N/Ameless Art

Hello! I am looking to improve my writing and drawing skills so that is what I will be posting here. Hearing honest thoughts and opinions would be greatly appreciated! Also on: Reddit - u/N-AmelessCreative Instagram - @n_amelesscreative Wattpad - N-Ameless (nothing worthwhile here yet)

[n-amelessart]

About This Blog

Hello! This blog was started for the purpose of getting my drawings and writing out into the world and getting feedback. I would love to hear your constructive criticism so that I can improve upon these skills! Don’t be afraid to reach out and give your thoughts!

[n-amelessart]

Absconding Hero

[Fantasy, 1512 words]

When I came to it only took a moment to determine that I was not, in fact, dead. The Home of Lords would never be this bitterly cold, nor would I still be sore from my unfortunate encounter with the mountain’s wildlife. Sitting up against the violent protests from my body, I took note of my surroundings.

The room is small, hardly enough space for even one person to live in. The lower half of the walls are packed dirt and wooden restraining walls carved with holy words. The only things here are what could be called generously a door that stopped the wind and snow, the cot I was am laying down on and a wooden pack frame with a bedroll and neatly tied up sacks that presumably holds everything else a person would need to live on a mountain. Trying to stand proved to be a terrible idea, my whole body feels like it is getting struck by a hammer over and over in time with my heartbeat. Pulling off my gown which had been modified for the cold was an ordeal that left me sweating in spite of the cold, but I needed to see the extent of my injuries.

Bruises and angry red scratches cover most of my body with a single massive bruise that has turned the entirety of my left shoulder, chest and neck nasty shades of black, blue, purple, yellow and green. Considering the cause, I am in remarkably good shape. Something with the bruise on my chest caught my eye, a reddish brown pattern is barely visible amongst the more violent colorations. It took several moments of peering at the symbols before I realized that these are holy words, that knowledge immediately identifying the words even though I could only see them upside-down. That would explain why I am not dead. Figuring that what I need most of right now is rest, I slowly pulled back on my gown and arranged myself the best I could on the cot. It was perhaps fifteen minutes of doing nothing except for attempting to sleep while withstanding wave after wave of constant pain before the “door” to the have buried room opened.

“You’re awake,” it was said as a statement rather than a question.

Opening my eyes, I saw the man who saved me. Though he could have been mistaken for a burly mountain man, there are hints of a completely different man beneath the heavy coats and unkempt hair. His posture, gaze and stride are all too tempered for him to have spent his life in the wilderness. He stood out of arms reach checking my physical condition with a critical and I suspected he was calculating how likely it is that I jump out of the cot and stab him.

“Thank you,” my voice rough. “Relax yourself, I mean you no harm. Not  before you saved me and especially not now.”

He is clearly still skeptical but he closed the door behind him then crossed the room to the simple hearth, sitting on the ground back against the wall facing me in the cot.

“Who sent you?”

“The Servants of the Lords sent me and three other groups out into these mountains. I was separated from my group... How long have I been recovering? Three days before then was when we lost each other.”

“How many people per unit?” He asked, ignoring my question.

“Will you hurt them?

“I won’t kill them.”

“... each group was dispatched with three apprentices and two squires.”

He fell silent for a time, thinking. Eventually, he reached over to his pack frame and pulled out a handful of dry sticks which he tossed onto the embers. One after another, the wood caught fire, growing into a proper hearth.

“The answer is clear, but you must say it,” he said breaking the silence. “What is the Servants’ purpose for sending you here?”

He did not turn to face me when he asked this and he kept any emotion behind a face that would have been called expressionless if it were not so tired.

“We are tasked with bringing you back so that you can fill your role.”

Sighing, he stood back up and grabbed his pack frame, slinging it over his shoulder.

“You’ll fully recover by winter’s end so stay here until then. There is a hole under the cot with enough food to get you through the season if you ration it out properly.”

“You won’t stay? Is this not your home?”

“I’ll make another. Somewhere the Servants can not find.”

Craning my neck to watch him leave was horribly painful so I gave up, dropping my head back down to rest and instead speaking.

“Why do you run?” Immediately, I regretted saying anything. The tension that filled the small room pushed away my pain momentarily and replaced it with a nervous cold sweat. All at once, every warning I was given about this man came rushing back. Stories of his bloody escapes, rumors of his skill with a sword and the implicitly understood power he wields as the Chosen.

