but my own weak legs betrayed me. I stumbled, slipped and rolled inside the cavernous dungeon like a pathetic old man that I was.
Sniggers and amused laughter echoed around the cave.
“Are you lost, old man?”
“Look he is all dressed up, like some sort of an elven ranger”
“Who are you?”
*Not a great way to make an entrance, for sure!* I sigh and get up and flash my old adventure badge. It was a golden one.
The effect was immediate. Most of them backed away, but not all! Two daggers whistled towards me from the dark corner. Of course, I had already calculated its trajectory. My legs might have betrayed me, but my arms and fingers didn’t.
Gasps and exclamations followed as I did the impossible with my old wooden bow. With my well-aimed shot, I not only deflected the daggers, but also hit the assailants right on the mark.
“Listen, I don’t want to waste my time”, I yawned and looked at them in peace. “I am too old for this anyway. I just want to have a word with your leader is all!”
“And what would that be”, an amused voice echoed from behind the cowering mob. From beneath the darkness, emerged a man draped in dark cloak. An assassin or a mage? I couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered.
“I am Henry’s dad! His mother wants him home for dinner”, I said truthfully.
“Are you sure you aren’t senile, old man?”, he chuckled and his audience jeered at me. “I will ask you once more. Who are you?”
“I am Henry’s dad! His mother wants him home for dinner”
His grin disappeared and his face twisted in anger. “Doddering idiot, who the fuck is Henry?”
I felt a pang of anxiety in my stomach. “Just a moment”, I say and thrust my hands into my pocket and retrieve the map. I looked at the map for a while and to their credit, they waited patiently.
I really had lost my touch. This never happened before! I threw my hands up wearily. I didn’t like what I had to do, but a real man was not afraid to admit it when he was wrong. And I was a real man!
“Sorry, my bad. Wrong dungeon”, I bowed contritely.
“WRONG DUNGEON? You crazy old fool!!! You are DEAD!”, the gang leader seemed to have lost it completely.
“Don’t blame me! The city has changed so drastically in the last few years”, I shouted back at him in defense.
“A good hit to your head might help cure that amnesia of yours”, he shouted back and fired an earthen projectile at me.
*Great! An earth mage, inside a cramped dungeon!*
What happened next was a stunning display of my archery skills. My arrows versus his rocky missile. Veteran vs young wannabe! We both went on at it like crazy retards. The gang leader didn’t seem to bother that it was his men who was dying in the cross fire. I of course, didn’t give a crap either way. It took me till nightfall to kill that tough-as-rock bastard.
I felt a strange sense of jubilation when I was done. How long had it been, this thrill of victory, this adrenaline? I smiled at the dead corpses.
By the way, why was I here in the first place?
It felt like I was forgetting something crucial..
“What is it? What is it?”, I knocked my head at the rocky cave walls. The third hit did the trick!
“DAMNIT”, I cried. No wonder, I was behaving like a crazy lunatic. I had forgotten it completely.
I clutched my heart and try to calm my raving breath in vain.
Things started to get black and I already knew that this was it.
Shouldn’t have forgotten my daily dose of medicine!
Oh well, Sayanor….... | |
[WP]You are a retired archer who is still regaled as one of the best. Retirement suits you, right up until your child who was leading an adventuring party disappears. As you stare at the message in shock, your wife enters the room carrying your old kit that you had buried at the back of the woodshed | The cabin was nestled safely atop a small mountain, secluded from the rest of the world. The snow fell slowly to the ground as though time moved slower there. Smoke bellowed out of the chimney as the man inside, Orion, sat quietly staring at the letter. The fireplace cracked as the heat faintly brushed against his face. The letter was supposedly from a nobleman out of Mossley. The same nobleman who funded his son’s latest adventuring party. The letter stated that after weeks the party had yet to return and we’re most likely dead. The words reverberated in his mind as he stared more intently at the letter. Something seemed off. The strokes on the page seemed too calm. The letters themselves we’rent sharply written, and the ink wasn’t firmly pressed. The man who wrote this was calm. It had the same feel as any old greeting. Did his son mean so little to this nobleman? Or, was this a ruse? that someone orchestrated trying to lure him out of his small sanctuary, back into the open?
A dull creak in the wooden floor behind him brought his attention back to the room. His wife, Evelyn, walked just in front of him, her silhouette highlighted by the small fire behind her. She was holding his past life in her hands wrapped in discarded cloth. Orion took a hard breath, turning his eyes away from the sight.
“You and I both know our isn’t lost.” Evelyn said softly, trying to hide the shaken emotions in her voice.
Evelyn wasn’t like most women. She grew up the daughter of a blacksmith. Her father wanted a son, as most men did. Which meant Evelyn was deprived of learning the etiquette most young women were accustomed too. But, that didn’t bother her, and it’s what Orion loved most. Her toughness was her elegance. Orion wasn’t used to seeing her so vulnerable.
He knew their son, Gabriel, was everything to her. Just before his birth, Orion was banished. He went against the High Majesty’s written law. A law that forbade any member of the *Shadows* to procreate. Having a child meant instant death. When the High Majesty found out, he made it seem like mercy after Orion's near century of service. However, Orion knew the High Majesty feared him. There was nobody in all the land that he could send to erratic Orion’s existence. He was simply the best. He was *The Raven*. He was Death. The High Majesty didn’t banish him out of mercy. He banished him out of self preservation. *Could he be behind this?* Orion thought. He couldn’t be. The Majesty thrived off recognition. Making a grand display of all his deeds. He wouldn't hide behind something like this.
Orion stood and turned to his wife. He reached his hands up in silence to take possession of his forgotten past. The Bow. Carved from the tooth of the Leviathan. It had a menacing but agile look. Most people thought it was a symbol of his legend. Orion didn’t care for such things. For him, it was more practical. The tooth made the bow’s staff harder than any wood or metal. The tooth was hollow, making it much lighter as well. Orion dropped the ragged cloth off the bow and held it firmly. His hands weren't as steady as they once were and his joints ached from countless battles. BUT. His mind was sharper than ever. Orion would sit for hours at night with a cup of ale, reliving old bouts. He would dwell on his mistakes that nearly cost him his life and worked out different ways he would execute them now, if he could go back. Making his mind more keen than ever.
“I put this away for my son.” Orion said. “To be there… To teach him a different path.”
Evelyn placed her hands around Orion’s face, her fingers lost in his beard. “You can only pretend for so long to be something you’re not.”
Orion made his way to the far wall on the opposite side of the room. He ran his hand across the brick before he stopped at one that was slightly extended. He balled his fist, and smashed against the brick, loosening it. He removed it from the wall and reached in pulling out a small, royal-blue, felt pouch that was securely tightened at the top with golden twine.
He grabbed his long black cloak and thick overcoat made from bear fur, putting them both on. He walked with determination to the door and stopped just before opening it.
“Once I go down this path, there are very few roads back.” Orion said calmly.
“By taking that pouch, you’ve already decided there will be no roads back. Evelyn replied with a tear she’s been holding back, finally breaking free and running down her face.
“Give them hell.” Evelyn said. “May they never forget again who you are.”
Orion turned to give his beloved one last look. He opened the door as the cold-winter winds pored in. Orion never flinched. The anger was boiling so deeply in him now that nothing else mattered. Not only did he lose his son, but now, he knew, he would probably never see his wife or home again.
Death is art to Orion, and he was now on a quest to paint his masterpiece.
To be continued. | I took a look at my old companion. Unlike the modern bows made of metal alloys, mine was a piece of antiquity. A longbow made of elm wood. How things have changed in a span of thirty years!
“You need to save him! There isn’t much time”, she implored.
I merely sighed and nodded. I needed to have a word with that courier who delivered this message to her. Adventuring had plenty of occupational hazards and it was quite normal for adventurers to go off the grid and reappear after some time. Knowing my son, he was probably convalescing in some tavern with a busty barmaid to tend him. Of course, I knew better than to say it aloud to my wife’s face. Instead, I gave her a reassuring pat and left the house with full quiver.
The message said that he was spotted in an old dungeon to the west of the city, one that had already been cleared of monsters. Only a few ruffians and riffraffs populated the area now. What reason could he have had for going in there? Was he trying to bust a drug racket or something? There was only one way to find out.
The dungeon itself was located near the western borders. I struggled a bit to reach there. The roads were extremely steep and treacherous as it stretched through the hilly area. I was already out of breath when I reached the entrance.
Still, I had reached there in time. It wasn’t even sunset yet! I tried to slip into the flimsily constructed barricade, but my own weak legs betrayed me. I stumbled, slipped and rolled inside the cavernous dungeon like a pathetic old man that I was.
Sniggers and amused laughter echoed around the cave.
“Are you lost, old man?”
“Look he is all dressed up, like some sort of an elven ranger”
“Who are you?”
*Not a great way to make an entrance, for sure!* I sigh and get up and flash my old adventure badge. It was a golden one.
The effect was immediate. Most of them backed away, but not all! Two daggers whistled towards me from the dark corner. Of course, I had already calculated its trajectory. My legs might have betrayed me, but my arms and fingers didn’t.
Gasps and exclamations followed as I did the impossible with my old wooden bow. With my well-aimed shot, I not only deflected the daggers, but also hit the assailants right on the mark.
“Listen, I don’t want to waste my time”, I yawned and looked at them in peace. “I am too old for this anyway. I just want to have a word with your leader is all!”
“And what would that be”, an amused voice echoed from behind the cowering mob. From beneath the darkness, emerged a man draped in dark cloak. An assassin or a mage? I couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered.
“I am Henry’s dad! His mother wants him home for dinner”, I said truthfully.
“Are you sure you aren’t senile, old man?”, he chuckled and his audience jeered at me. “I will ask you once more. Who are you?”
“I am Henry’s dad! His mother wants him home for dinner”
His grin disappeared and his face twisted in anger. “Doddering idiot, who the fuck is Henry?”
I felt a pang of anxiety in my stomach. “Just a moment”, I say and thrust my hands into my pocket and retrieve the map. I looked at the map for a while and to their credit, they waited patiently.
I really had lost my touch. This never happened before! I threw my hands up wearily. I didn’t like what I had to do, but a real man was not afraid to admit it when he was wrong. And I was a real man!
“Sorry, my bad. Wrong dungeon”, I bowed contritely.
“WRONG DUNGEON? You crazy old fool!!! You are DEAD!”, the gang leader seemed to have lost it completely.
“Don’t blame me! The city has changed so drastically in the last few years”, I shouted back at him in defense.
“A good hit to your head might help cure that amnesia of yours”, he shouted back and fired an earthen projectile at me.
*Great! An earth mage, inside a cramped dungeon!*
What happened next was a stunning display of my archery skills. My arrows versus his rocky missile. Veteran vs young wannabe! We both went on at it like crazy retards. The gang leader didn’t seem to bother that it was his men who was dying in the cross fire. I of course, didn’t give a crap either way. It took me till nightfall to kill that tough-as-rock bastard.
I felt a strange sense of jubilation when I was done. How long had it been, this thrill of victory, this adrenaline? I smiled at the dead corpses.
By the way, why was I here in the first place?
It felt like I was forgetting something crucial..
“What is it? What is it?”, I knocked my head at the rocky cave walls. The third hit did the trick!
“DAMNIT”, I cried. No wonder, I was behaving like a crazy lunatic. I had forgotten it completely.
I clutched my heart and try to calm my raving breath in vain.
Things started to get black and I already knew that this was it.
Shouldn’t have forgotten my daily dose of medicine!
Oh well, Sayanor….... | |
[WP]You are a retired archer who is still regaled as one of the best. Retirement suits you, right up until your child who was leading an adventuring party disappears. As you stare at the message in shock, your wife enters the room carrying your old kit that you had buried at the back of the woodshed | A warm hand fell on my shoulder. I started, looking from the parchment to the watery eyes of my wife. “You have to find her,” she said. Her gaze moved to the table. There sat the wooden trunk I had buried the day my daughter was born. It was exactly as I remembered, with dark splotches from where the soft earth clung—how long had I been sitting here going over this letter?
“You dug it up?” I asked, looking at Bettany, a coil of fear squeezing my chest. Her eyes softened and a wry smile curved her lips. She rested her hand on my hairy, salt and pepper cheek.
“Mel, you know why Brute sent that letter. He doesn’t think Mel the Carpenter can find her.” She pointed at the crate. “It’s because he knows Mel the Ranger can."
I shook my head. “I buried that part of me *for* Willow.”
“Mel. . .” My best friend and closest ally furrowed her golden brow at me, standing up straight. “She’s *gone* if you don’t.”
I sighed and crumpled the letter in my hands. The message arrived thanks to an old friend: *your daughter is in danger, but I know who to ask about that.* I stood and pulled the crate close, running my fingers over the lid like the day I buried it, thinking about the same thing: my daughter.
I swung the lid open. The instruments of my old life, the instruments of death dealing, were still there: the black bow and arrows woven with enchantments; the daggers and leather bandolier that held them; the bracers my father had passed down to me. I felt strange, like I was floating outside of my body. How could a whole, terrible, amount of time be held in such a trifling space?
“I *knew* that Willow would never want my life, my troubles, if I-” I coughed to keep the tears from flowing. It took all my courage to look Bettany in her green eyes. “I’m so sorry. She took after me anyway.” Bettany looked at me like I had told a bad joke.
“You raised a strong woman, Mel.” She clasped her hands behind my neck. “It’s because of you I believe our daughter can handle herself. And because of who you are, I believe you can save her.”
A small bud of hope took root in my chest. I took a deep breath, watering the feeling.
“The way I see it, things could be worse.” She smiled again. “She could have gotten your looks instead of mine.” I snorted. Bettany continued, “Now, string that bow, dreaded husband of mine. And go get our daughter.”
I pushed the heavy door of the tavern open. The orange, flickering glow from the wall sconces, blazing hearth, and heaps of candles on the long wooden tables revealed a large, broad beamed space. A bar, made from the same thick wood as the beams, ran the length of an entire wall. Women in tight,white bodices and long skirts rushed over the bare earth floors, lugging tankards of ale and platters of hearty stew for the hodge podge of loud, adventure seeking patrons. The aromas of brewed barley, roasting meat, and sweat greeted my nose. I mused at how many dangerous quests had begun in such a pleasant, unchanging corner of the world.
The nostalgia drained away as I realized most of the packed space was glancing, or straight staring at me. The bard in the corner halted his tune, revealing hushed voices carrying my name and assorted curses. I would have been more self-conscious about my older, more round in the middle self, if not for the throbbing ache from the long ride on horseback. I refused to remember back to how my legs would have felt twenty years ago when a familiar voice boomed from the bar, “Mel! Come have a seat.” A hulking, barrel chested man waved a hand clutching a wash rag from behind the bar.
“Brute.” I waved and walked as if on stilts to the stool in front of the wide, beaming face. The exchange acted like a spell, restarting the bard’s song and the babbling murmur of the tavern.
“Long time no see, old friend. Ale?” Brute resumed the diligent wiping of tankards, the same twinkle of I-know-something-you-don’t in his eyes. His red hair now streaked with white.
I placed my hands flat on the bar top and lowered myself onto the stool, attempting to avoid further pinches of pain in my haunches. “Who is it, Brute? Who can tell me where Willow is?” His hands froze and he glanced out at the tavern. Then he set the rag and cup down, propping his arms on the bar and leaning in.
“Same old Mel, all business and intrigue.” He lowered his voice as much as he could. “I’m glad my note found you. Willow came in, bright eyed like any young quester. I had no idea she was your daughter. I wouldn’t have let her stay had I known, Mel. I swear it.” I was taken aback by how forlorn he looked.
“I didn’t keep in touch for a reason, Brute.” This was the last place I would have ever wanted my daughter to wind up, but I didn’t say so out of respect for my friend. “Who gave her the quest?” I pressed.
“Purple doublet over in that corner.” Brute’s eyes flitted to my left. “Three of the kids who went out with Willow came back to confront him. Apparently, they all thought he set them up.” I started to stand. Brute laid a hand on one of my leather bracers. “Mel, everyone at that table works for this guy. They messed up Willow’s group pretty bad when they wouldn’t leave him alone.” He narrowed his eyes at me, waiting. I didn’t say anything. He finally let go of my arm and sighed. “Gods damn it, Mel. Don’t rough him up if you don’t have to. He practically throws his coin at me!” He shook his head and started to stow mugs.
The short, pudgy man in the obnoxious shirt didn’t look up when I marched over. “Where’d you send those kids?” I asked. He took a sip of his wine.
“Kids? Am I offering a quest to fetch kids?” He looked at his goons. They all smirked, shaking their heads. I looked them over. All were armed with daggers or swords. None of them looked like magic users. Pointy I could handle. Magic would have been tricky. I snatched one of my daggers and slammed it through the man’s hand prone on the table. The *thunk* of my blade burying into the table was a sound sweeter than anything the bard managed.
“You are now,” I said, smiling. | The name’s Bing Bong. I’m an archer and such.
But don’t let the name fool you, I’m deadly serious. With a name like mine, it takes a good shot and a cold heart to strike terror in the hearts of the wicked. I managed just fine, but it wasn’t easy. I grew up in a coal town on the outskirts of the Capitol, making a name for myself by robbing from the rich and giving to the poor. There were plenty of poor, myself among them. Luckily, the rich had plenty to give, and I had plenty of arrows.
With every dead nobleman my notoriety grew. It was all about branding, I soon learned. Bing Bong just didn’t cut it. Nobody took *Bing Bong* seriously, no matter how true my aim was. Prince of the Woodland, though--now that was a name that stuck.
My adventuring days are long behind me, due to an unfortunate accident involving a faulty bow and an arrow to the knee. My daughter, however, has taken up the mantle. When she first started adventuring I gave her a critical piece of advice. *Go by your first name, not your last. We named you* ***Brutalitops*** *for a reason. You might be a good shot,* I'd say, *but the name of the game is the name, not the aim.*
She wouldn’t listen. *I’m not ashamed,* she’d say. *I’m Brutalitops Bong and I won't hide it!*
Well, it was no surprise when my wife told me that *Bong* got captured for ransom. Of course she did. Who *wouldn’t* extort the *Bong* family? I crumpled up the ransom note and handed it back to my wife.
“Lana, get my old kit,” I said.
“Your bow and quiver?” she asked through tears.
“No. My calligraphy kit.”
With the parchment laid out before me, I dipped my quill in ink and began to write.
*If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you...* | |
[WP]You are a retired archer who is still regaled as one of the best. Retirement suits you, right up until your child who was leading an adventuring party disappears. As you stare at the message in shock, your wife enters the room carrying your old kit that you had buried at the back of the woodshed | The log splinters under the swing of my axe. The day is hot, the sun is coming down heavy. My arms ache, my back aches. I wonder when I’ll be too old to split wood like this. It’s one of the last pleasures I have. It’s relaxing, peaceful. I look out over my lands and see the cows grazing in the low lands below, the boys playing under the oak.
I see a horse riding down my dirt road, the dust kicking up from the hooves. I wipe my brow and take a large drink from the jug.
“Hey, Jon,” I say as the rider nears.
“Edward,” he says, hopping off his horse.
Jon is a short, stocky man with a trimmed black beard. He owns the inn in town and has been a friend of mine for a long time. A good friend.
He looks nervous and I don’t like his nervousness.
“What is it Jon, tell me.”
“How ‘bout you sit down, William?”
“Alright, I say.” I set the axe down and sit on the splitting stump. “Now tell me, Edward.”
Edward wipes his forehead. “Some men came into town recently. Ugly fellas. They said they was lookin’ for you. Said they had a message. Well, you know how some kids get. How they want to prove themselves. You know how we get people like that all the time looking for William Tell. It’s all bluster you know. So I ignored these fellas. They drank a few pints, and as they were leaving, they handed me a message, told me it was for you.” Edward wiped his forehead again. “I came here as fast I could.”
“What’s it say, Jon?”
“Well, just read it yourself.”
I grab the letter and read it. I take a long, deep breath. Isabel has been taken hostage.
“Said they worked for a man named Duke La Croix. Know him?”
“Thanks, Edward.” I say.
“What are you going to do, William? You gonna pick up your bow again?”
“Thanks, Edward,” I say again, walking back to the house. “I’m going to go talk to my wife.”
\----
I sit in the chair reading the letter over and over again.
Isabel. My oldest daughter. Always the fiery one. Always the one pickin’ fights. Always wanting me to teach her how to use a bow. Always my favorite. Isabel, you fool.
My wife walks in, her dress is covered in dirt, she’s carrying an old wooden chest.
“Mary,” I say, frowning at her. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Mary’s face is red from crying. “Maybe not,” she says. “But it’s done.” She brushes more dirt off the lid, then lifts it. My gear is packed tight in the chest. I pull out the leather jerkin. “Gods, I don’t even know if it’ll fit me anymore.”
“It’ll fit,” Mary says, coming up to me. Tears are streaming down her face.
“Oh, Mary,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “Come here.”
“*My baby girl*,” she sobs, leaning into my hug.
“It’ll be alright.” I say.
I see my bow *Whisperwind* at the bottom. I see the grain of the wood ablaze in the light of the fireplace's flames. The sight of *Whisperwind* brings back a rush of memories. I feel powerful again looking at my bow.
“Get our girl back, William.”
“I will, Mary. I promise.” | The name’s Bing Bong. I’m an archer and such.
But don’t let the name fool you, I’m deadly serious. With a name like mine, it takes a good shot and a cold heart to strike terror in the hearts of the wicked. I managed just fine, but it wasn’t easy. I grew up in a coal town on the outskirts of the Capitol, making a name for myself by robbing from the rich and giving to the poor. There were plenty of poor, myself among them. Luckily, the rich had plenty to give, and I had plenty of arrows.
With every dead nobleman my notoriety grew. It was all about branding, I soon learned. Bing Bong just didn’t cut it. Nobody took *Bing Bong* seriously, no matter how true my aim was. Prince of the Woodland, though--now that was a name that stuck.
My adventuring days are long behind me, due to an unfortunate accident involving a faulty bow and an arrow to the knee. My daughter, however, has taken up the mantle. When she first started adventuring I gave her a critical piece of advice. *Go by your first name, not your last. We named you* ***Brutalitops*** *for a reason. You might be a good shot,* I'd say, *but the name of the game is the name, not the aim.*
She wouldn’t listen. *I’m not ashamed,* she’d say. *I’m Brutalitops Bong and I won't hide it!*
Well, it was no surprise when my wife told me that *Bong* got captured for ransom. Of course she did. Who *wouldn’t* extort the *Bong* family? I crumpled up the ransom note and handed it back to my wife.
“Lana, get my old kit,” I said.
“Your bow and quiver?” she asked through tears.
“No. My calligraphy kit.”
With the parchment laid out before me, I dipped my quill in ink and began to write.
*If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you...* | |
[WP]You are a retired archer who is still regaled as one of the best. Retirement suits you, right up until your child who was leading an adventuring party disappears. As you stare at the message in shock, your wife enters the room carrying your old kit that you had buried at the back of the woodshed | A warm hand fell on my shoulder. I started, looking from the parchment to the watery eyes of my wife. “You have to find her,” she said. Her gaze moved to the table. There sat the wooden trunk I had buried the day my daughter was born. It was exactly as I remembered, with dark splotches from where the soft earth clung—how long had I been sitting here going over this letter?
“You dug it up?” I asked, looking at Bettany, a coil of fear squeezing my chest. Her eyes softened and a wry smile curved her lips. She rested her hand on my hairy, salt and pepper cheek.
“Mel, you know why Brute sent that letter. He doesn’t think Mel the Carpenter can find her.” She pointed at the crate. “It’s because he knows Mel the Ranger can."
I shook my head. “I buried that part of me *for* Willow.”
“Mel. . .” My best friend and closest ally furrowed her golden brow at me, standing up straight. “She’s *gone* if you don’t.”
I sighed and crumpled the letter in my hands. The message arrived thanks to an old friend: *your daughter is in danger, but I know who to ask about that.* I stood and pulled the crate close, running my fingers over the lid like the day I buried it, thinking about the same thing: my daughter.
I swung the lid open. The instruments of my old life, the instruments of death dealing, were still there: the black bow and arrows woven with enchantments; the daggers and leather bandolier that held them; the bracers my father had passed down to me. I felt strange, like I was floating outside of my body. How could a whole, terrible, amount of time be held in such a trifling space?
“I *knew* that Willow would never want my life, my troubles, if I-” I coughed to keep the tears from flowing. It took all my courage to look Bettany in her green eyes. “I’m so sorry. She took after me anyway.” Bettany looked at me like I had told a bad joke.
“You raised a strong woman, Mel.” She clasped her hands behind my neck. “It’s because of you I believe our daughter can handle herself. And because of who you are, I believe you can save her.”
A small bud of hope took root in my chest. I took a deep breath, watering the feeling.
“The way I see it, things could be worse.” She smiled again. “She could have gotten your looks instead of mine.” I snorted. Bettany continued, “Now, string that bow, dreaded husband of mine. And go get our daughter.”
I pushed the heavy door of the tavern open. The orange, flickering glow from the wall sconces, blazing hearth, and heaps of candles on the long wooden tables revealed a large, broad beamed space. A bar, made from the same thick wood as the beams, ran the length of an entire wall. Women in tight,white bodices and long skirts rushed over the bare earth floors, lugging tankards of ale and platters of hearty stew for the hodge podge of loud, adventure seeking patrons. The aromas of brewed barley, roasting meat, and sweat greeted my nose. I mused at how many dangerous quests had begun in such a pleasant, unchanging corner of the world.
The nostalgia drained away as I realized most of the packed space was glancing, or straight staring at me. The bard in the corner halted his tune, revealing hushed voices carrying my name and assorted curses. I would have been more self-conscious about my older, more round in the middle self, if not for the throbbing ache from the long ride on horseback. I refused to remember back to how my legs would have felt twenty years ago when a familiar voice boomed from the bar, “Mel! Come have a seat.” A hulking, barrel chested man waved a hand clutching a wash rag from behind the bar.
“Brute.” I waved and walked as if on stilts to the stool in front of the wide, beaming face. The exchange acted like a spell, restarting the bard’s song and the babbling murmur of the tavern.
“Long time no see, old friend. Ale?” Brute resumed the diligent wiping of tankards, the same twinkle of I-know-something-you-don’t in his eyes. His red hair now streaked with white.
I placed my hands flat on the bar top and lowered myself onto the stool, attempting to avoid further pinches of pain in my haunches. “Who is it, Brute? Who can tell me where Willow is?” His hands froze and he glanced out at the tavern. Then he set the rag and cup down, propping his arms on the bar and leaning in.
“Same old Mel, all business and intrigue.” He lowered his voice as much as he could. “I’m glad my note found you. Willow came in, bright eyed like any young quester. I had no idea she was your daughter. I wouldn’t have let her stay had I known, Mel. I swear it.” I was taken aback by how forlorn he looked.
“I didn’t keep in touch for a reason, Brute.” This was the last place I would have ever wanted my daughter to wind up, but I didn’t say so out of respect for my friend. “Who gave her the quest?” I pressed.
“Purple doublet over in that corner.” Brute’s eyes flitted to my left. “Three of the kids who went out with Willow came back to confront him. Apparently, they all thought he set them up.” I started to stand. Brute laid a hand on one of my leather bracers. “Mel, everyone at that table works for this guy. They messed up Willow’s group pretty bad when they wouldn’t leave him alone.” He narrowed his eyes at me, waiting. I didn’t say anything. He finally let go of my arm and sighed. “Gods damn it, Mel. Don’t rough him up if you don’t have to. He practically throws his coin at me!” He shook his head and started to stow mugs.
The short, pudgy man in the obnoxious shirt didn’t look up when I marched over. “Where’d you send those kids?” I asked. He took a sip of his wine.
“Kids? Am I offering a quest to fetch kids?” He looked at his goons. They all smirked, shaking their heads. I looked them over. All were armed with daggers or swords. None of them looked like magic users. Pointy I could handle. Magic would have been tricky. I snatched one of my daggers and slammed it through the man’s hand prone on the table. The *thunk* of my blade burying into the table was a sound sweeter than anything the bard managed.
“You are now,” I said, smiling. | "I nodded at my wife, taking my old familiar weapon in my hands. It felt the same as it always did. Stepping outside, I took another look at the note once more before climbing up to the rooftop. The ink was fresh. Knowing the location of my home, the quickest route out of town, and where the guards were posted, I was pretty sure where they'd be.
I knocked an arrow, aimed upwards, and let loose the bowstring."
Staring in dismay at the girl dressed in cleric robes in front of my door with her adventuring party, I knew no matter how many times I explained it that she'd never listen. She believed Tyr, the God of Justice, had saved her.
Oh well. At least she's taking up adventuring like her old man. | |
[WP] "And finally, this is Mr. Fernsly, the butler. He has served this family for generations!" as he gestured to the man who didn't look a day over 30 | Mr. Fernsly steepled his long, spider-like fingers and stared over them, a scowl etched into his unblemished face as if it had been there since the beginning of time. A fire burned low in the hearth behind him, darkening the rest of his features with long shadows. He held the gaze of the other man for several long, quiet moments, the crackle of dry timber in the flame the only sound.
"You will have no need to spend any time here, of course. These are the Butler's quarters. There has been a Fernsly in this wing of the House for more of our generations than not. The Lord and Lady call us all 'Mr. Fernsly', but you will call me Sir." Mr. Fernsly did not so much speak to the other man as past him, as if addressing the other were too far beneath him to even warrant consideration. The other nodded eagerly.
"We will now inspect the Kitchen. Our Cook has recently departed the House, and left us in quite a sorry state of affairs. Come, and I will show you." Mr. Fernsly exited the fire-lit room and descended down a narrow staircase without so much as a glance behind him. The other man, his own short stride much diminished compared to that of tall Mr. Fernsly, jogged to keep up.
The pair emerged into the smokey haze of a wide, high-roofed room. Upon long tables were pots and plates and flagons of all shapes and sizes, stacked one on top of the other, reaching up to dizzying heights, disappearing into the thick, smokey recess where the ceiling must eventually have resided.
Small rodents leapt from stack to stack, carrying morsels of rotted foods between the towers of crockery. A red-faced man with a dirty apron and tall hat struggled under the weight of one such tower, hauling it carefully from the center of the hazy room toward a basin of murky, steaming water. At the end of the room a fire the size of a modest cabin burned in a gargantuan hearth, a series of blackened cauldrons bubbling angrily at the fire's edge.
Mr. Fernsly's scowl deepened, an affair that had to be seen to be believed. "As you can very well surmise with your own two eyes, the Kitchen is in quite a sorry state after the departure of our Cook. I expect you will be contributing to some of the duties required here, cleaning the dishes, hauling the refuse, boiling the rags, etcetera, etcetera and so forth with the types of duties befitting your... station." The tall Butler finally regarded the other, his two dark eyes descending toward's the other in a slow, deliberate way. The shorter man met Mr. Fernsly's eyes, and he nodded again vigorously.
"Very good. If you would be so... kind. Let us continue." And he was off again, his shorter companion once again jogging to keep up. The pair descended once more, ducking through a low corridor and into another narrow staircase. Here the walls pressed in, the overwhelming smell of earth and peat and moss and dead leaves and worms beneath the surface enveloping them, hanging heavily about their nostrils. With each step deeper the hazy light of the Kitchen faded, and an encroaching darkness mingled with the smell of the underground.
They arrived through another low doorway into a dark and cramped room. "This of course, is the Cellar." Mr. Fernsly's eyes glinted in the darkness, as if possessed of their own twinkling light source. "You will become very familiar with this particular section of the House, of course. You will be primarily responsible for retrieving and storing in the Cellar that which needs retrieval or storage. And you will, of course, be quartered down here." Mr. Fernsly slowly inclined his head toward a dirty sack, crunched into the man-shape of a cot, squatting in the damp among the straw and mud of the floor.
Mr. Fernsly's scowl rotated, slowly upturning into a gruesome smirk. "Do try and get a good night's sleep. There is ever so much work to be done, and so few of us left to do it." | I took in a quick breath as Mr. Fernsly winked at me. Which was a joke? Working for generations like your immortal or winking at the son’s new girlfriend? I glanced next to me at Kevin and try to send “what the fuck?” telepathically. I also raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes to add “did you see that?” - I don’t think he got either message. He just squeezed my hand and turned away. I turn and tightly smile at Mr. Fernsly, “Pleased to meet you Mr. Fernsly, I can’t imagine the stories a butler of several generations must have!” Everyone chuckles. What have I done? Rich people. Butlers?! This is all so creepy. Kevin didn’t let up on any of this. I’m beginning to wonder how well I know him. | |
[WP] You are the infamous 10th Dentist. A new toothpaste has been brought before the commission and the previous 9 dentists have already approved it. As you inspect the toothpaste, there is a slight problem. You actually like it. | Stewart sat straight awaiting his turn to review the product. He was the storied Tenth Dentist—the cavity crusader, the plaque protector, the last bastion against the dreaded *gingavitus.*
The others dentists had been phoning it in for years now. They had approved this particular product on *sight.*
>“Does it clean teeth?”
>
>“Yes!”
>
>"And does it taste minty fresh?"
>
>"You bet!"
>
>“Approved!”
Stewart wouldn't be so easy. He hadn’t approved a product for market in years. Soft-bristled tooth-brush? *Fail—if the gums don't bleed, they will recede*. Bubblegum flavored toothpaste? *Fail—children shouldn’t be conditioned to enjoy bubblegum*. Tooth-whitening strips? *Double fail!—There is no cheat code for good dental hygiene*.
Stewart was the last of the old-guard. Dentistry was serious business, and the products needed to reflect that. He ate nothing but whole-grain wheat-thins and brushed four times a day using a custom-made porcupine-quill toothbrush.
He picked up the sample brush the council had provided for purposes of testing the new paste. He sniffed it, pressed on its bristles, and tested its flex. His nose wrinkled as he shook his head and tossed the brush to the side. He squeezed a dollop of toothpaste directly onto his finger instead.
He put the paste to his nose, wafting the aroma with his other hand. “Interesting,” he said. “I’m getting a bouquet of fresh pear… savory yet sweet like a caramelized ham… and is that a note of shoe leather?”
The other nine dentists looked at one another. “*I thought it was spearmint*,” one whispered. “*It is, but I can see the caramelized ham undertones. This man is a genius*.” The other nodded. “*Astounding*.”
Stewart pulled his lip back and slowly smeared the paste along his lower gum. He then slapped both hands against his cheeks, leaving red marks.
*It’s the Stewart Slap!* one of the dentists whispered excitedly. *It’s meant to reset the neural network in his mouth. He hasn’t needed to use it in years!* The other dentist rolled his eyes. *What do I look like, an amateur? Of course I know about the Stewart Slap! Now shut up, this is big.*”
Stewart took a sip of water, swishing it around his mouth with purpose. After a moment, he spat the water out into the crystal spittoon he carried with him at all times. He dabbed his mouth and looked up at the council.
“I’ve made my decision,” Stewart said. The room had gone deadly quite, suspense permeating the air. “I would recommend this product,” he said at last.
Cheers erupted throughout the council. A tear rolled down the face of the First Dentist. The Seventh Dentist pulled out a rosary, touched it to his forehead and kissed it. The Fifth Dentist made a bee-line for Stewart, emphatically shaking his hand before grabbing the tube and squeezing its entire contents into his mouth.
But a distinct groan punctuated the celebration. Everyone went quiet and turned around to see who it was.
A man in the back had stood up, his face red, muttering a string of profanity under his breath. “Goddammit!" he shouted, pointing at Stewart. "*You* weren’t supposed to recommend it! You were supposed to be the hold-out!”
Stewart looked the man dead on, unblinking. “I liked it, so I recommend it," he said. "Ten out of ten dentists approve. Congratulations.”
The man pulled out a phone and punched a number into it. “Sharon? Pull the toothpaste from the market ... Yes, you heard me! Pull it! Stewart *approved*! We’re screwed!”
Murmurs rippled throughout the council.
The man put his phone back into his pocket. “Stewart you damn bastard! We can’t have *ten out of ten* dentists recommend our toothpaste! That’s unheard of! It's *unthinkable*! They’ll assume we rigged the votes! We’re sunk!”
Stewart shrugged and walked off, the room erupting into chaos as he closed the door behind him. He smirked to himself. Caramelized ham undertones? Not on his watch. That toothpaste should never see the light of market, and he'd just made sure of it.
***
 
Thanks for reading! Check out r/Banana_Scribe for some of my favorite pieces. | Weeks pass so quickly nowadays. It was four of them ago when I was last forced to attend one of these ridiculous hearings. Every time we convene the same quarry. Oh look, so and so made yet another variation of the same handful chemicals to convince the masses to polish their horrifically disgusting maws they have the audacity to call teeth. And every time I am forced to be the voice of reason. Of science. I deny them their recommendation. I stand as the sole vanguard of decency and order from the sheer chaos of smattering whatever looked and tasted pretty all over their diseased gums.
My presence is impressive. I know, and I see it whenever I am in attendance. The other 9 halt their conversations, and look to me. Whether with respect or fear, I care not. I have arrived, that is all that matters. I look forward to making quick work of these, *new toothpastes*, as I have errands to tend to. We are called to order and our samples are placed before us. Then the water to rinse our palates. The ritual is so ingrained into my being that I simply follow the motions as I consider what I shall purchase to cook tonight. As they pass through my own tests I take pen in hand and commit my undeniable facts to the blank paper set before us.
*Sample 1 is a grotesquely saccharine cacophony of gel and grit. Possible applications for children's toothpaste, however with such flavoring, the subject who would prefer this must already consumne so much sugar that they'll be fitted for dentures by their early 20's. That is if childhood onset of type 2 diabetes does not kill them first. NOT RECOMMENDED*
*Sample 2 is the true nature of dental care. Rough, uncaring of what "tastes good" and will do what it must to rid the mouth of the enamel devouring dangers. Unfortunately the bitter aggressiveness of this cleaning agent is doing more harm than good as it burns the gums and triggers a slight inflammatory response. NOT RECOMMENDED*
*Sample 3*
Sample 3
Sample three is...
Ambrosia!
It is the cruelest truth. There would be one day. Very much like today. That I would have to face it. The day I would be wrong. My taste buds dance and sing it praise. My teeth feel not just smoother but *stronger*! I can taste the cleanliness all the way to the back of my throat! But I must perservere! I can not let momentary weakness ruin my career. I must find fault. But it's flavor is impeccable. The cleaning is unmatched. I must breathe for a moment. I can feel their eyes. They can sense my hesitation. They're eagerly awaiting my downfall. They will not have it!
*Sample 3 is of admirable quality as it manages to find some semblance of balance between flavor and cleaning efficiency. However, the flavoring can lead to addictive behavior which in turn would become detrimental to the purpose of brushing teeth. More samples are requested before I consider changing my verdict. NOT RECOMMENDED* | |
[WP] You are the infamous 10th Dentist. A new toothpaste has been brought before the commission and the previous 9 dentists have already approved it. As you inspect the toothpaste, there is a slight problem. You actually like it. | Stewart sat straight awaiting his turn to review the product. He was the storied Tenth Dentist—the cavity crusader, the plaque protector, the last bastion against the dreaded *gingavitus.*
The others dentists had been phoning it in for years now. They had approved this particular product on *sight.*
>“Does it clean teeth?”
>
>“Yes!”
>
>"And does it taste minty fresh?"
>
>"You bet!"
>
>“Approved!”
Stewart wouldn't be so easy. He hadn’t approved a product for market in years. Soft-bristled tooth-brush? *Fail—if the gums don't bleed, they will recede*. Bubblegum flavored toothpaste? *Fail—children shouldn’t be conditioned to enjoy bubblegum*. Tooth-whitening strips? *Double fail!—There is no cheat code for good dental hygiene*.
Stewart was the last of the old-guard. Dentistry was serious business, and the products needed to reflect that. He ate nothing but whole-grain wheat-thins and brushed four times a day using a custom-made porcupine-quill toothbrush.
He picked up the sample brush the council had provided for purposes of testing the new paste. He sniffed it, pressed on its bristles, and tested its flex. His nose wrinkled as he shook his head and tossed the brush to the side. He squeezed a dollop of toothpaste directly onto his finger instead.
He put the paste to his nose, wafting the aroma with his other hand. “Interesting,” he said. “I’m getting a bouquet of fresh pear… savory yet sweet like a caramelized ham… and is that a note of shoe leather?”
The other nine dentists looked at one another. “*I thought it was spearmint*,” one whispered. “*It is, but I can see the caramelized ham undertones. This man is a genius*.” The other nodded. “*Astounding*.”
Stewart pulled his lip back and slowly smeared the paste along his lower gum. He then slapped both hands against his cheeks, leaving red marks.
*It’s the Stewart Slap!* one of the dentists whispered excitedly. *It’s meant to reset the neural network in his mouth. He hasn’t needed to use it in years!* The other dentist rolled his eyes. *What do I look like, an amateur? Of course I know about the Stewart Slap! Now shut up, this is big.*”
Stewart took a sip of water, swishing it around his mouth with purpose. After a moment, he spat the water out into the crystal spittoon he carried with him at all times. He dabbed his mouth and looked up at the council.
“I’ve made my decision,” Stewart said. The room had gone deadly quite, suspense permeating the air. “I would recommend this product,” he said at last.
Cheers erupted throughout the council. A tear rolled down the face of the First Dentist. The Seventh Dentist pulled out a rosary, touched it to his forehead and kissed it. The Fifth Dentist made a bee-line for Stewart, emphatically shaking his hand before grabbing the tube and squeezing its entire contents into his mouth.
But a distinct groan punctuated the celebration. Everyone went quiet and turned around to see who it was.
A man in the back had stood up, his face red, muttering a string of profanity under his breath. “Goddammit!" he shouted, pointing at Stewart. "*You* weren’t supposed to recommend it! You were supposed to be the hold-out!”
Stewart looked the man dead on, unblinking. “I liked it, so I recommend it," he said. "Ten out of ten dentists approve. Congratulations.”
The man pulled out a phone and punched a number into it. “Sharon? Pull the toothpaste from the market ... Yes, you heard me! Pull it! Stewart *approved*! We’re screwed!”
Murmurs rippled throughout the council.
The man put his phone back into his pocket. “Stewart you damn bastard! We can’t have *ten out of ten* dentists recommend our toothpaste! That’s unheard of! It's *unthinkable*! They’ll assume we rigged the votes! We’re sunk!”
Stewart shrugged and walked off, the room erupting into chaos as he closed the door behind him. He smirked to himself. Caramelized ham undertones? Not on his watch. That toothpaste should never see the light of market, and he'd just made sure of it.
***
 
Thanks for reading! Check out r/Banana_Scribe for some of my favorite pieces. | My 'colleagues' were already writing down their statements of approval. Fools. They used it once, on themselves at that, and they trust their own judgements? Pah. I'd spit on them, but they'd probably like that as well.
But I am a professional, if nothing else. I will... observe the formalities. Experience whatever gutter-sludge they call 'toothpaste'. And, of course, return my disapproval. I always do. I always do.
"Doctor McKenzie." The rat mumbles. "Our new product." He hands over a small, flat box, and I snatch it away. His tremors would likely destabilise any pleasant substances that would float in the paste by happenstance, and it was only fitting to experience a cleansing substance at its best.
I am a professional, you see. A professional, if nothing else.
"Out." I say, sternly. The rat leaves, and I jot down a reminder in my notebook, neatly stating a need to clean the floor later. And not step on it until then.
The first step is simple. I open a drawer, handle made of polished silver, gloves stopping any contamination. I pick a pair of tweezers, which I use to pick out a slightly smaller pair of tweezers. The latter, of course, is currently in a pool of boiling cleaning solvent - my own formulae.
My fingers do not shake as I use the tweezers to open the box. Surprisingly adequate containment.
I note that down.
Resting in velvet is the tube. The tube is important. The tube *conveys.* Information. Aesthetics. My mother told me, when I was young, that the colour of the plate did not affect the taste of the food. She was wrong, of course. Colours have meanings, subconscious and conscious, that colour our other perceptions. Colours, and textures, and shapes. All united.
I turn over the tube to look at it from all angles. A button press, and a view-scope emerges. My own design. No others do.
I check through every spectrum, and it becomes apparent that the colours are pure. The white is so white it might blind a winter spirit. The black so pitch as to have a gravity, accepting all light by diffusion.
The linework is... Spectacular.
The font precise, yet friendly. Enticing. The red hums with the emotions of the blood, the wine. The company logo remodelled, out of the way, yet in sight.
