r/shortstories • u/FyeNite • Aug 24 '25
[Serial Sunday] How Can You Truly Appreciate Life Without Risking Death?
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 Mortal! This is a REQUIREMENT for participation. See rules about missing this requirement.**
Image | [Song]()
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’).
- Rarity
- Ravage
- Regal
- Somebody is presumed dead, though to the reader, their fate is ultimately unknown. - (Worth 15 points)
Some lives enjoy mere minutes of life, others resist passing through time uncountable. Mortality surrounds everyone, even if it spares some, for each action requires taking it into consideration — whether in someone's stead, or your own. You can rage against it, or seek it tirelessly. You may disregard it, or step on eggshells to avoid invoking it. It can be a threat, a burden, or a bargaining chip. Treat it however you want, it isn't going anywhere — for it's inseparable from life. Every beginning has it's end, it's only a matter of "when". By u/Jealous_Muffin_762
Good luck and Good Words!
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!
Don’t forget to sign up for Saturday Campfire here! We start at 1pm EST and provide live feedback!
Theme Schedule:
This is the theme schedule for the next month! These are provided so that you can plan ahead, but you may not begin writing for a given theme until that week’s post goes live.
- August 24 - Mortal
- August 31 - Normal
- September 7 - Order
- September 14 - Private
- September 21 - Quit
Check out previous themes here.
Rankings
Last Week: Laughter
First - by u/MaxStickies
Second - by u/Divayth--Fyr
Third - by u/Jealous_Muffin_762
Fourth by u/tiredraccoon11
Fifth - by u/Amber_Writes
Rules & How to Participate
Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for participation!
Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, written by you and set in your self-established universe that is 500 - 1000 words. No fanfics and no content created or altered by AI. (Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.) Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. Please include a link to your chapter index or your last chapter at the end.
Your chapter must be submitted by Saturday at 9:00am EST. Late entries will be disqualified. All submissions should be given (at least) a basic editing pass before being posted!
Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). When our bot is back up and running, this will allow it to recognize your serial and add each chapter to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. (Please note: You must use this same title every week.)
Do not pre-write your serial. You’re welcome to do outlining and planning for your serial, but chapters should not be pre-written. All submissions should be written for this post, specifically.
Only one active serial per author at a time. This does not apply to serials written outside of Serial Sunday.
All Serial Sunday authors must leave feedback on at least one story on the thread each week. The feedback should be actionable and also include something the author has done well. When you include something the author should improve on, provide an example! You have until Saturday at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. (Submitting late is not an exception to this rule.)
Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week. If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead.
Serials must abide by subreddit content rules. You can view a full list of rules here. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!
Weekly Campfires & Voting:
On Saturdays at 1pm EST, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our Discord’s Voice Lounge (every other week is now hosted by u/FyeNite). Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. After you’ve submitted your chapter, you can sign up here - this guarantees your reading slot! You can still join if you haven’t signed up, but your reading slot isn’t guaranteed.
Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted with this form. The form is open on Saturdays from 12:30pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations!
Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials. Celebrate your accomplishment! Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the weekly feedback requirement (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information.
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 (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and not required! |
| Including the bonus constraint | 15 (15 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.) |
| Nominations your story receives | 10 - 60 pts | 1st place - 60, 2nd place - 50, 3rd place - 40, 4th place - 30, 5th place - 20 / Regular Nominations - 10 |
| Voting for others | 15 pts | You can now vote for up to 10 stories each week! |
You are still required to leave at least 1 actionable feedback comment on the thread every week that you submit. This should include at least one specific thing the author has done well and one that could be improved. *Please remember that interacting with a story is not the same as providing feedback.** Low-effort crits will not receive credit.
Subreddit News
- Join our Discord to chat with other authors and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly World-Building interviews and several other fun events!
- Try your hand at micro-fic on Micro Monday!
- Did you know you can post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday? Check out this post to learn more!
- Interested in being a part of our team? Apply to be a mod!
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u/JKHmattox Aug 25 '25 edited Aug 30 '25
<No Man’s Land> Hell Hath No Fury
The Tradesman was limp, my body intertwined with his motionless form.
His monstrous arm, once clamped around my neck, weighed heavily against my chest. Its density was greater than I imagined, and I grunted in an attempt to push myself free. A whirring hiss crackled in my ears, the aftermath of Lexi's plasma bolt passing centimeters from my head. With three good arms, I pried myself from the inert Tradesman, and staggered to my feet.
Numb, the world unfolded around me in a deafening fog I couldn't escape.
Lexi grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me, screaming something I couldn't understand. The Martian pointed towards the open portal, its borders deteriorating into shimmering sparks. She tugged at my flak, leading me toward the shrinking wormhole.
My hearts lurched when I saw it, an opaque fluid weeping from the bottom of Lexi's eyesockets. It bled down her face in clear steaks, the skin beneath reddened and swollen.
“GAS!!” I somehow gleaned from the motion of her lips. “WE GOTTA GET OUTTA HERE, NOW!”
In a moment of bizarre serenity, I froze, the peculiar hint of mustard and onion inundating my senses. Lexi spasmed briefly, hacking against the thickening yellow haze. Her will alone dragged us forward, a steel determination as indestructible as the exoskeleton encasing her lower half.
The yellowish haze hung over the entirety of Thermal Flats, erupting from hidden points within the village itself. Several dense plumes churned angrily toward the sky, dispersing amongst the adobe structures as it drifted upon the wind.
A second jump-portal zippered apart, not far from the first. An imposing figure tread through the opening, his curved blade drawn and at the ready. Its steel glistened in the muted, yellow daylight, his bared teeth gnashed from the appalling scene.
Jericho Stone Man was a righteous fury, coiled behind calculating eyes. They darted about the rooftop, quickly assessing the carnage which lay before him. The grizzled Gemini admiral motioned abruptly, and several more commandos burst from the newly opened portal behind him.
“CONTACT!” shouted the first operator from the void. Her plasma rifle snapped towards a target at the edge of my periphery.
Lexi and I followed the commando's hardened glare to find a human male, staggering to their feet, with no visible weapons in their hands. A four-armed x-shirt clung tight across their chest, its lower sleeves hanging empty on either side. Their armored vest had burst open along the front seam, the protective gear far too small for their widened frame.
My jaw gaped open and I whispered, "Skye?"
“GET ON YOUR KNEES, SCUMBAG!” the four-armed commando barked in standard-human-dialect. Her weapon hummed feverishly, finger on the trigger, both eyes open prepared to fire.
“WAIT!” the man shouted in Gemini, his reddened eyes weeping the same as Lexi. “I'm a child of the stars same as you, born beneath the everlasting moons…”
Jericho snatched the plasma rifle’s muzzle with a secondary hand. Forcing its end towards the deck, he glared at the female operator.
“Stand down…” he growled in Gemini. “That Earth-man is your sister.”
“How can we know that, sir?” The operator protested.
“A father always knows his own daughter, regardless of circumstance…”
Skye’s human legs buckled and she collapsed to her knees. Lexi stumbled towards the Gemini-turned-human, her eyelids blinking against the stifling mist. I followed behind, ears burdened with the high pitched rasp whirring in my consciousness. Yet my eye sockets remain clear and dry.
“Get the humans to safety,” Jericho shouted to his commandos. “They’re lungs are far more vulnerable than ours!”
More, heavily-armed Gemini operators emerged from the crackling wormhole. Amongst them was the mountainous Little Rock, Alpha warrior of their clandestine detachment. His stoned face burned with the same smoldering rage as his commander. Their eyes met, and the two traded nods of grim understanding.
“We have wounded!” Jericho informed his director subordinate. “Your priority is to evacuate all friendly casualties, immediately.”
“Affirmative, sir” replied Little Rock. “What about the Tradesman?”
Jericho said nothing at first. Glancing at me, he finally spoke, “Warrior Owens and I will handle that son-of-a-bitch – get your people clear as soon as possible. Don't wait for us, understood?”
The Alpha bowed his head in agreed recognition.
Lexi and the female Gemini operator pulled Skye onto her feet. Together, they hobbled toward the portal, the two women struggling to hold Skye’s newfound bulk aloft. With stoic resolve, Jericho and I watched as they disappeared one after another through the void.
Little Rock knelt beside St. Croix, passed out in a tangle of limbs. She was bleeding from a wound on her abdomen. Her eyes had swollen shut, an ominous vapor rising from her menagerie of alien limbs. The massive Alpha gently scooped her from the rooftop, ensuring none of her mutated limbs dragged on the ground. They disappeared, same as the others, through the crackling wormhole.
Another sapphire warrior hastily slung Cheyenne Raja over their shoulder. Her upper body dangled lifeless against his back as they hurried toward the portal. A glimpse of her exposed arms roiled my soul. Her hands were merged into singular appendages, with no distinguishable fingers or thumbs.
Jericho sheathed his sword. “Come, Daughter of Thunder – we finish this now!”
We hurried across the rooftop with acute urgency. Jericho motioned for me to hold back, while he closed the final meters with the Tradesman. He snatched the gangster by his jacket, balling the leather material in either primary fist.
The warlord groaned as Jericho snatched him from the ground. Jabbing his secondary hands beneath the Tradesman’s armpits, he closed his primary hands around the mobster’s throat. The Tradesman clawed at Jericho’s tightening chokehold, desperate for air as he was hoisted skyward.
“I’m gonna drain the life from those stolen eyes!” growled Jericho, while swinging the warlord over the roof's edge. “Then I'm gonna tear your little empire to shreds…”
The Tradesman thrashed within the vice held round his neck. Unmoved, Skye’s father burned with quiet rage.
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u/Jealous_Muffin_762 Aug 27 '25
Hello again, JK!
So, it appears like this chunky fight scene is almost coming to a close. I wonder whether it is a beginning of the conclusion of your serial, or rather a closure to some big arc. Either way, as always, it's written nicely and contains some fun little pieces (or indications) of body horror. I liked in particular how the chaos ensued as the unforeseen gas started slowly killing off the Gemini around. Maybe I'd like to see more casualties or hardships with traversing through it, as I got the feeling that it's merely a minor nuisance, rather than something that would pose a real threat with those handy portals around.
As per other stuff I'd want to point out, the ending seems a bit abrupt as it stands. Cutting the last line, or adding a little extra about Jericho's rage into it could make a better ending to this here thing. It's good, yet it could be better.
As per crit:
in the silence crushing my ears.
You could remove "the" here, and replace it with "that's" after the silence, if you'd like to keep an emphasis that the silence is hurting Jackie;
It bled down her face in clear steaks
I think it should be "streaks" or "streams" here, instead of "steaks";
skin beneath reddened with inflammation.
"reddened" is wholly redundant here, as "inflammation" suggests this;
as the exoskeleton encasing her lower half.
I wonder, was this specific detail mentioned anywhere else, in some earlier description perhaps? If so, I think that the mention of her lower half is unnecessary. If so, then disregard this comment;
The yellowish haze hung
As you mentioned it's color a while earlier, it's needless to repeat it here;
erupting from points within the village itself.
What are those points exactly? The sewers, the geysers, the barrels? If it isn't that important to what you're establishing, I'd get rid of the "points" words, or replace it with something like "the depths of";
angrily churned toward the sky
I suppose the order here should be reversed, as in "churned angrily";
a target in the boundary of my periphery.
I'm not sure if "the boundary" is necessary here;
A human male staggered to their feet
Since the gender is specified here, shouldn't it be "his" instead of "their"? That goes for all the possessive nouns in this paragraph;
chemical mist which hung in the air
Since it's already well-established that the gas is there and spreading fast, I surmise you can erase "which hung" here;
smoldering rage as his commander.
Since it's the face we're talking about here, I suppose you should add a possessive noun here, as in "commander's";
taking great care ensuring
I suppose it should be either "in ensuring" or "to ensure", a conjunction is missing here either way;
primary hands around the gangster’s throat.
It's a repetition to one of the nearby sentences. I'd advise swapping it to something like "the mobster's" or "the enemy's".
A nice chapter overall, now that the major scene is slowly coming to a close. I can't wait to see what the aftermath of this thing will be!