“Run?”

I held my breath.

“Tell me, young squire of the Lords,” his voice holding an edge I did not want to test. “Do the Lord’s Laws apply to all? Are there any exceptions to the Laws?”

“No, there are no exceptions.”

“None at all?”

“Not even the Lords can disobey the Laws.”

“Now tell me what the Gifts are.”

“I... I do not follow. Where is it you are going with these questions””

“Young squire, the first and greatest Gift the Lords bestowed upon their creations is Separation. Distinction of oneself from another. That is why the Lords number in the dozens, the people are millions and why I am not you and you are not me. If not for this fact, there would be no Laws to break or Transgressions to commit as there would be no Other to hurt. That is the faith I grew from child to adulthood with and the faith I held when I condemned myself to a life of war as a solider, to save Another from the wounds war inflicts upon the innocent. So why then, is there a Chosen? Why, young squire?”

“Being Chosen is a gift granted from the Lords,” my answer calculated but true to the teachings. “Strength beyond mortal man to quell Transgressors and divide the Lingering One.”

“Was that not what I was doing? Going to war to stop those very sins? To protect Another from Transgressors?” He moved away from the door and into my line of sight, his expression exhausted despite the hard strength in his voice. “I did not ask to be Chosen, it is not something I had decided for myself. Rather, the Lords themselves are the ones who burdened me with a fate, a life not their own to direct as they wish. Young squire, I am a devoted man but my Distinction has been taken from me by those I have no hope of freeing myself from. The Lords have broken their own Laws while I still cling to them. Let it be known that I am not trying to sway your faith, I only wish for you to understand why I must never take up this mantle of Chosen. My faith will continue as will my prayers, regardless the fact that who hears them now is not known to me. 

“When the season ends and you can return to the Servants, tell them that it is my unshaken faith that keeps the Chosen away. Label me a heretic, but I shall meet my end with more devotion to our faith than the Lords themselves. May your recovery be swift and painless. With luck, we shall never meet again.”

Again he stood and again he made to leave.

“Wait.”

“Did I not just make myself very clear?”

“As you refuse the responsibility, you should return the sword so that it may be given to another.”

“That piece of metal can be wielded by myself alone, though you are welcome to take it if you can. It is buried in a meadow directly east of here, at the foot of the boulder.”

“You... you buried the Sword of the Lady?”

“It never stays buried for long, the thing has a despicable tendency to move on its own. Again, please take it if you can.”

With that, he stepped out into the snow and cold, shutting the door to leave me in a tiny room with nothing more than a weak fire, a cot and supposedly a store of food beneath me. His words sank in uncomfortably, so I pushed them out with prayer. A prayer for my health, a prayer for the other squires and apprentices, a prayer for a swift winter and a prayer for summer to come before spring. I did not want to recount the Chosen’s words back the Servants, my stomach churning at the thought of it alone. May luck favor me, a demotion would be horribly embarrassing.

[n-amelessart]

[AUDIO RECORDING ATTACHED TO REPORT SUBMTED BY MATRON GATE COMMUNICATIONS TOWER]

RECEIVED BY: Matron Gate

SENT BY: UNKNOWN

DATE: 143/79 NC

TIME: Ert- 7:21AM UTC

[START TRANSCRIPTION]

[A channel activates to soft static.]

> Iosha: What channel is that?

> Elek: Oh damn! It’s here! It’s them!

[Chairs squeak and wheels roll against the floor.]

> Elek: Ready?

> Iosha: ...My name is Iosha, Senior Communications Handler for the Matron Gate, formerly reported as Operator One.

> Elek: I am Elek, Recruit Communications Handler for the Matron Gate. I was Operator Two in the previous report.

> Iosha: As per the orders of Chief Iane and the Exploration Department, every incoming message from the Drifting City will be recorded for... some reason.

> Elek: That isn’t very professional.

> Iosha: Shut up and turn up the volume on that channel. Start the trace too.

[Static grows louder. Static is sustained for 2 min 34 seconds.]

>Sender 1 (S1): *unintelligible through static* - just saying that you would be interested if you could be... Nope. *Microphone brought very close to Sender’s mouth.* Let it be known that in addition to being a liar, Captain Jackass has never once felt an emotion besides a general and constant irritation. *Microphone is pulled back to a suitable distance.* I, on the other hand, have never spoken a lie. What is recorded here can be taken as absolute, unbiased, perfect, objective, total and complete -

> Elek: This is the valuable data we need to record?

