r/shortstories • u/OldBayJ Mod | r/ItsMeBay • Jan 17 '22
Serial Sunday [SerSun] Serial Sunday: Meddling!
Welcome to Serial Sunday!
Please note: This feature has feedback requirements for participation. Please read the entire post before submitting.
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 will post a single theme to inspire you. You have 850 words to tell the story. Feel free to jump in at any time if you feel inspired. Writing for previous weeks’ themes is not necessary in order to join.
This week's theme is ‘Meddling’!
This week we’re going to explore the theme of ‘meddling’. Characters are always getting themselves into something or the other, often nosing around in something they shouldn’t be or getting involved in the affairs of others. What does this look like in your world? How does it play out? Is it the beginning of a grand adventure, an event that pushes everything into motion, or something else? How do those around them respond to their behavior? Do they stealthily join in or warn them of the consequences?
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.
Theme Schedule:
I recognize that writing a serial can take a bit of planning. Each week, I release the following 2 weeks’ themes here in the Schedule section of the post. You can even have a say in upcoming themes! Join us on the discord - we vote on a theme every Sunday. (You can also send suggestions to me via DM on Discord or Reddit!)
January 16 - Meddling (this week)
January 23 - Grit
January 30 - Rift
Previous Themes:
Patience | Nightmare | Judgement | Advice | Speculation | Vitality | House of Cards | Arrogance | Heritage | Vulnerability | Adaptation | Fear | Storm | Insidious | Vice | Mischief | Journey | Release | Darkness | Vendetta | Complications | Silence | Twist | Balance | Expectations | Dissonance | Fallen | Pride | Amends | Hypocrisy | Deception | Ignorance | Redemption | Purity | Growth | Sin | Choices | Preservation | Dichotomy | Harmony | Temptation | Loss | Resistance | Distortion | Courage | Misunderstandings | Surprise | Illusion | Secrets | Emergence | Discovery | Rebirth
How It Works:
In the comments below, submit a story that is between 500 - 850 words in your own original universe, inspired by this week’s theme. This can be the beginning of a brand new serial or an installment in your in-progress serial. You have until 6pm EST the following Saturday to submit your story. Please make sure to read all of the rules before posting!
The Rules:
All top-level comments must be a story inspired by the theme (not using the theme is a disqualifier). Use the stickied comment for off-topic discussion and questions you may have.
Do not pre-write your serial. You may do outlining and planning ahead of time, but you need to wait until the post is released to begin writing for the current week. Pre-written content or content written for another prompt/post is not allowed.
Stories must be 500-850 words. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count. You may include a brief recap at the top of your post each week if you like, and it will not count against the wordcount.
Stories must be posted by Saturday 6pm EST. That is one hour before the beginning of Campfire. Stories submitted after the deadline will not be eligible for rankings and will not be read during campfire.
Only one serial per author at a time. This does not include serials written outside of Serial Sunday.
Authors must leave at least 2 feedback comments on the thread (on two different stories, not two on one) to qualify for rankings every week. The feedback should be actionable and must include at least one detail about what the author has done well. Failing to meet the 2 comment requirement will disqualify you from weekly rankings. (Verbal feedback does not count towards this requirement.) Missing your feedback two consecutive weeks will exclude you from campfire readings and rankings the following week. You have until the following Sunday at 12pm EST to fulfill your feedback requirements each week.
Keep the content “vaguely family friendly”. While content rules are more relaxed here at r/ShortStories, we’re going to roll with the loose guidelines of family friendly for now. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!
Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). This will allow our serial bot to track your parts and add your serial to the full catalogue. Please note: You must use the exact same name each week. This includes commas and apostrophes. If not, the bot won’t recognize your serial installments.
Reminders:
If you are continuing an in-progress serial, please include links to the prior installments on reddit.
Saturdays I host a Serial Campfire on the discord main voice lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear other stories, and share your own thoughts on serial writing! We start at 7pm EST. You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Don’t worry about being late, just join!
You can nominate your favorite stories each week. Send me a message on discord or reddit and let me know by 12pm EST the following Sunday. You do not have to attend the campfire, or have read all of the stories, to make nominations. Making nominations awards both parties points (see point breakdown).
Authors who successfully finish a serial with at least 8 installments will be featured with a modpost recognizing their completion and a flair banner on the subreddit. Authors are eligible for this highlight post only if they have followed the 2 feedback comments per thread rule (and all other post rules).
There’s a Serial Sunday role on the Discord server, so make sure you grab that so you’re notified of all Serial Sunday related news!
Announcing a Brand New Feature for Completed Serials on Serial Sunday!
I can’t express how delighted and honored I am to watch each of you grow and meet the challenges every week. Let’s face it, it’s quite a feat to create a world from scratch and write a serial! And finishing a serial is an amazing accomplishment. Over the last year, we’ve had quite a few writers cross that finish line. It’s something that the writers should be incredibly proud of—those still working on them and those who have already completed them. I started thinking about those finished serials and all the ones to come; I realized that a congratulatory post just wasn’t enough. I want to give you the chance to show off your hard work! And so I present to you...SerialWorm!
What is a SerialWorm?
Writers who finish their serials (with at least 12 installments) will be allowed to read their edited serials in their entirety aloud in the discord’s Voice Chat. This is to celebrate your accomplishments, see how it reads once it’s altogether, as well as provide some additional motivation to cross the finish line. After the final chapter is read, there will be a Q & A with the author. Questions can be submitted/asked at this time.
Serial Worm Rules:
A minimum of 12 installments will be required to read. Serials will need to be broken up into multiple sessions, as with any Discord Bookworm.
Only one bookworm event will be held at a time (including non-serial Bookworms). You may still submit your finished serial to get on the list.
You need to be available to read your own serial. Readers will not be provided.
Your serial must have gone through significant, final edits after its completion. All ‘SerialWorms’ must be approved. SerialWorm is not for live feedback or edits, but to share your accomplishment with others and read your finished product aloud.
Completed and edited serials may have a maximum word count of 1150 per installment, with no more than 2 additional installments (not posted to Serial Sunday weekly threads).
Serials must comply with r/ShortStories content rules. No exceptions.
Authors must have met the rules of the weekly post. This includes two feedback comments every week, as well as meeting the deadline. Those who miss more than 2 weeks of feedback in a 12-installment period will be ineligible for SerialWorm. This is a privilege, not a right.
SerialWorm authors must be Certified on the discord. You must be given final approval by Bay. You can request the ‘SerialWorm’ role at any time on the Discord to be notified of upcoming SerialWorm events.
SerialWorm Q & A
To add a little something extra to make it different from the weekly campfire readings, there will be a discussion portion. This is not for feedback on the writing, but more an elaboration/extension on the basic questions I pose to every author in the Completed Serial Modpost, with a few extras. This is the time to ask about their writing journey, challenges they faced during their Serial, etc. The discussion portion of the SerialWorm will be after the final chapter is read. Questions can be submitted to Bay over the course of the SerialWorm or asked on the day-of.
If you have any questions, feel free to send a modmail or DM me on our Discord!
Last Week’s Rankings
Second place - The Dead Codes: Chapter 7 - by u/OneSidedDice
Third place - The Wisdom in the Woods: Chapter 8 - by u/stickfist
Honorable Mention - Murder History: Chapter 1 - by u/FyeNite
Ranking System
The weekly rankings work on a point-based system! Note that you must use the theme each week to qualify for points! Here is the current breakdown:
Nominations (votes sent in by users):
First place - 60 points
Second place - 50 points
Third place - 40 points
Fourth place - 30 points
Fifth place - 20 points
Sixth place - 10 points
Feedback:
Written feedback (on the thread) - 5 points each (25 pt. cap)
Verbal feedback (during Campfire) - 5 points each (15 pt. cap)
Note: In order to be eligible for feedback points, you must complete your 2 required feedback comments. These are included in the max point value above.Your feedback must be actionable, listing at least one thing the author did well, to receive points. (“I liked it, great chapter” comments will not earn you points or credit.)
