r/shortstories • u/OldBayJ Mod | r/ItsMeBay • Sep 08 '24
Serial Sunday [SerSun] Serial Sunday: Nature!
Welcome to Serial Sunday!
To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 1000 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 1 other writer on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.
This Week’s Theme is Nature!
Bonus Word List (each included word is worth 5 pts) - You must list which words you included at the end of your story (or write ‘none’).
- native
- nondescript
- needle
- navigate
What springs to mind when we think of nature? The power of the natural world, untamed vistas and wild storms? The wide expanses of the green and growing land, sheltering prey and concealing predators? Or perhaps, consider the nature of your characters, be they cold and calculating souls making plans and building for the future, or passionate creatures moved by the storms of emotion within.
Whether you choose to look without or within, the endless possibilities of nature lie ready for you to explore. (Blurb written by u/AGuyLikeThat).
These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. For the bonus words (not required), you may change the tense, but the base word should remain the same. Please remember that STORIES MUST FOLLOW ALL SUBREDDIT CONTENT RULES. Interested in writing the theme blurb for the coming week? DM me on Reddit or Discord!
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Theme Schedule:
- September 8 - Nature (this week)
- September 15 - Obscure
- September 22 - Perfection
Previous Themes | Serial Index
Rankings
Last Week: Manipulation
- First - by u/wandering_cirrus
- Second - by u/MeganBessel
- Third - by u/AGuyLikeThat
- Fourth - by u/ZachTheLitchKing
- Fifth - by u/MaxStickies
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Ranking System
Rankings are determined by the following point structure.
| TASK | POINTS | ADDITIONAL NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Use of weekly theme | 75 pts | Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you! |
| Including the bonus words | 5 pts each (20 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and not required! |
| Actionable Feedback | 5 - 15 pts each (60 pt. max)* | This includes thread and campfire critiques. (15 pt crits are those that go above & beyond.) |
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8
u/AGuyLikeThat Sep 13 '24 edited Sep 18 '24
<The Tower in the Tangle>
[Previous Chapter] [Chapter Index]
Chapter Sixty-three: A Distant Home.
~ Petal ~
According to ancient legend, Gadamalga - the supposed throne of the Creator - lies hidden somewhere deep in the Dusklands.
The natives do not venture into the southern ranges. Their ‘Dungir’ witch doctors claim the Land forbids it. Smoke rises from those cracked mountains and salt deserts lie beyond. The waters of the Great Bight are steaming poison that even the Abiran Tallships do not dare navigate.
For the numani, the south is forbidden. But it is from there that the wardens came.
-
The Dusklands, Wizard Merta
A silver-black crow flashes from the pale sky, diving through wide-spread branches, twisting past green-curled leaves. Four small myna birds sweep in its wake, needle-beaks snapping at wing and tail.
A rush of air as feathered bodies swoop down and across the grass. Pinions snap! and the crow lands heavily, folding its wings imperiously. The dull grey mynas flash by and alight upon gnarled branches, screaming shrill war cries, flitting from perch to perch.
Cold black eyes watch for a moment, then the crow crouches and twitches its glossy wings.
Shrieking, the mynas flee into the warm afternoon.
The crow turns its head and Petal sees herself reflected in one eye. In her periphery she sees Thirno staring too. Strangely, this is the first time they have been alone - despite having traveled together for months. Within the group, he is always seeking to make himself the focus - all aggressive jokes and speaking over the others.
He is the kind of Bridger that her Aunties had warned would cause trouble. “Men naturally use their gaze to cast challenge and scorn. Suffer their regard only after they learn to show respect,” they told her.
Among the numani mobs, all men knew how to navigate the proud Akari of the Buchakali. But the Bridgers did not. And their gaze proved the stories were true.
Around men like Thirno, Akari Pe’etelan bristles to fight. But he has never offered a proper contest, instead offering stupid games of chance and pointless skill.
But here is proof that even men like Thirno can comport themselves with respect.
He carefully places a nondescript gourd upon the stone and rises.
“Water. Thirno always needs water when healing.” He steps away, a slight hitch in his movement.
Petal frowns. Her throat is dry, but she does not reach for the vessel.
“The trees here remind Thirno of home.” He reaches up and breaks off a twig. “The orchards of Veccina are famous all over Berlund.”
Orchards. The word is unfamiliar to the Buchakali.
“A farm that grows fruit trees.” Thirno does not insult Petal by looking at her, but somehow he senses her question. “These are sick. Flowers should be blooming now. Aostlah says there is poison in the ground here. Some sorcery, drawn up through that copper tree.”
Petal glances at the barbarian’s back as he inspects the leaves.
“Yellow pear,” he trails off. He pauses, and his hand drops to his side.
Ar'etasin's words echo across the years. “When a man speaks without watching, when he thinks himself unseen. Then, he will show his truth.”
“Shira is sick too.” Thirno taps his temple. “The Warden’s punishment persists.”
A cold memory raises the fine hairs on the back of Petal’s neck. Shira - writhing at the Warden’s feet, her murderous rage turned inward.
“Thirno wanted to help,” he speaks to the ground. “She was wild before, but after the Mar’tral, things grew worse.”
Petal recalls fighting the hollow creature beneath the full moon. A glorious battle! Petal frowns. The beast had broken Thirno’s leg, but nothing had happened to Shira.
“The old wayfinder. No one even remembers his name. But Shira knows. He was her brother ... forgetting him has broken her heart.”
A chill rises in Petal’s chest.
“Thirno has been here longest. Only Aostlah was with the Warden back then. Many have joined since. Many have died.”
When the Warden found the Akari, he gave her a choice. She could face the ‘justice’ of New Lusitus, or she could serve him for a year. But these others? Their crimes were not so easily absolved. And she wonders - not for the first time - what crimes Gilander has committed.
“Thirno has done much wrong. Followed orders when we should have refused. The Warden is harsh but fair. But we wonder. How can a man with no heart give absolution?”
Thirno half turns, standing upright so that Petal can see his profile. A heavy brow, proud nose, and wild beard rendered in bruised shadows against the golden clouds that mass beneath the afternoon sun.
“When the numani woman chased her boyfriend down the cliffs, did she wonder how we would follow?”
The barbarian pauses and Pe’etelan lifts the gourd he left for her and pulls out the stopper. She begins to drink.
“The witch opened a black gate.” He touches his chest. “The crossing. It … hurt us.”
The Akari touches her honor scars, but she does not speak the words of acknowledgment. Why would I? Thirno is not numani. He cannot understand their meaning.
“Thirno does as the Warden commands. He says redemption can be earned, but Thirno has never seen it.” Again, the barbarian sadly shakes his head. “Always, Thirno has served. And we wonder. What will it take to be free?”
“Thirno knows the legend of this place. Morningvale. A piece of Veccina, lost in a wyldstorm two hundred years ago. A piece of our home.” Petal can hear the longing in his voice. “If the Warden can be pleased, then perhaps - Thirno can stay here?”
And with this last, she knows that he does not - can not - believe it is possible. He is ready to die here.
He turns, and his eyes seek hers. She holds his gaze and there is no challenge between them. With a slight movement of her head, she acknowledges Thirno.
Black pinions flare as the crow takes wing, its eyes gleaming with sorcerous blue light.
WC-999
Author's Notes:
-
This week's theme is Nature! - Thirno has recognized the fauna of his homeland here in the Tangle. It seems the rule of nature has been overturned here - and the starvation of the villagers seems linked to some twisting of the natural order. And Petal has been taught certain things about the nature of men, but it seems that the truth is more complex than she may have thought.
-
The Warden punished Shira for starting a fight back in Ch 50.
-
Before Gilander was made wayfinder, a chap named Orrick had that job. He had his identity consumed by the Mar'tral waaaay back in Ch 1!
-
Petal and the rest faced off against the Mar'tral beneath a full moon in Ch8!
-
Bonus words used; native(s), nondescript, needle, navigate.
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All crit/feedback welcome!
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u/wandering_cirrus Sep 14 '24
Hiya Wizzy!
Another great chapter this week. I love how Petal and Thirno play off of each other, and I love how both of them are being emotionally vulnerable in different ways here: Thirno is quietly showing unexpected depths, and Petal is consciously putting away her pre-conceptions so she can listen without bias. This scene is really just utterly beautiful from both a language and an emotional perspective. Now for some line crit!
A silver-black crow flashes from the pale sky, diving through wide-spread branches, twisting past green-curled leaves.
Beautiful first line. I love the way the language and the words flow together. <3
A rush of air, as feathered bodies swoop down and across the grass.
Tiny crit here: I don't think the comma after "air" is necessary?
Pinions snap! and the crow is left standing, folding its wings imperiously.
So the blocking is bit confusing here. I think it might be a bit clearer if instead of "the crow is left standing" you say "the crow lands"?
Cold black eyes watch for a moment, then the crow crouches and twitches its glossy wings.
Shrieking, the mynas flee into the warm afternoon.
The crow turns its head and Petal sees herself reflected in one eye.
Okay, I love what you've done here. The parallelism between the crow proudly eschewing the company of the mynas and Petal's own behavior is really wonderful. That last line really made it click for me, and I was like "OH! Petal is acting like the crow!"
Orchards. The word is unfamiliar to the Buchakali.
“A farm that grows fruit trees.” Thirno does not insult Petal by looking at her, but somehow he senses her question.
This is another detail I really like. I think it highlights Thirno's emotional maturity here, as he silently understands that Petal might need some explaining, but takes care that she doesn't feel insulted.
“The old wayfinder. No one even remembers his name. But Shira knows. He was her brother ... forgetting him has broken her heart.”
Ahhhh, my heart!
Thirno half turns, standing upright so that Petal can see his profile. A heavy brow, proud nose, and wild beard rendered in bruised shadows against the golden clouds that mass beneath the afternoon sun.
And yet more lovely imagery. A contrast of the rugged out appearance vs. the interior deep depths that we've slowly discovered over the last two chapters.
“If the Warden can be pleased, then perhaps - Thirno can stay here?”
And with this last, she knows that he does not - can not - believe it is possible. He is ready to die here.
I mean, if he dies, that's another way to stay here! But also nooooo don't Thirno! I've just gotten to know him!
Overall, another wonderful chapter. I really enjoyed the Petal and Thirno interaction, and I think this was a great chapter to show off the current emotional state of the characters. Can't wait to see where this is going next. Good words!