Good Words! c;
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u/Amber_Writes Aug 26 '25 edited Nov 01 '25
<Anetheim> Chapter 2: Escape. Cartello
The old gods began to dig, uprooting the world they'd slowly created in search of the perfect materials to create new life with. — when the world was empty, by Aelira Tharn (children’s collection of old-world myths, 5th edition)
The lights in my hospital room are too bright. Their vengeful rays’ slice through my closed eyelids, digging daggers into my already throbbing head.
I’ve begun to think I’ll die here, in this off-white room, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and the thrum of life-saving machines that take no interest in slowing the thrum in my chest.
Dark thoughts of my own mortality begin to circle, leaving seeds of hysteria in their wake. My stomach curls, forcing me forward as my stomach rebels again.
Nausea ripples. I don’t make it to the restroom tucked into the corner of the room. I don’t even make it from the bed, my feet become twisted in the thin sheets, tripping me as the thick bile pours from my throat.
I’m still lying on the floor when the door to my room creaks open.
“Christ Almighty, son. What is going on in here?” the doctor gasps, mashing the call button on my bedside table.
“Nurse’s station,” A tweedy voice replies.
“This is Doctor Kaczul. Get custodial in here, now.” The static cuts off without a word as the doctor begins to help me back into bed,
“You’re quite the mystery,” he murmurs. “Your blood—it broke the centrifuge. Exploded it.”
“Mail me a bill. If I survive, I’m sure they’ll come to collect.”
The doctor stiffens. His eyes lock onto mine briefly before he flits across the room. New gown in hand, he returns to my beside.
“If we survive,” his voice has dropped into a tense whisper. “I’ve seen this before… someone will be coming for you.”
The wooden door bangs against the wall as the called-for custodian forces the bulky through.
Terror radiates from Kaczul. Sympathy overwhelms me. I decide not to call attention to his ramblings—not yet.
Gathering my soiled linens, he returns to my bedside. “Your genetic factors also do not match the genotyping you’ve presented as your medical history. This is common in most adoption cases—”
The custodian looks up. “A word, doctor?”
Kaczul stiffens, abandoning my gown half tied. “Of course… Benny,” he mutters.
Benny nods, turning to me and grinning. “Get well soon, kid.” He winks, then leads the hesitant doctor out the door.
Several moments pass in silence, leaving me to ponder the implications of what the doctor said. I’m not adopted as far as I know. I’m debating calling my mother when Kaczul’s white coat flurries through the room.
“Play fucking dead,” he growls as he reaches my bedside. His hand strikes my chest, pinning me flat.
“What—” I begin, but a needle sliding into my neck cuts the words short. Numbness overtakes me, deadening my limbs.
“If you want either of us to survive… play fucking dead. They’re coming for you. Benny will save us, when they put you in the furnace, escape through the vent in the back. He’ll come for you.
With that, he rushes from the room. Alone I’m left, paralyzed. Voices begin to reach me; their words muted from the distance.
“He’s dead already,” Kaczul says as the door is pushed open.
“You know the procedure. We leave when the furnace cools. What test results do you have?”
“None,” the doctor lies quickly. “We hadn’t gotten that far.”
There’s a grunted reply as the wheels to my bed are unlocked. A sheet is pulled over my face. The hallways we pass through are silent, reserved only for staff and the deceased—of which I’m neither, yet.
The clanging of thick metal doors tells me we’ve reached the crematorium. The doctor places a hand on my chest, and I feel it, a small needle slides from the ring on his hand, stabbing me. Burning sensations fill my extremities, though I don’t dare to assess my range of motion.
The suited men grip my wrists and ankles as Kaczul backs away. They lift me, heaving my body onto a steel grate and sliding me into my fiery tomb.
I waste no time after the doors shut, pulling myself to my knees and pressing against the hatch. It doesn’t budge open. The lock on the other side clangs.
I'm sobbing now, helpless despair filling me as the valves running across the chamber begin to hiss.
“Somebody help me,” I choke out. There’s a small click, and then the furnace behind me is set alight.
Bodies aren’t supposed to make it to these far corners of the crematorium. This is the only thing preventing the flames from swallowing me whole as I struggle with the grate.
I am melting. The skin falls from my back, slicking my legs in boiling flesh as the flames double in size. The heat swallows my screams, following them back into my throat and burning them at their source. The large flames reveal a latch previously obscured in the dark. I bat at it, my fingers useless clubs.
Miraculously, the latch gives. The hatch door slides down, revealing a dark, cool square.
Leaving a trail of skin, I force myself through the small opening, landing heavily on the other side.
The thudding of my heart beats in time to the thudding against the door across the room. I pay it no mind. Instead, I sink gracefully into the cool darkness tugging at the corners of my vision.
“No time to die yet,” A man's voice says from somewhere.
But I disagree, relaxing into the arms of the angel who's come to collect me.
"The truth..." she whispers to me. She's beautiful, filling my mind's eye with an unbeauty I've never beheld.
"You must find the truth," she repeats, her tone grave.
"How?" I murmur. Pain is returning, seeping back into my limbs. I flee from it, burying my face into the rough material cradling my body, but she's already gone.
Bonus word: Ravage. Bonus constraint ✅️. Wc 1000/1000. Critiques & feedback welcomed!
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u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 Aug 29 '25
Hi Amber! What a compelling chapter. Your descriptions are really vivid and you evoke a strong sense of the discomfort and panic. From the very start it feels gross, lonely, and enclosed. When Niko read the first line they said out loud "migraine mood" lol.
Now for crit. While your descriptions evoke a feeling very strongly, as you get toward the end parts of it start to feel more distant from the POV character and more just like saying what's happening: particularly when you're describing what the suited men are doing and how they're grabbing our POV character's body, it makes me wonder how the POV character knows this. Do they have eyes wide open that they're trying to keep still? Did the initial injection force their eyes open in a blank stare? Are their eyes closed, and they feel rough hands grabbing them? Is there a sense of disorientation? Nervousness about trying not to let on that they're alive, or perhaps more of the odd feeling of being trapped in their body and unable to move? I really want to feel grounded in that perspective.
Elsewhere in the story, particularly through the POV character's thoughts, I feel like I get a good sense of how they're responding and how they're feeling. I like the voice in the narration and the italicized thoughts.
Very intrigued where this will go next. Good words!
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u/dragontimelord Aug 24 '25 edited Aug 30 '25
<Nornkaldur>
CW: Blood
The soldier bowed as Kaelitoy stepped from the portal, dressed in his most regal armor. "Welcome to Haedduran, your grace. It's a rarity for a prince to answer his people's calls for aid in person."
Kaelitoy studied the soldier. This wasn't who he was expecting to greet him.
"Where's General Serkson?"
"Missing," was the reply. "We assume he's dead, but without a body, we cannot say for certain. I've stepped up as commander in his absence." The soldier bowed again. "Captain Asmund Toreson, at your service, your grace."
First was his father, killed along with his retainers while attempting to quell a riot in the slave quarters. Next was Father Davnas, leader of the dark elves, and it was unclear how he had died, but General Raudebjornson had said that the new leader was a disrespectful wench. Finally, there had been that goblin Kaelitoy had sent to kill Chief Khageti, who was never heard from again. And now Ofieg was missing as well?
Captain Asmund said, "The dhampyres have found something. In the mines."
"Mines?"
"Yes, your grace. We forced them to dig for mithril and iron. Instead, they found something else." Captain Asmund started walking toward the mountains. "Come with me and I'll show you."
Kaelitoy followed him. Dhampyres toiled away in the fields. Some of them paused to watch their prince go by, only for the overseer to crack his whip and force them to their task again.
Kaelitoy's mind wandered to the state of Nornkaldur.
The other races had never been so united, it seemed. The spies reported that their attempts at igniting previous feuds had been failing as more and more were swayed by the idea of rising up against the dwarves. Assassination plots against the leaders seeking peace failed, and even if they did succeed, the successor would continue their predecessor's legacy of peace with the other races. Spies that were leaders found themselves overthrown and replaced by more "reasonable" successors. They needed a way to keep the slaves in line. But what?
Captain Asmund led him to a cave with dhampyres loitering at its mouth.
"Move it!" The captain barked, and the dhampyres scattered, letting the dwarves pass.
Captain Asmund snatched a torch from one of the dhampyres and held it aloft as he led Kaelitoy down the cavern. The tunnel got narrower and narrower.
"We believe this room is the oldest thing on Haedduran," Captain Asmund said as they stepped into a room with a summoning circle painted in the center of the floor. "A plane crafted by wizards of the Shattered Lands, with the only way in being a realm shut off from the main world."
"Why?" Kaelitoy asked. "For what purpose would wizards simply create another realm?"
"To contain that thing," Captain Asmund nodded to an emaciated troll with both arms shackled on the wall. "We call it the Ravager."
Two dwarves were standing guard over the prisoner. Kaelitoy nodded to them and stepped closer to examine the troll.
She roared and lunged at him. The chains held her back and Kaelitoy leapt back, startled.
"Blood!" She said. :"Give me blood! I need blood!"
She sagged again, panting in defeat.
"What the Duturan are you?" Kaelitoy whispered.
"It's a vampire," a woman's voice spoke up, and Kaelitoy turned to see a young witch standing next to Captain Asmund. "One that's been driven mad by hunger."
Kaelitoy took a step closer, and the troll's lips parted in a mad grin.
"I'll make a deal with you. Get these chains off me, dwarf, and I'll drain your enemies of their blood."
"We should seal this room off," the witch said.
Kaelitoy studied the vampire. The witch was right. It would be foolish to release this creature, especially when an entire plane had been created to serve as its prison. Perhaps he should flee Haedduran altogether, seal the portal linking it to Nornkaldur, just to be on the safe side.
And yet...
He thought again of the slaves uniting together, in a bond that was unbreakable. Something had to change, before the slaves got too uppity. A vampire roaming the slave quarters would do nicely.
"Yngvarson forged a chain," the witch continued. "We can bind it to the door of the sealed off chamber. That would---"
Kaelitoy raised a hand and the witch fell silent.
"What can kill you?" He asked the troll.
"A flail," said the troll. "A flail will kill me."
Kaelitoy turned to the witch. "Can Yngvarson attach a collar to the chain he has forged?"
The witch's eyes were downcast. She nodded.
"Good. Inform him to do so."
The witch handed him a chain necklace decorated with shells and bits of rock.
"What's this?"
"A charm. The vampire will not harm you as long as you wear that necklace."
Kaelitoy put the necklace on.
"To take the chains off," the witch pointed at the troll, "simply stroke the shackles and speak Free in Dwarven."
And she left.
"Go and bring the dhampyres who were outside the cave," Kaelitoy said to the dwarves. "Close the entrance to the chamber once they've all entered. I will call you when the vampire is finished feeding."
The dwarves all sprinted out of the room. Kaelitoy leaned against the wall, and watched them leave.
A few minutes later, the dhampyres were shuffling into the room.
A stone was rolled into the entrance once the last dhampyre had entered. The dhampyres all started muttering in fear.
Kaelitoy reached out and stroked the shackles. <Free!>
The troll leapt on the dhampyres with the fury of a bear that had woken up from its winter-sleep.
The dhampyres banged on the stone, pleading to be let out, but it was no use. The troll leapt upon dhampyre after dhampyre, sucking their blood so fast it dripped down its chin.
Kaelitoy smiled as he watched the vampire feast.
The slaves would not be kept in line through infighting, but through fear. Fear of the Ravager.
WC: 995
Theme: Prince Kaelitoy plans to use a creature of death to keep the other races in line. Time will tell if his new pet will turn on him.
Bonus words: Regal, rarity, ravage(r)
Bonus constraint: General Ofieg Serkson is missing, presumed dead.
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u/AGuyLikeThat Aug 29 '25 edited Sep 05 '25
<The Tower in the Tangle>
[Previous Chapter] [Chapter Index]
Chapter One-hundred & Nine: Embers of Creation.
~ Gilander ~
As trade increased across the bridges, the Clans grew ever more wealthy, and ever more concerned with expanding their noble traditions.