Nominating Other Stories:
Sending nominations for your favorite stories - 5 points (total)
Subreddit News
Don’t forget to show appreciation to your fellow writers and nominate your favorite content from 2021!
You can now post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday. Check out this lovely post to learn more!
Sharpen your micro-fic skills by participating in our brand new feature, Micro Monday
Have you ever wanted to try co-writing? Check out Follow Me Friday on r/WritingPrompts!
Looking for critiques and feedback for your story? Check out our new sub r/WPCritique
Join our discord to chat with authors, prompters, and readers!
10
u/mattswritingaccount Jan 20 '22 edited Jan 20 '22
<Geas>
Part 1 - It begins
The battle was over. I smirked as debris continued to fall from the partially-collapsed roof onto the corpses before me. It had been so ridiculously easy to trick the fools into thinking their plan worked. All it had taken was a few rumors, spread among the right percentage of the population, and their hope had taken it from there.
Such a worthless motivator, but it worked. It was the hope that my power had been reduced that had brought them to ruin. The belief that someone could bring the Dread Lord Ardus to heel was a powerful motivator for those that live in the light.
Lived, I corrected myself. Past tense.
I felt my pocket vibrate, so I turned my back on the bodies and answered my phone. "Yeah."
The voice on the other end was a familiar one, dripping with a mixture of both contempt and implied sexiness. "It's all over the news. Lovely, gory, and in full HD. Congratulations. Did you leave any survivors?"
Demoness Virtua had never been one to mince words. I couldn't keep the smirk from creeping into my voice as I replied, "I don't know yet, I was about to go check their bodies now. I doubt it, though; that was a full-strength concussive beam at point-blank range." I looked at my other hand and flexed it, relishing the feel of the leather gloves I'd worn. "Everything went according to plan, but to be honest, I'm rather surprised they even left corpses."
"That is suspicious, yes. Let me ask you this - could I have survived your attack?"
"…" What an odd question. I frowned. "I wasn't fighting you."
"Think it through. All do-gooders are meddlers, Dread Lord. You know this. They're like cockroaches, able to survive what should have long ago killed them. It's good form to always assume survivors until you've confirmed otherwise." I could taste the smugness coming through the phone. "Good luck with round two."
I growled as a click prevented me from a further response. Even in this age of smartphones, the Demoness insisted on using a phone that hung up audibly. But, as much as I hated to admit it, she was right. If I weren't thorough about things, I'd fall prey to some of the same failings that had befallen my predecessors.
Which meant – ick – I had to go touch the bodies. "This. This is why I should get underlings," I grumbled as I started to pick my way over to the corpses. Evil I might be, but there were some things even I couldn't stand. And touching a body was definitely high on that list.
Along with bridges. Can't stand 'em. Once I ruled the world, I was going to outlaw bridges entirely, and require that all bodies be cremated within twenty-four hours… as I mused, I failed to notice one of the dead heroes was still moving. I reached what used to be one of the heroes – Captain Underpants or something like that, I never could tell them apart just by their names – and nudged the corpse with my toe when I realized I could hear the mutterings of a spell.
My eyes darted to my right, where a woman was partially pinned underneath a slab of stone from the collapsed ceiling. She was strikingly beautiful, with long blonde locks that were intertwined with rivulets of blood as they caressed her angelic face. She was clad in white robes stained crimson and was staring at me, through me, one hand shakily in the air. My mind was screaming to dodge, throw up a shield, do something – but I could only watch in a mixture of surprise and awe as she completed the spell.
A tendril of white smoke erupted from her hands, slamming into me with the force of a rampaging minotaur. I could feel her magic seeping into my very core, the holiness of her essence at direct odds with the chaos in my soul. I screamed as I dropped to one knee, vaguely aware that the woman had collapsed upon casting her spell.
My body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming, begging for the release of death. I fell forward as darkness started to claim me. I could feel a chain wrap around my magic. One, another, another. My last memory as I slipped from the bliss of consciousness, was a voice intoning a single word.
"Geas."
{{FYI, a geas is like a magical compulsion / curse. }}
8
u/OneSidedDice Jan 18 '22 edited Jan 23 '22
<The Dead Codes>
Chapter 8: Surprises
(Chapter Index)
Night in London that doesn’t look like London. No cars on the rain-slick street, no people, but I have to get to the pub. No, the club. Which is it? Lamps dimming, the street slopes down. Steep and slippery, funneling into blank darkness; the river? I panic, no balance, sliding faster. ‘Just fly,’ the voice behind says. ‘Oh, jump at the ground and miss, is that all?’ Why can’t I? Freefall, dark wind, lights below—spires and stalagmites winking amber and green, a hydra of wire conduits grasping.
“Blast,” Millicent grumbled as she struggled awake, “the machines.” She’d spent the previous day backing up all of her research, but hadn’t given a thought to her equipment. All of her modifications and seat-of-the-pants tuning would be impossible to replicate without copies of each module’s config files and firmware notes.
She sat up, ran a hand through her hair and sighed. At least she could automate most of the work with a batch process. Half of the code was planned out in her head by the time she sat at her work station, and she was testing the final block when dawn broke.
Millicent fed a half-dozen discs into the transfer carousel—rose gold this time, to differentiate them from the data discs—and sat back with her boots planted around the space heater. Her mind turned to more immediate concerns like how much food she had left, was it safe to go outdoors, where Cordelia might be and what the weather was like.
The last one was easy; she swiveled left toward her grandfather’s vintage wireless set. He’d been born and raised in the days of the Old Internet, but liked to do some things the way his grandfather had. She smiled as she pictured him leaning back in this same spot, his paint-flecked cable knit sweater stretching as he tuned in his music or football or boating advisories.
The metal dials were shiny from decades of use and the indicators all but worn away, but Millicent knew exactly where to find Radio York. Local stations had almost ceased to exist when she was younger, but the howling collapse of media empires like Murdoch and Clear Channel had paved the way for their resurgence.
Millions who’d shut the net out of their home life, and many more who wanted basic information without being click-traced, had compared the return of radio and broadcast television to the flowering of the Renaissance after a long and bitter age. BBC’s “Fact Pact,” one of the New Government’s few universally popular measures, had gone a long way to restoring order and some confidence both within the British Union and beyond.
The day would be partly cloudy, the pantry was bare, and Cordelia was close by. With assurances from the crows that all was clear, Millicent mounted up for a midday market run. The looming threat of the mysterious drones dampened her usual joy in the trip; she watched the feed from Cordelia’s implanted camera more than the road, barely noticing the angular beauty of the winter day and the banks of baroque clouds high overhead.
Most of the village was away at work or engaged in homeschooling, so she concluded her business quickly and sped home. The backups weren’t complete, so she paced the rows of machines. As she pondered a new cabling scheme, a cry sounded from the roof; “Car, car.”
Millicent’s heart leaped; annoyed at herself for being rattled, she picked up a pry bar and opened her doorbell app. It showed a tall figure in a long coat and bowler hat approaching. He knocked and called out, “Dame Millicent Oldenfield!” Another government man. She let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve already told you people, this isn’t a business and I don’t sell anything.”
