Empoleon666

For two decades, Penelope had lived without her husband. In the last years of his absence, even the halls of Ithaca had begun to feel as though they no longer belonged to her. Suitors filled her husband's house, eating his cattle and drinking his wine, each one certain he would be the last man standing with open arms when the queen finally gave up hope. By day Penelope wove a burial shroud for the aging Laertes, her father-in-law, claiming she could not remarry until she had finished the cloth he would one day need for his funeral. By night she unraveled what she had made. The suitors believed this was only a delay. They never asked what she did with the loosened thread once the loom stood empty and the hall slept. She had found other uses for it, in the dark, alone, tying her own wrists and working them free again. Twenty years is a lifetime to wait, and the suitors had stopped pretending to be patient themselves. Antinous spoke openly now of taking the house by force if she would

“And now,” the Dungeon Master announced, “the final battle.” A red notification flashed across Zatanna’s vision. FINAL ENCOUNTER FAUSTUS THE LICH ROLL FOR INITIATIVE The D20 spun for Zatanna. 14. INITIATIVE ORDER 1. CAINE 2. FAUSTUS 3. ZATANNA 4. BRYNDA 5. CANARIS 6. UNDEAD GUARDS (x8) Zatanna quickly checked the resources still hovering at the edge of her vision. SPELL SLOTS REMAINING LEVEL 1: 2 LEVEL 2: 3 LEVEL 3: 0 LEVEL 4: 0 LEVEL 5: 0 LEVEL 6: 1 LEVEL 7: 1 “Two big spells left in me,” she muttered. Faustus’s empty eyes fixed on her. “I’ve been expecting you, magician.” “You knew those feeble chains couldn’t hold me either, huh?” Zatanna quipped at him. The lich lifted one bony hand, and the ritual circle flared beneath the party’s feet. “Do you feel that? The hum in the stone, the dead breathing in the dark beneath us? Living things waste magic. You spend it on tricks and applause. Then you rot, taking everything you learned into the ground with you. I corrected that

The four adventurers left the cell block behind with loose chains still clattering faintly in the chambers behind them. Zatanna took one last look down the circular hallway before turning toward the spiral staircase. The stone steps climbed along the inside of the tower, vanishing into darkness broken only by red torchlight and the occasional flash of lightning through narrow arrow slits. Before they reached the first step, Caine stopped. She lifted one hand. Brynda frowned. “What is it?” Caine pointed toward a recessed alcove beside the stairwell. At first glance, it looked decorative: three suits of rusted armor standing beneath a cracked stone arch. Then Zatanna noticed the objects mounted behind them: weapons and gear displayed as trophies. A yellow feathered cloak hung from a hook, torn but intact. Beside it rested a polished silver lute, a short blade, and a belt lined with small glass vials. Canaris’s expression darkened. “That’s mine.” Brynda pushed past them with a low

The two remaining cell doors loomed ahead of Zatanna and Canaris. One sat ominously silent at the far end of the hall. The other door practically radiated brute force. Thick black chains crisscrossed the reinforced metal surface, each glowing faintly with red rune-light that pulsed like a heartbeat. Every few seconds the entire door shuddered violently. Something inside was pulling against the restraints hard enough to shake the stonework. Canaris winced. “Oh boy,” she said quietly. “Someone isn’t happy in there.” Another thunderous metallic clang echoed from inside the cell. The chains on the door snapped taut for half a second before settling again. Zatanna approached the door carefully. “Friend of yours?” Canaris shook her head. “No. But I heard the goblins talking about her before Faustus captured me.” She glanced uneasily at the door. “Apparently Faustus captured some kind of northern gladiator to drain her strength for himself.” Another impact slammed into the far side of

The fluorescent lights of Gotham’s Tabletop Game Shop hummed, casting a glow over the tightly packed floor. Rulebooks, painted miniatures, and colorful dice towers filled the surrounding shelves, framing the makeshift wooden stage where a charity livestream was underway, raising money for a local youth literacy program. Zatanna Zatara was the night’s star attraction. In her classic black-and-white magician’s outfit, complete with her top hat, fishnet leggings, and polished white gloves, she commanded the spotlight. With a flourish and a tap of her wand on the brim, she conjured a shower of Pokémon cards raining out from her hat. “And for my next trick…” she began before holding her stomach. She coughed into her hand, revealing an Espeon card. “Whoops. I guess I was gonna catch them all, one way or another.” Laughter rippled through the mix of teenagers, parents, and wide-eyed children. Marty and Jerry DePrice, the shop’s sibling owners, watched proudly from the sidelines. As the

History has not been especially kind to the outlaw. Jesse James, Billy the Kid, and Butch Cassidy have been romanticised in campfire stories and Hollywood pictures, sure. But each of them were ultimately brought to justice in the most inconvenient ways imaginable: shot in the back, ambushed by a posse, or in the case of one particularly unlucky desperado, condemned to face a firing squad on a warm Saturday afternoon in front of the entire neighbourhood whilst wearing fishnet stockings and a bow tie. That last one was me, obviously. oOo Perhaps I should explain. Every summer, my town holds its annual community fair, the kind of wholesome neighborhood institution that smells of cotton candy and sunscreen, that features a bouncy castle of questionable structural integrity, and that raises money for a local cause. This year it was a new roof for the community hall, which had developed a leak above the stage. I had been booked as the headline act: The Amazing Wanda, engaged to provide

Gotham City Court Judge Maria Reva gripped the steering wheel of her sedan as rain poured down on the windshield. She was blocks away from her gated community, already rehearsing her opening address for tomorrow's hearing. She didn't notice the blacked-out armored truck with a large silver trailer idling in an alleyway until it pulled out in front of her, forcing her to slam on her brakes. The trailer doors swung open, and a heavy hydraulic arm shot out, hooking into Reva's front axle and lifting the front of her car off the pavement. Maria threw the car in reverse and stamped the gas, but her tires spun uselessly. The arm dragged her car all the way inside the trailer. Before she could open the door to run, metal pincers shot out from the sides and clamped over each door, sealing her in. “Maria Reva," a distorted voice boomed from the truck's speakers. “You have been found guilty of gross negligence in the protection of this city. You are being moved to a high-security holding

The Batcave's lights stayed low. The training platform sat beneath a single broad lamp, and everything else fell away into shadow and quiet hum. Princess Diana of Themyscira adjusted her bracelets. Ten feet away, Cassandra Cain stood in full costume, utility belt high and tight at her waist. Through the full-face cowl, Cass watched her with the gaze of a student and predator. Diana wore her own full-armor battle dress: lasso at her hip, tiara set, hair tied back. She gave Cassandra a slight nod. "You may make the first move." Cassandra closed the distance, her boots barely a whisper on the mat. A low kick snapped at Diana's front leg. A palm strike followed, straight for the chest. Diana turned, took it on her bracelet, then answered with a short hook to the ribs. Cassandra folded her midsection back, stomached the pain, then stepped in and drove a shoulder into Diana's stomach. Diana caught the wrist with one hand, the elbow with the other, pivoted her hips, and sent her skidding