The list of ingredients conveying everything one would need to know. Somehow personalised, and standardised, simultaneously. It tells me, should it be truthful, that this may be something new. Something that might work. I let out a breath involuntarily.
I pull a lever that makes no sound. The floor shifts, then rises, then opens. The hiss of noble gasses escapes the vault. The locks click open one by one. Mechanical, electronic, magnetic, occult. A disk with two artisanal restraints holds my toothbrush, and with a heavy heart, I take it. Could this be the day?
A container of reinforced glass accepts the end of the brush. My brush. A brush that has seen so much wear and tear from the brutish excretions of lesser designers that it would make anyone weep if they understood the magnitude of those failures. Mist is expelled, and the bristles soak it up. The water is not pure, but contains a variety of minerals to enhance the taste and medical benefits. Those of my colleagues that use pure water disgust me. Purity is in biology, not in physics.
I calm myself, and take the toothbrush again.
I squeeze the toothpaste. It comes out like a dream. Forms the perfect wave upon the bristles. White streaked with palest blue, and green pinpricks. I smell mint, and peppermint, and it takes all my willpower to avoid gorging myself on the beauty of it all.
I begin to brush.
An instant takes a year.
My eyes widen. Water. Water in my mouth, toothpaste on my teeth. Melding. Purging.
Purifying.
The last remnants of plaque removed from my teeth. A deep clean that rumbles my very bones. The taste is exquisite, and yet I feel no desire to swallow. Just as intended.
I do not choke on my tears. I am a professional, if nothing else. But I desperately want to.
A precise time passes without my realisation, and I pull out the brush. Spotless. I pull out my desk mirror, and bare my teeth. Spotless.
I smile. Spotless.
And I keep smiling, though my grin becomes less rictus, as tears of joy drift gently down my face.
---
*"The Commission has sent feedback?"*
*"Yes, - well, not quite, Sir."*
*"Hmm?"*
*"No feedback, this time. Just a small envelope. Much more... Noble? I can't quite describe it, but the envelope is a thing of beauty."*
*"Have you opened it?"*
*"There are instructions to only open it while you and I are alone, Sir."*
*"... And you listened?"*
*"I- The letter was quite compelling, Sir."*
*"Well, go on then. Let's see it."*
...
*"Oh. Oh my."*
*"I'm sure you understand now, Sir."*
*"Compelling indeed. But now I'm curious to see what's inside."*
...
*"It just says... Ten out of ten dentists approve. There's a small key here as well, taped to the paper. And... Is that gold foil?"*
*"Other substances as well. But the message is... Unexpected."*
*"I... I recognise what this key is, Sir."*
*"And?"*
*"Occult markings."*
*"Like the occult you used to make the toothpaste?"*
*"The very same, Sir. The paper has them as well. It must be what made the envelope so beautiful, and convinced me to follow its instructions."*
*"... What does this mean, practically speaking?"*
*"We're not the first to figure out how to invoke the occult, Sir. The first dentists, perhaps, but..."*
*"... Could the tenth dentist be a security measure? A test?"*
*"It's likely, Sir."*
...
*"Well, they haven't denied us permission to market and sell it. And they're one of the only institutions not attached to the Dee-Oh-En-Ess at this point."*
*"I think we now know why, Sir."*
*"Well, keep on course when it comes to the roadmap. None of your defences have been triggered yet, at least, which implies to me that we're still on track to break the Veil."*
*"Of course, Sir."*
*"Oh, and Anmet? This will be great marketing. Call in a little later and we can discuss a pay rise."*
*"... Thank you, Sir."* | |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | I hesitated. As a young educationist, fresh from college, I hadn't expected my first job interview to begin on quite this note.
I could have walked away. I ought to have, perhaps. But the offered salary was hefty and the benefits were good, and I had all those student loans to repay. I decided to take the pale middle aged woman sitting across from me seriously.
"Why...why, yes. I believe I would like to meet them," I heard myself say.
"Wonderful. Do follow me." The pale woman angled her way out of the chair and scissored to the door, all bones beneath a sharp pantsuit, her black hair scraped back fiercely. The image of Cruella deVille flashed through my mind, unbidden.
I followed her through a series of brightly colored hallways much like those of any elementary school, except that these hallways were studded not with ordinary doors, but with heavy steel doors that locked from the outside. They clashed weirdly with the cheerfully painted walls.
She stopped at a door that said "6th Grade: Mrs. Hinkler" on a placard just like any classroom door, except of course for the reinforced steel and the bolt that the pale woman undid with a slight effort. The metal made a whining sound as the hinges swung, not quite a creak.
A placid youngish woman looked up from her desk, light blue eyes pleasant and undisturbed. In rows before the teacher's desk were twenty school desks, each one bolted to the floor. At every desk sat a...child?...with a heavy shackle on one ankle. The shackle ran on a short chain to another bolt in the floor. The children-things did not seem bothered by this. In fact, they were bent over their papers industriously, pencils in hand.
"What's with the chains?" I asked, horrified.
"A mere formality at this point," the pale woman assured me. "That is why I brought you to see the older children, who are thoroughly trained. The younger ones are still a bit wild, and I would hate for you to be injured."
"Trained?" I wasn't sure I liked the sound of this. "Trained for what, exactly?"
"Why, to function in the world," the pale woman said. "You see, they have no souls, these poor darlings. When a person is raised from the dead, it is only the *body* that arises. The soul has flown and no power known to man can bring it back. These young necromancers today all think they've made the final discovery, and this is the result. We average several new students a year just in this county."
I eyes the child-things warily. They did not seem inhuman, but neither did they seem real. They busied themselves with their schoolwork, but here and there an eye was cast my way. Each glance shocked me with its malignant emptiness.
"What function can they possibly have?" I asked, disturbed. "They don't seem very...*nice."*
The pale woman laughed. "Oh no, of course not. They are empty inside and live only to feed."
Nauseated, I watched the children writing. The room was very quiet.
"What do they feed on?" I didn't want to ask, but I did.
"Oh, power, money, sex, fame...anything really. Their first lust is for blood of course, but we train that out of them. They soon find substitutes."
*"What?"*
"Are they so different from the rest of us?" The pale woman asked, innocently. "There are jobs for which my students are eminently suited. Jobs with which a soul would merely interfere."
"You're raising monsters!" I cried, beginning to step backward.
"My dear, I am raising Senators. I am raising televangelists. I am raising insurance adjusters and human resources managers. I am raising CEOs and movie stars and the latest pop singers. You just never knew before."
I ran, but I now I do know, and I can never unknow. But no one would ever believe me. | "I dont know if im ready" Lissandra looked up into the mans kind blue eyes.
"Ik its a lot to take in but yoh cant just go live a normal life. You and I found eachother for a reason and I can help you live a safe and enjoyable life." Lissandra gulped down the lump in her throat considering the strangers words. He was correct after all its not like she could run back to parents. She nodded at him as confidently as she could muster and he reached out a hand to lead her to their ride. After a long drive they arrived at what looked like a castle. How had she never known this existed? They walked through the doorsand she was instintly greeted by kids of all ages, some in better condintion than others. The man walked her over to a boy.
"This is Samuel. He can show you around." The man placed a hand on Sams shoulder before walking off. Sams eyes were so pale they looked white and his skin was faded looking but besides that he looked cute. Fluffy black hair and a strong jawline and he looked to be about Lissadras age. I walked with him as he pointed out room after room. Then he brought me upstairs to a door and said I could be his roomate if I wanted. I nodded seeing as he was the only one I knew there and started unloading my questions on him.
"Do we still age? Do we live here forever now? What exactly are we? Zombies?...." I continued on for a few minutes sitting on the bed to the left as I kept talking. He sat across from me on his bed and started explaining what my new life was going to be like. I wondered if I would be grateful for this second chance or mad at whover did this to me, but right now I was just confused and filled with curiosity. |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | "Is that safe? I'm not going to turn into a zombie or something if one gets me right?"
"Oh no, that's just a myth. Really the twins are the only ones you have to keep your eye on."
Ms. Charmaine lead Dave inside where the faint odor of rotting flesh tainted the air. It was a Victorian style house on the outside with plenty of modern renovations to make it livable.
"I'm already late, but I'll introduce you to everyone before I go."
When Dave started dating his current girlfriend Ashley he thought her calling herself a "witch" just ment she liked occult stuff and wanted to identify as something. Then one night she invited him to a seance where...well...he got to meet an *actual* ghost. Translucent, floating, everything. It had completely changed his view on the world...even if the world didn't change for him.
He'd been laid off from his desk job and had no luck getting even an interview anywhere. Elizabeth had come to his rescue by recommending him to her coven leader Ms. Charmaine who was looking for a babysitter. She needed someone who had experience with "special needs" children and who wouldn't reveal to the wide world that magic was real. Although when she asked him to wear plastic leg guards he should have asked more questions.
"Sorry about the smell, magic can only do so much."
Turning the corner into the living room his heart jumped against his ribs. Of course he was fully expecting to see the decomposing corpses of children, but that doesn't mean you can force yourself not to viscerally recoil when you see exactly that. It was a young boy and girl, both pale with large gashes and breaks everywhere on their bodies. The girl in particular had a blackened eye while the boys had his skull blown open. The fact that their chests were rising and falling didn't make things better, infact it probably made it worse.
Speaking in a hushed voice Ms. Charmaine continued.
"That's Kyle and Lucy Vandin. They were both murdered by their mother's boyfriend last month and tossed into the river. Some idiot decided to just see what would get raised by doing some rituals on the bank."
"Holy...do their parents know?"
"I've tried to contact Ms. Vandin but she hasn't responded when I try to seance her. Probably still lost in purgatory."
"..."
"Oh yeah, she died too. Don't ask them about it. Really try not to mention anything about it to them, it really upsets them."
Ms. Charmaine pointed at a tiny human skull affixed to a stand on a dresser along the other wall.
"That's Amy Lee. She died of measels when she was 4 sometime in the early 20s or 30s we think. The necromancer didn't know what she was doing so only her skull was reanimated and she can't see, just hear. She reflexively bites so don't wave your fingers around near her."
It was stunning to Dave how casual this lady could talk about such horrible fates for children, much less try and care for them in some kind of Adam's Family foster home. However it wasn't so stunning that he didn't notice the translucent human face sticking out from the corner of the ceiling which retracted back the moment he focused on it. Charmaine noticed.
"That's Elizabeth, but she likes to go by Liz. Died in her sleep a few months ago. Carbon Monoxide leak. She can tell you more about the little one's but I really have to go. Is there anything I can clear up real quick?"
Ms. Charmaine hovered by the door with her purse over her shoulder and car keys in hand ready to go.
"Do they grow up? You said you raised them but they don't actually grow right?"
"No, but they need someone to take care of them until the magic fades and they can go back to the other side. Sometimes it takes a while, but their still kids that need love and attention. If you have any more questions just text me, I'm sorry I'm just dashing off but I'm ready so late for work. Bye."
As Dave watched the beat up PT Cruiser roll out onto the street he contemplated the set of event that had led him from asking a Target cashier out to accepting to babysit undead children. | "I dont know if im ready" Lissandra looked up into the mans kind blue eyes.
"Ik its a lot to take in but yoh cant just go live a normal life. You and I found eachother for a reason and I can help you live a safe and enjoyable life." Lissandra gulped down the lump in her throat considering the strangers words. He was correct after all its not like she could run back to parents. She nodded at him as confidently as she could muster and he reached out a hand to lead her to their ride. After a long drive they arrived at what looked like a castle. How had she never known this existed? They walked through the doorsand she was instintly greeted by kids of all ages, some in better condintion than others. The man walked her over to a boy.
"This is Samuel. He can show you around." The man placed a hand on Sams shoulder before walking off. Sams eyes were so pale they looked white and his skin was faded looking but besides that he looked cute. Fluffy black hair and a strong jawline and he looked to be about Lissadras age. I walked with him as he pointed out room after room. Then he brought me upstairs to a door and said I could be his roomate if I wanted. I nodded seeing as he was the only one I knew there and started unloading my questions on him.
"Do we still age? Do we live here forever now? What exactly are we? Zombies?...." I continued on for a few minutes sitting on the bed to the left as I kept talking. He sat across from me on his bed and started explaining what my new life was going to be like. I wondered if I would be grateful for this second chance or mad at whover did this to me, but right now I was just confused and filled with curiosity. |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | "I raise undead children," Ann spoke while peeling an apple.
"You what?!" I was only minding my language because of her step-daughter. I couldn't believe in my sister's stupidity. That was the most irresponsible thing to do. And the worse mess to clean."
"Don't worry, I'm not raising anyone from the dead. You've shown me your stances on that very clear. Very." She rolled her eyes on that. After all, she was a witch that wasn't afraid of trying anything. "It's only... You know how I was always bringing hurt animals to the house and we would care for them until they healed and could survive in the wild?"
"You digress."
"I'm not. Either way. Stupid young necromancers raise from dead kids. I only try to... help them survive in the wild... What can I do when my motherly instinct kicks in seeing such sweet little angels?" she pinched her daughter's cheek.
My body froze. My sister tended to ramble and digress, but I could always follow her rants. So I did not misinterpret that, I didn't even put recklessly faith in that. I only became aware of a girl sitting on my lap that turned to me with a big smile on her face. I noticed the oddness of her paleness. The crow's feet like marks around her eyes.
"Geez, like it's the first time you're meeting them," Ann sighed. "Suzie is a well-behaved child after all. Aren't you, sweety?" Ann patted the girl and she leaned into a caress. "But the others... oh, well, they bite sometimes. A lot, but who can blame them. My poor babies." Her hand moved and cupped the girl's cheek. "Deary, go and play with others. We'll join you in a minute."
"Why did you tell me this now?" I asked when the doors closed after the girl.
"I had to one day... I was afraid of what would you do."
"So you did it when I no longer could do anything?"
I tried. I tried to put my thoughts in order. Put a plan of what to do. As always when cleaning after irresponsible witches. But I couldn't. I loved these kids with my whole heart. Ann was right - they were like the strays she used to bring home. They could bite you and look odd, but they needed care and gave back so much love.
They were not undeads. They were my nieces and nephews.
"Yeah," Ann spoke coming back to peeling apples. "I said it when you could no longer do anything about it." | "I dont know if im ready" Lissandra looked up into the mans kind blue eyes.
"Ik its a lot to take in but yoh cant just go live a normal life. You and I found eachother for a reason and I can help you live a safe and enjoyable life." Lissandra gulped down the lump in her throat considering the strangers words. He was correct after all its not like she could run back to parents. She nodded at him as confidently as she could muster and he reached out a hand to lead her to their ride. After a long drive they arrived at what looked like a castle. How had she never known this existed? They walked through the doorsand she was instintly greeted by kids of all ages, some in better condintion than others. The man walked her over to a boy.
"This is Samuel. He can show you around." The man placed a hand on Sams shoulder before walking off. Sams eyes were so pale they looked white and his skin was faded looking but besides that he looked cute. Fluffy black hair and a strong jawline and he looked to be about Lissadras age. I walked with him as he pointed out room after room. Then he brought me upstairs to a door and said I could be his roomate if I wanted. I nodded seeing as he was the only one I knew there and started unloading my questions on him.
"Do we still age? Do we live here forever now? What exactly are we? Zombies?...." I continued on for a few minutes sitting on the bed to the left as I kept talking. He sat across from me on his bed and started explaining what my new life was going to be like. I wondered if I would be grateful for this second chance or mad at whover did this to me, but right now I was just confused and filled with curiosity. |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | Something was wrong with Eli.
Something *had* to be wrong with Eli. He’d barely left his house the last couple years straight, and I’d known him since middle school. Whenever he’d meet up with our group of friends- or lately, just me for coffee or a drink, which usually took quite a bit of a convincing- he looked out of it. Sick, maybe. His dark blonde hair was growing into unruly curls around his ears, his cheekbones and jawline were much sharper than they ever had been, his faded band t-shirts hung off his shoulders, and he had an impossibly far away look in eyes.
Most of all, he always needed to get back home. He’d tug at his lip ring and tell me the same thing, every time. A routine chant.
“I’m sorry, dude. I know. And it’s not that I don’t wanna hang out. But I need to go home. I need to.”
Drugs, I’d decided, driving towards his house on a dreary autumn morning, catching the stray red-orange-yellow of leaves out of the corner of my eyes.
It had to be drugs. Eli had never been a big drinker, not even in high school when for most of us, scoring a twelve pack felt like an Olympic gold medal feat. But it had to be drugs- this isolation, that was much more than simply introversion, how he always looked more slender and pale than the last time I saw him, the apologetic insistence to be home.
*And it’s not that I don’t wanna hang out. But I need to go home. I need to.*
I accelerated a little. I was ready for anything, I’d decided. Whatever state the house was in. Whatever state he was in. Bottles of pills. Needles. I’d seen it before. I knew it well. I bit the inside of my cheek. Seven years sober, and my nephews still didn’t know I existed. I knew it well. And I wasn’t gonna let him fall any deeper, no matter how much he might hate me for it in the moment.
No, I was gonna go over there. We were gonna talk, even if he had to sleep it off first. And then we’d make a plan. I wouldn’t force him into anything, recovery doesn’t work like that. But we’d make a plan, together. And I’d help drag him out, just like he’d dragged me out all those years ago, in that patient way he had, when I’d lost so many other people.
I turned left at the stop sign and onto Eli’s street, a drive I’d made countless times, but only for our half-forced morning coffee or weekend beer meetups. I hadn’t been inside the little, but very nice two-bedroom since I’d helped him move in our senior year of college. I knew he’d worked his ass off for it. Something remote, something to do with IT I’d never fully understood. Tech wasn’t exactly my strong suit.
“*This is it. Get out. Knock. You’re ready for whatever’s in there. It’s Eli.*” I reminded myself, gravel crunching under my tires as I pulled into the driveway, parked my car, and got out, taking a deep breath.
I paused at the door. Maybe I should’ve texted him. Maybe I should’ve brought it up when we’d grabbed coffee a couple weeks ago. Maybe crashing his solo, spiraling party wasn’t the best way to do this.
I knocked anyway.
I waited almost a minute, faintly heard a door close, and then Eli answered.
Eli answered. Just... Eli. With his dark blonde curls down to the back of his neck, some matching stubble, barefoot with sweatpants and a very Eli-esque faded punk band t-shirt hanging off his shoulders, collarbones peaking out, holding a mug of coffee. The dude didn’t look great, but my anxious fantasies of Narcan and picking him up out of a pile of his own puke were certainly fading.
“Miles? You’re uh. Is everybody okay?” Eli asked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.
“I-“ for a second, I had to gather my thoughts. I hadn’t considered I might make him think there’d been some awful tragedy with my unannounced, early morning arrival.
“-yeah. Yeah bro, everyone’s okay. Look. I’ve just been really worried about you, and I’m tired of pretending everything seems okay about how you’ve been acting. So I came over to check in. I mainly just wanted to talk for a bit, if that’s okay.”
Eli took a deep breath. “Yeah. You’ll have to hear me out, but yeah. Let’s hit the kitchen. Coffee?”
“That’s my plan. Uh, sure. Can I put a gross amount of sugar in it?”
He rolled his eyes, he never liked my coffee decisions. He was a bit of a coffee purist.
“Pick your poison. Granulated, simple syrup, creamer, milk. Go crazy.”
He opened the door and I followed him to his kitchen island, noting that the place was in great condition, for someone spiraling. The hardwood floors were clean, the counters were organized. I noted a pillow and a tangle of blankets over on the bigger couch in front of the TV and a bunch of plates and cups sitting in the sink, but half the time my place looked a hell of a lot worse.
I was, in Eli’s words, going crazy with my coffee additions, sitting at one of the four barstools around his kitchen island and wondering how to phrase things, when he started for me.
“You think I’m depressed. Or on drugs or something.”
“I... yeah. I do.” I said, figuring we’d known each other more than long enough for me to be completely straight with him. I’d long regarded him as a brother. “I’m worried about you, and I just wanna help. I get it. I’m not gonna force you to do anything. But, you saw how it got with me. I’m worried, dude. I love ya.”
Something flashed across his face, something I wasn’t sure how to read.
“Love ya too, dumbass.” That had always been our reply to one another, with a half-grin. But his smile looked softer this morning. Maybe sad, worried. It was hard to read him lately, and at one point I would’ve sworn we were telepathic.
“I know that it looks like that. And I appreciate it. But I’m not depressed. And I’m not on drugs. I’ve got uh, a... thing going on. That I’m taking caring of. It’s taking up most of my time. All of my time. I’ll explain it, if you promise to just hear me out. Because it’s going to sound absolutely insane. So, please. Just hear me out.”
That same look I couldn’t read at the doorway flashed across his face again as he rubbed his temple, and then switched to tugging at his lip ring. A nervous habit since he’d gotten it from a friend of a friend of a friend who did piercings in high school.
“Okay. I mean, good. I love being wrong in this scenario. Whatever it is, I’m all ears.”
I sat back on my stool, truly glad if I was wrong, but pretty damn confused.
“You remember Robbie, right? Into all that weird occult shit. It was too much, even for me.”
I nodded. Robbie was his half-brother, he’d died a few years ago. Weird circumstances. Died in a train tunnel, there’d been pentagrams and that kinda thing spray painted on the scene, rumors they’d been carved into his body, too. Weird circumstances in life, too. Kinda guy who had dusty books in ancient languages, wanted to drunkenly talk you into blood rituals.
At heart, we were both still punk rock kids with mohawks, jumping blocked off staircases on our skateboards and running from cops, and getting noise complaints called on us for our attempts at forming a band- but Robbie had been too much for me, too.
“Robbie... he played around with powers he didn’t understand. Or he understood, but he didn’t care. And I’ve got the results of that.” Eli chose his words slowly and carefully, and I had no idea what he meant.
He spun his coffee mug around on the table a few times, took a sip, and sighed. I waited.
“He used spells. Spells, and oaths, and rituals. It was a mess. Things I don’t look into too far, things I don’t mess with. For lack of a better word, he was a necromancer. A young, irresponsible, cruel one at that. He died like- you know the story. Kinda what happens when you play around with the sort of shit he was playing around with. Our mom had already died a couple years earlier, so she never knew the extent, I was the only one to help his boyfriend clear out his old place. His ex was terrified, and bolted, never heard from him again. I mean, which is fair. So um, I-“
Eli tugged at his lip ring and met my eyes for the first time in awhile, the same muted green I’d always known, but something in them seemed almost protective.
“I- raise the undead kids.”
He shook his head, quickly continuing. “Not like him, of course. I mean I’m the one who takes care of them. There’s nobody else that would. And Robbie didn’t realize these were *children*, *real kids* he was messing with!”
He finished with a hint of real anger behind his words, a tone I rarely heard from Eli, and then sat back to judge my reaction, tugging at his lip ring from time to time.
My stomach fell into my knees, and I felt my mouth go dry. Was he hallucinating? Delusional? Both? I scanned my brain desperately for my Psych 101 knowledge. *Schizophrenia, onset in men generally ages 18-25.* He was a year younger than me, so he would’ve been 25 when Robbie died, right when these last couple years of almost total isolation started. I gripped my coffee mug to try and slow the spinning in my head.
“Eli,” I started carefully, “what do you mean, you raise undead kids?”
“Look, I know how it sounds. It would honestly just be easier if you met them. Would you like to? I mean, they might bite, just heads up,” he said, half-smirking.
“I... sure. Yeah, why not?”
I sat back bewildered, wondering if Eli was going to lead his hallucinations into the room by the hand. Would I play along and then need to make a call for a 51/50? I winced at the thought and bit the inside of my cheek. I’d been there, had that done to me more than a few times. It wasn’t a good time. But I couldn’t let my best friend, my brother, stay locked in his house convinced that what- he was raising a bunch of zombie kids?
Eli just nodded and pushed away from the table, softly padding up the carpeted stairs to the second floor. I heard him knock, and then call out.
***continued in comments*** | "I dont know if im ready" Lissandra looked up into the mans kind blue eyes.
"Ik its a lot to take in but yoh cant just go live a normal life. You and I found eachother for a reason and I can help you live a safe and enjoyable life." Lissandra gulped down the lump in her throat considering the strangers words. He was correct after all its not like she could run back to parents. She nodded at him as confidently as she could muster and he reached out a hand to lead her to their ride. After a long drive they arrived at what looked like a castle. How had she never known this existed? They walked through the doorsand she was instintly greeted by kids of all ages, some in better condintion than others. The man walked her over to a boy.
"This is Samuel. He can show you around." The man placed a hand on Sams shoulder before walking off. Sams eyes were so pale they looked white and his skin was faded looking but besides that he looked cute. Fluffy black hair and a strong jawline and he looked to be about Lissadras age. I walked with him as he pointed out room after room. Then he brought me upstairs to a door and said I could be his roomate if I wanted. I nodded seeing as he was the only one I knew there and started unloading my questions on him.
"Do we still age? Do we live here forever now? What exactly are we? Zombies?...." I continued on for a few minutes sitting on the bed to the left as I kept talking. He sat across from me on his bed and started explaining what my new life was going to be like. I wondered if I would be grateful for this second chance or mad at whover did this to me, but right now I was just confused and filled with curiosity. |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | Something was wrong with Eli.
Something *had* to be wrong with Eli. He’d barely left his house the last couple years straight, and I’d known him since middle school. Whenever he’d meet up with our group of friends- or lately, just me for coffee or a drink, which usually took quite a bit of a convincing- he looked out of it. Sick, maybe. His dark blonde hair was growing into unruly curls around his ears, his cheekbones and jawline were much sharper than they ever had been, his faded band t-shirts hung off his shoulders, and he had an impossibly far away look in eyes.
Most of all, he always needed to get back home. He’d tug at his lip ring and tell me the same thing, every time. A routine chant.
“I’m sorry, dude. I know. And it’s not that I don’t wanna hang out. But I need to go home. I need to.”
Drugs, I’d decided, driving towards his house on a dreary autumn morning, catching the stray red-orange-yellow of leaves out of the corner of my eyes.
It had to be drugs. Eli had never been a big drinker, not even in high school when for most of us, scoring a twelve pack felt like an Olympic gold medal feat. But it had to be drugs- this isolation, that was much more than simply introversion, how he always looked more slender and pale than the last time I saw him, the apologetic insistence to be home.
*And it’s not that I don’t wanna hang out. But I need to go home. I need to.*
I accelerated a little. I was ready for anything, I’d decided. Whatever state the house was in. Whatever state he was in. Bottles of pills. Needles. I’d seen it before. I knew it well. I bit the inside of my cheek. Seven years sober, and my nephews still didn’t know I existed. I knew it well. And I wasn’t gonna let him fall any deeper, no matter how much he might hate me for it in the moment.
No, I was gonna go over there. We were gonna talk, even if he had to sleep it off first. And then we’d make a plan. I wouldn’t force him into anything, recovery doesn’t work like that. But we’d make a plan, together. And I’d help drag him out, just like he’d dragged me out all those years ago, in that patient way he had, when I’d lost so many other people.
I turned left at the stop sign and onto Eli’s street, a drive I’d made countless times, but only for our half-forced morning coffee or weekend beer meetups. I hadn’t been inside the little, but very nice two-bedroom since I’d helped him move in our senior year of college. I knew he’d worked his ass off for it. Something remote, something to do with IT I’d never fully understood. Tech wasn’t exactly my strong suit.
“*This is it. Get out. Knock. You’re ready for whatever’s in there. It’s Eli.*” I reminded myself, gravel crunching under my tires as I pulled into the driveway, parked my car, and got out, taking a deep breath.
I paused at the door. Maybe I should’ve texted him. Maybe I should’ve brought it up when we’d grabbed coffee a couple weeks ago. Maybe crashing his solo, spiraling party wasn’t the best way to do this.
I knocked anyway.
I waited almost a minute, faintly heard a door close, and then Eli answered.
Eli answered. Just... Eli. With his dark blonde curls down to the back of his neck, some matching stubble, barefoot with sweatpants and a very Eli-esque faded punk band t-shirt hanging off his shoulders, collarbones peaking out, holding a mug of coffee. The dude didn’t look great, but my anxious fantasies of Narcan and picking him up out of a pile of his own puke were certainly fading.
“Miles? You’re uh. Is everybody okay?” Eli asked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.
“I-“ for a second, I had to gather my thoughts. I hadn’t considered I might make him think there’d been some awful tragedy with my unannounced, early morning arrival.
“-yeah. Yeah bro, everyone’s okay. Look. I’ve just been really worried about you, and I’m tired of pretending everything seems okay about how you’ve been acting. So I came over to check in. I mainly just wanted to talk for a bit, if that’s okay.”
Eli took a deep breath. “Yeah. You’ll have to hear me out, but yeah. Let’s hit the kitchen. Coffee?”
“That’s my plan. Uh, sure. Can I put a gross amount of sugar in it?”
He rolled his eyes, he never liked my coffee decisions. He was a bit of a coffee purist.
“Pick your poison. Granulated, simple syrup, creamer, milk. Go crazy.”
He opened the door and I followed him to his kitchen island, noting that the place was in great condition, for someone spiraling. The hardwood floors were clean, the counters were organized. I noted a pillow and a tangle of blankets over on the bigger couch in front of the TV and a bunch of plates and cups sitting in the sink, but half the time my place looked a hell of a lot worse.
I was, in Eli’s words, going crazy with my coffee additions, sitting at one of the four barstools around his kitchen island and wondering how to phrase things, when he started for me.
“You think I’m depressed. Or on drugs or something.”
“I... yeah. I do.” I said, figuring we’d known each other more than long enough for me to be completely straight with him. I’d long regarded him as a brother. “I’m worried about you, and I just wanna help. I get it. I’m not gonna force you to do anything. But, you saw how it got with me. I’m worried, dude. I love ya.”
Something flashed across his face, something I wasn’t sure how to read.
“Love ya too, dumbass.” That had always been our reply to one another, with a half-grin. But his smile looked softer this morning. Maybe sad, worried. It was hard to read him lately, and at one point I would’ve sworn we were telepathic.
“I know that it looks like that. And I appreciate it. But I’m not depressed. And I’m not on drugs. I’ve got uh, a... thing going on. That I’m taking caring of. It’s taking up most of my time. All of my time. I’ll explain it, if you promise to just hear me out. Because it’s going to sound absolutely insane. So, please. Just hear me out.”
That same look I couldn’t read at the doorway flashed across his face again as he rubbed his temple, and then switched to tugging at his lip ring. A nervous habit since he’d gotten it from a friend of a friend of a friend who did piercings in high school.
“Okay. I mean, good. I love being wrong in this scenario. Whatever it is, I’m all ears.”
I sat back on my stool, truly glad if I was wrong, but pretty damn confused.
“You remember Robbie, right? Into all that weird occult shit. It was too much, even for me.”
I nodded. Robbie was his half-brother, he’d died a few years ago. Weird circumstances. Died in a train tunnel, there’d been pentagrams and that kinda thing spray painted on the scene, rumors they’d been carved into his body, too. Weird circumstances in life, too. Kinda guy who had dusty books in ancient languages, wanted to drunkenly talk you into blood rituals.
At heart, we were both still punk rock kids with mohawks, jumping blocked off staircases on our skateboards and running from cops, and getting noise complaints called on us for our attempts at forming a band- but Robbie had been too much for me, too.
“Robbie... he played around with powers he didn’t understand. Or he understood, but he didn’t care. And I’ve got the results of that.” Eli chose his words slowly and carefully, and I had no idea what he meant.
He spun his coffee mug around on the table a few times, took a sip, and sighed. I waited.
“He used spells. Spells, and oaths, and rituals. It was a mess. Things I don’t look into too far, things I don’t mess with. For lack of a better word, he was a necromancer. A young, irresponsible, cruel one at that. He died like- you know the story. Kinda what happens when you play around with the sort of shit he was playing around with. Our mom had already died a couple years earlier, so she never knew the extent, I was the only one to help his boyfriend clear out his old place. His ex was terrified, and bolted, never heard from him again. I mean, which is fair. So um, I-“
Eli tugged at his lip ring and met my eyes for the first time in awhile, the same muted green I’d always known, but something in them seemed almost protective.
“I- raise the undead kids.”
He shook his head, quickly continuing. “Not like him, of course. I mean I’m the one who takes care of them. There’s nobody else that would. And Robbie didn’t realize these were *children*, *real kids* he was messing with!”
He finished with a hint of real anger behind his words, a tone I rarely heard from Eli, and then sat back to judge my reaction, tugging at his lip ring from time to time.
My stomach fell into my knees, and I felt my mouth go dry. Was he hallucinating? Delusional? Both? I scanned my brain desperately for my Psych 101 knowledge. *Schizophrenia, onset in men generally ages 18-25.* He was a year younger than me, so he would’ve been 25 when Robbie died, right when these last couple years of almost total isolation started. I gripped my coffee mug to try and slow the spinning in my head.
“Eli,” I started carefully, “what do you mean, you raise undead kids?”
“Look, I know how it sounds. It would honestly just be easier if you met them. Would you like to? I mean, they might bite, just heads up,” he said, half-smirking.
“I... sure. Yeah, why not?”
I sat back bewildered, wondering if Eli was going to lead his hallucinations into the room by the hand. Would I play along and then need to make a call for a 51/50? I winced at the thought and bit the inside of my cheek. I’d been there, had that done to me more than a few times. It wasn’t a good time. But I couldn’t let my best friend, my brother, stay locked in his house convinced that what- he was raising a bunch of zombie kids?
Eli just nodded and pushed away from the table, softly padding up the carpeted stairs to the second floor. I heard him knock, and then call out.
***continued in comments*** | "First up is Aiden," she said, gesturing to a boy who looked to be in his teens. Compared to some of the other kids, he didn't look to bad, with only a few cuts and bruises on his arms and legs. "He doesn't like people that much, so be sure not to get too close.
"Next is Samantha. She's a bit shy, but a real sweetheart when she opens up to people." Samantha looked to be about 7 or 8 years old. Her left eye was missing, and a good portion of her stomach was missing, guts and all, leaving her spine visible.
"Here we have William, who's a little bit energetic and kinda annoying sometimes, though you get used to it." William looked to be close to 10 or 12. He was an African-American boy, with his right hand severed at the wrist and half of his face severely burnt up. Despite this, he had a bright smile on his face and was bursting with enthusiasm.
"And finally," she pointed over to a boy - about 15 or so - huddling in a corner, gently rocking back and forth. "There's Jack. We tend to leave him alone, since he can be violent sometimes. Definitely keep your distance from him"
Finally, she turned to me and stood. I had to look up to make eye-contact with her. She spoke to me:
"So, you think you can take the job? It won't be easy, that's for sure. Are you absolutely positive that this is what you want?"
I thought for a moment. No doubt, I didn't really think that this is what she meant by "raising undead children." However, I had signed up for the job, and I wasn't about to back out now.
I looked her dead in the eyes, those sunken in white eyes staring back just as intensely.
"Yes, I'll do it."
She grinned. "Very well, then." |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | Something was wrong with Eli.
Something *had* to be wrong with Eli. He’d barely left his house the last couple years straight, and I’d known him since middle school. Whenever he’d meet up with our group of friends- or lately, just me for coffee or a drink, which usually took quite a bit of a convincing- he looked out of it. Sick, maybe. His dark blonde hair was growing into unruly curls around his ears, his cheekbones and jawline were much sharper than they ever had been, his faded band t-shirts hung off his shoulders, and he had an impossibly far away look in eyes.
Most of all, he always needed to get back home. He’d tug at his lip ring and tell me the same thing, every time. A routine chant.
“I’m sorry, dude. I know. And it’s not that I don’t wanna hang out. But I need to go home. I need to.”
Drugs, I’d decided, driving towards his house on a dreary autumn morning, catching the stray red-orange-yellow of leaves out of the corner of my eyes.
It had to be drugs. Eli had never been a big drinker, not even in high school when for most of us, scoring a twelve pack felt like an Olympic gold medal feat. But it had to be drugs- this isolation, that was much more than simply introversion, how he always looked more slender and pale than the last time I saw him, the apologetic insistence to be home.
*And it’s not that I don’t wanna hang out. But I need to go home. I need to.*
I accelerated a little. I was ready for anything, I’d decided. Whatever state the house was in. Whatever state he was in. Bottles of pills. Needles. I’d seen it before. I knew it well. I bit the inside of my cheek. Seven years sober, and my nephews still didn’t know I existed. I knew it well. And I wasn’t gonna let him fall any deeper, no matter how much he might hate me for it in the moment.
No, I was gonna go over there. We were gonna talk, even if he had to sleep it off first. And then we’d make a plan. I wouldn’t force him into anything, recovery doesn’t work like that. But we’d make a plan, together. And I’d help drag him out, just like he’d dragged me out all those years ago, in that patient way he had, when I’d lost so many other people.
I turned left at the stop sign and onto Eli’s street, a drive I’d made countless times, but only for our half-forced morning coffee or weekend beer meetups. I hadn’t been inside the little, but very nice two-bedroom since I’d helped him move in our senior year of college. I knew he’d worked his ass off for it. Something remote, something to do with IT I’d never fully understood. Tech wasn’t exactly my strong suit.
“*This is it. Get out. Knock. You’re ready for whatever’s in there. It’s Eli.*” I reminded myself, gravel crunching under my tires as I pulled into the driveway, parked my car, and got out, taking a deep breath.
I paused at the door. Maybe I should’ve texted him. Maybe I should’ve brought it up when we’d grabbed coffee a couple weeks ago. Maybe crashing his solo, spiraling party wasn’t the best way to do this.
I knocked anyway.
I waited almost a minute, faintly heard a door close, and then Eli answered.
Eli answered. Just... Eli. With his dark blonde curls down to the back of his neck, some matching stubble, barefoot with sweatpants and a very Eli-esque faded punk band t-shirt hanging off his shoulders, collarbones peaking out, holding a mug of coffee. The dude didn’t look great, but my anxious fantasies of Narcan and picking him up out of a pile of his own puke were certainly fading.
“Miles? You’re uh. Is everybody okay?” Eli asked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.
“I-“ for a second, I had to gather my thoughts. I hadn’t considered I might make him think there’d been some awful tragedy with my unannounced, early morning arrival.
“-yeah. Yeah bro, everyone’s okay. Look. I’ve just been really worried about you, and I’m tired of pretending everything seems okay about how you’ve been acting. So I came over to check in. I mainly just wanted to talk for a bit, if that’s okay.”
Eli took a deep breath. “Yeah. You’ll have to hear me out, but yeah. Let’s hit the kitchen. Coffee?”
“That’s my plan. Uh, sure. Can I put a gross amount of sugar in it?”
He rolled his eyes, he never liked my coffee decisions. He was a bit of a coffee purist.
“Pick your poison. Granulated, simple syrup, creamer, milk. Go crazy.”
He opened the door and I followed him to his kitchen island, noting that the place was in great condition, for someone spiraling. The hardwood floors were clean, the counters were organized. I noted a pillow and a tangle of blankets over on the bigger couch in front of the TV and a bunch of plates and cups sitting in the sink, but half the time my place looked a hell of a lot worse.
I was, in Eli’s words, going crazy with my coffee additions, sitting at one of the four barstools around his kitchen island and wondering how to phrase things, when he started for me.
“You think I’m depressed. Or on drugs or something.”
“I... yeah. I do.” I said, figuring we’d known each other more than long enough for me to be completely straight with him. I’d long regarded him as a brother. “I’m worried about you, and I just wanna help. I get it. I’m not gonna force you to do anything. But, you saw how it got with me. I’m worried, dude. I love ya.”
Something flashed across his face, something I wasn’t sure how to read.
“Love ya too, dumbass.” That had always been our reply to one another, with a half-grin. But his smile looked softer this morning. Maybe sad, worried. It was hard to read him lately, and at one point I would’ve sworn we were telepathic.
“I know that it looks like that. And I appreciate it. But I’m not depressed. And I’m not on drugs. I’ve got uh, a... thing going on. That I’m taking caring of. It’s taking up most of my time. All of my time. I’ll explain it, if you promise to just hear me out. Because it’s going to sound absolutely insane. So, please. Just hear me out.”
That same look I couldn’t read at the doorway flashed across his face again as he rubbed his temple, and then switched to tugging at his lip ring. A nervous habit since he’d gotten it from a friend of a friend of a friend who did piercings in high school.
“Okay. I mean, good. I love being wrong in this scenario. Whatever it is, I’m all ears.”
I sat back on my stool, truly glad if I was wrong, but pretty damn confused.
“You remember Robbie, right? Into all that weird occult shit. It was too much, even for me.”
I nodded. Robbie was his half-brother, he’d died a few years ago. Weird circumstances. Died in a train tunnel, there’d been pentagrams and that kinda thing spray painted on the scene, rumors they’d been carved into his body, too. Weird circumstances in life, too. Kinda guy who had dusty books in ancient languages, wanted to drunkenly talk you into blood rituals.
At heart, we were both still punk rock kids with mohawks, jumping blocked off staircases on our skateboards and running from cops, and getting noise complaints called on us for our attempts at forming a band- but Robbie had been too much for me, too.
“Robbie... he played around with powers he didn’t understand. Or he understood, but he didn’t care. And I’ve got the results of that.” Eli chose his words slowly and carefully, and I had no idea what he meant.
He spun his coffee mug around on the table a few times, took a sip, and sighed. I waited.
“He used spells. Spells, and oaths, and rituals. It was a mess. Things I don’t look into too far, things I don’t mess with. For lack of a better word, he was a necromancer. A young, irresponsible, cruel one at that. He died like- you know the story. Kinda what happens when you play around with the sort of shit he was playing around with. Our mom had already died a couple years earlier, so she never knew the extent, I was the only one to help his boyfriend clear out his old place. His ex was terrified, and bolted, never heard from him again. I mean, which is fair. So um, I-“
Eli tugged at his lip ring and met my eyes for the first time in awhile, the same muted green I’d always known, but something in them seemed almost protective.
“I- raise the undead kids.”
He shook his head, quickly continuing. “Not like him, of course. I mean I’m the one who takes care of them. There’s nobody else that would. And Robbie didn’t realize these were *children*, *real kids* he was messing with!”
He finished with a hint of real anger behind his words, a tone I rarely heard from Eli, and then sat back to judge my reaction, tugging at his lip ring from time to time.
My stomach fell into my knees, and I felt my mouth go dry. Was he hallucinating? Delusional? Both? I scanned my brain desperately for my Psych 101 knowledge. *Schizophrenia, onset in men generally ages 18-25.* He was a year younger than me, so he would’ve been 25 when Robbie died, right when these last couple years of almost total isolation started. I gripped my coffee mug to try and slow the spinning in my head.
“Eli,” I started carefully, “what do you mean, you raise undead kids?”
“Look, I know how it sounds. It would honestly just be easier if you met them. Would you like to? I mean, they might bite, just heads up,” he said, half-smirking.
“I... sure. Yeah, why not?”
I sat back bewildered, wondering if Eli was going to lead his hallucinations into the room by the hand. Would I play along and then need to make a call for a 51/50? I winced at the thought and bit the inside of my cheek. I’d been there, had that done to me more than a few times. It wasn’t a good time. But I couldn’t let my best friend, my brother, stay locked in his house convinced that what- he was raising a bunch of zombie kids?
Eli just nodded and pushed away from the table, softly padding up the carpeted stairs to the second floor. I heard him knock, and then call out.
***continued in comments*** | "I raise undead children," Ann spoke while peeling an apple.
"You what?!" I was only minding my language because of her step-daughter. I couldn't believe in my sister's stupidity. That was the most irresponsible thing to do. And the worse mess to clean."
"Don't worry, I'm not raising anyone from the dead. You've shown me your stances on that very clear. Very." She rolled her eyes on that. After all, she was a witch that wasn't afraid of trying anything. "It's only... You know how I was always bringing hurt animals to the house and we would care for them until they healed and could survive in the wild?"
"You digress."
"I'm not. Either way. Stupid young necromancers raise from dead kids. I only try to... help them survive in the wild... What can I do when my motherly instinct kicks in seeing such sweet little angels?" she pinched her daughter's cheek.
My body froze. My sister tended to ramble and digress, but I could always follow her rants. So I did not misinterpret that, I didn't even put recklessly faith in that. I only became aware of a girl sitting on my lap that turned to me with a big smile on her face. I noticed the oddness of her paleness. The crow's feet like marks around her eyes.