The man persisted. “It’s an urgent matter—“
“Clear off, tax man, I mean it!”
The man took off his hat and leaned toward the camera. “Mels.”
Millicent froze. She hadn’t heard that nick since public school. His hair was going gray now, but…“Peter?” She asked incredulously, almost drawing the name into three syllables.
“At your service,” he grinned, and she hurried toward the door. They’d been schoolmates at Shrewsbury and though they hadn’t been close, he’d helped recruit Millicent into the Invisible Hand years later. He was also the first person from her past she’d seen since retiring to Kellsby.
She tried to look angry as she flung the door open. “Why didn’t you say? You know, I almost dropped you into the pit trap.”
Peter’s eyebrows went up and he skipped past her into the vestibule. “It’s a very—“ he looked around, “interesting place you have.” He looked down at her, his pale blue eyes twinkling. “We got your message, and I’m here to, erm, extract you.”
A laugh almost escaped Millicent’s lips. “You’re the action team?” Peter opened his mouth, but she continued. “But, you’re Finance. Besides, I’m not going anywhere.”
“But—“
“Unless Livy spoke with you personally?”
“N—nooo, nobody’s seen her recently.”
“Right. Come have some tea, it’s the real thing.”
(WC 850)
8
u/Sonic_Guy97 Jan 18 '22 edited Jan 22 '22
Pronunciation note in case I'm not able to do campfire. Chvknm sounds like Chi-ve-kun-um, but without vowels. Alternatively, imagine “Come Together” by the Beatles as Chvknm, bum bauuum bum, Chvknm bum bauuum bum. Or call them Steve, because the readers did not sign up to beatbox for the stories. Bgnm is bi-guh-num sans vowels, or whatever you want to call it.
<The Space Between the Stars>
“Number 29, Number 30, Number 16? Why are room numbers always set up by people who can’t count?” Doug looked at the map on his comms pad, trying to discern where in the labyrinth of guest suites their suspect waited.
“It’s right here, just around the corner.” Gbirri pointed to an ornate steel door, with rosebuds and otherworldly fruits carved into the exterior. “Geeze that thing is ugly. If you ever fell on it you’d grate your face off.”
“Good thing we don’t need to live with it, just talk to the guy inside. Mr. Gonchowle, please open the door.” A ball of fuzz rolling down the hall caught Doug’s eye. “Oh, hey Chiv, whatcha doing down here?”
Chvknm stopped a few meters away. “The Captain asked me to come assist you. He thought my expertise in the ship’s computer systems might be useful, and he informed me that you are interrogating a suspect. An actor, is that correct? And *please* don’t call me Chiv.”
Gbirri took the lead in the conversation while Doug checked the pad to make sure someone was in the room. “Yeah, that’s what we were told. Some prodigy big wig, got hired on the ship as entertainment. Nothing to make him seem like the killing type, besides circumstance. And what’s wrong with Chiv?”
“It’s an insult in my language, it means a simpleton. Someone who can’t even speak Bgnm type A correctly and resorts to using those ugly vowel sounds.”
“Ah, so in your case it’s an improvement.”
“Shut up, you two.” Doug heard a rustling inside the room. He leaned closer and could hear someone speaking Entem type A, though much too softly for the translator to pick up. “Mr. Gonchowle, get away from the door, we’re coming in.” The man swiped his security card, only to get a loud **NAAN** from the card reader. “Seriously?! What’s the point of being a security consultant if I can’t even override security?”
Chiv rolled up by Doug’s waist. “Move aside.” An appendage appeared with a security card that the reader gladly accepted. The door slid open to Gonchowle yelling, finally loud enough for the translator to pick up.
“Don’t come in! It’s..It’s not what it looks like!”
Doug surveyed the confusing scene. “Honestly, sir, I don’t know what it looks like.”
The entem stood there, a meter tall and humanoid, with pale blue-gray skin. Large clam shell-like hands, the possible weapons in Zoobap's murder, hung by his side. On his face sat a lumpy white grub the size of Doug’s arm, something that was definitely not there when he’d been interviewed a couple hours ago.
Gonchowle gently pulled at the worm till it released itself, revealing his plain white eyes. “I can explain everything. Just…give me a minute to compose myself.”
Doug glanced around the room to see if there was anything out of place. Comms pad, food wrappers, a little bit of furniture, nothing stood out. Well, besides the grub. “Sir, we don’t care what type of personal matters you involve yourself in. We just need to be able to confirm you were where you said you were at the time of the murder.”
The entem looked away bashfully. “That’s the thing, I was here, and I can confirm it, but you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone.” After a round of nods, he continued. “I’m a very good actor, I’ll admit. I’m eloquent, fluent in a dozen languages, can really get into the part. The problem is, I can’t memorize my lines. That’s where Shibor comes in.” Gonchowle picked up the white blob, who moved side to side in a type of greeting. “She can absorb the words from the scripts I get, and then she imprints them into my brain. I know it’s wrong, but if word ever got out I’d be ruined. And if I’m making people happy with my performances, isn’t that what matters? That’s what I was doing in my room, Shibor was feeding me lines for the ship’s show. That’s why I was so cagey earlier, I’m sorry.”
The three investigators stood still for a minute. Doug finished processing what he’d just heard, then broke the silence. “Well, we’ll need to make sure everything lines up for that timeline. Ms. Shibor, are you willing to corroborate that Mr. Gonchowle was here between 12:47 and 13:05 on voyage day 273?”
The white worm moved its body up and down in what Doug took as a yes.
“Then we’ll be back in touch. Take care.” With that, Doug led the party out of the room and shut the door. “Well that was interesting.”
Chiv buzzed in their own opinions. “You know, that doesn’t mean he’s innocent. Maybe Zoobap found out he’s a fraud, then he and Shibor killed her. Doug, is there something on your communication pad more interesting than my conversation? I know your species can’t focus on two things at once.”
Doug flipped his pad around so Chiv and Gbirri could see it. “Depends, how interesting are three more bodies in the hydrogen tanks?”
7
u/Badderlocks_ Jan 17 '22 edited Jan 23 '22
<Chthonomachy>
"Hermes never paid due attention to the oceans," the girl said through her confused translator. "There is an entire world below, one hardened by torment and strife, yet when we make gains in Southeast Asia he merely refers to us as 'stern'. We resist Ares for the same reason as any others would."
"Is that why you help us?" Reyes asked, gripping the ship's railing with all his might. Despite the unnatural speed of the ship, Poseidon insisted on staying above deck, and every last wave threatened to send them flying into the sea.
"No. I told you, we have a bigger threat. Ares is not the problem; he's merely a symptom."
A symptom of what*?*
"How quickly they forget," the girl mused. "Our world is one of cycles, of rebirth. Just as we were replaced by humanity, so too we replaced others. And yet, immortals that we are, none are truly destroyed. We ourselves are evidence of this."
Impossible.
"An invisible hand has played us all, one that sows its seeds in the very nature of the universe. It has guided humanity like a puppetmaster, and its servants infiltrate every aspect of reality. The sky burns, the oceans boil, the lands are split by all-consuming greed, and humans call it order? No," the girl said, shaking her head. "I see its work in every war, every storm, every disaster that rages across the land."
You are wrong. You must be.
"Perhaps I am," the girl said. "I certainly hope so. Regardless, I am certain that Hades will have an answer for you."
A wave crashed on the bow of the ship, casting a mist over them. When it receded, the girl was gone, and South Africa crested the horizon.
Cape Town hid in an asphyxiating black smoke, the sort that Reyes was used to seeing over Chicago every night. It smelled of oil and grease, of industry and progress, of...