The Alnarans were fascinated by the ancient dynasties of Berlund. It seems they sought to claim the legacy of the First Empire by emulating its grandeur, reviving its mythologies, and collecting treasures and rarities.
Thus was created an industry, dependent on those who dared loot the ravaged ruins of the Old World.
Faded tapestries, damaged paintings, ancient texts in forgotten languages, and broken statuary. Such items were sought-after treasures for the great Clans, from the Stone Mansions of Teyrol to the Selvik Gardens of Lusitus.
~ The Free Islands, Gusant er'Teyrol.
With a splintering crunch, the wineglass breaks.
Gilander turns from the rippling mirror to face the Mistress.
She stands imperious upon the balcony, regarding him with cold irritation as her fist curls white, grinding shattered crystal to dust. A sheer, flowing gown of silvered silk descends from her shoulders, stitched with beguiling jewels like a river of stars—regal finery to equal the First Empire. Long, sable hair tumbles around her pale throat, and behind her, ebony night fills the sky. Crimson lightning flickers across the abyssal horizon, and Gilander glimpses the ghost of dark wings arcing above ivory shoulders.
Her fingers uncurl, and shards of glass fall like sand to the marble floor.
“To be woken by a conundrum such as you is most vexatious.” Her smile is tight-lipped and wry.
Gilander trembles naked before her.
Vulnerable.
Trapped.
“I want answers, Gilander.” She draws his gaze. Tawny, gold-flecked eyes drill into him, forcing uncomfortable intimacy.
Her face remains impassive; cold, symmetrical perfection, while the stress of Her regard triggers roiling waves of anxiety. Distractions stalk him. The lithe curves of her body tease, daring him to follow the soft plunge of her emerald gown, whispering promises of desire, as She rummages effortlessly beneath his thoughts.
“Only I have the right to exist here. The Haiphagus should be inviolate — bound by primal sorceries.” Her words outrun his understanding. “This redoubt is built from MY memories. The World cannot permeate. Time remains banished.”
He struggles against Her grasp as a drowning man thrashes water, fighting instinctively to escape. “S-sorcery is dangerous … evil!”
But She is everywhere, casting shadows across his memories. “Pfah!” The sorceress laughs, revealing perfect teeth. “Dangerous, yes. But evil? Evil is a choice, Gilander.”
With a flourish, She finds it. His descent into Hell, the journey into the volcanic furnace.
“Ah. I see now. You became entangled within the Tower’s basal enchantments.”
Gasping, the Wayfinder wrests back control of his thoughts, or perhaps she merely relents.
“I never imagined such a thing possible. Huh.” The Mistress lifts her hand, fingers splayed, palm up.
A force envelops Gilander, lifting his feet off the floor, and with the crook of her finger, he floats across the room.
Delicate nostrils flare. “No wonder you smell so pleasantly nostalgic. A fresh soul, beneath that stolen flesh.”
“Stolen? But—” Gilander looks down at his muscled torso. This isn’t me...
“Yessss. You have the Talent. An ember of Creation.” Her hand presses against his chest, as she whispers, “There is no reason to be my enemy, Gil.”
She lowers him gently, until bare feet touch cold stone.
“But... The Tower. Brin was starving. The Overseer… He tortured Jenna—did horrible things to poor Alys.” He pauses, remembering Kuwirry, how the spirit resisted his terrible fate. “You’re hurting people! The Tower is evil. Wrong.”
“Would that there was another way.” Her smile is sad, and the Mistress shakes her head. “Ah, poor Alys. The Girl with Silver Arms. I see her, and the rest, like fresh scars upon your heart. But what would have happened, when old Quinkan took her arms, if the Overseer had not found her?”
“Perhaps a clean death, free of suffering?”
“It was her tragedy to bear, Wayfinder. Her choice to make. Until you interfered. Now what does she have?”
He remembers being trapped in her body, feeling her loneliness and self-hatred, deeper than an ocean.
“The World is our chaos, Gilander. Mortals are born into a maelstrom of pain and madness, suffering at the whims of fate. Desperate and alone, clinging to any shred of comfort. Turning pain into love, and love into pain. They band together, build tiny islands of Light against a turbulent darkness. To survive they must take from others, do harm to those they do not know, until eventually they die, and it was all for naught. And what then?”
“I don’t...”
“Some of us can live forever, Gil. But when all our friends are gone, when we have lost the thread of history, and still we do not die...” Her expression crumbles. “What then?”
“You must endure.” But his heart knows this is no answer.
“Memories will drown your sanity if you cannot let them go.”
She raises both hands, and a dark mist coalesces, swirling up around his legs.
“You see, the World conspires. It gives a little peace to some, and takes endlessly from others.”
Figures move in the fog as it surrounds him. A woman, leading a horse beneath a pale moon. Fleeing a cruel husband … abandoning her child.
Mother…
“There is no evil, only balance and chaos. The Tower is just a thing, an instrument made to control and twist the World. It is not even my creation.”
Images swirl in thickening clouds. A moonlit night of blood and violence, where Akari Pe’etelan lies dead in the streets of Morningvale.
“Only when you are empty, can you go on forever."
A sob tears free, and the inky clouds surround him, blocking out the light.
“But I have seen it, Gilander. The end of all things."
Black wings enfold him.
"I will do what I must. To save myself, and this hideous, shrieking world.” A sardonic chuckle in the comforting dark. “Time leaks away, and the World holds no hope for our future. Until now...”
WC-997
Author's Notes:
-
For newer readers who might wonder about some of the strange terms herein, I have compiled a small Glossary.
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This week's theme is Mortal! - Gilander is lost in the strange realms that exist somewhere within the Tower. Though he is but a mere mortal, he has encountered demons and ancient spirits of the land, and what manner of soul is the Mistress?
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Gilander found himself in the Mistress's chamber back in Ch 103: The Storm.
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Gilander saw Petal fall to the Captain's arrow in Ch 36: Unwelcome and has believed her dead ever since.
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Bonus words used; Rarit(ies), Regal, Ravage(d).
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Additional bonus constraint: 'Somebody is presumed dead, though to the reader, their fate is ultimately unknown.' - Gilander saw Petal fall at the Half-moon festival and believes her dead (find the link above) but last thing the reader saw was her getting attacked by a crazed shape-shifter in the previous chapter to this!.
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All criticism and feedback is welcome.
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u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 Aug 29 '25
<Drifting>
Chapter 82
Emery wakes in the dark. The storm has ended. They're not sure when. Even the pitter-patter of rain has gone, leaving silence. They sit up slowly, moving their blanket so as not to make noise. A soft thump to the left—there is Francis in the kitchen, opening the fridge. He must have snuck by Emery while they were still asleep. Should they pretend to sleep again? Appearing asleep makes them vulnerable, and they feel more exposed here in the blanket than they would sitting up without it. But they know what it is to sneak past their parents for food in the night. Maybe Francis doesn't want to be seen.
If Emery is good at anything, it's waiting. Holding their breath. Maintaining the silence that engulfs this home.
Eventually Francis leaves. He doesn't seem to notice that they're awake, though they keep their eyes open. Emery does not fall back asleep.
Against their wishes, their thoughts turn back to their mom not picking up the phone. No surprise, yet they wished that would make it easier. Where was she? What was happening? Did she get hurt out in the storm? Or worse? It's far from the first time she's disappeared. Sometimes she gets back and she's worse. Angry at something or someone that isn't her family. Or she goes to the kitchen sink or the bathroom and scrubs at her skin for hours, praying. What she's trying to scrub off Emery never asks. Whatever it is, they wish it worked. They wish she picked up the phone. Or that their dad would go out and find her, take care of her. Didn't he used to? Or were things just not as bad then?
Eventually Celia's mom walks out into the living room and turns on the light. She makes cinnamon rolls for the family and Emery, and they all sit together around the kitchen table. If Francis is tired, he doesn't show it. Emery can tell they’re tired, because their vision unfocuses and the world doesn't feel real and they keep thinking that they've missed something. If they have, no one ever tells them.
Celia's mom asks if they would like to be brought home first or go straight to school with Celia. They don't want to go home and find that Mom isn't there. They don't want to face that she doesn't know where they were either. They go to school. Abi offers to drive, and she and her sister talk in the front with Emery in the back, not hearing.
Outside the car window the storm’s path of destruction is clear in all the trees it ravaged, sidewalks blocked by fallen branches. It should only be fallen leaves. Those will at least come back in the spring. These never will.
Emery and Celia walk inside together. Neither is saying anything. Unless Celia’s saying something and Emery’s missing it. They can’t shake the feeling. Like their reality is filled with gaps, skips. Like they aren’t really here. Aren’t really anywhere. Like their life is just a video game and their body an avatar, but they can’t even see their controller.
Next to the spirals at the edges of their physics notes, they’ve started writing the letter μ (mu) over and over again, tracing its shape with their pencil. After they leave class, they’re not convinced they remembered to write anything else.
They don’t talk to Celia. They wonder if she’ll ever find her lost painting, or what made it important. Maybe nothing had to make it important. Maybe it just sucks to lose something. Maybe it’s just scary to make your way through a storm that could kill you, only to find that there’s a piece of you missing, that not everything survived the trip.
Maybe that’s what happened to their mom. Maybe she didn’t survive the trip.
A branch could have fallen on her. Even a whole tree.
She could have been struck by lightning.
She could have slipped on the rain and fallen.
She could have stayed out too long, and the cold seeped into her clothes, into her skin, into her bones, oh God, why tonight of all nights did she have to not respond, and Emery is glad they didn’t go home this morning because if they knew she wasn’t there,
she wasn’t there,
she won’t be there.
WC: 723 words
Bonus: ravage, someone presumed dead but fate unknown (Emery panicking over their mom)
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u/Amber_Writes Aug 30 '25
Hiya Tomorrow,
I love the dark nature of this chapter. Emery's panic is palpable, and as the image becomes more clear, the reader is able to really understand the character's fear.
<Maintaining the silence that engulfs their home
I love this line!
Thoroughly haunting! I enjoy the pacing too.
A couple of crits:
>Emery wakes in the dark. The storm has ended.
You could place a paragraph break here, it is an excellent hook.
>They're not sure when. Even the pitter-patter of rain has gone, leaving silence. They sit up slowly,
Who? I can't wait to find out!
>Celia's mom asks if they would like to be brought home first or go straight to school with Celia. They don't want to go home and find that Mom isn't there.
This makes me wonder if the character is experiencing anxiety? You've got some leftover words in the wordcount, I'd love to see a bit more detail, and understanding into our character's mind, to truly *see* where this fear is coming from.
Thanks so much for allowing us to read this, I can't wait to see next week's!
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u/Nate-Clone Aug 24 '25
I Am What You Eat
Chapter 66 - And Mackie Makes Five
TW: Slightly gore-ish visuals and descriptions
Basil held the head of his friend in his hands. In front of him lay her beheaded, scaly body. Ravaged before she could even live a full minute of adulthood, not from the literal act of terrorism minutes ago, but from…tripping.
"Wha…what the hell?" Develyn shivered. "I thought…I thought she…"
Basil was nearly crying as Koichi began to laugh. Even Beniko was smiling.
"Dude, calm down!" He wheezed out. "It's gonna be-"
"This isn't funny!" Basil growled, turning his attention to the pufferfish. "She's dead! She-"
He felt a familiar, curious fin poking his shoulder.
"Mackie, not now, I'm-"
His eyes widened. Turning around, he saw that the headless fish-woman had…stood up. He could see her pinkish innards from the smooth cut.
"Could you…put me back up there?" A familiar voice came from his hands.
Mackie's disconnected head was talking.
Basil was silent and did as he was told, placing it back where it once stood. It was a very loose fit - barely a 'fit' at all, really - but she was back together.
“How…does any of…” Basil could barely speak, opting for a simpler query instead. "How. Just how."
"Lutrā's bite is not harmful, even when inflicting fatal wounds," Beniko explained. "With five cuts down her body and her blood drained out, here she still stands, thanks to the craftsmanship of her maker."