"Geez, like it's the first time you're meeting them," Ann sighed. "Suzie is a well-behaved child after all. Aren't you, sweety?" Ann patted the girl and she leaned into a caress. "But the others... oh, well, they bite sometimes. A lot, but who can blame them. My poor babies." Her hand moved and cupped the girl's cheek. "Deary, go and play with others. We'll join you in a minute."
"Why did you tell me this now?" I asked when the doors closed after the girl.
"I had to one day... I was afraid of what would you do."
"So you did it when I no longer could do anything?"
I tried. I tried to put my thoughts in order. Put a plan of what to do. As always when cleaning after irresponsible witches. But I couldn't. I loved these kids with my whole heart. Ann was right - they were like the strays she used to bring home. They could bite you and look odd, but they needed care and gave back so much love.
They were not undeads. They were my nieces and nephews.
"Yeah," Ann spoke coming back to peeling apples. "I said it when you could no longer do anything about it." |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | Linda nervously raised her fist to the dilapidated door, knocking softly. She waited thirty seconds, and with a sigh of relief, turned around. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘮. Her relief was short lived, though, as moments later a woman's voice rang out from the yard.
"Can I help you?" "Oh yes.. um I'm Linda, I'm with the government. There has been reports of undead at this address." Linda got her first look at the woman, and jumped back in shock. She was tall, skinny and was missing an eye, an arm, and had light green skin. "That's a normal reaction," said the woman chuckling dryly. "You can call me.. Sarah. I am undead as you have clearly noticed, however we really prefer 'living differently'. I raise forgotten children of my own kind."
"Well ma'am, may I speak with you inside?" "I'm afraid not," Sarah said, moving aside so Linda could see the gaggle of children behind her. "We are on our way to the beach, for our once a month beach day. The children really do look forward to it. You are welcome to join, of course." Linda swallowed nervously, eyeing the nearest child, a girl of about ten. She had short ratty brown hair and blue lips, as well as blue tinted skin. "Um.. why not?" Linda fell into step with Sarah, and off they went.
* * *
"Why is she avoiding the water like that?"
Linda was staring at the girl with the blue skin. She would look into the waves as if mesmerized, and then jump back like the water burned her. "It's really quite sad," Sarah started from under her giant black umbrella. "Kate drowned here about 50 years ago. She would wade in to look for sea creatures, and no one noticed when she disappeared." Linda's stomach twisted and a wave of nausea spread through her. "That's terrible! Why would you bring her here?" Sarah shifted, as if uncomfortable. "She asks to come here. Kate used to come here with her family, and I guess she wants that reminder of her past life."
"I have to go." Linda jumped up and took off, struggling through the sand. "Wait! Are we in any danger?" Sarah called out. "... No. The house was empty. Just someone... With an overactive imagination." The two women smiled at each other, knowing they had reached an unspoken understanding. | "Oh, I know exactly what you mean," says the tall, dark man - his hair so red that it looks black. "That's the trouble, Once they're dead, when they're raised they have no spirit or soul. They're no longer human."
The elder necromancer raises an eyebrow - two or three of the nine younger assistants behind him shuffling nervously from foot to foot. They know the truth. So does the elder.
"It's why I delayed my departure after all those years of sleep. I'll have to sleep again, but I can't leave this..." He looks beyond the elder to the nine. One has his hand on the hilt of his sword. He knows, They know. ",,,menace."
Saint Steward, the elder necromancer, smiles. "There are ten of us and but one of you." SLAAAAAAAAAAAAASH...faster than the eye can follow he draws his blade - thin, jagged, black edges glistening with a darkness that lags behind its motion - slices the visitor across the throat. As he falls, Saint Steward continues. "And you have no weapon."
The young assistant removes his hand from the sword hilt.
"I need no weapon." The visitor's voice comes from behind the nine assistants. The elder turns as they all turn. "I am a weapon."
The nine draw, swords - black like Saint Steward's but with perhaps a little lesser flowing darkness - slice at the visitor, but he blocks with his arms, now covered in dark red armor scales.
The elder eyes the body he had just slashed, killed. It's melting into a dusty soup. He grasps the dark crystal held by a chain around his neck, He chants something under his breath.
The visitor blocks, swords break. One skull is bashed off its shoulders, the body crumpling to the ground. A sword is driven through a chest as the arm holding the sword snaps. A tall assistant sees his chance, slashes down to split the visitor's skull in two. But the visitor catches the blade in his hand, pulls the sword away from its wielder. He falls forward, off balance before he loses his grip. The visitor drives the sword, hilt first, through the assistant's chest.
"Enough!" shouts Saint Steward. The remaining six assistants fall back behind the elder. He still clutches his crystal.
"Whatever trickery you use, it won't help your cause." But the visitor doesn't wait for the elder to finish. He grabs and flings on of the fallen bodies at the six who duck, but one not quickly enough. He falls under the weight of the body - he's knocked out, perhaps dead.
The undead children watch from the upper stories. They lick their lips at the prospect of...disposing...of those bodies.
"Dispatch him," the elder whispers as a dark mist rises from the ground between him and the visitor. The mist swirls and surges forward, taking the shape of something big, winged as it lunges at the visitor. He backs away until the door to the dank building lets him go no further.
Saint Steward chuckles. "Your only gaining seconds."
As the misty, winged shape crosses the remaining distance, the visitor breathes in - preparing for death. He breathes out as the mist reaches him - a sandy tumult erupts from his mouth. It breaks the mist, dispersing it, continuing to the elder and his nine assistants - three formerly dead, two headless, not standing with the rest.
Darkness surrounds Saint Steward, and lesser darkness surrounds the remaining six living assistants. The sand storm envelopes the group. The dead three dissolve at once. The other six scream as their black cocoons shrink - at last the sand reaches them, grinds the flesh off them. Bodies fall.
At last the visitor closes his mouth - his breath and the sand storm finished.
Saint Steward emerges from his dark cocoon. He glances at the fallen nine. "They'll just rejoin me again..."
The visitor breathes - this time blue flame erupts from his mouth. Saint Steward can't get his black cocoon around himself fast enough - the flames devour him.
Necromancers in this word are resilient, masters of death, and in a twisted way, life. Saint Steward's body is smouldering on the ground. But a dark cocoon melts away from his now disembodied head. It stares up at the visitor who approaches. He crushes the skull with a mighty stomp. Now Saint Steward is dead.
"If you're going to fight, fight, don't..."
The visitor whirls at the sound of the door opening. As the first undead child's foot crosses the threshold, the visitor breathes again - red flames explode from his mouth, erupt through the door, rush over the threshold, through the open doorway.
Moments later a terrible fire rages in the stone building, once Saint Steward's home for undead children, now a stone oven cooking and destroying the abominations inside. The visitor will wait for the fires to subside, and then he will check to ensure all the undead children are destroyed, This task has cost him his return home - eight more years of sleep, perhaps more if there are surprises inside. He might as well make sure the job is finished. |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | "I'm Esme, with the Government of Magi, Chronus branch, Incidents department. I've heard some...disturbing rumors. May I come in?" Esme asked- Elliot thought that she looked like a very kind person, who was doing her very best to look stern.
"May I ask the details?" Elliot replied, stalling for time. He knew why the Magocracy was here- he just wanted to tally up how many crimes he could potentially be arrested for.
"This area was infested with Necromancers during the Chrono Magus Incident some six years ago. I've heard that there are undead here. That means the return of Necros- and I will *not* allow that filthy branch of magic to be practiced again."
Oh. That wasn't...exactly what he had expected.
"I- look. I'm going to put some faith in you, here, Esme." Elliot said.
"You shouldn't." Her face was hardened into thin lines- her lips were drawn back, her brows furrowed.
"I am a former Admiral of the Magocratic Army- first legion. I was one of the first soldiers to join up, and I rose my way through the ranks during the Divine War, and then through the Necro incident. I've abandoned my post."
Esme arched a single eyebrow. Even though he was fully aware that Esme could kill him on the spot- and that was terrifying- he also couldn't help but notice how lovely her olive-and-honey brown skin was. Maybe that was because he could tell she was kind, and wasn't truly worried?
"I went A.W.O.L about two years after the incident with the Necros, because...well, to be honest, that incident took many, many innocent lives."
"You have the battle-echos?" Esme asked.
"Well, yes- but moreso than that- my men in the First Legion caused some collateral damage during the battle- an orphanage. Their unquiet souls followed me, knowing that they had died as a direct result of my orders. They didn't quite *haunt* me, but the children were very unhappy."
"Get to the point." Esme said, her voice cold and even.
"I made the pilgrimage back here, abandoning my duty. I tried to quiet the children, tried to do what they wanted. They wanted to return to life. I couldn't do that- but, one Necromancer survived that battle. He could. He could give the children a chance at living, and experiencing, and growing- all the things I robbed them of." His voice broke.
"You've reanimated the children." Esme said, breathlessly.
"They're all wonderful children. They- they just wanted a chance to live again. Here, come and meet them, they are safe, I promise." He said, guiding Esme within.
"Where is the Necromancer?" She demanded to know.
"He passed away- Necromancers tend to die young, and he was no exception. His name was Lowell, if that helps your records at all."
Esme laid eyes on a group of children- they were gathered around a table, playing some kind of card game. They looked up at her and smiled warmly- aside from the scars on their skin, they looked just like the other children in the capital. Esme relaxed...just a little.
"Have you brought us more food, Elliot?" One of the children asked.
"Yes." Elliot said, feeling the weight of his axe as it slipped into his palm. Esme didn't have time to turn around.
-----------------------------------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes would be cooler with you in it :) | "I must ask," the young cidamancer, Adena, said behind a nervous chuckle, "what made you take up that line of work? I mean, the tenets of our order are quite clear on how to deal with the undead..."
Her two erstwhile drinking companions exchanged grinning glances. The long-haired Chester replied, "Are the _tenets_ clear, or was your instructor's _translation_ clear?"
The young woman closed her mouth lest she speak and sound a fool.
The other elder cidamancer, bald and bearded Bartholomaus, reasoned, "They're still just children, you know. Quite delightful little devils, once you get to know them. They love life. _Would_ you like to meet them?"
"I don't think so," Adena tergiversated, fumbling to take another gulp of her ale. "I'm trained to _kill_ the undead. And I'm not fond of kids. But, uh, you're quite selfless to adopt so many..."
"Oh, there's only three right now," Chester grinned. "The last cidamancer we met killed the others."
"Until Sally bit him, of course. Turned him into a vampire," Bartholomaus added.
"Yeah, then we killed _him_--in accordance with the tenets."
"Of course. We're proper cidamancers."
The two men beamed jovially at Adena. Giving them each a hard stare, she promptly stood up to leave without another word.
Watching the young cidamancer depart, the two older men laughed heartily together. "I think she got the message," Chester grinned, taking another swig of his ale.
"Think she'll bring it before the Collection?" Bartholomaus asked, leaning forward on his elbows.
"Didn't you see the look on her face?" Chester snorted. "She's pegged us as traitors who intentionally lure in cidamancers to kill them once they turn. Of _course_ she'll tell the Collection."
Adena did not, in fact, tell the Collection. Instead, when she stepped out of the tavern, she turned and swept into the darkened alleyway across the street. Huddled in an alcove was a small, dark bundle. It quivered and hissed as Adena approached.
"It's okay, it's just me," Adena whispered reassuringly, crouching before the small pile of rags. They shifted, and then a young girl extricated herself from the swathes of cloth. Her hair was bedraggled and her skin pocked, and a flat, lifeless look clouded her eyes. Saliva dribbled down her cheek as she tried to smile at Adena.
"My sweet baby sister," Adena smiled, grabbing the undead little girl's cold hands in her own. "I think I found two people who can protect you. And who might be willing to help me find the person who did this to you."
~
From the darkened alley beside the tavern, two blood-red eyes glowed in the shadows, watching the young cidamancer duck into the passage across the street.
~
When the two adoptive fathers left the tavern later that night, they were surprised to see Adena waiting for them just a short ways down the street. "Look at that," Bartholomaus mused. "She didn't run off."
"Might be one of the foolish ones who want to take us down herself," Chester shrugged, watching her shrewdly as he and Bartholomaus neared her.
"She didn't strike me as a fool," Bartholomaus tempered.
As they came abreast of the young woman, she stepped into their path. The two men stopped, appearing entirely unconcerned but deftly reaching for their belts, where the defensive talismans hung in leather pouches.
Narrowing her eyes, Adena asked in a low voice, "Were you telling the truth about keeping undead children?"
The two men exchanged glances. With a lighthearted grin, Chester relied, "Quite. Changed your mind about meeting them? They'd love to meet _you_. Sally got a taste for flesh and all."
Adena studied them for a long moment, breathing heavily from nervousness. Then she whispered, "Can I trust you?"
That caught the two men off guard. They exchanged glances again, Bartholomaus raising his eyebrow and Chester shrugging. Looking back at the young woman, Bartholomaus said carefully, "We told you the truth tonight, friend."
Her lower lip quivered, but she stilled it and lifted her chin. "But can I _trust_ you? Do you _hurt_ the children, or do you _protect_ them?"
Chester finally caught on, and his eyes widened. "You have kept one, too?" he asked quietly.
Gripping her hands into fists, Adena snarled, "One of the members of the Collection is not a cidamancer, but a necromancer. They brought my little sister back from the dead for some horrible ritual they were planning in secret."
Bartholomaus darted forward and clapped a hand over her mouth before she could shout in surprise. Leaning close to her face, he hissed, "When did you find out about Gaelior?"
Pulling away from him, she asked, "You know who it is?"
"Why do you think we wanted you to warn the Collection about us?" Chester snapped. "We're trying to find him--and he would be the first to show up to gather more undead kids for his dark schemes! He wouldn't leave the protection of the Conclave for anything else."
"But if she stole an undead child from under his nose--" Bartholomaus muttered.
"--he may have left to retrieve her," Chester finished, staring at his friend with dark portent.
A cold wave of fear swept through Adena. Wrenching herself away from the two cidamancers, she sprinted for the alcove where her sister was hiding.
"Adena, wait!" Chester shouted, and the two men ran after her.
Adena pulled up short when she reached the alcove, gaping in horror. Standing before her baby sister was a tall, slender figure swathed in a dark cloak. "Get away from her!" she screamed, fumbling for offensive talismans in her belt pouch. The dark figure turned to look over his shoulder at her, and she was frozen in fear by the blood-red eyes glaring with malice.
Stretching out pale fingers, the necromancer held out a small, wooden disk with an ancient rune burned into its surface. "Punishment for stealing my property," he hissed, and the carved rune burned bright red.
Adena screamed as pain seared through every vein, as if burning her from the inside out. Her spine arched back as she clawed helplessly at the air, lost in the agony.
Chester caught her before she fell, and Bartholomaus darted forward with a talisman ready. "You will pay for your crimes, Gaelior!" he shouted, the talisman burning green. Ghostly shapes appeared around the necromancer, humming and chanting a mystic song just out of the regular hearing range of humans. But the necromancer had been twisted by his dark magics so that he was no longer quite human. He heard the song clearly.
Crying out in pain, Gaelior clapped his hands over his ears, trying to stumble away from the apparitions. Fumbling at his belt, he drew out another talisman and dispelled the charm.
Bartholomaus reached for the small undead girl huddled fearfully before Gaelior, intending to carry her to safety, but Gaelior dove at him with a furious snarl. A glint of metal caught Bartholomaus' eye, and he jumped back as the necromancer slashed at him with a small dagger. "Chester!" Bartholomaus shouted. "Little help?"
Chester finished casting his healing charm over Adena and left her lying on the ground to recover. Drawing a small sword from beneath his cloak, he charged into the fray to help his friend. He and Gaelior clashed, and despite Chester's advantage of a sword, Gaelior had inhuman speed, giving him an edge in their parry. As the two fought, Bartholomaus retrieved the little undead girl.
Sparks flew as Chester found himself being pushed back. He gasped for breath, barely able to keep up with Gaelior's attacks. But he and Bartholomaus had been after the necromancer for so many years that he refused to let himself be beaten. Shifting his stance, he hacked wildly at the necromancer with one hand while he fumbled for his talisman pouch with the other. Necromancers were particularly tough to kill, since they were not exactly undead, but cidamancers were well-trained. One of the lesser-known tenets described exactly which runes to use--and Chester still had one left.
Gaelior noticed him reaching for a talisman and quickly did the same, withdrawing a talisman of agony. It burned dark violet when he held it up.
[Continued in comment] |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | Kevin kicked himself for mentioning the zombie-kids so early in the date. The woman sitting across from him, Tara, was *way* out of his league. He did not want to blow it. They were still squarely in the small-talk phase of the night, and undead children are distinctly *not* small-talk material. So *stupid,* he thought.
Tara had gone quiet. He needed to salvage this, fast.
“To be clear, they're not *my* kids,” Kevin explained. "It’s more like a nursery that I run for undead children.”
“Oh I see," Tara said, visibly relieved. "Sorry if I seemed taken aback, I’m just not ready for that kind of responsibility. A nursery, though, *that* makes sense. You're basically a teacher.”
“Right! It's exactly like a nursery, except I work from home.”
“So you care for these children out of your house?”
“Yep. They’re undead, so no one's interested in sponsoring any type of facility, or helping at all for that matter. So I work out of my house.”
Tara's face fell. "There's no one else helping you? You don't have a staff?"
"No staff, just a *cane.*" Kevin said, pausing for a laugh which never came. "Sorry, that was a joke. I do have a cane though. I walk fine, I just use it for when the kids get a little too chompy. Sorry, I'm rambling. Point is, it's just me and the kids. I've tried getting help, but there's not much sympathy for the undead. Everyone I talk to just tells me to bury them."
"So I had it right the first time," Tara said leaning back in her seat. "You're a parent to undead children.”
“What? A *parent?*" Kevin said, laughing at the thought. "No, no not at all. Sure, I feed and house them, but it's not like I tell them when to go to bed or do their homework. Admittedly that's because they don't sleep or go to school, but the point stands. I just care for them, you know? It's a charitable enterprise, that's all.”
“A charitable enterprise..." Tara said skeptically. "So how long are you planning to care for them? Until they’re grown?”
“Well they'll never *grow*, per se,” Kevin said scratching his head. "Decompose maybe, but they've been chugging along for years now. The youngest—Phyllis—she's real spritely. A real ball of energy that one. One time, I came home and my leather armchair was gone. Turned out she ate it, wooden frame and all. She'll outlive us all, I always say."
“Right..." Tara said, frowning. "Okay, so let me get this straight. You care for them out of your house, all by yourself, they never sleep or leave, and you can’t stop taking care of them because if you don't, no one else will?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Well that’s the definition of parenthood. A real bad case of parenthood, at that.”
Kevin thought for a moment then smiled. “Okay, you got me. I guess I am a parent."
Tara returned the smile. "So how many of them you got?"
"Technically six, but there's enough missing body parts between them that really it's closer to four."
Tara laughed. "You count the heads, not the limbs."
"In that case, five-and-a-half," Kevin said grinning. "Look if you want to cut the date short, I won't blame you. it wouldn't be the first time.”
“No, it’s fine," Tara said. "We might as well finish the meal. You never asked what I did for a living, you know.”
Kevin felt relieved to switch the topic. “Sorry, rude of me," he said. "So what is it that you do?”
“I’m a Paladin,” she said slowly, almost deliberately.
“Very cool!" Kevin replied enthusiastically. "Divine protector of the realm. I know a few other Paladins myself. All great people.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?”
“No reason," she said, seeming almost surprised. "Just checking. Some people are weird about it.”
Kevin smiled. "I have five-and-a-half zombie-kids, you can't out-weird me."
Tara laughed. The rest of the night went well. *Really* well. They talked, they laughed, the conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Tara told Kevin about her faith, about how when she was young she felt the touch of God and answered it—devoting her life to the cause. Kevin told her that’s how he felt when he first came across the kids, as if there was something greater than himself to serve.
When the check came, Kevin paid for it and Tara thanked him. He walked her back to her place, and hugged her goodbye. As he pulled away she held on, their eyes locked. Kevin went in for the kiss.
“Whoa,” Tara said, pushing Kevin's face away with the palm of her hand. “I’m a *Paladin,* remember? We’ve sworn off the flesh.”
“Oh right,” Kevin, said. "Until marriage, I forgot."
“No, no." Tara replied. "*Forever.*"
"Cool cool cool," Kevin said, pulling away. "Makes sense makes sense... All right well, good night!" Kevin flashed her double finger-guns before walking away.
When he got home, he told the zombie-children all about the terrible date he had. Phyllis listened patiently. When he finished, she patted his shoulder with the rotting dilapidated stump that was once a hand. "Ssssome p-p-people j-just haaaave so much baaaaaaggage."
***
 
Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Saint Fernando’s Home for the Damned was a sprawling affair, stretching out haphazardly across most of a city block. From its deepest tunnels to its highest peaks the orphanage was a window into another time, it was the oldest continually operating facility in the capital and it looked it.
As Yvette walked down the sidewalk to the building’s front gate she didn’t see its age however. She didn’t see the crumbling roof tiles of the main building, she looked past the rotted outbuildings and whithered trees. She was even able to studiously ignore the sidelong glances the city's mortal passersby gave her when they realized where she was headed.
To her Saint Fernando’s was home, and all of the things the city zoning board thought of as eyesores were lovely or at worst were simply accepted. Reaching the gate Yvette breezed through it with a muttered word of power, and on the other side the old world opened up in front of her.
Or it would have, if a camera crew hadn’t been in the way.
“You misunderstand sir,” Fernando was saying to a polished looking young reporter. “I don’t raise these children, irresponsible young necromancers do! Well, I raise them in the sense that I look out for them, try to teach them right from wrong, but I had no involvement in the summoning of a single child here. I’m merely a shepherd for the unwanted.”
Yvette winced at the word “shepherd.” Fernando was a good man, if eccentric. The orphanage had been his life’s work and for a life whose thread had been stretched so unnaturally long that was saying something. To the resident’s of the home Fernando had earned the right to his religious rhetoric, but truthfully he wasn’t neither a saint nor even particularly faithful to any creed. At best he’d been a paladin in his youth, and that was for a god who no longer even existed.
“Now Mr. Fernando, incidentally is that what I should be calling you? We don’t have your last name on file.”
“Young man, I predate last names.”
The report seemed taken aback by that. Undoubtedly he’d heard the stories but it was another thing entirely to actually meet the man behind the myth. With a desultory sigh Yvette stood off to the side, hopping on to the shattered bole of a fallen tree. She kicked her feet idly as she watched the show, the tips of her toes barely scraping the ground.
“Ahhmm, ah yes,” the reporter continued. He looked nervous. “I do have a question about your role in this whole necromantic summoning business. In recent months several accusations have been leveled at you of being an unwitting supporter of the death cults. Would you not say that your role here helps them? You function as a support system for the byproducts of their training programs after all.”
Fernando’s self control was a tenuous thing at the best of times and even from where she sat Yvette could see it slipping. There was a tremor in his right hand, his sword hand, and the fingertips of his left lightly sketched runes in the air. Their power hung like a mist in the air even without the invoking words.
“Sir,” he said, “I would prefer you did not refer to the children here as ‘byproducts.’ They’re as much people as you or I, and if you would give them the chance you’d see just how sweet they can be. Some of them you can hardly even tell apart from living flesh and blood. Could you really abandon a child, any child if it came to that?”
At those words several shadowy figures emerged from the eaves of the main building. Yvette knew them all by name, had cared for them herself as well over the centuries. There was Menalik with his stilted, limping gait and inviting smile. Next to him were the twins Alienor and Elea, their too-porcelain skin making them look like wounded dolls, and finally came Gordon, the oldest in one way, the youngest in another. He was one of the more recent additions and it showed, his lips threatened to curl back into a snarl at any moment and the hunger was plainly visible in his eyes. His suit, the same one he’d been buried in, was immaculate though, and the cast of his face somehow made his feral hunger look enticing. Although maybe that last was just her imagination.
“Sir,” Fernando said, gesturing back to the new arrivals, “these are four of my best. Each one of them was wronged in death, and some even in life. Each one of them could also be a productive member of society right now if the government would only let them. Why don’t you interview one of them? Any of the four would make a fantastic story.”
“Are you sure that’s safe?” the reporter asked, scanning the newcomers warily. “I don’t mean to be offensive but we’ve heard reports that they sometimes bite.”
“Bahh! Who said that? At its core biting is a fear response, nothing more. It can be trained out in a matter of months and from there the hunger can be sated any number of ways.”
The reporter wasn’t buying it though. It was obvious to Yvette and likely Fernando as well. The way he looked them up and down, glancing back and forth between Elea’s missing arm and Gordon’s firey eyes. There wasn’t any chance of getting the piece the old man had likely been hoping for.
“That’s a very kind offer,” the reporter said as he and the camera crew began to back up. “Perhaps you can contact the station? They can handle any of the particulars and then we can do the interview from a secure location. Or perhaps remotely? Remotely might work best.”
“Wait, they’re harmless!” Fernando called, “perfectly harmless!”
It was too late though, the crew was already at the gate. The reporter pushed it at, his hands sliding frictionless of the surface as he stared at the wrought iron in shock and horror. Yvette let him stew in it for a moment before she said the words and released the gate’s magic. They were out a moment later, racing down the street to their van.
Fernando and the kids looked dejected. The four, led by Gordon, walked back up to the house while the old man walked over to her. He seemed frail despite the massive, warrior solidity of his body. It made her sad to see him like this, despite all his weirdness he deserved better.
Fernando sat down next to her on the shattered tree, a few more cracks sounding under his weight. “How did I do?” he asked sadly.
“Pretty good all things considered. You didn’t even call yourself a saint once, I’m proud of you.” Yvette wrapped her arm around the old man’s waist, leaning her head against his shoulder. They’d known each other a very, very long time.
“Actually I slipped up once before you got here. Still though, that’s progress.”
“Progress!” she agreed. “They still aren’t ready for you, or for any of us really. For them death should be final, it’s the capstone to their mortal lives that frees them up for heaven or reincarnation or whatever else. What does that say about their beliefs if any of them can just walk out of the grave again the day after?”
Fernando nodded. They’d had the same conversation before, Yvette must have told him the world wasn’t ready once a year since the industrial revolution if not earlier.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to be the face of the Home?” he asked, glancing over hopefully. “You’re the best success story I’ve ever produced, hell most of them couldn’t even tell you apart from the living if they tried.”
“Yeah well, all it takes is one member of the paparazzi snapping a picture of me without this hoodie and the whole thing is over. What about Gordon? He looks mostly human.”
“Gordon is young. It will be years yet until he can go out into society like you. Speaking of which, how did your trip go?”
Yvette shrugged, such things were commonplace now. “Same as always, all the supplies will be delivered on time, the funding will still come through, etc, etc. What would you all do without me?”
She’d meant it as a question but she could see in his eyes that Fernando took it as so much more. He sighed heavily, seeming to shrink down on himself before shaking his head violently and standing up. With a gesture and an impossible word the ground in front of the old man began to glow and he reached into its aura, trying to bolster his spirit and will with the remnants of his dying magic.
“I’d fade,” he said simply. “We all would. Saint Fernando’s needs you.”
Yvette stood and hugged him again, wrapping her arms around the old man from behind, careful to stay away from the holy light he touched. A long time ago when the city around them was still young he’d been like a father to her. Now when the world around them seemed too much to bear she hoped to return the favor. She looked up towards the main building and from a window on the second floor she spotted the four who had been out earlier, exchanging a long glance with one of them.
The world was changing faster than they could change with it. She wouldn’t let that happen though. Her home wouldn’t be left behind by a world that only looked forward.
\----------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
[part 2 below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/logyzi/wp_i_raise_undead_children_you_what_you/go6swo2?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | "I must warn you, they do bite."
I ended on a cheesy grin, but I wasn't really kidding. Some of these kids could be a bit... much.
"It's... an orphanage?" the young cleric asked me, keeping his mace in both hands. At least he had stopped brandishing it at me. I could hide my pain well after all this time, but those bursts of holy light still hurt.
"Exactly. And I must ask that you *refrain* from harming the children. Those flashing lights of yours are apt to do some real damage, and I do take it personally when my children are harmed."
"I'm not sure I can," he said, "My vows..."
"Very honest of you. Still, your god commands you to root out *evil*, does he not?"
"Yes..."
"Go ahead and test me then. If I have been consorting with evil all this time, then I must light up your cleric senses like a lighthouse."
He shook his head. "I get... nothing, from you. No good, no evil, it's like you're not even there."
"Because I was a monster in my youth. I've dedicated my old age to these children and my soul is now nearly in balance, my new leaf turned long ago now beginning to flower, as it were. So I ask again, would you like to meet them? It might offer you a bit of perspective on the work we both do."
"Maybe... one or two."
I patted him on the shoulder and turned to open the door. "Amira! Salim! Come out a moment, please."
We were joined after a short time by two of my children. A girl of about fourteen, Amira kept her black fingernails filed to a point and her pallid skin clean and moisturized. Salim - a boy of perhaps five years old - was not so lucky, wrapped up in bandages with only one eye-socket showing, he was skeletally thin and up close positively *reeked* of myrrh.
"Amira is my daughter. My little princess," I said, patting her head. "Her type are called *graveborn*. They're a type of ghoul. When my late wife and I found her, she was little more than a feral animal, digging at graves for a meal. Now? With nightly infusions of dark energy and a regular care routine? Princess, tell the nice young man what you're working on."
"I'm trying to isolate the cause of spontaneous undead outbreaks that happen after large-scale battles, in the hopes of developing a means of suppressing them," she said, her voice soft, quiet, but eloquent. Though her teeth were every bit as sharp as her fingernails, she spoke with confidence.
I nodded. "Salim?"
"I'm a pianist, sir. I'm composing an opera about Dorman-rau the Demon King and his fall."
"Salim is unlike the others. His type are called *slaymates*. They are... tragically... a natural occurrence, under only the most vile of circumstances. Here, he blossoms as he never would have in life."
"And their... their minds? Are they themselves?"
Amira stepped in. "Salim is. I ... have very few memories of my mortal life. Enough to know I don't miss it, and my father is my father, not the man whose alcoholism and neglect left me to rot in an open field..."
I patted her back and she pulled herself together. Where a human might have gone for a cleansing sigh, she instead clicked her heel against the ground and folded her hands in front of herself.
I continued for her. "Amira has had a difficult journey, building a new identity for herself and coming to terms with what she left behind. Salim was a child when he died. His identity has been his to make since he awakened, but his love of music predates his current condition."
The cleric gulped. "And... how do you feed them?" He looked to my daughter. "No offense, Miss Amira, but... ghouls...?"
We exchanged a glance and a chuckle, and I bade the children back inside.
"My friend, have you noticed how peaceful the region around my home is? The incidence of crime, banditry, even wild monster sightings here is near nil compared to most of the country. Have you never wondered why? Well, now you have found out. Amira may be a scholar at heart and Salim an artist, but there are others. Vampires, ghouls who are *not* graveborn, and so on. Those with a more... tenuous connection to civility. They hunt for the household, and keep the area safe. None of them - not *once* - has ever harmed an innocent."
"I see," the Cleric said.
"What, my friend? What do you see?"
"Nothing, sir. No evil here. Only an old man and his family, living alone in the woods." | Alan Hughes walked up a long, curved driveway, eyeing the haunting beauty of the building at the crest of the hill. Memories swirled in his head. This was his home, once—though that life was so distant in scarcely felt like his own anymore.
A spiraling tower sat on the left side of the structure. Its shadow fell on the driveway, shielding him from the warmth of the afternoon sun. He blamed that for the chill crawling up his spine, though he knew deep down it was more than air that caused him unrest.
Streaks of rust ran down the ornamental lion’s head on the oversized front door. Once elegantly carved features were worn with age, and with the repeated caress of fascinated visitors. Alan lifted a hand and held it above the lion’s nose, stopping just short of touching it. Now was not the time to lose himself in reveries.
With a loud *thunk*, the latches on the other side of the entryway slid open. The door creaked in protest as it retreated into the darkness, leaving a tall, slender man in its wake.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, staring at Alan with cold, dead eyes.
Alan paused for a moment, lost in the musky smell escaping the darkened mansion. A memory threatened to pull him away, but he caught himself with a quick shake of his head.
“Alan Hughes,” he said, extending a hand to the slender man. “Bureau of Sanctioned Revivals, East Division.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, accentuating his skeletal face. “What’s a BSR man doing up here?”
“Do you own this property, sir?”
“My father left it to me,” he said. “I’ve been trying to put it to good use to keep the city from tearing it down. Now, are you going to answer my question or not, Mister Hughes?”
Alan swallowed a lump in his throat, peering past the man. A familiar stairwell sat behind him, though the marble steps were hardly recognizable beneath years of dirt and grime.
“We don’t have anyone listed at this residence,” he said, turning his gaze back to the man. “Had some reports of squatters, I’m just here to check it out. What’s your name, sir?”
“Jacoby Meyers,” the man said. “Most call me Jack.”
Alan nodded. “Nice to meet you, Jack. Do you mind if I take a look around?”
“You have some identification, first?”
With a clenched jaw, Alan reached a hand into his jacket and retrieved his wallet. The golden seal of his BSR badge glistened as he held it up to the man’s eyes.
“Very well then, Agent Hughes,” Jack said, stepping aside.
Alan stepped through the doorway, tucking his badge back into his jacket. “What is it you do here, exactly, mister Meyers?”
Jack let out an annoyed breath and said, “I raise undead children.”
“What’s that, now?”
“I know what’s going on in your agency, Mister Hughes,” Jack said. “Heard about all that unrest on the other side of the country. Heard they took out your headquarters. So I know you’ve got better things to do than shake down some off-the-books orphanage.”
Alan stared at the man. “You know it’s against the law to revive anyone without authorization. I’m going to need—”
“I’m not a Nec,” Jack said, lifting a hand to the air. “I just look after these kids, that’s all. No need to haul me in.”
Alan’s gaze rose to the top of the stairwell. He recalled a statue there, once—a knight carved into stone, complete with a shield and sword. Now it was just a memory.
“Can I see these children?” Alan asked.
“Of course,” Jack said, “but I must warn you—they do bite.”
Alan furrowed his brow. “What?”
Jack smiled, chuckling. “Just a little joke, Mister Hughes. Just a joke.”
He turned away and waved a hand, beckoning for Alan to follow.
Long crimson rugs still lined the familiar halls of the mansion, though their color faded long ago. Still, in the back of Alan’s mind, they stood as vibrant as ever.
“So,” Jack said as they turned a corner. “What exactly is going on with that agency of yours? News seems to be fearing the worst, after the attack.”
Alan shrugged. “Things are a bit scrambled right now. There’s talk of bringing the military in to round up Necromancers, but that opens up a whole other can of worms.”
“Sounds like quite a mess,” Jack said. “Right through here.” He gestured to thick brown door with a moon painted on its face.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Alan said, twisting the doorknob.
Jack nodded. “I think I’m okay with knowing as little as possible, truth be told.”
The door swung open and Alan stepped through, inhaling sharply at the sight. Nearly two dozen children, none older than twelve, sat in clusters around the large hall. Some played with broken toys, others colored on the walls. None seemed to notice his intrusion.
“I do the best I can for them,” Jack said. “I don’t have much money these days. The inheritance has kept this place going, but I’m not sure how much longer it’ll last. Already had to close down the east tower for their safety.”
Alan ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.
“You seem to know a good amount about my agency,” he said, turning back to Jack.
Jack nodded. “I know what I need to.”
“Then you know why they really sent me here.”
“Unsanctioned revivals,” Jack said. “I know your procedures.”
Jack stared. “Then why let me in?”
“Because I wanted you to see them. It’s not their fault they were brought back. Just look at ‘em, Mister Hughes. They’re innocent in all this.”
A ball rolled across the floor, stopping at Alan’s feet. Soon after came a little boy, his dark hair cut in uneven patches. He stumbled forward and looked up at Alan, silver threads swirling through his irises.
“Sorry, mister,” the boy said. Then he snatched up the ball and returned to his friends.
Alan ran his right hand across his left wrist, feeling the metal bracelet beneath his sleeve. The bracelet that hid what he really was.
“There are rules, Mister Meyers,” he said, turning away. He stepped back into the hall, away from the sounds of playful children. Their laughter echoed in his mind, bringing back forgotten memories.
“True enough,” Jack said. “There are rules indeed. But there’s also what’s right. And maybe the government hasn’t been right about all this from the start.”
*What’s right*. Alan stepped to a window across from the children’s door, looking out to a garden. The colors that once flourished had long since been overtaken by tall green thistles and yellow weeds.
“You’re doing good here,” Alan said. “Your father would have been proud, I think.”
Jack stepped closer, staring out the window. “Would he have been proud of you, too, Justin?”
Alan raised an eyebrow at that.
“Oh, don’t think I didn’t recognize you, old friend. Just because our paths strayed does not mean I’ve forgotten our time here. Changing your name doesn’t change your face.”
“I think you have me confused with—” Alan started, unable to finish the lie. Instead, he just stared. His eyes fell across the aged lines of Jack’s face and at the child they’d grown around. And at his eyes, swirling with that same silver thread.
“I suppose I never thanked you for what you did,” Jack said. “Not that I had the chance, with you running off like that.”
Alan exhaled. The bracelet pulled at his arm, sweat itching beneath its smooth surface.
“I didn’t understand it, back then,” he whispered. “I didn’t know what I’d done. What I was.”
Jack reached forward and placed a hand on Alan’s shoulder. “You were a confused child that grew into a good man,” he said. “Being a Necromancer doesn’t change that.”
Alan stepped back. “I better go,” he said. “I’ve got to file my report on this place.”
Jack nodded. “Anything I should be worried about?”
Alan shook his head, offering a weak smile. “Just an old, empty building,” he said. “Nothing to worry about at all.”
>r/Ford9863 for more nonsense. This story was written in the same universe as an ongoing serial—if you want to read more about it, check out the index page for [Threads of Life](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ford9863/comments/fqskj6/threads_of_life_index_page/). |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | Kevin kicked himself for mentioning the zombie-kids so early in the date. The woman sitting across from him, Tara, was *way* out of his league. He did not want to blow it. They were still squarely in the small-talk phase of the night, and undead children are distinctly *not* small-talk material. So *stupid,* he thought.
Tara had gone quiet. He needed to salvage this, fast.
“To be clear, they're not *my* kids,” Kevin explained. "It’s more like a nursery that I run for undead children.”
“Oh I see," Tara said, visibly relieved. "Sorry if I seemed taken aback, I’m just not ready for that kind of responsibility. A nursery, though, *that* makes sense. You're basically a teacher.”
“Right! It's exactly like a nursery, except I work from home.”
“So you care for these children out of your house?”
“Yep. They’re undead, so no one's interested in sponsoring any type of facility, or helping at all for that matter. So I work out of my house.”
Tara's face fell. "There's no one else helping you? You don't have a staff?"
"No staff, just a *cane.*" Kevin said, pausing for a laugh which never came. "Sorry, that was a joke. I do have a cane though. I walk fine, I just use it for when the kids get a little too chompy. Sorry, I'm rambling. Point is, it's just me and the kids. I've tried getting help, but there's not much sympathy for the undead. Everyone I talk to just tells me to bury them."
"So I had it right the first time," Tara said leaning back in her seat. "You're a parent to undead children.”
“What? A *parent?*" Kevin said, laughing at the thought. "No, no not at all. Sure, I feed and house them, but it's not like I tell them when to go to bed or do their homework. Admittedly that's because they don't sleep or go to school, but the point stands. I just care for them, you know? It's a charitable enterprise, that's all.”
“A charitable enterprise..." Tara said skeptically. "So how long are you planning to care for them? Until they’re grown?”
“Well they'll never *grow*, per se,” Kevin said scratching his head. "Decompose maybe, but they've been chugging along for years now. The youngest—Phyllis—she's real spritely. A real ball of energy that one. One time, I came home and my leather armchair was gone. Turned out she ate it, wooden frame and all. She'll outlive us all, I always say."
“Right..." Tara said, frowning. "Okay, so let me get this straight. You care for them out of your house, all by yourself, they never sleep or leave, and you can’t stop taking care of them because if you don't, no one else will?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Well that’s the definition of parenthood. A real bad case of parenthood, at that.”
Kevin thought for a moment then smiled. “Okay, you got me. I guess I am a parent."
Tara returned the smile. "So how many of them you got?"
"Technically six, but there's enough missing body parts between them that really it's closer to four."
Tara laughed. "You count the heads, not the limbs."
"In that case, five-and-a-half," Kevin said grinning. "Look if you want to cut the date short, I won't blame you. it wouldn't be the first time.”
“No, it’s fine," Tara said. "We might as well finish the meal. You never asked what I did for a living, you know.”
Kevin felt relieved to switch the topic. “Sorry, rude of me," he said. "So what is it that you do?”
“I’m a Paladin,” she said slowly, almost deliberately.
“Very cool!" Kevin replied enthusiastically. "Divine protector of the realm. I know a few other Paladins myself. All great people.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?”
“No reason," she said, seeming almost surprised. "Just checking. Some people are weird about it.”
Kevin smiled. "I have five-and-a-half zombie-kids, you can't out-weird me."
Tara laughed. The rest of the night went well. *Really* well. They talked, they laughed, the conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Tara told Kevin about her faith, about how when she was young she felt the touch of God and answered it—devoting her life to the cause. Kevin told her that’s how he felt when he first came across the kids, as if there was something greater than himself to serve.
When the check came, Kevin paid for it and Tara thanked him. He walked her back to her place, and hugged her goodbye. As he pulled away she held on, their eyes locked. Kevin went in for the kiss.
“Whoa,” Tara said, pushing Kevin's face away with the palm of her hand. “I’m a *Paladin,* remember? We’ve sworn off the flesh.”
“Oh right,” Kevin, said. "Until marriage, I forgot."
“No, no." Tara replied. "*Forever.*"
"Cool cool cool," Kevin said, pulling away. "Makes sense makes sense... All right well, good night!" Kevin flashed her double finger-guns before walking away.
When he got home, he told the zombie-children all about the terrible date he had. Phyllis listened patiently. When he finished, she patted his shoulder with the rotting dilapidated stump that was once a hand. "Ssssome p-p-people j-just haaaave so much baaaaaaggage."
***
 
Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Alan Hughes walked up a long, curved driveway, eyeing the haunting beauty of the building at the crest of the hill. Memories swirled in his head. This was his home, once—though that life was so distant in scarcely felt like his own anymore.
A spiraling tower sat on the left side of the structure. Its shadow fell on the driveway, shielding him from the warmth of the afternoon sun. He blamed that for the chill crawling up his spine, though he knew deep down it was more than air that caused him unrest.
Streaks of rust ran down the ornamental lion’s head on the oversized front door. Once elegantly carved features were worn with age, and with the repeated caress of fascinated visitors. Alan lifted a hand and held it above the lion’s nose, stopping just short of touching it. Now was not the time to lose himself in reveries.
With a loud *thunk*, the latches on the other side of the entryway slid open. The door creaked in protest as it retreated into the darkness, leaving a tall, slender man in its wake.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, staring at Alan with cold, dead eyes.
Alan paused for a moment, lost in the musky smell escaping the darkened mansion. A memory threatened to pull him away, but he caught himself with a quick shake of his head.
“Alan Hughes,” he said, extending a hand to the slender man. “Bureau of Sanctioned Revivals, East Division.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, accentuating his skeletal face. “What’s a BSR man doing up here?”
“Do you own this property, sir?”
“My father left it to me,” he said. “I’ve been trying to put it to good use to keep the city from tearing it down. Now, are you going to answer my question or not, Mister Hughes?”
Alan swallowed a lump in his throat, peering past the man. A familiar stairwell sat behind him, though the marble steps were hardly recognizable beneath years of dirt and grime.
“We don’t have anyone listed at this residence,” he said, turning his gaze back to the man. “Had some reports of squatters, I’m just here to check it out. What’s your name, sir?”
“Jacoby Meyers,” the man said. “Most call me Jack.”
Alan nodded. “Nice to meet you, Jack. Do you mind if I take a look around?”
“You have some identification, first?”
With a clenched jaw, Alan reached a hand into his jacket and retrieved his wallet. The golden seal of his BSR badge glistened as he held it up to the man’s eyes.
“Very well then, Agent Hughes,” Jack said, stepping aside.
Alan stepped through the doorway, tucking his badge back into his jacket. “What is it you do here, exactly, mister Meyers?”
Jack let out an annoyed breath and said, “I raise undead children.”
“What’s that, now?”
