Two Destroyers, Chapter 1 (Revised) -- ProtectorThe flame in Naida's palm flickered against the mist. The fire provided light on the path and served as the embodiment of her whim. Mist tore small wisps of black smoke from the flame. She used the other half of Geldbane's gift to urge the cool murk away. The haze served as a dire warning. She walked the familiar trail between the two forests; Each were home to a fearsome dragon.
A dream from the night before had led her there. It brought a clear message; Someone needed her help in the forest clearing ahead. In a trance, they had wandered into the trees. That trespass would mean death.
Naida halted. A faint shuffle burned in her ears. The sound of leather creaked, plates of metal shifted against one another. Darkness closed around her slowly. She realized she had only heard the sound of her own armor against her body. In her distraction, the forest devoured her guiding flame.
This is foolish.
Original Short Story 17 -- Spelljammer"Too many runes," I say, "This looks like more like a grounds map for a Trudixian battle camp in an eight week snowstorm."Original Short Story 17 -- Spelljammer1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Then what do we do?" Teeyi says. She's an elvish dame that conned me into helping her out. She had officially went outside of her pay grade with this.
"Nothing." I shake my head at the network of etchings on the devices smooth surface.
"Nothing?" Her eyes widened and her irises shrunk to pin points amongst a field of blood red and ivory. She looked like she had seen the pants less ghost of Pettagalas at a dwarven dancing feast.
"Nothing," I say as I stand. I bring a hand to my neck and massage out a crick. "Guess we'll just have to put it off."
Magical energy crackled with threat in the air as the knife-eared dame kept up her impression of a fish taking a walk on a summer day in the Hellwind desert. I walk over to the chairs we had spent so much time with and scoop up the rope that
Original Short Story 02-- The DeityMy name is Bartholomew and I am a god.Original Short Story 02-- The Deity1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
I look down upon the pathetic scurrying figures below me with my scepter in hand. It allows me to make and unmake at will. With a mere, effortless gesture I can crush that which I have created.
I have come to respect the nerve of these mindless puppets have, taking residence in my creations without begging and groveling for their lives and paying me homage. They even accept death well enough in my less merciful moods.
They act as if I am not here, watching them. They go about their miserably pointless lives going about tasks. Yes they act for the greater good, to serve a queen, but they exist only for that purpose. I consider to myself if oblivion would be a better option. Perhaps they are a lost cause.
The responsibilities that rest on my shoulder are staggering. A mere well placed boot could level work that woul
The Dragon MechanicThe door was locked.The Dragon Mechanic4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
* * *
Septimer had vague memories of being six, curled up in her uncle's lap while he sat at his great big ink-stained writing table and sketched out diagrams of gears and machines and dragons. His clothes smelled subtly of car exhaust and molten metal, but it was a smell she loved because it was her uncle's smell. In his dim study, the only light was that of his tall desk lamp and Loki's red eyes, like dying embers, burning faintly in the shadows at the back of the room. Her great mechanical heartbeat filled the room with a slow, deep, steady pulse.
While her uncle worked and Septimer watched, her eyes barely peeking over the rim of the desk, he would tell her of how Loki's namesake, a trickster god of Norse mythology, wrapped himself in a cloak of feathers and flew to the ends of the earth in search of Thor's hammer. She dreamt endlessly of climbing onto Loki's back and sitting just between the giant's beating wings, wrapping her arms around his neck while the wo
Transhuman MegalomaniaDefinition: Not a new mental illness. Refers to victims of megalomania whose modified abilities justify the subject's sense of importance.Transhuman Megalomania6 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
Due to the ubiquitous nature of mods, cybernetic, nanotechnological, bioengineered, psionic, or transubstantiative, it is inevitable that certain megalomaniacs are also high-powered modders. Ascertaining whether the illness induced the subject's extensive modification or if modding cements the illness has generally been dismissed as a chicken-or-the-egg conundrum.