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u/MaxStickies Sep 08 '24 edited Apr 07 '25
<Thosius>
Chapter 57: Words Amongst Fungi
The place is sprawling for a simple barracks, Berethian thinks. He’s been to castles with fewer rooms, though this place is clearly not the home of nobility; each stretch of wall is nondescript, mountain rock faced with yellow brick. He keeps an eye out for any imperfection, some chipped mortar here and a cobweb there, just to navigate the place.
It would be easy for him to get lost this far in. But he cannot eat with the other inquisitors.
I can barely look him at him anymore.
One memory resurfaces in the quiet halls: Baltathaius’s face, stern and yet curious, watching him from beside a table. His younger self sees the Head Inquisitor only out of the corner of his eye, with most of his attention on the telepath across from him. It wasn’t Hemalus, but he was most likely elsewhere, transforming the minds of other recruits. I wonder how much he regrets it.
Eventually, Berethian comes to a dark wooden door carved with a cross-legged figure. He presses his ear to it, and listens. No sounds of movement inside, only a steady, ringing drip of water into a pool. He eases the door open and enters.
The space inside is a natural hollow, the size of a small room. Despite a lack of torches, there is a strange glow keeping the place lit. He looks about, finding two sources: shining green mushrooms on the walls, and the pool of water with a cyan fluorescence. Upon the latter’s deep granite bank, someone has placed a crimson rug, patterned with yellow diamonds.
A place for contemplation? I suppose they must need it.
He mimics the figure on the door, sitting cross-legged on the rug. With his eyes shut, he focusses on the drips as they fall, listens to their echo on the cave walls. The memories come to him less and less, until they are pushed far, far back into his mind. He inhales, and exhales. His existence becomes the comforting dark and the water’s chimes.
The creak of the wooden door feels like a needle to his brain, shattering his calm. He hunches forward, puffing and sweating, his whole body shaking.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Delrethri’s voice. Of course it had to be you!
“Well, bit late for that now,” he answers. “What do you want?”
“You didn’t eat with us, so I brought you a bowl of stew. Thought you’d need it, because, well… none of us got to eat yesterday.”
A kind gesture, at least. “Thanks.”
His once-friend places the bowl beside him. “Interesting place. I’ve had a few conversations with the Heragians, and they say the caves adjoining their passageways are filled with native flora found nowhere else.”
Berethian ignores him, pretends to meditate.
Yet Delrethri does not seem deterred. “I’m tempted to take one of these mushrooms, dry it out and study it when we get back home.”
“Can you go, please?”
“Oh, um… why?”
“I just need to clear my mind.”
“Is something bothering you?”
“No, it’s just that everything has been stressful, and I need to relax. I’m sure you understand.”
Now Delrethri sits beside him. “Yet you’ve always talked to others about your troubles. You can tell me.”
Berethian narrows his eyes, glaring at him side-on. “It’s hard to talk when the listener is part of the problem.”
“Okay…” his voice wavers, lips twitching. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“You consider yourself still a friend to me, even as you spend all your time with Baltathaius.”
He wants to say more, accuse him of conspiracy, of helping Baltathaius towards some horrid goal. But he knows it’ll raise suspicions even higher.
It is Delrethri’s turn to glare, his black pupils gleaming in the shimmering light. “Is that it?! You are jealous?!”
“No, of course not! But how could you work so close to him with all he has done?!”
Delrethri surprises him with a laugh. “Come on, Berethian, I thought you were smarter than this. I’m trying to steer him in the right direction.”
“You can’t. He’s too far gone.”
“I’m supposed to believe that and do nothing? He’s still our leader, the only one amongst us who can command the rest. If either of us mutinied, the others would kill us. Besides which, he has spoken to me about his thoughts and feelings, like I am his friend. He isn’t beyond change.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Delrethri’s face tightens, his teeth bared, and he rushes to his feet. “At least I’m doing something. I would’ve even asked for your help, if you’d not done so much to make him hate you.”
“That was not my doing, and you’re a fool if you think otherwise.”
The other inquisitor says not another word. He storms out of the cave, slamming the door behind him. Berethian tries to shut everything out once more, to return to that quiet state of being.
But he cannot. Standing, he leaves the cave to seek out Pellia.
WC: 834
Bonus words: native, nondescript, needle, navigate
Crit and feedback are welcome.
3
u/Carrieka23 Sep 09 '24
Ello Max!
Tensionnnnn, and it continues with this chapter. It's nice to see a bit of symbolization also. You are showing Berethan in a dark place, I feel like it's a metaphor of how his current mindset is. And our dear "friend" Delrethri is right there. And only when he feels like leaving is when he thinks of Pellia...interesting.
I love the characterization between Delrethri and Berethian, and even how things continue to go deeper between the two. I am actually starting to understand both sides, which makes this hurt even more to see.
I also love your description of the setting also:
The space inside is a natural hollow, the size of a small room. Despite a lack of torches, there is a strange glow keeping the place lit. He looks about, finding two sources: shining green mushrooms on the walls, and the pool of water with a cyan fluorescence. Upon the latter’s deep granite bank, someone has placed a crimson rug, patterned with yellow diamonds.
And then later on, Berethian mindset:
He mimics the figure on the door, sitting cross-legged on the rug. With his eyes shut, he focusses on the drips as they fall, listens to their echo on the cave walls. The memories come to him less and less, until they are pushed far, far back into his mind. He inhales, and exhales. His existence becomes the comforting dark and the water’s chimes.
A beautiful way to show him trying to dissociate himself from the current situation.
Good words! Can't wait for the next chapter.
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u/m00nlighter_ Sep 12 '24
Max... Are we really meant to believe Baltathius isn't beyond change? XD I'm interested to see how Delrethri's project with him unfolds. At the same time - get outta here Del! We're trying to see more Ber memories dangit!
I have some crit, but I want to preface it by saying that none of this changes the readability or is necessarily "incorrect", just suggestions/observations!
He’s been to castles with fewer rooms, though this place is clearly not the home of nobility; each stretch of wall is nondescript, mountain rock faced with yellow brick.
I know Zach touched on this sentence a bit. I feel like the semicolon could possibly be a period here. It would break up this information and give you a little bit of sentence variation.
Baltathaius’s face, stern and yet curious, watching him from beside a table.
"and" could probably be removed here. As I'm writing this though, I see you still have over 150 words at your disposal so saving them probably isn't a big issue XD
He presses his ear to it, and listens.
I'm not 100% sure this needs a comma, but it also seems like this one may have been left in during editing.
Anywho! I really liked this chapter, Max! We got to learn more about Del and his (alleged) motivations, and go deeper into the world of the Heragians. I am excited that there seems to be a Pellia chapter coming up. Muhahaha! Good words!
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u/ZachTheLitchKing Sep 09 '24
Howdy Max
I wonder who the fun guy is this chapter :D
So this first line is Berethian's thoughts, unitalicized, but then a short bit later we see his thoughts italicized. This little inconsistency made me double-back and check that these were indeed Berethian's thoughts and I think that italicizing them here will make a better link to the future use of italics for his thoughts:
The place is sprawling for a simple barracks, Berethian thinks.
I can barely look him at him anymore.
The comma after "nondescript" doesn't seem necessary:
each stretch of wall is nondescript, mountain rock faced with yellow brick.
Well done with the simple door description; a cross-legged figure with a drip of water sound coming from it immediately made me think it's some sort of meditation chamber, then you went and had Berethian come to the same conclusion.
I was being lulled off into my own meditative comfort as I read your description there only to be just as rudely interrupted by Delrethri as Berethian was xD Still finding it hard to really pin down what Delrethri's deal is. He could be a blind loyalist, he could be a stealth revolutionary.
At the very least he does seem like a nice person. Polite small talk, offering to listen to Berethian's worries. Of course this all doubles as excellent traits for spies sooooooo you're doing a good job duping me if that's what he is :P
Okay this likely misunderstanding got a literal laugh out of me xD
“You consider yourself still a friend to me, even as you spend all your time with Baltathaius.”
“Is that it?! You are jealous?!”
This conversation with Delrethri is quite interesting. Openly using the word 'mutiny' is bold. He's coming across as someone stuck in the middle of two opposing forces, trying to be friend to both Berethian and Baltathaius, but since those two hate each other his job is quite difficult. Poor guy.
Whelp you've swayed me to liking Delrethri at this point. Only time will tell if you've set me up for pain.
Good words!
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u/MeganBessel Sep 13 '24
<In the Shadow of the World Tree>
Chapter 129: Honor of the Robes
When Lena received the summons to the Forester’s Hall two twelvenights later, she wasn’t sure what to think. That she was asked to bring her still-unburned robes suggested they were finally going to handle that detail—but then why had it been a polite summons?
Bewildered, she went.
There were a handful of people inside the hall when she arrived—two anators and several councilwomen.
“Ah Lena, good, you’re here,” one of the councilwomen said, ushering her in. “You brought your robes?”
Lena stepped forward to the altar and presented them. “Right here, ma’am.” But there was no bowl on the altar for burning. No ashes, no flames.
What was going on?
“Good, thank you.” The councilwoman set the robes gently next to the bowl, then looked up. “Lena. It has…come to our attention that despite being laicized from the order, you have still…engaged in forester activities.”
“I wouldn’t—”
A raised hand cut her off, and the councilwoman continued. “Which includes, based on your confession at the Festival of Stories, saving all of Elfo from the rot.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lena confirmed. “Though that—”
“Therefore after a great deal of discussion among the council and with the anate, we have concluded that our laicization was perhaps too hasty.” The smile that threatened to break through the councilwoman’s stoic expression gave it away. “And so we would like to induct you back into the order.”
She stood there, stunned as a sparrow that had lost its nest. “Ma’am?”
“Though your relationship with the Foresters can be…different than most. We will not ask you to forsake your vocation—you will be an honorary forester. You will have all of the rights and privileges of the order, but we will leave it to you to decide your obligations. It is the least we can do for you after all that you have done for Elfo. Both Kivka zhikwe Veskali and Muka zhikwe Maltisli recommended this, and as you seem to be the singular person who can make the Bwadusli and Nyavosli work together…”
So that’s what they were talking about. Not making Lena an anator—making her a forester. That’s what Kivka meant by “peer”.
“So, Lena vaswe Bwadusli zhikwe Tiltegli.” The councilwoman straightened up, everyone else following suit in a half-circle around the altar. “You come before us today, having completed the obligations to join the Order of the Foresters, to join us as an honorary member, with all the rights and privileges thereof, correct?”
It took Lena a few moments to stand up straight herself, to wrangle her spinning mind into recognizing the ritual for what it was. “I do.”
“O Alvedos, O trees, O all of Elfo, witness today this induction. May Lena be a branch of the order that holds its canopy up, and may you keep her ever shaded as she grows thick with knowledge and care.”
