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About Digital Art / Artist Evolat animus mei, ergo sum.Female/United States Group :iconmoko-oct: MOKO-OCT
 
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Literature
The Marsh
The First King of the Isle hated magic. It was he who outlawed it, and his hatred seeped like a curse into the land and water until both were turned against beings of mystic power, and the only place left to them was neither of these, but both at once. Hunted and pursued, they fled there, and many went further over the sea, until few remained on the Isle.
-
A man was drowning as the witch watched. He wore armor, and the tabard of the crown, and he’d blundered into the marsh without knowing where to set his feet.
He would kill her in an instant, if he knew she was there.
But he was drowning, and so she forced herself past her fear, and she called down a rope of vines and hauled him onto safer ground.
-
They thought he was dead, until he stumbled out of the marshes a week later, alive and well.
“What happened? Did the magic spirit you away?”
He shook his head
“There’s nothing in there. I just got lost.”
They gathered their things and marched away, and
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Literature
The Four Horses
They weren’t their horses. Their horses were gone, and there was no time to question why or how. They needed a fast getaway, and four good, strong mounts, saddled and bridled and standing unhitched outside of the small town’s one and only saloon, just down from the bank, seemed just the ticket at the time.
It wasn’t until they were leaving the sad little cluster of dusty buildings behind that they noticed anything really odd.
“Swallow a fly, Clyde?”
Clyde hacked again, turned, and spat into the brush as he rode. He opened his mouth to answer but only coughed again. The white horse he rode surged on, as though eager to take the lead.
“Knock it off! Save your breath for ridin’! I want to lose the trail and get back to camp now - suddenly I’m starvin’!”
The black horse beneath Gary tossed its head and whickered. Its ribs were visible, but it danced over the ground.
“You’re riding like a fool, Paul! Get your ass in the
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Literature
Heck
It had horns, and a tail, and little bat wings, and yellow eyes. It stood in the center of the circle, candle flames guttering around it, blinking up at its summoners. In short, it looked generally like a demon might look.
The problem was simply that it was three feet tall and also happened to look as though it had stepped out of the pages of one of the softer kinds of children’s storybooks, like an illustration that was meant to be generally recognizable as a monster, but not too realistically scary, for the sake of little eyes and minds.
The head summoner looked at the diminutive caricature of a demon, then looked down at the ancient tome he held in his hands. He flipped back a page or two. And he saw his mistake.
“Oh, heck.”
The demon nodded sagely, if a little glumly.
“Got it in one, sir. Good job, sir. Usually I have to explain it to people, sir. Guess it was too much to hope this was an intentional one, wasn’t it, sir?”
“No, sorry.
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Literature
The Redeemer
This was wrong.
Temel stood and trembled, staring through her visor, through the superimposed readouts and targeting circles, at the older woman kneeling gently in the grass.
It was a false world. She knew it was a false world. She’d known when the pod malfunctioned, when it crashed, when she woke up in a soft bed surrounded by white and green, by fresh air and birdsong and peace. She’d still known when people had come to her, changing bandages and ointments, bringing her fresh clothes, speaking something strange that lilted like song.
She’d known it was false. Everybody knew that their own home world was the only true dimension, the one original universe, the Absolute and the Supreme. Everybody knew that whatever else was out there was only made of empty shadows and monsters, stealing power and life to sustain its artificial existence. Destroying them was merely canceling out a negative, more creation than destruction really.
And yet the ointments and c
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Literature
Rescue
He’d gotten in way over his head.
The weird lights, the sounds, the glimpses of movement - his client had thought it was a bunch of kids fooling around the warehouse facilities at night. At worst, Evanol had thought it might’ve been a minor gang trying to move in and either claim a little territory or do a little theft. Either way, he’d do a little poking around to get the lay of the land, as it were, and then either scare the hooligans off or take whatever he found to the police as an anonymous tip.
Instead, he’d found the goddamn mob.
And then they’d found him.
He blinked blearily in the dim yellow light, trying to condense his vision into sharper lines and focus. It only made his headache worse, so he gave up and shut his eyes, listening to the muffled thuds of moving crates and dull voices outside the storage closet they’d stuffed him in. The headache rang slightly in his ears, so he couldn’t pick up on many details, but a few key words sto
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Literature
Unmakening