There is little to be done for treatment of hyper-megalomaniacs, other than necessary acts of subdual and detainment. Treatment can begin after the subject is forcibly deprived of mods and demoted to a baseline megalomania status.
If It Meant Living: Tales - LeviathanIf It Meant Living: Tales - Leviathan1 year ago in Sci-Fi More Like This
If It Meant Living: Tales
Title: If It Meant Living: Tales – "Leviathan"
Game: Mass Effect Trilogy
Disclaimer: Bioware owns all rights to Mass Effect and its characters
Content Warning: Language, Violence
November, 2190: Four Years After the End of the Reaper War
Blackdamp, Asteria: Hekate System, Hades Nexus
Liara swore she could feel her skin drying and cracking apart as soon as they stepped off the transport and into the spaceport. She hadn’t been on a planet this hot outside of a combat mission since the eight months spent on Therum a lifetime ago…and even Therum hadn’t been this damn dry.
As she glanced over at Shepard walking alongside her, she suddenly wondered why she continued to adhere to the customary Asari style of dres
Maemi's Story Chapter 6I wake up to find Leila sitting on her bed, folding my now clean clothes. I sit up and rub my eyes, “What time is it?” I ask.Maemi's Story Chapter 610 months ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
“Well good morning there, sleepyhead!” She chimes, “It’s almost 6:30 PM! You slept a lot! We’re going to leave for the carnival in a few minutes, actually.”
“6:30?” I ask her in disbelief.
She giggles, “Yeah, look outside!” She opens her curtains that reveals the many shades of pink and purple in the sky. She sighs happily, “I love sunsets! Oh, would you like anything to eat before we go? Your energy is probably still drained out or something.”
“Uhm, I think I can go get some water for myself.” I say.
“Oh no! You stay here, it’s alright!” She says and gets up, “I’ll be right back!” She slips out of the room. I fall back down on the bed, did I seriously sleep for that long? I don’t even remember dreaming about anything...
StupidityTitle: StupidityStupidity1 year ago in General Fiction More Like This
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock in any form. But Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a genius to create such a character.
Word Count: 879
Summary: The first moments when Sherlock has returned and told John he was back and why he left. Post Reichenbach Fall, Reunion ficlet. Angsty. Hints of pre-slash of the Johnlockian persuasion.
Notes: I don't know where this came from. I was happily reading along through some Johnlock fics and BAM! This wallops me over the head. Most likely it's due to my only finally having seen The Reichenbach Fall, and I'm projecting. Three years is a long time, after all, but I think John needs to be angry. I know that in Doyle canon, Watson isn't angry. Due to the circumstances surrounding the reappearance of Sherlock, it's understandable. But I think John should be angry, thus this came about. I shall now return to my regularly scheduled Post-Reichenbach reading. Feel fr
The FoxThe Fox1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Under a pale moonlight, waves washed the stony shores of Brighton, lapping out with a rush and then in again with a long and seething breath from the ocean. A fox made its way along a path at the top of the seafront, its nose hovering just above the ground while being rotated quickly by its head and sniffing eagerly, as though in search of something. The fox moved around, the rest of its body seemingly pulled along by its nose, and searched inside crisp packets, ruffled tin cans, bit through pizza boxes, burger boxes and anything else which contained even the slightest scent of food. Suddenly, a scent caught his nose and his body froze. A streetlamp spotlighted him in his motionless stance, allowing his completely attentive face to be seen by anything with eyes. It dashed into an alcove, to blackness, and checked the air for the scent once more now that it knew it was safe still there. Eventually, the fox's head poked out of the darkness and then darted around the dump
The Virgin House"Let's see eye of newt, boiled bat wings, mandrake root, and- My, my, tears of a virgin? Where am I going to get a virgin?"The Virgin House1 year ago in Scraps More Like This
"Perhaps you can place an ad in the paper?"