“So may it be,” said the assembled.
“Lena,” the councilwoman continued. “Do you now pledge to aid us in our mission in all of Elfo?”
“I do,” Lena said as firmly as she could, though her knees threatened to fall out from under her.
“Will you learn and tell the stories that have been passed down through generations, from the first fruits to the end of all things, that we may remember who we are?”
“I so take this oath to tell the stories.” She said this once before, but this time, it felt more meaningful. This wasn’t a temporary assignment. This was what she was meant to be.
“Will you bind our communities in ritual and ceremony, that we may grow together like branches of trees intertwined?”
“I so take this oath to bind our communities.”
“Will you study to know our souls, that you may guide us and shape us, that we may all always do the will of Alvedos?”
“I so take this oath to know our souls.”
The councilwoman smiled. “And will you labor to defeat the rot that plagues us, to fight against that ancient evil, and to always serve Alvedos, mother of us all?”
Lena stood a little straighter, a little prouder. “I so take this oath to defeat the rot.”
“Then let it be known.” The councilwoman set her hand on the robes. “That you are a forester. Our mission is your mission, and our order is your order. Come, Lena, don the robes and let all the land know of the honor Alvedos grants you.”
She stepped forward, and an councilwomen joined her, picking up the robes and dressing her in them.
The lead councilwoman smiled. “Congratulations, Lena. I look forward to seeing what you do, and how else you fulfill the will of Alvedos.”
Lena could only beam, basking in the true vindication of all that she had done. She was a forester, now. Permanently. And a blacksmith. The first person in all of history who could keep a vocation while being part of the order.
And as the joy bubbled out, she laughed in happiness, soon joined by the peers now around her.
WC: 837 (844 in Scrivener), and I continue the 850 convention
No bonus words
Lena is previously initiated into the Foresters in Chapter 67. Kivka mentions talking with people about honoring Lena in Chapter 126 and Muka does the same in Chapter 127.
Thank you for reading!
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u/JKHmattox Sep 10 '24 edited Sep 14 '24
<No Man’s Land> The World Turned Topside Down
With my eyelids furrowed shut, I gasped for air in reciprocated bursts while the battle raged around me. My rasped pants were sharp and ragged, driven by the anxiety swirling in my mind.
A woven rhythm of smoky contralto tones rose and fell with every rabbid breath, adding to the nightmarish aspersion. The ratcheted anguish stitched itself within my desperate breathing, its vocal elegance as foreign to my ears as the secondary appendages wrangling beneath my native arms. My thoughts reeled from these alien features too impossible to accept. Despite all that, there was still an odd familiarity to my transformed body.
The gunfire stopped and I felt a hand grasp my upper shoulder.
“Jackson!” Rivera's concern was thick within her inquisition, “are you okay, man?”
I grit my teeth as I realized the only pain I had left was the nondescript anxiousness which turned in my stomach, “I-I don't know…”
I opened my eyes to find her crouched in front of me. Rivers managed a nervous smile before she spoke in a gruff manner, “that's good enough for now, Owens, because we are in a world of shit.”
“Shiela, we got more coming! This place isn't going to hold for much longer!” The Aussie-Gemini she called Jericho yelled across the room.
“Jackson, I know it sucks and it hurts, but you can't think about it… there's nothing we can do about the past but we can do something about right now.”
A grenade bounced off the exterior wall across the street outside before it exploded, the result of a blind toss of desperation.
“Ray-Ray, where the fuck is that ammo!” Gunny hollered from the rooftop before she fired off another volley of energy rounds.
Rivera pushed herself to her feet and then offered me a hand up from the floor. I grasped her arm and pulled myself up with her help. I tried to ignore the awkward list of my stance, my balance thrown askew by my otherworldly transformation.
A ribbon of heavy magazines hung across Rivera's chest and she subconsciously adjusted it to relieve the discomfort caused by the awkward weight of the thing. She then straightened my tattered shirt like a mother preparing her daughter for their first day of school. Frustrated by my additional anatomy, she was forced to accept the limitations of my clothing meant for a human with only two arms.
“Jackie… I need you to push through that hurricane raging in your mind… Mattie needs this ammo up on the roof, can you get it to her?” she spoke with a calm almost motherly persona uncharacteristic of the salted soldier of the stars.
I nodded and reached for the bandoleer Rivera was lifting over her head.
“That a girl, Owens,” she quipped as she draped the ammunition belt across my torso before she patted me on the shoulder.
“That's not funny, Top!” I snorted with a nervously suppressed smile.
“Maybe not to you, Jackie,” she smiled.
Our eyes met before hers fluttered down and then back up again. Rivera chuckled as she half rhetorically mused, “huh, guess I can't get on you about shaving anymore, can I?”
Instinctually, my hand shot to my cheek and found it devoid of the needled stubble that had grown in over the last week.
“What the…” I exclaimed before Rivera interrupted me.
“You're living in the past, Jackie,” she chuckled before removing the magazine from her sidearm and replacing it with a fresh one. She racked the slide and once more and became the hardened warrior she always was, “Ricky tick, Owens, Mattie needed that ammo on the roof yesterday.”
The climb up the stairs was cumbersome. Aside from the awkward ballast caused by the tangle of ammunition, my auxiliary limbs did their best to hinder any forward progress. Their almost adolescent behavior made it difficult to navigate the narrow passage which led to the roof.
“Cut it out!” I scolded in Gemini when my left axillary hand started to undo one of the magazine pouches without my direction. It was as terrifying as it was frustrating to know I didn't have complete control of them.
Once topside, I stumbled on the uneven tar covered rooftop. The bandoleer of high explosive ammunition dragged me down with its unbalanced weight. Its strap dug into my upper shoulder as it tangled around my extra limbs.
“What kind of a clusterfuck… Who the hell are you, Genny?” Diane Campbell barked at me in Gemini.
I crawled to her across the jagged tar paper while orangish tracers ripped overhead.
“Just some lost crankshaft who got off the wrong landing craft, Gunny!” I yelled over the gunfire in standard human dialect.
Her puzzled eyes examined my face for a long moment before realization crooked her left eyebrow, “Owens… You're alive! And fucking blue!”
“It's a long story.”
Her attention darted to the neck of my shirt stretched open by the rough tar.
“My eyes are up here, Gunny,” I mused with a smirk.
“Those weren't there before.”
“I'd rather not talk about the extra arms, ” I deflected while my four hands struggled to get the bandoleer free of my body.
“I'd say that's the least of our worries at the moment… Do you remember how to shoot, because apparently you've forgotten how to walk,” her sarcastic smile contradicting the scathing assessment of my arrival.
I managed to get the bandoleer free with a forced grunt in a foreign octave.
“Hard to say Gunny, my vision's all fucked up too.”
The outside world through my eyes was a strange grayscale accentuated by hues of yellows, purples, and blues. The soft pigments were stimulated by motion while stationery details were at the discretion of my imagination which overwhelmed me at times.
“It's like riding a hoverbike, Owens” Gunny smiled as I took the shoulder cannon from her.
The weapon seemed heavier as I fumbled to insert a magazine from the bandoleer. With a slap, the bolt thundered home loading a shell into the chamber…
W/C 1000/1000
Bonus words: native, nondescript, needle, navigate
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u/ZachTheLitchKing Sep 10 '24
Hey hey JK!
Minor point but I think "smoky" would work better than "smoked" in this line:
A woven rhythm of smoked contralto tones
I'm curious what you mean by a "subtextual voice dancing within my desperate breathing". Is there another voice speaking through him? Is it in his head?
You've captured the chaos of battle very well, and Jackie's hyper-awareness of what's going on as a response to his stress is a great touch. It's all borderline overwhelming but you've constrained it enough that I'm able to keep up.
I especially like Rivera's moment of calm as she talks Jackie through a very simple set of instructions to get the ammo up to the roof. The situation is tough; she cant let Jackie sit down and take five but she also can't abandon her position and take the ammo up herself. Everyone's gotta pull some weight.
Typo here, I assume it's supposed to be "nodded"
I nobbed and reached for the bandoleer
The tension of the moment and the press of time is somewhat undercut by the moment they share when joking about the shaving.
I think removing the "sometimes" would improve this line as its presence implies that Jackie does have complete control usually even though they literally just sprouted out in the last, what, five to ten minutes?
It was as terrifying as it was frustrating to know I didn't have complete control of them sometimes.
When Jackie is talking to Gunny he's saying her name an awful lot. he says five lines to her and in all five he says her name; that feels a tad unnatural even in a tense situation. I'd remove all but the first one:
“Just some lost crankshaft who got off the wrong landing craft, Gunny!
“It's a long story, Gunny.”
“My eyes are up here, Gunny,”
“I'd rather not talk about the extra arms, Gunny, ”
“Hard to say Gunny,
Good chapter to get things moving again. I'm really curious why the non-Gemini insectoid thingy's gun turned him into a Gemini and not a bug thing and I hope that gets answered once things calm down. Also still curious where Elsa is and hoping she's okay.
Good words!
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u/Carrieka23 Sep 08 '24 edited Sep 09 '24
<The Beginning of The Demon Life>
Chapter 100
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After finishing breakfast, Alex walks outside of The Lion’s Den gates. Leaning against the wall stands Mark with a long black stripe coat covering his body. The soldier lifts up an eyebrow, staring at the guard more carefully. He can feel the blazing sun against his skin, keeping him warm. Yet, Mark doesn’t look like he’s sweating from the heat.
“Mark, why are you wearing a coat?” Alex finally asks.
“Oh, trust me. You’re going to need one when traveling to Apocryphal District. Here.” He shows Alex a plain black and white long-sleeve jacket.
“Ah, I’ll wait until I reach there.”
Mark nods, wrapping the jacket around his own shoulders. “Then we shall get going.”
“Wait, Evan not coming with us?”
“No. He’d rather stay in his kingdom and keep an eye on things. Plus, I think it’s for the better that he stays here.”
Alex nods, following the soldier to their destination.
—
The walk has been pretty long, but by now Alex's legs are used to the number of miles. Aaron also gave him a water bottle in case he gets too thirsty. He opens the cap up and chugs down the water, feeling a cooling sensation down his throat.
I wonder what Lust will look like?
Even though Alex is ashamed to admit it, he misses Drowsy Hollow way more than Lion’s Den and Irascible the Ire Sect together. Especially with the flowers plants and friendly people, the pleasant smells of pollen and trees.
But at the same time, Alex's curiosity keeps picking at what this new kingdom will be, and why Mark wears a jacket. Finally giving in, he decides to ask.
“Is the place there cold?”