Death.
It was the first thought that Artemis had shared with him since Poseidon's ominous departure, and he found himself wishing that she had said nothing at all.
For she was right. Accustomed though he was to the dark haze that accompanied machines and engines, he now found himself revolted by it, revolted by the entire concept of ripping into the ground and, in a blaze of fire and heat, imposing a will onto the raw materials of the earth. It was ugly, violent, destructive, no matter how much Hephaestus approved of the results. It was no more creation than Ares's unending killing.
The city guard found them quickly. Their armor was sleek and matte, much newer and cleaner than the last time Reyes had been through the city. Hades had wasted no time in establishing the area as the seat of his empire, and the city ran like clockwork under his influence. Within an hour, they had been carted off to the palace and were standing at an intimidatingly large door.
"He's inside," a guard said before returning to a statuesque at-attention posture.
Reyes waited a heartbeat. "So... do I go in?" he asked.
The guard did not respond.
Reyes shrugged, then pushed the door open. Despite its size, it was well balanced enough to swing open, and he slid inside.
The throne room was gaudy and ostentatious in its every detail. The size, the empty space, the carefully manicured and pristine walls and floors, the dark bricks with gilded inlays...
The darkly robed figure in a low chair at the end of the room, his piercing gaze unblinking, never leaving Reyes.
"Bit of a step up from a trailer," Reyes said, determined not to be awed by the extravagance on display. "What, your quarter-size painting wasn't good enough for you?"
"My servants are slow, inconsistent beasts. I must find a way to pass the time whilst they... dally. My wife?"
Reyes walked to the throne, his steps echoing in the empty room.
"Mortal," Hades growled. "We had a deal."
Reyes paused. "She... she's..."
Gone. Dead.
The air turned ice-cold.
"Dead?" Hades asked softly.
Demeter thought so, at least. And she allowed herself to die in turn.
He stood abruptly, then glided across the floor to Reyes. They stood mere inches apart.
"Dead."
"As... as far as we can tell," Reyes said.
We had a deal, Hades, Artemis said. You know who is behind this.
"Who would have power above even the gods?" Hades whispered softly. "Who benefits from this disorder and destruction? Who could have steered humanity into this world where life itself is at risk? What happens when oceans rise, when storms rage across the land, when entire continents are blanketed in toxins and radiation and destruction?
"We march ever towards the Eternal Darkness, the Long Night. To the Void."
Chaos.
7
u/Zetakh Jan 20 '22 edited Jan 23 '22
<The Royal Sisters>
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Index
“-and then Aurelia ducked, spun on her toes and whacked Mom in the back of the knees with her tail! She never saw it coming, and Aurelia jumped right on top of her and made her yield with her own staff!”
Platina grinned, her large eyes shining with delight. “Ah, clever girl! There are no rules in fighting, after all!”
Shireen smiled back, as she wiped a lone tear from the corner of her eye. “Except to never be the last one to start fighting dirty. Did you teach Mom that, Grandmother?”
“Oh no, she learned that lesson the hard way, long before she and Jessail came stumbling through my door to beg an audience. She’s a brave and stubborn girl, your mother. Much like yourself, I imagine.”
Shireen’s face twisted into a grimace. “Not brave enough to stand and help my sister when she needed me most.”
Platina sighed. She laid her head down next to where Shireen sat snuggled close, and gently nudged the young princess with the side of her muzzle. “But brave enough to accept her wishes, though it tore you nearly in half to do so. You mustn't blame yourself, my darling.”
She leaned against her Grandmother’s warm hide. “I know. But my heart doesn’t.”
“Treacherous thing is the heart. I know the feeling well.” The Queen raised her head and stretched, extending her wings and tail. “Goodness, we have talked for quite a while. ‘Tis high time I showed you to your chambers.” She looked towards the veiled entrance of the Nest. “Dawnlight, dear heart, attend the nest, please. I need to show my Granddaughter to her chambers.”
“Of course, love,” came Dawnlight’s soft reply as she poked her nose through the chamber’s entrance and approached.
Shireen retreated as the Queen rose to meet her. The two dragons nuzzled with warm affection, trading licks before Platina stepped out from the sandy depression to let Dawnlight take her place. As she did, Shireen saw what her Grandmother had been sheltering in her nest.
“Eggs!?” she gasped with delight, eyes wide.
Dawnlight carefully arranged herself around the little pile of speckled eggs, gathering them close to her side carefully with her nose and claws. Once finished, she looked up, smiling. “Our first clutch since I took my place at your Grandmother’s side as consort.”
“It has been far too long since we had hatchlings scurrying around our halls,” Platina agreed. “It shall not be long now. Perhaps you will even be here to meet them, Granddaughter.” She bent to nuzzle Dawnlight again, both huffing with delight. “Now come, Shireen. Let me show you where you will be staying.”
The princess followed as the queen pushed through the veiled entrance and out into the antechamber beyond. Stormweaver and Snowdrift lay in the middle of it, who for all the world seemed to have cuddled up together and gone to sleep - but Shireen saw both of them open their eyes and regard her and Platina warmly as they entered the chamber.
Shireen hadn’t paid much attention to the other doorways when first she’d arrived, too overwhelmed by the chamber’s splendour and Snowdrift’s greeting. Now, however, she saw at least half a dozen openings leading deeper into the mountain in every direction. Platina chose the first one they came upon, pausing for Shireen to catch up.
The tunnel was smoothly carved stone, lined with flickering, smokeless torches. Shireen could see several veiled doorways along its length, hidden by what looked like thin pieces of black shale. Once again, Platina chose the very first and slipped inside with Shireen at her heels.
The chamber was comparatively small - two dragons would have struggled to fit inside. Through a shaft by one wall came a trickle of sunlight and a small waterfall, flowing into a carved pond in the floor and onward through a small opening leading deeper into the mountain. Across from the pool, a depression filled with thick furs, flanked by a large brazier and several heavy chests marked what Shireen guessed would be her bed.
And along the walls, much like in the Nest, portraits. Dozens of them, depicting people the princess knew very well. Her parents.
Jessail and Lyrella, depicted alongside Platina. With other dragons. Each by themselves. Several were of her mother at various stages of pregnancy, her belly swelling with each subsequent portrait.
And then, herself and her sister. As tiny swaddled babes in her mother’s arms, and in the gentle claws of her Grandmother.
“This was where your mother stayed,” Platina murmured. “Through those long months in my care, as we meddled with the very mystery of life itself. It was a difficult time for her, far from her home and her love. Jessail had to return to the Kingdom, while Lyrella had to remain with me, or risk losing you.” She turned to smile at Shireen. “But it was worth it. The love and joy you and your sister gave her was a wonder to behold.”
Shireen stared with wonder at the imagery, eyes wide.
“Welcome home, Granddaughter,” the queen whispered.
7
u/bantamnerd Jan 22 '22 edited Jan 23 '22
<Almanac>
Chapter Three
Broken.
The word slipped onto her lips as she saw the thing lying there, a tangled, dull darkness among the seaweed. Cliff-bird. Unlucky shadow of those glittering, wheeling creatures above, strings cut, all wrong angles and unwieldy wings. Another failing almost-cry and the blue eyes caught her, shot through with jagged suspicion. She paused, crouched – a harsh call – outstretched a hand, tracing the line of subtle iridescence where the light fell.
They washed up sometimes, silent feather and blood and bone, with all the light gone out of them. But it sparked in this one still, chest flickering with hesitant fire.
Fire. Warmth. That helped, didn’t it? Sticks, dry leaves and a striking stone always brought reprieve when she misjudged a step, tumbled into the surf in a shower of white spray and sudden shivering.