"Hush, Madrina, I'm trying to think." Aggie rubbed the mole on her chin. Her cauldron boiled happily in front of her. "Let simmer for three full moons," she read from her spellbook. "I have time." Aggie turned on her heel, and her robes spun with her. "Madrina!"
"Go into town and find a man named Richard Sphin. He deals in uncanny business. Tell him I wish to order a virgin."
"Can we get a cat scratcher for my nails?"
"Not enough money."
The bumbling girl shuffled her feet and let out a small meow. "Perhaps we could buy a ball of yarn?"
"No! Do your errands!" The witch waved her Familiar away and went back to work.
The day the virgin was to arrive A
TesterKitty, Jennifer, Matt and Jack stood in front of the grave of Tally Green. It had been 5 years since she died, and, as every year, they met up at the grave yard where Tally spent much of her last days before the accident. They stood there, remembering her, as Kitty laid down the flowers. Delicate white blossoms scattered amongst blood red roses.Tester1 year ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The four of them stood there in silence, reflecting on who Tally had been. A bit of an outsider, it took a long time for her to call you a friend. Defensive, she hardly ever let her guard down, never really trusting anyone. Quiet and mysterious. That’s now those who never really knew her saw her. But those who managed to get past her shield saw a very different girl. Kind, loving, full of energy, always laughing. A true listener, but, when she felt safe, she could talk for years. But even then, you could never truly say you knew Tally Green. Not even Kitty, her best friend, could say she knew exactly what was going on in that girls mind.
L'Ange"My name is Ange."L'Ange2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Everything had started with those few words. That is, to say, that the end had been thrust upon the man so suddenly that he was unsure as to whether or not it was a dream. He had lived a fair life up until then as a teenager, he had been brilliant in mathematics; as a young adult, he had decided to teach others of the joy of mathematics. Now, however, he was old. Mantice had lived for a striking amount of 96 years, with arthritis and everything. It was time for Mantice to leave and standing at the door was this strange person named Ange, who gave off a radiance equivalent to that of a star's.
"Mantice Laskalang, there is somewhere I need to take you." The gentleness in the young man's voice was something that no human being could ever imitate.
"You said your name was Ange?" A memory from secondary school sparked in the old man's mind, from a class where no person could speak in English. "Doesn't that mean 'angel' in French?"
With a smile that gave off a
The ScribeThe Scribe: Once, we all rode dragons...The Scribe2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
In a thousand years, we will not remember these days. What Calla said to Mor, what secret loves were stamped upon trees.
What will be remembered is the scent of daffodils in damp spring ground, the fire of the ship as it burned through the atmosphere and tore pockets of earth. The particular pang of losing our last dragon.
Everyone will say they were there; how they'll remember it! The little dragon, stunted and jewel green, mewling as the Other Men dug it out of its bern and broke its neck. It was placed in a bag and taken back to their ship. No one will remember how we crouched, frightened, with our useless amulets and half-formed prayers in the heaps of our houses. They'll all recollect marching against the interlopers, the dragon thieves. They all bore weapons, but were struck down. Some died. Who? No one recalls.
It is the peculiar trait of our people that stories alone are passed along through the centuries; clipped and emb
Dusty KeysI see my electric keyboard sitting by the window.Dusty Keys3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I haven't played it in far too long.
So I wipe the dust off the keys
And coax them again to song.
I play a song I've just learned,
My fingers working in harmony with the keys.
I feel a stirring in my gut,
The power of the melody.
I'd forgotten what it was like,
Playing on my keyboard.
I'd forgotten how I love it.
It's not long before I'm utterly absorbed.
I study the notes I made
When I was learning this song.
My fingers follow the music,
And eventually I don't get it wrong.
The melody plays in my head
As the piano sings along.
My blood pumps faster as my heart screams,
"Oh, I haven't done this in so long!"
I'd forgotten my love for my music,
But the piano grabbed my hand
And guided me along
Until I was back in that magic land.
I'm glad I rediscovered music.
I feel my heart somewhat renewed.
I shut off my keyboard,
And promise to return again soon.