“I know what’s going on in your agency, Mister Hughes,” Jack said. “Heard about all that unrest on the other side of the country. Heard they took out your headquarters. So I know you’ve got better things to do than shake down some off-the-books orphanage.”
Alan stared at the man. “You know it’s against the law to revive anyone without authorization. I’m going to need—”
“I’m not a Nec,” Jack said, lifting a hand to the air. “I just look after these kids, that’s all. No need to haul me in.”
Alan’s gaze rose to the top of the stairwell. He recalled a statue there, once—a knight carved into stone, complete with a shield and sword. Now it was just a memory.
“Can I see these children?” Alan asked.
“Of course,” Jack said, “but I must warn you—they do bite.”
Alan furrowed his brow. “What?”
Jack smiled, chuckling. “Just a little joke, Mister Hughes. Just a joke.”
He turned away and waved a hand, beckoning for Alan to follow.
Long crimson rugs still lined the familiar halls of the mansion, though their color faded long ago. Still, in the back of Alan’s mind, they stood as vibrant as ever.
“So,” Jack said as they turned a corner. “What exactly is going on with that agency of yours? News seems to be fearing the worst, after the attack.”
Alan shrugged. “Things are a bit scrambled right now. There’s talk of bringing the military in to round up Necromancers, but that opens up a whole other can of worms.”
“Sounds like quite a mess,” Jack said. “Right through here.” He gestured to thick brown door with a moon painted on its face.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Alan said, twisting the doorknob.
Jack nodded. “I think I’m okay with knowing as little as possible, truth be told.”
The door swung open and Alan stepped through, inhaling sharply at the sight. Nearly two dozen children, none older than twelve, sat in clusters around the large hall. Some played with broken toys, others colored on the walls. None seemed to notice his intrusion.
“I do the best I can for them,” Jack said. “I don’t have much money these days. The inheritance has kept this place going, but I’m not sure how much longer it’ll last. Already had to close down the east tower for their safety.”
Alan ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.
“You seem to know a good amount about my agency,” he said, turning back to Jack.
Jack nodded. “I know what I need to.”
“Then you know why they really sent me here.”
“Unsanctioned revivals,” Jack said. “I know your procedures.”
Jack stared. “Then why let me in?”
“Because I wanted you to see them. It’s not their fault they were brought back. Just look at ‘em, Mister Hughes. They’re innocent in all this.”
A ball rolled across the floor, stopping at Alan’s feet. Soon after came a little boy, his dark hair cut in uneven patches. He stumbled forward and looked up at Alan, silver threads swirling through his irises.
“Sorry, mister,” the boy said. Then he snatched up the ball and returned to his friends.
Alan ran his right hand across his left wrist, feeling the metal bracelet beneath his sleeve. The bracelet that hid what he really was.
“There are rules, Mister Meyers,” he said, turning away. He stepped back into the hall, away from the sounds of playful children. Their laughter echoed in his mind, bringing back forgotten memories.
“True enough,” Jack said. “There are rules indeed. But there’s also what’s right. And maybe the government hasn’t been right about all this from the start.”
*What’s right*. Alan stepped to a window across from the children’s door, looking out to a garden. The colors that once flourished had long since been overtaken by tall green thistles and yellow weeds.
“You’re doing good here,” Alan said. “Your father would have been proud, I think.”
Jack stepped closer, staring out the window. “Would he have been proud of you, too, Justin?”
Alan raised an eyebrow at that.
“Oh, don’t think I didn’t recognize you, old friend. Just because our paths strayed does not mean I’ve forgotten our time here. Changing your name doesn’t change your face.”
“I think you have me confused with—” Alan started, unable to finish the lie. Instead, he just stared. His eyes fell across the aged lines of Jack’s face and at the child they’d grown around. And at his eyes, swirling with that same silver thread.
“I suppose I never thanked you for what you did,” Jack said. “Not that I had the chance, with you running off like that.”
Alan exhaled. The bracelet pulled at his arm, sweat itching beneath its smooth surface.
“I didn’t understand it, back then,” he whispered. “I didn’t know what I’d done. What I was.”
Jack reached forward and placed a hand on Alan’s shoulder. “You were a confused child that grew into a good man,” he said. “Being a Necromancer doesn’t change that.”
Alan stepped back. “I better go,” he said. “I’ve got to file my report on this place.”
Jack nodded. “Anything I should be worried about?”
Alan shook his head, offering a weak smile. “Just an old, empty building,” he said. “Nothing to worry about at all.”
>r/Ford9863 for more nonsense. This story was written in the same universe as an ongoing serial—if you want to read more about it, check out the index page for [Threads of Life](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ford9863/comments/fqskj6/threads_of_life_index_page/). |
[deleted] | [WP] "I raise undead children" "You what?!" "You misunderstand I don't raise them from the dead, irresponsible young necromancers do that. I'm the one who takes care of them after they realize the handful." "Would you like to meet them? I must warn you, they do bite." | Kevin kicked himself for mentioning the zombie-kids so early in the date. The woman sitting across from him, Tara, was *way* out of his league. He did not want to blow it. They were still squarely in the small-talk phase of the night, and undead children are distinctly *not* small-talk material. So *stupid,* he thought.
Tara had gone quiet. He needed to salvage this, fast.
“To be clear, they're not *my* kids,” Kevin explained. "It’s more like a nursery that I run for undead children.”
“Oh I see," Tara said, visibly relieved. "Sorry if I seemed taken aback, I’m just not ready for that kind of responsibility. A nursery, though, *that* makes sense. You're basically a teacher.”
“Right! It's exactly like a nursery, except I work from home.”
“So you care for these children out of your house?”
“Yep. They’re undead, so no one's interested in sponsoring any type of facility, or helping at all for that matter. So I work out of my house.”
Tara's face fell. "There's no one else helping you? You don't have a staff?"
"No staff, just a *cane.*" Kevin said, pausing for a laugh which never came. "Sorry, that was a joke. I do have a cane though. I walk fine, I just use it for when the kids get a little too chompy. Sorry, I'm rambling. Point is, it's just me and the kids. I've tried getting help, but there's not much sympathy for the undead. Everyone I talk to just tells me to bury them."
"So I had it right the first time," Tara said leaning back in her seat. "You're a parent to undead children.”
“What? A *parent?*" Kevin said, laughing at the thought. "No, no not at all. Sure, I feed and house them, but it's not like I tell them when to go to bed or do their homework. Admittedly that's because they don't sleep or go to school, but the point stands. I just care for them, you know? It's a charitable enterprise, that's all.”
“A charitable enterprise..." Tara said skeptically. "So how long are you planning to care for them? Until they’re grown?”
“Well they'll never *grow*, per se,” Kevin said scratching his head. "Decompose maybe, but they've been chugging along for years now. The youngest—Phyllis—she's real spritely. A real ball of energy that one. One time, I came home and my leather armchair was gone. Turned out she ate it, wooden frame and all. She'll outlive us all, I always say."
“Right..." Tara said, frowning. "Okay, so let me get this straight. You care for them out of your house, all by yourself, they never sleep or leave, and you can’t stop taking care of them because if you don't, no one else will?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Well that’s the definition of parenthood. A real bad case of parenthood, at that.”
Kevin thought for a moment then smiled. “Okay, you got me. I guess I am a parent."
Tara returned the smile. "So how many of them you got?"
"Technically six, but there's enough missing body parts between them that really it's closer to four."
Tara laughed. "You count the heads, not the limbs."
"In that case, five-and-a-half," Kevin said grinning. "Look if you want to cut the date short, I won't blame you. it wouldn't be the first time.”
“No, it’s fine," Tara said. "We might as well finish the meal. You never asked what I did for a living, you know.”
Kevin felt relieved to switch the topic. “Sorry, rude of me," he said. "So what is it that you do?”
“I’m a Paladin,” she said slowly, almost deliberately.
“Very cool!" Kevin replied enthusiastically. "Divine protector of the realm. I know a few other Paladins myself. All great people.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?”
“No reason," she said, seeming almost surprised. "Just checking. Some people are weird about it.”
Kevin smiled. "I have five-and-a-half zombie-kids, you can't out-weird me."
Tara laughed. The rest of the night went well. *Really* well. They talked, they laughed, the conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Tara told Kevin about her faith, about how when she was young she felt the touch of God and answered it—devoting her life to the cause. Kevin told her that’s how he felt when he first came across the kids, as if there was something greater than himself to serve.
When the check came, Kevin paid for it and Tara thanked him. He walked her back to her place, and hugged her goodbye. As he pulled away she held on, their eyes locked. Kevin went in for the kiss.
“Whoa,” Tara said, pushing Kevin's face away with the palm of her hand. “I’m a *Paladin,* remember? We’ve sworn off the flesh.”
“Oh right,” Kevin, said. "Until marriage, I forgot."
“No, no." Tara replied. "*Forever.*"
"Cool cool cool," Kevin said, pulling away. "Makes sense makes sense... All right well, good night!" Kevin flashed her double finger-guns before walking away.
When he got home, he told the zombie-children all about the terrible date he had. Phyllis listened patiently. When he finished, she patted his shoulder with the rotting dilapidated stump that was once a hand. "Ssssome p-p-people j-just haaaave so much baaaaaaggage."
***
 
Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | "I must warn you, they do bite."
I ended on a cheesy grin, but I wasn't really kidding. Some of these kids could be a bit... much.
"It's... an orphanage?" the young cleric asked me, keeping his mace in both hands. At least he had stopped brandishing it at me. I could hide my pain well after all this time, but those bursts of holy light still hurt.
"Exactly. And I must ask that you *refrain* from harming the children. Those flashing lights of yours are apt to do some real damage, and I do take it personally when my children are harmed."
"I'm not sure I can," he said, "My vows..."
"Very honest of you. Still, your god commands you to root out *evil*, does he not?"
"Yes..."
"Go ahead and test me then. If I have been consorting with evil all this time, then I must light up your cleric senses like a lighthouse."
He shook his head. "I get... nothing, from you. No good, no evil, it's like you're not even there."
"Because I was a monster in my youth. I've dedicated my old age to these children and my soul is now nearly in balance, my new leaf turned long ago now beginning to flower, as it were. So I ask again, would you like to meet them? It might offer you a bit of perspective on the work we both do."
"Maybe... one or two."
I patted him on the shoulder and turned to open the door. "Amira! Salim! Come out a moment, please."
We were joined after a short time by two of my children. A girl of about fourteen, Amira kept her black fingernails filed to a point and her pallid skin clean and moisturized. Salim - a boy of perhaps five years old - was not so lucky, wrapped up in bandages with only one eye-socket showing, he was skeletally thin and up close positively *reeked* of myrrh.
"Amira is my daughter. My little princess," I said, patting her head. "Her type are called *graveborn*. They're a type of ghoul. When my late wife and I found her, she was little more than a feral animal, digging at graves for a meal. Now? With nightly infusions of dark energy and a regular care routine? Princess, tell the nice young man what you're working on."
"I'm trying to isolate the cause of spontaneous undead outbreaks that happen after large-scale battles, in the hopes of developing a means of suppressing them," she said, her voice soft, quiet, but eloquent. Though her teeth were every bit as sharp as her fingernails, she spoke with confidence.
I nodded. "Salim?"
"I'm a pianist, sir. I'm composing an opera about Dorman-rau the Demon King and his fall."
"Salim is unlike the others. His type are called *slaymates*. They are... tragically... a natural occurrence, under only the most vile of circumstances. Here, he blossoms as he never would have in life."
"And their... their minds? Are they themselves?"
Amira stepped in. "Salim is. I ... have very few memories of my mortal life. Enough to know I don't miss it, and my father is my father, not the man whose alcoholism and neglect left me to rot in an open field..."
I patted her back and she pulled herself together. Where a human might have gone for a cleansing sigh, she instead clicked her heel against the ground and folded her hands in front of herself.
I continued for her. "Amira has had a difficult journey, building a new identity for herself and coming to terms with what she left behind. Salim was a child when he died. His identity has been his to make since he awakened, but his love of music predates his current condition."
The cleric gulped. "And... how do you feed them?" He looked to my daughter. "No offense, Miss Amira, but... ghouls...?"
We exchanged a glance and a chuckle, and I bade the children back inside.
"My friend, have you noticed how peaceful the region around my home is? The incidence of crime, banditry, even wild monster sightings here is near nil compared to most of the country. Have you never wondered why? Well, now you have found out. Amira may be a scholar at heart and Salim an artist, but there are others. Vampires, ghouls who are *not* graveborn, and so on. Those with a more... tenuous connection to civility. They hunt for the household, and keep the area safe. None of them - not *once* - has ever harmed an innocent."
"I see," the Cleric said.
"What, my friend? What do you see?"
"Nothing, sir. No evil here. Only an old man and his family, living alone in the woods." |
[WP] “How long have you waited?” she asked, “Long enough that even gods believe I’m a mere legend” he answered | This cave of alabaster stone entranced with shifting figures, animated paintings dancing upon the walls like pagans before the flame.
He sat high upon a pedestal, surrounded by burning frankincense. Shackles of obsidian bound his wrists, and his eyes were red, tired. A gray beard of ashen smoke twisted in knots down to his chest.
Nobody had entered this cavern until my descent, hidden as it was high above the mountains and etched into the rock itself. By chance I had fallen through an opening, stumbling upon it.
"How long have you waited?" I asked, drawing closer to him. The floor drew me in ever gently, and his words drifted in on the wind.
"Long enough that even Gods believe me to be a mere legend." His eyes shined bright, and upon closer inspection his skin was shifting. It resembled features of all ethnicities, blending colors and contours as deep and rich as the unlit sky. "My heart beat when Gilgamesh first cried for Enkidu, and laid his body to the ground. My eyes watched as El Shaddai cast down Asherah from her throne in Canaan, and my ears heard Mars weep as Troy burned once, twice, and thrice again."
A heat radiated from him, fierce but kind, and chaotic. "What kept you here, trapped by these obsidian shackles?" They were brittle to the touch, seemingly incapable of holding back such a being.
"I was..." he began slowly, thinking back to what must have been millennia. "Watching Man in his cradle, from a distance. Many times I approached, but each time he ran in fear. Eventually he stopped running, and trapped me here." He gestured around the walls then, the paintings taking on lifelike inscriptions, showing tribes, armies, and the engines of war, but also the march of civilizational.
"Here, in this temple, Man first imprisoned the First Fire. I kept the them warm as they slept, scared off the wolves and howling beasts that roared in the night. My light purified their food and formed a barrier to that eternal night in the far north." He grasped at me, pleading. "Set me free, so I may burn out at last."
On a whime, I fetched my pocketknife and cut through the obsidian shackles, releasing a torrent of fire through the cavern and into the sky above. Slowly then, the world began to burn an orange hue, and the fire that kept civilization moving ran out of control. | 'Mere legend'... the word mere here was there simply to balance out the usage of the word legend, being this sort of a humble thing. Merely a legend among the gods, basically... but that was just his go-to pickup line.
"You see girl, I make even the gods believe!"
"Mhm, mhm... And also 'tis long enough you say also..?" she nodded in curious excitement.
The sexual undertones were all but missing in the heat of the moment or the moment of heat perhaps.
"Well, they say size doesn't matter but length is an entirely different matter to be honest baby."
The man said with excessive confidence, hoping to get the girl blush then and there... and she did. The blood pumping and juices flowing, the pair drifted towards the ' 1-on-1 Galactic Zumba Chamber'. This time with enough credits to have them pumping for at least 2 full rotations, earning them enough iconorespecto for half of the galaxy to be talking about this Romeo and Juliet for what would basically be the next period in the planets mythology.
Their names? We do not know actually. They were, however, legend and became the predominant deity that was used as both an excuse for lovemaking and warcraft. This cult formed around them which sort of held that, if you wait long enough, you WILL be rewarded in a spectacular way. She or he will take care of you and it will be legendary... | |
[WP] “How long have you waited?” she asked, “Long enough that even gods believe I’m a mere legend” he answered | This cave of alabaster stone entranced with shifting figures, animated paintings dancing upon the walls like pagans before the flame.
He sat high upon a pedestal, surrounded by burning frankincense. Shackles of obsidian bound his wrists, and his eyes were red, tired. A gray beard of ashen smoke twisted in knots down to his chest.
Nobody had entered this cavern until my descent, hidden as it was high above the mountains and etched into the rock itself. By chance I had fallen through an opening, stumbling upon it.
"How long have you waited?" I asked, drawing closer to him. The floor drew me in ever gently, and his words drifted in on the wind.
"Long enough that even Gods believe me to be a mere legend." His eyes shined bright, and upon closer inspection his skin was shifting. It resembled features of all ethnicities, blending colors and contours as deep and rich as the unlit sky. "My heart beat when Gilgamesh first cried for Enkidu, and laid his body to the ground. My eyes watched as El Shaddai cast down Asherah from her throne in Canaan, and my ears heard Mars weep as Troy burned once, twice, and thrice again."
A heat radiated from him, fierce but kind, and chaotic. "What kept you here, trapped by these obsidian shackles?" They were brittle to the touch, seemingly incapable of holding back such a being.
"I was..." he began slowly, thinking back to what must have been millennia. "Watching Man in his cradle, from a distance. Many times I approached, but each time he ran in fear. Eventually he stopped running, and trapped me here." He gestured around the walls then, the paintings taking on lifelike inscriptions, showing tribes, armies, and the engines of war, but also the march of civilizational.
"Here, in this temple, Man first imprisoned the First Fire. I kept the them warm as they slept, scared off the wolves and howling beasts that roared in the night. My light purified their food and formed a barrier to that eternal night in the far north." He grasped at me, pleading. "Set me free, so I may burn out at last."
On a whime, I fetched my pocketknife and cut through the obsidian shackles, releasing a torrent of fire through the cavern and into the sky above. Slowly then, the world began to burn an orange hue, and the fire that kept civilization moving ran out of control. | His shape was ambiguous and always changing. Sometimes looking like a cat, sometimes a tree but never exactly and never for very long. “Where are we now? And why is it so dark?” They had traveled many places inside and out of the universe but there had always been some kind of light. “We are about to be at the beginning.” The answer came from all around as if it were an echo. Suddenly the little girl saw a light. Was it small or just far away she wondered. It grew and grew and with it came heat. She could feel the warmth on her cheeks as the light began to be too bright to look at. Colors started appearing all around them. White and orange streaks cutting through the black void as far as she could see. Soon joined by swirls of pink and red. Clouds of blue and purple and green mixing together. “It’s beautiful” she whispered. “It surely was. But you will soon think of this as forgettable as the sunrise. Once you’ve seen these come and go they aren’t as special anymore” He sounded melancholic as he sped up time. Galaxies formed and dissolved. The lights slowly died out. The girl was saddened, until he opened the next door. A prefect rectangle of white against the empty black. They walked through and were suddenly in an office. “Is this the next adventure?” She asked excitedly. “No. Your father will be out of his meeting soon and you need to finish your homework” the reply came from the doorway on the floor. | |
[WP] Your parents never found any monsters under your bed at night, and for good reason; unbeknownst to them, you were the most terrifying monster of all. | “All clear,” her father chimed, as he did every night after putting his darling little girl to bed. The room around them was filled with every conceivable Littlest Pets merchandise known to man. Including all the odd ones which were Kelly-Anne’s favourites.
Judge Donald (Donnie) Farnsworth climbed to his feet and turned off his penlight. After pocketing it, he made a show of dusting off his hands as if he had completed a monumental task instead of just flashing a light under her bed and looking at the four corners. “My princess is safe once more.” He pulled the covers up to his daughter’s neck, then leaned in and gave her a goodnight kiss on the forehead. “You’re safe now, baby. Now and forever,” he promised. “And if you ever get scared, your mom and I are right next door. Okay?”
Kelly-Anne was not their biological daughter. No, the Farnsworths had been trying for years to have a child, but due to one reason or another, they had never succeeded. And then Kelly-Anne was found abandoned on the outskirts of town as a newborn. The Farnsworths immediately took her in and made her part of the family.
“I will, Daddy,” she said smiling sweetly at him.
He ran his hand across her cheek, and then tapped the tip of her nose, as was his practice. “Love you, baby-girl.”
“Love you more,” Kelly-Anne recited.
A few years ago, she hadn't known what that meant. Coming into town had been a matter of survival and nothing more. But having made her home here, with this family, she knew there was nothing she wouldn’t do for them. Or do to anyone who even *thought* about attempting to do something to them.
Her father retreated to the door and stopped at the light switch. There, he turned and blew her a kiss. She smiled, which made him smile, and then he switched off the light and went out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Her smile turned sinister, even as she closed her eyes. She had marked the grounds around the house, identifying the space as hers and hers alone. Those that had foolishly crossed that line in search of a challenge quickly learned the little girl known as Kelly-Anne had about as much in common with a kindergartener as the mountain they were nestled on. And just as ancient.
Legends going back centuries talked of a creature that fed on people and left only their bones. That was only partially true. Bones were hard, and once she was full, she had no desire to consume them over the softer flesh of her prey. Otherwise, she left nothing. And it didn’t necessarily have to be human either, though recently she had developed a taste for … evil.
That was another thing about moving in with humans. She had been introduced to the source of the spice which she had, up until now, thought of as random chance. Evil was yummy, and nobody really missed it when it disappeared. Win/win.
As Kelly-Anne drifted off to sleep, one thought played through her mind.
*Please be wrong, Daddy. I’m really hungry.*
*\* \* \**
***((Author's note: This is linked to a WP I wrote a couple of days ago, which can be found*** [***here.***](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/lpg6yf/wp_you_reassume_your_human_disguise_and_take_one/gobvtq8?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) ***))***
((All comments welcome))
***For more of my work including WPs:*** [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/iio59n/wp_index/) | [poem]
After the screams, she said to me,
“just close your eyes and go to sleep...”
I tried, I tried! but every night
the visions hide behind my feet...
She closed the door and nodded off,
and in the night I tried to creep.
Just down the hall, my mother’s room,
the large one with a small ensuite...
She heard footsteps, though mine are small,
and woke to pounding down the hall...
I ran right in and wha’da’ya know?
She says it’s just my own shadow...
But what was scary most of all
was not all that imagin’ry...
She said one day with much regret
she saw too much of dad in me. | |
[WP] Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He’s the Dwarf of Wall Street. | "Dae fundamentas are *strong*". Grorric Blackfury stared ahead with great intensity, his beard obscuring any sort of facial movements, gnarled hands twirling a gnomic spinner. Through his one eye, he belied a transcendent fury.
"Mr Blackfury we appreciate your concerns about Alabaster Inc, however on papyrus the underlying securities are of great concern to the Quelanor Council..." the Elven fool chipped on mindlessly for a few moments, seemingly unaware of his words uselessness. They were like the wind, constantly changing and of little substance or grounding. Grorric liked the rocken caverns and limestone interiors of the Dwarven holds.
But, his people needed him here. His was the first foray into the financial markets, and so by proxy he represented; for the first time, all Dwarven mining collectives. After a few moments he adjusted his eye patch, acquired from an unfortunate explosive incident in the Gnome Wars, and spat at the Elf, who recoiled. "Why of all the, the, fuck!"
"Dae fundamentas...are...strong." Grorric again repeated, more slowly. "Ah can see your objectives like a moleraat in the heat. Yer shortin Alabaster on account of the reductions in temple constructions." He pulled out his briefcase, deploying papers and mathematical charts. "However, the truth is nah so convinient for ye prissy folk. Inter-sect conflict is increasing, as are rates of adventuring partays. And, monster attacks have increased in the southern plains."
An elf blew tobacco smoke in Grorric's face, to no effect. His lungs were choked from years of work in the coal mines, and his time on the surface had been quite the reprieve. "Meaningless drivel, Alabaster is still in low demand. You will need to cave, and pull out for better ventures."
"We Dwarves have held on for longer than you can remember. The Dark Lord is clearly coming again from the Southron Front, and temples shale fall in his wake." He delivered this statement with a hint of delusional grandeur, smirking under his beard but shining with his eye. "And when tha day of Reckoning comes, the Alabaster will be needed to rebuild."
"So continue shorting all you want, but we Dwarves are holding, and will present the bill when it's due. Until then, pound sandstone." | Grorric Blackfury came onto the market fast with his investing firm BlackRock. Usually elves corner the investing and financial market. Due to elvish long life span and calculating minds they tend to make wise long term gains.
The quick rise of Grorric led many to question his credibility. Leading to many years of audits and the government over watch. What they found was amazing. While elves stuck to tradition methods of book keeping and recording trades and assets in journals. Grorric used his clever dwarfish engineering to craft a device that monitored the markets, could perform fast profitable trades, and calculate potential short and long term winners! Not only did this device do the work better than any elf. Grorric saved millions by not having to hire additional brokers at his firm.
Idk where to go from here, sorry there isn't a good ending haha. I basically setup a background but no plot. I should of probably revealed these elements slowly through some sort of plot. | |
[WP] Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He’s the Dwarf of Wall Street. | Dorophine shared an office with Grorric.
She was put there because they wanted to "show the newbie the ropes," but all it did was show her how much Dwarves loved to sing and drink and swear - in alternate orders depending on their often erratic moods.
Grorric bellowed:
*"...We wore down the mines -*
*the elves' canary birds.*
*For creatures tall and fine -*
*They toss us out like turds..."*
As annoying as it was, Dorophine couldn't help but admire how such a little thing could get its voice so low. That was the only thing she admired about him, however. His dangling, unkempt beard bore the bread, butter, and beer of his belly-filling breakfast, and his burps reeked of last night's bourbon. Actually, Dorophine thought, she couldn't help but be in awe of his numbers. So that was actually two things she admired - she was unlikely to find a third. She may have hated his work style, but his numbers... Well, they were nothing to scoff at - and that was saying a lot; elves *loved* to scoff.
*"Their craps are wet and soft -*
*but ours are hard and dry.*
*We Dwarves are of the Earth!*
And Elves are of the Sky."
Finishing his last verse, Grorric pushed back his chair, jumping onto the floor with a resounding *thud,* and crouched under his desk. Dorophine heard a *click*ing sound and then a *smack*. His under-desk minifridge. Grorric's head popped back up a Dwarve's Pint of Elvian ale in hand.
He looked at Dorophine and winked:
"You Elves may be a pompous, tight-ass folk... But damn me if you don't make damn fine beer!"
He tipped his head back and guzzled down a hearty gulp.
"Should you *really* be drinking at work, Blackfury?" Dorophine shuddered.
One of Grorric's eyes looked at Dorophine menacingly - she couldn't tell if it was his stray one or his glass one truthfully. Unsure of what to do, she just looked ridge of his nose instead.
"Dolphin, is it?" He grunted.
"Dorophine." She apologised.
"Well, *Dorophine,* I'll tell you this - drink or no drink, I shit better bonds than you and piss better stock..." He laughed, taking another swig of his Elvian ale. Droplets condensed and seeped into his beard, "Do you think you're the first Elf to think they're better than me? Huh?" Dorophine just stared so Grorric continued."No? didn't think so! And I can tell you something for certain, you sure as hell ain't gonna be the last. But, y'know what...? I'm better than the lot of them pretentious prats and that's why I got where no other Dwarf has."
Dorophine didn't quite know what to say so stayed quiet.
"You're not the first Elf to sit in that chair while I'm here, Dolphin. High society, great posture, not a whisker in sight - I've seen ten of you at least, and it's always the same... They ain't got the wits for this job." Grorric grinned at Dorophine. "In all honesty, I don't care if you're the one that sticks, but if you are you've got a lot to learn."
Dorophine looked unsure whether she had another reason to admire the little man or hate him.
"And what would you say I've got to learn, Grorric." Somewhat sarcastically.
Tipping the last of his pint of ale down his gullet, the Dwarf smashed his glass throwing it into the bin, straightening up, clearing his throat whilst saying, "So much..." he looked Dorophine in the eye with a coy, lopsided smile, "I'll teach you if I'm not too low-brow for an Elf such as yourself."
Dorophine didn't say yes but, choking away her pride, nodded ever so slight.
Grorric's smile widened.
"Lesson one - and don't you ever forget this..."
"What?" Dorophine wondered.
"Well, your highness... *I'm the Dwarf of Fucking Wall Street!"*
r/Turtleismynam3
Tell me what ya think! | The formation of the Republic of American Peoples was inevitable. The Redwood elves had basic rights that were similar to the Colonial humans and Southern dwarves. Friend groups and families were already mixed at the borders. Businesses had been trading with one another for a century already. But there were old families who did not approve of the new republic. Powerful families who remembered their histories and kept their grudges locked away…
Grorric Blackfury was an orphan dwarf, adopted by a family of wood elves. He was raised climbing trees, not digging holes. As a dwarfling, he perched himself in the treetops of Central Park, hoping to eavesdrop on unsuspecting victims. He learned from a young age that most people had two sides: the one they wanted you to see and the one they kept private.
By his teenage years, Grorric and his best friend, Aarden of the High Line, learned how to traverse through the massive tree highway in Lower Manhattan. There were entire elvish neighborhoods that never showed up on maps. The homes in these parts weren’t the same as the lavish ones he’d seen in the Upper East Side. The decadence in front of him was next level. Fences made of diamond.
“Old money,” said Aarden. “The guy who owns this house also owns Goldelves Bags! They call him the boss of bosses on Wall Street. Dad said he made his fortune investing in mining companies. More cash than you can hold in a forest.”
Grorric took a step closer to the fence. “I’m going to be rich like this guy.” It came out as a whisper, and the moment was gone. He had to look away; the reflection of the fence hurt his eyes.
(Three years later…)
Aarden let a call from Grorric go to voicemail. He was in an investor meeting and about to present his case for Downwood Mining Co. He unmuted his phone and began:
“Profits for Downwood are up 150% this quarter, marking a steady increase six quarters in a row. They are the fastest growing mining company in the Mexican Gulf Alliance. Incredible cash flow, they’re going to ramp up their investment in the money market in the next year, and they’re also seeking to acquire Baja Mining and Cenote Mining Co. after that…”
Working for Wall Street came naturally to Aarden. Companies in the Gulf Alliance were killing it. His boss gave him thick packets filled with their financial data and all he had to do was get them listed on the New York Stonk Exchange. Investor money poured in like a firehose. His only wish was that Grorric was along for the ride.
Grorric never landed a job on Wall Street. “You might be better suited for maintenance work,” they said. “Are you willing to pick up human feces?,” asked one interviewer at the Bank of New York. Frustrated, he decided to go where the money was: the mining industry in the Mexican Gulf Alliance. But the dwarves treated him poorly there, too. He talked like an outsider, dressed like an outsider, smelled like an outsider.
(Three months later…)
Dressed in his patrol uniform, Grorric sat in his guard station drawing trees in a notebook. Aarden was on speakerphone. Downwood Mining Co. offered Grorric a job as a security guard. Determined to work his way up, he accepted, but found there was no work. He guarded a small office building and there were only three dwarves that went in and out.
Aarden was taken aback. This was the same Downwood Mining Co. he had pitched months ago.
“Empty?? No it can’t be empty.” Perhaps Grorric is suffering a mental episode, thought Aarden. “Last quarter they should have pulled out $500M in rare earth metals. There should be cranes and trucks, lots of cranes and trucks. Thousands of workers!”
Grorric shrugged. “Not sure what to tell you, buddy. I’m telling you there’s no way these guys are pulling in that kind of dough. Your numbers are wrong.”
(One year later…)
Aarden sat in his living room, fixated on the new anchor on TV.
“We start tonight with a story of justice... After releasing his scathing report about the plot between Goldelves Bags and Downwood Mining Co. to defraud the American Peoples, Grorric Blackfury was found dead today. He fell out of a tree.”
The camera cut to an older elf lady, dressed in a fine burgundy suit. “What a tragedy. Grorric was a hero and he will be remembered. We at Goldelves Bags have seen the error in our ways. We have paid the $1M fine by the SEC. We promise to never work with international criminals again and as a gesture of good will, we are erecting a statue here in front of our building in Grorric’s honor. The Dwarf of Wall Street. May we never forget him.” | |
[WP] Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He’s the Dwarf of Wall Street. | Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He's the Dwarf of Wall Street.
Grorric Blackfury is a little more than that—he's a legend. The most successful trader on Wall Street, he has made his fortune trading stocks, bonds, currencies and commodities. His success is legendary. He once claimed: “My fortune dwarfs that of even the baron-alchemists of the Interstellar Wizard Alliance.”
The only problem? Grorric Blackfury is a dwarf. That is, he's a short, bearded, axe-wielding miner. No one knows how he got started in high finance, but it seems completely out of character with the rest of dwarven society. Dwarves are intended to work with their hands, not their minds. And Grorric's people—the Blackfury—are even more traditional. They're one of the most isolationist clans, digging away under Stone Mountain, Georgia.
Grorric grew his fortune over time, though, fighting the prejudice of his fellow dwarves. It is said that between his own genius and a little blackmail (damaging photos of several important elven corporate executives engaged in....ahem...untraditional activity), he was able to work his way into the industry. Now he's one of the most connected men on Earth, with ties to all the power players, from the Space Wizards of the I.W.A to the Rising Sun crime syndicate to the Elven Council of New York.
If you have a big enough bank account, Grorric can get you anything you want—for a price, of course. He's got his fingers in everything, and if you need something, he's probably the man to see.
Like any powerful figure, though, he's got enemies. The most notable is perhaps the elven crime boss, Roldan Duskryn. Roldan runs a vast criminal empire, and he's been trying to get Grorric killed for years. He considers him a "vermin," an "insignificant little gnome," and a "menace to society." He tried to have Grorric killed during the elven gang war of M.A. 3055, when the Blackfury clan refused to join his organization, the Dusk Syndicate. Ever since, Roldan has been trying to kill or discredit the Dwarf of Wallstreet.
Grorric's not afraid of him, though. He just laughs in the face of danger. He can take care of himself. As the Dwarven Trader once said, "I'm untouchable."
Or at least he thought he was...
"What do you mean, I'm not untouchable?" Grorric says over the phone.
He's standing in a dark gray suit and tie in his office at Blackfury Bank and Trust on Wall Street. It's the morning of February 16th, 3089.
"Mr. Duskryn has proof you've been dealing fairy dust," says the voice on other end. It belongs to a Securities Exchange official, and his name is Hunter Kowalski. "We can't intervene because this doesn't fall under our jurisdiction, but we've been watching your accounts. We can see the transactions. If you don't have a good explanation for all this money by tomorrow, you're going to be facing heavy fines and jail time."
"This is preposterous," Grorric says as he begins shaking his head in disbelief. "You have to help me. I'm friends with the mayor! Call him, get him over here! I can explain everything."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Blackfury, but we simply can't intervene in these matters. There's going to be an investigation, and it's out of our hands. Unless...”
"Unless what?"
"Well, you could always pay Mr. Duskryn to make this all go away."
"You want me to what?"
"Just give him a visit. I'm sure you'll be able to come to some sort of understanding."
Grorric's eyes widen. He puts the phone down and snorts.
"Who does that elf think he is?" Grorric says to himself as he walks over to his oak desk.
Sitting at his desk, he stares at the framed picture of his largest treasure vault hanging on the wall. He ponders taking some of his savings to buy off Roldan, but quickly realizes that he would never be able to spend it all. No, he has to find another way.
Exasperated, he gets up, goes over to the mini-fridge, and pours himself a glass of fairy wine. He drinks it slowly as he stares at the phone. He considers calling the police, but then realizes there's nothing they can do. He's going to have to take care of this by himself.
Grorric finishes off the glass of wine, and grumbles to himself as he sits back down.
"I just can't let him get away with this. I won't," he says to himself.
Then, an idea comes to him. He knows how to get revenge, and he knows he has the means, but it's not going to be cheap. It's not going to be easy. In fact, it's going to be a long shot, and a big risk. But, he's got no other options.
He picks up the phone.
"Special Agent Thunderbolt," says the voice on the other end.
"Hey, Lars, its Grorric."
"Hey, Grorric. How's the richest dwarf in America?"
"Oh, you know, my usual routine: buying and selling companies on a daily basis, making millions of gold bars off market fluctuations..."
"Sounds like a fun life."
"Yeah, it's a blast," Grorric chuckles. "Listen, I need a huge favor from you guys."
"Oh-ho! Did you do something wrong?"
"Of course I did. I'm guilty of the crime of being too damn successful. That sohinx-sphincter that was fired before me took it upon himself to sabotage my business deals and reporting me to the government for selling fairy dust."
"Yep, that sounds like Roldan," Lars laughs.
Grorric rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, well, he's trying to have me arrested for it. So, I need you guys to send in an undercover cop to help me bust Roldan's drug ring."
"I don't know, Grorric. The Magic Enforcement Division has been trying to take down Roldan for years now. What makes you think this little gambit will work suddenly?"
"Lars, I've got one answer for you: Minshk."
"Minshk?"
"Yeah, the city of Minshk in Caladonia just criminalized fairy dust and a whole bunch of other drugs. It's a brand new market with no competition. All those other dwarven drug lords are still selling snowflake and grindstone, and they're getting bored of it. Minshk's crime rate just skyrocketed. It's the perfect time to introduce this new product into Caladonia."
"I dunno, Grorric. I mean, this sounds like a pretty elaborate plot to frame Roldan."
Grorric laughs with finality. He knows he's won. | The formation of the Republic of American Peoples was inevitable. The Redwood elves had basic rights that were similar to the Colonial humans and Southern dwarves. Friend groups and families were already mixed at the borders. Businesses had been trading with one another for a century already. But there were old families who did not approve of the new republic. Powerful families who remembered their histories and kept their grudges locked away…
Grorric Blackfury was an orphan dwarf, adopted by a family of wood elves. He was raised climbing trees, not digging holes. As a dwarfling, he perched himself in the treetops of Central Park, hoping to eavesdrop on unsuspecting victims. He learned from a young age that most people had two sides: the one they wanted you to see and the one they kept private.
By his teenage years, Grorric and his best friend, Aarden of the High Line, learned how to traverse through the massive tree highway in Lower Manhattan. There were entire elvish neighborhoods that never showed up on maps. The homes in these parts weren’t the same as the lavish ones he’d seen in the Upper East Side. The decadence in front of him was next level. Fences made of diamond.
“Old money,” said Aarden. “The guy who owns this house also owns Goldelves Bags! They call him the boss of bosses on Wall Street. Dad said he made his fortune investing in mining companies. More cash than you can hold in a forest.”
Grorric took a step closer to the fence. “I’m going to be rich like this guy.” It came out as a whisper, and the moment was gone. He had to look away; the reflection of the fence hurt his eyes.
(Three years later…)
Aarden let a call from Grorric go to voicemail. He was in an investor meeting and about to present his case for Downwood Mining Co. He unmuted his phone and began:
“Profits for Downwood are up 150% this quarter, marking a steady increase six quarters in a row. They are the fastest growing mining company in the Mexican Gulf Alliance. Incredible cash flow, they’re going to ramp up their investment in the money market in the next year, and they’re also seeking to acquire Baja Mining and Cenote Mining Co. after that…”
Working for Wall Street came naturally to Aarden. Companies in the Gulf Alliance were killing it. His boss gave him thick packets filled with their financial data and all he had to do was get them listed on the New York Stonk Exchange. Investor money poured in like a firehose. His only wish was that Grorric was along for the ride.
Grorric never landed a job on Wall Street. “You might be better suited for maintenance work,” they said. “Are you willing to pick up human feces?,” asked one interviewer at the Bank of New York. Frustrated, he decided to go where the money was: the mining industry in the Mexican Gulf Alliance. But the dwarves treated him poorly there, too. He talked like an outsider, dressed like an outsider, smelled like an outsider.
(Three months later…)
Dressed in his patrol uniform, Grorric sat in his guard station drawing trees in a notebook. Aarden was on speakerphone. Downwood Mining Co. offered Grorric a job as a security guard. Determined to work his way up, he accepted, but found there was no work. He guarded a small office building and there were only three dwarves that went in and out.
Aarden was taken aback. This was the same Downwood Mining Co. he had pitched months ago.
“Empty?? No it can’t be empty.” Perhaps Grorric is suffering a mental episode, thought Aarden. “Last quarter they should have pulled out $500M in rare earth metals. There should be cranes and trucks, lots of cranes and trucks. Thousands of workers!”
Grorric shrugged. “Not sure what to tell you, buddy. I’m telling you there’s no way these guys are pulling in that kind of dough. Your numbers are wrong.”
(One year later…)
Aarden sat in his living room, fixated on the new anchor on TV.
“We start tonight with a story of justice... After releasing his scathing report about the plot between Goldelves Bags and Downwood Mining Co. to defraud the American Peoples, Grorric Blackfury was found dead today. He fell out of a tree.”
The camera cut to an older elf lady, dressed in a fine burgundy suit. “What a tragedy. Grorric was a hero and he will be remembered. We at Goldelves Bags have seen the error in our ways. We have paid the $1M fine by the SEC. We promise to never work with international criminals again and as a gesture of good will, we are erecting a statue here in front of our building in Grorric’s honor. The Dwarf of Wall Street. May we never forget him.” | |
[WP] Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He’s the Dwarf of Wall Street. | "Dae fundamentas are *strong*". Grorric Blackfury stared ahead with great intensity, his beard obscuring any sort of facial movements, gnarled hands twirling a gnomic spinner. Through his one eye, he belied a transcendent fury.
"Mr Blackfury we appreciate your concerns about Alabaster Inc, however on papyrus the underlying securities are of great concern to the Quelanor Council..." the Elven fool chipped on mindlessly for a few moments, seemingly unaware of his words uselessness. They were like the wind, constantly changing and of little substance or grounding. Grorric liked the rocken caverns and limestone interiors of the Dwarven holds.
But, his people needed him here. His was the first foray into the financial markets, and so by proxy he represented; for the first time, all Dwarven mining collectives. After a few moments he adjusted his eye patch, acquired from an unfortunate explosive incident in the Gnome Wars, and spat at the Elf, who recoiled. "Why of all the, the, fuck!"
"Dae fundamentas...are...strong." Grorric again repeated, more slowly. "Ah can see your objectives like a moleraat in the heat. Yer shortin Alabaster on account of the reductions in temple constructions." He pulled out his briefcase, deploying papers and mathematical charts. "However, the truth is nah so convinient for ye prissy folk. Inter-sect conflict is increasing, as are rates of adventuring partays. And, monster attacks have increased in the southern plains."
An elf blew tobacco smoke in Grorric's face, to no effect. His lungs were choked from years of work in the coal mines, and his time on the surface had been quite the reprieve. "Meaningless drivel, Alabaster is still in low demand. You will need to cave, and pull out for better ventures."
"We Dwarves have held on for longer than you can remember. The Dark Lord is clearly coming again from the Southron Front, and temples shale fall in his wake." He delivered this statement with a hint of delusional grandeur, smirking under his beard but shining with his eye. "And when tha day of Reckoning comes, the Alabaster will be needed to rebuild."
"So continue shorting all you want, but we Dwarves are holding, and will present the bill when it's due. Until then, pound sandstone." | The formation of the Republic of American Peoples was inevitable. The Redwood elves had basic rights that were similar to the Colonial humans and Southern dwarves. Friend groups and families were already mixed at the borders. Businesses had been trading with one another for a century already. But there were old families who did not approve of the new republic. Powerful families who remembered their histories and kept their grudges locked away…
Grorric Blackfury was an orphan dwarf, adopted by a family of wood elves. He was raised climbing trees, not digging holes. As a dwarfling, he perched himself in the treetops of Central Park, hoping to eavesdrop on unsuspecting victims. He learned from a young age that most people had two sides: the one they wanted you to see and the one they kept private.
By his teenage years, Grorric and his best friend, Aarden of the High Line, learned how to traverse through the massive tree highway in Lower Manhattan. There were entire elvish neighborhoods that never showed up on maps. The homes in these parts weren’t the same as the lavish ones he’d seen in the Upper East Side. The decadence in front of him was next level. Fences made of diamond.
“Old money,” said Aarden. “The guy who owns this house also owns Goldelves Bags! They call him the boss of bosses on Wall Street. Dad said he made his fortune investing in mining companies. More cash than you can hold in a forest.”
Grorric took a step closer to the fence. “I’m going to be rich like this guy.” It came out as a whisper, and the moment was gone. He had to look away; the reflection of the fence hurt his eyes.