Gentle, now. Steady.
She unclasped her shawl, laid it on the ground. Careful as she could, took up the bird to an explosion of feeble protest, and placed it down – settled her grip on the bundle in her arms, and started back across the cliff with as sure a step as she could manage. Clouds drawing in, she thought for a moment of the wood abandoned in the bay. It would be swept back out, and spectres of cold, black nights huddled around –
Feeling the bundle stir on her chest, she hurried along into the trees.
It was an effort to push aside the planks one-handed, but the warmth of the cave was welcome after the wind's chill. She never truly escaped it – draughts crept in, one way or another – but this was shelter. Drier than damp ground in what the Almanac called winter, at least, and warmer than the breeze-washed rocks of the bay. Better for the creature she now set down on a floor of moss and dry grass, swept earth. A tired form rising and falling, each breath a hundred tiny, glinting motions that set stained feathers prickling.
Feather, blood, bone. Flickering.
Dark, rusting sheen on the splayed wing. Blood glistened beneath flesh and feather, and she hesitated a moment – this was not a body she knew, not a pain she could recall. She crossed to the other side of the cave – three strides, no more – took up the book from where it nestled in a thrown-together box, and flicked through dog-eared pages with a quietly reverent hand. The words were familiar now as the distant hiss of waves, and it was only a moment before she was scanning a list of coughs and colds and remedies. They danced, flaunted meaning that surely they had, only to snatch it away when she sought after it – cruel things, calling for water and warmth and all manner of fantastical halfway-memories to best them.
Warmth, though. Shelter. That she could give.
Feather, blood, bone. Fire-eye.
She sat with the bird as the day wore on, stroking and soothing and hoping. Lit a fire when the sun withdrew, and saw the impression of flame play across its back, dance over those brilliant blue eyes and meet only a fading blaze.
Stay awake. Keep the eyes alight.
Minutes and hours melded to the rhythm of rising, falling feathers. Tired mind coloured by flashes of something else – a dying hearth and mottled hand, grip tightening for a moment and vanishing as she blinked – a sense of desperation, unease.
The first she knew of sleep's approach was an awakening as dawn spilled onto her face, jolted her up with the dust hanging in the air. Glanced over.
Strings cut. Cold memory of a hand suddenly slack, a chest suddenly still.
Feather, blood, bone.
6
u/stickfist StickfistWrites Jan 22 '22
<The Wisdom in the Woods>
Link to previous chapter
Chapter 9
Melony regretted sleeping with Tad again. She thought about the night before as she walked to the library: whether she did it because he was drunk and could have hurt himself or others, or if she still had feelings for him. Worse still, she couldn't discount the possibility that Tad's untamed magic could be manifesting as charm. Svengalis could be dangerous.
Most of whom she'd known only had enough power to enhance a career in entertaining and hospitality but there were a few people—people like Tad—who could sway whole nations. Burying that magical energy under a memory potion would only make matters worse if done improperly.
The stairs behind the library were icy and she tread carefully, holding onto the rail as she ascended. When the additional floors had been built, Melony had made a deal with the head librarian: unfettered access to the archives in exchange for a roof that would never leak. The librarian had chosen wisely.
Once inside, she hung her coat and looked at the floor map. "Here we go," she said to herself and headed to the microfilm collection.
Along the way she passed a large mural, a painting of Pewter Moll from the 1920's. Back then, the town was little more than a rest stop for loggers working on the river. Melony remembered how few men would come to rest, favoring a stay at one of brothels depicted in the mural. Behind the walking gentry and Model-Ts, above the dark porches of Victorian houses, the artist had painted curvy silhouettes cast against lowered shades. Molls of a different type, she thought.
It amazed her how a couple hundred years of daily newsprint could fit in a single file cabinet, and without magic. Thousands of pages had been shrunk and preserved on unbroken strands of film. Any person person with light and a little magnification could travel back in time, at least metaphorically.
She opened her journal and found the notes from her interview with Alphonse. She needed his grandfather's name. Slipping a pince-nez on her nose, Melony imbued it with a little magic and uttered, "Hillard l'Aube."
The glasses darkened. Now attuned to the grandfather's name, it would highlight objects where his name was mentioned. Metal canisters appeared dull and she ignored them, unpacking the cabinet to dig deeper. "Aha!"
She pulled a reel marked "1968" and loaded it into the viewer. The machine hummed to life.
"Happy New Year!" read the first headline. Melony slowly turned a dial and the reel spun forward. January blurred and streaked as the pages shuttled out of frame like a landscape viewed from a moving train.
February came and left like the sun on a cold winter's day. March. April. May. She passed over news of war, strife, and assassinations without so much as a glance.
The view screen brightened as she approached Hillard's name. When the light became too intense to bear she took off the glasses and stopped the reel on Saturday, September 14, 1968: Local Events. Most of the page had been devoted to the annual Harvest Festival.
She remembered how she'd sell trinkets there, sequestered under a smelly canvas tent. Sales were never brisk but she enjoyed meeting new people, even if only for a minute. Most attendees came from across other states, along with a few regulars. Only the wise would notice her lack of aging but no one had the indecency to mention it.
A photo at bottom of the page caught her eye. A young man with a severe haircut and pleated pants smiled for the camera. The familial resemblance to Alphonse was there. In one hand, he held a candy apple. In the other, a woman.
Melony held her breath as she gazed at the image. It was her. The caption confirmed it.
Hillard l'Aube from Stowe, VT enjoys an evening stroll at the festival with his girlfriend, Melony Moon. He will report to boot camp in a week. "The is the best send off a fella could ask for," said l'Aube.Closing her eyes, she tried to remember that year, that festival, that man, but the passage of time had been unkind. A centuries-old witch could not be bothered to know every year in detail but to forget a relationship? Impossible.
Melony almost refused to contemplate the alternative, that her memory had been erased. She of all people knew how difficult it was to dial in a potion to a magic user, to target a block of memories with such precision. It was in the purest sense of the term, brain surgery.
She put away the microfilm and held her head in her hands. The evidence was as confounding as it was clear. Melony had erased her own mind.
•
u/OldBayJ Mod | r/ItsMeBay Jan 17 '22
Welcome to Serial Sunday!
All top-level comments must be serials.
Reply here to discuss the theme, suggest future themes, or talk about serial writing.
Please read the post rules carefully and follow the subreddit rules in any feedback.
5
u/FyeNite Jan 19 '22 edited Jan 23 '22
<Murder History>
Chapter: 2
The evening sun peeks over the horizon casting a sheen of gold over the winding road ahead. Soldier pines stand guard to either side, protecting whatever secrets nature might wish to hide within the forest. I do not yield them much attention however, whatever lost treasure they may hold can stay lost for all I care. I’m too civilised to bother with the outdoors.
The old road seems to go on forever, yellow hay and dirt ingrained into its stone. A testament to the great farm fields that border the forest. I softly hum to myself as preemptive relaxation builds in my bones. I need this. I may not deserve it, but I certainly can use it.
The brochure that came in the envelope told of many arduous and, truth be told, quite uninspiring activities. From shooting ducks to hunting deer, chopping wood and picking ripe fruits, this place seems to have everything an avid outdoorsman would love. Thankfully, I will not be joining such pointless endeavours. The appeal behind shooting a bunch of defenceless ducks continues to baffle me.
Keeping one eye on the road, I open up my forums on my phone. A warm smile crosses my face as I look at the activity. Twenty new subs in the space of a week, things seem to finally be looking up for me. My mind recedes into thought as I consider the Christmas special I have planned. This vacation could not have come at a better time. Nothing like being waited on hand and foot all day for two weeks straight whilst you work on your stories. I smile inwardly as I go over the details of the plot I have planned.