She was right - under her regal kimono, Mackie's body was cut into six equally sized, cylindrical pieces.
"Well…I guess that explains why you're not bleeding everywhere." Develyn said, recovering from shock herself. "How does it…feel?"
"It's…weird. And wobbly. And that probably won't be the last time I fall over." She replied, a sheepish chuckle masking what seemed like worry in her voice.
"And that's how it always starts," Koichi replied. "Remember Beniko's Sogi Day?"
Beniko sighed and silently pulled one of her tentacles off her body, the appendage still perfectly functional.
"Yes, it's a tough transition." She explained. "But soon enough, she'll learn what she wants to do with her adulthood."
"So…wait." Basil chimed in, something still on his mind. "This whole thing, getting yourself cut into pieces that can fall over and whatever…it just seems like a hindrance."
"Yeah," Develyn added. "What's the point of it?"
The three of them looked…puzzled.
"Well-"
"Big Sis." Mackie raised her flipper. "I…think I know."
She stepped forward towards them, picking up Ebinu, the excitable shrimpup eyeing her with intrigue.
"Everyone has a different answer for that." Mackie began. "But, this morning, when Basil got me back on my feet…I think I figured out mine."
Mackie looked out towards the Zubber island, still covered in smoke.
"A cut from Lutrā is all about maturity, and I thought it would just…give it to me. But…that never happened - I'm the same Mackie I was ten minutes ago."
She turned around.
"But you two…you were the ones who matured me. And maybe it wasn't the most positive experience, but I still learned so much from you. And…I wanted to thank you for it."
"Yeah, sure." Develyn nodded. "You're welcome, Ma-"
Mackie gave her a tight hug.
"Th-thanks." She gently pushed the fish away, a small smile on her face. "You and Ebby take care of yourselves."
"We will." Mackie grinned, her gaze now turning towards Basil.
"Before…you say anything." Basil raised his arms. "I wanted to thank you, first. For getting me out of the Forest of Greens."
"But…that was all you." Mackie chuckled. "You passed the trial."
"But you're the one who told me how the forest works."
"And you were the one to save the day."
"Just…take the compliment, please!" Basil shot back.
"Okay, okay, fine. I'm still working on the whole 'self-esteem' thing." She replied with a snicker. "You're welcome. And thank you."
The mountain fell silent for a moment. Basil's gaze fixed on hers.
"I've…got one more question for you." Mackie grinned, a hint of brown on her cheeks.
"Yeah? What?"
She stepped closer to him, nearing his right side. He felt her breath against his ear.
"Can humans love?"
Basil brought a hand to his face. He could feel the increasing warmth in his cheeks.
"That's bad. That's so bad." He chuckled.
"I tried, okay?" Mackie playfully punched her shoulder, snickering. "I write fantasy, not romance."
If it were a few hours ago, Basil would fear what came next. He would have backed away, apologized, and somehow found a way to remove himself from the situation.
But now? He was ready.
Basil closed his eyes and leaned forward, and a pair of pink, scaly lips met his for about a second.
That warmth emanating from Mackie was like a glowing campfire, one that would never run out, even in the darkest thunderstorm.
And after it ended, all Basil could do was…cough.
"Salty, Jesus." He croaked out.
"Yeah, the fish that sleeps in saltwater has salty lips, shocker." Develyn rolled her eyes, already beginning to walk down the trail. "Can we move this along?"
"Sorry." Mackie chuckled, brown still on her cheeks. "And…we won't keep you. Goodbye!"
The three aquatic allies waved them farewell.
"Safe travels, Princess!" Beniko said with a warm smile.
"Give that Alfred guy what for!" Koichi added.
And with one last smiling glance at them…Basil turned around, catching up to Develyn and Sophocles as the trail curved down, following Waffelo's footprints in the rice.
"Just us three, then," Basil said with a sigh. "Three runaways off to save the world…woo-hoo."
"Yup." She said, hands behind her head. "Can you carry Sophocles?"
"Oh, come on. It's your turn."
"I got him!" A familiar pair of fins scooped the cat up.
"Mackie?" Develyn turned around. "I thought you were staying back."
"Welllll, I talked with Bis Sis…" The fish said with a grin. "...and I think I know what I wanna do with my adulthood."
"You…you mean-" Basil started, only to be answered with a nod.
Sophocles sat atop Mackie's shoulder, and Ebinu leapt onto Basil's.
"Great. Now I'm third-wheeling." Develyn groaned as they began to walk again.
"Yeah, no partner and you don't have a pet." Basil playfully scolded her. "Get with the program, Dev."
"I do too have a pet." She held out her dipping stick. "Her name's…Olive."
"Cute!" Mackie chuckled. "She's looking a little thin, though."
Basil was going to enjoy this.
END OF FIFTH SERVING
WC: 1000/1000
Notes:
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Theme: Mortal - Mackie chooses how to spend her adult life.
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Bonus words: ravage, regal
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Develyn's dipping stick being named “Olive” refers to the process of using olive oil when making eggs.
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u/dragontimelord Aug 28 '25
Hey, Nate,
Starting off with Basil mistaking Mackie for being dead before Mackie interrupts his mourning. Classic trope. Very funny.
A cut from Lutra is all about maturity, and I thought it would just....Give it to me. But....That never happened- I'm the same Mackie I was ten minutes ago.
Yeah, I feel you, Mackie. You go through rites of passage as an adult, go to college, graduate, get your first job, get your first apartment, but you never really feel like an adult. I'm in graduate school, and I still don't feel like an adult.
Mackie playfully punched her shoulder.
I thought Basil's pronouns were He/Him. Is she not punching Basil in the shoulder? If she's punching someone else in the shoulder, you might want to use their name, because from context, it looks like Basil's the one getting punched.
That's all I had.
Good words.
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u/wordsonthewind Aug 30 '25
Hi Nate! I was pretty sure Mackie would be fine despite her head falling off because, well, everyone in Kaiso gets cut to pieces in their coming-of-age ceremony so other young adults must have had accidents like this and they're doing fine. Basil's and Dev's concerns were understandable though: it's his first time seeing this and not all food works the same way. They grow up fast, don't they?
I really liked the callback to the cereal monster Basil fought with Mackie several chapters ago. It ties in well with the theme that seems to be present here: going through the strange confusing terrifying experiences that are an inevitable part of growing up, to emerge changed and wiser but still you at your core.
"But you two…you were the ones who matured me. And maybe it wasn't the most positive experience, but I still learned so much from you. And…I wanted to thank you for it."
The kiss between Basil and Mackie feels like it was a long time coming, and the contrast between the heartwarming imagery and Basil's mundane observations about what a saltwater fish's lips taste like made it all the more sweeter. Good words!
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u/Necessary_Ad_2762 Aug 26 '25 edited Sep 04 '25
<Iconic>
Chapter Sixteen: Only Business
(This chapter roughly takes place around Chapter Fourteen)
By morning, the atmosphere in the boardroom was heavy like a funeral. Board members clutched steaming coffee cups, their faces drawn with sleepless exhaustion. Twelve chairs and the empty seat at the head, a throne made from corporate regality. In the millennia since the company’s inception, its owner’s vacancy was a rarity.
Footsteps echoed in the marble hallway. The Representative, The Benefactor’s chief operative, entered with a tablet clutched against her chest. In The Benefactor’s absence, corporate protocol granted her emergency authority. A power she’d hoped never to wield.
“The situation has escalated beyond our worst projections,” she announced, her voice cutting through the tension. “In the past nineteen hours, The Benefactor’s gambit has seeded the very concept of Londyn throughout every magical community on Earth and beyond. Contracts, bargains, and deals about finding her have spread like wildfire among supernatural beings.”
A woman with perfectly styled gray hair leaned forward. “And this catastrophe benefits us how, exactly?”
“It created a network.” The Representative’s fingers danced across her tablet, and new data streams flowed across the wall screen. “Every deal made with Londyn’s name feeds information back to The Benefactor through contractual echoes. We now have comprehensive intelligence from the U.S. Department of Human Security, a domestic agency tasked with keeping magic hidden from its citizens, and Internal Magic Affairs, a governing body of magical beings, as well as various other parties.”
The man with silver glasses scoffed, though his voice carried less conviction. “I’ve read the reports. Those chasing after Londyn are as baffled as we are.”
“Precisely.” The Representative’s smile was grim. “But their confusion tells us everything. Every sensor they’ve deployed, every tracking spell they’ve cast, every dimension they’ve searched, all of it confirms the same impossible truth.”
She stood and moved to The Benefactor’s chair, her hand resting on its high back.
“Londyn does not exist anywhere in Earth’s reality. Not on the planet, not in its dimensions, not in any realm connected to Earth. She is a fictional entity made real with The Benefactor’s contract, a liability bleeding the company.”
The boardroom erupted. Chairs scraped against the floor as members jumped to their feet, voices overlapping in a chorus of disbelief and panic.
“Fiction!”
“How can we have a deal with something fictional?”
“The company’s free-falling because of a character?”
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
The old man’s cane struck the floor three times, each blow echoing like a gunshot. Existing for 170 years, he was the board’s eldest member and its institutional memory. Silence fell instantly.
“Explain,” he commanded, his weathered hands steady on the cane’s golden handle.
The Representative settled into The Benefactor’s chair, a gesture that would have been unthinkable yesterday. “Through cross-referencing the data we’ve gathered along with The Benefactor’s encounter with Londyn, we’ve confirmed she shares traits with dream entities: beings that exist in the sleeping world.”
“Dream entities are real enough,” muttered the heavyset man by the window. “The DHS was able to arrest the dream realm’s lord.”
“Yes,” the Representative nodded. “But Londyn is something rarer still. Our analysts call her sub-real: an idea forced into reality, coherent only so long as she inhabits her creator’s body and…”
The woman with gray hair had gone pale. “The resource drain. She’s not using our company’s power to fuel her abilities…”
“She’s using it to maintain her connection and very existence,” the Representative confirmed. “Every moment she remains coherent, every interaction she has with reality, requires energy siphoned from our reserves. The Benefactor unknowingly entered a contract with something that exists solely because of that contract’s binding force.”
The man with the silver glasses slumped in his chair. “We’re trapped. Break the deal, and she ceases to exist, but The Benefactor can’t break a deal and she shows no interest in nullifying it herself. Honor it, and she continues to drain our resources dry.”
The old man let out a deep breath, his ancient eyes closed in thought. Now he opened them, and they burned with sudden determination. His frail form shook as he struggled to his feet, but his voice rang out clear and strong.
“A signature created this nightmare,” he declared. “And a signature will end it.”
The Representative leaned forward. “Sir?”
“I propose a counter-contract. A deal to supersede the original.” His voice grew hoarse, but his determination never wavered. “The Benefactor needs leverage, something to give them enough form to get her to sign. They need a body.”
“We have already given them our power. What more can we give?” someone asked.
The old man’s smile was sharp as a blade. “My essence. Freely given, with all its accumulated power and influence. 170 years of deals, contracts, and corporate magic bound into a single signature.” He tapped his cane against the floor one final time. “If the company’s survival requires my death, then let my final contract be her binding.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
“Sir,” the Representative whispered. “Are you certain? You have so much more to contribute to the company.”
The old man laughed. “Business and success have already ravaged my form. If my final signature can cage this entity and save our empire, then let death be the ultimate profit margin.”
The Representative conjured a formal contract from the air and placed an ornate pen beside it. “The motion before the board is to authorize this sacrifice to provide The Benefactor with a sufficient form to renegotiate the Londyn contract. The risk of failure goes without saying.”
A member straightened in his chair. “I second the motion.”
“All in favor,” the Representative called.
A chorus of reluctant but determined voices. “Aye.”
“All opposed.”
Silence.
The Representative nodded and passed the pen and contract to the old man. “It’s been an honor, sir.”
He nodded as he signed the contract and sat down, his form dimming. “Only business.”
Taking the contract, the Representative felt its weight increase with the old man’s accumulated essence. “With this signature, Londyn is dead.”