“Oh yeah, it’s very cold.” The guard replies. “But, it never used to be that way.”
“Oh? What do you mean?”
“I assume you've been to Drowsy Hollow already, yes? Think of our kingdom like that back before the war.”
“Why did it suddenly turn cold?”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting to give you a history lesson.” Mark chuckles. “I should start from the beginning. Do you believe in Ancient Dragons?”
The Ancient Dragons again.
“That’s funny. Aaron and I were just talking about them.”
“Good, saves me from explaining.” Mark stops in his tracks, turning to Alex. “I’m going to make it short since we’re kind of in a hurry, but I hope I’ll explain it well enough.”
The soldier nods, fully paying attention to the story.
“Demons have different belief systems, and due to this we divide ourselves based on those beliefs. Later on, it became the Seven Deadly Sins, and each kingdom would represent a sin. Lust was known to show love, passion, and most of all, desire. And our first king was…” Mark winks at Alex.
Oh dear god…
Alex tries to hide his disgust, but a laugh from Mark tells him that he hasn't hide it well.
“Glad that you understand. But long story short, because of that he fell under a curse and eventually died. I can’t tell you mainly because I have no idea.”
A curse? Maybe the queen knows.
“Also during this time, legends said that the Ancient Water Dragon always visits Lust and cries, causing rain to happen almost everyday in the kingdom. And with rain, comes flowers. Later on, people actually began to thank the Water Dragon and even gave them some gifts.”
“And do you believe in them?”
Mark nods. “Of course, why wouldn’t I? After all, the flower of the Water Dragon kept Lust at peace for many years.”
Alex lifts up an eyebrow. “A flower?”
“I don’t know much, since it was top secret. But I’d always overhear the older guards talking about the flower as the hope of Apocryphal District. But since it got destroyed, the love broke with it.”
A flower was a symbol of love? That sounds like a fairytale.
“Well, that’s the most I can tell you with our history. I hope I explain it well enough.”
Alex nods. “I was curious about the Ancient Dragons in advance. But now, I’m even more curious.”
“Well, if you’re in luck, maybe people in this city will tell you more about it. Now, we should continue before it gets late.”
The two resume their walking. Mark's words spin around Alex’s head like a tornado, making him think about everything he might see in Lust. But also adds a bit of uneasiness in his head that he can’t quite explain.
He glances up at the clear blue sky, temporarily calming himself down.
You’ve faced many challenges before, Alex. This isn’t new. You got this!
He takes a couple of deep breaths, chanting his positive ritual in his head. In the past, it didn’t work, especially in Pride. But maybe this time, its charm will start working again.
Huh?
He notices a black crow flying around him and Mark, almost like it’s watching their every step. He's never seen a creature in Hell before, so this has caught him by surprise.
“Hey, Mark. It’s a crow.” Alex faces Mark.
“A-A crow?!” Mark instantly turns to Alex, his face twitching.
Alex nods, glancing back at the sky. The crow is still above Alex, but he notices something is in its claws. It almost looks like a…Scythe.
“Alex, move!”
The crow claws lean back before throwing it towards Alex.
Instinct grips the soldier's body. He quickly takes a couple of steps back, the scythe landing on the sand, causing it to explode like a wave, blinding both demons.
Alex wipes the sand from his face, his half open eyes staring at where the scythe is. It is in the same direction where Alex was standing. Only this time, a demon with a black cloak stare at him with blood-lust hunger for death.
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WPC: 971
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u/MaxStickies Sep 09 '24
Hey Haru, really like the chapter! I'm getting more and more intrigued by Lust the more I hear about it. The coats are a good visual clue to it being a colder kingdom. What's good here is that you use details about the desert to show the contrast between it and the place they are going, mentioning the blue sky and the sand, which will ensure that the differences will be more striking. I also like how Derail appears here, how you show his powers and that he either wants to make an impression or is about to attack them. Very curious as to why.
I also like the added insight into how the kingdoms came to be the ways they are, and how it ties into the demons. Very interesting worldbuilding there.
For crit:
After finishing breakfast, Alex walks outside of Lion’s Den gates
An apostrophe and 's' after "Den" or a "the" before "Lion's" would make this work better.
In the corner, he sees Mark with a long black stripe coat covering his body
I'm not quite sure where there would be a corner here, so I'd suggest replacing it with something like "Leaning against a wall, there stands Mark".
“Wait, Evan not coming with us?”
Could do with an apostrophe and 's' after "Evan".
The walk was pretty long, but by now Alex's legs got used to the number of miles.
I'd suggest "has been" instead of "was" here, and "are" instead of "got".
He opens the cap up and jugs down the water,
I think "chugs" instead of "jugs" would work better here.
Especially with the sweet nature of flowers, plants, and people being very friendly. Not to mention the satisfying smell of pollen and even trees.
I think you could combine this into one sentence and make it more concise, something like: "Especially with the flowers, plants and friendly people, the pleasant smells of pollen and trees."
Finally giving in, he decided to ask.
"decides" instead of "decided".
But, it usually wasn’t.
"But it never used to be that way." would work better here.
Alex tries to hide his disgust, but a laugh from Mark told him that he didn’t hide it well.
"tells" instead of "told", and "hasn't" could work better than "didn't", with "hidden" instead of "hide".
But since it got destroy
"destroyed" here.
He never sees a creature in Hell before, so this caught him by surprise.
"He's never seen", and sort the part after the comma, I'd suggest: "so this has caught him by surprise."
The crow was still above Alex, but he noticed something was in its claws.
"is" instead of "was" both times here, and "notices" instead of "noticed".
The crow claws lean back before throwing it towards Alex.
I think this could be reworded, something like "With a flick of its claws, the crow throws it towards Alex."
Instrict instantly charges at the soldier's blood
Something like "Instinct grips the soldier's body" would read better here.
Alex wipes the sand from his face, his half open eyes stares at where the scythe is. It was in the same direction where Alex was standing.
"staring" instead of "stares", and "is" instead of "was" in both cases.
And that's all the crit I have. Really like the chapter!
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u/Nate-Clone Sep 08 '24 edited Sep 14 '24
I Am What You Eat
Chapter 28 - Spuddy-Spuddy
After some of their week-long camping trips, Scoutmaster Phillip would treat Basil and his troop by leaving the dangers of the woods to stay in the luxury of nearby hotels, for their last night of the trip. The fluffy beds, the pizza and calzones they ordered, and the late-night chats he and Trent got up to...they were some of the happiest times of his life.
But the Potatio Inn was not one of these hotels. For one, the entire room smelled somewhat earthy and starchy—probably from all the potatoes piled outside on both sides of the place.
And unlike those, it didn't look like a place where you could barge in and ask for a room for a clean fifty; falafel furniture and support beams of broccoli caught Basil and Sophocles' eye, with what else but potatoes powering the room's lights.
They also supplied bathrobes, which was convenient, as both of their clothes reeked of syrup, cheese, spoiled milk, or some ungodly combination of the three. Sure, they were made of stitched-together potato skins, but it was better than discovering what a naked egg looked like.
"Are you sure this is safe?" Develyn asked, tightening her robe as they hung their washed clothes on the railing of their balcony.
"Not…really, no," Basil replied, licking his thumb to feel the direction of the wind. "But unless this place has a potato-powered dryer, this is the best we can do."
"Y'know, I'd ask what a 'dryer' is, but I probably wouldn't get it." Develyn walked back inside the warmth of their room, flopping onto the bed closest to the balcony.
"It's actually not that complicated." Basil sat down on the other bed, eyeing Sophocles and Ebinu glaring at each other. “It…warms up clothes and…uhhh…” Dang. What did a dryer do, exactly?
"See? Even you don't get it." She propped her head up with her head. "What other stupid things do you have on Earth?"
Basil scratched his chin. He liked this little game. "Well, riiiiight there," He pointed to a painting across from their beds. "instead of that, hotels in my world usually have these big screens that broadcast shows and news and the like. It's called television."
"So it's like your game thingy, just…bigger."
"No, there are different shows and movies on them. They're like books, but…you can see them."
"I can already see books. I'm not blind, dumbass."
"That's not what I…" Basil chuckled.
Books. That reminded him of something.
He fumbled through his bag. Now, just where was the...
"Ebinu! No, bad girl!" He could hear Develyn say.
Basil looked up.
Yep, the book was in her mouth.
The two of them struggled to free the book from her grasp. When they finally did, it was accompanied by an ear-piercing whine.
They'd only had this thing for about three hours now, and this was the seventh time they had to cover their ears in her presence.
"Bon, SHUT UP," Develyn yelled at her. "I swear, I am gonna have a word with this 'Mackie' guy when we find him tomorrow. At least Sophocles doesn't cry and whine and steal my stuff."
"The key is only pampering them when they deserve it." Basil mused, opening the book.
Flipping past the page about Amaya and the Sleeping Serviette, he found a page covering a whole new beast. Basil read the poem aloud.
Across the mountains, the youngest Guardian lives,
deep in a forest, he never takes, only gives.
But cursed with knowledge from his sister's deeds,
he knows the difference between wants and needs.
The wheat of the quadruped grows from his mane,
making biscuits and more from the finest of grains.
But only some of his dough is granted with life.
The rest could be clothing, walling, or a beautiful fife.
Semolin chooses only the best dough to breathe.
Bon told her second son so, after her first's greedy deeds.
In his magical forest, before trails of torque…
lies the four-pointed, dangerous Parting Pitchfork.
A lion was drawn on the other page, its mane having stalks of wheat in place of strands of hair.
"'Fife'? 'Torque'?" Develyn murmured. "What's this even mean?"
"I think it means that Semolin does have the next Tensul…the Parting Pitchfork." Basil pondered - he had a pretty good guess what it looked like.
"And he lives in the Forest Of Greens…" Develyn crossed her arms, sitting back down on her bed. "That's the only forest nearby, so it's our best bet. But…the hell's a "fife"? I-"
"Dev, focus." Bail turned to face her. "You know anything about the forest?"
"Just rumors from books my mom read to me." She replied, eyeing the now-peacefully-sleeping Ebinu. "They say that Semolin 'traps people with tainted souls' in there, I dunno."
"That is probably superstition." Basil scoffed. "It just means the forest is big and dark."
"Well, aren't you confident," Develyn smirked. "Who died and made you 'Master Navigator'?"
"My Scoutmaster." Basil stood up. "I'm gonna go take a bath."
Develyn shuddered. "They used clear dew instead of syrup, the weirdos."
Basil grinned. "Just the way I like it."
“You are weird, Bee.”
"So are you, Dev."