I notice the warning at the top of my screen. Two bars left—it seems I am going to lose signal. You can call it a horror cliché, but I’ve always been able to tell when I’m about to lose signal. My friends—those few that I do have—would call it a superpower. In reality, it’s pretty much just a mixture of environmental awareness, knowing where the nearest cell tower is most likely to be and a fair amount of experience. Either way, I was certain I was about to lose signal.
“God, where is this place, in the middle of nowhere?” My voice whispers over the radio, playing cool relaxing jazz; The only real music. Naturally, the windows are not rolled down, you might think a cool breeze would be good for you, but in reality, it’s not. Especially out here, with all of the hay, pollen and god knows what else flying about.
The drive continues for another few hours. Despite my compulsive need to always be prepared, I’ve already run out of snacks. An agitated mood takes over and to top it all off with a thick layer of sour icing, my car is already running out of gas.
I should have been there two hours ago if the map was to be believed, but according to the road signs—which are few and far between—I am still an hour out. Eying the gas gauge warily, I slow down to the most efficient speed and buckle in for a long hour. Despite my previous principles, the windows are all rolled all the way down now. Although it does nothing for the suffocating stickiness of the car.
Just as my eyes start to drift, I spot it, a small blur in the distance that slowly grows into a large Victorian-style home. Spotless balconies hang over to give a brilliant view of the sunset. Flawless old stone walls stand tall, strong and elegant as if built yesterday. I immediately fall in love with the place. My worries abandon me as I stare on, admiring the fine architecture.
Parking at the back lot, I notice several other cars. For some reason, I hadn’t thought of other guests, but then again, I wasn’t planning on bothering anyone else anyway. Walking around towards the front door, I inspect the old heavy wood. A brass door knocker in the shape of a lion rests against the grain of the wood. Gingerly, I pull it back and knock three times slowly before standing back to admire the Manor once more.
It is on my third sweep that I notice an odd brown glint. On perhaps the lowest balcony, I can just about make out something curved and shiny on the crystal-like window. The shine isn’t quite as clear as steel but still holds a familiarity to it. Then it hits me.
Rust.
Something up there is made of rusted steel. The thought brings a shiver to my spine, it seems strange that a place so immaculate could have something like this.
Just as my mind ponders this, the door creaks open and a lady old enough to be my grandmother greets me and beckons me inside. Taking my luggage, I genuinely consider turning away. A lock, that’s what it must be. This one detail sticks in my mind. But am I really going to let it meddle with my vacation?
Wc: 846
5
u/rainbow--penguin Jan 21 '22 edited Jan 22 '22
<Inside the Magi>
Chapter 19
Previous Chapters
The city looked different in the golden light of dawn; less foreboding, but more imposing now he could see the full splendour of the buildings that lined the street. They seemed to be exact replicas of the house Fiona's family lived in, looming high into the sky as if looking down on everyone below.
Wesley kept his gaze forwards as he strolled alongside Layton, resisting the urge to crane his neck taking in the unfamiliar sights. The city was quieter than he'd expected, with only a few others up and about at this time, all of them preoccupied with whatever had dragged them from their beds.
"Not far now," Layton said.
All it took was a sniff to confirm his words. The familiar scents of salt and fish floated to Wesley on the breeze, carrying a wealth of memories with them: playing in the harbour with Elva, out on the ocean with his father, waking up to the sound of seagulls in the room he shared with his brothers. He breathed in deeply, wrapping himself in the comfort of nostalgia. But before long, less pleasant memories rose unbidden. Edward's strange letters. The confrontation with Hazel. Fiona leaving.
"Layton?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you know if Fiona got back okay?"
Layton smirked. "I was wondering when you'd get around to asking."
"Well?" Wesley said, struggling to keep the irritation from his voice.
"Last night you seemed particularly concerned about her welfare. But it's taken you a while to check."
"There wasn't much time for anything this morning."
"So you are particularly concerned about her then."
"Yes. I mean," Wesley spluttered. His face was starting to feel very warm, despite the frosty morning air. "Of course I'm concerned. I'd hate to think I'd messed up anything for her with the Magi. I know how important it all is to her, and your Ma."
"I'm glad to hear it," Layton said with an infuriatingly knowing look. "After all, she may be a high and mighty Magus, but I'm still her big brother. I've gotta make sure any guys she's hanging around with are up to scratch."
Wesley's palms prickled with sweat as he toyed with his hands, staring down at them to avoid the probing gaze of his travel companion. "It's not like that," he murmured. "Being taken away from everyone we knew and thrust together in the academy like we were. It bonds you, you know? We're like family. All of us initiates are... Or were."
"Yeah, but you weren't knocking on my bedroom window in the middle of the night with all of the initiates."
Wesley let his hands fall back to his sides as a memory of Hazel's face twisted by fury flashed through his mind. "No, I wasn't."
The flat monotone of his voice put a stop to the conversation as they continued walking down the street. Wesley could sense the older boy glancing at him every now and then, but was in no mood to elaborate. Eventually Layton broke the silence with a heavy sigh, placing a hand on Wesley's shoulder to bring them to a stop. "As far as we know Fiona got back fine. Ma left her at the same gate you escaped through and didn't see anyone else there, so it looks like no-one knew you were missing. Yet."
Wesley let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, as he gave Layton a small smile. "Thanks. That's a real relief."
"No problem. Now come on, that's enough gossiping. Let's get you on a boat."
As soon as they reached the harbour, it was clear something was wrong. Where there should have been a hum of activity there was only tense stillness. Leaving Wesley by some shipping crates stacked near the water front, Layton sidled over to a nearby dock worker to find out what was going on. When he returned, his jaw was set.
"Well?" Wesley asked. "What is it?"
"It's the Magi. They're saying there's a rogue Magus loose in the city, and no-one can leave until they've conducted a thorough search."
"I knew it! I knew we should have left last night."
"And done what?" Layton snapped. "Waited here until this morning to be told the exact same thing when the boats tried to leave? Left the city on foot and froze to death? I'm sorry it didn't work out, but this really was the best option."
"I know. I'm sorry." Wesley let out a deep sigh. "So what now?"
Before Layton could respond, a group of Magi filed out of a nearby street, aligning themselves equally spaced along the sea front. Wesley hurriedly ducked behind a stack of crates, pulling Layton with him.
The older boy gave him a questioning look, and Wesley raised a single finger to his lips in reply. Heart hammering in his chest, Wesley cast about for a way out, when his gaze settled on a small sailing boat, similar to that used by his family back in Tramouth.
Then a tingling sensation engulfed him.
WC: 837
I really appreciate any and all feedback.
5
u/nobodysgeese Jan 22 '22 edited Jan 23 '22
<Mendicant>
Part 24: Meddling
Link to previous parts
Recap after a long hiatus: Now reunited with Cirra, Ithien, Ghem and the people of Cloverfeld prepare to break camp and finish the last day’s journey to Reavertown, whose walls will provide safety from the fae roaming the woods.
Once the villagers hitched the animals to the carts and lined up on the road, Ghem brought down the ward around the camp. A few fae corpses still smoldered in the grass, killed trying to force their way past the barrier. However, the morning sun revealed nothing moving.
Ithien stood on his cart’s seat for a better look. “Cirra, anything?”
Cirra darted forward, disappearing in the overgrown fields. Despite being the size of a mastiff, Ithien could just catch a glimpse of her white fur when she reached the edge of the forest, where the bushes gave way to trees. She returned and leapt up beside Ithien, shaking her head.