His Supremacy the Dark Lord Malefacorum was the undisputed tyrant of Pyrexia and the one and only wielder of the one and only Dread Pistol of Unmakening, which ran on Quasihyperfantasium and therefore had a vast number of unbelievable abilities. He was, undeniably, powerful. He was also--
“--a complete and utter tit, but you never heard it from me.”
“But…you’re one of his personal guards?”
“Yeah, and so are you. Doesn’t make him any less of a long brown streak on the underpants of humanity, just also demotes the likes of us to toilet paper…or something. All right, the comparing-whatsit-thingy got away from me there, but you get the general picture, right? Come on, keep up!”
The young man, moving awkwardly in his ill-fitting armor, stopped trying to adjust the breastplate to hang more over his breast and less over his stomach in favor of catching up with the older man pacing easily ahead.
“I don’t understand, though
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Literature
The Hero King
The dragon’s defeat was, in broad terms, well-documented. Everybody knew the story, immortalized as it was in poetry, in song, and in the more mundane but less sensationalized form of court records and histories. Everybody knew how the dragon came to plague the kingdom, and how the Hero King, then just a knight, came to rid them of this plague. How he went to the king, clad head to toe in armor, and swore to kill the beast. How the king promised him great reward if he did so and brought back proof. How he went, tracked the dragon down to its cave lair, met it in battle, and narrowly avoided death twice: once at the dragon’s teeth and claws, and once again when the fury of their strife brought the entrance of the cave down in a pile of rock, forcing him to abandon his armor, taking nothing but his sword and the dragon’s tongue as proof when he found a gap just barely large enough to squeeze through.
How he returned victorious but sorrowful, for his squire had been caug
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Literature
Unchanged
The Minister Unending died unexpectedly in his bed the morning of July 24th. This was a minor problem, as he was, as the title of his office suggested, immortal. Still, dead was dead, and so his cabinet of well-fed, well-dressed nobility quietly set the appropriate wheels in motion, and by teatime the late Minister’s son was sitting in his office with a fresh haircut and shave, wearing the official robes of state, and inscribing his father’s signature across his latest decrees.
By evening, revision was creeping through the Great and Noble City-State of Aeternita, seeping down the smallest cracks into the tiniest corners of bureaucracy. By the next day, revised stamps and seals were issued for all important documents, with subtle changes made to the Minister Unending’s official profile to bring it a little more in line with the new, but similar, face that now looked out his windows. It was well known that while the Minister was immortal, he was not unchanging, after al
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Literature
Rebellion
“Young man, you will come out of there this instant!”
The young man in question shook his head.
“Nope. Shan’t.”
“Do as I say!”
“I’m an adult now, dad. I can make my own decisions and I don’t have to listen to you.”
Belethagonor stomped a heavy hoof, cracking the cobblestones beneath his feet.
“I am a Lord of the Nine Hells! Adulthood has nothing to do with it!”
“Yeah, and I’m half-human and a Cleric-in-Training of Olam the Merciful, and you can’t make me.”
For a long moment they stood there at an impasse, the demon lord on the shattered street with a glowing hell-portal behind him and the half-blooded man in the doorway of the temple above. Then Belethagonor pointed a finger at his son - several watching acolytes ducked out of view - and shook it sternly.
“Mark my words, my boy, I won’t forget this! This is pure teenage attitude and rebellion! You get this from your mother,
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Literature
For the Ducks
Loose pages of the daily paper fluttered in the grass, spread out one by one around the edge of the park’s pond under a cloudy sky. Ducks milled around them, quacking, fluffing their wings, stepping on the corners of the paper, tilting their heads back and forth.
They were reading. If you could understand their quacks, you’d know this immediately.
“Who’s got the weather?”
“Got it over here!” said someone on the other side of the park bench.
“What’ve we got today then?”
“Raining cats and dogs, it says.”
There was a groan from one of the younger ducks.
“I hate cats and dogs. Why couldn’t it be a day for the ducks? I liked it when they printed that it’d be a day for the ducks.”
“They said it’d be cats and dogs a couple weeks ago, and I didn’t see a-one of them,” said a more venerable waterfowl nearby as it scanned the classifieds. “Rain probably scared them off. No
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Literature
Silver and Gold
News reached him by way of a soldier with a broken arm, the lower third of his face shadowed with stubble and stress.
“Helvin take me if I know what they wanted with it,” he said, his use of the common tongue thick with a Terelian accent. “It’s hardly on the map. We were only there to stop on our way back to the squad after seeing about some Dire Wolf reports two towns over. Two of us escaped. Don’t think they cared.”
The Light glimmered over Roland’s mind, nudging and directing his attention. This. This was important, it said. There was magic in this, somewhere. And there was a greater peril than this poor, Lightless soldier knew.