> Iosha: Shh. 

> S1: - truth. Here are some truths now: the hallway is dark, the hallway is long, Jackass had his spine put in place through his ass and I am bored... Hey, you said chronicling things would be fun... Fun, time-consuming, same thing... I’ve been doing this for a half hour already... Yeah but that half hour wasn’t fun. Hallways, hallways, hallways, storage rooms, warehouses, hallways, closets, stairwells, hallways and did I mention hallways? I can only say the same thing so many times... hey wait!

[Grunts, pulled fabric and the transmitter hitting the ground can be heard. There is a pause and the transmitter is picked up.]

> Sender 2 (S2): Dumbass has been relieved of the duties of a chronicler and authority has been transferred to me. Considering - *S1 agitated in the background* - CONSIDERING the quality of the contents in this and the previous recording, I will start fresh. Recording device was discovered in what is assumed to be the Bridge, judging by the large window, the consoles and window-facing chairs, roughly a week ago. Since then, we have since travelled approximately 800 kilometers and have not found anything of interest. “Interest” is the wrong word. More like, “useful.” As stated in a... previous record, we are hoping to find protection for our feet. And if we happen stumble across a way to fix Dumbass’s arm, we will do that as well... That is all for this record. How do I turn this -

[Transmitter hits the floor again and is picked up immediately after.]

> S1: That has to have been the least interesting string of words anyone has ever said. But the great thing about you is that you prove me wrong all the time. Anyways, where was I? Oh right. Hallways. Lots of them. I am probably an expert in hallways at this point. Maybe I can brag about that when we met someone who doesn’t want to kill us, haven’t seen a person like that in a while so it should be about time we find another. Hmm... what else what else? Hmmm... I like the color purple. Apparently, I can’t actually see it but I like it anyways... *S2 in the background* No, I don’t want you to explain it. Let me just like the color. Oh! Wait, let me guess. Your favorite color issss... grey? ...Oh? Long silence? Am I right? Is Captain Jackass that predictable?... Slate isn’t a real color! Shut up! You even make winning feel bad. You must have given me a virus somehow.

[The channel falls silent for 4 minutes 23 seconds.]

> S1: Well. I guess that’s it. This concludes this record.

[Channel cuts off.]

> Iosha: What did you find?

> Elek: I was right, the transmission is from outside the Belt. Way outside the Belt. What did you say was the furthest outpost you know?

> Iosha: The one on Titan is the furthest one I know of with my credentials.

> Elek: We are way out of depth then.

> Iosha: You drive me nuts with this crap. Just say it straight out.

> Elek: If the numbers are right and the trace is correct, then... then the source is coming from Kuiper.

> Iosha: ... Give me that. I’ll send the report. This is Iosha, Senior Communication Handler for the Matron Gate.

> Elek: Um - I’m Elek. Recruit Communications Handler.

> Iosha: End recording.

[END TRANSCRIPTION]

[n-amelessart]

[AUDIO RECORDING ATTACHED TO REPORT SUBMTED BY MATRON GATE COMMUNICATIONS TOWER]

RECEIVED BY: Matron Gate

SENT BY: UNKNOWN

DATE: 143/73 NC

TIME: Ert- 3:17AM UTC

[START TRANSCRIPTION]

> Sender (S): *Static* -work? *Static* Light? But - *Prolonged static*

> Operator 1 (O1): Hey, someone’s on your channel. Pick it up, the static drives me nuts.

> Operator 2 (O2): Who could possibly be trying to reach us right now? *Chair squeaks and machine clicks* This is Matron Gate under the authority of the EUC, identify yourself.

> S: *Static* All it does is -*Static* 

> O2: I repeat, this is Matron Gate. Under the authority of the EUC, identify yourself.

> S: *Static* -it? Oh. There we go. Uh - hello! This is - um. [distant:] Hey! What am I supposed to say?... “Anything” doesn’t help! [clear:] Well whatever, here we go. Hello, this is an audio diary. The jackass over there said keeping records is important, so we will be chronicling whatever needs... chronicling. Though I’m not -

> O2: Hello? Can you hear me? This is an official channel. Disconnect from -

> S: - sure what would be worthwhile. Uh, lets see... we are currently in a room. And it is dark. I’m doing this wrong, aren’t I?