Bee. He liked that. Even if "Bay" would make more sense in terms of pronunciation. But he wouldn't be a crab about it.
Basil smiled as he closed the bathroom door. Develyn was the best friend he'd ever had. Well, outside of his troop, at least.
But in here? The only person that reached his ears…was her.
Dick. Calling her weird so nonchalantly. Bailey hissed. Have you ever considered that SHE'S hurting, too? Probably even more than you and your tame family issues?
Just because she had problems didn’t mean his own were invalid.
Y’know what that’s called? Being selfish. I would’ve thought after living with MOM, your whole life, you’d learn a thing or two about that. But no. You’re just as bad as them. And just as ugly, too.
Basil looked at himself in a mirror before he slid into the tub.
Nah, you’re uglier.
WC: 997/1000
Notes:
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Theme: Nature: Basil and Develyn spend this chapter in a hotel powered by nature, in their natural state (minus the natural bathrobes wrapped around their natural bodies).
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Bonus words: N/A
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u/wordsonthewind Sep 14 '24
Finally caught up! This is a nice breather chapter before the next leg of Basil and Develyn's journey. Their mutual ribbing and nicknames for each other was a good way of showing how their friendship has developed over everything they've experienced together. I liked the back-and-forth about Earth technology and the scuffle with Ebinu especially.
This line got me good, so well done:
"Bay" would make more sense in terms of pronunciation. But he wouldn't be a crab about it.
Sad that Bailey showed up to torment Basil again. I admit I'm a bit bewildered by her accusations because Develyn didn't seem to be hurt by Basil calling her weird. Nothing there for the negative mind-voice to seize on and blow out of proportion, as it were. Then again, it's not like negative mind-voices are known for being reasonable :P
I'm also not sure if the last line is meant to be Bailey or if it's Basil thinking that at Bailey. He does look at the mirror right before that and since Bailey is basically him, I think both interpretations are plausible. Just my two cents.
Good words!
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u/ZachTheLitchKing Sep 09 '24
Heyo Nate-o!
First line threw me for a loop. Using "treated" makes it feel like it's actively happening. Changing it to "would treat" makes it more of a hypothetical situation and keeps a bit of distance between the memory and the present:
After some of their week-long camping trips, Scoutmaster Phillip treated Basil and his troop by leaving the dangers of the woods to stay in the luxury of nearby hotels.
The hyphen here threw me off, making me think you were saying "fifty-falafel". I think making this a semicolon would fix that confusion:
ask for a room for a clean fifty - falafel furniture and support beams
I can't speak for Basil or for anyone, really, but I for sure would rather be naked than wearing a robe of potato skins xD The idea of that texture is giving me goosebumps.
Sure, they were made of stitched-together potato skins, but it was better than nothing.
Basil's inability to explain things continues to be a source of hilarity and enjoyment:
They're like books, but…you can see them."
"I can already see books. I'm not blind, dumbass."
The comedic timing with Ebinu and the book was spot on, well done :D
This line feels like there's some innacuracies. They succeeded in getting the bug, but "all" that came out of her mouth was a whine. If they got the book then that also came from her mouth. A slight rephrasing to clean that up: "When they finally did it, the book was accompanied by an ear-piercing whine."
When they finally did, all that left Ebinu's mouth was an ear-piercing whine.
Excellent job on the poetry. Loved the rhyme scheme. Maybe consider formatting it more like a standard poem for ease of reading? Not sure what it's called or how to describe it, but like:
Across the mountains, Launge's younger Guardian lives,
deep in a forest, he never takes, only gives.
But cursed with knowledge from his sister's deeds,
he knows the difference between wants and needs.I love the lion description, but since you're at word cap you might be able to shorten it a bit by not makign the redundant comment about the mane. Something like "A lion was drawn on the other page, its mane having stalks of wheat in place of strands of hair" or something to that effect.
A lion was drawn on the other page, built with a very odd mane - every strand of hair was a bit of wheat growing out of his head.
I'm curious what Basil is thinking; I'm thinking either a comb or a literal fork utensil:
Basil grinned - he had a pretty good guess what it looked like.
Interesting that the poem contains words that are known on Earth but not on this world, like "fife". Makes me think Basil wasn't the first pink monster to come here.
Bold of Basil to scoff at anything in this world, but at the same time I agree:
"They said that about every slightly-large forest." Basil scoffed.
This is a rather minor complaint, but wouldn't they have washed up after taking off their rancid clothes and before putting on the bathrobes?
Basil stood up. "I'm gonna go take a bath."
HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! I loved this:
Bee. He liked that. Even if "Bay" would make more sense in terms of pronunciation. But he wouldn't be a crab about it.
Great chapter Nate.
Good words.
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u/NotComposite Sep 12 '24 edited Nov 16 '24
<Daughters of Drun>
[Chapter Index] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]
Chapter 4: Daughter Of The Department
Zarza, Zarza-Zarza,
Girl-goblin o' fire and flame.
Bald is her head,
Glowing orange and red,
For her hair'd burn up if it came.
In her daydream, Zarza was back in the evening shadow of Fortress Sorcerous, lighting the village lamps. She imagined the children trailing in her wake, singing that silly little rhyme she loved.
Once they made a rhyme for you, you became a truly great sorceress, never mind whatever titles Grandmother handed out.
But the rhyme wasn't always right. Zarza had spent the past ten days damping her inner fires, because Aunt Ingwo's letter had said to come looking 'nondescript, like commoners'. Her skin had cooled to its native yellow-brown, and a charcoal-black mane now reached to her shoulders. Hair wasn't supposed to grow so fast, but her body was trying to catch up on all the things it couldn't usually do. The hair was the least of that, and fit her in its own way, though it was abominably heavy sometimes.
She leant back onto the cushion-strewn rug and let her curls fan out, exhaling a cloud of steam that wisped through the open window and was torn to nothing by the rain.
"Zarza, are you listening to me?" Jurum said irritably.
Zarza turned to look up at her cousin. "No... not really..."
She gave a sheepish half-smile. That might needle Jurum, but she actually meant it. Zarza liked Jurum. They weren't blood cousins, but Jurum shared a father with Farut, and Farut's mother was Second Consort Ingwo, sister to Zarza's mother Zarza. Whenever Farut visited his family at the faraway Department of Sorcerers, it was Jurum who volunteered to escort him. Aunt Ingwo wouldn't do it because she was still sore over Grandmother sending her away all those years ago, and King Jorut had feared the sorcerers would corrupt his son without someone he trusted keeping watch.
Helping Farut visit would be enough by itself, but Jurum also bothered being nice to Zarza, even though she was one of the only people who didn't have to.
Zarza knew it was an effort because she felt heat bubbling inside Jurum most times they were so much as in a room together. She was pretty sure that meant anger.
In fact, it was happening right now.
"'Rumi," said Zarza. "You know I drift when you start on the politics. I got the important part—your little sisters are stuck in a palace, you're stuck outside, and you need to break it open."
Jurum massaged her temples. "Fine. So will you help? Even if I get Yulri on board, it'll be eighty soldiers against two hundred. At best. And the eighty is us. Magic might be able to tip the balance, especially since they don't know your group is in the capital."
She gestured to the wooden scroll lying open in front of her, apparently received from Princess Zhij earlier that morning. "Or at least, our source inside Rashi's palace doesn't. I wouldn't necessarily credit Zhij's word alone, but I did only recognize you from the servants' description because I know you. None of them do. I hope."
"Look," said Zarza. "I like what you're trying to do, but my aunt called me here to protect Farut. Taking him to attack a fortified building is not that. Also, a hundred-and-twenty advantage is too much even for me."
"How many sorcerers did you bring?" Jurum asked.
"Four. But the others aren't fighters, and my aunt had another task for Nyfi, so three. I don't know where she sent him."
"Corva can heal," Farut cut in. "She's better than all the bleeding physicians in this city put together. We need to get her to Tarit."
"You'd like to get her to Tarit," Zarza countered. "But that's not a reasonable chance. Not one I'd bet our lives on. Don't give me that look. I'd do it if it was for you. Maybe even for 'Rumi. But I've never met Tarit or Zhij, or those boys and girls the Consort locked in the cellar. Maybe that's not fair, but that's how it is."
"I've told you about Tarit."
"And she seems sweet, alright? Just not that sweet."
Lacking a reply, Farut turned and stalked off to sulk in the corner, snatching up Zhij's letter as he went. Zarza watched her little cousin re-read it miserably, like that could change the reality behind the words, then tore her eyes away from him.
Jurum was looking at her like she was thinking she would never even maybe risk her life for Zarza—fair enough—but also that she understood what Zarza was saying, because she too had people she held above all others.
Zarza guessed that Tarit, Zhij and Farut weren't included in that category, but there was nothing wrong with that. Everyone had a boundary of deepest care, and for Jurum, that seemed to stop at the children of poor dead Consort Jusal—Jurum, Jorin, Jorec, Juso and Jurwa. She proposed to risk quite a bit for Tarit and Zhij, of course, but it wasn't entirely for their sake.
"Who's the fourth?" Jurum asked. "Just curious."
"Layvor."
"Horned. God. The one whose only magic is that he never needs to sleep?"
"Yeah."
Jurum clutched at her hair in defeat, breathing out hard through clenched teeth. Then she stood. "Well, unless Farut turns out to be a sorcerous prodigy whose talents have lain dormant for fifteen years, that's it for that plan. Farut, can I have the letter?"
"Wait," said Farut.
"Farut," said Zarza, "you are not a sorcerous prodigy—"
"Not that," he sighed. "Look."
The girls looked. Farut was holding up Zhij's scroll and pointing to her 'map of Mother's palace', a navigator's nightmare of haphazard brushstrokes.
"Yes?" asked Jurum, voice halfway between hope and despair. "Are you seeing something we're not?"
"I think so," said Farut. He laid the scroll back onto the ground, suddenly no longer the whiny prince but a master revealing some great secret to his pupils. "Let me explain..."
Bonus words: Native, nondescript, needle, navigate
Word count: 1000
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u/m00nlighter_ Sep 12 '24
Really, Composite? REALLY?! You're leaving us at "Let me explain..."? Smh. I will definitely be tuning in next week for the continuation of that sentence. XD
It usually takes me about here to get a good grasp on the setting of a story, and you've done an excellent job of worldbuilding in your previous three chapters, so this one I got to sit back and really settle in more with the characters. It feels like you did a bit as well. It was nice to have a moment to delve deeper into these three.
Zarza knew it was an effort because she felt heat bubbling inside Jurum most times they were so much as in a room together.