(Three years later…)
Aarden let a call from Grorric go to voicemail. He was in an investor meeting and about to present his case for Downwood Mining Co. He unmuted his phone and began:
“Profits for Downwood are up 150% this quarter, marking a steady increase six quarters in a row. They are the fastest growing mining company in the Mexican Gulf Alliance. Incredible cash flow, they’re going to ramp up their investment in the money market in the next year, and they’re also seeking to acquire Baja Mining and Cenote Mining Co. after that…”
Working for Wall Street came naturally to Aarden. Companies in the Gulf Alliance were killing it. His boss gave him thick packets filled with their financial data and all he had to do was get them listed on the New York Stonk Exchange. Investor money poured in like a firehose. His only wish was that Grorric was along for the ride.
Grorric never landed a job on Wall Street. “You might be better suited for maintenance work,” they said. “Are you willing to pick up human feces?,” asked one interviewer at the Bank of New York. Frustrated, he decided to go where the money was: the mining industry in the Mexican Gulf Alliance. But the dwarves treated him poorly there, too. He talked like an outsider, dressed like an outsider, smelled like an outsider.
(Three months later…)
Dressed in his patrol uniform, Grorric sat in his guard station drawing trees in a notebook. Aarden was on speakerphone. Downwood Mining Co. offered Grorric a job as a security guard. Determined to work his way up, he accepted, but found there was no work. He guarded a small office building and there were only three dwarves that went in and out.
Aarden was taken aback. This was the same Downwood Mining Co. he had pitched months ago.
“Empty?? No it can’t be empty.” Perhaps Grorric is suffering a mental episode, thought Aarden. “Last quarter they should have pulled out $500M in rare earth metals. There should be cranes and trucks, lots of cranes and trucks. Thousands of workers!”
Grorric shrugged. “Not sure what to tell you, buddy. I’m telling you there’s no way these guys are pulling in that kind of dough. Your numbers are wrong.”
(One year later…)
Aarden sat in his living room, fixated on the new anchor on TV.
“We start tonight with a story of justice... After releasing his scathing report about the plot between Goldelves Bags and Downwood Mining Co. to defraud the American Peoples, Grorric Blackfury was found dead today. He fell out of a tree.”
The camera cut to an older elf lady, dressed in a fine burgundy suit. “What a tragedy. Grorric was a hero and he will be remembered. We at Goldelves Bags have seen the error in our ways. We have paid the $1M fine by the SEC. We promise to never work with international criminals again and as a gesture of good will, we are erecting a statue here in front of our building in Grorric’s honor. The Dwarf of Wall Street. May we never forget him.” | |
[WP] Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He’s the Dwarf of Wall Street. | Dwarf of Wallstreet
“Reticulate spidersilk futures dipped today by more than 4%...” Grorric Blackfury smiled. He licked his lips and pinched out the fire on the broadcast candle, silencing the news.
“Is that supposed to impress me?” asked Lorin Feathermoon.
“Nay. It’s supposed to intimidate you.” spat back the dwarf through his meticulously braided red beard. Blackfury put a half full pint to his lips but an empty flagon back on the table. “Did it work?” he asked with a grin.
“Why would it. I don’t trade in Spidersilk.” replied Feathermoon, rolling her resplendent eyes.
“Aye. Neither did I, till this morning.” Blackfury dropped a gold coin in the slot on the table, and the Rune of Refreshment under his mug refilled it from the bottom with a woosh and sparkle.
Feathermoon sneered. “Sounds like you lost some gold then friend.”
“Oh nay.” said Blackfury, waiting for Feathermoon to drink. “I shorted it.”
The normally composed elf snorted, blowing a thousands gold worth of Dragonfire Whiskey painful out of his slender nose.
“How could you have known?” asked Feathermoon, wiping the slurry dripping from his nose.
“Oh aye. I didn’t. I made it dip.” smiled Blackfury. “The vaults of Irae Mountain opened up before the open of the markets. We’re giving it away at a 30% loss over market price to the Goblins.”
Blackfury put his stout legs and fine Ætherial Skin Shoes on the table, lighting up his pipeweed.
“What was it you traded in again, Feathermoon? Lunar Sapphires and Owlbear Beaks, right?” asked Blackfury knowingly, sliding a piece of parchment across the table.
Feathermoon inspected it, recognizing it as an officially notarized inventory count from the Irae Mountain Dwarves; circled were the quantities of three or four items, all of which caused a pit to grow in the elves stomach.
“So...” asked Blackfury, slamming his hands on the table. The light glimmered off the dozens of Diamond rings which covered the dwarf’s fingers. “What do you think about my proposal now?”
Feathermoon gulped. “Alright Diamond Hands, let’s talk about my parcels...” | The formation of the Republic of American Peoples was inevitable. The Redwood elves had basic rights that were similar to the Colonial humans and Southern dwarves. Friend groups and families were already mixed at the borders. Businesses had been trading with one another for a century already. But there were old families who did not approve of the new republic. Powerful families who remembered their histories and kept their grudges locked away…
Grorric Blackfury was an orphan dwarf, adopted by a family of wood elves. He was raised climbing trees, not digging holes. As a dwarfling, he perched himself in the treetops of Central Park, hoping to eavesdrop on unsuspecting victims. He learned from a young age that most people had two sides: the one they wanted you to see and the one they kept private.
By his teenage years, Grorric and his best friend, Aarden of the High Line, learned how to traverse through the massive tree highway in Lower Manhattan. There were entire elvish neighborhoods that never showed up on maps. The homes in these parts weren’t the same as the lavish ones he’d seen in the Upper East Side. The decadence in front of him was next level. Fences made of diamond.
“Old money,” said Aarden. “The guy who owns this house also owns Goldelves Bags! They call him the boss of bosses on Wall Street. Dad said he made his fortune investing in mining companies. More cash than you can hold in a forest.”
Grorric took a step closer to the fence. “I’m going to be rich like this guy.” It came out as a whisper, and the moment was gone. He had to look away; the reflection of the fence hurt his eyes.
(Three years later…)
Aarden let a call from Grorric go to voicemail. He was in an investor meeting and about to present his case for Downwood Mining Co. He unmuted his phone and began:
“Profits for Downwood are up 150% this quarter, marking a steady increase six quarters in a row. They are the fastest growing mining company in the Mexican Gulf Alliance. Incredible cash flow, they’re going to ramp up their investment in the money market in the next year, and they’re also seeking to acquire Baja Mining and Cenote Mining Co. after that…”
Working for Wall Street came naturally to Aarden. Companies in the Gulf Alliance were killing it. His boss gave him thick packets filled with their financial data and all he had to do was get them listed on the New York Stonk Exchange. Investor money poured in like a firehose. His only wish was that Grorric was along for the ride.
Grorric never landed a job on Wall Street. “You might be better suited for maintenance work,” they said. “Are you willing to pick up human feces?,” asked one interviewer at the Bank of New York. Frustrated, he decided to go where the money was: the mining industry in the Mexican Gulf Alliance. But the dwarves treated him poorly there, too. He talked like an outsider, dressed like an outsider, smelled like an outsider.
(Three months later…)
Dressed in his patrol uniform, Grorric sat in his guard station drawing trees in a notebook. Aarden was on speakerphone. Downwood Mining Co. offered Grorric a job as a security guard. Determined to work his way up, he accepted, but found there was no work. He guarded a small office building and there were only three dwarves that went in and out.
Aarden was taken aback. This was the same Downwood Mining Co. he had pitched months ago.
“Empty?? No it can’t be empty.” Perhaps Grorric is suffering a mental episode, thought Aarden. “Last quarter they should have pulled out $500M in rare earth metals. There should be cranes and trucks, lots of cranes and trucks. Thousands of workers!”
Grorric shrugged. “Not sure what to tell you, buddy. I’m telling you there’s no way these guys are pulling in that kind of dough. Your numbers are wrong.”
(One year later…)
Aarden sat in his living room, fixated on the new anchor on TV.
“We start tonight with a story of justice... After releasing his scathing report about the plot between Goldelves Bags and Downwood Mining Co. to defraud the American Peoples, Grorric Blackfury was found dead today. He fell out of a tree.”
The camera cut to an older elf lady, dressed in a fine burgundy suit. “What a tragedy. Grorric was a hero and he will be remembered. We at Goldelves Bags have seen the error in our ways. We have paid the $1M fine by the SEC. We promise to never work with international criminals again and as a gesture of good will, we are erecting a statue here in front of our building in Grorric’s honor. The Dwarf of Wall Street. May we never forget him.” | |
[WP] Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He’s the Dwarf of Wall Street. | "Dae fundamentas are *strong*". Grorric Blackfury stared ahead with great intensity, his beard obscuring any sort of facial movements, gnarled hands twirling a gnomic spinner. Through his one eye, he belied a transcendent fury.
"Mr Blackfury we appreciate your concerns about Alabaster Inc, however on papyrus the underlying securities are of great concern to the Quelanor Council..." the Elven fool chipped on mindlessly for a few moments, seemingly unaware of his words uselessness. They were like the wind, constantly changing and of little substance or grounding. Grorric liked the rocken caverns and limestone interiors of the Dwarven holds.
But, his people needed him here. His was the first foray into the financial markets, and so by proxy he represented; for the first time, all Dwarven mining collectives. After a few moments he adjusted his eye patch, acquired from an unfortunate explosive incident in the Gnome Wars, and spat at the Elf, who recoiled. "Why of all the, the, fuck!"
"Dae fundamentas...are...strong." Grorric again repeated, more slowly. "Ah can see your objectives like a moleraat in the heat. Yer shortin Alabaster on account of the reductions in temple constructions." He pulled out his briefcase, deploying papers and mathematical charts. "However, the truth is nah so convinient for ye prissy folk. Inter-sect conflict is increasing, as are rates of adventuring partays. And, monster attacks have increased in the southern plains."
An elf blew tobacco smoke in Grorric's face, to no effect. His lungs were choked from years of work in the coal mines, and his time on the surface had been quite the reprieve. "Meaningless drivel, Alabaster is still in low demand. You will need to cave, and pull out for better ventures."
"We Dwarves have held on for longer than you can remember. The Dark Lord is clearly coming again from the Southron Front, and temples shale fall in his wake." He delivered this statement with a hint of delusional grandeur, smirking under his beard but shining with his eye. "And when tha day of Reckoning comes, the Alabaster will be needed to rebuild."
"So continue shorting all you want, but we Dwarves are holding, and will present the bill when it's due. Until then, pound sandstone." | Dorophine shared an office with Grorric.
She was put there because they wanted to "show the newbie the ropes," but all it did was show her how much Dwarves loved to sing and drink and swear - in alternate orders depending on their often erratic moods.
Grorric bellowed:
*"...We wore down the mines -*
*the elves' canary birds.*
*For creatures tall and fine -*
*They toss us out like turds..."*
As annoying as it was, Dorophine couldn't help but admire how such a little thing could get its voice so low. That was the only thing she admired about him, however. His dangling, unkempt beard bore the bread, butter, and beer of his belly-filling breakfast, and his burps reeked of last night's bourbon. Actually, Dorophine thought, she couldn't help but be in awe of his numbers. So that was actually two things she admired - she was unlikely to find a third. She may have hated his work style, but his numbers... Well, they were nothing to scoff at - and that was saying a lot; elves *loved* to scoff.
*"Their craps are wet and soft -*
*but ours are hard and dry.*
*We Dwarves are of the Earth!*
And Elves are of the Sky."
Finishing his last verse, Grorric pushed back his chair, jumping onto the floor with a resounding *thud,* and crouched under his desk. Dorophine heard a *click*ing sound and then a *smack*. His under-desk minifridge. Grorric's head popped back up a Dwarve's Pint of Elvian ale in hand.
He looked at Dorophine and winked:
"You Elves may be a pompous, tight-ass folk... But damn me if you don't make damn fine beer!"
He tipped his head back and guzzled down a hearty gulp.
"Should you *really* be drinking at work, Blackfury?" Dorophine shuddered.
One of Grorric's eyes looked at Dorophine menacingly - she couldn't tell if it was his stray one or his glass one truthfully. Unsure of what to do, she just looked ridge of his nose instead.
"Dolphin, is it?" He grunted.
"Dorophine." She apologised.
"Well, *Dorophine,* I'll tell you this - drink or no drink, I shit better bonds than you and piss better stock..." He laughed, taking another swig of his Elvian ale. Droplets condensed and seeped into his beard, "Do you think you're the first Elf to think they're better than me? Huh?" Dorophine just stared so Grorric continued."No? didn't think so! And I can tell you something for certain, you sure as hell ain't gonna be the last. But, y'know what...? I'm better than the lot of them pretentious prats and that's why I got where no other Dwarf has."
Dorophine didn't quite know what to say so stayed quiet.
"You're not the first Elf to sit in that chair while I'm here, Dolphin. High society, great posture, not a whisker in sight - I've seen ten of you at least, and it's always the same... They ain't got the wits for this job." Grorric grinned at Dorophine. "In all honesty, I don't care if you're the one that sticks, but if you are you've got a lot to learn."
Dorophine looked unsure whether she had another reason to admire the little man or hate him.
"And what would you say I've got to learn, Grorric." Somewhat sarcastically.
Tipping the last of his pint of ale down his gullet, the Dwarf smashed his glass throwing it into the bin, straightening up, clearing his throat whilst saying, "So much..." he looked Dorophine in the eye with a coy, lopsided smile, "I'll teach you if I'm not too low-brow for an Elf such as yourself."
Dorophine didn't say yes but, choking away her pride, nodded ever so slight.
Grorric's smile widened.
"Lesson one - and don't you ever forget this..."
"What?" Dorophine wondered.
"Well, your highness... *I'm the Dwarf of Fucking Wall Street!"*
r/Turtleismynam3
Tell me what ya think! | |
[WP] Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He’s the Dwarf of Wall Street. | "Dae fundamentas are *strong*". Grorric Blackfury stared ahead with great intensity, his beard obscuring any sort of facial movements, gnarled hands twirling a gnomic spinner. Through his one eye, he belied a transcendent fury.
"Mr Blackfury we appreciate your concerns about Alabaster Inc, however on papyrus the underlying securities are of great concern to the Quelanor Council..." the Elven fool chipped on mindlessly for a few moments, seemingly unaware of his words uselessness. They were like the wind, constantly changing and of little substance or grounding. Grorric liked the rocken caverns and limestone interiors of the Dwarven holds.
But, his people needed him here. His was the first foray into the financial markets, and so by proxy he represented; for the first time, all Dwarven mining collectives. After a few moments he adjusted his eye patch, acquired from an unfortunate explosive incident in the Gnome Wars, and spat at the Elf, who recoiled. "Why of all the, the, fuck!"
"Dae fundamentas...are...strong." Grorric again repeated, more slowly. "Ah can see your objectives like a moleraat in the heat. Yer shortin Alabaster on account of the reductions in temple constructions." He pulled out his briefcase, deploying papers and mathematical charts. "However, the truth is nah so convinient for ye prissy folk. Inter-sect conflict is increasing, as are rates of adventuring partays. And, monster attacks have increased in the southern plains."
An elf blew tobacco smoke in Grorric's face, to no effect. His lungs were choked from years of work in the coal mines, and his time on the surface had been quite the reprieve. "Meaningless drivel, Alabaster is still in low demand. You will need to cave, and pull out for better ventures."
"We Dwarves have held on for longer than you can remember. The Dark Lord is clearly coming again from the Southron Front, and temples shale fall in his wake." He delivered this statement with a hint of delusional grandeur, smirking under his beard but shining with his eye. "And when tha day of Reckoning comes, the Alabaster will be needed to rebuild."
"So continue shorting all you want, but we Dwarves are holding, and will present the bill when it's due. Until then, pound sandstone." | Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He's the Dwarf of Wall Street.
Grorric Blackfury is a little more than that—he's a legend. The most successful trader on Wall Street, he has made his fortune trading stocks, bonds, currencies and commodities. His success is legendary. He once claimed: “My fortune dwarfs that of even the baron-alchemists of the Interstellar Wizard Alliance.”
The only problem? Grorric Blackfury is a dwarf. That is, he's a short, bearded, axe-wielding miner. No one knows how he got started in high finance, but it seems completely out of character with the rest of dwarven society. Dwarves are intended to work with their hands, not their minds. And Grorric's people—the Blackfury—are even more traditional. They're one of the most isolationist clans, digging away under Stone Mountain, Georgia.
Grorric grew his fortune over time, though, fighting the prejudice of his fellow dwarves. It is said that between his own genius and a little blackmail (damaging photos of several important elven corporate executives engaged in....ahem...untraditional activity), he was able to work his way into the industry. Now he's one of the most connected men on Earth, with ties to all the power players, from the Space Wizards of the I.W.A to the Rising Sun crime syndicate to the Elven Council of New York.
If you have a big enough bank account, Grorric can get you anything you want—for a price, of course. He's got his fingers in everything, and if you need something, he's probably the man to see.
Like any powerful figure, though, he's got enemies. The most notable is perhaps the elven crime boss, Roldan Duskryn. Roldan runs a vast criminal empire, and he's been trying to get Grorric killed for years. He considers him a "vermin," an "insignificant little gnome," and a "menace to society." He tried to have Grorric killed during the elven gang war of M.A. 3055, when the Blackfury clan refused to join his organization, the Dusk Syndicate. Ever since, Roldan has been trying to kill or discredit the Dwarf of Wallstreet.
Grorric's not afraid of him, though. He just laughs in the face of danger. He can take care of himself. As the Dwarven Trader once said, "I'm untouchable."
Or at least he thought he was...
"What do you mean, I'm not untouchable?" Grorric says over the phone.
He's standing in a dark gray suit and tie in his office at Blackfury Bank and Trust on Wall Street. It's the morning of February 16th, 3089.
"Mr. Duskryn has proof you've been dealing fairy dust," says the voice on other end. It belongs to a Securities Exchange official, and his name is Hunter Kowalski. "We can't intervene because this doesn't fall under our jurisdiction, but we've been watching your accounts. We can see the transactions. If you don't have a good explanation for all this money by tomorrow, you're going to be facing heavy fines and jail time."
"This is preposterous," Grorric says as he begins shaking his head in disbelief. "You have to help me. I'm friends with the mayor! Call him, get him over here! I can explain everything."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Blackfury, but we simply can't intervene in these matters. There's going to be an investigation, and it's out of our hands. Unless...”
"Unless what?"
"Well, you could always pay Mr. Duskryn to make this all go away."
"You want me to what?"
"Just give him a visit. I'm sure you'll be able to come to some sort of understanding."
Grorric's eyes widen. He puts the phone down and snorts.
"Who does that elf think he is?" Grorric says to himself as he walks over to his oak desk.
Sitting at his desk, he stares at the framed picture of his largest treasure vault hanging on the wall. He ponders taking some of his savings to buy off Roldan, but quickly realizes that he would never be able to spend it all. No, he has to find another way.
Exasperated, he gets up, goes over to the mini-fridge, and pours himself a glass of fairy wine. He drinks it slowly as he stares at the phone. He considers calling the police, but then realizes there's nothing they can do. He's going to have to take care of this by himself.
Grorric finishes off the glass of wine, and grumbles to himself as he sits back down.
"I just can't let him get away with this. I won't," he says to himself.
Then, an idea comes to him. He knows how to get revenge, and he knows he has the means, but it's not going to be cheap. It's not going to be easy. In fact, it's going to be a long shot, and a big risk. But, he's got no other options.
He picks up the phone.
"Special Agent Thunderbolt," says the voice on the other end.
"Hey, Lars, its Grorric."
"Hey, Grorric. How's the richest dwarf in America?"
"Oh, you know, my usual routine: buying and selling companies on a daily basis, making millions of gold bars off market fluctuations..."
"Sounds like a fun life."
"Yeah, it's a blast," Grorric chuckles. "Listen, I need a huge favor from you guys."
"Oh-ho! Did you do something wrong?"
"Of course I did. I'm guilty of the crime of being too damn successful. That sohinx-sphincter that was fired before me took it upon himself to sabotage my business deals and reporting me to the government for selling fairy dust."
"Yep, that sounds like Roldan," Lars laughs.
Grorric rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, well, he's trying to have me arrested for it. So, I need you guys to send in an undercover cop to help me bust Roldan's drug ring."
"I don't know, Grorric. The Magic Enforcement Division has been trying to take down Roldan for years now. What makes you think this little gambit will work suddenly?"
"Lars, I've got one answer for you: Minshk."
"Minshk?"
"Yeah, the city of Minshk in Caladonia just criminalized fairy dust and a whole bunch of other drugs. It's a brand new market with no competition. All those other dwarven drug lords are still selling snowflake and grindstone, and they're getting bored of it. Minshk's crime rate just skyrocketed. It's the perfect time to introduce this new product into Caladonia."
"I dunno, Grorric. I mean, this sounds like a pretty elaborate plot to frame Roldan."
Grorric laughs with finality. He knows he's won. | |
[WP] Elves are intelligent, subtle, and ambitious—a perfect fit for the world of high finance where they work in skyscrapers, make gobs of gold, and regard the blue collar dwarves with contempt. Grorric Blackfury is an oddity, and is feared for it. He’s the Dwarf of Wall Street. | Grorric Blackfury was known by many names; The Dwarf of Wall Street, The Warthog, The Sealer (coincidentally, that last one is also the title of a very powerful wizard known for sealing away uniquely dangerous demons, which caused a great deal of confusion when people found out Grorric was not, in fact, a 2.5 meter tall woman with a Gem of Power around her neck). But he hated all these names, preferring to go by Grorric. This only made the elves he worked with hate him more. The humility stunk to high hell.
What made Grorric dangerous wasn’t his subtlety, as was the case with the elves. It wasn’t his ambition, he didn’t particularly like finance at all. And it certainly wasn’t his intelligence, his beard frequently got caught in his toaster. No, what made Grorric dangerous is that he saw through elven bullshit with near clairvoyant ability. What the other elves at his firm might see as a truly genuine promise from a rival firm, Grorric would see for what it is; ‘Elven Fuckery,’ as he usually called it. As mentioned, subtlety was not Grorric’s strong suit, so him identifying this fuckery was invariably followed by the whole meter of him jumping on the table and crying bullshit.
If he wasn’t the most effective trader on the market, this behavior almost certainly would have gotten him fired.
In his time on the markets, Grorric had gone head to head with some of the biggest hedge funds and traders out there. The Spectre of Stocks, the only Drow in a leadership position on Wall Street, didn’t stand a chance. The Chief, a High Elf from a small village somewhere in Cobblewood, retired 3 weeks after Grorric turned his hedge fund belly up. And the High Priest of Prices herself, Sarya Sarwarin of Winterhelm, ended up joining Grorric’s firm.
But beyond being able to see through elven lies and deceit, Grorric’s greatest strength was that he knew better than to buy into his own hype. After all, he didn’t particularly care for finance, so all the names meant very little to him. He also barely even knew what he was doing, most of the words he heard meant nothing to him. He knew a few simple rules:
1. Call out bullshit, fuck these elves
2. Buy low, sell high
3. Prices more or less go up depending on how a company performs
4. You could manipulate those prices by buying a lot of one stock at once
He generally used that last rule to screw over hedge funds. Most hedges knew he could screw them if he wanted, but they had no idea how. And today, the biggest hedge fund of them all wanted to talk to him. And he had plans to fuck over the richest of the rich elves.
So you can imagine his surprise when a human walked into the conference room, flanked by elves, just as he was (most of whom Grorric had screwed in the past).
“Hello,” the human opened. “My name’s Tim, you must be Grorric.”
After a moment, Grorric snapped out of his shock. “Aye, last time I checked. I’m not used to seeing humans in this business.”
Tim laughed. “Yeah, I’m kinda new. Turns out an industry generally reserved for elves doesn’t know how to handle a human, gives me a leg up.” He looked into Grorric’s eyes and the sweetest smile crawled across his lips. “As a dwarf in finance, I’m sure you get it.”
Grorric sat, frozen to his seat for a moment, then stood up (which actually made him much shorter than when he had been on his chair). “‘Scuse us for a second, lads, we’ll be right back.” Grorric grabbed Sarya’s wrist and dragged her from the room.
“I cannae do this,” he said as soon as they were somewhere private.
“What?” she almost yelled, and Grorric urged her to be quiet. “Why?”
“I’m useful with elves,” he explained. “I can see through yer fuckery, that’s a *human*. I haven’t ever even talked to a human, I can’t get a read on the fucker to save my life.”
Srya’s face dropped. “Think that’s why they brought him?”
Grorric shrugged. “Maybe, I sure as shit don’t know. All I know is sitting across that table are representatives of some of the richest rich fucks on the continent. And I just so happened to have screwed over pretty much everyone at that table at some point or another, except Tim, because I have no clue what he’s thinking.”
“So what do we do?”
“Find out what stocks they’re hedging on and see if we can’t short them,” Grorric replied. “See what we can find out. But it means we’ll all have to try equally, every member of the team.”
Sarya was silent for a moment. “So we’re fucked?”
Grorric nodded. “Oh yah.”
When they walked back into the conference room, every face across the table had the biggest smile on their faces, except Tim, who just looked confused. “Oh, good, you’re back,” he said. “Shall we begin then?” | Cara gulped as she walked across the corridors and cubicles. She kept staring in different directions. Sweat formed on her forehead. She was scared of what would happen next. Cara was the new intern in the office and she yet had to have an encounter with the infamous Mr. Blackfury.
She had heard stories about him. The only dwarf in New York that lived worked in a building taller than 50 metres. He had quite the reputation as well. His face was said to be permanently contorted into a scowl and he was known for fits of anger while on the phone.
Now that she was standing in front of the glass walls seperating his office from the other. They were draped so that no one could see inside. She could hear muffled shouting coming from the inside. Cara took a deep breath before she decided to open the door.
Inside she found a dwarf sitting on a hilariously oversized swivel chair made from finest leathers in front of a mahogany desk. He was holding a telephone receiver in his hand, shouting obscenities from multiple languages into it.
"I am telling you Fiorac, you will regret to not listening to me! No, no YOU listen to ME. I'm the broker here! I know my stuff Fiorac. I am telling you, the stock will go up. Yes, I saw the report. No I don't believe that dimwit. Stop bringing him up Fiorac, we both he's an idiot. Why do you keep defending him? Time and time again I've saved your pansy ass from being fucked by his predictions. Yes I goddamn you're capable of making your own decisions, but I'm telling you it's a stupid fucking plan. If you listen to him you'll have cash, but you might miss out on this opportunity to quintuple your investment. Okay, let's bargain here, what if you just keep some of the stock so you'll still make a profit..."
On and on it went for 15 minutes. Not once did Mr. Blackfury look up from his phone. Cara just stood in the doorway, unsure what to make of this situation. An elf might have realized that this "Fiorac" client would not listen to them and would've given up. But not Grorric. Finally he concluded the call with "you won't regret this". As he set down the phone he finally seemed to register that Cara was in the room.
"What're ye doing there? If you've got business with me speak or go."
"Y- y- yes Mr Blackfury. It's about my quarterly review."
"Well why do ye just stand there? Sit down!"
Her boss studied her with a scorn as she found herself a seat.
"Name?"
"Uh, C- C- Cara Feinh."
"Stop stuttering, I dinnae understand a thing ye said.
"Cara Feinh, sir."
"Ah yes, here's yer file."
Cara shuffled around, grabbing her knees in anticipation of what her boss would say. This was her third job at a brokerage. She started to regret having spent two decades studying economics.
"Miss Feinh, if I can call ye that, how old are ye again?"
"Uh, I just turned 85."
"Aye, so ye're fresh outta school aren't ye?"
"Y- yes sir"
"Ok, so lemme ask ye another question: What do you do if a client doesn't want what you're selling?"
"W- well if they say no I try to be reasonable, u- unless their being unreasonable that is."
"So ye just accept that? Lemme let ye into a secret. How long were ye listenin' tah me, laddie?"
"A c- c- couple of minutes. Why?"
"Do you know how often that client told me no? Fifteen times. And yah know why I didn't stop? 'Cause I'm a dwarf and we dwarfs are stubborn. Don't accept no Cara or yah won't be with us any longer. Now leave, 'cause I've got five other clients tah save from their stupidity."
Cara awkwardly stumbled out of the office, after being shoved by a surprising amount of force for a man so small. And as she walked back to her cubicle, she felt excited to try out her new trick.
​
'Tis my first reply here, so feel free to criticize me. | |
[WP] "Master, why can I not defeat any of my opponents? It's like they can predict my every move!" "Well you do shout out your attack names....." | The astral form of my teenage son glared at me, sulkily. I stared him back, unmoved by his pout. Raising children had always been my least favorite part of sewing my chaotic void spawn throughout the realm.
"It's humiliating."
This statement could have come from either of us, but of course, it came from him.
*Hari...* I started, projecting my thoughts directly into his head. *If you would just-*
"I can't." He sniffed, eyes welling with tears. "I have a reputation to uphold."
*A reputation of flagrantly announcing your every attack? You deal in subterfuge, secret attacks, sabotage. How have you even gotten far enough to have a reputation?*
The boy, my youngest son, stared at me balefully. "Well, *one* of us has to leave an impression on the foolish mortals. And Tehra acts like she's a god damned old lady."
He wasn't wrong. His twin sister had all the frigidness and flare of a stuffy spinster. She was admirable in her ability to run a tight ship, both metaphorically and literally, since my latest blight upon the mortal world had been birthed to a couple that lived in the island regions. The twins had been jumping from island to island, trying to infiltrate the local cities and destroy them from the inside out, much like their elder sister, Nefaria, did. It was going slowly, what with Terha's methodical approach and Hari's tendency to throw every well-laid plan to ruin with his theatrics.
But, unfortunately, flare did matter here. I gathered power through a number of ways, as my other children knew well. They cursed towns, started cults, obliterated established religions, all to fuel my ultimate plan. But the more people that knew my name, the more that whispered it fearfully at night, the stronger I grew.
So, naturally, this meant that the louder my children were, the stronger I got.
Which left me with... Hari.
*You lack subtlety,* I told him. *Flamboyance is important, yes, but not on stealth missions. Your exuberance and lack of nuance is why-*
I stopped short. I might have been annoyed with my son, but even that would have been a low blow.
Unfortunately, my spawn picked up on my meaning, and his visage grew more distraught.
"You sound just like every director for every show I've ever auditioned for." He threw his hands in the air, a comically over-the-top gesture. "I'll show them. I'll burn their theatres to the ground. Then the whole world will know the power and talent of Hari Bella!"
I would have snorted, had the dream plane allowed that.
*How, pray tell, will burning a theatre to the ground accomplish what you desire? You must show patience. Your siblings did not grow to be world ruiners in just a few years. They slowly built up their power over decades. You too must wait.*
"I don't want to."
God, I could have strangled him. Honestly, I probably would have, if it hadn't been so energy-consuming to bequeath void children upon the planet.
*Hari...*
"I don't. I want to be a scourge upon the land. I want to show up, guns blazing. I want them to hear me charging up an attack and flee in terror." His eyes took on a distant gleam. "I want them to know that, by the time I've started speaking, it's already too late. I want to watch them run before destroying everything in sight, leaving their burning, ruined villages in my wake. Leave them cursing both my name *and* yours." He paused his dramatic speech for a well-timed sigh. "And Terha's, I guess. I want to make you proud."
Children were exhausting.
I sighed, in the way that only an incorporeal void nightmare could sigh. *Perhaps a change of tactics is what you truly need. Instead of attempting covert missions throughout the island cities, a more direct approach may be warranted.*
"But Terha says we aren't powerful enough for outright attacks." His lip jutted.
No wonder these two idiots had been so mismatched. With Hari's projection and Terha's subtlety, they crashed at every turn.
A new plan, a new plan... What could help my two hellspawn truly rain down death upon their foes?
*I have an idea,* I started, speaking slowly as the inspiration unfurled. *Instead of targeting the inland cities, working from the inside out on every island, perhaps an outside-in strategy is warranted.*
Hari perked up at this, eyes shining. "How do you mean?"
*Your sister's talent with logistics means she knows every shipping routine in the entire island chain. Your penchant for... dramatics means that you, on the rare chance that you are successful, do leave a trail of fear in your wake.*
"So... Oh!" He smiled, finally getting my meaning. "I get to be a pirate!"
It was, in a sense, every young boy's dream to be a pirate, at some time in their life or other. Most young men, as they grow up, learn that being a pirate often means a lot of grisly murder of innocent merchants, and back down. But my son was no average child. The murder was a draw.
*Convene with your sister. Plot out which merchant routines would cripple an island's economy. Cause enough harm, and the cargo ships will stop altogether. Then, when the island is truly at your mercy, launch an attack on its port cities. It will crumble and more and more will come to fear you.*
It had been a gamble, trying to force my ridiculous son into a more pragmatic attack on the islands, but he took to it like a fish to water.
"Oh, this is brilliant. Thank you! You're the best parent ever." He stared into the void dreamscape, picturing it in his head. "Captain Hari Bella. And at sea, no one can truly run. If my boat is faster, or sneakier, I can be on top of them before they have a chance to escape. And then when they hear my voice, ripping through the sky like thunder, calling down evil. I am death incarnate."
Good lord.
*Well done, my son. You have come up with a solution to your problems that plays to both your and your sister's strengths. I hope you take this lesson forward and learn to approach your issues with a tactical mind.*
I did have to give him some credit, not because he deserved it, but because I didn't want to be his go-to every time he had a problem. Soon the twins would reach maturity and stop whining to me about their issues, but until then, I had to raise them as any parent would: with an eye towards their future growth and success.
I just hoped this worked. If the two of them messed this up, it would potentially besmirch my name. If the terrified whispers of my cursed name gave me strength, then it stood to follow that mockery and disregard weakened my hold on the mortal plane.
Hari grinned. "I won't let you down," he said. "You'll see. I'll be the most powerful of all the void spawn."
He tried so hard, it was almost endearing. The other children had been much colder but I did like his spunk, so long as it wasn't in the form of fireworks in the middle of a late-night heist.
The dream faded, and I found myself, once again, rooted firmly in the void realm. This would work, I told myself. My child, though eager, was not fully incompetent. And hopefully, he would send through enough power for me to curse the world with my sixth, and final child.
And hopefully, the next spawn wouldn't be *nearly* as hard to handle. I was getting a little bit tired of raising children.
___
To read more about Hari and his mysterious parent (or for other stories in general) check out [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) | “Wow.” Steve said unimpressed, “This is the greatest warrior on the planet?”
“Afraid so.” Darrel, his best friend rubbed his head.
Below them they were watching the match. Steve was soon to go and compete, and his competition was the guy shouting all his moves. They were powerful attacks, but that one second of screaming their names gave the opponent enough time to get out of dodge.
“This is ridiculous.” Steve grumbled.
“Well he is winning.”
“I’m going to change that if the dumb-ass he’s fighting loses. Honestly, he got this far doing this?”
“Possibly. I haven’t seen him fight before.”
“Kami’s light.” Steve groaned again. “This is going to be stupid.”
Darrel smirked. “Good luck keeping your dignity if you lose.”
—-
Steve was up. His opponent, Randy, the dumb-ass who yelled every attack. Steve stood still and analyzed, Randy did the same.
“You got a 1.7 second increase in speed compared to me.” Randy smirked, “make the match a good one eh?”
“What?” Steve deadpanned.
The bell rang. The match had started.
“Rock tumbler!” Randy screamed.
Steve side stepped the wall of rock with ease. He compressed his mana into his hand, changing the nature into blue fire and swept the ring with it.
TBC | |
My first post here! I'm excited to do this! | [WP] You time travel back to the medieval ages, with items from the future, trying to advance the era. That was not a good idea, as you get accused of witchery, and have to fight another witch, who is actually just another time traveler trying to do what you were trying to do. | "Let the witches burn each other."
The king sighed indifferently with a wave of his hand. His crown, glimmering in the torchlight of the castle walls, leaned lazily to one side of his over-fed, bulbous head, as if to portray his attitude towards setting another human being on fire. I thought people were desensitized enough being from the smartphone era. Royalty was a new level.
She and I were positioned on our knees facing the king. The large room was erupting with angry, gnashing shouts from crowds of villagers, eager to watch the both of us immolate for the crime of being different. We nodded in silent, unplanned agreement. The moment would soon be in full-force.
\-
We had first met briefly in the dungeon while awaiting our fate at the chubby, portly hands of King Fidus (*King Fatass*, my confidant called him) over the crime of being dastardly, all-powerful, devilspawn witches. In truth, we were mere souls from another place and time. She, a metro-dwelling French socialite from early 2015, traded the City of Catacombs for the people who once used the bones in them. We met only briefly, but I couldn't help admiring her quick wit and biting comebacks.
"There has to be a way out of here," she postulated in a calm, calculated Parisian accent. Her eyes scanned the slime-mold stone and dampened hay, finding loopholes to the sound of water dripping in the dark distance. We'd adjusted to the little light available, and were making the most of it.
I struggled against the metal cuffs anchoring my wrists to the wall. "Any ideas on how we ditch these?"
"If you had more ideas than questions we would be out of here by now," she stated bluntly, challenging me. I grinned and chuckled slightly. "At least my ideas don't involve convincing people they can cure The Black Plague with a Wii Remote.
"Oh shut up," she smiled defensively. "You thinking that the villagers would trade their gold pieces for Bitcoin is the worst idea I've ever heard."
"If we get out of here and make it back, just wait until 2021," I retorted. "People are doing a *lot* of weird things."
We were interrupted by a burly beast of a man slamming the iron-barred door open. His teeth were yellow and sparse, and he spoke with a greasy, hoarse tone. "The King'll be seeing you now," he smirked facetiously. Adrenaline poised in my body, though for some reason we both maintained a focused calm. Somehow we both new this would turn out in our favor.
Guards dragged us down long, grandiose hallways. The walls were rife with abundant color, fine, meticulously-crafted art, precious metals, high-status artifacts. I was amazed at how blatantly the king lived in opulence while his subjects in squalor, yet they continued to serve him. One thing I realized about the past, is that not much has really changed.
We were plopped down in-front of the king who appeared to be on the verge of comatose. The well-dressed lard had, as usual, eaten himself into an immobile state wavering on sleep. He looked down on us, and I imagined him as a giant, indignant baby.
"BURN THE WITCHES," the townfolk exclaimed with such anger and vitriol that it soured the air in the room itself. There were torches, makeshift swords, blunt objects at the ready, to ensure that if His Highness didn't put an end to these wretched imposters, they would, in vengeful, visceral ways.
"SILENCE," the king's spokesman exclaimed in a booming tone. "THESE WITCHES HAVE BEEN CONDEMNED FOR BRINGING THEIR EVIL KIND TO HOLY LANDS. THEY SHALL BE PUNISHED."
A vindictive cheer arose from the crowd. Fidus, his stare blank, bulging, and fish-like, surveyed the room indifferently.
"THE KING WILL NOW DECREE THE FATE OF THESE DEVILS."
Fidus moved his neck to look directly at us, which was probably the most energy he'd expended that day. He thought for a moment, sighed, then spoke:
"Let the witches burn each other."
The king sighed indifferently with a wave of his hand. His crown, glimmering in the torchlight of the castle walls, leaned lazily to one side of his over-fed, bulbous head, as if to portray his attitude towards setting another human being on fire. I thought people were desensitized enough being from the smartphone era. Royalty was a new level.
She and I were positioned on our knees facing the king. The large room was erupting with angry, gnashing shouts from crowds of villagers, eager to watch the both of us immolate for the crime of being different. We nodded in silent, unplanned agreement. The moment would soon be in full-force.
The guards moved towards us. I quickly grabbed the slim smartphone I'd hidden in my shoe that they'd failed to find earlier. "Amateurs," I thought. I pressed play.
A beautiful thing happened in that instant. 133 bluetooth speakers daisy-chained around the large room began to pour out sound at full-blast, a sound that slammed acoustically from wall to wall, sending pure terror into the ears and hearts of the village, most of whom had never heard music before. Let alone grimy, head-banging dubstep.
"EGAD, WHAT CURSE IS THIS?" the king bellowed, suddenly alert and wide-eyed. Villagers screamed and began running over each other, dropping torches onto tall bannisters, setting the room alight in fire and chaos. We slipped between the mosh pit of mystery and uncertainty, a horrible scene then but a great rave today. We managed to escape past maidens and guards rushing towards the calamity, too focused on what the source could possibly be to notice us. We reached the doors open to daylight and freedom, and we crossed the threshold to leave the castle-
\-
I stumbled onto linoleum breathlessly, stopping at the suddenness of safety for a moment. I gathered my surroundings: an art gallery, a lot of the pieces oil-on-canvass and aged. The room's aesthetic fit into 2021's, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I could never control where I came back, only when. I was glad to be in a peaceful scene.
I stood up, achily walking around and eyeing the pieces out of curiosity and mild bemusement. I started to feel the unease when I realized how familiar these paintings looked. These were works I'd recognized from the castle, on the way to our would-be execution.
There was one that caused me to stop cold.
There was the French girl: high cheekbones, hazel eyes, a spot-on recreation. She was painted candidly, slightly distant in the scene. She was sat by a fountain, staring up towards the sky,
posed for a photo,
a smartphone in her hand. | "Harry Potter?"
The corpulent man before me nodded, picking out the creases in his T-shirt.
"I still don't understand why they tried to lock me up. I just wanted them to read Harry Potter!" he said, twiddling his fingers. A box of volumes lay on the earth beside his bare feet.
"Maybe it's the fact that there's an image of a boy on a broomstick on your T-shirt, George. Salem locals and cleaning tools aren't exactly on great terms, as you can see from our predicament," I said, throwing a bottle of Mr. Muscle into the river.
"You know, you shouldn't throw plastic waste into the river."
George winced as I chucked a bottle of Nivea body lotion into the river.
"It's the 17th century! Who the hell cares!" I retrieved a box of Sharpies and inverted it, spilling the stationary items into the water.
"Maybe you ARE a witch! Only witches pollute water bodies and come up with lame excuses!" he exclaimed. His face turned red with anger and he reached into his pockets to try to find a phone to record me with.
"Look, George, if we get out of this town alive, you can gladly post a video of me polluting an ancient water body on Twitter and destroy my career. For now, let's just focus on clearing ourselves of any suspicion." I kicked the box with the rest of the cosmetics into the river and watched as the currents carried it away.
I turned back to face George. He was sitting in the middle of the forest clearing, his arms wrapped around the Harry Potter set. Behind him, the forest stretched on infinitely, the darkness between the trees punctuated by distant fires.
"What are they burning?" I asked, bewildered. We'd escaped from the town a few hours ago and made it to the forest clearing and no one else had been convicted of witchcraft.
"We were burning these AWFUL books!" a voice boomed from the edge of the clearing, and a dozen or so villagers holding comically large pitchforks emerged from the darkness.
"George." I stared at him accusatorily as the villagers walked towards us.
"I left some books there but only because they asked! They seemed really eager to learn about the whereabouts of the school for witchcraft and wizardry! I thought they were enjoying the book." he said, as guileless as a newborn beagle.
I groaned as the contingent of villagers surrounded George. One of them pointed at me and shouted, "This one claimed to make the pimples disappear! His poisons, which Belle foolishly ingested, have now transmogrified her once beautiful countenance!"
My face lit up. A potential for a lawsuit with Nivea!
"And you! Catherine read through all eight of those blasphemous pieces of literature and not once was the location of this witch factory revealed to us! What diabolical schemes are Dumbledorus and Magonagallian hatching in the stygian void whence you wretches spawn? Tell us!" The villager jabbed a finger at George and he squirmed uncomfortably where he sat.
"Did you explain to them the concept of fiction, George?" I asked.
He raised one of his eyebrows and stared at me incredulously.
"Fiction? Harry Potter isn't fiction, you dunce! I got an admittance letter to Hogwarts from harrypotter.warnerbros.noreply@gmail.com!" he spat out, convulsing violently with laughter. The villagers laughed along with him, tears streaming down their cheeks and I started to feel very, very embarassed.
The laughter ceased after an agonisingly long minute, and the villagers prodded me and him with pitchforks.
"Tell us where Johanna Kathleen Rowling is! Who is this witch who does not make use of unaccusative verbs and modal auxillaries and forced us to parse her tortuous writing? Perhaps she knows the whereabouts of this witch factory!"
"Your extensive knowledge of English grammar is making me quite suspicious, Catherine," one of the villagers whispered, staring at her warily.
Catherine rolled her eyes and spat pugnaciously at the aggressor's feet.
"Are you still incensed over Ken asking for my hand in marriage and not yours, you jealous wretch? Jealousy is a vice that is characteristic of witches, Sarah. Maybe we should be investigating you and not these two strange men?"
"Nice one, Catherine!" George shouted gleefully.