> O2: - this channel immediately. I repeat  this is an -

> S: Mmm... I guess you aren’t wrong. Wait no - was that recorded? No no no how do you delete? *Metal hitting metal*

> O2: -official channel, switch - Hey? Hello? Can you hear me? Boss, I need a little help here. I don’t think these guys can hear me.

> S: *metal hitting metal continues, indistinct shouting in the background.*

> O1:  Just close the channel, it isn’t even that important.

> O2:  You sure? I’m not going to take responsibility for that.

> O1: What? It’s your channel, of course it’s your responsibility.

> O2: Nope. No way. There’s no way I am telling the Chief that I turned off an official channel.

> S: *Arguing gets clearer* I will not have the first words of this journal be, “you’re right!”

> O1: She isn’t that scary kid. Put on your holster and tell it to her straight.

> O2: She definitely is that scary. Tell her yourself. You put on your holster.

> S: *Arguing and hitting stops* From the top. This is a record of a couple of morons in the Drifting City. 

> O1: Fine, keep it open. Turn the volume down and run a trace on them, file a report it after you get a location.

>O2: Alright, I’ll do that. Starting trace.

> S: We found this recording device in a storage room near the bridge, where we currently are. The bridge that is. Jackass over here is acting like a smartass now, saying there’s probably important stuff here but all we’ve found is broken, unidentifiable or both. It’s not like we’re engineers. Hmmm... what else? What’s even worth talking about? My shoes suck. Worn through the soles ages ago, I think I’m going to wear through my feet next. Walking around with nubs like one of those V-Models. Jackass hasn’t had shoes for a while now. Oh right. My left arm is busted, so that is something we’re looking out for though there isn’t going to a fix anywhere around here. There’s gotta be a place that could help but it’s not like we know where we’re going. Of course there’s the chance that place is busted up too. We can worry about that later, it’s not - 

> O2: How far out are they? The trace hasn’t come back with anything yet.

> O1: They said they’re at the Drifting City. Maybe that’s an orbiter? Or one of those caravan groups?

> S: a problem really. It’s been years so I’ve basically adapted. Having two arms might actually throw me off. [Distant voice] That doesn’t mean we’re gonna stop looking! Jackass is heartless by the way. All he cares about are ships. He was a pilot once or something. Next time he want’s to tell that story I’m just gonna hand over the recorder, if I hear it one more time I’ll have to remove my own ears. Sorry, but you guys are the suckers that’ll deal with it. And well... I suppose that’s it for now. I don’t have much to say at the moment so I guess I’ll make another recording when something interesting happens. Uhhhmmm... yeah. The end. [Sender leaves the channel]

> O1: Whelp, there they go, did the trace finish? ... Hello? Did you find out where they are?

> O2: Boss...

> O1: You’re freaking me out, kid.

> O2: ...They aren’t anywhere in the Belt.

> O1: What?

> O2: They are further out than... any settlement I know of.

> O1: Maybe they’re at some kind of outpost? There are a couple small ones as far out as Titan. Or what about some kind of jammer hiding their location?

> O2: ... I don’t know. Jammers can hide their location but it’s pretty obvious when one is being used and I am not getting any signs of that here.

> O1: An outpost then?

> O2: It would have to be, but why would their contact be here and not a closer orbiter or city or something?

> O1: What do you think it is then?

> O2: ... I’m going to report this, someone from the Expedition Department might be more familiar with long range communications.

> O1: Eh, suit yourself. Don’t forget to take the room recording with you.

> O2: Right, will do... wait, the entire room recording? Even when we we talking about the Chief?

> O1: You can cut out those parts, that isn’t necessary for a report.

[END TRANSCRIPTION]

[REMINDER: All recordings submitted with a report and/or with a request must be unedited for the report and/or request to be considered valid.]

[writing-prompt-s]

As a mute supervillain, you’ve managed to survive, made bank, and became ruthlessly efficient because no hero could bait you to monologue… Until a hero learned sign language.