“Can you tell me where it was, exactly, friend?”
“Can. Will, even. But there’s no point. It was days ago; whatever they wanted, they probably got by now, and they’ll’ve been long gone.”
“Still, I’d like to see. Perhaps some help could be given even now.”
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Literature
Fly Away
The compound should have been safe. That was why they’d been left there, when all the senior mages and fighters went out to battle the beasts that roamed the countryside. The monsters never came near larger towns or cities, and even if they had the defenses should have been enough to stop them.
Unfortunately, the things snuffling and screeching just beyond sight didn’t care about what should have happened. Two of their prey had escaped them, and they intended to find those two, and soon.
Tansy screwed her eyes shut and ran through her mental repertoire of spells again. It didn’t take long. She also ran through those she knew Yarrow had learned. That didn’t take long, either. If you wanted something to change color, or to give off a faint odor, or to grow or shrink by a factor of two or three for about an hour, they were your apprentices. Not so much if you wanted spells that could kill terrible monsters before they could kill you.
“Tansy?
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Literature
Blood and Iron
The patrol found her nearly six miles from the village of Stoneford, or perhaps she found them. She was barefoot, dressed in a simple shift, with her long hair unbound and a knife clasped in one hand. Blood had half-dried in tacky streaks across her skin, and her clothes were all but dyed in it. She glided across the ground like a Queen, cloaked in an air of serene grace, and beneath the blood she was impossibly beautiful.
The patrol didn’t stop her. She stopped them.
“Nobody else in that village survived,” she said. “You must take me to the King at once.”
The knight who led the patrol sent four soldiers on to the village to see for themselves, then gave the woman his horse, to spare her feet the rocks and stones of the road. She took the high seat like a throne, though the animal, normally well-trained, sidled beneath her like it sensed a storm, a skirmish, a snake in its path. The knight assumed it was the scent of blood and apologized for his mount
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Literature
Shadows and Mist
She broke down and agreed to marry him after only a week, and he was so pleased by this that when she said she had conditions he agreed immediately.
“I am the daughter of a king,” she said. “The ceremony must be appropriate to my station, and my attire just as I have always dreamed.”
And over the next seven days she described in minute detail the decorations, the music, the feast and more, and the sorcerer-prince had attendants note every particular and begin preparations at once.
On the eighth day, she made her final demand.
“For the morning of the wedding and the ceremony, I wish for a dress of soft woven sunlight and a veil made from the mists of dawn. For the afternoon and the celebration, I wish for a dress of summer rain, and dancing shoes made from clouds. And for the evening, I wish for a dress of shadows and night air, and a crown of captured stars.”
He then understood the game she was playing, and though it displeased him to know that she w
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Literature
Risk and Reward
There was a chasm between Ignis and the golden treasure, twice the fullest length of his body at least and fathoms deep, edged by unscalable cliffs. Each side was topped by slick stone - not much traction there - and while he had wings, they were too small for true flight. With some mad flapping and a running start, he could achieve a long leap, but this…this was risky.
The treasure beckoned, swimming in his sight. He licked his lips.
Risky, but not impossible. Oh, not impossible at all, and completely worth it.
He did one more quick perimeter check - still no sign of the Guardian, and hopefully it stayed that way - then backed up, tested his footing, and dashed for the edge.
The stone really was slick. He nearly slipped on takeoff, wings whirring for all they were worth, stretching toward the other side, reaching--
Ignis slammed chest-first into the opposite edge, his digits barely finding purchase on a crack in the stone, and hung there for a heart-stopping moment, kicking and
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Literature
Balloonhog
“How on earth did you get into this business?”
There was a bang that made Frank jump. Quince E. Prickles just shrugged as though nothing had happened.
“There was a job opening at the fair when I was a mite, and I was the only applicant, so they took me on. I had so much fun I just knew I had to make it my career.”
Frank eyed the colors dancing above them both. An occasional downdraft of the breeze that stirred them occasionally dipped one or two far too close to Quince’s back for comfort.
“Yeah, but…balloons?”
“They make people smile,” Quince said, wearing one of his own. A sharper draft pushed a blue bobber right against his quills, where it burst with such sudden violence that Frank flinched. Quince hardly seemed to notice.
“And you didn’t think that maybe a hedgehog--”
“Nothing’s really stopping me. Just outmoded ideas about suitability. I do fine.”
Frank watched a pair of red and yellow
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Activity