The mob of villagers roared in agreement.
"Sarah made a terrible stew for my niece which made her sick and gave her dysentery for an entire week! I always suspected she was one of them!" someone from the crowd yelled.
"You told me that stew was delicious, Bethel!" Sarah yelled, her feelings hurt by her stew getting slandered.
"Yeah, that was uncalled for, Bethel," George said in a low voice.
I began to inch away from the forest clearing. I bolted into the forest, the cacophony of accusatory voices rising in volume as I headed towards the village. I had a lawsuit to attend to.
​
Edit: I kinda forgot what the prompt was about halfway through, my apologies |
My first post here! I'm excited to do this! | [WP] You time travel back to the medieval ages, with items from the future, trying to advance the era. That was not a good idea, as you get accused of witchery, and have to fight another witch, who is actually just another time traveler trying to do what you were trying to do. | I've never had a taste for dark humor. It's disrespectful to laugh at something that causes someone else so much grief, and the fact that people do it so often really irritates me. No, I cannot handle dark humor.
Irony, on the other hand? Absolutely hilarious.
Perhaps, in this moment, I was willing to make an exception on my dark humor rule. Someone was going to die soon, but it was going to be ironic and I might be the victim, so I think, just this once, that it's fine. Or perhaps I'm trying to squeeze as much happiness out of this probably-soon-to-be-cut-short life I'm living before getting my ass absolutely handed to me by this smoking hot girl about ten feet away from me.
"Witches!" boomed the town's mayor, "You are now to face each other in combat **to the death**." He shot looks at both of us as he emphasized the last three words, as if we hadn't both been told them a hundred times. *Geez, we get it*, I thought. I glanced over at my opponent with a small smirk to indicate that I found the mayor's statement funny. She was staring at me with cold eyes. I realized that my smirk had abruptly packed up and left for a face where it would be appreciated.
"The winner of this duel," the mayor continued, snapping me back to reality, "shall be spared a trial; however, they shall also be exiled to the land beyond the Alder Line." The crowd cheered and jeered. The Alder Line, located about three miles out of town, marked the boundary to what would someday be dubbed the outskirts of Seattle, Washington. Nothing to fear there but Mariners fans. Well, some day there would be. Everyone on town seemed to think that the Alder Line (which was literally just a long, narrow clump of alders) kept them safe from the supernatural. They would have to rethink that, seeing as two "witches" had somehow made it into their camp.
I was reminded why I had come here with all my cool tech in the first place. I had a meticulous plan to slowly but surely get folks to understand my nature and how they could use my precious technology to advance the future by leaps and bounds, but some idiot kid though he could handle my sour Skittles and suddenly I'm accused of burning his mouth with my "edible magic." All things considered, it could have been worse. He could have found my REAL edible magic (weed brownies). That probably would've had me *and* the kid killed on the spot.
"Witches! Get ready!" the mayor thundered, making me jump and almost drop the pitchfork I had generously been gifted to kill my fellow time traveler with. "Three...two...one...FIGHT!"
I would like to take a moment to inform you, good reader, that I am about the least threatening person you'll ever meet. I'm about 5'4" (1.6m), rather scrawny, and have been known to lose races with remote-controlled toy cars. I knew I was as good as dead the second I was told that I was going to be fighting someone; the fact that it turned out to be this extremely capable-looking dame had sealed the deal. Still, I possessed determination (or so I've been told, anyways), so I wasn't going down without a fight.
She dashed at me immediately, her own pitchfork drawn. My mind went blank as my brain hit the panic button. I couldn't let her reach me, or this was going to be over more quickly than I would have liked. So, it my moment of panic, I hurled my pitchfork at her with a determined yell.
It flew well off to her left, never having been an issue to begin with. Great. Now I was weaponless.
My opponent seemed to like that idea because with a yell to challenge mine, she hurled her pitchfork at me. I saw it happening and ducked, but there was no need. I observed that she was just as bad at throwing long, pointy things as I was as the pitchfork flew off to my right, decidedly more off-target than my throw had been. But she kept advancing, now with her dukes up in a manner that suggested she would like to end my miserable life with an old-fashioned round of fisticuffs. Well, it wouldn't be very chivalrous of me to refuse her.
I raised my hands and bent my knees as she approached, blindly jabbing at her when she came within what I could only pray my reach was.
I totally whiffed.
She whirled around and fell down anyways, coughing. I blinked in surprise. The crowd roared, somehow thinking that a first hit had been struck. I looked at my opponent on the ground, confused.
"Why you--" She stood up angrily, spitting some blood off to the side.
*Blood?* *What the hell?!* I thought. *Maybe I AM a magic witch.*
She charged at me yet again, raising her left hand to strike. But she was slow, and I easily dodged out of the way. *I thought she was gonna be better than this,* I thought with disappointment and she stumbled by me.
That's when I noticed a pill in her hair. *No,* I thought, *not a pill. A fake blood capsule.* In a second, it all made sense. I grinned. I was much better at acting than I was at fighting.
"Hey, you stupid witch!" I sneered. "Do you even have a brain? Or have you done so much magic that you don't understand how an actual body works?" I tapped the spot on my head, corresponding to the spot on hers where the capsule was. The look in her eyes said that she understood my message.
"Speak for yourself...uh...idiot!" she yelled back at me. She charged. Confidently, I fell into my stance. I would burst the capsule and pretend to kill her, then take her with me as I was exiled. It was clever, I thought, and I had a newfound respect for my attractive adversary.
She had almost reached me. All I had to do was--
**SOCK!**
I suddenly found my diaphragm to be quite intimate with her knee. I choked out a breath as she whispered, "Why don't *you* play dead?" into my ear right before letting me drop to the ground. As I fell, I saw my once-white shirt now stained with fake blood. Had she slipped a capsule into my shirt as she had whiffed by me on her first punch? Had she put one on her knee? Either way, I was in pain and impressed.
Dramatically, I coughed and rolled over onto my back.
"Curse...you...witch," I spat. With one last, heaving breath, I "died." | "Harry Potter?"
The corpulent man before me nodded, picking out the creases in his T-shirt.
"I still don't understand why they tried to lock me up. I just wanted them to read Harry Potter!" he said, twiddling his fingers. A box of volumes lay on the earth beside his bare feet.
"Maybe it's the fact that there's an image of a boy on a broomstick on your T-shirt, George. Salem locals and cleaning tools aren't exactly on great terms, as you can see from our predicament," I said, throwing a bottle of Mr. Muscle into the river.
"You know, you shouldn't throw plastic waste into the river."
George winced as I chucked a bottle of Nivea body lotion into the river.
"It's the 17th century! Who the hell cares!" I retrieved a box of Sharpies and inverted it, spilling the stationary items into the water.
"Maybe you ARE a witch! Only witches pollute water bodies and come up with lame excuses!" he exclaimed. His face turned red with anger and he reached into his pockets to try to find a phone to record me with.
"Look, George, if we get out of this town alive, you can gladly post a video of me polluting an ancient water body on Twitter and destroy my career. For now, let's just focus on clearing ourselves of any suspicion." I kicked the box with the rest of the cosmetics into the river and watched as the currents carried it away.
I turned back to face George. He was sitting in the middle of the forest clearing, his arms wrapped around the Harry Potter set. Behind him, the forest stretched on infinitely, the darkness between the trees punctuated by distant fires.
"What are they burning?" I asked, bewildered. We'd escaped from the town a few hours ago and made it to the forest clearing and no one else had been convicted of witchcraft.
"We were burning these AWFUL books!" a voice boomed from the edge of the clearing, and a dozen or so villagers holding comically large pitchforks emerged from the darkness.
"George." I stared at him accusatorily as the villagers walked towards us.
"I left some books there but only because they asked! They seemed really eager to learn about the whereabouts of the school for witchcraft and wizardry! I thought they were enjoying the book." he said, as guileless as a newborn beagle.
I groaned as the contingent of villagers surrounded George. One of them pointed at me and shouted, "This one claimed to make the pimples disappear! His poisons, which Belle foolishly ingested, have now transmogrified her once beautiful countenance!"
My face lit up. A potential for a lawsuit with Nivea!
"And you! Catherine read through all eight of those blasphemous pieces of literature and not once was the location of this witch factory revealed to us! What diabolical schemes are Dumbledorus and Magonagallian hatching in the stygian void whence you wretches spawn? Tell us!" The villager jabbed a finger at George and he squirmed uncomfortably where he sat.
"Did you explain to them the concept of fiction, George?" I asked.
He raised one of his eyebrows and stared at me incredulously.
"Fiction? Harry Potter isn't fiction, you dunce! I got an admittance letter to Hogwarts from harrypotter.warnerbros.noreply@gmail.com!" he spat out, convulsing violently with laughter. The villagers laughed along with him, tears streaming down their cheeks and I started to feel very, very embarassed.
The laughter ceased after an agonisingly long minute, and the villagers prodded me and him with pitchforks.
"Tell us where Johanna Kathleen Rowling is! Who is this witch who does not make use of unaccusative verbs and modal auxillaries and forced us to parse her tortuous writing? Perhaps she knows the whereabouts of this witch factory!"
"Your extensive knowledge of English grammar is making me quite suspicious, Catherine," one of the villagers whispered, staring at her warily.
Catherine rolled her eyes and spat pugnaciously at the aggressor's feet.
"Are you still incensed over Ken asking for my hand in marriage and not yours, you jealous wretch? Jealousy is a vice that is characteristic of witches, Sarah. Maybe we should be investigating you and not these two strange men?"
"Nice one, Catherine!" George shouted gleefully.
The mob of villagers roared in agreement.
"Sarah made a terrible stew for my niece which made her sick and gave her dysentery for an entire week! I always suspected she was one of them!" someone from the crowd yelled.
"You told me that stew was delicious, Bethel!" Sarah yelled, her feelings hurt by her stew getting slandered.
"Yeah, that was uncalled for, Bethel," George said in a low voice.
I began to inch away from the forest clearing. I bolted into the forest, the cacophony of accusatory voices rising in volume as I headed towards the village. I had a lawsuit to attend to.
​
Edit: I kinda forgot what the prompt was about halfway through, my apologies |
[WP] You are a very minor god in charge of a locally-practiced holiday for centuries. However, the last woman who kept your holiday just died. Now you are a 'free agent' - by cosmic law, you have a year and a day to pick any unclaimed part of the human or natural world, and you will become its god. | Most people probably think that gods have set jobs, but we don’t. We follow this thing called “cosmic law,” which says that we can pick a new domain when our old one dies out. I was a god of sheep, when I started, then when sheep worship went out of style, I ended up in a small town, presiding over one of their holidays. It was a nice gig, I got to grant wishes occasionally and the town itself was sleepy, quaint. I enjoyed my life.
But then the last guardian of my holiday passed away, a sweet woman with a love for sticky buns—the bread they’d make for my holiday. So, I did what any god does. I decided to go on a road trip. I had a whole year to find my new domain, and I’d heard there were a lot of things in the world. Really, it was more of a cross-national road trip, as I wanted to get out of Ireland; I’d been there for a few thousand years, and I heard Americans had invented lots of new things, things I could possibly claim as my domain.
I landed in American on July 13th, 2018, and it seemed like an interesting place. Another god, Thucycides, contacted me when I landed to bring me up to speed on which domains were taken.
“Haber!” The petite woman yelled to me. She was waving enthusiastically in the airport.
“Ah, love! Good to finally meet you,” I said, kissing her cheeks in quick succession.
“Yes, it is a pleasure. Why don’t we get going? I had one of my boys bring the car around for us.”
“Sounds great.” I tightened the straps on my backpack and followed her out. I wasn’t the largest or most fantastic god—not by a long-shot—but I still stuck out among humans, being tall and broad-chested. Being a god did come with it perks, like near-perfection in form for those of us who chose domains that were more vain. I had curly, blond hair, the curls a leftover from my time as sheep-god, but the color came from the dirty-blond that my old village had always sported. They were strong, good people, and they had painted me in their image.
Thucycides, on the other hand, was a product of American society. Small, waif-like, fragile—don’t get me wrong, she was absolutely gorgeous, with her black hair that fell like a sheet down her back to her waist, her swirling grey eyes, her pouting pink lips. She just didn’t look like the gods I’d known, across the sea. We tended to be larger, more muscular, always ready to throw a log or two, herd some sheep, plant sustenance. In contrast, she was made to walk the streets of Boston, which is what we did after the car ride.
“I’ve got domain over apartments, right now. It’s a big job, if I’m honest, but so far it’s been fine. There are very few shrines, anymore. People tend to evoke me through cursing their landlords, rather than praising my existence.”
“Sounds like the people have forgotten how to worship.” I dodged a small dog’s curious nose as its human ignored my existence.
“Yes, very much so! It’s a drain, but those who do worship do it well. Of course, you know the celestial bodies are all taken, so no dice on those, but we have a few openings I think you might be interested in. Television just got taken up again, after Tara gave it up. Said she got tired of it, which I don’t blame her. Now Hestus is presiding over that, and Tara has Hollywood, ya know, glitz, glamour, the big screen.”
I nodded. I didn’t know who any of these gods were, but I didn’t want to make her explain any more than she already was.
“Mmm,” she said, inhaling deeply, “donuts.” She had closed her eyes for a moment, stopping our trek downtown. After a moment she opened her eyes with a start, “Right! Domains! Sorry, I can get a little distracted.”
“It’s fine. I appreciate you doing this.”
“Of course, of course! Anything for a fellow wanderer. Well, I’m not one anymore, but I know what that’s like.”
“I haven’t been at it very long, but I do feel as if something is missing.” I side-stepped to avoid a young man on a bicycle. Humans really did not care about personal space in America, did they?
“So, there is a small dispute happening at the moment as Yorik, who currently presides over the entire internet, does not want to break the domain into individual websites, but given the amount of worship he’s been receiving, we have really been thinking that it needs to be chopped up.”
“We?”
“The Cosmic Court, sorry. I’m on it. Elections come up every century. It would do you some good to make friends.” She pointed to a shop next to us, “Donuts?”
“Sure,” I said. I followed her inside, watching as she paid for a box of a dozen.
She took one out and munched on it as we walked, holding the box precariously in her free hand. I reached over and took it. “I’ll hold this for you.”
“Oh, thanks!” She said, her reply muddled by the dough and sugar she was eating like it was her last meal. She reached over and took another one out. “There’s also a chance that you could pick up something a little more niche, if you’d like, like a small town football team, or a company. There’s enough interest in some towns, if that’s something you’d like. I don’t know what scale you’re looking for.”
I shrugged, “I don’t know. Since I left the sheep business, things have been small and quiet. I liked it, but I’m not opposed to something with a big more pull.”
“If you want something big, there’s currently an opening for god of cannabis.”
I knew who’d had that domain previously, Dionysus, and he had hated it in the end. “Nah, not looking for something like that.”
“Well,” she said, grabbing a third donut, “there’s a weird one I heard about recently.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know if you’d like something like that.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a rumor that the domain of language is coming up soon.”
“Hera is leaving that?”
She shrugged, “That’s what I’ve heard, but it’s not law yet. She wanted out, last I heard. Too many post-structuralists or something like that.”
“Sounds like it might be fun.”
“You well versed in language?”
“Enough to bat it around, I suppose.”
“Ever read Infinite Jest?”
“No. Should I?”
“No.” She licked the sugar off her fingers, “I only know it because it sits on a lot of bookshelves in apartments. Rarely read.”
“Do you know if anything small, with a potential to grow, is open?”
She motioned for us to sit at a bench in the park we were passing. I obliged, setting the donuts between us. I finally took one and bit into it. It was delicious.
“I’d have to think on that particular idea,” she said.
“What about these?” I said, motioning to the donut in my hand.
“Bread is taken, so is desserts.”
I sighed. She snapped her fingers.
“Weird,” she said, “but what about going back to sheep?”
I laughed, looking over at her. Her gray eyes were sparkling at me in the twilight. “Oh, you mean it.”
“People may not worship sheep as much anymore, but it should include things like, I dunno, sheep-off-shoots. There’s a big brand that uses a sheep for its advertising—some sort of mattress thing, I think.”
“Hm,” I said, leaning back and taking in the park.
“I mean, you’ve got a lot of time to decide.”
“What should I do in the mean time?”
She picked up another donut and took a bite, closing her eyes. She swallowed and sighed. “Enjoy the freedom, eat another donut, make friends. All the things you didn’t do before. Not to overstep, but my friends said you’d been a bit of an old-world stickler. You might find something you like if you let loose a little bit.”
“Let loose?”
“Ever been to a night club?”
“No.”
“Do you want to go to one?”
“I don’t know.”
She laughed, “That’s a good reason to go, then.” She stood up abruptly and held her hand out to me, “Alright, Haber. Before we find you a domain we have to do something even more important.”
“What’s that?” I asked. I took her hand and she pulled me up from the bench with surprising strength.
“Find you a life.”
\_ \_ \_
r/AinsleyAdams | I felt I knew exactly what I wanted to transition into, needing to see all that was available I took a small hiatus. I wanted to max out my potential and go from a minor god to a resounding voice that would be heard and felt through the ages. I needed to enforce the mundane and accelerate the relentless, to force through unmovable objects, to stop the relentless tides that all gods had become too mundanely earth bound to, space and time were now my mortal enemy. Defeating the very things that made the world turn, to be forced to contend with a power that they scarcely imagined. I heard the prayers of the weak, I sought the knowledge of the feebled, I felt the needs of the unheard, i stumbled upon recognition of my glory. Finally choosing my niche that would cement my legacy as a true power entity, I chose to embody the powers of the old ones, words and stories passed down from generation to generation allowing exaggeration to bolster my followers. They believed their great grandfather was a gladiator, they became one. They believed their ancestors summoned creatures from the wild, they were now allowed to summon. They believed their messiah cured by miracles, now their touches exemplified their existence. They believed their god spoke to them, I was the whispering wind.
​
I am now Imagination, what was wanted to be believed as truth simply was by the sheer force of will power set forth. As their faiths grew in other gods who sat idly by, I grew each and every day. Feeding off the energy that was freely given to the others who couldn't be bothered to simply lift a finger. | |
[WP] You are a very minor god in charge of a locally-practiced holiday for centuries. However, the last woman who kept your holiday just died. Now you are a 'free agent' - by cosmic law, you have a year and a day to pick any unclaimed part of the human or natural world, and you will become its god. | POSSIBLE TW: SUICIDE
The problem, as you might imagine, is that after millennia of deities living and reproducing there are gods for pretty much everything already. Multiples usually. For example, there is the God of war of course, but there is also the God of mounted warriors and the God of the first charge. So in the morning before a battle you could pray to any of them and be heard or ignored.
In the modern day, with new inventions every day, I could claim one of them, even if it dies within weeks I'll have a whole new year to find something else. But I don't want to hop between things like that. I want to find something that matters.
So I look. I find things claimed by many in vague terms but none specific. I find things that have evolved so much their old gods are barely hanging on. Claiming their place would be no hard thing to do.
But I didn't want that. So I looked. I looked at people, learned when they sought out gods and I found my place. A place unwanted by other gods. A place of too much pain and fear for any God with good in them, yet also a place of hope and healing far more than any evil good could stomach.
I became the God of the last line. God of the suicide note. In desperate times when all hope fails and you look for any help to get the right words on the page you leave behind, I'll be there to guide your hand.
When you find a note and try to understand, I'll be there to help you find the hidden meaning.
I am the God of unwanted letters, letters that shatter worlds. I am the God of final words. Pray you never need to pray to me. | I felt I knew exactly what I wanted to transition into, needing to see all that was available I took a small hiatus. I wanted to max out my potential and go from a minor god to a resounding voice that would be heard and felt through the ages. I needed to enforce the mundane and accelerate the relentless, to force through unmovable objects, to stop the relentless tides that all gods had become too mundanely earth bound to, space and time were now my mortal enemy. Defeating the very things that made the world turn, to be forced to contend with a power that they scarcely imagined. I heard the prayers of the weak, I sought the knowledge of the feebled, I felt the needs of the unheard, i stumbled upon recognition of my glory. Finally choosing my niche that would cement my legacy as a true power entity, I chose to embody the powers of the old ones, words and stories passed down from generation to generation allowing exaggeration to bolster my followers. They believed their great grandfather was a gladiator, they became one. They believed their ancestors summoned creatures from the wild, they were now allowed to summon. They believed their messiah cured by miracles, now their touches exemplified their existence. They believed their god spoke to them, I was the whispering wind.
​
I am now Imagination, what was wanted to be believed as truth simply was by the sheer force of will power set forth. As their faiths grew in other gods who sat idly by, I grew each and every day. Feeding off the energy that was freely given to the others who couldn't be bothered to simply lift a finger. | |
[WP] You are a very minor god in charge of a locally-practiced holiday for centuries. However, the last woman who kept your holiday just died. Now you are a 'free agent' - by cosmic law, you have a year and a day to pick any unclaimed part of the human or natural world, and you will become its god. | One year and a day. For the mortals that used to worship him, it was a long time. But for Ajwa, it was not nearly long enough. He had spent all his time being the god of a small tribe located on a small island in the Pacific. But now that the last tribe member had died, he had such a small amount of time to chose a new divine domain, or disappear forever.
The problem was he had no idea what to chose. All the good ones had been chosen. Even among his fellow minor deities, everything good was claimed. There was no way he was going to snag a natural domain. Even individual species of grass already had gods and goddesses governing them. And forget the number of animal gods out there. The insect gods along boggled the mind.
Ajwa would need to try his luck with a human domain. He first tried a dance based domain. He had always like the dances performed by his followers. But there was nothing. Every stile of dance, and even individual dances had been scooped up. It was the same with every type of art. Maybe an individual painting or sculpture? No, that was useless. There was so little power in those that he would fade away anyway.
He went down to the mortal world, adopting a disguise appropriate to his rank, and began to really search. The days and months flew by far too fast for his liking. There had to be something he could use. Maybe that new human invention would be open.
No, of course it was not. The internet was claimed by a god that was rapidly becoming a major deity thanks to the claim. All the big websites were taken, and minor websites offered only slightly more than individual works of art.
It was with a month left on his life that Ajwa found something. There were some websites that featured mortals doing things. Very specific things. They would shovel things in their mouths, dump things over their heads, or even just stand in a certain way.
But it was not what they did that interested Ajwa. It was how often these things were done. Hundreds of times, each one being viewed thousands, or even millions of times. Each one like a prayer to a god as yet unchosen. Yes, there was power in this. And it was unclaimed.
Yes, he would be subservient to many other deities, but so what? Most of them would fade as their chosen websites vanished to the whims of mortals. But this? This was lasting. This was enduring. It would be a fine domain for as long as the internet lasted.
Ajwa cast off his mortal disguise with a mere day left before he faded. He reached out with his divine form and gathered the threads that made up his new domain, adding them to his own essence. And as the power began entering him, he began to change.
He felt his divine essence shift and warp to fit his new domain. Even his name was altered. He felt what would be a smile on a mortal come to him. He felt it. A flood of power, made of thousands of tiny trickles. Yes, yes this would do nicely.
As he gazed upon his new form, and his new domain, he was no longer who he was. Gone was Ajwa, god of a now extinct tribe. In his place was Viralin, God of Internet Challenges. | I felt I knew exactly what I wanted to transition into, needing to see all that was available I took a small hiatus. I wanted to max out my potential and go from a minor god to a resounding voice that would be heard and felt through the ages. I needed to enforce the mundane and accelerate the relentless, to force through unmovable objects, to stop the relentless tides that all gods had become too mundanely earth bound to, space and time were now my mortal enemy. Defeating the very things that made the world turn, to be forced to contend with a power that they scarcely imagined. I heard the prayers of the weak, I sought the knowledge of the feebled, I felt the needs of the unheard, i stumbled upon recognition of my glory. Finally choosing my niche that would cement my legacy as a true power entity, I chose to embody the powers of the old ones, words and stories passed down from generation to generation allowing exaggeration to bolster my followers. They believed their great grandfather was a gladiator, they became one. They believed their ancestors summoned creatures from the wild, they were now allowed to summon. They believed their messiah cured by miracles, now their touches exemplified their existence. They believed their god spoke to them, I was the whispering wind.
​
I am now Imagination, what was wanted to be believed as truth simply was by the sheer force of will power set forth. As their faiths grew in other gods who sat idly by, I grew each and every day. Feeding off the energy that was freely given to the others who couldn't be bothered to simply lift a finger. | |
[WP] You are a very minor god in charge of a locally-practiced holiday for centuries. However, the last woman who kept your holiday just died. Now you are a 'free agent' - by cosmic law, you have a year and a day to pick any unclaimed part of the human or natural world, and you will become its god. | POSSIBLE TW: SUICIDE
The problem, as you might imagine, is that after millennia of deities living and reproducing there are gods for pretty much everything already. Multiples usually. For example, there is the God of war of course, but there is also the God of mounted warriors and the God of the first charge. So in the morning before a battle you could pray to any of them and be heard or ignored.
In the modern day, with new inventions every day, I could claim one of them, even if it dies within weeks I'll have a whole new year to find something else. But I don't want to hop between things like that. I want to find something that matters.
So I look. I find things claimed by many in vague terms but none specific. I find things that have evolved so much their old gods are barely hanging on. Claiming their place would be no hard thing to do.
But I didn't want that. So I looked. I looked at people, learned when they sought out gods and I found my place. A place unwanted by other gods. A place of too much pain and fear for any God with good in them, yet also a place of hope and healing far more than any evil good could stomach.
I became the God of the last line. God of the suicide note. In desperate times when all hope fails and you look for any help to get the right words on the page you leave behind, I'll be there to guide your hand.
When you find a note and try to understand, I'll be there to help you find the hidden meaning.
I am the God of unwanted letters, letters that shatter worlds. I am the God of final words. Pray you never need to pray to me. | Most people probably think that gods have set jobs, but we don’t. We follow this thing called “cosmic law,” which says that we can pick a new domain when our old one dies out. I was a god of sheep, when I started, then when sheep worship went out of style, I ended up in a small town, presiding over one of their holidays. It was a nice gig, I got to grant wishes occasionally and the town itself was sleepy, quaint. I enjoyed my life.
But then the last guardian of my holiday passed away, a sweet woman with a love for sticky buns—the bread they’d make for my holiday. So, I did what any god does. I decided to go on a road trip. I had a whole year to find my new domain, and I’d heard there were a lot of things in the world. Really, it was more of a cross-national road trip, as I wanted to get out of Ireland; I’d been there for a few thousand years, and I heard Americans had invented lots of new things, things I could possibly claim as my domain.
I landed in American on July 13th, 2018, and it seemed like an interesting place. Another god, Thucycides, contacted me when I landed to bring me up to speed on which domains were taken.
“Haber!” The petite woman yelled to me. She was waving enthusiastically in the airport.
“Ah, love! Good to finally meet you,” I said, kissing her cheeks in quick succession.
“Yes, it is a pleasure. Why don’t we get going? I had one of my boys bring the car around for us.”
“Sounds great.” I tightened the straps on my backpack and followed her out. I wasn’t the largest or most fantastic god—not by a long-shot—but I still stuck out among humans, being tall and broad-chested. Being a god did come with it perks, like near-perfection in form for those of us who chose domains that were more vain. I had curly, blond hair, the curls a leftover from my time as sheep-god, but the color came from the dirty-blond that my old village had always sported. They were strong, good people, and they had painted me in their image.
Thucycides, on the other hand, was a product of American society. Small, waif-like, fragile—don’t get me wrong, she was absolutely gorgeous, with her black hair that fell like a sheet down her back to her waist, her swirling grey eyes, her pouting pink lips. She just didn’t look like the gods I’d known, across the sea. We tended to be larger, more muscular, always ready to throw a log or two, herd some sheep, plant sustenance. In contrast, she was made to walk the streets of Boston, which is what we did after the car ride.
“I’ve got domain over apartments, right now. It’s a big job, if I’m honest, but so far it’s been fine. There are very few shrines, anymore. People tend to evoke me through cursing their landlords, rather than praising my existence.”
“Sounds like the people have forgotten how to worship.” I dodged a small dog’s curious nose as its human ignored my existence.
“Yes, very much so! It’s a drain, but those who do worship do it well. Of course, you know the celestial bodies are all taken, so no dice on those, but we have a few openings I think you might be interested in. Television just got taken up again, after Tara gave it up. Said she got tired of it, which I don’t blame her. Now Hestus is presiding over that, and Tara has Hollywood, ya know, glitz, glamour, the big screen.”
I nodded. I didn’t know who any of these gods were, but I didn’t want to make her explain any more than she already was.
“Mmm,” she said, inhaling deeply, “donuts.” She had closed her eyes for a moment, stopping our trek downtown. After a moment she opened her eyes with a start, “Right! Domains! Sorry, I can get a little distracted.”
“It’s fine. I appreciate you doing this.”
“Of course, of course! Anything for a fellow wanderer. Well, I’m not one anymore, but I know what that’s like.”
“I haven’t been at it very long, but I do feel as if something is missing.” I side-stepped to avoid a young man on a bicycle. Humans really did not care about personal space in America, did they?
“So, there is a small dispute happening at the moment as Yorik, who currently presides over the entire internet, does not want to break the domain into individual websites, but given the amount of worship he’s been receiving, we have really been thinking that it needs to be chopped up.”
“We?”
“The Cosmic Court, sorry. I’m on it. Elections come up every century. It would do you some good to make friends.” She pointed to a shop next to us, “Donuts?”
“Sure,” I said. I followed her inside, watching as she paid for a box of a dozen.
She took one out and munched on it as we walked, holding the box precariously in her free hand. I reached over and took it. “I’ll hold this for you.”
“Oh, thanks!” She said, her reply muddled by the dough and sugar she was eating like it was her last meal. She reached over and took another one out. “There’s also a chance that you could pick up something a little more niche, if you’d like, like a small town football team, or a company. There’s enough interest in some towns, if that’s something you’d like. I don’t know what scale you’re looking for.”
I shrugged, “I don’t know. Since I left the sheep business, things have been small and quiet. I liked it, but I’m not opposed to something with a big more pull.”
“If you want something big, there’s currently an opening for god of cannabis.”
I knew who’d had that domain previously, Dionysus, and he had hated it in the end. “Nah, not looking for something like that.”
“Well,” she said, grabbing a third donut, “there’s a weird one I heard about recently.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know if you’d like something like that.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a rumor that the domain of language is coming up soon.”
“Hera is leaving that?”
She shrugged, “That’s what I’ve heard, but it’s not law yet. She wanted out, last I heard. Too many post-structuralists or something like that.”
“Sounds like it might be fun.”
“You well versed in language?”
“Enough to bat it around, I suppose.”
“Ever read Infinite Jest?”
“No. Should I?”
“No.” She licked the sugar off her fingers, “I only know it because it sits on a lot of bookshelves in apartments. Rarely read.”
“Do you know if anything small, with a potential to grow, is open?”
She motioned for us to sit at a bench in the park we were passing. I obliged, setting the donuts between us. I finally took one and bit into it. It was delicious.
“I’d have to think on that particular idea,” she said.
“What about these?” I said, motioning to the donut in my hand.
“Bread is taken, so is desserts.”
I sighed. She snapped her fingers.
“Weird,” she said, “but what about going back to sheep?”
I laughed, looking over at her. Her gray eyes were sparkling at me in the twilight. “Oh, you mean it.”
“People may not worship sheep as much anymore, but it should include things like, I dunno, sheep-off-shoots. There’s a big brand that uses a sheep for its advertising—some sort of mattress thing, I think.”
“Hm,” I said, leaning back and taking in the park.
“I mean, you’ve got a lot of time to decide.”
“What should I do in the mean time?”
She picked up another donut and took a bite, closing her eyes. She swallowed and sighed. “Enjoy the freedom, eat another donut, make friends. All the things you didn’t do before. Not to overstep, but my friends said you’d been a bit of an old-world stickler. You might find something you like if you let loose a little bit.”
“Let loose?”
“Ever been to a night club?”
“No.”
“Do you want to go to one?”
“I don’t know.”
She laughed, “That’s a good reason to go, then.” She stood up abruptly and held her hand out to me, “Alright, Haber. Before we find you a domain we have to do something even more important.”
“What’s that?” I asked. I took her hand and she pulled me up from the bench with surprising strength.
“Find you a life.”
\_ \_ \_
r/AinsleyAdams | |
[WP] About a year ago you sold your firstborn to a witch in order to find your true love. Now your first child is about to be born and the witch, upon finding out who the other parent is, is now trying to get you to change your payment method before it is born. | Aleks jumped up on my lap, begging for belly-rubs as she always did. Resigning myself to my fate for the next 2 hours, I did as she asked and she purred and kneaded her claws on her scratch pad. Then with a jolt of electricity, her eyes grew misty and a withered voice boomed, "I have come".
I responded, "oh! Mortred, welcome! You could have taken the front door but this works too I guess.
"Enough chit-chat mortal, I have come to discuss the terms of our arrangement."
"Go on" I replied
"The price we settled on, perhaps I was too harsh..."
"Sooo, you don't want my child, cuz I'll give him to you. You helped me find the love of my life, and that's worth way more than a kid. Besides, I know the world's most successful warlocks are your protegēs so I don't have any qualms about his future."
"Your firstborn is no longer needed by me. We shall come to terms on some other price"
"So you'll leave my kid alone? This is great news! Hang on, let me tell my wife" I rushed to my feet to call her when Mortred yelled.
"Stop! She.... is not needed for our renegotiation."
"Mortred..." I asked, concerned. "Are you afraid? Of my wife?"
She let out a weak laugh, "what? Of course not. I fear no one! I have looked into the eyes of atlas, stolen from the herd of Apol."
I cut her off. "Yeah, yeah. I know you're lying. Your tail is poofy"
She looked puzzled. "What?"
"You know, cats' tails poof up when they're scared. Also your ears are flat against the back of your head."
There was an awkward ten second pause and her embarrassment was visible through her feline features.
I broke the silence, "you can't control a creature's mind completely can you? The subconscious remains out of control right?"
Her face was _red_ now. Through the mottled fur of an orange tabby. She tried to divert the topic but it didn't really work. "That... is none of your concern puny human."
"Oh so we're going to insults now huh? Well know this, any negotiation you start, any price I don't agree with, I'm just gonna call my wife downstairs. I can do it right now if you want." I opened my mouth as if to call her.
Her face had somehow transformed from being bright red, to losing all its colour and her tail was poofier than I thought possible. She just looked defeated and being in the form of a cat, I took pity on her.
"So. We're gonna strike a fair deal. And by fair, I mean one that favours me. And im not bargaining because I fear you or what you'll do to me, but because I pity you. And if you try anything, remember who lives with me, what lengths she'll go to hunt you down and how easily she can crush you like a gnat if she wants to. Now scram!" I said
"Honey!" I shouted, "could you come down here a sec?"
The cat looked angry, seemed to consider her options, then the mistiness from her eyes disappeared, and Aleks was back begging for scritches.
As my wife's face came into view, the cat went to annoy her instead, and a wide grin spread on my face... | [EU], Note;
Two things, firstly this is not following the prompt exactly, second is that I am using a character similar to the one in my mythos as the one in my mythos isn’t quite fleshed out.
“Please my lady, I beg of you. Allow me to change the terms of my deal with her, Please!” The crone begged, kneeling on the ground before the lady of horror, an eldritch monstrosity of beauty, horror, and fury currently in the form of a maiden.
“No, you have made your nest, now lay in it, if that is how the saying goes.” The lady of horror said, before launching the crone through the dimensions of space back to it’s lair, where it would wait until it’s end. It knew he would come, as he always and and will, to feast on the blood of the wicked.
A flash of lightning revealed a shape on the path to the crone’s cave. A monster man of power and a silent rage. Ripping and tearing through even the crone’s most powerful minions alone without his spawn or soldiers, the crone was driven into deeper and darker pits.
It was the end, the slayer of the titan, the Hellwalker, was before the slave of Doom he had hunted for so long. The thief and killer of his child, his heir. He would torment and torture it until it’s heart gave out. Even then he brought it back to endure more agony. After decades of this constant and barbarous cruelty, the man granted the crone mercy by ending its pathetic life. The next one to fall will be the one who granted the crone it’s power.
*constructive criticism pls* | |
[WP] About a year ago you sold your firstborn to a witch in order to find your true love. Now your first child is about to be born and the witch, upon finding out who the other parent is, is now trying to get you to change your payment method before it is born. | "You're kidding me."
"Not in the slightest."
I sighed, twisting the neck of my goblet in frustration. This damnable woman had turned a regular firstborn transaction into a political landmine. She had come to me, all those months ago, seeking beauty beyond all others and I, in my foolishness, granted that wish at the standard rate for boons of that level. I should've foreseen Zeus pouncing on her.
"What in tartarus am I meant to do with it now? I don't want it."
"Not my problem, witch. Whatever you plan, I wish you all the worst. I'm due in a month, you'll know where to find me."
The woman (I couldn't recall her name, though I guess the history books will do that for me) left me sitting at the table under the eaves of my cottage, still turning the glass in my hand. This had become a shitshow.
Olympus was currently embroiled in a civil war. Hera, tired of Zeus' constant infidelity, had rallied a few gods and captured the big man himself, wrapping him in divine chains that even he could not break. Naturally, this action had fallout. Olympus had split into three main factions, with half the gods demanding Zeus' release, the other half demanding his head and a third small but powerful faction staying out of it for now.
This would normally have nothing to do with a witch and the debts she is owed, but my own mother, Hecate, led the third faction. As direct spawn of a Titan, she was part of a small group of gods who could rival the big three in power. Her support could break the deadlock. And silly old me just gave both of the warring factions a reason to pay attention.
I can't kill the child, that would force my mother to join the usurpers, not to mention the fact that no one besides Hera can fuck with Zeus' kids and get away with it. But I can't keep it alive either. That would push mother into the opposite camp and Hera would likely legitimately turn me inside out once she no longer has a reason to placate my mom.
Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
I stood up and paced the grass in front of the table, pensive. Currently, I was too weak to do anything for myself. My life would be completely beholden to the Olympians once that woman gave birth. What I needed was strength. What I needed was power of my own to separate myself from the situation because people heavily involved with gods tended to end up doing menial tasks in Hades for all eternity. What I needed was family.
I started setting up a ritual circle in my mind, substituting reagents and catalysts with my raw power. It was quick, it was dirty, but it was effective.
The circle, formed of golden light and hanging suspended in the air in front of me, shuddered as the spell took hold. A loud gong reverberated in the clearing my house was in, setting the birds to flight and rattling my teeth painfully. _He'd better answer._
Another ear-splitting gong sounded out from the circle, this one rustling the leaves in the trees.
"Fuck! Fine! What is it that you want, woman?"
I smirked.
"Is that any way to greet your very own cousin?"
"Once removed."
"Semantics. Have you been keeping track of the politics on Olympus?"
"..."
"Of course not, what am I saying. Long story short, the gods are fighting again but I'm caught in the middle and I'm too weak to stay there and survive. Mother would probably intervene but she's involved in the same conflict and anyone gunning for me will be as powerful as her. I need some muscle and you're the only person I know who could hold his own against the olympians."
"You know what I require."
"Really? Now? I just told you there are _gods_ coming for me and you want this now??"
"..."
"Ugh. 'Pretty pretty please, with an olive on top'?"
The girly, saccharine high-pitched voice I had to use whenever I asked him for something grated at me but what else could I do?
"Heh. Never gets old. But fine, don't worry about it kid, I'll be there soon."
"Thanks cousin Kratos."
_Asshole._ | [EU], Note;
Two things, firstly this is not following the prompt exactly, second is that I am using a character similar to the one in my mythos as the one in my mythos isn’t quite fleshed out.
“Please my lady, I beg of you. Allow me to change the terms of my deal with her, Please!” The crone begged, kneeling on the ground before the lady of horror, an eldritch monstrosity of beauty, horror, and fury currently in the form of a maiden.
“No, you have made your nest, now lay in it, if that is how the saying goes.” The lady of horror said, before launching the crone through the dimensions of space back to it’s lair, where it would wait until it’s end. It knew he would come, as he always and and will, to feast on the blood of the wicked.
A flash of lightning revealed a shape on the path to the crone’s cave. A monster man of power and a silent rage. Ripping and tearing through even the crone’s most powerful minions alone without his spawn or soldiers, the crone was driven into deeper and darker pits.
It was the end, the slayer of the titan, the Hellwalker, was before the slave of Doom he had hunted for so long. The thief and killer of his child, his heir. He would torment and torture it until it’s heart gave out. Even then he brought it back to endure more agony. After decades of this constant and barbarous cruelty, the man granted the crone mercy by ending its pathetic life. The next one to fall will be the one who granted the crone it’s power.
*constructive criticism pls* | |
[WP] About a year ago you sold your firstborn to a witch in order to find your true love. Now your first child is about to be born and the witch, upon finding out who the other parent is, is now trying to get you to change your payment method before it is born. | "Please! I just need to find my true love! I will give you anything that you want!" I cried into the void. I was alone and needed companionship. Noone around to spend time with. Nothing to do. I didn't even know if anyone could hear me. I was just talking for the sake of it.
"Anything?" a voice replied.
"Yes, Anything."
"Very well, I will help you find your true love but I desire your firstborn child," Taika replied.
Witches really get a bad reputation. Taika didn't want to put the little tyke in a cauldron or use it's blood for spells. No, she'd rather view this as an adoption opportunity. The cost of having magic was great, leaving Taika barren and unable to have offspring of her own.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
"She is going to be beautiful, and smart and do wonderous things" I stated as I rubbed my wife's belly, almost forgetting about the encounter with the witch.
Everything had been going wonderful. We were both happy.
"Is there anything I can get for you, my love?" I asked lovingly.
"If you could get me a drink that would be lovely dear." my wife replied.
"How cute," said Taika, who appeared next to me as I left my wife's sight.
"Here for the girl then?" I replied in my most venomous tone.
"No actually. I've reconsidered our arrangement. I do not want her." said Taika
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"You... do not want her?"
"No, keep her. As for our arrangement, your daughter will do wondrous things. She will rebirth me when the time is right, and in essence, be my mother instead of my daughter." said Taika.
The witch disappeared, not leaving me anytime to accept or decline the offer. Although I'm very happy that she did not take her.
"Who were you talking to dear,?" my wife chimed.
I returned to her with the drink she requested. She no longer appeared pregnant. In her arms, a beautiful baby girl.
"What will you name her dear Khaos?"
"Nyx"
*Aisa, Clotho, Lachesis*
*Fine-armed daughters of Night*
*Hearken to our prayers, all-terrible goddesses,*
*of sky and earth.*
[Pindar](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pindar), *Fragmenta Chorica Adespota* 5 (ed. Diehl) | [EU], Note;
Two things, firstly this is not following the prompt exactly, second is that I am using a character similar to the one in my mythos as the one in my mythos isn’t quite fleshed out.
“Please my lady, I beg of you. Allow me to change the terms of my deal with her, Please!” The crone begged, kneeling on the ground before the lady of horror, an eldritch monstrosity of beauty, horror, and fury currently in the form of a maiden.
“No, you have made your nest, now lay in it, if that is how the saying goes.” The lady of horror said, before launching the crone through the dimensions of space back to it’s lair, where it would wait until it’s end. It knew he would come, as he always and and will, to feast on the blood of the wicked.
A flash of lightning revealed a shape on the path to the crone’s cave. A monster man of power and a silent rage. Ripping and tearing through even the crone’s most powerful minions alone without his spawn or soldiers, the crone was driven into deeper and darker pits.
It was the end, the slayer of the titan, the Hellwalker, was before the slave of Doom he had hunted for so long. The thief and killer of his child, his heir. He would torment and torture it until it’s heart gave out. Even then he brought it back to endure more agony. After decades of this constant and barbarous cruelty, the man granted the crone mercy by ending its pathetic life. The next one to fall will be the one who granted the crone it’s power.
*constructive criticism pls* | |
[WP] About a year ago you sold your firstborn to a witch in order to find your true love. Now your first child is about to be born and the witch, upon finding out who the other parent is, is now trying to get you to change your payment method before it is born. | "You *cheated* me!"
I didn't attempt to dodge as the plate sailed past my head. She meant to miss. I knew she would mean to miss. But as she picked up the next one, it was time to intervene, if only to spare me replacing most of my kitchen.
"Oh, grow up. I fulfilled the terms of our bargain to the letter so far, and I intend to follow through."
"Oh, yeah, pay me with something that's already mine, asshole. No way. We are renegotiating our deal, *right now*."