[n-amelessart]

Rookie Hero

It’s odd. Heroes and villains are really creative people. They have to be to exercise the necessary problem-solving skills to effectively combat their opponent who, more often than not, have mind-bending abilities that have been honed for years. How is a super strong hero supposed to fight an intangible villain? How is a gargantuan beast-man supposed to rob a bank? How does a laser vision hero supposed to check his hair in the mirror? Heroes and villains are brilliant people regardless of the type of their power, but none of them know how to handle muteness. It really isn’t that hard but they never figure it out.

My power is vibration-based, it has been described as super-bass to those who can still hear. Perhaps you can guess how I lost my hearing? Whether it is sensing minute vibrations or shaking a building so hard the foundations crumble away to dust, that is all me. My power makes me a public threat, but that is not even my greatest advantage.

Heroes absolutely love to barge in halfway through a crime and have these dramatic confrontations and villains love to elevate the tension every chance they get. Usually with threatening monologues. Now, I’ll be the first to admit, those monologues are raw as Hell. It is the second best part of being a villain right behind doing whatever you want. Unfortunately, monologuing  wastes a lot of time and give the hero way too much time to think and counter the villains’ plans. Even though it is horribly upsetting to be unable to monologue, it does give me the massive advantage that means the heroes get no time to think when trying to stop me.

My last excursion was a bank robbery, a classic villain staple. Just as I got the massive city-bank safe door open, I could feel the vibrations of a window breaking and a heavy landing on the polish tiled floor. When I turned, a muscular hero was standing in the landing crater he made and pointed at me dramatically. Through his gestures and the movement of the air I could tell he was saying something, but his hero mask covered his mouth movements and I did not bother to parse the vibrations I felt into what the words would have been. What I did do was deafen him with a bass so powerful that it knocked the wind out of him. Stealing the money and gold was pretty easy after that, vibrations are the perfect countermeasure to heroes who think their inhuman strength suddenly means physics don’t apply to them. Well. All the better for me.

Today I am trying something a little different. A classier crime. An art heist. It’s something I always wanted to try. Tech isn’t my strength so brute force is my method of choice when infiltrating the highly guarded museum. So through the sun roof and into the exhibits with the most expensive paintings, and also only of the impressionist exhibit because that crap is my jam. Beautiful stuff.

It was going well until I started to take too much time to pick my favorites in the impressionist gallery and an upcoming hero arrived at the scene. She strolled into the gallery confidently, like she was here to critique the pieces rather than to stop a crime. Her mouth started moving and since she wasn’t wearing a mask it was easy enough to figure out what she was saying.

I’m assuming you aren’t here just to appreciate the art?

I sighed and picked the closest painting, lifting it from the hook on the wall. She said something else but I ignored it, she was not approaching me yet so there was no real danger yet. A Monet would have been best but I’ll take what I can get. Suddenly, she stomped on the floor, making me turn to see what she was doing. Displeasure was clear on her face, being flat out ignored must have been annoying for the attention-seeking, spandex-wearing super hero, then she did something unexpected. She started signing.

Did your mother not teach you basic conversational manners?

My eyebrows shot up in surprised approval. The elaborate frame of the painting tapped gently on the ground as I set it down to free up my hands.

Color me impressed! Most people don’t bother to learn how to sign. You’ve touched my heart, I might even turn over a new leaf!

Oh so you do have manners!

I was raised well after all.

If you were raised to well then why are you robbing a museum?

Because I am a massively successful villain, but unfortunately that is not enough. Not enough for me anyway. Low class villains will simply cause chaos and destruction, some might even be good at that, but how tasteless is that? There are so many types of villains and they choose to be mindless thugs? Pitiful. Me? The classics stole my heart. Bank robberies, art heists, kidnapping the mayor and other politicians and targeted villainy towards a hero’s secret identity or family. How is your family by the way? Or perhaps you are one of those heroes inspired by the bad or non-existent relationship with your family?

You’re quite chatty for a mute person.

Can you blame me? The opportunity doesn’t come by all that often.

Anytime you need to monologue with a hero, I am there to help. 

How thoughtful of you.

As long as you waste enough of your own time that the heroes and police can corner you.

The low rumble of engines barely reached far enough into the museum that it could be felt. the police had arrived during my... my monologue. Have I, a mute criminal, just doomed myself with a monologue? Seeing my realization, the hero jumped into action surrounding me with clones on all sides.

Damn! I don’t know anything about this rookie! Does she clone? Is it an illusion? Speedster? Rapid teleportation? Something else? There is one safe option for me at the moment.