The First King of the Isle hated magic. It was he who outlawed it, and his hatred seeped like a curse into the land and water until both were turned against beings of mystic power, and the only place left to them was neither of these, but both at once. Hunted and pursued, they fled there, and many went further over the sea, until few remained on the Isle.

-

A man was drowning as the witch watched. He wore armor, and the tabard of the crown, and he’d blundered into the marsh without knowing where to set his feet.

He would kill her in an instant, if he knew she was there.

But he was drowning, and so she forced herself past her fear, and she called down a rope of vines and hauled him onto safer ground.

-

They thought he was dead, until he stumbled out of the marshes a week later, alive and well.

“What happened? Did the magic spirit you away?”

He shook his head

“There’s nothing in there. I just got lost.”

They gathered their things and marched away, and as they went he glanced back at the witch in the soggy trees and nodded. He would never breathe a word of her.
The Marsh
Challenge, and finale!

Bullet; Blue ELEMENT ONE: Your story cannot take place on dry land (feel free to interpret that however you wish). ;) (Wink)

Bullet; Blue ELEMENT TWO: One of your characters must be a criminal, or otherwise operating outside the laws by which their society is governed.

Bullet; Blue ELEMENT THREE: And last but not least, your story must be written using a particular format. Choose from the list below (or roll a die for it, if you think that fate is on your side):
  1. Bullet; Purple 369er - A 369er is three stories of exactly 69 words each, that are connected by a common theme, and are meant to be read together

Dry land - technically most of the story is meant to be in a marsh (wetland) and it otherwise is set on an island. This one is kind of a grey area? I can't guarantee all the judges will feel I got this element down, but I tried.

Criminal - technically two, in a sense, though it's very implied on one part. Magic is outlawed, so there's the witch, but the man she saved also chose not to report her or tell the truth, potentially putting him in violation of the law as well, or at least of any oaths or general orders he might have to do so.

And it is, indeed, a 369er.
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They weren’t their horses. Their horses were gone, and there was no time to question why or how. They needed a fast getaway, and four good, strong mounts, saddled and bridled and standing unhitched outside of the small town’s one and only saloon, just down from the bank, seemed just the ticket at the time.

It wasn’t until they were leaving the sad little cluster of dusty buildings behind that they noticed anything really odd.

“Swallow a fly, Clyde?”

Clyde hacked again, turned, and spat into the brush as he rode. He opened his mouth to answer but only coughed again. The white horse he rode surged on, as though eager to take the lead.

“Knock it off! Save your breath for ridin’! I want to lose the trail and get back to camp now - suddenly I’m starvin’!”

The black horse beneath Gary tossed its head and whickered. Its ribs were visible, but it danced over the ground.

“You’re riding like a fool, Paul! Get your ass in the saddle!”

Paul winced, half-crouched in the stirrups of his steed.

“Don’t want to! Must’ve been sat in the sun too long - it’s burning my cheeks off!”

Glinting red in the desert sun, the roan horse peeled its lips back, showing yellow teeth. Its mouth was foaming where it chomped at the bit even as it ran.

“Keep up Harv! You’re falling behind!”

Harv stared at his mount’s neck and shoulders and the money bags slung over them, feeling at once heavy and weightless, almost disconnected. For a moment the colors of his vision shifted, and his mount’s ash-grey dapple seemed to glow a faint, sickly green. He swayed in the saddle; if the horse’s gait hadn’t been so smooth, ghosting over the ground, he might have fallen off.

“Th’nk th’r’s s’mth’n wrong w’ th’ h’rs’s,” he mumbled. He was unheard by his fellows.

They all definitely knew something was wrong with the horses within the next few moments, despite missing Harv’s insight. It was hard to deny something’s wrong when your mount’s hooves leave the ground and it starts to run through the air itself.

Back at the saloon, standing beside the hitching post, a quartet of strangers watched the little figures rise into the air, accompanied by faint screams. War grinned and laughed, Conquest smiled a satisfied little smile, Famine ate another handful of pilfered crackers, and Death…

Death nodded.