The "bubbling inside" of this felt a little strange, as if Zarza was feeling inside of Jurum. Maybe "heat resonating from Jurum" or something dazzled with your much better vocabulary than mine would make it a little smoother. But this is me reaching for crit (as is the next thing)
I'd do it if it was for you
I think reducing this to "I'd do it for you." Might pack more punch, but again, more of a suggestion than a crit.
I am thoroughly invested and curious about this world and the people in it. Can't wait to read more! Good words!
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u/ZachTheLitchKing Sep 12 '24
Howdy Composite!
A fourth chapter and a fourth character. Are we gonna go through all eight children? That's gonna make it really hard to play favorites and know who I want to be on the throne in the end xD *I love the tension*
I also love the way this chapter starts out; with a rhyme and a daydream. A notable tonal shift from the previous chapters. Zarza's here daydreaming while the other characters are plotting and scheming and trying to survive.
There must be some genuine magic inside of Zarza for her skin to change color and her hair to grow from bald to shoulder-length in ten days! Yowza!
Minor note; if she's exhaling smoke that's a wholly different substance from steam. That said, given the previously mentioned magic, I wouldn't be entirely surprised if she was somehow exhaling steam in an otherwise warm/hot climate:
exhaling a cloud of steam that wisped through the open window
Ohhh she's just a cousin, not one of the sisters. More interesting that she's got some magic going on in her then since the others have come across as rather mundane. Is this the secret chosen one of the horned god?
I like this little chain of connections. It's a small detail but it adds to the overall intricacy of the royal lines:
They weren't blood cousins, but Jurum shared a father with Farut, and Farut's mother was Second Consort Ingwo, sister to Zarza's mother Zarza.
A second reference to Zarza and a sensitivity to heat. I'm definitely feeling stronger magic vibes from her than from anything else in the story so far.
she felt heat bubbling inside Jurum
I feel you there, sister:
You know I drift when you start on the politics.
I'm not 100% a fan of this wording. That said, it's dialogue so it's totally valid if this is the sort of speech pattern you want to use for Jurum. Personally though I'd phrase it more like "Even if I get Yulri on board, it'll be our eighty soldiers against two hundred. At best."
Even if I get Yulri on board, it'll be eighty soldiers against two hundred. At best. And the eighty is us.
Aha! Excellent! Confirmation of magic and its (at least perceived) tactical uses. I feel vindicated of my crazy theories and I love the buildup to it :D
Magic might be able to tip the balance, especially since they don't know your group is in the capital.
The broken argument over an unclear plan is very well delivered. The conversation feels organic and authentic, with only bits of information being revealed to the reader but not being overly cryptic about everything. It feels like the second half of a conversation that started before, which it is. I also like the way everyone's disagreeing in different degrees on different aspects of the problem.
Moreover, I like that Jurum seems to be in it to help her little sister rather than try to usurp her :D
There's a LOT of similar sounding names here. Definitely don't expect me or most readers to keep them all separate without significant more effort on your part:
Consort Jusal—Jurum, Jorin, Jorec, Jurwa, and Juso.
This sounds like the best and most OP power I could ever wish for! I'd be unstoppable!!!!!
The one whose only magic is that he never needs to sleep?
In this line, is "sorcerous" supposed to be "sorcerer"?
"you are not a sorcerous—"
Friggen epic cliffhanger moment at the end there :D Gotta second Moonlighter's excitement on that final line.
Good words!
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u/wandering_cirrus Sep 14 '24 edited Aug 17 '25
<Unburied Ashes>
Chapter 20: Old Habits, Old Bonds
By the time Mica came back to herself, her steps had already navigated a route through the palace and to the office of Baron Sylpyr.
She sighed, leaning her head against the door. She’d never actually walked this path before, but Jeanette had been so proud when the baron granted her free use of his office that she’d been effusive in her letters.
It’s a comfortable room all the way at the end of the south wing, Jeanette had written. There’s a reference library across the hall when I need it, and just nearby is a beautiful greenhouse. The gardener must have forgotten it somewhere along the line, because the plants have all grown feral. It’s practically my own secret haven. Mica dear, if you ever come to visit, I’ll be sure to treat you to tea and snacks amongst the greenery.
So here she’d come, pulled like gravity down the south wing, feet only stopping when she stood across from the room full of books. Instinctually seeking out the comfort of her older sister.
Just like she had as a scolded child.
Silently, Mica laughed to herself. She was doing it again. All grown up and still—lost and adrift, she always went to Jeanette.
She stepped away from the door. It was a bad habit. There was no more Jeanette at home to indulge her. Besides, what were the chances of her actually being in? The palace was large, and nothing said that Jeanette was beholden to her work place.
A faint swoosh of well-maintained hinges and the door swung inwards. Mica quickly composed herself, but it was a poor act. She was too rattled for Begonia’s mask of effortless poise to fit as cleanly as it should.
A head poked out. It was the person she’d longed to see. Not in a letter, not a hurried conversation as they passed their separate ways, not a clump of cinders animated to the tune of a memory.
Jeanette. In the flesh.
She smiled. “Hello Mi—no, it was Begonia, wasn’t it? I thought I heard someone outside. You caught me just as I was about to take a break. Join me for tea?”
“Tea… that would be nice.” Mica’s focus slipped as the familiarity surrounded her. What was this sense of relief flooding her chest? Why was it only now that she felt like crying, now that she was safe? The letter drifted into her thoughts again, and Mica couldn’t help the next words that popped out. “Can it be in the greenhouse?”
Stiffness gathered on Jeanette’s shoulders. Cracks of icy discomfort marred the warm smile. “The greenhouse?”
Mica faltered, waving her hands frantically. “No, never mind.” She hadn’t wanted this. They were just some long-forgotten, foolish words. Maybe even mere lip service. With their old argument laid freshly heavy on her mind by those Magic-Sick hallucinations, she couldn’t bear for her stupid mouth to cause Jeanette any more pain. “You mentioned it once, a long time ago. Forget I said anything. It was only a whim.”
Discomfort morphed into confusion, but then the cold, cracked smile thawed. “Right, I promised, didn’t I? Tea and snacks in the greenhouse.” A beat. Hesitation on her lips. “To be honest, I thought it was a promise I’d never have to keep.”
“Even trees forget the seed that grew them. Your office is fine,” Mica protested.
“No.” Jeanette shook her head. “A promise is a promise. Help me with the tea-things, won’t you?”
The porcelain was nicer than what they had at home. Mother’s set was plenty nice, but this had clearly been passed down through the generations as a treasure, so Mica handled it like eggshell as she followed Jeanette down the hall.
They stopped in front of a nondescript door. It was painted all white to match the rest of the passage, but from the strange texture of the top panel, Mica could tell that the inset used to be clear glass.
Creaking open, the door revealed a cacophony of green and light. Carefully, Mica set the porcelain on a small, corner table before spinning to view the rest of the greenhouse. The plants had none of the tame orderliness of a normal garden, but had instead grown in a chaotic, haphazard manner over the years, sprawling wild past now-useless trellises and panes of age-clouded glass.
Laughter sparkled behind her, accented by the clatter of saucers. “Do you like it? Ah, earth and heavens, the water’s gone tepid. Mica, love, do you mind?” She spun back to the table. Jeanette held a metal kettle, lips curled up, but somehow steeped in a sad nostalgia. “Like… like how we used to?”
For a moment, Mica wavered. It had always been their trick when they wanted to heat something up without Mother noticing. But here, now, with her personal magic so unstable?
Sadness seeped deeper into Jeanette’s eyes and the smile twisted, wistful. “But as you said, even trees forget their seed-root when they’re grown. We were young then, and now we’ve grown up.”
“No,” Mica decided, sitting and taking the kettle. “I can do it.” It was just a kettle after all. Tea kettles were easier than humans.
She wrapped the smallest strand of Magic she could handle around the pot and shifted it sideways, gritting her teeth against the pain and the heat that needled at the soles of her feet.
Her personal swallowed it, and she could feel it there, lodged in the ashes like a stone in her socks. The discomfort scratched at her consciousness, but here at the table, here with Jeanette, she could feel her shoulders loosening and the tension between her eyes dripping away. Her muscles relaxed, her thoughts wandered—
Unprompted, her encounter with the marquise crashed into her mind.
“Fine. Then we’ll make an ‘arrangement’.”
Mica collapsed onto her arms, reality tumbling over her in a wave.
Oh no. This was bad.
WC: 986
Bonus words: navigated, nondescript, needled
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u/AGuyLikeThat Sep 14 '24
Hi Sci!
An interesting title - even more so after reading. I do appreciate the thought put into such things much more than I used to now that I enjoy formulating my own. :)
This is a fantastic chapter that leans on the flaws we've already seen in Mica having been exacerbated by her recent encounter with the Marquise. It's touching that Mica falls back into her old mindset even as her body obeys her recent realizations. Unfortunate though, that she keeps pushing her personal to its limit.
Jeanette continues to be an interesting character - her reluctance over going to the greenhouse could be seen as any number of things, or even a mask for the realization of the absolute state Mica is in. A worry then, when Jeanette asks Mica to use her magic...
And of course, Mica overreaches once more... (I thought you said this wasn't going to be a tragedy? My girl is waving flags rn!)
Okay, crit time.
By the time Mica came back to herself, her steps had already navigated a route through the palace and to the office of Baron Sylpyr.
I appreciate this opening - that feeling of returning to oneself after huge stress causes dissociation. And Baron Sylpyr? Is this a sly reference to the twisted Cinderella story this tale started with? If so, I love it. If not, that's a cool name anyway, hehe.
She’d never actually walked this path before, but Jeanette had been so proud when the baron granted her free use of his office that she’d been effusive in her letters.
This sentence has a lot of moving parts and might be easier to parse split in two?
“Even trees forget the seed that grew them. Your office is fine,” Mica protested.
This is a wonderful expression, and I love how Jeanette repeats a slightly different version later.
A lovely chapter, Good words!
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u/jd_rallage Sep 14 '24
<Scarlet Town>
Mackenzie had achieved many reactions upon announcing her psychic abilities to complete strangers at funerals. Skepticism was universal, even in those who also showed a glimmer of of hope as they understood what that might represent for their recent loss. Mackenzie had found it best to navigate upstream of such reservations, and had a ready spiel about the charlatans who gave the profession a bad name.
For the first time, she realized that she might not need it. The suspicious crinkle of Justine's eyes metamorphosed into an enthusiastic smile that engulfed her entire face, and the bereaved widow said cheerfully, "A psychic? How wonderful. Oh, Margaret, Sarah here is a psychic!"