Throwing my hands on out, I poured enough bass into the air to collapse lungs, break bones and rattle the foundations of the entire gallery. The clones stood strong. Impossible! Something struck me hard from behind, forcing me to my knees. One of the duplicates had simply walked up and kicked me in the back. The other clones were gone.

So it was an illusion! But why can she withstand the bass? Does she have multiple powers? This doesn’t make any sense! Two human-weight things hit the ground behind me, effectively trapping me in the middle of a pincer movement. Risking taking my eyes off the newbie for a moment, I checked to see who else had arrived.

Two more heroes, ones I recognize. A man with remarkable illusion capabilities and a woman with teleportation abilities. They should be in another precinct, why are they here? Before I could take any other action, the rookie woman hit me in the jaw, knocking me unconscious.

***

I work up in the back of a police car, hands placed in special cuffs to prevent my powers from being used. Unfortunately, it also made it impossible to sign. Outside the window the three heroes were reporting the incident to police, likely what I had tried to steal and the damage I caused. Bringing up my confined hands, I hit the window, getting the attention of all the heroes and a handful of police. Their mouths moved, likely telling me to knock it off but I was not looking at them. Making eye contact with the rookie I mouthed, how?

She peeled away from the pack and approached the car window before signing.

How? How did we beat you?

I nodded, then mouthed what?

She thought a moment, debating if she should reveal her tricks, then relented.

While we were talking, Smoke and Mirror, Ms. There and the police had enough time to arrive at the museum. Smoke and Mirror made duplicates of me which surrounded you. Unfortunately, he can’t make things totally invisible, so Ms. There swapped my position with one of the clones to get behind you. then I hit you, but you remember that part.

I mouthed what again, and pointed at her.

She smiled and began to dissolve. The tint of her skin turned deeper and deeper green while growing shinier and more viscous. Her features melded together and dripped down her body in large globs. She was made of slime. Two lumps that are supposed to be her hands had five stubs each and made some very bulky signs.

Those wiggles you make pass right through me. It tickled.

My head fell back into the head rest, and I stared at the ceiling, then I laughed. It filled my lungs, throat and mouth with a joyous movement. In the past I had wondered what my laugh sounds like to others, but in that moment I could not care less. How utterly defeated I was. What a perfect strategy. What a perfect ability. Getting arrested always aggravates the classic villains, but for me there was nothing but satisfaction.

[writing-prompt-s]

You’ve just completed your 5th princess rescue mission this month and your starting to get sick of how little these kings are paying you. The immortal dragon is also getting sick of the same routine over and over. Maybe the two of you can come up with a little side hustle to satisfy you both.

[n-amelessart]

A Bored Dragon

The cave harboring the Immortal Dragon has become a familiar sight to the young knight who has just entered the earthen maw. Just as the light from the mouth of the cave diminished, the Hero took out a pre-prepared magic lantern and hung it on his belt, casting jarring and undulating light on the stone walls. The only thing that the knight could hear in the darkness that he strode through is the sound of his metal armor clinking at the joints and the relatively thunderous booms of his armored feet against rock. Any other warrior in the knight’s home kingdom would have their nerves frayed by the atmosphere, their imagination placing demons just beyond the reach of the lantern’s light, but not the Hero.

He has walked through this cave dozens of times now, mystery and tension wiped away by gradual familiarization with the twists and turns leaving only the mundane feeling of one might have when walking down a hallway. In no more than two minutes, the Hero knew he will reach the deepest part of the Immortal Dragon’s layer; a domed room with a soaring ceiling that allows the dragon to stretch its wings even beneath a mountain. What the knight has been sent for this time will be located in a small alcove on the far side of space, the kidnapped princess most likely being forced to remain in place through the captor’s overwhelming intimidation. Finally, the tunnel opened up to the expected room.

Far above, the ceiling is studded with something glowing, though the Hero is not entirely sure what. Perhaps gemstones? Or are they some animal? Regardless, they passively remained where they are, imitating the stars in the night sky, only marred by a single cloud that covered a patch of the starlight. Then, by some invisible breeze, the cloud shifted, growing in size until the cloud grew too heavy and plummeted from the sky, landing squarely in the center of the room with a massive gust of wind. The Hero waits for the air to steady before fixing hos ruffled appearance. The dark shape took sharp form, towering over the knight, making the massive room feel claustrophobic.