The horses would come back when they were done.
The Four Horses
Used a tumblr prompt suggesting a band of outlaws that accidentally steal the four apocalyptic horses from outside a saloon.
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It had horns, and a tail, and little bat wings, and yellow eyes. It stood in the center of the circle, candle flames guttering around it, blinking up at its summoners. In short, it looked generally like a demon might look.

The problem was simply that it was three feet tall and also happened to look as though it had stepped out of the pages of one of the softer kinds of children’s storybooks, like an illustration that was meant to be generally recognizable as a monster, but not too realistically scary, for the sake of little eyes and minds.

The head summoner looked at the diminutive caricature of a demon, then looked down at the ancient tome he held in his hands. He flipped back a page or two. And he saw his mistake.

“Oh, heck.”

The demon nodded sagely, if a little glumly.

“Got it in one, sir. Good job, sir. Usually I have to explain it to people, sir. Guess it was too much to hope this was an intentional one, wasn’t it, sir?”

“No, sorry. I’m afraid we were after something a little more…well, something else.”

The glumness spread further across the little demon’s rather amiable face.

“Let me guess, sir: immense, rippling with muscle under a horrid hide, horns that look like they could shatter stone with one blow, teeth and claws that can rend metal and a voice like thunder booming from an abyss?”

“Well,” the head summoner hedged, fidgeting with the corners of the book in his hands, “it’s not as though we had a specific list of traits in mind…”

“Terror and doom upon your enemies?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“I’m willing to try, sir. I do a very good leer, sir, and my cackle’s not half bad either, if I can toot my own horn, sir.”

“We had something a little different than leers and cackles. Sorry. But we’ll keep you in mind if we ever need that!”

The demon sighed.

“You don’t have to try to make me feel better, but thank you, sir. I’ll get you in touch with Yrx’grbruthka’dmar. He’s pretty good about the whole terror thing and he’ll usually take a transfer call from me. Good luck, and have a nice day.”

The little demon vanished, not with a thunderous boom or ominous laughter, but with a faint pop and the vague scent of burnt grass, leaving the circle of summoners to shift awkwardly as their call was shifted to another dimension. Their leader coughed and thumbed at the edge of the pages.

“Well, at least we know now,” he said. “Demons from Heck. Won’t make that mistake again.”
Heck
Pulled a prompt from my jar: You summon a demon from the realm of Heck by mistake. He's only slightly intimidating.

Try not intimidating at all.
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This was wrong.

Temel stood and trembled, staring through her visor, through the superimposed readouts and targeting circles, at the older woman kneeling gently in the grass.

It was a false world. She knew it was a false world. She’d known when the pod malfunctioned, when it crashed, when she woke up in a soft bed surrounded by white and green, by fresh air and birdsong and peace. She’d still known when people had come to her, changing bandages and ointments, bringing her fresh clothes, speaking something strange that lilted like song.

She’d known it was false. Everybody knew that their own home world was the only true dimension, the one original universe, the Absolute and the Supreme. Everybody knew that whatever else was out there was only made of empty shadows and monsters, stealing power and life to sustain its artificial existence. Destroying them was merely canceling out a negative, more creation than destruction really.

And yet the ointments and clothes and food had felt real. So had the people, even if they couldn’t speak her language. They tried to communicate in other ways, and gentleness and compassion need no words, no translation.

She’d healed, and rested, and she’d come to like them. And then they’d returned her equipment, her possessions, and she’d put it on really just for the feel of the familiar rather than with any intent, and she’d forgotten her automatic targeting feature, the technology that scanned for soul fragments and found matches, until it had singled out the kindly woman who had, foremost among them, taken such good care of her, and her gun was in her hand on instinct.

And now she stood. And she trembled.

This was wrong.

The woman said something, calm and unruffled. It sounded like a gentle song, like a lullaby. Temel shifted her grip on the stock of the gun, but her trigger finger was frozen in place; she couldn’t move it away, but neither could she move it back.

“I can’t,” she said to the woman. She wasn’t sure what she meant, exactly. It didn’t matter; the woman couldn’t understand her anyway. “I can’t.

She had to, said everything she’d ever been taught. This was all false, and in front of her knelt a shadow thief, a crack in her soul, a drain on her life and self and everything she was. She had to reclaim what was hers by right, and this woman wasn’t meant to exist.