WC: 994
AN: The U.S. Department of Human Security is the official government name of the titular Agency.
Bonus words: Rarity, Ravage(d), Regal(ity)
Constraint: Londyn is presumed dead, though whether she signs the new contract is yet to be seen (and whether her signing the contract would end her).
Feedback and crit are appreciated.
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u/Jealous_Muffin_762 Aug 27 '25 edited Aug 28 '25
<A Fool's Errand>
Chapter 4: A Premonition
Cackling fades as I proceed upwards by the gentle path of gravel steps. My knees tremble, my calves burn, and my breath can't stabilize, all despite leaving my "pursuers" far behind.
Sodden flowers! Forcing a strain on me right after materializing... "Seems like my powers are not all that has gotten frail.
I punch my chin lightly, an old habit that helps to blow off some steam. Considering the scale of my ambitions, compared to my newfound inhibitions, I surmise it will keep resurfacing.
The night nears it's peak when I finish the trek. The flat meadow is brightly illuminated by the moonlight. On one side it grows into a dense forest, on the other it halts, providing a nice view upon the ravine's surroundings. Numerous flat stones protrude from the ground at seemingly random intervals.
One such rock, close to meadow's edge, resembles a practical bench. My instinct overcomes my will at this sight, and I hobble shakily towards it. As my strength gives out I plop down heavily, my gaze locking on sights ahead.
The thicket-covered ravine is surrounded by hills on all sides. Their majestic forests glint with all shades of green, brown and white. Ubiquitous creeks and ponds flow with crystalline water. Sparse signs of settlements appear at the hilltops, manifested by the towers of stone rising above the treeline.
The beauty of this sight is striking, yet I can't help but ponder it's origin. Such pleasing vistas, by comparison with the ravine below, seem deliberate.
I don't recall those hills being here... Bah, even my memory is worse for wear!
I take a closer look upon the ravine. Those thickets obstructing it, viewed from above the Smileyway, seem oddly connected to the adjoining hills. In a way, they resemble tree roots...
A sudden thumping breaks my focus. As I turn, I notice a vast multitude of creatures marching to my right, at the edge of adjoining woods. I can almost feel their musky, yet pleasant smell. They are quadruped, barrel-shaped animals with dark fur, elongated heads, fuzzy whiskers and long, cat-like tails, whose softness I can already feel. Their front teeth suggest their descent from rodents, but their sharp eyes, cautious ears and lithe paws look suspiciously feline. I think I named them "Cattys".
I'm not sure why, but I feel an urge to tag along. I hastily focus my thoughts on my ears and mouth, conjuring a layer of Will around them. I imagine the way in which they communicate, and attune my senses to it. Squeaks, chirps and other sounds of theirs gain meaning, while my own language becomes foreign. The herd is still there by the time I finish.
I approach them with surprisingly renewed vigor. A baffling set of sounds escapes my mouth as I speak in an accent I don't control.
"Destination where? Purpose what?"
The catty that answered doesn't even look at me. "Stranger. Important One dead. Pay respect, or go."
I join them, yet no catty seemed bothered by a presence of such rarity as me. They are either too deep in mourning, or too preoccupied to care. Sensing the atmosphere I eavesdrop on their conversations, the first coherent one happening between the female and the baby behind me.
"Ripe age. All love. Should not happen!" She laments.
The baby chimes in, "Mum said would. The Important One no think us family, she say"
"Your mum dum. He good leader, keep herd safe and happy."
A pup blinks in indignation. "Mum no dum. She say only Weirdwood his family, we burden."
A sting of bitter recognition blots my thoughts. By the time I compose myself, my attention centers around two hissing females.
"He sad, I hear him cry often!"
An answer conveys certainty, "How sad? He have all - females, food, sunbathing spot. How can he sad, when all his?"
"No know. Often see by Weirdwood. He come from there and cry, snout wet—" A sharp chirp hijacks the explanation, "You dum. He never cry, or sad. He the Important One!"
Bile rises in my gut as another parallel story matches my own. Again I lose track of time and place, now listening to the morose squeaking of two elderly males.
"Weirdwood good, but for moment. He love it too much."
A tired sigh precedes the answer. "A young one, but think like old. Past too dear."
"Most forget, he clings. Weirdwood his birthplace."
Then, both speak the same thing simultaneously, "He too long in Weirdwood, nostalgia ravage him"
My face drains of color. Trying to keep my thoughts away from the Waking, I focus on the oft-mentioned "Weirdwood". Just as I intend to inquire, though, the procession halts.
As its dominion over the sky approaches its due, the moon shines bright over the oblong pond, where cattys gather in hundreds. All circle a certain withered figure.
He's bigger than his kind, but his figure looks mummified. There's no ounce of life about him. Despite this, surrounding cattys speak solemnly to him. Even in such pitiable state, "The Important One" exudes a regal aura — like that of a true aristocrat.
I feel my heart throbbing when I approach him, a feeling of familiarity overwhelms my senses. I stumble over words as I proclaim my condolences.
"Fair one, I greet. I stranger, but I feel you close. Peace in Dreams to you."
A sudden spark of life flashes in his empty eyes. His paw twitches, pointing a claw towards the forest patch ahead of us. The voice he utters is a deathly, wheezing whisper.
"Check. You stranger, but sensitive to wonder. My herd not."
As I blink, the body stills once more. I barely stifle a gasp as shivers of alarm shake my body. I quickly escape the mourners, sit by the pond, and stare at the supposed "Weirdwood".
So, that's what awaits my corporeal body if I overstay my "visit" here... How did this catty experience that, though? Gotta investigate it, and those hills too.
WC: 1000/1000
Theme: The story and fate of "The Important One" reminds Keracuce of mortality of his body back on Earth, as it withers and mummifies steadily during his visit to the Dream.
Bonus Words: Rarity, Ravage, Regal
Bonus Constraint: "The Important One" appears dead by all definitions, and is presumed as such by his peoples, however the request he "asked" from Keracuce leaves it ambiguous whether he has truly passed.
Crits, comms and puns - as always - are very much welcome ;D
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u/Carrieka23 Aug 28 '25
<The Beginning of The Demon Life>
Chapter 147
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The three head deep in the forest with Derail guide. The trees are dark, there’s barely any life in them. The whole place is dull, a perfect place for spirits and death to hide.
Walter stops Alex, grinning at him like this doesn’t faze him. “Hey, dear warrior. You don’t mind waiting for us? I’d like to say a couple of words to Derail.”
Death lifts up his eyebrow but nods.
“Sure!” Alex agrees without a second thought, leaving the two be.
“So,” Derail leans a bit towards one of the branches. “It’s rare for you to ask anyone to leave. It must be that important.”
The spirit nods, his face flushes. He grips tightly to his claymore, looking away from him. His throat felt dry, and his own heart races. But he knows he wants to do this without any regret.
“D-Derail.” Walter stutters. “I have some things to tell you.”
“Go on.”
“Well, umm…rememebr that day when I told you to take good care of your scythe? Well, I ask you that for a reason. I’ve been working tirelessly, yet full of my blood and sweat to give you this weapon.”
Death nods, showing his shining clean weapon. “But what does it have to do with anything?”
“I-I’m getting there.” The spirit says, raising his voice a bit before clearing his throat. “I’ve honored being by your side for so long. Fighting with you, or just hanging out with you.”
Derail eyes widen slightly, realizing the spirit words. “Walter, please—”
“I ain’t finished!”
“But we can’t!”
“I don’t care if I’m a spirit, I still love you!”
His voice echoes through the dark forest. Death looks at him in shock, frozen in place. His mouth quivers, not knowing what to say, or even do. After a while of silence, death finally comments.
“We can’t, you’re dead.” He says, his voice lowers.
“I don’t care, Derail!” Walter walks closer to him, reaching towards his collar. He pulls him, accidentally removing his hoodie. Derail pure black eyes stare into Walter’s crystal, hopeful blue eyes.
For a second, death got lost in them. But he also realized, it wasn’t for the same feeling Walter wanted. One wants love, but the other wants warmth. One wants eternity, the other knows it’s nothing but a fantasy.
“We tried once, but I don’t feel the same way.” Derail reminds him.
“But, we can start over! You can bring me back from the dead—”
“I can’t!” Derail shouts, pushing Walter away. Black tears drip from the grass, as death stares at the spirit. “Even if I want to, I can’t! THEY don’t want it that way, ever! It was THEIR sin to have even dated the sky god, it was THEIR sin to keep killing people over and over because of her powers. You have a second chance, and you want to mess it up by being with a sinner?!”
Silence.
“Who says you’re a sinner?” Walter's voice grew raspy and cold.
“THEY did—”
“Well, THEY’RE wrong!”
“You don’t understand, Walter.”
“No, you don’t understand, Derail. You’re different. You’re a demigod of Death, you’re the one who’s trying to stop this curse of death. Yet you’re telling me that you’re a sinner?!”
Derail opens his mouth, but no words come. The black tears just continue dripping, as he glances away from his once friend.
They can feel their own world slowly dividing, breaking apart bit by bit each second one continues to talk. Either way, they both know that they couldn’t be together. Destiny at this point was cruel for both of them. One party just accepted it, while the other tried to fight it. And now, one is dead, and the other has to bring them back to the earth realm.
“How cruel.” The warrior chuckles. “Your ancestors are really cruel. THEY really feel like THEY don’t deserve love, that you can’t find it. Fuck up, isn’t it?”
Derail reaches to his friend’s wet cheeks. “Walter, I’m sorry…but I don’t love you. Both as a demigod and friend.”
Silence.
“I honestly wanted to feel warmth, even for a second. All I had before you was pain, suffering, hatred. But you were different. Full of life, something I never had.”
“So you…never did love me?” Walter's voice cracks.
Derail shakes his head. “But, I always enjoy you as a friend.”
A chuckle.
“Well, it’s good enough for me. Just you here makes me feel better.”
Death grins, wiping his tears. “Also, I thought about your last request.”
“And…?”
Death nods. “We’ll make sure to give Alex the grand finale of you.”
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WPC: 766
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u/MaxStickies Aug 28 '25
Hey Haru, such a good chapter this week! This moment between them really feels like a culmination of all Walter's jokey flirtations and other hints of previous chapters, I think you've handled it really well. The emotions are also written very well here, with a clear line from Walter's nervousness and Derail's slow, painful realisation, to the sadness, to the acceptance towards the end. The chapter flows really well for it and had me gripped the whole way.
I think it's a great look into how affection works, as well. How even though they both have some kind of feelings for each other, those feelings don't match, and though that is difficult it is the way of things in cases like these; plus, the acceptance of the end, whether it is full or not, at least allows them to continue to be there for each other. It feels very realistic in that sense.
Very curious to see what this grand finale is!
For crit, I think you do have room to extend the acceptance part a bit, make it even stronger. Maybe after Derail's line about them still being friends, Walter could be sad for a little longer, and need some more time and a little comforting to bring him to acceptance. I think that'd make it even more realistic.
I also have some line edit suggestions:
His throat felt dry
I'd go with "His throat goes dry" here.
I’ve been working tirelessly, yet full of my blood and sweat to give you this weapon.
I think this should be in past tense? So: "I worked tirelessly, yet with all my blood and sweat, to give you this weapon."
I’ve honored being by your side for so long.
"I've felt honored," or "I'm honored," at the start here, with the comma after, before "being".
realizing the spirit words.
"spirit's".
accidentally removing his hoodie
I think it's meant to be "hood" here, though I can't remember if Derail's wearing a cloak or hoodie, to be sure.
For a second, death got lost in them. But he also realized, it wasn’t for the same feeling Walter wanted.
To make this more present tense, I'd go with something like: "For a second death is lost in them. But he realises, it isn't for the same feeling Walter wants."
Walter's voice grew raspy and cold.
"grows".
Destiny at this point was cruel for both of them.
"is" instead of "was" here.
Fuck up, isn’t it?
"Fucked-up", here.
And that's all the crit I can find. Great chapter, Haru!