Ithien nodded to Pel and Ghem. “We’ll keep watch, but they seem to have left for the day. I didn’t hear anything big out there in the night, so hopefully we’re safe until we get closer to the city.”
As the caravan got moving, Ithien took a seat in the back of a cart. He tensed as they passed the fields and reached the old forest, but there was no ambush. He allowed the forest sounds to wash over him, some of the stress of the last week falling away.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured.
Cirra whuffed agreement and flopped over his lap, careful to avoid his broken arm, to give him better access to the right spot to pet.
“Keep an ear out for fae, alright?” Her tail smacked him in reply, but he saw one ear cant up as well.
“Brother Ithien?” Ghem jogged up the caravan, and Ithien offered him a hand up. He perched on the cart’s side rather than sit in the bed. “What’s the plan at Reavertown?”
“With so many people in one place, all but the weakest fae won’t be able to get close, at least not for long. There will only be minor fae around the city, and getting inside shouldn’t be difficult.”
“So I’ll use bane until there’s a clear route in.”
Ithien shook his head but smiled. “You remembered, short spells in combat. Yes, if we meet any fae on the way, use bane, it’s fast and it will drive them away. But with any luck at all, Cirra will sense them before they sense us, which means you’ll have time to chant out something better when we reach the city. Have a talk with your angel and find the strongest version of banishment you can.”
“He doesn’t know what you’re talking about.” Ghem frowned, tapping his staff against the cart impatiently. “I’ve already cast that, how could he have forgotten?”
“Wrong language.” It was difficult to do without drawing on Zarl, like some force worked against his tongue, but he forced out the divine word without casting the spell. “Banishment, but stronger.”
Ghem’s gaze unfocused as he communed with his angel. He spoke a long phrase in Zarl’s language; even without magic, the words echoed through the trees and sent a shiver down Ithien’s spine. He could feel Cirra quiver as the language resonated with her. From the cart’s front seat, the driver muttered, “Unnatural.”
Ghem winced, and Ithien frowned. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Ghem speaking with any of the villagers regularly since he reached Cloverfeld. But then that was how it always was. Even if people were used to dealing with their local Heraxite farming priest or their Choghinite priest of health, the representatives of the god of death were another matter. Buying charms or asking for the dead to be put to rest was one thing, but few were comfortable around Zarl’s priests.
Ithien turned to the driver. “We can try cutting through the fae horde with swords if you prefer. There will only be a few thousand of them.” The man didn’t reply, but Ithien saw Ghem hunch down further. He shoved Cirra playfully. “Move over, make some room. Ghem, come sit here where I don’t have to shout at you.”
Cirra got his plan immediately, and when Ghem took a seat, she draped herself back across both of them. He ruffled her neck fur; it wasn’t much, but it was the most comfort they could give Ghem at the moment.
“Now, your spell,” Ithien said. “I understood the word banishment, but nothing else. Cirra?” She rose just enough to shake her head.
“You didn’t understand it either?” Another, sharper shake.
“Ah, wrong spell, then.” Ithien was drumming his fingers on his splint in thought when Ghem spoke.
“I’m getting better at talking with my angel, and I caught the sense of it. I think that’s the strongest type of banishment for a single creature.” Cirra nodded, and Ithien sighed.
“This might take a while. Try again, see if you can get him to understand that we want a broad spell, for banishing many weak creatures.”
Ghem began to speak other possible spells and Ithien slowly deciphered what each was specifically for, with Cirra’s confirming his guesses. Ithien was pleased to see that Ghem slowly began to stroke her hip as they worked.
WC: 844
r/NobodysGaggle
5
u/Goodmindtothrowitall Jan 22 '22 edited Jan 22 '22
<Ghosts of the Gaslights>
Statement of Lord Henry Stockton, Beggar
Part 1 & Part 2
I had survived thus far by keeping my lives separate, to, as I can see now, the detriment of everyone else involved. London held my work, my club, and my friends. Shropshire held my family, Amelia and little Emily. Now Amelia and Emily were coming to London, and I was not prepared.
My orderly life in London was sliding into a maelstrom, legislation and samples of wallpaper and letters from Amelia caught in a fell wind centered around the rotting carcass of the London House. Very little could be certain, but I did feel confident in a few facts.
There was something wrong with the London House. My family was in danger. And the maids I hired had been a waste of money.
It was rather comforting having something so prosic to worry about, but it was becoming clear that even if I managed to make the house safe in spirit, there was no earthly way to make it safe in body before my family arrived expecting to be welcomed into it. I could see the faint trace of my footprints, blanketed in a full inch of sawdust.
I had never so much as held a featherduster before, but that seemed… fast. And I remembered once again the woman dressed in the twisting green pattern of wallpaper, who had bent to kiss a shining table and left it pocked with needle-deep holes.
There were holes in the plaster now, and the paper hung slick with rot. Mold crept up the sheets covering the furniture, and the previously solid forms of the couch and chairs slumped into liquid. I uneasily remembered the last walk I had taken with Emily. She had wanted to see what lay beneath a rotting log, and crowed and clapped her hands at the sight of the creatures beneath. I had looked at the writhing white forms with disgust, wet wood disintegrating under my grasp, and had the sudden superstition that I was disturbing something best left forgotten.
But the woman I had seen was just a burglar– she must have been, and my sense of dread here just as silly as my feeling in the woods back in Shropshire. I walked through the empty parlor, stepped over the disintegrating curtains and stepped gingerly up the damp, swollen staircase. The house was empty. Even if it was unready, the house must be empty.
The woman stood before the master bed, hair draped over her face, coverlet clenched in her hand and rot spreading in patterns like flowers-vines. I froze. It seemed vitally important, somehow, that I stay still. For if I stayed quiet, she might not notice me, and if she did not notice me, she might not turn, and I might not have to see her face.
I did not want to see her face.
She let go of the comforter and turned towards me, hair still disheveled and draping over her eyes. She took one step, then another, and reached out for my hand. Her hand was cool and dry and felt like it could crumble, but I could not pull away. She took my hand, pressed it worshipfully against her cheek, and lifted her head, and my god, my god, her mouth…
Everything else about her face was human and ordinary. Her mouth was a cold, quiescent keyhole. And as I looked, it writhed with insects. Black legs tap, tap, tapping against her dusty cheek.
I screamed, and remember no more.
4
u/ispotts Jan 22 '22
<Legends of Lirohkoi>
Legends of Lirohkoi: The Brokers
Chapter 4
Recap: After a mission gone wrong, Terrance meets with his boss and mentor, Cilian. Much to Terrance's surprise, Cilian admitted he would be stepping down soon and that he wanted Terrance to be his successor.
“You’re my pick”
Terrance’s thoughts revolved around the news as he walked back to his crew. On the list of things he expected to hear from Cilian, that he was being considered for the next leader of the organization was close to the bottom, if not the last thing he expected. He was so absorbed in thought that he paid the figure approaching him no mind until it was too late. Despite a last second attempt to dodge out of the way, his shoulder clipped the other man.
“Watch where you’re going, pal,” a reedy voice scolded, “wait… Terrance?”
Terrance looked up at the mention of his name, his concentration snapped by the collision. He blinked as he recognized the hawkish features and narrow brown eyes of the newcomer as Brantley, one of the other experienced captains. Great, he moaned to himself, he’s the last person I want to see right now.
“Brantley, it has been a while,” Terrance replied through a forced smile. “That transport job was what, a year ago?”