A woman glided over to Justine's side. She was older than Justine, but her tall, needle-like figure was unbowed by age, and although her funeral outfit was black, the clothes were cut in an elegant flowing style that could have been native to an Italian fashion show.
"Psychic, is she?" asked the newcomer. Her accent was as timeless as the rest of her, with the slightest hint of something foreign. She scrutinizing Mackenzie's entire person from head to toe and then back to her head. Mackenzie felt an unusual urge to straighten the collar of rumpled black blouse she had just thrown on, and when Margaret's eyes seized hers, Mackenzie found impossible to break away. "What's she doing here then?"
"Alec spoke to her," Justine said, "and summoned her here via a psychic message. Can you believe it?"
"Yes," Margaret said darkly. "That sounds exactly like something Alec would do. Although why he couldn't just have telephoned is beyond me."
Margaret finally released Mackenzie's gaze. Mackenzie felt as if she had been dropped and stumbled a half-step backwards. Her eyes began to water, but by the time she had rapidly blinked to clear them, Margaret was on the other side of the reception room, deep in conversation with another group of mourners.
"Are you alright, Sarah?" Justine was waving something in Mackenzie's face, and she realized it was a handkerchief.
Mackenzie took the proffered cloth and dabbed affectedly at her eyes to give herself time to think. When she returned the handkerchief, she said, "It's just being here, and remembering Alec... it hit me all of a sudden that he's truly gone."
As she spoke, she noticed that Justine's frown returned again, in a slight downturn at one corner of her mouth. The woman said, "But Sarah, you do know Alec's true nature, don't you?"
"Of course," Mackenzie said quickly. "But I've never thought that should be held against him."
"Well, no," Justine said. "Of course, I never have. After all, we're married. But-"
"But others did?" Mackenzie interrupted, before the conversation could veer back towards any other unmarked shoals.
"Yes. But how did you know that?"
Mackenzie spread her hands expansively. "I could claim its because I'm psychic, but in reality, there were always those who never understood Alec."
"Y-yes," Justine said.
"That's why I was so saddened by Alec's message." Mackenzie bowed her head briefly in a gesture of grief and then, before Justine could say anything else, added, "But I fear I have taken up too much of your time. And you have other guests to attend to."
She moved as if to leave, but Justine gripped her arm.
"Are you staying in town, Sarah?"
"I wasn't planning to," Mackenzie said, with just enough emphasis to suggest that her plans were flexible.
Justine regarded her thoughtfully. "Why don't you come by our house tonight? We're having a small gathering."
And just like that, Mackenzie thought, I'm in.
"Margaret, who you've already met will be there, plus a few other friends. And since you're such an old acquaintance of Alec's it would be a shame for you to leave without visiting."
If anything could have dissuaded Mackenzie from her planned course of action, it would have been the knowledge that Margaret would be present. Even as she glanced in the direction of the old woman, Margaret seemed to notice and turn her head to return the gaze. Mackenzie spun her eyes back to look at Justine.
"Tonight," she said. "Yes, I think I can make that." Plus, the dark was always better for quick getaways. "Perhaps we can even speak with Alec."
"Of course," Justine said. "I know he'd love that."
Justine was a plum, Mackenzie decided as she walked back to her car with directions to the plum's house. Plump, juicy, and ripe for the picking. She touched for the door handle of her car and then released it as if she'd had a bad static shock.
Margaret stood on the other side of the old Buick, a black parasol open over her grey hair.
"You're jumpy today," the old woman observed.
"You just startled me, that's all. I wasn't expecting to see you there."
Margaret raised an eyebrow. "And there I was thinking you were psychic."
Mackenzie forced a polite smile, of the kind she imagined that religious devotees must use when confronted by skeptical unbelievers. "I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, Margaret. Psychic sensitivity is unpredictable."
"How convenient," Margaret said. "So you can't tell the future?"
Where was the old woman going with this? It couldn't hurt to throw out a hook, could it? "The future is tangled. It isn't easy to pull apart the threads of possibility, but sometimes one can obtain glimpses."
"And what does my future hold?"
"It's rather nondescript," Mackenzie said tartly. "But if you don't take a step back, I might run over your toes when I reverse."
She waited, but the old woman didn't move. Mackenzie reversed the car anyway. If she drove over any toes, she wasn't able to feel the bump. As she drove away, she glanced in the mirror.
Mackenzie had expected to see Margaret's tall figure still standing there, clad in her elegant clothes and holding her parasol and probably glowering after her retreating car, but the parking lot was empty.
WC: 998. Words: native | nondescript | needle | navigate
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u/MeganBessel Sep 14 '24
Hi JD! Lovely to see another chapter from you!
This is an interesting conversation, helping deepen out the world a bit. I like the complications of being psychic and how it impacts the future.
The thing that really stuck out to me, though, was having two characters named Margaret and Mackenzie. Those are both long names starting with M, and readers (at least I, as a reader) tend to just notice those two things (first letter and length) rather than the actual text of the name, so I at least anticipate I'm going to get even more confused between these two characters (and I found this conversation difficult to follow because of it!). It's something to keep in mind with character naming, and yes, there are reasons to do things and sometimes you can't help it with a large cast, but something worth keeping in mind.
Secondarily, having an index post or even links in your chapters to go back would be super helpful in terms of being able to catch up, or reference something from previous chapters.
Thanks for sharing!
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u/LuminescenTT Sep 14 '24
< Children of the Frontier >
Chapter 21: Meetings
“Lark! Hey!”
Nala strides past the shuffling crowd of students in the castle’s dimly-lit hallway, takes a turn at the junction, and heads down the main staircase looking for her classmate. She’s already worked up the courage to try and catch up to them—surely she won’t have done all that inner pep talk for nothing, right?
She takes the stairs down rapidly, and it’s there that she spots Lark and their brilliant silver highlights, or the tiger-like stripes of light gray along their arm. “Hey!”
Lark looks up from their device—some wrist-worn communicator, maybe a moon thing—and tilts their head. “Oh. Hi.”
“Ah, sorry, hi.” Nala merges beside them. “Just wanted to say hello, because I keep seeing you in class. We’ve met.” She puts her hand out. “Lark, right?”
Lark nods. When they don’t reciprocate the waiting handshake, Nala swiftly switches to an open-handed gesture—smooth, she thinks—and keeps walking.
“I really liked your analysis back there. It’s kind of nice to hear someone who actually cares about what we’re studying.”
Lark fidgets with their fingers as the two descend down the stairs. “Oh, cool. Thanks.” Then, after a pause, they add, “I think you’re pretty good, too.”
“Me?” Nala asks, pausing momentarily. “What’d I do?”
“Third row, all the way on the left, right? I know you talk sometimes. More than the other people, at least.” That slight stiffness in Lark’s posture slowly fades away as they reply. At least, as far as Nala can tell. “I remember you,” they add, smiling.
Nala nods vigorously. “The last arrival ship.”
“Right. We sat up front together.” Lark pulls off to the side and leans against the wall, prompting Nala to do the same. “So, what about my analysis?”
A bolt of excitement travels through Nala’s body. They actually want to hear that?
The conversation continues on in earnest. Nala carries most of it—thoughts and ideas she didn’t even know she carried propel her words forward. It becomes clear that Lark is of the mild and unassuming type, happily giving space away for Nala to offer her responses with a polite silence, but the occasional nod and well-timed interjection lets Nala know that Lark is much more engaged than they appear on the surface.
What would be long diatribes of laborious academics turns into a discussion that Nala navigates with ease. As far as attempts to “intercept strangers to get to know them” go, this is proceeding quite swimmingly, she recognizes.
“And you think that explains—”
“The first miner’s revolt, yes!” Nala exclaims, almost jumping off the floor in elation. “I don’t think she ever, for a second, took Lachrymose to describe just herself. You ever think of the companion piece, Good Mourning Meadow, and how it depicts an entire field of non-descript flowers shadowed by what can only be the fleet overhead?”
Lark hums in thought. “Okay. Sure.” They gesture at Nala to join them in their walk. “You sure you’re not from a moon or an outlying territory?”
“Nope. Soil-grown, born and raised. Though,” she points out, “my parents are native to one of the seed villages in Nu-Santara. Have you ever heard of them before? Villages, to cities, to nations, in a blink?”
Lark’s gaze, Nala notices, feels like a needle poking through her skin. It’s like they’re always deep in thought about what to say next. “I think I have.”
“Yup. Village peasants.”
“Hm.” Lark nods. “Well, coming from one of the Extraction Zones, I think I can say that I resonate with Ms. Yeboah a little. That feeling of overwhelming fear, looking out at the stars… and the way the ships’ silhouettes shroud them in the dark.”
The two of them step through the Castle’s side doors and walk to the grassy courtyard. The distant sunlight, artificially amplified, rests on them to simulate that autumnal restful temperature. They take an unoccupied bench by the fish pond. Lark pulls out a bag of fish feed.
“Glad we have that in common,” Lark muses, as they flick red crumbly goblets over the water.
“Ha, yeah. Do you ever notice how uncomfortable the kids from the space stations get when we talk about this kind of stuff in class? It’s a little endearing, almost.”
Lark shrugs. They leave that sentence hanging, leaving only the light and minute sounds of fish food plopping into still pond water.
Plop. Plop.
An artificial bird noise rings in the dome. Silence, again.
Surprisingly, the quietude is just as welcoming as the prior conversation about homes and heritage.
Too welcoming, perhaps?
Seconds pass as Nala tries, and fails, to resist the intrusive thought. “Sorry. Am I, uh, disturbing—”
“Huh? Oh, no.” Lark shakes their head slowly. “You’re okay.”
“Okay.”
A pause. “Am I?”
“Oh, no!”
Lark chuckles. “Nice. Okay.” They smile and nod, perhaps to themself.
The two return to their respective activities. Nala takes this moment to rest and, maybe, try meditating a little.
From the corner of her eyes, she spots Lark’s serene fish-feeding.
It’s sweet.
The minutes pass.
Something in her pockets vibrates, and Nala looks at her wristwatch. “Ah. I need to go soon, actually.”
“Oh? Is it that time already?”
“Yeah,” Nala replies. “Quick showcase, and then the mentorship pairing ceremony.” She stands up and brushes the lint and dust off her coat. “Wait, you’re also a first year… right?”
Lark nods. “Do you want to walk there together?”
“Sure!” Nala says, offering their hand out to Lark. They take it, and she pulls them up to their feet. “Ha, first handshake.”
“Mmhm.” Lark tucks their belongings in their backpack and straightens up. “Are you excited about the showcase?”