She had to, said something small and niggling in the corner of her mind. This was too real to be false, and in front of her knelt a caretaker, a kind soul, someone who saved her life and nursed her to health and gave everything back to her rather than let a stranger die. She had to stop killing, and it was killing, wasn’t it? If they breathed and bled, if they cared and feared and cried, it was killing.

The woman knelt, patiently waiting for Temel’s decision.

Temel stood, and trembled, and cried.

She lowered the gun.
The Redeemer
Challenge day!

Bullet; Red CREATE A RELIGION -  This challenge requires you to create an entirely new religion or mythology to be referenced in the story. The mythos may be implied, or it may be delved into as deeply as you want, so long as it is clear that it is a theme.

 Bullet; Red 
MORAL QUANDARY -  There must be a scene depicting a moral quandary of some sort that can be resolved, or not, by the end of the fic. 

 Bullet; Red
 
LANGUAGE BARRIER - What's that you say? Within your fic there must be a foreign language present in some way that the protagonist cannot understand. This language can be real or made up, it's up to you, you brilliant soul, so long as it is clear that it cannot be understood by your hero.

Bullet; Red
 
CRISIS OF FAITH - FINALLY, please incorporate a crisis of faith; it should be clear that someone (or someones) are clearly and seriously questioning deeply held beliefs and commitments.

I hope these are all self-evident in the writing. I do realize that religion/mythology might be a stretch of concept, but I do envision this entire belief about parallel universes and supremacy and so forth to be nearly if not entirely religious in tone, though one so deeply entrenched in their culture that it's practically considered basic fact rather than an article of belief. Then again, the same could be said of several religions from the perspective of those who do believe so deeply.

This is a sequel to a flash I wrote last year and finally outlines where I saw that character going next in her arc and journey. The first is here: www.deviantart.com/oreramar/ar…
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He’d gotten in way over his head.

The weird lights, the sounds, the glimpses of movement - his client had thought it was a bunch of kids fooling around the warehouse facilities at night. At worst, Evanol had thought it might’ve been a minor gang trying to move in and either claim a little territory or do a little theft. Either way, he’d do a little poking around to get the lay of the land, as it were, and then either scare the hooligans off or take whatever he found to the police as an anonymous tip.

Instead, he’d found the goddamn mob.

And then they’d found him.

He blinked blearily in the dim yellow light, trying to condense his vision into sharper lines and focus. It only made his headache worse, so he gave up and shut his eyes, listening to the muffled thuds of moving crates and dull voices outside the storage closet they’d stuffed him in. The headache rang slightly in his ears, so he couldn’t pick up on many details, but a few key words stood out to him. These were words like ‘shoot, body, river, mugging,’ and ‘frame.’ It sounded more like a debate than a plan at this point, but he didn’t like what he was hearing on either side of the argument, as they both seemed to agree on one thing: he was a dead man.

He thought he should probably feel something more about that, but everything outside of his throbbing skull was numb, and everything inside felt like molasses - squishy, sticky, and slow.

‘Mugging’ was getting thrown around a lot more on the other side of the door. Seemed they were going with the version of his death where he, some poor random joe, had an alleyway encounter gone wrong. That was probably sensible of them. Mysterious bodies floating down the river tended to attract attention, then investigation. He’d heard of the incident last year with the guy who snapped and went on exactly that sort of killing spree only to finally get run down by someone in a truck. The court had ruled that one self-defense, he recalled.

He dimly wished he had a truck right now. In fact, he’d settle for a trick. Unfortunately, he was fresh out of both.

“It’s settled then,” said a louder voice outside. “Mart, get our sneak out of here, get rid of anything on him that looks like foul play, then cart him to an alley downtown and open him up. Use your pocketknife, make it convincing, and don’t get seen. The rest of you, get moving. This stuff won’t shift itself and we need to get out of here by morning. Already wasted enough time on this.”

Foosteps approached the door. Evanol contemplated death, as much as he could contemplate anything in his state, and found that he really wasn’t looking forward to it.

A bang pierced the fuzziness in his head and made him jump. There were shouts, and smaller bangs and crashes, and over it all a clear voice calling out the most welcome words Evanol had heard all night: This is the police! Stand down!

He heard a gunshot as one of the bruisers outside decided not to take this advice, followed by more shots, bangs, crashes and yells. He wished he could see. He had no idea who was winning.