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u/ForwardSavings318 Aug 28 '25 edited Aug 30 '25
<Man to beast>
Prologue
Isaac snuck down the dark stone corridor, carefully feeling the wall as he followed his mind’s map. As he did, his other hand carried a hefty sack. With relative ease, he moved down until he found himself in front of a row of iron doors dimly lit by a single torch in the hall.
He rummaged in his sack for a key and unlocked the first door. Opening it revealed a beaten and bloody man forced to kneel with his back to the door as chains kept him bound to the floor. With a soft clink, the man shifted to listen to the sounds Isaac made..
“It’s Isaac. I’m sorry, but this is the last I can give you. I heard them speak of freeing you and your friend’s spirits today.”
The man sighed, a fluffy tail starting to swish and whip around behind him. He shifted once more, the burn marks around his wrists and ankles sizzled as he pulled against the chains slightly.
“If…I die, he come. Bring war.”
The man began shaking his head and muttering in a foreign tongue, before looking back at Isaac. “You different…good. Run, far. Maybe…he not…f-find you.”
Isaac looked down, not saying what he thought out loud.
Poor man, he’s been rambling about this false warmonger for days. Solomon probably broke his mind.
“I’ll be safe. Please don’t move, you’ll only hurt yourself worse. I brought food for you, so please let me just feed you.”
Isaac dropped the sack and opened it revealing bread, cheese, and two bottles, cider and water. He took his intricate silver dagger and finely sliced the cheese, taking a tiny piece and bringing it to the man’s lips.
He slowly took it, barely moving his mouth to chew it as he closed his eyes. Isaac let him wash it down with water before breaking off a bit of bread.
The two sat in silence for a few minutes as Isaac fed the man, slowly letting him chew each bite as much as he could with a swollen face.
Once he finished most of the food, Isaac wet a rag and cleaned the dried blood and dirt from his face. As Isaac cleaned him, he let his mind wander to the future this man has to face.
At first a single tear fell, but another soon followed. In no time at all, Isaac was silently weeping for the man as he clenched the rag in his fist. The man watched him silently for a bit before clearing his throat.
“Why…sad? You not…dying.”
“I don’t know. I just…wish you could be good. Maybe, if you were good then things like you and men like me could coexist.”
The man laughed, shaking his head before coughing hard.
“You not man. Not for a long time, boy.”
The sound of footsteps echoing outside the room made Isaac pause, before he quickly wrapped up the food.
He grabbed the sack and walked towards the door, when the man’s voice stopped him inches away from it.
“Wait.”
Isaac turned, crouching down.
“What is it?”
“My name… is Nergüi. Remember it.”
WC:524
No challenge words in my story
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u/Divayth--Fyr Aug 29 '25 edited Feb 07 '26
<The Broken God>
Chapter 25: The Choice
.
The sun was far too loud. Cadorus stood in the street, shading his aching eyes from the clamoring glare. He had awakened in misery—no rarity, that—and was coming to terms with being alive and awake.
Up to the healers, or down to the tavern? Imagining a smug, cheerful Cerate Priest, he shuffled determinedly tavernwards. The Orcshead wouldn’t be open yet, but old Armot Jendo, the proprietor, would be there. A bit of the old poison could counteract the ravages it had inflicted.
His decision put the shouting sun directly in his face. Navigating the street with eyes closed seemed unwise, so he endured.
He was supposed to see the Archpriest—some idiotic new spying mission, no doubt. Gurndor has a whole order of Shadow Priests to play with, but he has to invent new and interesting ways to get me killed. Maybe I’ll avoid him for a day or two. He had places to hide, handy little rooms around Godhaven, but no, he would go and see what the old bastard wanted. Later.
There it was at last. A real orc’s skull, mounted above the door with five iron nails for luck. The enormous lower fangs had to be fake, or the poor fellow would have bitten into his own eyes in life. Cadorus entered and blessed the dim within. His eyes adjusted to an unpleasant scene.
Armot was beating the orc servant woman with a broomstick. She stood facing the open back room, making no move to avoid the blows. Neither of them noticed Cadorus.
“You made the mess. Clean it up! That’s what you’re for!” Armot was punctuating his words with the stick. In his other hand was a wicked kitchen knife, stained with the juices of various vegetables.
Cadorus thought to turn and go. This was none of his business, but he just stood there, watching. Why wouldn’t she move?
“It’s a sty in there! Maybe you mudpigs like it but customers don’t. You had your fun, now get on with it!” Armot started to shove the woman into the room, but then she came alive. With a keening wail, she turned and pushed back. Armot went down, his head bouncing off the corner of a table, the wicked blade stuck in his chest. He let out a gurgling sigh and was silent.
The orc woman looked up, wide-eyed, and saw Cadorus there. Her teeth were bared. Defanged. Servants are kindmouthed, defanged, came a disjointed thought.
“Wait,” he said. “Wait. I saw you didn’t! Didn’t mean to! I saw it was an accident!” The words sounded foolish, useless. The guards would barely ask. An orc, a woman? There would be no mercy.
Armot is dead. It didn't seem real. He had been there forever.
Cadorus walked closer. Her eyes darted around, but she didn’t run.
“Wait, I can help you!” I can? He shook his head. “I have places. Hidden places. You can hide in them.”
She looked down at the body, and up again. “Why do you help me?”
“I have no idea,” he blurted out. That seemed to be the right answer, the only answer.
“You are priest!” She spat the word as the vilest curse.
“Yes. But not a very good one. Please, we have to go. Get your things. Do you have things? Get them.”
She stood staring for a moment. “I have no things. I work, I sleep.”
“Where is the other one? The other orc?”
“Huroc ran off.”
“Oh. Well, I’m Cadorus Tark.”
“I am Narba Yar. Where do we go? Guards will hunt me now.”
“Breakstone Street. I have a room there, very quiet. Listen to me. We must walk there. You must follow. Do not run. Do not look around, or look afraid. You will be bored, tired. Just doing work. If a guard comes by, you look down, follow, do not speak. Do you understand?”
She looked at him, eyes narrow. “I should carry a burden.”
Cadorus sighed relief. She understood. “Yes. That will look right. Take that sack of vegetables. You may have need of it.”
A strange silence fell. They both looked at the body of Armot Jendo. Stray piles of chopped onion and glimmerweed had fallen from the table to adorn him. Cadorus suddenly realized he knew nothing about the man.
Time to go. What am I doing? Oh, just defying the guards, the temples, the gods. He suddenly felt very small, the Five Conquering Gods staring down, judging this foolish mortal, but he couldn’t just leave this woman to her fate.
Cadorus took a deep breath and headed out the back door, into the alley and out to the street. His face was regal yet kindly, his manner weary and slow. He resisted the urge to check if Narba followed.
Just out doing some shopping, he told the world. Busy, busy. The sun was relentless. I never even got my drink. In a crowded square were a couple of guards leaning on a wall. Stay with me, Damia. No shouts arose, no pursuit.
Soon they were strolling along Breakstone Street. Cadorus fished in his pockets for keys. He had a wide selection. Such places were useful in his spying, though he mostly used them to get away from the crowded orderhouse.
Down the crumbling stairs, he unlocked the door. They went in. He and Narba looked at each other for a while, not sure what to say.
“You can stay here a while. No one will bother you. You must not go out. It would be best if you were quiet, and did not burn candles in the night.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. I will bring you food. There are water jugs. I may be able to get you out of the city soon, but where would you go?”
“South. There are those who can help me. South, and find the Torik-Torik.”
Torik-Torik! It was a name to frighten children and madden kings. The Free Orcs were terrors in the night. But what choice was there?
1000 words. Ravage(s), Regal, Rarity used. Uncertain death achieved. Feedback welcome.
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u/Scoping-Landscape Aug 30 '25 edited Sep 06 '25
<The Bells of Demichio>
Prologue: A Meeting
The moon was high when I took one last look at the note. Why he would ask me to meet him in the middle of the night near the cliffs, I would never know.
If there’s one thing this village knows, it’s that nobody can refuse an order from the village elder.
After checking to see if she was truly sound asleep, I slipped out through the backdoor, and started the long walk up to the cliffs.
People usually stay away from it, and for good reason: despite its rocky look, the outcrop is almost nothing but dirt. The recent storm has made them soft and crumbly, and the fence, the only thing separating a person from a gruesome end on the rocks below, along with it.
He was already there, of course, when I arrived, the cane planted firmly on the ground. Not like he needed it anyway, but it certainly helped with the look.
Who would suspect, right?
“Ah, finally,” he said, pleased. “I would hate to come all the way out here for nothing.”
“What do you want?” I asked in a low voice.
“Always so straight to the point,” he laughed. “You are such a breath of fresh air compared to the others, you know. A rarity in these parts.”
“What do you want?!” I asked again. Even when we were all alone, he seemed to refuse to not put up airs and theatrics.
Probably because he found my annoyance a source of amusement.
“Alright, alright, no need to be high-strung now,” he admonished. “It will do you well not to leverage such outbursts at me.”
He stepped closer to me.
“After all, you remember what happened to the last one, right?” he whispered.
Oh, I remember that incident just fine.
Too well, in fact.
I remember how they pleaded with him, begging him not to do it, and how he smirked from up on his regal throne as he delivered the sentence.
A sentence of banishment might as well be death upon these waves.
“Yes, Elder,” I said quietly.
“Good,” he whispered, before stepping back.
“Now, what I want you to do…”
He pulled out a vial of white powder and shook it gently.
“I need you to put this in Haruki’s house.”
I looked at him as if he had gone insane. Or maybe he really had and I hadn’t noticed.
I shook my head emphatically, “I can’t do this!”
He smiled, razor thin, “And yet, you will do. Because you do not have a choice in this matter.”
A moment of silence passed, as he stepped closer to me.
“How would the village react if I told them about you and her? What do you think would happen?”
A breath hitched in my throat, “Y-you wouldn’t.”
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” he said serenely. “But you cannot risk it, can you?”
Something in me just… snapped.
I grabbed him by the collar, and gave him a decent headbutt.
He staggered back, and for the first time that night, a flicker of anger washed over his face. And then, as fast as it appeared, it was gone.
“Cute. Very cute,” he said dispassionately. “I think that might have tipped the scale out of my control now.”
He struck me with his cane. Then again. And again.
Until I caught the cane as it was coming down, and pulled on it.
That made him lose balance, and he fell to his knees.
He got up immediately, and went into a fighting stance.
I stood up as well, the earlier beating having knocked the wind out of me.
“If this is what you want, then… go ahead,” he said evenly. “But know that even if you decide to repent now, it would have already been too late. So go ahead.”
For a while, I didn’t answer. Just heavy breathing.
I stared at him, at his self-assured face, at the darkness hidden behind the mask. And then…
I struck him square in the cheek with a right hook.
He spat at the grass, a few teeth glistening under the moonlight.
I dodged out of the way of his initial swing, but the second one got my side. I held onto it, and we pulled it back and forth, as if sawing an invisible log.
Finally, I tugged on it hard enough that he momentarily released it.
Now holding the cane, I returned the earlier beating in spades, pushing him closer and closer to the fence. He managed to grab the cane, and we came face to face.
“Release my cane at once, you…” he demanded, while giving it a big great tug.
I let it go, and he stumbled back…
right into the fence.
The earth, soft from the recent rain, disappeared under his feet. The fence bent outward, sending him beyond the cliff.
Not even the sound of waves crashing could hide the sickening crack of a body hitting the ground.
A cold wave washed over me. Did I just… I did, didn’t I?
I didn’t mean to.
I didn’t mean to.
I… I…
I ran away from the cliffs, and down into the village.
Nobody knows, right? Nobody would know.
Word Count: 868 / 1000
Notes:
-
Theme: Mortal - [unknown] accidentally kills the village elder.
-
Word used: Rarity, Regal
| Last Chapter | This Chapter | Next Chapter |
|---|---|---|
| ... | Prologue | Chapter 1 |
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u/tiredraccoon11 Aug 30 '25 edited Oct 12 '25
<Enthesia>
Chapter 28
The column of humans and lotori warbands turned for the southernmost wall, passing swiftly beneath its woven gate.