Nala stops fiddling with her pack and her phone to answer the question. “Why not? Mechanicus sounds cool. And crazy. I want to see cool and crazy.”
Lark, unreadable as ever, hums and nods. “Okay. Sounds good.” They play with, and then tighten, their pack’s straps. “You ready?”
“Ready.”
“Let’s go.”
< 991 >
< 20: Art Class | Index | 22: ? >
< native, nondescript, needle, navigate >
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u/ZachTheLitchKing Sep 09 '24 edited Sep 14 '24
<Casting Shadows>
Chapter 42
The Harenae commander proved himself both unflappable and canny. He merely raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the helmet Cass had crushed in her hands and dropped at his feet, then sniffed and threw his blue cape over one shoulder. “Very well, you have my attention.”
“Thank you, commander,” Anatu said, bowing their head and gesturing to Iuven. “This is Iuven, one of our group, who visited your camp this morning.”
Cass stopped listening to Anatu’s explanation of the situation. Her attention narrowed onto a bottle of wine behind the commander. She stepped around him and grabbed it, pulled the stopper off, and took a sip. It was crisp and bitter, but strong so she drank. The sharp flavor lingered on her tongue - a welcome distraction from her discomfort that made the harsh light of the torches a little less unbearable.
“Oh, please, help yourself.” The man was sarcastic but Cass opted to hold her palm up in a sign of gratitude, continuing to swallow the not-nearly-sweet-enough wine.
“We greatly appreciate your patience,” Anatu continued. “This was a simple misunderstanding, and Iuven would-”
“A misunderstanding that resulted in a Deshereyan native coming to my camp with one of my own soldiers wounded.” He turned his attention back to Anatu. Cass slowed her drinking to keep an eye on him.
“Yes, and as I explained-”
“You needn’t repeat yourself.” He held up his hand and shook his head. “Count yourself fortunate that I received a hawk at sundown from my superior in Dehenet corroborating your story about the Emperor’s demise.” His bearing relaxed and the chiseled face cracked a smile. "I was preparing to inform my centuria of the good news and our orders to return home."
“I could have told you that,” Cass said, tilting the bottle back again for another mouthful. “I’m the one who cut the Emperor's head off.”
The commander looked her way with furrowed eyebrows creasing his sunburnt forehead. “Oh?” He looked down at the destroyed helmet on the floor.
“What, don’t believe me?” She took another swig of his wine.
“Cassandra, that information is on a need-to-know basis.” Anatu’s teeth were clenched; they were trying to keep an even expression and failing miserably as their nostrils flared.
Waving her hand dismissively, Cass walked around the Harenae commander, the opulent rug muffling her steps, to face Anatu. “Relax. This guy’s on our team, isn’t that right…er…?” She gestured at him with the wine bottle.
“Peritus.”
“Yeah,” she turned back to Anatu, “Peritus here fought with us. Or, against the Empire at least.” Looking over her shoulder at him, Cass asked, “You didn’t fight in any battles with the Thiria did you?”
“The beastmen?” Peritus looked insulted.
“Guess not. Still, you fought the Empire just as much as we did. Well, as much as I did.”
“Cassandra.” Anatu was terse. "Enough.”
“Don’t worry Anatu, if anyone gives you lip I’ll tell them you switched sides ages ago.”
“Switched sides?” Peritus crossed his arms.
“Yeah, they were fighting for the Empire until their army met me.” Cass held up the bottle of wine as though toasting Anatu. “The ones that survived swore their undying loyalty to Helen and the Cult of the Flame.” She drank. “Bit of overkill of you ask me. I would have let them go for a promise, but Helen knows best.”
“I see.” Peritus scratched his strong chin and shouted something in Harenese. A soldier entered, arm crossing her bronze breastplate, and bowing her head. Like the commander she wore a blue cape, but had no matching plume on her helmet.
“Sir.”
“Take our guests here and help them find a missing helm.” He swept a hand toward Iuven. “It seems some of our men took it upon themselves to needle this young warrior out of his birthright.”
“Do you remember who?” the soldier asked.
“At least one of the men we encountered on the way here.” Iuven’s response was delivered with a rigidness Cass hadn’t seen before.
“Find out who they were as well, Venari,” Peritus said. “And make sure they are brought back for punishment.”
“Domine,” Venari said, saluting and bowing again. When she got up Cass was ready to follow her out of the tent but the soldier instead drew her sword.
“What are you doing, signifer Venari?” Peritus reached for his sword as well.
“Spy!” Venari's muscles tensed before she dashed between Cass and Peritus, each step made with the smooth precision of a seasoned warrior to the back of the tent. She thrust her arm out through a slit in the fabric, followed quickly by her head. Frustration etched her face when she pulled back. “Merda! They ran.”
“Did you see what they looked like?”
“Their face was hidden - but they were wearing a white robe.” The woman glanced over to Anatu and then Iuven - who also wore white robes - as she passed them to step out the front of the tent.
Peritus followed her gaze and asked, “Are there any friends of yours I should know about?”
“We came with two others,” Anatu said, “but they went with your injured to see to their care.”
Venari entered the tent, saying, "I have alerted the guards."
"I doubt it'd be either of them." Cass scratched the top of her head, trying to think of how - or why - Maar or Kebb would try to eavesdrop on the conversation. "Maar won't leave a patient until we go make her and Kebb isn't the kind to sneak around."
"In some cases," Anatu muttered. They spoke up to add, "We do have a nearby camp, it may be one of our other companions came looking for us."
“Hm.” Peritus pursed his lips in thought. “Venari, help these three navigate the camp and find the helmet. I’ll gather some guards and see about this white-robed stranger.”
Cass held up the empty bottle. "Before we go, do you have any more wine?"
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WC: 998/1000
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/TomesOfTheLitchKing
[Chapter Index: Casting Shadows]
Notes:
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Bonus words: nondescript, native, needle, navigate.
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Recommend any new readers use the linked chapter index above; those chapters receive more edits than the ones in past sersun posts
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2
u/m00nlighter_ Aug 31 '25 edited Jun 02 '26
<A Faire Quest>
Prologue
The Gyndes forest was calm as Isaiah slumped against a tree, holding his breath to slow his panting. This was not how he’d imagined his first day as clerk would end.
Every part of him hurt. Hosiery, tunic, and fingernails hung in tatters, torn during his panicked scramble away from the fairgrounds. Away from that... thing.
A shudder rippled through his limbs as Isaiah remembered its slimy, wrinkled gray skin. Its black eyes leering at him from atop gooey stalks. Somewhere in the depths of his subconscious, the resonant wound of its telepathic assault stung as if fresh. Swallowing a surge of acidic sick, he leaned forward, listening closely.
Is it still out there?
A growl of thunder, the hooting of owls were all that answered. Through bruised, swollen eyes, he peered into the foliage. Nothing moved between shards of moonlight.
I think it’s gone.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Isaiah shambled into the bramble toward the employee camp. Thorns gouged his legs, branches clawed at his face, but he didn’t dare return to the well-lit Friar’s Road.
Minutes later the scent of campfire and roasted meat filtered through the forest. Beyond a partition of trees, event staff were casting harmless cantrips at each other, taking advantage of the fairground’s magic-rich atmosphere.
Isaiah bent over, hands gripping his knees, allowing himself a pause of relief.
Thank fucking Go—
I smell your blood, Clerk.
A chill braced his spine as the creature’s voice needled through every synapse in his brain. It spoke in an unearthly tongue. Yet he somehow understood.
Leaves rustled. Mechanical squawks pierced through the forest.
Shit—
A flock of sparrows emerged from the trees with red, glowing eyes.
Isaiah’s stomach tightened. Tapping into a final store of primal adrenaline, he beelined it for the camp.
I see you. I SEE YOU. I—SEE—YOU.
Lightning pulsed in the distance and the sparrows descended. Metal beaks gored his skin as a barrage of wings knocked him to the ground. Through a gap in his fetal position, Isaiah watched the monster arrive through the undergrowth.
It slid silently over the forest floor like a slug and stopped at his feet. Thick mucus glistened over its immense boar-shaped torso. The hog nose beneath its eyestalks wetly inhaled his scent.
Isaiah no longer felt the sparrows pecking at him. Only primitive terror registered within his mind.
The slug-boar brought itself upright with a chorus of squelches. On two cloven hooves, it towered above him. Isaiah squeezed his elbows against his calves, tightening the protective grip around his head.
Relax now.
The creature breached his consciousness. Isaiah convulsed. A taste of ozone cloyed in his mouth. His limbs over-extended, locking in unnatural positions as he tried to resist. But the monster effortlessly overpowered his psyche, and Isaiah’s jaw went slack.
There, there. Time to rest.
With a sequence of greasy sucking sounds, it lowered to the ground and slithered away. The sparrows latched onto Isaiah’s clothing to drag him through the barbed brush.
He watched the forest pass from the prison in his skull, feeling every granule of dirt that filled his open wounds, and every stone that ripped open a new one.
Move, damn you! MOVE! When his limbs did not respond, he redirected his plea. God, someone, please save me.
But no intervention came, only a rumble from the impending storm.
The birds’ tugging ended at the center of a megalithic circle. After releasing Isaiah, they perched above the surrounding stones.
All sounds of woodland life had ceased. Dark purple clouds were closing in beyond his feet. But it was the monstrous thing approaching that blocked out the moonlight.
Looming over Isaiah, the slug-boar held a torso-length obelisk in the mucus-filled crook of its arm.
You desired a closer look at this, yes?
Hours ago the totem had piqued Isaiah’s curiosity. Until strange, glowing sigils began slithering on its surface. Until it began whispering in that infernal tongue.
N-no, I mean, I-I’m sorry. P-please, just let me go. I w-won’t tell anyone—
A raucous laugh bellowed from its slimy mouth, So human to disregard the very thing you risked your life for.
It readjusted the obelisk, aiming the sharp, tapered end toward Isaiah.
Please! I just want to go home! He reached from his mental cell, demanding his body to run. But still, he couldn’t move.
Overhead, the clouds released a volley of raindrops. Their steely spatter burned his cuts and bruises. The water welled in his eyes, proxy to the tears he couldn’t cry. It trickled into his open mouth and down into his lungs.
The creature gurgled something indecipherable into the downpour. It raised its weapon.
No! N—!
With a squeal and all of its strength, it drove the obelisk into Isaiah’s chest.
His life didn’t flash before his eyes, nor were there family members waiting to greet him beyond the veil. Isaiah’s final thoughts were the cracking of bones and the clapping thunder.
WC: 828
Reposted with permission from Fye
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1
u/OldBayJ Sep 08 '24
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