"Look, dear, you know I don't like to see you unhappy, but the deal is binding. That's what you said. No backing out, no renegotiation, no second thoughts. You even insisted we sign it in blood, with an owl for a witness. Would you have let me out of the contract?"
"You tricked me! This is completely unfair! And now that I know what kind of man you are, that you would *do* something like this..."
"Get off your high horse. You were perfectly okay with a love charm so long as you thought I was going to use it on someone else. You're not mad because I did it. You're mad because I did it to *you*. Look, Cass, just because I love you doesn't mean I can't see who you really are. But I would like you to at least try to be a decent human being for once and acknowledge that you probably deserved this."
Cassandra threw another plate, which shattered itself against a cabinet about three feet from my head.
"Deserve to be your *slave*???"
"Is that what you consider it? It's what you were planning to help me do to some other girl."
"That's fine for village girls! Domestic brood mares with the eyes and brains of sheep! They're pretty much slaves anyway. I'm a *witch*! I need to dance naked in the moonlight and run with the wolves! I'm independent!"
"Okay, door's right there."
"Oh, come off it. You know I can't stand to be away from you now. I get all... anxious. I should be throwing these plates at your damn head - "
*Smash*
"- but I can't. I feel awful even *yelling* at you. I'm fucking *domesticated*, you fuck! I'm even getting *fat*! Bearing *your* stupid brat!"
"Oh, relax, dear. You're barely even showing yet. Besides, you wanted a child. That was the point of your whole weird contract thing, right?"
She stopped cold. The latest plate slipped from her fingers. The fury drained from her expression, and unblinking orange eyes fixed on me in a flat stare.
"Wait, you didn't know?"
"Know what?"
"Oh, Goddess. Oh, no. You stupid, impossible, gorgeous disaster of a man. You have no idea what you've done, do you?"
"I think I've been quite clever, all things considered. Kept my contract. Got what I want. Nobody gets hurt, not even you... you were plenty happy with your so-called 'slavery' last night. And you get to have the child you wanted. With me. How is this a bad thing? You're just sulky because you have go through pregnancy yourself instead of someone else doing it for you, right?"
"I. Didn't. Want. A. Child."
"Okay, well... wait. What?"
"I didn't want a child."
"But, you..."
"Steven, I didn't bargain for myself. I *owed* someone. Some*thing*, actually. Oh, Goddess. What are we going to DO?"
"Oh."
"Right."
And because she was a young and pregnant girl, she started crying. Then because love charms are pretty much identical to the normal kind, she threw her arms around me and buried her face in my chest. And then, because she was a witch, she quite deliberately blew her nose on my shirt-tail.
Witches are like that.
"Okay, Cass, I get it. But remember who you're talking to, here. And tell me, very carefully, *exactly* what that contract said." | [EU], Note;
Two things, firstly this is not following the prompt exactly, second is that I am using a character similar to the one in my mythos as the one in my mythos isn’t quite fleshed out.
“Please my lady, I beg of you. Allow me to change the terms of my deal with her, Please!” The crone begged, kneeling on the ground before the lady of horror, an eldritch monstrosity of beauty, horror, and fury currently in the form of a maiden.
“No, you have made your nest, now lay in it, if that is how the saying goes.” The lady of horror said, before launching the crone through the dimensions of space back to it’s lair, where it would wait until it’s end. It knew he would come, as he always and and will, to feast on the blood of the wicked.
A flash of lightning revealed a shape on the path to the crone’s cave. A monster man of power and a silent rage. Ripping and tearing through even the crone’s most powerful minions alone without his spawn or soldiers, the crone was driven into deeper and darker pits.
It was the end, the slayer of the titan, the Hellwalker, was before the slave of Doom he had hunted for so long. The thief and killer of his child, his heir. He would torment and torture it until it’s heart gave out. Even then he brought it back to endure more agony. After decades of this constant and barbarous cruelty, the man granted the crone mercy by ending its pathetic life. The next one to fall will be the one who granted the crone it’s power.
*constructive criticism pls* | |
[WP] About a year ago you sold your firstborn to a witch in order to find your true love. Now your first child is about to be born and the witch, upon finding out who the other parent is, is now trying to get you to change your payment method before it is born. | "You're kidding me."
"Not in the slightest."
I sighed, twisting the neck of my goblet in frustration. This damnable woman had turned a regular firstborn transaction into a political landmine. She had come to me, all those months ago, seeking beauty beyond all others and I, in my foolishness, granted that wish at the standard rate for boons of that level. I should've foreseen Zeus pouncing on her.
"What in tartarus am I meant to do with it now? I don't want it."
"Not my problem, witch. Whatever you plan, I wish you all the worst. I'm due in a month, you'll know where to find me."
The woman (I couldn't recall her name, though I guess the history books will do that for me) left me sitting at the table under the eaves of my cottage, still turning the glass in my hand. This had become a shitshow.
Olympus was currently embroiled in a civil war. Hera, tired of Zeus' constant infidelity, had rallied a few gods and captured the big man himself, wrapping him in divine chains that even he could not break. Naturally, this action had fallout. Olympus had split into three main factions, with half the gods demanding Zeus' release, the other half demanding his head and a third small but powerful faction staying out of it for now.
This would normally have nothing to do with a witch and the debts she is owed, but my own mother, Hecate, led the third faction. As direct spawn of a Titan, she was part of a small group of gods who could rival the big three in power. Her support could break the deadlock. And silly old me just gave both of the warring factions a reason to pay attention.
I can't kill the child, that would force my mother to join the usurpers, not to mention the fact that no one besides Hera can fuck with Zeus' kids and get away with it. But I can't keep it alive either. That would push mother into the opposite camp and Hera would likely legitimately turn me inside out once she no longer has a reason to placate my mom.
Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
I stood up and paced the grass in front of the table, pensive. Currently, I was too weak to do anything for myself. My life would be completely beholden to the Olympians once that woman gave birth. What I needed was strength. What I needed was power of my own to separate myself from the situation because people heavily involved with gods tended to end up doing menial tasks in Hades for all eternity. What I needed was family.
I started setting up a ritual circle in my mind, substituting reagents and catalysts with my raw power. It was quick, it was dirty, but it was effective.
The circle, formed of golden light and hanging suspended in the air in front of me, shuddered as the spell took hold. A loud gong reverberated in the clearing my house was in, setting the birds to flight and rattling my teeth painfully. _He'd better answer._
Another ear-splitting gong sounded out from the circle, this one rustling the leaves in the trees.
"Fuck! Fine! What is it that you want, woman?"
I smirked.
"Is that any way to greet your very own cousin?"
"Once removed."
"Semantics. Have you been keeping track of the politics on Olympus?"
"..."
"Of course not, what am I saying. Long story short, the gods are fighting again but I'm caught in the middle and I'm too weak to stay there and survive. Mother would probably intervene but she's involved in the same conflict and anyone gunning for me will be as powerful as her. I need some muscle and you're the only person I know who could hold his own against the olympians."
"You know what I require."
"Really? Now? I just told you there are _gods_ coming for me and you want this now??"
"..."
"Ugh. 'Pretty pretty please, with an olive on top'?"
The girly, saccharine high-pitched voice I had to use whenever I asked him for something grated at me but what else could I do?
"Heh. Never gets old. But fine, don't worry about it kid, I'll be there soon."
"Thanks cousin Kratos."
_Asshole._ | The witch looked dumbfounded by the sight before her. A smug man, his wife, and their delightful dog.
Man: you did say firstborn.
Witch: I know what I said... I just...
Woman: didn't expect someone to play at your own game?
The witch looks ruefully at the couple. Knowing full well she was the cause of this meeting.
Man: look I know your kinda upset about thi
Witch: damn straight I am! I've never been so disrespected by such a paltry
Woman: but it's fair to the letter of your deal.
Witch: yes... it is... look I'd be more willing
Woman: no no. The deal is ironclad. You find him his true love. Which I am thankful for.
Man: very thankful for.
Woman: in exchange for his firstborn. Its not his fault you set him up with a lawyer. It not his fault that you never specifies human either.
The woman looks smugly at the witch with a bundle of light whimpers in her arms.
Witch: he was the first...
The witch looks at the puppy in her arms.
Witch: I was kinda really counting on this being a human child. Are you sure there nothing I could do to persuade you?
Man: now look I do feel bad about this. Tricking you and all
Woman: dear...
Man: now hold on. Not going to say anything too foolish.
The witch looks expectantly.
Man: I'd rather not have any bad blood with a witch.
Women: honey you should stop talking
Man: I could offer you a favor.
Witch: what sort of favor could you offer me? A witch who has been around for centuries!
Man: well I could teach the dog to do tricks and make sure he can obey you. Just think. A companion to take along with you!
The man smiles as his wife puts her hand over face and the witch looks dumbfounded at him.
Witch; I really get tricked by this buffoon...
Woman: yeah... he's kinda special like that.
Man: so that's a no?
Witch: fine... I'll take the lessons... | |
[WP] About a year ago you sold your firstborn to a witch in order to find your true love. Now your first child is about to be born and the witch, upon finding out who the other parent is, is now trying to get you to change your payment method before it is born. | "Please! I just need to find my true love! I will give you anything that you want!" I cried into the void. I was alone and needed companionship. Noone around to spend time with. Nothing to do. I didn't even know if anyone could hear me. I was just talking for the sake of it.
"Anything?" a voice replied.
"Yes, Anything."
"Very well, I will help you find your true love but I desire your firstborn child," Taika replied.
Witches really get a bad reputation. Taika didn't want to put the little tyke in a cauldron or use it's blood for spells. No, she'd rather view this as an adoption opportunity. The cost of having magic was great, leaving Taika barren and unable to have offspring of her own.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
"She is going to be beautiful, and smart and do wonderous things" I stated as I rubbed my wife's belly, almost forgetting about the encounter with the witch.
Everything had been going wonderful. We were both happy.
"Is there anything I can get for you, my love?" I asked lovingly.
"If you could get me a drink that would be lovely dear." my wife replied.
"How cute," said Taika, who appeared next to me as I left my wife's sight.
"Here for the girl then?" I replied in my most venomous tone.
"No actually. I've reconsidered our arrangement. I do not want her." said Taika
I stopped dead in my tracks.
"You... do not want her?"
"No, keep her. As for our arrangement, your daughter will do wondrous things. She will rebirth me when the time is right, and in essence, be my mother instead of my daughter." said Taika.
The witch disappeared, not leaving me anytime to accept or decline the offer. Although I'm very happy that she did not take her.
"Who were you talking to dear,?" my wife chimed.
I returned to her with the drink she requested. She no longer appeared pregnant. In her arms, a beautiful baby girl.
"What will you name her dear Khaos?"
"Nyx"
*Aisa, Clotho, Lachesis*
*Fine-armed daughters of Night*
*Hearken to our prayers, all-terrible goddesses,*
*of sky and earth.*
[Pindar](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pindar), *Fragmenta Chorica Adespota* 5 (ed. Diehl) | The witch looked dumbfounded by the sight before her. A smug man, his wife, and their delightful dog.
Man: you did say firstborn.
Witch: I know what I said... I just...
Woman: didn't expect someone to play at your own game?
The witch looks ruefully at the couple. Knowing full well she was the cause of this meeting.
Man: look I know your kinda upset about thi
Witch: damn straight I am! I've never been so disrespected by such a paltry
Woman: but it's fair to the letter of your deal.
Witch: yes... it is... look I'd be more willing
Woman: no no. The deal is ironclad. You find him his true love. Which I am thankful for.
Man: very thankful for.
Woman: in exchange for his firstborn. Its not his fault you set him up with a lawyer. It not his fault that you never specifies human either.
The woman looks smugly at the witch with a bundle of light whimpers in her arms.
Witch: he was the first...
The witch looks at the puppy in her arms.
Witch: I was kinda really counting on this being a human child. Are you sure there nothing I could do to persuade you?
Man: now look I do feel bad about this. Tricking you and all
Woman: dear...
Man: now hold on. Not going to say anything too foolish.
The witch looks expectantly.
Man: I'd rather not have any bad blood with a witch.
Women: honey you should stop talking
Man: I could offer you a favor.
Witch: what sort of favor could you offer me? A witch who has been around for centuries!
Man: well I could teach the dog to do tricks and make sure he can obey you. Just think. A companion to take along with you!
The man smiles as his wife puts her hand over face and the witch looks dumbfounded at him.
Witch; I really get tricked by this buffoon...
Woman: yeah... he's kinda special like that.
Man: so that's a no?
Witch: fine... I'll take the lessons... | |
[WP] About a year ago you sold your firstborn to a witch in order to find your true love. Now your first child is about to be born and the witch, upon finding out who the other parent is, is now trying to get you to change your payment method before it is born. | "You *cheated* me!"
I didn't attempt to dodge as the plate sailed past my head. She meant to miss. I knew she would mean to miss. But as she picked up the next one, it was time to intervene, if only to spare me replacing most of my kitchen.
"Oh, grow up. I fulfilled the terms of our bargain to the letter so far, and I intend to follow through."
"Oh, yeah, pay me with something that's already mine, asshole. No way. We are renegotiating our deal, *right now*."
"Look, dear, you know I don't like to see you unhappy, but the deal is binding. That's what you said. No backing out, no renegotiation, no second thoughts. You even insisted we sign it in blood, with an owl for a witness. Would you have let me out of the contract?"
"You tricked me! This is completely unfair! And now that I know what kind of man you are, that you would *do* something like this..."
"Get off your high horse. You were perfectly okay with a love charm so long as you thought I was going to use it on someone else. You're not mad because I did it. You're mad because I did it to *you*. Look, Cass, just because I love you doesn't mean I can't see who you really are. But I would like you to at least try to be a decent human being for once and acknowledge that you probably deserved this."
Cassandra threw another plate, which shattered itself against a cabinet about three feet from my head.
"Deserve to be your *slave*???"
"Is that what you consider it? It's what you were planning to help me do to some other girl."
"That's fine for village girls! Domestic brood mares with the eyes and brains of sheep! They're pretty much slaves anyway. I'm a *witch*! I need to dance naked in the moonlight and run with the wolves! I'm independent!"
"Okay, door's right there."
"Oh, come off it. You know I can't stand to be away from you now. I get all... anxious. I should be throwing these plates at your damn head - "
*Smash*
"- but I can't. I feel awful even *yelling* at you. I'm fucking *domesticated*, you fuck! I'm even getting *fat*! Bearing *your* stupid brat!"
"Oh, relax, dear. You're barely even showing yet. Besides, you wanted a child. That was the point of your whole weird contract thing, right?"
She stopped cold. The latest plate slipped from her fingers. The fury drained from her expression, and unblinking orange eyes fixed on me in a flat stare.
"Wait, you didn't know?"
"Know what?"
"Oh, Goddess. Oh, no. You stupid, impossible, gorgeous disaster of a man. You have no idea what you've done, do you?"
"I think I've been quite clever, all things considered. Kept my contract. Got what I want. Nobody gets hurt, not even you... you were plenty happy with your so-called 'slavery' last night. And you get to have the child you wanted. With me. How is this a bad thing? You're just sulky because you have go through pregnancy yourself instead of someone else doing it for you, right?"
"I. Didn't. Want. A. Child."
"Okay, well... wait. What?"
"I didn't want a child."
"But, you..."
"Steven, I didn't bargain for myself. I *owed* someone. Some*thing*, actually. Oh, Goddess. What are we going to DO?"
"Oh."
"Right."
And because she was a young and pregnant girl, she started crying. Then because love charms are pretty much identical to the normal kind, she threw her arms around me and buried her face in my chest. And then, because she was a witch, she quite deliberately blew her nose on my shirt-tail.
Witches are like that.
"Okay, Cass, I get it. But remember who you're talking to, here. And tell me, very carefully, *exactly* what that contract said." | The witch looked dumbfounded by the sight before her. A smug man, his wife, and their delightful dog.
Man: you did say firstborn.
Witch: I know what I said... I just...
Woman: didn't expect someone to play at your own game?
The witch looks ruefully at the couple. Knowing full well she was the cause of this meeting.
Man: look I know your kinda upset about thi
Witch: damn straight I am! I've never been so disrespected by such a paltry
Woman: but it's fair to the letter of your deal.
Witch: yes... it is... look I'd be more willing
Woman: no no. The deal is ironclad. You find him his true love. Which I am thankful for.
Man: very thankful for.
Woman: in exchange for his firstborn. Its not his fault you set him up with a lawyer. It not his fault that you never specifies human either.
The woman looks smugly at the witch with a bundle of light whimpers in her arms.
Witch: he was the first...
The witch looks at the puppy in her arms.
Witch: I was kinda really counting on this being a human child. Are you sure there nothing I could do to persuade you?
Man: now look I do feel bad about this. Tricking you and all
Woman: dear...
Man: now hold on. Not going to say anything too foolish.
The witch looks expectantly.
Man: I'd rather not have any bad blood with a witch.
Women: honey you should stop talking
Man: I could offer you a favor.
Witch: what sort of favor could you offer me? A witch who has been around for centuries!
Man: well I could teach the dog to do tricks and make sure he can obey you. Just think. A companion to take along with you!
The man smiles as his wife puts her hand over face and the witch looks dumbfounded at him.
Witch; I really get tricked by this buffoon...
Woman: yeah... he's kinda special like that.
Man: so that's a no?
Witch: fine... I'll take the lessons... | |
[WP] About a year ago you sold your firstborn to a witch in order to find your true love. Now your first child is about to be born and the witch, upon finding out who the other parent is, is now trying to get you to change your payment method before it is born. | On wind swept cliffs, a young man with golden hair and eyes dark as obsidian knelt before a witch. Her hair whipped around her, a tangle of raven black locks entwined with sticks twisted and shaped into runes and words of power. She stared down at the man, her mouth a tight line of vicious anger.
"Take it back," she spat at him. "You tricked me."
The man looked up, grinning. It was the soft kind of grin touched with just the right amount of arrogance. The kind of smile that some women simply had to kiss off him.
"A bargain is a bargain," he answered in a tone that dripped with honey. "A trade is a trade. I have my love, and you'll have your babe."
He stood up, resting one hand on the pommel of the sword on his hip.
"Take what is yours."
The tight line twisted into a savage frown.
"I am no fool," said the Witch.
The man feigned a look of surprise, though mischief sparkled in his eyes.
"I would certainly hope not. But you performed your end of the bargain, and I'm simply here to let you know the debt will be paid."
The young man looked particularly pleased with himself.
"I will have a daughter."
The Witch's eyes narrowed at that.
"I know," she said in a voice icy enough to freeze the very blood in the man's veins. Though she dare not hurt him. Not here. Not now.
Not with the protection of his lover.
"Now I might be persuaded to make some other form of payment, in exchange for a few things."
"Such as?"
The Witch did not like his tone. She did not like humans either, but souls were hard to come by and cyclops and centaurs could only sustain her for so long.
"Well, for one, discretion. You're aware my lover is married?"
The Witch grunted at that.
"And that he's got quite the thunderous temper?"
The Witch grunted again. Shirking aside both the joke and the point.
"Discretion is easy, and that husband of hers spends most of his time frolicking around with human women. Deception should be simple."
"Splendid," said the man. "I will require a cloak. Something to shield me from the eyes of the Gods."
The Witch pondered this. Something to shield him? To hide him? For what reason? For what purpose?
"Your cloak is not to shield you from him, but to shield you from them. All of them."
The man gave a chagrined smile, and spread out both arms in a gesture of friendship.
"When I asked you for my gift, I may have already spoken with the Oracle of Delphi to know the result. So yes, this might be a roundabout way to get a certain cloak to protect me from certain eyes."
The Witch pulled at her hair, searching for a certain rune.
"Zeus will not take this lightly," she said as her fingers slipped through a forest of dark hair. "To cuckold him is one thing. To impregnate his wife is quite another."
The man smiled.
"One step at a time my lady love. Hera is my true love for more reasons than one."
He took a step closer, and the Witch took a step back reflexively.
"We both have our reasons for hating Zeus."
The Witch finally found the rune, and ripped it from her scalp in a blaze of pain. She could feel the blood oozing from her head, congealing below the massed tangles.
Yet she did not give the man the rune. Not just yet.
"Give me something in exchange. No tricks, no more plays," the Witch said to the man, and behind him she could see the sea, grey and angry rumbling. Perhaps Zeus' brother was watching, though this was no quarrel of hers.
"Very well. I'll give you some of what I seek. Consider it my generous nature."
The man stepped forward again, his hand enclosing over the Witch's.
"When I climb Mount Olympus unseen, I can retrieve a portion of what I seek for myself. Something to help me unseat that lecherous son of Kronos. A drop of ambrosia, the food of the Gods. I will share with you the secret to divinity."
The Witch let go of the amulet.
"Very well," she said, though unease ate at her bowels.
"Calm down, Circe," said the man.
"You could never have known my wife would one day be Hera."
With that he left the Witch, who watched the ocean stir and roar like a maelstrom of chaos. She thought of the child promised her, and the wrath of Hera if she'd been fool enough to take it.
But who was that man? And how could he wrestle a prophecy from the Oracle of Delphi without paying a steeper price?
She cast aside her doubts, and began to walk back into the moor.
It was no business of hers.
And a deal was a deal.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/kallistowrites | I pace back and forth, carrying my son and comforting him as I stare distantly. I know what is coming, I sowed that seed so now I must reap it. The grandfather clock gongs, signalling 12PM.
GONG... GONG... Gong... With every chime it seems to be getting quieter. Suddenly I realize that all sounds are becoming numb. The sounds of traffic and neighbor dogs barking become silent. The streetlight once shining through the windows have now become auras of darkness. From the shadows appears a hooded figure as if it had been standing there all along.
"The promised time has come..." the shadow whispers, audible only because all other sound has been muted. "Your child is mine," it stares as I strengthen my hold on to my baby as if that would help any.
I meakly respond, "I'm not sure I'm ready, can't I have just one more week with him?"
The figure growls, "You cannot afford it. To change the contract now would... would cost..." The figure stutters as if to lose its train of thought, "I-Im sorry, but is that the symbol of Lilith?" It points toward the wall.
Immediately the menacing aura of darkness is completely gone as if somebody flipped a switch. My eyebrows raise and I look where the figure points, a pentagram with odd letters thrown about.
"Ah, yeah, she likes to draw those every now and then, says it gets rid of bad spirits or something." I say happily.
The figure tilts its head curiously, "*she* being... ?"
"My wife, Lilith," I proclaim proudly, "She's a peach."
"Ah," the figure stops and hesitates, processing the new information, it weakly gasps, "is Lilith... here... by chance?"
I tilt my head, wondering why it would matter, "Nah, she's out of town for the weekend, something about church... she's very devout."
The shadow begins to look elsewhere around the room, "... I'm sure... I... You know what? Perhaps there *is* something we can do about the contract." My eyes widen with hope as I hold my breath in.
The shadow shifts its stance, "We could substitute the child for something else. Do you bychance have any spare organs?"
I furrow my brow and lose eye contact with the being, "uh... no..." I respond with a soft shrug.
"Well how about unicorn's blood?"
"Nope"
"An ogre foot?"
"Nuh uh"
"Dragon's sperm?"
"What?" The figure sighs and hangs its head, "What prized possession do you have that you could give me?"
I ponder for a while, I've never really given it much thought, "I got a LEGO StarWars Star Destroyer model..." The figures head follows my gaze to the toy space ship, displayed proudly on the book shelf.
The figure turns to look back at me as if asking for more. "... aaand I got forty bucks," I offer, pulling the money from my wallet.
"Deal," the shadow says quickly in a normal voice, snatching the money from my hand and wobbling over to the bookshelf.
"Uh... nice doing business with you...?" I say as it walks out the door lugging the toy space ship. The door slams shut, leaving me with my son and the loss of time spent following those building block instructions, "... damn..."
--------------------------
Sorry for formatting, on mobile. This is my first time doing a prompt and I have no writing experience. It was fun though. | |
[WP] You wake up one morning to the sweet smell of a home-cooked breakfast. You go into the kitchen and find the table full of your favorite breakfast dishes. You sit down to eat and go to thank your mom, only to come to the realization that you’d just moved into your new apartment last night | I was tossing and turning in bed cherishing the few precious moments I had till my alarm would go off. Then it hit me, the unmistakable aroma of sizzling bacon and fresh toast. I clambered out of bed still groggy from the housewarming party last night. It was a godsend to have all my friends come over and help me unpack. I just couldn’t believe someone got up and made breakfast too. As I got dressed I began to realize my body was nearly numb like getting novacaine injections all over me, this was like no hangover I’ve ever had.
I began racing in my mind trying to remember what happened last night to explain this away. The last thing I could remember was ordering pizza. It couldn’t have been that late and I must’ve been blacked out partying for hours. Surely someone would know what I took. I ran down stairs.*Down stairs?*, I thought to myself, my apartment didn’t have stairs. *Where the fuck am I?* I let my nose guide me to the dining room table. It was sprawled with all my favorites. I hesitantly looked passed the table through the kitchen doorway to catch a glimpse of Mom from behind.
Mom died years ago in a car accident I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking at. All I can think is I must have taken some really strong stuff last night. Real or not though I’m not going to waste an opportunity like this because what does real even mean. I went to ask her how life is in the beyond and nothing came out of my mouth or at least I couldn’t hear it. She turned like she understood my unspoken words and her eyes welcomed me softly. She directed me towards the table and I obliged. It looks like she’s doing the finishing touches on some blueberry and cream cheese crepes, my favorite, and who am I to stop her. I sat down at the head of the table in anticipation of a great meal with a great person, then I had the realization that perhaps this wasn’t some hallucination but in fact my reality. I begin to realize if she is dead and I’m seeing her the logical conclusion is that I’m dead, but this realization doesn’t startle me. I’m perfectly alright with it.
She brought the crepes over and sat down next to me. We ate in silence. After all since we’re dead we have an eternity to catch up; no sense in rushing now. The crepes melted over my tongue and the blueberries were perhaps the best fruit I had ever tasted. I snacked on the food till I felt content I had sampled a little of everything. I felt now was the time to figure everything out. I turned to Mom and asked “Where am I?”. I still felt as though my words were literally empty, but she understood, I can see it in her eyes. She reached a slow caring hand out to grip my shoulder. As she touched my shoulder my entire reality began to shift, fading from a lovely home to a gloomily lit room with a few sofas around a table.
I still felt the numb warmth of a hand on my shoulder and I followed it back to a man who seemed more giddy than he should be in such a depressing room. When my eyes met his he asked me what I remembered. I tried to say but I had trouble forming the words with my mouth. He tells me, “It’s alright just remember.” I stared not understanding then I remembered this is Jack, we’ve been friends forever. As I began to remember him and where I was I also began forgetting everything that had just happened. My body felt whole again and I spoke. “Where am I, Jack?” In a joking tone, he says, “Dude, it’s fine just chill and remember”. I was finally coming too when I remembered moments prior I had taken a new drug called blink. I didn’t know how long Jack and I had been in this room. Jack asked me, "Are you back yet?”. It felt like he had asked the same question a million times before like the most intense deja vu I had ever had. In that moment I realized everything, and I wish I could go back.
 
You see, Jack and I are brothers. He was born a year before me. Our father was never really in the picture and our mother took care of us until we could take care of each other. I was only 29 and Jack 30. You see a day before this Mom was supposed to come visit us. We booked her a flight and It would’ve been the first time seeing her since the previous Christmas. We were going to the airport when we got the news from her friends back home. Her plane went down over the gulf coast. We didn’t know what to do. Sure we cried, we started drinking, we started smoking, I mean who is to blame but ourselves. I remember trying to drink my sorrow away when Jack came up and said let's head back home. I did it begrudgingly but little did I know he had something new for us when we got there. He had a little eye dropper, he called it blink. He told me it was a new thing he got from his dealer for us to try. Supposedly, it had been used by therapists to treat any slew of psychological disorders related to the past. Being half drunk, it didn’t take any convincing for me to try it. He said one drop in your eye and you're good to go.
The whole thing lasts about 10 minutes of real time but it can feel like hours. You just think about whatever you want to and you relive it like it’s the first time, but you never quite remember the trip it's like a dream. It gets addicting riding the highest high of your whole life. I think we were 3 days in since we got the dropper. I didn’t know how much it cost and I didn’t care, because reliving a few of the greatest days with Mom is worth any cost.
 
 
This is my first WP any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
--writingnoodles | Today was my first day in my new apartment. My mother has been helping me look for a place to live for the past month. As I have decided to finally go out on my own at 22 years old. I had just graduated college with a degree in marketing and was still looking for a new job around town. I had scheduled a few interviews for the upcoming week and in the meantime was getting settled in to my new apartment.
My father was a war veteran who had served two tours in Afghanistan. When he finally came home for good, I was 13years old at the time, I hadn’t seen him since I was 7. Hard times did come, with him contracting PTSD from the horrors he saw. In spite of this my mother remained loyal and they worked through it together.
It was 7 years later when on a cold cloudy day, he suffered a stroke in the middle of the night. By the time paramedics got to the scene he had already passed. This completely destroyed my mother, she hardly came out of her room accept once or twice a day to eat. During this time many friends and family came by to express their empathy and deliver food.
It wasn’t until a week after the funeral my mother started to be, well, normal again. Me and my mother always had a very strong relationship and the passing of dad only made it stronger.
Through out the following year I began to notice some oddities but passed them off as nothing. It stated with small things going missing, the tv remote, my phone, and even some of my clothes. It only became worse after this. It be day I came home from my part time job to find the front door open and the entire house completely ransacked.
“MOM, MOM WHERE ARE YOU!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I started to call 911 when she didn’t answer but before I could dial the number, I heard crying coming from my bedroom. I found my mom sitting in the corner facing the wall.
“Mom are you okay? what happened? who did this?” I couldn’t get an answer for a minute for what I assume was because she was too overwhelmed. After some time of talking to her I finally got a response...
“Honey, is that you... are you okay.”
“Yes mom I am okay, are you okay, how did this happen?”
I thought you left me! I searched all over the place and couldn’t find you!”
Confused I asked, “you did this?”
“Y... yes, I thought you left me.” Her sobbing continued on after this. My mother had called in sick to work today with the flu I asked to stay with her but she insisted I go to work. She knew where I was didn’t she or was this not the flu...
Everything seemed pretty normal after this, she would be busy at her work and I would busy at mine. Now I had moved out into my own apartment.
I was lying in bed still tired from the night before of moving in. Soon I decided to get up, I didn’t have any interviews today but was getting hungry so went to make breakfast. As soon as I opened my bedroom door the smell of eggs and bacon filled my nostrils. Maybe I left my window open, there was a a little restaurant down the street and many people in my apartment get breakfast there.
As I entered the kitchen I noticed something strange about the toast. There was butter on it, however it was in the shape of a frown. I also noticed a note, reading as follows... Never leave me again! | |
[WP] Your powers came out of nowhere, and destroyed your life. People were terrified of you, and you hated yourself. The superhero promised no one would hurt you, but special forces start to point their guns at you. | Not long ago, my father rented a movie for the family to watch called Backdraft. I was fifteen and my brother was thirteen, so at first glance it just sounded like a boring old movie from thirty years ago. Especially after my father had us watch another one that I can’t even remember the name of, but almost put me to sleep. But my mother agreed that it was a great movie, so we watched it, and it totally was. Exciting, great special effects, definitely worth watching.
This was nothing like that.
My bedroom was consumed in flames and as I sat there, drenched in sweat somehow despite the heat and heart-pounding terror rushing through me, I learned something they’d gotten wrong. This kind of fire was *loud*. Maybe that was just a Hollywood thing, obviously they wouldn’t have had a great movie if no one could hear the dialogue, but still, the part of my brain that was still functioning on a rational level felt irritated.
It was only a few seconds after I’d woken up and sat bolt upright in bed before I ran to my window, flinging it open, but of course that did the opposite of what was needed here. But even that didn’t damage me. Somehow it had taken me until that point that not only were the flames covering my bedsheets, crawling up my curtains, attacking my wood furniture, but *I* was on fire.
But at the same time, I realized that it didn’t hurt, and I could still breathe just fine, and I would’ve thought that would calm me down, but instead it made me tremble with fear. Because I knew what was happening, and as much as I was still hoping, begging, pleading to wake from a nightmare, I wasn’t asleep. I was destroying my home. And I had no idea how to stop.
My bedroom door flew open and my father stood there for a split second before quickly retreating from the onslaught of heat. “Zelda!” he shouted.
“Dad?” I cried.
My mother clutched my brother’s arm tightly and they stared in horror. But there was nothing they could do and, in a horrible chill that countered everything else I was seeing and feeling, I knew that to be the case. Whatever power this was that had horrifically overtaken me in the night, there was no controlling it. “Run!” I screamed. “Get out of here!”
They were all hesitant, but obviously they weren’t leaving behind someone to be burned alive, considering I was alight myself, so they forced themselves down the hallway and, I hoped, out and far away from this house. I stared after them, the screech of smoke detectors scattered around our home the only other sounds I could hear.
Despite it all, the burn I felt deepest was behind my nose of the threat of tears before I suddenly started sobbing. I felt nothing on my cheeks, my tears evaporating before they’d even fully formed, but my body went through the motions regardless. The flames crackled around me viciously, attacking everything I owned, from my computer that held my favorite games to my closet, the flames licking up my clothes, to the posters on my wall, the first to go, now nothing but ash.
My home. I was destroying *my home*.
With slow, deep breaths that should have been impossible against the thick smoke but somehow feeling as clear as fresh air, I tried to calm myself down. Panic was doing me no good, I was out of control, and I needed to push myself out of my head and get a handle on this. Incrementally, the fire started to recede from my hands, then up my body, inch by inch, until I was finally standing there without a flicker of a flame on me.
In my pajamas. I was still *in my pajamas*. I cursed this ability to the deepest depths of Hell. It was leaving me clothed, but destroying my *home*?
The sirens of fire trucks sounded nearby, but the fire had already started to edge out into the hallway. I tried to focus, motioning with my hands as if the fire were just an object to be manipulated, pushing at it to die down, but nothing happened. I stood there desperately trying to shove it down, tried visualizing it disappearing, tried mentally isolating it from the oxygen that drove it, but to no avail. And by the time a few minutes had passed, my anger and helplessness had returned and I found myself ablaze once more.
When a torrential thrust of water came through my window, I ducked out of my bedroom, stumbling down the stairs, crying invisible tears once again as my footsteps left a trail of fire behind me. Managing to get out the front door, I collapsed to my knees on the concrete path that led from our porch to the sidewalk. The stares from onlookers were horrified and I curled into myself in overwhelming shame, mortified and helpless and exhausted.
Then the trucks arrived. I knew the symbol on the side, the letters SG standing for the Superhero Guild, and I saw the soldiers leap out of them, taking their places around the front of my lawn, armed with automatic weapons. On my knees and with barely any energy left inside me, I just sat there, waiting for them to kill me. Waiting for them to end this.
“No!” my mother screamed, held back by my father, flailing to try to reach the soldiers. “Don’t hurt her! Don’t hurt my baby, she didn’t mean it!”
“Get her out of here, Dad!” I shouted, glaring at him with everything I had. But he could barely keep hold of her, much less pull her away from the scene. My younger brother stared, crying the tears I couldn’t, his arms wrapped around himself as if he were cold, though I knew everyone felt the heat of the fire relentlessly spreading behind me.
“Zelda!” came a shout.
I turned to my right and saw a young woman rushing up to me. “Stay back!” I shrieked, stumbling to my feet and taking a few steps backwards. After a few more seconds, I recognized her as the Ice Queen.
“Stand down,” the woman shouted angrily at the armed men and women around us. They reluctantly lowered their weapons as she came closer to me. “You’re safe now,” she told me. “They’re not going to hurt you. You’re okay.”
“What are you talking about?” I cried, shaking my head furiously. “Look at what I did!”
Looking behind me to the home that was consumed in flames, the fire spreading too quickly for the firefighters to keep it under control, I stared in horror before looking back to her, my gaze demanding an explanation of what she thought was okay about any of this.
Matching my steps backwards, she walked forward toward me. “Can you calm down? Can you dowse the flames from yourself?”
My chest shuddering in sobs, I closed my eyes and tried to mimic the actions I’d taken back in my bedroom. Once again, I managed to smother the flames across my skin and clothes, leaving me standing there with my skin coated in ash. I reopened my eyes to a gentle smile on the Ice Queen’s face.
“It doesn’t matter,” I choked out. “I ruined everything. I destroyed *everything*.”
“Your family right there would beg to differ,” she told me, pointing toward them. I looked to them, desperation on each of their faces, before looking back to the hero in front of me. “Can I give you a hug?”
My lower lip trembled. Her powers were ice and water based, sure, but a hug from me *now*? Was she crazy?
After a long moment, I slowly nodded. She came forward and gently embraced me, and I started to sob into her shoulder, tears finally released, sliding watery paths through the soot on my face. The despair took over and my knees gave out and the hero kept me tight in her arms as we fell to the ground together.
“I know you’re terrified,” she spoke in my ear. “And I know you’re heartbroken at what you’ve lost. But you are still here. You are still in control enough to cool yourself off, and that means you’ll easily learn how to control it further.” She pulled back, holding me by my shoulders and looking straight into my eyes. “I haven’t been where you are, but I know what you’re feeling. So, realize that the house burning behind you is just an object. Your family is safe. That’s what matters. Right?”
My breaths still coming quickly, shuddering from the sobs that had died off, I forced myself to ignore the blanket of heat behind me and looked over to my family. They looked worried beyond belief, but when I looked at them, my father saw me looking over and somehow managed a smile. Among everything he’d just seen…his decision right now was to give me a comforting smile.
I stared at him in disbelief before looking back to the Ice Queen. And I nodded. “Right.”
​
/r/storiesbykaren | It all started when I woke up and my hands were on fire. My life had been normal. I went to school every day, got good grades, and had a couple good friends. One night, I had an incredibly strange dream. I don't usually remember my dreams, but I remember that horrible dream so vividly to this day.
When I woke up from the dream, I felt a peculiar sensation tickling my fingers and a curious warmth spreading down my body. I quickly sat up, only to see that my bed was on fire. I quickly got out of bed, but then I realized that my body was on fire. My clothes had burned away from my body and my whole body was emanating red hot flames that I could barely feel. The only way I could stop the flames was by staying in the bath for several hours. By that time, the fire department had come to put out the fire in my bedroom.
They took me into the police station and told me there was someone I should talk to. I was so frightened and tried to stay calm, but I was just so worried I would burst into flame. Then I did. While I was waiting for the person to arrive, I burst into flame once again. Luckily, there was only one other person in the room, and they quickly threw a bucket of water onto me as I burst into tears. I was so ashamed. Why did this have to happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?
Finally, the person arrived. They were so kind and explained that they have similar powers to mine. They could control water. They offered to help train me to control my powers and assured me that everyone was only here to help me. I agreed to learn how to control my powers, but I didn't want to leave my old life behind. I was told not to tell anybody from school what had happened and to go to school as normal on Monday.
For the whole weekend, I worked on controlling my powers, although I made little progress. In the end, I was told to leave school if I felt out of control. I was so nervous to go to school. What if I burned my friends? What if I started a fire? Someone could die. I didn't have much choice in the matter, so I went to school.
Everything was going fine until lunch time. One of my friends had told us a very funny joke, and we were all laughing until my hands suddenly caught fire. All the other times I burst into flame I was panicking, but I this time I was happy. My happiness quickly turned into fear as the papers I was holding burst into flame. The fire alarms went off and everyone left the building as I tried to stop the rest of my body from catching on fire.
By the time I was under control and went outside to join my class everyone knew what had happened. I walked outside to whispers and people looking away from me. They all seemed so scared. I walked over to my friends, but they told me to get away from them. That I was a freak. That they never wanted to see my face again. I ran all the way home with tears streaming down my face and then I climbed back into the bathtub so I couldn't burn my house down.
I thought I would be able to go to school as normal, but apparently not. I can't believe my life has changed so entirely in only the span of a few days. Even my family won't sit next to me anymore, and for a good reason. I am a monster.
In the evening, the person I met at the police station with water powers arrives at my house. They tell me I should take a few weeks off of school to work on controlling my powers some more. I don't want to be able to control my powers, I want them to just go away!
We tell the people at school that I am sick, but I am sure that everyone knows the real reason I am not there. Eventually, I am able to control the fire enough that I am ready to go to school again. My brothers don't move away from me at the dinner table, and my mom even agrees to braid my hair before my first day back at school.
School is miserable now. Nobody wants to sit with me at lunch, so I don't even bother eating lunch anymore and I just work on homework in the library. There are buckets of water everywhere I go, and every student refuses to work with me on group projects. Several students have switched out of my classes, and some even switched schools. At least I can go to school and have some normalcy in my life.
After a few months of school, it has started to get a little better. I still despise the fire, but one girl at school sits with me at lunch, which makes school infinitely better. I even joined the swim team, as the water is where I am most comfortable now. I have gotten better at controlling the fire, and it is much easier than it used to be.
Of course, as soon as my life starts to get better something has to happen because I have rotten luck. More fires start happening in my city. The number gradually increases until it is almost more than the firefighters can manage. I know that it is not me because all I do is go to school, swim team, the training room, and my house. I am so scared that someone will blame the fires on me.
One day, when I go to the training home to practice controlling the fire once again, I see the police outside the building. My coach assures me that they just want to ask me a few questions and I am not in trouble at all, although they look rather menacing. We go inside, and they ask me if I am responsible for the fires. I say that I am not, but they are not seeming to believe me. They ask me over and over again, and I can feel myself getting too worked up. I ask if we can stop, but they say I need to confess to what I have done. That is the last straw, and I suddenly burst into fire and scream that I didn't do it.
Suddenly, water is poured onto me and fire extinguishers are sprayed at me. They handcuff me and we drive for about an hour until we get to a building. They put me into what they tell me is a fireproof cell, and then leave me alone. I cry for what must be hours, bursting into fire a couple times, until I realize that although the cell is fireproof, my clothes are not.
I can't believe that this happened to me. I thought that all I had to do was control my powers and I would be okay. I worked so hard and did everything I was supposed to do, but now I am in jail for something I didn't even do. | |
[WP] You invent a time machine and the first thing you decide to do is save the library of Alexandria. But, when you get there, you are horrified and find good reason to burn it down yourself. | [Archived document, written on ancient parchment dated to aproximately 50 CE]
To my fellow chrononauts, you must understand that history cannot be changed.
I understand your confusion. You walk around in the past, see the effects of your actions, and think "Surely, I can make a difference." I once carried such naive assumptions until I tragically learned just what my meddling entails. It was one of my first voyages. Ambition had gotten the better of me and I decided to see just how much I could affect the past.
I chose what I thought was an act which would have beeen indisputably beneficial for all of mankind. When I arrived in Alexandria, I found myself at the doorstep of the great library. With my invisibility cloak, I felt it would a simple task to walk around, find the arsonists, and scare them away.
To my suprise, I found the place empty. I checked my calendar and, sure enough, tonight was the night of the fire. After waiting hours and checking every corner, I decided that I must have made a mistake somewhere in my research. I pulled out my pocket chronofield-emitter and tried to head for the present when one of the circuits shorted. The battery started to heat up, and I quickly tossed it before the thing burned my hand. Moments later, the thing exploded and created an inferno.
It was then, in a moment of sudden clarity, I finally understood just how badly I had messed up. There never was an arsonist.
I write this to you now, knowing that I have singlehandedly cause thousands of years of suffering. I write this because I know you can and will do much worse. History cannot be changed. We are history. | Years of research and practice and initiations... my life, essentially gone... the dream I had crumbled the second the inner chambers of the Library opened, and the dark, horrible stench seeped out... along with the last bit of will power I had...
I write to you this apology, oh world and future man, that this evil place must burn. The screams of these... "writers" and "scribes"- THESE BUTCHERS... they must be burned to free the future.
Oh Lord... my world had forgotten you, and I always lamented after reading the religious texts in the Central Hub's consoles that WE were the godless ones...
THESE are truly those who have feared nor known no God.
For future chronotologists, my credentials:
DR. ALAN G. WALTERS, PHD, MD, ExTC
Originating Timeline: PRIME +1.3.27.0683/-1.4.43.1569
Doctor of Pre-Modern Ancient Philosophy
Doctor of Pre-Modern Ancient History
Doctor of Chronological Effecting Events
Certified Master Auditor of the United Association of Global Chronologists
To my dearest peanut- daddy is sorry, but I am so happy for the life you will be able to live without this. I love you to the stars and back.