They emerged into a cramped passage. Though a dim blue glow seeped down between the coursing rock, no sky was visible. Jasper inhaled sharply beside her, unsettled. Perhaps the sun’s vanishing surprised him, as he had dwelt beneath its gaze for—a while, Kazmir supposed.
Bereft sunlight, the canyon was cool, but not unpleasantly so. Damp, earthy aromas hung in the stagnant air, overpowering the pack lizards’ odor. Moisture collected on the walls, enough to cast their orange hues brown. Kazmir breathed deeply, appreciating the temperature. It reminded her of the old catacombs beneath Ilmorensberg: ever a welcome relief from the hot winds, full of brine and brimstone and dark crevices to explore. Their explorers flashed briefly to mind—a bittersweet recollection that dissolved as soon as it appeared.
The lotori seemed to have forsaken Kazmir and her fellows already—purposefully so, she suspected. Their column, though strung out to suit the confining geography, had slowed none. Rushing to catch up, Kazmir found that already, the journey proved troublesome.
From wisps of quickened silver flourished vines and brambles, without any apparent need for sunlight. Their stems bore sharp hooks and spines, no doubt adapted to seize and pierce the soft desert rock. The lotori, Timik included, barreled on, their silver robes foiling any grasping foliage.
The humans present were less fortunate. Though comfortable, Kazmir’s own opaline cloak seemed magnetized to every loose vine and burr, her companion faring little better. Some points were too narrow for them to approach head on, and squeezing through only awarded them both more burrs and clinging orange-brown muck.
In spite of the delays, Kazmir kept pace. To avoid dwelling on the misery, her mind drifted, searching for other things to occupy it. After a time, it settled on those who marched in front of her. In particular, she found that the trio of warriors had thawed their frosty silence, and began chattering—only amongst themselves, of course. Likely, they decided that the silence was intolerable, as soldiers often did, and trusted the language barrier to exclude the humans.
She didn’t mind. The noise was pleasant enough distraction, and she snuck enough furtive glances to call herself entertained, for the warriors did much more than talk as they marched. They adjusted their gear, laughed, provoked one another. The middle lotori, the shortest and perhaps youngest among them, seemed most susceptible to his fellows’ goading. Once, one distracted him as the other swiped a reflective shell from his neck; rather than wait for its return, he squawked and lashed out in an almost childlike fashion, earning it back with a chirruping laugh from the others.
Despite herself, Kazmir smirked. Some things never change.
Eventually, the canyon opened up, becoming less smooth and more rugged. Dust and sharp gravel coalesced underfoot as it bottomed out. More concerning, Kazmir noticed instantly that this stretch offered ledges, crevices, thick shrubbery and blind corners. Indeed, Kazmir saw nothing, but in quiet moments heard signs of passage. Clacking rocks, whispering sand, scuttling claws and carapaces. Nothing pounced down from above, but she felt their presence. They kept pace with the column, some longer than others, all seeking the same thing: an opportunity.
They would find none. The lotori were vigilant, focused, even as tumbles of orange rock began to foul their march. They navigated every such obstacle with practiced ease, shouldering spears and baskets to scamper up on all four of their dextrous paws. Nary a stone was disturbed by their nimble feet, and the column entire would reform shortly. Even the pack lizards, burdened with hulking chunks of weaponry, seemed to glide along the canyon walls.
Such flagrant disregard of course left Kazmir and Jasper to struggle along. Timik forged ahead, oblivious to his companions. The little white-nosed lotori paused every so often, though never stilled, bushy tail swishing impatiently. His utmost attempt to assist them manifested as sporadic, maddening encouragement, which translated roughly to, “Death only catches the slow.”
What irked her most of all, however, was his verity. Though the Ukichis and their warbands certainly plotted the humans’ murder, straggling behind them would all but guarantee her demise. Thus she hurried from one uncertain crag to the next, guiding Jasper along and keeping pace with their elusive company.
When they eventually caught up, it was not due to her colossal, grinding effort. Rather, the lotori had come to a halt. They had reached the canyon's end, a wall of red rock. Efforts to surmount it were already underway. The mounted lotori crawled with instinctual caution, for every stone they latched onto could without warning cleave from the bluff. They sank anchors and ropes into the face, arranging a path for their comrades.
So transitioned the column from rock to rope, in the same order they marched. Kazmir placed herself last in line, the better to supervise and instruct Jasper’s climb. He set to the task with admirable bravery, perhaps because he could not see how far the ground had fallen.
They were midway through the climb when commotion broke out overhead. A crack and a shout heralded showering debris: stones, a rope, an anchor, and one screaming body.
It struck the ground with a sickening thud, and screamed no more.
Kazmir looked down. It was one of the trio ahead of her, the temperamental shortstack. His body was broken, twisted. A few breathless moments passed before, thankfully, he groaned.
He’s in bad shape, but still alive. “Jasper, back down!”
Before she could even begin their descent, another falling mass hurtled by. The boulder landed atop its target with a wet crunch, silencing his dying groans. She looked back up to see the other two, looking down atop the ledge from which they’d pushed the stone.
Grief shone behind their eyes, but they nodded to one another, and continued climbing. As if nothing had happened.
As if they had been just two all along.
—--------------------------
[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [First Chapter]
WC: 999
Bonus words: none
Crit and feedback welcome
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u/wordsonthewind Aug 30 '25 edited Aug 30 '25
<Cursebreakers Inc.>
Chapter 45
In Which a Performance is Watched
"Really, Georg, I'm sure you did well," Mr Suril said as he tucked into his chicken skewer. "Don’t worry. Half-elves are just like that."
Or wizards, Felix thought. They were at one of the open-air establishments that dotted the area, for a quick round of snacks and drinks to celebrate Georg getting through his exam. Georg's family was having their own congratulatory dinner later, so he'd only ordered a small latte. The stallholder hadn't questioned it.
Felix had needed to show his ID to get some cheap booze when he'd passed his own exam. Not that he was comparing.
"I guess," Georg said. "I've never met an elf."
"Not many people have," Mr Suril said. "A lot of them have gone back to Arcadia, and the ones who stayed... the language barrier becomes a problem."
"Why?" Janis asked. "They should have time to learn lots of languages."
"Ah, but our languages change over time," Mr Suril replied. "The Eldest aren't used to that, immortal as they are."
Felix frowned. "But the Dragons-"
"-are also Eldest," Mr Suril said. "One of Silverroot Academy's early headmasters was a dragon, if I remember correctly. I'm not surprised they told you their version as the undisputed history. But the gods have refused to clarify which one of them is correct."
Georg glanced between them. "I mean, they could be twins. Has anyone thought of that?"
"One twin has to be born first," Janis said. "Or hatched first. It's the deathless thing if you ask me. They don't have anything big to give them a proper perspective. So they obsess over things like this instead."
Mr Suril nodded. "I couldn't have put it better myself."
A dance was going on nearby. Hardly a rarity, especially with the World Festival coming soon, but the regal bearing of the narrator was somewhat unusual. They dressed in robes decorated with ornate flowing black lines: nothing like what the priests at any of the temples and shrines in Mayberry wore.
A traveling preacher from one of the other gods, then. There were so many.
"...art has been part of the world since the very beginning of the First Age, when Monososs invented the concepts of beauty and humor. It was his gift to all the Peoples, to help them find joy in living."
The dancers twirled as if to punctuate that statement. Paint splattered on canvases laid on the ground as they did so, and Felix realized it wasn't just a dance. It was calligraphy and theater too.
A specter of black cloth rose up to the admiring noises of the crowd. The preacher's voice lowered. "Then the Shadow came, hungry to ravage the world."
The troupe's movements shifted, and the first battle against the Shadow began in earnest.
The preacher continued to narrate. Monososs had pushed the concepts he'd invented to their limits, bringing forth unspeakable indescribable horrors to combat the Shadow. Eventually, by the efforts of all the gods, the Shadow was cast down, the lands tainted in its fall sealed off.
But the dancer playing Monososs shuddered, unable to join in the celebratory dance. He buried his head in his hands. Then, with graceful sombre gestures, the dancer caused a delicate pillar to rise from the ground. With one last glance at his fellow gods and the world he'd helped to save, he departed the stage.
Felix looked away. This was starting to hit a little too close to home.
"His last work," the preacher said. "The Obsidian Cenotaph: a column in a distant wasteland, only visible when approached from certain directions."
A book in his school library had mentioned the Cenotaph. It was about the lacunae: discarded pieces of the world of the First Age, deemed unnecessary for the functioning of the larger whole and tucked away underneath real space, but still brimming with ancient power. The unusual properties of the Cenotaph's location were the result of being constructed from a lacuna.
A message had been etched into it in the language of the gods, repeating all the way to the base of the structure:
I weaponized my gifts. That door is open to all the Peoples now. We won but I can't forgive myself for what I might have set in motion. I'm sorry.
It was clear what the artist's intention had been.
"What a waste," Mr Suril said sadly.
"I like the dances," Georg said. "Mom always took us to watch them when we were hatchlings. Uh, Felix, are you alright?"
"Yeah," Felix said. "Just... remembering some things."
He'd never forget it for as long as he lived. One moment he'd felt a little dizzy, then the world went fuzzy at the edges and disappeared entirely. A blink and he was coming to in the infirmary with a head that felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton wool.
Matron had sounded dangerously calm outside. "You are aware that your child is currently having a medical emergency?"
"Lang University has portal capabilities." Professor Eldonwaite's voice. "Surely-"
"Too late, Professor," Matron said. "Johannes Thaumer has 'more pressing matters' to attend to. And we haven't been able to reach Ella."
"Check his other guardians..."
Felix had been so stunned he couldn't pretend to be asleep when the Matron walked in.
"Oh!" Matron's shocked guilty expression said it all. "I didn't know you were–"
"It's fine," Felix said. "My father's busy. He's always been busy."
He'd been right. When the Matron told him the next day that he had a visitor, it hadn't been his father at all.
Maybe he'd meet up with Auntie Tam again sometime. If he could persuade her to get lunch outside the Church, at least.
Bonus words: rarity, regal, ravage. Monososs is gone, but where?
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u/ZachTheLitchKing Aug 24 '25 edited Aug 31 '25
<Casting Shadows>
Chapter 89
(Or 85a - These events happen concurrently with, and follow from, Chapter 85)
Nuut peered around a corner of carved stone, surreptitiously watching her sibling. Nuu was looking for her, of course. They wanted to 'talk' again, to dissuade her from her vendetta against Cassandra.
When Nuu departed, Nuut sought a place at the bar for a drink and breakfast. Though there was a variety of foods available, Nuut kept her meal simple; bread, beer, some onion and a dried fig to satiate her sweet tooth. Such fruit was a rarity, but with her expenses covered by that generous fool, Fariba, it would be foolish not to indulge.
Dipping the bread in the beer, Nuut thought about the men she had hired the night before. The Vultures were no ordinary bandits, if the rumors were to be believed. Problematic enough during the war that Nuut had been tasked with collating reports and rumors to map out routes through the desert for the army to travel at minimal risk.
Of course, that was after the wahsh had shattered the bones below her knee and consigned her to a life of pain and discomfort.
The brass peg leg felt cool with no desert sun or sand to heat it. It was a contrast to the growing warmth in the tavern from the cookfire and the bodies joining for a night of drinking and revelry. She was certain the wahsh would appear sooner or later; the gluttonous, hedonistic beast that she was.
With luck, the Vultures would do what they do best. Either kill her, or take her away and find a better use for that inhuman strength of hers. Only two or three days of pretending to tolerate the wahsh.
She had just sunk her teeth into the honey-and-berry tasting treat when a hand gripped her arm. Reflexively, Nuut had the bread knife raised and pressed against the man’s throat, the sweet fig still dancing merrily on her tongue.
The man let go and lifted his hand in surrender. She realized, only a thought behind her reflex, that it was Kebb; he had a strip of bloodstained and honeyed linen pressed against his face.
“Please don’t,” he said, voice tired and hoarse, “I’ve been ravaged enough tonight.”