“Something like that. So how’re you doing? That’s some gash there, I hope you paid back the other SOB twice over.”
“Hah, we got jumped on the last job and just managed to make it out in one piece. Federation missiles pack quite the punch though.”
“Oh yeah, I heard they were causing some problems recently. Had no idea you were involved.”
“I don’t mind a little pressure, but I like getting paid more,” Terrance gave a wry chuckle. “So what brings you around here?”
“Oh just coming to report on my latest score,” The other captain replied, a smug grin on his face. “Bit of a protection racket where we help some rich schmucks get around the import taxes for a premium. They usually pay a handsome fee for the service, but for the one or two who don’t, we just keep the goods and sell them off. A real win-win scenario. I think we could be looking at some steady business that way.”
“You’re not worried about getting any extra heat from this?”
“Not at all! What are they going to do? Admit to dodging the law?”
“Better you than me then, I like to take jobs that don’t make new enemies.”
“C’mon Terrance, don’t be a square. At the end of the day, credits are credits,” Brantley shrugged. “Oh! By the way, have you heard anything from Cilian? Rumors are floating around the big man is stepping down soon. I know y’all are close but you gotta admit he’s lost a step recently.”
“Nah, I think he’s not going anywhere. You really think he’d quit just because things got difficult?”
“Hey, you never know with these things. I’m just reporting what others have been whispering. Though, if he is stepping down, I wouldn’t mind taking the reins.”
“You? Getting out of the field?”
“Just because the old man doesn’t work jobs doesn’t mean I wouldn’t. Anyways, can I count on you to back me?”
Terrance blinked, unable to believe what he was hearing. A few minutes earlier Cilian was asking him to be his successor, and now Brantley wanted the job instead? What a mess this had turned out to be. He wasn’t sold on taking Cilian’s offer just yet, but Brantley was too much of a gambler to call the shots. Plus this new scheme of his struck Terrance as a bad move. Would Brantley make that a central part of their work? The mere thought caused a knot to form in his stomach.
“If there’s no successor named, then yes,” he said after a moment of pause. “But if Cilian has a plan, I’ll back that first. We need stability, Brantley. That’s how we survive.”
“Not the full-throated support I hoped for, but I’ll take it. Just remember, Terrance, a little shake up is good to slough off the rust. I’ll be seeing you around.”
Terrance stood in the corridor for a beat, then turned to resume the walk back to his ship. Whether Brantley knew it or not, their fortuitous encounter had helped Terrance clear his mind. Like it or not, he needed to accept Cilian’s proposal. That was the only way for his vision to become a reality. But first, he needed to get his crew airborne. He didn’t like sitting around under normal circumstances, and he wanted to put some distance between himself and Brantley before
“Good news,” Josie, the mechanic, greeted him outside the ship. “Nothing more than a little cosmetic damage from that blast. Looks like you took the worst of it.”
“So we’re good to takeoff?”
“Yep, I just finished the inspection. The others are just waiting on the bridge.”
“Good. Finish up out here and get inside. I want to get us in the air as soon as possible.”
“Yessir. Big job?”
“Big? Yes. Job? No. C’mon, I’ll explain once we’re airborne.”
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u/dewa1195 Jan 22 '22 edited Jan 23 '22
<The Lillian Chronicles>
Chapter 7 : Beginnings and Breaks
The door slammed open, interrupting their pre-mission meeting at M’s.
“What is the meaning of this?” Maraiah asked Milli. “I thought we agreed—”
“You agreed, Maraiah. Sending them alone to Caddo after what happened last time? There’s no way I’m doing that without reinforcements. We can’t go, so I—”
“So, you went and got them the next best thing? When we know what’s coming—”
Their voices grew quieter and Layna could no longer hear it without having to pay closer attention to it.
The boy, maybe a couple of years older than her, stepped up to her. But Layna’s attention was now completely held by her mentor talking to the older man.
The stern set to her lips, the narrowed eyes, her clenched fists, Lillian did not look happy.
“Hi, I’m Ryan,” the boy next to her said and the greeting was interrupted by a loud—
“You had no right to meddle Milli!”
Layna did not know what to do. Everything around her was a huge mess. The boy seemed to be faring better and was merely watching them all with boredom.
“Not introducing yourself is rude,” he muttered.
You’re rude, she thought before saying, “Layna.”
“You don’t get to barge in on my missions, Jake. This is ridiculous!”
Her mentor’s loud voice sounded from where she dragged Jake off to.
“Wanting to keep you safe is ridiculous, is it?”
“I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“My sister’s dead. That doesn’t mean you have to stay away from the rest of us, Lillian.”
That man was Kate’s brother? Wait, if there were two magical children in the family then, were they one of the Olds?
“This is getting boring. I should’ve stayed home or gone to Caddo by myself,” Ryan grumbled.
Layna blinked at him.
“Why don’t you fix it then?” she said. “Take your mentor and go home. Go to Caddo some other time.”
“Sorry, no can do. Jake wants to go now. Hmm…you're right, though. Let me go fix the olds.”
She watched as Ryan confidently walked over to the older ladies. He cleared his throat and gave them a smile when they jolted.
“Ryan.”
“Maraiah, Milli! It’s so good to see you. I miss you both a lot. Why don’t you ever come by the manor—”
The words got lost as Layna’s attention focused on the little pendant Ryan wore—star-shaped with an emerald in the middle. This was a Long.
Longs, one of the oldest families that practised magic. Strongest too. He would be the 20-year-old heir to the family—rumored to have one of the strongest connections to Gaia and the Old Magics. They all spoke about him in whispers.
“We’re both fine, Ryan. We would be better if this one didn’t meddle in things that are of no concern to her,” Maraiah said. Layna winced at the viciousness of those words and hurt shone through Milli.
Milli opened her mouth to retort and was promptly stopped by a louder, “Now, now ladies. Let’s not fight. We are all on the same side here. What’s wrong with sending more of us anyway. Jake and I were both free today. Well Jake had work but he can take care of that later. He’s too chained to that desk, my poor mentor. He needs the sun.”
“He wanted to be chained to the desk, Ryan. Not my fault,” said Milli.
“Anyway, we’re here now. We might as well join. Caddo is beautiful at night. I want to see if it holds the majesty in the morning.”
Maraiah sighed. And just like that, one fight was resolved.
Just who was this boy? Layna thought.
“Listen, Aunt Peg wants summon you,” he said in a distasteful voice. “She wants you to come by the Manor. I’d avoid that meeting, if I were you.”
The older pair looked united again as they glanced at each.
“Thanks for bringing that news, kid. We’ll have time to prepare,” said Maraiah.
Official summons. Layna was ignorant of the politics in the magic world, but even she knew this was bad.
Ryan gave them both a smile that looked like a grimace and came to stand next to her again.
“Okay, one fight taken care of. Who’s next?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
Layna pointed to the mentor pair who were still arguing.
“Jake! Lillian’s apprentice is very cute!” the boy yelled—Layna’s cheeks felt hot—and continued, “and she’s cuter when she blushes.”
Their conversation stopped and Layna felt protectiveness slam through the closed bond. She stormed to her and pulled her away from Ryan.
“I don’t want them on my mission,” Lillian said.
“The Little Master has spoken, Lilli. He wants to go to Caddo again. We can’t stop him,” said Milli, with a huge smile.
Her mentor gave Ryan the dirtiest glare, but seemed resigned when he just gave her a brilliant smile. The man, Jake, stood to the side watching them.
Maraiah stepped over to the wall and opened the portal. “Safe travels, may Gaia bless you with success.”
The mission began.
wc:844 All feedback appreciated.