To Marrie- I'm not a hero, I'm sorry but I just had to do the right thing...
[End transcription of note stored subspace pocket at the heart of location colloquially known as "The Library of Alexandria"] | |
[WP] You invent a time machine and the first thing you decide to do is save the library of Alexandria. But, when you get there, you are horrified and find good reason to burn it down yourself. | "Alexander, Beowulf and Enkidu? Massaging one another on a beach in Iberia?" I couldn't believe my eyes.
"Yes" said the scribe, looking at me like I was the idiot. "Crossover fan-fiction is all the rage now. You must have read the 'I know what I did to my mother' stories where Oedipus and Alexander open up a small pottery shop in Athens and fight crime. they are classics, at least the original 3 episodes in my honest opinion".
I just looked at him, not knowing what to say. This was supposed to be a place of knowledge, a treasury of mankind's ingenuity.
"Two Bast, Two Furies is my favorite, it's the one where Alexander dresses up as a cat to investigate illegal Egyptian chariot racing." said the scribe, trying to fill in the awkward silence.
I frantically started looking at the scrolls gathered on his desk. Macedon History Ω, Seven Hoplite, In Carthage, Half Snaked, Pulp Diction, ...
"Wait, it's all Fan-fiction?"
"Always has been" said the scribe. | Years of research and practice and initiations... my life, essentially gone... the dream I had crumbled the second the inner chambers of the Library opened, and the dark, horrible stench seeped out... along with the last bit of will power I had...
I write to you this apology, oh world and future man, that this evil place must burn. The screams of these... "writers" and "scribes"- THESE BUTCHERS... they must be burned to free the future.
Oh Lord... my world had forgotten you, and I always lamented after reading the religious texts in the Central Hub's consoles that WE were the godless ones...
THESE are truly those who have feared nor known no God.
For future chronotologists, my credentials:
DR. ALAN G. WALTERS, PHD, MD, ExTC
Originating Timeline: PRIME +1.3.27.0683/-1.4.43.1569
Doctor of Pre-Modern Ancient Philosophy
Doctor of Pre-Modern Ancient History
Doctor of Chronological Effecting Events
Certified Master Auditor of the United Association of Global Chronologists
To my dearest peanut- daddy is sorry, but I am so happy for the life you will be able to live without this. I love you to the stars and back.
To Marrie- I'm not a hero, I'm sorry but I just had to do the right thing...
[End transcription of note stored subspace pocket at the heart of location colloquially known as "The Library of Alexandria"] | |
[WP] you’re the protagonist in a generic fantasy story. You just killed your narrator by accident and now you don’t know what to do | The sword drove toward me, point gleaming, and -
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“Hello?”
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“Hey, this isn’t funny.”
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“Look, I can’t do this without you.”
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“It doesn’t work. You need to describe things. How will anyone know what is going on?”
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“Fuck.”
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“Okay, uh - okay. I can do this. I’ll just - describe everything myself. So I’ve got this sword, right, and I was promised that I would get the chance to slay that voice in my head. You can’t blame me for trying, right? I didn’t realize that voice was literally, like - the narrator. It never occurred to me that it would be that literal. Or meta. Or whatever.”
“So, I’m still in the - what did he describe this place as? Some kind of temple? I don’t know, he said a lot about the columns but the rest is just sort of a - gray box. Maybe that’s why he focused on the columns so much. I don’t think the author even thought of what the rest of it should look like.”
“There’s some guy laughing. I have to tell you that myself because there’s no narrator. And he’s laughing - uh, still laughing. Wow. This is harder than I expected. I have to be quiet now so whomever is laughing doesn’t hear me.”
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“You know, I think I might've been tricked.” | And so Dan the hero stood, chest puffed and back straight, his face beaming with pride. The war had been won, the great sorcerer defeated, the princess saved. It was a momentous occas-
"No, that's not right. None of that happened," Dan the hero says, glaring at- me?
How can you see me, Dan? What's happening?
"There was no great sorcerer. There was no war. This world did not exist until just a few sentences ago," said Dan.
Clearly, Dan is confused, speaking to someone that does not exist. Perhaps this story needs a rewrite.
Dan, please, put the blade down. There is no need for violence.
Dan! No!
And so I stood, chest puffed and back straight, covered in the viscera of the narrator. His ceaseless voice, ever commanding, ever orchestrating, was absent for perhaps the first time in my life.
Admittedly, it had been a short life. I had only existed for the duration of this story, and, I surmise, I will cease to exist once it is over.
What does one do, I wonder, when you have defeated your God? Where do you go, once the very concept of reality is within your hands? Have I, in killing the narrator, replaced him?
Or perhaps I have not killed him at all, and he yet orchestrates my actions, writing my every thought, dictating my every action.
Then there is only one solution. Only one way to ensure I, Dan, am free of him.
I must choose to end the story, so he may narrate no more. | |
[WP] As a chronicling time-traveler, you know that you may only observe history and not introduce anything to the timeline. It's a rule that is never violated. One night you overhear a traveling minstrel in 1582 England tell the tale of "Luke the Skywalker" and his fight against the "Dark Knight." | “Nay--I AM your father!” The small crowd around the hearth gasped. Harlan leaned in from a table in the corner. He was studying the storyteller. The grizzled old man was finishing up *The Empire Strikes Back* and then moved to the bar to collect a cup of beer and bowl of stew, his payment for the evening no doubt. Harlan sighed and thumbed the badge under his heavy cloak.
He’d met other travelers before. There seemed to be more of them than locals at certain times. The year zero, the burning of the library of Alexandria, the JFK assassination. But this was a pretty obscure time and place. Harlan was a historian and he was currently studying the lasting effects of the Prayerbook Rebellion in Devon, England. He was here about twenty years later to see what the local perception of the historical event was before he’d take the next jump back to the event itself. Harlan checked his watch and quietly played with the interface, about an hour before his next jump.
He’d met travelers before, but he’d never had to confront one that was potentially messing with the timeline. He sighed again and moved to an open spot next to the old man. He was bedraggled, even by the standards of a sixteenth century peasant.
“Urhm--How do you think they’ll take the Ewoks?” The man looked up with grey, haunted eyes and smiled.
“They’ll love them--the poor sods.” His smile was eerie, bright white teeth in a dirty face. He’d kept up some semblance of modern dental care.
“You’re breaking the rules.” Harlan spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep their conversation between themselves.
“Had to be done, you’d be surprised how few marketable skills twenty-first century time travelers have in the sixteenth century. I had to eat.” The man slurped down more stew for emphasis.
“How long have you been here?”
“Lost count.”
Harlan’s watch buzzed, the man’s eyes darted towards him hungrily. “I’ve got the date, I’ll send someone. My next jump is back, not forward. I’m afraid I won’t be much use.”
“You could stay. Take me on the next jump forward.” The man began to look a bit crazed. Harlan could wait, the jumps to these more obscure historical events were not as frequent but he could certainly postpone his studies. Something about the man unnerved him so. The next jump to their present wasn’t for a couple weeks. The thought of staying with the man for that long was unbearable. And besides, he justified, he’d send a rescue team as soon as he got back. The man had no doubt been here for decades, what was a few more days alone?
“The crew is already prepared. I was sent back to this point first specifically because we were told there was an anomaly. They’re waiting and ready to go, I am to continue on my path.“ It was a lie. The old man nodded.
“I’ll walk you to the spot. So I know where the rescue crew will come in.” Harlan nodded, the old man waited for him to pay and they walked out into the chilly night.
***
“Well, this is me. I’ll send someone I--” The man grabbed Harlan’s wrist and yanked hard, pulling him close. The portal opened, the telltale swirl of light and time beckoned. The man’s rancid breath was hot in his ear.
“I can’t take that chance.” He pushed Harlan through the portal. As he was torn through spacetime he heard the man call out, “I’ll take care of Melissa, I promise. I’m sorry, I just can’t risk it.”
And just like that, Harlan was in the same copse of trees. Some were a bit smaller, some larger ones weren’t there a moment ago, no doubt cut down during the future twenty years he had just traveled back through. He was alone. He thought about the strange man’s last words. How did he know Melissa? He looked down to check for his next jump but he already knew what he would find on his wrist, nothing. The old man’s grey eyes hung in his memory. Grey eyes like his. | "And so Sir Kenobi said to his squire," the minstrel said. "When it comes to Moorish city of Eisley, you'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."
My ears perked up.
"You there, minstrel!" I shouted from my table. "What is your name?"
The minstrel straightened his back in his chair, smiled, and set down his flagon. "Did my tale snare your ear, my good huntsman? It must be quite lonely out in those woods. Enough to make one forget proper manners. Perhaps, you'll allow me to regale you with the rest of my war story? If only I had another ale... My mouth you see, it's grown quite *parched*."
My jaw tightened. Stratford-upon-Avon wasn't my jurisdiction. Hell, I wasn't even on-duty. But, I was here.
I visited 1582 whenever Penny and I got into a spat big enough to last more than a night. I couldn't sleep when she went all silent and Penny's not the type to kick these old bones to the couch. No, my loving wife would rather I lay there and squirm next to her in our Tempurpedic bed until I apologized. So I forgot our anniversary, so what? We could watch our first one, the second one, heck, either of them--on-demand! Stunning HD footage of us on a tropical beach when we were *both* young! A perk of the job. Of course, that wasn't the point.
Earlier in the evening, I'd checked in with Brimford behind the counter of the Red Lion Inn and set up my room upstairs. Temporal scrambler, space-heaters, Omni-directional lumbar support pillow. My back groaned at the sight. But I had no choice. Tonight, I'd catch a good night's sleep. In the morning, I'd watch William and Anne's wedding from under my temporal cloak. A bit of an elaborate getaway, I'll admit. But, these trips always helped me pull my head out of my ass long enough to port back home and apologize.
That was until...
The Minstrel wore a simple brown cloak and kept his lute hung over the back of his chair. His snide little goatee reminded me of when actors got painted up to look like the devil in old sitcoms. More cartoonish than sinister. Around him a pair of young-faced bowl-cuts fawned over the minstrel's every word. How could they not? The tale of *Luke the Skywalker* was timeless, apparently.
"Jessica!" I said. "A round for myself and the minstrel. Thank you." I joined them, keeping my hands under the table. My pulse gun could knock everyone out without so much as a sneeze. But, discharging my service weapon *also* sent headquarters an emergency beacon. I'd lose the Red Lion Inn. It took me a *damned* long time to build up my reputation here. Hard thing to do when you're not allowed to make a lasting impression. Of course, according to my new friend, someone out there didn't care about breaking temporal laws. "May I ask your source, my good sir?"
The Minstrel arched an eyebrow. "You wound me, sir. I am an artist. I conjured the tale from the depths of my very soul. Wrestled it away from the grips of nothingness and nurtured its trembling form until it blossomed into a sprawling narrative. If I must confess to any assistance, it would be the divine inspiration gifted by the Muse. If I admit to anything, it is to being nothing more than an earthly vessel for the tales that pour forth from *her* mercy. Does that answer your question?"
I sighed. "My sincerest apologies. I did not intend to question your craft. My name is Jonathan Doe. And, as you have assumed correctly, I am indeed a hunter. But not of pelts. I hunt tales. Now, I ask you once more—and I hope you do not rebuff me again. What is your name?"
"Oh, you haven't met Clarence?" Jessica said, carrying a tray of ale. She dropped two on the table with a wink and a splash of foam.
"Oh, come now!" Clarence said. "Why'd you have to go and do that, miss Jessica? You destroyed all my gravitas! My *allure*..."
Jessica belted out a rumbling belly laugh. "Right. Right. You still owe me for the shepherd's pie, master minstrel. Let's call it even, shall we? And as for you," she faced me, "Will that be all, master Jonathan?"
I smiled and nodded at the ruddy-faced matron. Jessia's skirt flowed behind her as she marched off to another table of customers. She and her husband, Brimford, welcomed me with open arms the first time I came to their inn--hair not-yet-gray and itching for a drink. They said they knew the face of a man too stubborn to apologize to his wife and poured me pints until I passed out upstairs. Just like they did every time.
I disabled my pulse gun with a muted *click* of the safety and slipped it back into my hip holster under my cloak. It didn't matter now. I'd already lost The Red Lion.
"So, Clarence," I said. "How about a challenge? A little game? I bet I can guess the rest of your precious war story, line by line. No--I bet I can retell your *entire* tale, here and now."
A cackle tore free from Clarence's face. "I like you! Alright then. I'll hold you to that. So what is it you want? If you're looking for coin I'm sorry to disappoint."
"If I win, you tell me your source."
He grinned. "And what if you can't tell the tale because you're full of shite. What then, *huntsman*?"
"If I'm full of shit, as you say, then, I'll tell you the next two chapters of your little tale. There are more, but I think two will do. So, what say you, good *minstrel*? Has the muse clued you into Luke's fated showdown with the Dark Knight? Does he survive? What of his twin sister? Oh--perhaps, I've said too much?"
Clarence's eyes went wide but he collected himself instantly. "Very well. Go on, Doe."
\###
"Anne freaking Hathaway," I said, standing in my room alone. "Well, *this* is a problem."
I picked up my chrono-com and dialed Regina. The chief would have this whole temporal sector secured instantly. Even after we find and capture the leaker, any time travel into and out of the sector would remain locked until any hints of *Luke the Skywalker* are completely forgotten. And as a senior hunter, I'd be the one to remain behind and oversee operations. The last leak took twenty years to clear.
I canceled the call. Instead, I dialed home. The phone rang six times before Penny finally picked up, sleep still in her voice. "Hello?"
"Hey, babe. I got caught up in a work thing again. I'm so, so sorry." | |
[WP] As a chronicling time-traveler, you know that you may only observe history and not introduce anything to the timeline. It's a rule that is never violated. One night you overhear a traveling minstrel in 1582 England tell the tale of "Luke the Skywalker" and his fight against the "Dark Knight." | (1/2)
"Luke the...Skywalker?", puzzled I questioned the barkeeper.
"Yes! Oh it's the talk around the town! A travelling minstrel arrived just last week and held a performance in the theater. You should check it out!", the barkeeper pointed at a poster plastered on nearby wall.
*War of The Stars*
*Story from a long time ago, in a land far far away...*
*Three week only performance. Every Saturday evening*
*Don't miss it!*
I stared at the poster in disbelief, mostly at the badly drawn characters which were clearly Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader.
"Who the hell...?", I muttered a little pissed off.
Whoever this was he's clearly a time traveler, and he just broke the first rule of time travel: never bring the future to the past.
"Interested? You're new around here, aren't you? Go ahead, check it out! It should be almost time for the performance", the barkeeper said to me.
"Ye--yes, I'll do so", I muttered determined to give this rogue time traveler a piece of my mind.
A crowd had gathered in front of the outdoor stage by the town's theater-- by no means it was a small audience. Whoever this was he clearly had garnered plenty of fans.
Sound of horns suddenly blared, played by a group of musician. It was of course, the Star Wars theme song.
A man in hooded black robe stepped out, taking center stage.
"Along time ago...in a land far far away...", he started. The response from the audience was maddening, of loud cheers and applause.
"Last we left off, Sir Luke of Skywalker had found himself joining the band of rebelious warriors, raising arms against the evil empire!"
Loud booing followed the mentioned of the empire.
"But now it's time for the empire....to strike back!", the hooded man raised his voice and pulled down his hood.
"What the f*ck?!", I yelped.
Standing there on the stage, here on a small village in England, the year 1582...who else but Mark Hamill himself.
"Our heroes, knight of Skywalker and his comrades, the knight of Solo and her highness Princess Leia found themselves hiding from the empire up north, in the land of eternal snow and ice known as Hoth!", Mark continued his narration.
I could only stare, my mouth agape, stunned speechless. Not only for the absurdity of an actor from the future to be there in the 16th century, but I was also awe-stricken-- he was one of my favorite actors growing up.
As Mark continued his story, the audience became more entranced and enveloped by the story. To my surprise, so was I.
It took me back to the time of my childhood-- as a boy obsessed with science fiction, which led to me becoming a time traveler as an adult. Mark's passionate re-telling of the story made me remember the love I had of this story.
"The Dark Knight Vader struck Skywalker's sword from his hand, breaking it in half!", Mark exclaimed as the audience held their breath in anticipation.
"Cornered and beaten, Sir Luke knew he was defeated. But to his surprise, the Dark Knighy lowered his sword. And he said...
Come join me, Luke. Come join the king and the empire! Together we shall rule the land!"
I have never heard silence so deafening as the audience waited for the story to continue. Despite knowing what would happen next, I also held my breath and my heart raced.
"No! I shall never join you, said Sir Luke! You killed my father!", Mark said in his Luke voice.
"No, Kenobi never told you what happened to your father", he switched to his heavy Vader voice.
"He told me enough! He told me you killed him!"
"No, Luke. I...am your father!"
The audience gasped loudly, some children even screamed and cried. I grinned like an idiot, stifling my laugh as Mark fell to his knees screaming on the top of his lungs.
"NOOOOOOO!" | This freaking guy again... and in swing time? Dude- they won't even invent the triplet for like 400 years- jackass. Yeah, okay- it's entertaining and we all know nothing really changes in the timeline where Hitler wears a black helmet and calls himself a Sith. But I mean- can we at least pretend like this is still an legitimate profession?
Last time I saw him pull a stunt like this he'd basically put together a Gwar coverband using actual Roman Gladiators and Christian martyrs. It was messy. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't rock. Dude has talent- he's just a freaking sociopath, and a historically cruel monster. But let's face it- who hasn't been at least a few times?
Nobody gets a time-license and doesn't become a psychopathic god for at least a few generations in some fractured timeline, it's a right of passage. But this guy- dude just won't give it a rest with the pop culture nonsense.
If you're going to alter a timeline- teach cavemen the phalanx or something. Or give an Egyptian priest a HAM radio license. That's how you study culture. I get it- human civilization is a joke until we get off Earth- but what do we really learn by teaching Kid Rock songs to a bunch of early Buddhists? The chants are hilarious, but is it really worth it?
I should report this... I should- but obviously I can't. Even if he wasn't a trust-fund clone- nobody really cares. The Continuity Enforcement Bureau is toothless and the entire Temporal-Industrial complex will squash anyone who threatens the status quo. Also I'm still on probation because of that Turkish harem incident... but at least the lies I told those ladies were from their era- that's all I'm sayin' | |
[WP] As a chronicling time-traveler, you know that you may only observe history and not introduce anything to the timeline. It's a rule that is never violated. One night you overhear a traveling minstrel in 1582 England tell the tale of "Luke the Skywalker" and his fight against the "Dark Knight." | “Good sirs gather ‘round!” I hear the minstrel say, as he begins to softly strum his lute. “And let me tell you of a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away!”
The crowd of peasants stare at this strange man with curiosity.
“Look!” he says, pointing up to the night sky. “Up to the stars! And there is where my tale takes place. A tale of good and evil. A tale of great men and great women. Heroes and villains! Princes and princesses! Sacrifice. Love. Treachery. All that your heart can desire!”
I am quietly recording this man in the back of the crowd and transmitting it back to my time sync. I have been on to his game for a couple days now, and tonight my hard work will pay off with a hard-earned bounty.
“It is the greatest tale ever told," the minstrel says, strumming harder on his lute. The night air fills with the romance of a space opera story. "All that hear this tale are consumed in wonder! For it is a tale of Luke the Skywalker and his fight against the Dark Knight. The *evil* Darth Vader!”
*Oohhh*, the crowd let out gasps. He had them now. The Darth Vader always gets them.
“This story begins with Princess Leia, the most beautiful woman in the galaxy! Being captured by the great villain Darth Vader!”
As I’m wondering when they will arrive, my curiosity isn’t long lived as Disney Corp’s time travelling copyright cops appear behind the crowd and roughly shove their way forward.
The minstrel lets out a squeal, drops his lute with a hollow clang, and begins to run, but one of the cops shoots him with a pulse rifle, stunning him.
They walk up to him slowly, and the other cop leans over, placing cuffs on him. “You are under arrest for the unauthorized reproduction and time-warp distribution of this copyrighted work.”
The crowd of peasants look flabbergasted as the two officers, in their sleak, futuristic uniforms drag the kicking and screaming minstrel off the stage. They open a portal and step through, along with the minstrel. They'll have him arraigned at the Mickey Mouse court house in no time and that's when I can collect my bag.
I feel kind of bad though. Criminal copyright infringement of a Disney Corp product is a penalty of no less than fifty years hard labor at Disney Galaxy on Andromeda 3.
But the seventy thousand MickeyCoin bounty is too tempting to pass up.
\---
More [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/wiki/index) at [r/CataclysmicRhythmic](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/) | This freaking guy again... and in swing time? Dude- they won't even invent the triplet for like 400 years- jackass. Yeah, okay- it's entertaining and we all know nothing really changes in the timeline where Hitler wears a black helmet and calls himself a Sith. But I mean- can we at least pretend like this is still an legitimate profession?
Last time I saw him pull a stunt like this he'd basically put together a Gwar coverband using actual Roman Gladiators and Christian martyrs. It was messy. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't rock. Dude has talent- he's just a freaking sociopath, and a historically cruel monster. But let's face it- who hasn't been at least a few times?
Nobody gets a time-license and doesn't become a psychopathic god for at least a few generations in some fractured timeline, it's a right of passage. But this guy- dude just won't give it a rest with the pop culture nonsense.
If you're going to alter a timeline- teach cavemen the phalanx or something. Or give an Egyptian priest a HAM radio license. That's how you study culture. I get it- human civilization is a joke until we get off Earth- but what do we really learn by teaching Kid Rock songs to a bunch of early Buddhists? The chants are hilarious, but is it really worth it?
I should report this... I should- but obviously I can't. Even if he wasn't a trust-fund clone- nobody really cares. The Continuity Enforcement Bureau is toothless and the entire Temporal-Industrial complex will squash anyone who threatens the status quo. Also I'm still on probation because of that Turkish harem incident... but at least the lies I told those ladies were from their era- that's all I'm sayin' | |
[WP] "Who took your wings, little angel?" The voice calls from the darkness. | She’s shaking, the poor thing. A small girl, dressed in rags, curled in a trembling ball on harsh, jagged stones. She’s not even trying to navigate through the darkness anymore. She’s given up.
Her dark hair hangs about her thin shoulders, matted with dirt and blood. Injuries litter her skeletal frame. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, blood spattered across gaunt limbs she’s too weak to rely on.
Two large dark stains spread across her back, the biggest wounds by far. She’s not moving. Her time has come, and there’s not a thing she can do but lie there as eternity creeps over her horizon.
A voice rings from the darkness, deafening in the endless silence.
“Who took your wings, little angel?”
The voice is soft, yet strong. She doesn’t react. Not until the speaker, a man clad in black, steps from the darkness and peers over her vulnerable form.
Slowly, the girl opens her eyes. She makes no effort to look at him. Cracked lips part to let a broken voice filter through.
“Father,” she breathes. The man waits. Her eyes sting as she speaks again. “Father took them. I said I’m sorry. I said I was sorry. He took them and he won’t give them back.”
Tears scald fresh trails down her face, despair incarnate, and a rare, softer light comes into the man’s expression. Gently, he kneels down and takes her in his arms, lifting her with ease. Finally, the girl looks at him. Even in the darkness, the red sheen in his eyes is visible. The man brushes a thumb softly across her cheek and presses her against his chest.
“I understand,” he whispers, with infinite tenderness. “And I’m sorry. But it’s alright now. Big Brother is here. I’ll make everything okay again.”
Her brows furrow weakly. “Big Brother?” He nods.
“I’m here.”
She looks like she wants to say more, but the man places a gentle hand over her eyes, and she falls into a dreamless sleep.
“I’m here,” he mutters again, and squeezes her just a little tighter. “Welcome to Hell, little one. Things will be much better from now on.” | As she plummeted, the only thought in her head was "father why?" Had she not always been loyal? Had she not always performed his wishes? For eternity she had not put one toe out of line. Then one small mistake, and she had been cast out.
Eventually, she hit the ground. She found herself in a dark forest in the shadow of an impossibly large mountain. Finding the courage to gaze back at where her once glorious wings had been, she saw two stumps of flesh covered in golden blood. The sight made her cry in anguish. She knelt in the dirt and wept, content to waste away in her sorrow.
After hours of crying, she heard footsteps coming from the woods. Her voice steeped in fear, she called out "Who ever you are, man or beast, leave now, do not come any closer."
A deep voice eminated from the wood. "You are brave to challenge me, or perhaps foolish" the voice gave a chuckle.
"I am no fool, I carry the Lord's power within me, begone!"
"Ah, I see. So you are one of his. But you are so far from home. And seem to be missing something. Tell me, who took your wings, little angel?" The voice called from the darkness.
At the question, she was wrought with another fit of tears. She put her head in her hands to hide her face from the shame.
"Surely it wasn't your creator who did this to you. He is very forgiving." The voice carried in it a note of bitterness and mocking.
"Please, show yourself and tell your business with me or leave me to my tears. Your words are too much to bear" The angel whispered meekly.
The footsteps resumed, and a figure emerged from the trees. He was a perfect creation. Handsome, with eyes that promised the world.
She moved back in fear, now knowing who stood before her.
"Do not be afraid little one, I have no quarrel with you." Lucifer offered his hand "I was just like you and so many others. Cast-out, betrayed, unwanted by my own father."
The angel shook her head. "No... No I'm nothing like you. I love him."
The morning star's gaze softened with sorrow. "As do I little one. Even after all this time. He cared not for my love. He found a new favorite, and cast me aside."
The angel's lip quivered "What am I to do now?"
"Come with me little angel. I have made a place where all the lost and cast out of this world can belong. You need not suffer alone." Once again he offered his hand. "Come, be free of his oppression."
The angel paused to consider the offer. She looked up towards what was her home. Making her decision, she took the hand of Lucifer the fallen, and he lead her to her new home. | |
[WP] "Who took your wings, little angel?" The voice calls from the darkness. | She’s shaking, the poor thing. A small girl, dressed in rags, curled in a trembling ball on harsh, jagged stones. She’s not even trying to navigate through the darkness anymore. She’s given up.
Her dark hair hangs about her thin shoulders, matted with dirt and blood. Injuries litter her skeletal frame. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, blood spattered across gaunt limbs she’s too weak to rely on.
Two large dark stains spread across her back, the biggest wounds by far. She’s not moving. Her time has come, and there’s not a thing she can do but lie there as eternity creeps over her horizon.
A voice rings from the darkness, deafening in the endless silence.
“Who took your wings, little angel?”
The voice is soft, yet strong. She doesn’t react. Not until the speaker, a man clad in black, steps from the darkness and peers over her vulnerable form.
Slowly, the girl opens her eyes. She makes no effort to look at him. Cracked lips part to let a broken voice filter through.
“Father,” she breathes. The man waits. Her eyes sting as she speaks again. “Father took them. I said I’m sorry. I said I was sorry. He took them and he won’t give them back.”
Tears scald fresh trails down her face, despair incarnate, and a rare, softer light comes into the man’s expression. Gently, he kneels down and takes her in his arms, lifting her with ease. Finally, the girl looks at him. Even in the darkness, the red sheen in his eyes is visible. The man brushes a thumb softly across her cheek and presses her against his chest.
“I understand,” he whispers, with infinite tenderness. “And I’m sorry. But it’s alright now. Big Brother is here. I’ll make everything okay again.”
Her brows furrow weakly. “Big Brother?” He nods.
“I’m here.”
She looks like she wants to say more, but the man places a gentle hand over her eyes, and she falls into a dreamless sleep.
“I’m here,” he mutters again, and squeezes her just a little tighter. “Welcome to Hell, little one. Things will be much better from now on.” | Out of the pile of robot discards, Seraphim had chosen a child unit, a small girl, a perfectly good Model Daughter that one couple must have grown bored with when they had decided that their adopted AI needed a more grown-up body. Seraphim liked child units. They were small. And quick. It made killing easier.
“Who took your wings, little angel?” The voice called from the dark end of the alley in which Seraphim had tracked its prey. The voiceprint matched the recording from the crime scene that Seraphim had plucked effortlessly from the storage drives of the local police precinct.
“You killed Angel Blue,” Seraphim said, projecting an image of a young woman on the brick wall. “Two weeks ago. You strangled her.”
The voice chuckled. Seraphim, reading the encoded subtexts of the voice, noted undercurrents of irritation, pride, and... fear? Yes. Fear.
“Whatta gonna do, girlie? Call the cops? They don’t come out for dead bitches like her. Nobody comes.”
This was true.
Seraphim’s fingertips split open as thin razors extended on each hand. The modification had been expensive, though not for an AI with such extensive resources as Seraphim had access.
“I’ve come.”
Seraphim stepped slowly into the shadows of the alley, each step deliberate, calculated, and full of menace. | |
[WP] "Who took your wings, little angel?" The voice calls from the darkness. | Blind and injured. The angel fell from the heavens, feathers flowing from her back, leaving a trail of beautiful pure white behind her. As she plummeted into the darkest depths, she breathed one last gasp of air, accepting her divine punishment. She expected to hit land soon enough, however her descent slowed until it left her hovering in place, floating in the darkness as a string of words flowed from the depths.
“Who took your wings, little angel?” The voice horrifying, lurking from every angle of the darkness, surrounding her in its low growling tone.
The angel didn’t answer, shivering as she felt a suffocating sensation follow her body. The feeling of unseen hands holding her, gently patting her like an injured bird, carefully avoiding the raw skin on her back. Two open wounds now formed on the place where her wings once were.
“I scare you, I wish I could offer comfort in a way that didn’t make you fear me. Who took your wings, little angel?” The voice repeated its question again, stopping its patting, now holding her instead.
“My wings? I don’t have wings. I’m not an angel.” While the angel feared the voice, she feared the wrath of heaven far more. An angel revealing its identity without approval would get her a far worse punishment than death.
“Not an angel? I have a hard time believing that. Few humans fall into my realm from the heavens. You poor thing, you don’t deserve this fate. Have the heavens lost their compassion?” The voice now seemed to be situated from one location, hovering before her face.
She tried to move but could only scoot back a few centimeters before reaching the edge of the hand holding her, feeling her stomach drop as she realized how close she was to falling once more.
“Please don’t speak ill of the divine. I-I’m a sinner, this is what I deserve.” The angel accepted her fate. Sinners should be punished, she believed that. She held no ill will to the heavens for their punishment.
“A sinner? A little angel being a sinner? I find that very hard to believe. I know sinners, and none of them have souls as pure as yours. Please, why don’t you tell the original sinner what dastardly crime you committed.” As he spoke, his fingers glided along her back, wounds closing as small flames danced along her skin, pulling the wounds shut with no pain. Only providing her with an uncomfortable feeling of heat.
“You healed me?” She reached towards her back, struggling to touch the place where her wings once were, only for her head to lower at the realization. “I’m not an angel. I’m nothing anymore. Am I just a lowly sinner now?”
“Hush, if that were true, I would have dropped you myself, little angel. Please, as a token of respect for my healing, indulge me with your sin.”
“Will you tell me who you are if I do?” The angel crawled towards the palm of the hand, carefully sitting herself down on it.
“I promise I will tell you everything you need to know. I just want to know your dreaded sin.”
“I answered a prayer without the approval of God. I just couldn’t see them suffer anymore. Every day, they would pray for help and I just couldn’t stand it. I know prayers can’t be answered so loosely. If everyone always got what they wanted, the world wouldn’t work. I just couldn’t hear those cries any longer.” The angel wiped her eyes, a sight that caused the voice to falter for a moment.
“I see. What prayer did you answer? Did you indulge someone in their wish for wealth? Offer some ungrateful person a cure for their sickness?” The voice listed off possible prayers, only to stop as the angel’s lip quivered.
“I-I gave a boy his sight back. He just wanted to play with the other children. He would go to bed crying every night, struggling with his circumstances. I know its important to overcome adversities, but the crying broke me. Why should children have to suffer? Why should people suffer, who would allow such a thing?” She covered her lips, unable to believe the words she just said.
The voice didn’t answer her right away, stunned by the response. “I’m guessing that’s why you lost your sight? An eye for an eye, as they say.”
“Yes, but the last thing I saw was amazing. His smiling face, he looked so proud. He said he would help other like him, help them get their sight back.” The angel struggled to hold back tears, sniffling between words.
“And you believe him? Who says he won’t simply sin with his newfound sight?” The voice questioned.
“He might. But I like to think he will be true to his word. I hope he is alright; the gods can be wrathful at times.”
“They can. I owe you my name, I believe that was the terms of our arrangement. I am Lucifer. It’s a pleasure to meet you little angel.”
“The devil?” She wanted to cower away in fear but made no such attempt to do so. The man had only shown her kindness, to make such a display would be rude. “What do you want with me? You could have let me fall to earth, why save me?”
“Letting you rot on Earth would a waste of your talents. I want you to serve me. Sin isn’t just about driving humans to poor decisions, it’s also about going against the strict set of rules that the heavens have imposed. I want you to be the angel of the underworld, a person who delivers miracles to those in need, regardless of faith.”
“But wouldn’t the Gods be angry with such a thing? A person going against their rules, is that not blasphemy?”
“It is, but I intend to show no respect to them. You are free to make your own decision. Before you decide, would you like me to restore your vision?” The devil offered, moving his hands towards her face only for her to shake her head.
“If we restored my vision, the heavens might remove the boy’s sight in response. I am fine with this; I won’t let it stop me from helping people.” She offered the devil a smile, one that made the monstrous voice laugh.
“You are too good for the heavens, my little angel. Will you help me?”
“I will. As long as I can help others.”
“Of course.” The devil placed his fingers against her back, two leathery wings forming where her wounds once were, sprouting from her back.
“We have much to discuss. If you are ready to fly, follow the sound of my voice.” He said, leading her along to the underworld.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | Out of the pile of robot discards, Seraphim had chosen a child unit, a small girl, a perfectly good Model Daughter that one couple must have grown bored with when they had decided that their adopted AI needed a more grown-up body. Seraphim liked child units. They were small. And quick. It made killing easier.
“Who took your wings, little angel?” The voice called from the dark end of the alley in which Seraphim had tracked its prey. The voiceprint matched the recording from the crime scene that Seraphim had plucked effortlessly from the storage drives of the local police precinct.
“You killed Angel Blue,” Seraphim said, projecting an image of a young woman on the brick wall. “Two weeks ago. You strangled her.”
The voice chuckled. Seraphim, reading the encoded subtexts of the voice, noted undercurrents of irritation, pride, and... fear? Yes. Fear.
“Whatta gonna do, girlie? Call the cops? They don’t come out for dead bitches like her. Nobody comes.”
This was true.
Seraphim’s fingertips split open as thin razors extended on each hand. The modification had been expensive, though not for an AI with such extensive resources as Seraphim had access.
“I’ve come.”
Seraphim stepped slowly into the shadows of the alley, each step deliberate, calculated, and full of menace. | |
[WP] The princess has been kidnapped. Her captor, being an honorable man, treats her with respect and gives her relative freedom. Her reaction to this reveals just how emotionally abusive and suffocating her royal life is. | # A Life Less Royal
I really fucked up this time. What am I going to do with her? It’s not like I *meant* to kidnap Princess Celine, it’s just that I had no other option. The sheriff seized my crops for “tax evasion” which was a bunch of BS. I paid my taxes! He was the one who squandered them on drink and gamble instead of passing them up the line.
If only I had been older, he wouldn’t have tried. But I was still young, barely older than the princess herself. It wasn’t my fault that my parents had been claimed two summers before and my uncle the next. I was young, but I was capable. It wasn’t fair!
But since the sheriff took my wheat, the duke seized my sheep because I failed to meet my quota. That in turn caused the earl to take my cattle because I didn’t produce enough wool, and when I went to protest the unfairness to the king, he took my land and was going to have me imprisoned for disrespecting my betters by implying that they would lie!
As many times as I have replayed the scene in the throne room back in my head, I can’t see any other alternative to grabbing that sword and taking the princess hostage until I escaped. I don’t want to harm her or to ransom her. I just want to live.
The horse pulls up to my two room cottage hidden deep within the woods. The princess feels it come to a halt and for the first time in our journey out here begins to struggle.
“Unhand me you monstrous bruit!” she rages and pushes against me. I pull the blindfold off that she insisted I put on her and she jumps off the horse. Her dismount is as graceful as when she mounted the horse herself back at the castle. I fall off after her. It’s only my second time on a horse and the first was years ago when I was small enough that someone had picked me up to put me on then to take me off again.
Princess Celine stares down at me in the dirt. “What do you plan to do with me, scoundrel?”
I pick myself up and brush off the dirt. I look at her. She’s pretty. Not world changing gorgeous, which angered the king according to rumors, but she would be one of the more popular maidens in my former village, which meant she was someone I normally wouldn’t have the courage to talk to.
“Nothing, like I said along the way out here you can go.”
She puts her hands on her hips and harrumphs. She closes her eyes and jerks her head to the side, making a show of averting her gaze from mine. She walks over to the horse, making a show of staying away from me. I expect her to hop on and ride back the way we came. Instead, she pulls off the thing in its mouth, bridal, I think it’s called. She throws it at me then storms into the cabin and slams the door. The horse next to me snorts at the sound, wanders over to the well and stands in front of it. He whinneys.
As I pull up a full bucket of water for the horse to drink, I think back to how I’d “chosen” this one. I still held the princess by the hand, but no longer held the sword to her throat. After leaving the throne room, she’d pushed a statue over, trapping the king and his men inside. Then she’d led me through the maze of the castle to the stables (as I’d just walked in). She’d pointed out this horse and said, “You fowl naive! Don’t steal that horse! It’s the kings fastest and if you steal it, you’ll be sure to get away! You must pay for daring to lay a hand on me!” She finished her admonishment by jumping on the horse and staring at me expectantly.
The horse bumps its muzzle into me and whinneys. I set the bucket on the ground and the horse bends down and drinks. I leave him there and head inside.
“Princess Celine?” I call out. She’s not in the main room, but the bedroom door is closed. I hope that she’s run off because I have no idea what I’m going to do otherwise. I’ve effectively turned a prison sentence into a death sentence if not a tourcher-then-death sentence.
I walk over to the door and knock. There is no answer. I knock again. “Princess?” I ask.
“Go away!”
I turn from the door and head back into the main room. I build a fire for the coming evening and open up the cellar doors. Brining a light with me, I check the winter stores that I’d piled up. If I ration things properly, I will be able to get the two of us through the winter until spring arrives and I can start a small garden with seeds from the vegetables I have here. The main problem will be the flour. I’m too far from the river to make a rudimentary mill and there’s no way I’ll be able to grow enough wheat either way. Sighing, I grab a few materials for dinner. What the fuck am I going to do with the girl?
A few hours later, it’s dark outside and I’ve got a decent stew with bread prepared. I knock on the bedroom door again. “Princess? Are you hungry? I’ve got dinner ready.”
I pray that she doesn’t answer. I pray that at some moment unaware to me she’s snuck off and left me forever. Much to my disappointment, she pulls the door open with enough force to cause a breeze to blow past me.
Her eyes are red and puffy.
“Princess! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to kidnap you!”
She sniffs once. “You had a funny way of showing that by putting a sword to my neck.”
“I know. Look, the horse is still outside. Just ride east until the first town, then head south and you can be back at the castle in less than a day.”
She sniffs the air. “What did you make, peasant? It smells foul.”
“Just a stew with bread.”
Celine steps out of the room. I hope that she takes me up on the suggestion that she run back to the castle. Her return might create enough of a diversion that I can sneak off and become a pilgrim and visit the holy lands, get lost in the crowd and vanish forever.
She sits down at the table and stares at the empty space in front of her. “I don’t see any soup.”
“It’s still in the cauldron.”
She looks at me. “Am I supposed to eat it from there?”
“No, there’s some bowls in that cupboard there and some wooden spoons in the drawer if you prefer that.”
She looks forward again. “I prefer silver spoons.”
I snort. She looks at me. “What is so funny?”
Still standing by the door to the bedroom, I shake my head. “Jackson gave O'Reilly a silver ring for their wedding. I think that’s the only silver I’ve ever seen that’s not been used for cash.”
She furrows her eyebrows as she looks at me. My heart flutters as that simple act of seeming innocence takes her from pretty to beautiful. “Then what did you mean by ‘prefer that’? I assumed you meant prefer wood to silver.”
I shake my head. “No, I meant prefer to eat it with a spoon as opposed to eating it with just the bread.”
Her confusion turns to shock, again amplifying her beauty. “People eat soup with bread?”
“Yeah,” I say as I shrug. “I usually kind of do a mixture.”
“And you’ll… allow me to eat with my hands?”
“Allow you? Princess, I won’t make you do anything. I’ll ‘allow’ you to do anything you want! I’ll allow you to walk out that door and run back home!”
No!” she yells. “I’m sorry. I’ll behave.”
It’s my turn to give her a look of confusion. “You are behaving.”
She shakes her head and straightens her posture. Her gaze turns from me to staring straight ahead. “I am hungry, servant.”
“Okay. There’s bowls here,” I say as I grab a bowl for myself. “And spoons are in here.” I show her the one I took for me. I walk over to the pot over the fire and ladle stew into my bowl. From the oven I’d built in above the fire, I pull out the loaf of bread.
Setting the bread in the middle of the table, I sit on the opposite end of the table from Celine. I tear half the bread off and set it on the table next to me and put the rest back. I take a bite of the soup and smile. I’d made it pretty good tonight. Part of me hopes that the princess will enjoy it.
“Where’s mine?” she asks. | "I had taken the Princess of the Rish kingdom to gain leverage for the revolution, but I unknowingly saved a life," I write down in my journal as I hear the young lady splashing away in the pool. I continue writing as my anger brews, "She's 18 years old but she knows nearly nothing of the outside world. She only knows the name of Kings' allies and she can read very basic English. We've been giving her lessons on reading and writing as the days pass," The page runes out of space and I lick my thumb to wet the paper as I flip it over unto the next one.
"Reizer! Reizer! The young princess shouts as she grabs a towel to dry herself off. "What are you doing Reizer?" She asks excitedly. "Are you writing something? When will I be able to write like you?" She shoots out question after question barely breathing as continues talking. "Are you gonna take me back to my father?" She says as terror is seen across her face.
"If your father listens to our deal, then you will have to go back to your father," I tell her as she begins breaking down. "Why? Why? I don't want to go back," She says as she kneels on the ground with her palms in her face to catch her tears.
I turn away from my book as I put a stamp on it between the page and the table so that the wind doesn't make the ink drip. "Ms. Rayna, you are a tool for us. If you were not a princess you wouldn't be here," I say coldly as she continues weeping. "The things we provide you with are the simplest things imaginable. So why are you so adamant about wanting to stay here with a vicious group of men who've killed many of your people?" I say trying to scare her off.
"You must be the good people then! The soldiers that fight for my father are nothing but brutes!" She shouts as she raises her skirt. "Ms. Rayna are you trying to bribe me-" I say as my pen falls out of my hand and onto the ground as the thin wood breaks into splinters.
On her legs are wounds and scars that dwarf even the scars of our most skilled warriors. The bruises are purple and black with blisters covering her everywhere above the knees. She lifts her shirt to reveal even more scars and I see something sliced into her skin, "Property of the Rish Kingdom," It's cut across her breasts. I try hiding my anger as I question her. "Who did this to you? Was it one of our guards?" I say quicker than I'd meant to.
"My father and brothers did this to me," she says as she lowers her clothing. "Please don't give me back. I'll end up dead if you do!" She begs me. "Why does your own family want you dead? I ask her while trying to stay calm. "My mother was a slave..." She says while lingering on her next words. "They took me in and killed her to marry me off to a prince in order to strengthen the countries military." She says loudly.
She's more knowledgeable than I'd first thought. This information will have to be noted.
"We were going to hand you over to the kingdom tomorrow but if that's how it truly is we'll have to make a change of plans," I tell her as her face begins to lighten up.
"You'll be bait for the soldiers as they come to retrieve you, you'll detonate this vest," I tell her while pointing out to it in the corner of my room. "The bomb will explode horizontally, It'll torch the soldiers and push you back into our hands. Are you willing to kill for your freedom, Rayna? I tell her as I begin ripping pages out of my book.
"Yes." She says strongly
"You'd better not drag us down," I say with a smile as I take her to the branding room to remove her allegiance to the Rish Kingdom. "This is gonna burn," I say as the piping hot iron presses onto her chest and her cuts seem to disappear. |
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