Then the door was wrenched open, and he blinked up against the harsher glare of a standing work light, pouring around the silhouette of exactly the sort of man you picked out of a crowd when you wanted a great deal of muscle and, probably, very little brain power. One hand, approximately the size and shape of a shovel, reached for him. The other brandished a gun as he turned to look over his shoulder.

BANG - the gun flew from his hand, crashed into the wall, and clattered to the floor with a hole through the side of the barrel. BANG - he dropped to one knee, squealed, and clutched his leg.

Evanol realized that the sounds were beginning to settle, and he saw why when a pair of policemen in Kevlar vests and helmets rushed up to grab and cuff the injured brute in the doorway. One of them did a double take when he saw Evanol.

“Chief, they had a hostage in here!” he shouted, then moved out of the way, dragging the mobster with him. For a moment, all Evanol could see was light. Then came a new shadow: tall and narrow, vested like the others. It half turned for a moment to give an order, and Evanol recognized the voice that had rung so clearly earlier. Then she stepped out of the harsh white glare and into the dim shadows of his space, kneeling to his level and reaching out to make sure he was alive. He saw, even through his increasingly fuzzy vision, a calm, serious face drawn in sharp lines, framed by light, and a pair of intense golden-brown eyes.

He smiled, or tried to, and had one last coherent thought before he passed out:

I've been saved by an angel.
Rescue
No challenge today, just went ahead and wrote an AU thing even though I swore I'd leave D&D stuff out of this as much as possible, but our group has been talking about modern au compiled nonsense all night and day and it's really my fault, so anyway, this happened. It can stand on its own just fine, I think.
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First off, I have compiled my flash fiction from 2014 and 2015 (minus a couple of '14 pieces which I felt were particularly weak, plus one that was a collaboration and thus not entirely my own work) into a short story collection on Wattpad. You can find it at this link, and it is titled "As the Story Goes." Since they're all collected into a single simple format, they'll be a lot easier to browse and read than they are here on DA.

Second, I have created a Redbubble account and have uploaded some of my art for sale as various printed items! So if you've ever thought that some original piece or other of mine would be nice on a pillow, it's out there now. Not that you ever have. But now you know it's possible. And yes, I definitely plan on making more art for these things...

In other news, my Etsy shop is still open and fairly active, so original pieces are available there as well, including some poster prints I did to sell on my own long before I found Redbubble.

So if you'd like to check any of this out - thank you, I appreciate it! If it's not your cuppa but you know someone who might like it and you go to the trouble of sharing a link with them - thank you so much! And if you or that someone you know would like to drop a favorite or a follow on any of those sites, especially the Wattpad one (publishers look harder at the really popular writings ;D) - thank you thank you!

And if you'd like to buy any of my art - well, wherever you are, you might be able to hear my scream of thanks from there. :D

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Oreramar
Evolat animus mei, ergo sum.
Artist | Digital Art
United States
Favourite genre of music: Epic
Favourite style of art: Painterly
Favourite cartoon character: Karl, Edward Elric, Kurosaki Ichigo, Kuchiki Rukia, Winry Rockbell, Okumura Rin
Personal Quote: Sermo datur cunctis, animi sapientia paucis.
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:iconkelaiah:
Kelaiah Featured By Owner Mar 3, 2018
Happy Birthday! :cake:
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:iconoreramar:
Oreramar Featured By Owner Mar 3, 2018   Digital Artist
Thanks!
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:iconkelaiah:
Kelaiah Featured By Owner Mar 3, 2018
You're welcome. :)
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:iconcr-tist:
CR-tist Featured By Owner Mar 3, 2018
Happy birthday! May it be a fortunate one :D
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:iconoreramar:
Oreramar Featured By Owner Mar 3, 2018   Digital Artist
Thank you!
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:iconcuzzyscurse:
CuzzysCurse Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2018
Happy Birthday! Rainbow Cream Cake with candles 50x50 icon 
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:iconoreramar:
Oreramar Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2018   Digital Artist
Thanks!
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:iconirennia:
Irennia Featured By Owner Jul 12, 2017
WAAAHHH. I see a fellow epic music lover. By any chance, do you know of Two Steps From Hell?
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:iconoreramar:
Oreramar Featured By Owner Jul 12, 2017   Digital Artist
Yep! Love their stuff.
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:iconirennia:
Irennia Featured By Owner Jul 12, 2017
<3 <3 <3 And I am in wholehearted agreement! :)
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