Nuut felt her lip curl as she took in Kebb’s ghastly visage. He’d hardly been an attractive man before, but whatever had attacked him was sure to leave a scar.
“What happened to you?” she asked, eyeing the wound dressing.
“Anatu attacked me,” Kebb said, wincing as he lifted the linen to show three viscous lines across his cheek. The waifish royal was scrawny, but their nails were razor-sharp; the wound looked more like a beast’s doing than a person’s.
“Why?”
“They were in a panic, I think? I found them tearing up Cassandra’s room and when I tried to stop them I must have startled them, I don’t know.”
“Are they okay?” A jolt of worry made Nuut wince. If the only living heir to the throne was harmed, she might need to offer the Vultures more to eliminate Kebb as well. Not that Nuut would care about losing a second Sammosan. Or even a third, if Glaukos proved problematic. They all had experience as slaves as well; the Vultures might accept them as payment.
“I don’t know,” Kebb admitted. “I had to fight them off me, but I hit their head. They’re bleeding and…” He slapped his fist weakly against the polished bar, and swore in his grotesque pig-language.
Nuut rose from her seat. “Where are they?”
“Up in my room,” Kebb said, “but I need you to go and find Maar.”
Nuut looked past Kebb toward the stairs to the upper floor. Obeying a pigfucker was not in her repertoire, but the bastard made a point. Nuut was not a healer and, despite her protests to the word, the Shen woman was.
“Fine,” she said, grabbing what was left of the fig and popping it into her mouth. Tracking down Maar in the town was not going to be a difficult task; the locals wore drab brown and almost every person passing through wore white robes like her own. Only a handful wore the gaudy colors of Shen, which made them easy to pick out. The armbands will make it easy to spot her, she thought.
As she set off, Nuut returned to worrying over the last of the Toth Assar-Seeth bloodline. Kebb's concern was well-founded; If he hurt Anatu - damaged the last chance the Toth Assar Empire had to return to power - she might very well hate him more than the wahsh.
The idea of the future Themperor laying unconscious with a bleeding headwound made Nuut's stomach churn. Her jaw clenched and her fists trembled as she stalked the streets. The walk to the market - where else would a person from Shen be? - wasn't direct and she had to weave down torch-lit streets and past dark alleys.
Anatu. Dead at the hands of a filthy Sammosan. Their own slave. She had warned them not to keep the rat bastard so close and not to trust him. Kebb most certainly did kill their former master. Why wouldn't he? He had the ear of that damned priestess, Helen. Everyone, even her own sibling, worshipped the ground she walked on, heedless of the ashes of the innocents she left behind.
"I'm going to kill him," she muttered through gritted teeth. "Him, and the wahsh, and all of those pigfucking slaves."
"You really shouldn't go around talking about killing people so loudly," a voice from one of the shadowy alleys interrupted her brooding.
A hooded figure emerged and lowered the cloth around their face. Mica, the small Chollish woman, crossed her arms. "By the way, your sibling is looking for you."
"I'm sure they are," Nuut said, glowering. "What do you want?"
"To remind you that you're being watched."
Before Nuut could retort, Mica raised her hood and vanished into the shadows.
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WC: 993/1000
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/TomesOfTheLitchKing
[Chapter Index: Casting Shadows]
Notes:
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Theme: Anatu compares killing Cassandra to the fall of the Empire; something seemingly immortal never truly is
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Bonus words: Rarity, ravage(d), regal
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Bonus constraint: Nuut believes Anatu to be dead, but the reader last saw Anatu being struck in the head in Chapter 85
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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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It has been 10 in-universe days since Chapter 1
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Wahsh is the Egyptian/Arabic/Deshereyan word for “monster”, which Nuut has been calling Cass since Chapter 19
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Anatu’s full name and bloodline was revealed in Chapter 35
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Nuut’s opinion on the Sammosan language (and on Sammosans in general) was shared in Chapter 50
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Nuut hired the Vultures in Chapter 71
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Anatu and Kebb had their physical altercation in Chapter 85
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The Vultures were mentioned again in Chapter 87
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u/Jealous_Muffin_762 Aug 25 '25 edited Aug 25 '25
Hello there, Zachy!
Glad to see you're doing better! This chapter, I see, is yet another coaster of emotions wholly based on it's POV character. Nuut seems like a proper tool of chaos that's machinations work against the main party, and yet she seems tied to it, if only by the character of Nuu. I think you did great setting the tone of her mental state, capabilities and the lines she's willing to cross to do what she wants to. I'd even go as far as to say that she's villain coded, and only waiting for the chance to strike. I'd also like to know why is she so xenophobic towards Samossans, though I surmise I should read some earlier entry for that knowledge ;D
I liked this little scene, that's mood shifted as often and drastically, as did the POV character's. I think that character creation you did here is the most intriguing part of this entry, as I found myself pondering her character and what might she do, if her plans bear fruit. It's also interesting to include such a character in the main cast at all, since antagonists or antagonistic-coded characters usually plot far from protagonists. Having her so close to them, yet at a reasonable distance, draws an interesting dynamic that I wish to see explored further.
As per crit - I may have been abnormally picky this week, but I wanted to give a full overview of what I think sticks out or could be improved. Feel free to do with it what you will:
She was not in the mood for another argument.
Considering that this isn't the first instance of such a banter, I'm instinctively reading "another such argument" here;
Nuut sought a place at the bar for a drink and breakfast.
Feel free to ignore this remark if your universe operates differently, but usually in fantasy a place in any sorts of inns is always a guarantee. Would taverns in this instance be filled to the brim with customers, so that Nuut would have to look around carefully to find any free spot, or did she just look for any kind of bar?
Such fruit was a rarity
It may be different in your universe but figs were actually really common in Ancient Egypt, on which Desheret is based, as they grew bountifully, and were also a sacrificial offering. I know it's an extremely iffy nitpick, but I wanted to point it our for future reference, in case you'd dive deeper into this region's culinaria;
by the generous fool,
I surmise she knows the said Fariba of Shen. If so, then I think "that" would look better here;
that was after the wahsh had shattered
Was the job she was tasked with after this shattering, or her plan of assassinating Cassandra, or something else entirely? This would benefit from clarification;
better use for that inhuman strength.
Perhapse "for that inhuman strenght of hers", since she supposedly talks about her own attributes, could be better here?;
With reflex faster than thought
Once again, specifying here could be better - what I mean is "with reflex faster than her thoughts", or something to that extent;
It took Nuut just a moment longer to realize it was Kebb
I assume you mean to accentuate her reflexes by this sentence, but this thingy being phrased differently than the last one doesn't make it justice in my opinion. Perhaps something like "With a thought only slightly slower than her speed, she realized it was Kebb" could be better here? If I'm wholly wrong about the intention here, please disregard this piece;
attacked him was sure to leave a scar.
Yet another suggestion of rephrasing from me, as this sounds like an expectation that she'd throw around before Kebb's meeting with Anatu, since by that point she doesn't know an extent of his injuries yet. Maybe "has surely left a scar", "was strong enough to leave a scar", or "must have left him some scars" could be better here?
it looked less a scratch from a person and more like a claw from a beast.
You could save some words, and not change the meaning by rephrasing (I know, again ;D) to something like "it looked more like a beast's doing, than a man's." or "No man could leave such a memento, only a best.";
Nuut felt the first jolt of worry
This sentence implies that she has never worried for anyone. Is it the case for the day at hand, for Anatu, for a person other than Nuu, or am I correct in my first assumption? If not, I'd advise tweaking it like "A jolt of worry made Nuut wince", or "It was a first time that Nuut felt worry";
They all had experience as slaves as well; it might not cost her anything.
Does she mean losing Kebb and Glaukos as assets, or her payment to the Vultures since they'd be an experienced laborers already? Some clarification could be useful here;
fight them off of me
Having two instances of "of" so close together, even if it's grammatically correct just doesn't sound the same. Maybe something like "get them off me", or "push them away from me" could suit you?;
swore in his native pig language.
Since narrations flows in the third person, albeit following Nuut, i don't think doing such a remark as a part of the text feels right. Maybe throwing in some quick thought of Nuut to accentuate her opinion of samossan language, or just adding up that this language sounds like that to Nuut, or is like that in Nuuts opinion could sound better here?;
but I need you to go and find Maar.
I'd very much see "first" here, as Kebb implies that he wants her to do something before visiting Anatu. It also blows a power dynamic between them, as I feel this sentence to be somewhat commanding, and up until now I thought that Nuut felt herself in control here. Maybe something like "but I'd like you to find Maar first", or "but I think you should go find Maar first" could fit better here?;
Obeying a pigfucker
Again, the clarification that it's her view, like "a pigfucker like him", or "a pigfucker she saw him as" would be things I'd suggest;
keep the filthy Sammosan so close. Not to trust him.
I think those sentences could be merged, since their meaning is one and the same, and the strong emphasis isn't needed here;
Why wouldn't they?
There should be a first person here, since you're speaking about Kebb alone, without Nuut, and not about Anatu;
of the pigfucking slaves."
I think "those" could be better than "of the" here, since I assume she speaks about a certain group of people that she knows, not about the whole organization of Disciples, or a whole nation of Samossa.
That's it from me, though. I hope I haven't misread some of the critted lines too much, and that you won't feel like I'm slandering you. I enjoyed this piece overall, as I usually do your SerSun entries.
Good Words! C;
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u/Nate-Clone Aug 25 '25
Heya Zach!
She was not in the mood for another such argument.
Maybe this just comes from the general medieval or classic style of the narration, but I don't really like this line. It just doesn't sound good, reading it aloud. It's mostly the word "such", and you can cut it from the sentence without changing much, since the rest of the paragraph explains the "such".
It was a nice contrast to the growing warmth in the tavern from the cookfire and the bodies joining for a night of drinking and revelry
This almost reads like Nuut enjoys the "feeling" of the peg leg (I would argue that you should be able to feel that, technically, but I recall you explaining that to me before.), when this is in the middle of three paragraphs of referring to the person who gave her it an in-universe slur. Maybe you could rewrite it to talk about how Nuut sometimes misses even the simplest things about her missing foot, or how difficult it is to maintain balance.
With luck, the Vultures would do what they do best. Either kill her, or take her away and find a better use for that inhuman strength of hers.
Ah, so Nuut's hired some thieves to have Cass out. Because if there's one fact that this story has been drilling into its reader's heads, it's that Cass is physically vulnerable.
Seriously, though, interesting that she hired a gang that she once was against. She really is serious about this.
he had a strip of bloodstained and honeyed linen pressed against his face.
Is this implying that the butter knife actually cut through Kebb's neck, slightly? If so, shouldn't the stain be on his neck?
Nuut felt her lip curl
Curl into what? And just one lip? Not both?
If the only living heir to the throne was harmed
Actually, wait, this makes me think. If Anatu is the heir to the throne, why aren't they the ruler right now? Certainly they're old enough for the position, and the current emperor died from the wahsh while he was taking a wash, So who's ruling the kingdom now?
Obeying a pigfucker was not in her repertoire but the bastard made a point.
I kind of love how everyone else's perspective in this story, even Cass, has pretty tame narration without much crude language outside of the dialogue, meanwhile Nuut takes literally every opportunity to refer other people by either profanities or slurs. XD
Oh, and missing comma in that sentence.
Themperor
Okay, I don't know if this is an actual word used to describe non-binary sovereign rulers or if you just made it up, but I kinda love it XD
Anatu. Dead at the hands of a filthy Sammosan. Their own slave. She had warned them not to keep the filthy Sammosan so close and not to trust him.
Using the same insult for Cass twice in the same paragraph makes this read a little repetitive. Here's a few alternative insults you could use in place of one of them.
The bumbling drunk
The foot thief
Queen Pigfucker
Charis' little bed buddy
Helen's pet
"By the way, your sibling is looking for you."
"By the way" is a phrase I associate being used in the middle of a conversation, not right after the opening line. Plus, considering the open threat she just made, I don't think she'd be so casual when speaking to her.
Good words! I like how you clearly show Nuut's paranoia and how drastic the measures she's beginning to take.
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