“Oh? A lost warrior has stumbled into my home,” The voice is powerful and deep like being inside a massive drum. “If you have simply lost your way, then turn back. But. If you are here with a purpose then -” 

“Alright, big guy that’s enough,“ the Hero’s voice tiny compared to the dragon’s, but is sharp enough to cut off the beast. “It’s just me this time. No back up or anything.”

“Ugh, good,” the mighty form of the dragon relaxed noticeably, changing from a specter of death into lounging predator. “A group of witless knights would hardly hold my interest, even if you are present to slay me afterwards. So? Since it is just you, shall I recite my speech or forgo it entirely?”

“Let’s just skip it this time.”

“So it shall be. Now, brace yourself for mortal combat.”

“Actually, I want to skip that too.”

“What? Who do you think I am? A dragon will not allow anyone, let alone a human, take away their things while they still live and breathe.”

“Says the kidnapper.”

“That is besides the point.”

“Anyway, I am not here for that.”

“No? Have you not come to retrieve the royal child?”

The Hero could hear faint crying behind the bulk of the dragon and winces. The Immortal Dragon also grew uncomfortable with the sounds of tears.

“You are crueler than I thought, Hero.”

“Your Highness! That isn’t what I meant! I can guarantee I will get you out of here in less than an hour! Just sit tight for a moment, okay? I’m - uh - attempting a non-violent approach this time! Though slaying the beast is always an option! So no worries, okay? Please hang in there for a moment! You are being so brave, your kingdom will welcome you back with open arms and parades and... and a feast!”

“You should have stopped talking a while ago, her worries only grow larger.”

“Yeah - okay. You’re right. Then let’s make this quick. I have a deal for you.”

“A deal? A contract between a human and a dragon? There better be good reasoning for this or my pride will have to be restored through deadly retribution.”

“There is a good reason for this, and if things go well you can still let out some of that retribution in a healthy way.”

“Hmmm. Admittedly, that has caught my interest. Get to the point.”

“I want you to come with me to help train future heroes.”

The Immortal Dragon did not respond, but brought its head close enough to the Hero that the knight could make out the details of its fiery ruby eyes. What the Hero saw is blatant suspicion.

“Let me explain,” the Hero put his hands up in defense like a merchant trying to pacify an angry customer. “In the last thirty days alone, you have kidnapped six princesses, I have come into your home six times, I have killed you six times and I have - ”

“Five times. You have only killed me five times so far.”

“... Right... I have slain you five times and I have rescued five princesses and about to rescue a sixth. Now correct me if I am wrong, but you do this out of boredom, right?”

“You are not wrong. My immortality means death is only a passing pain, far greater agony comes from my accursed lifespan, filled with nothing of any worth. The only thing that has caught even the slightest amount of my interest is combat. Life-or-death battles have lost any urgency it may have once held, but a shadow of that intense feeling remains. So, I kidnap royal children. That brings the greatest warriors mortals have to offer like moths to a flame.”

“That’s perfect then! Since I can provide you with the fights you want while also pointing you in a direction that does not put royalty in danger. Which would make my life easier while also giving you high quality fights with high quality warriors.”

“Well...The idea has merit, but that will only interest me for a generation - perhaps two - at most, hardly worth the shame of making dealings with humans. And why would devouring warriors be any easier to deal with than borrowing royal children every now and then?”

“Actually, you won’t actually kill the warriors.”

Fire filled the room. An entire stormfront of flame poured out the Immortal Dragon’s mouth, rushing forth with enough power to fill half the cavern and the entire tunnel, all the way back to the surface with an inferno. Briefly, the whole mountain became a wrathful volcano. Finally halting the fire breath, the dragon could hear the princess’s renewed, more terrified, crying and someone else coughing.

“That was rude,” the Hero now entirely covered in a layer of ash that made him look like a shadow with eyes and a mouth. Mostly unharmed due to protective magic, he coughed hard for a time while putting out the smoldering ends of his hair and clothes. “At least hear me out until the end, I haven’t even told you the best part.”

“A fight without death holds no meaning to me,” the dragon said, unsurprised that the mortal survived the attack.

“But that’s the thing, it does,” the Hero tried to wipe away some soot only to succeed in making slightly lighter colored smears. “Leaving the warriors alive means they can grow into stronger and stronger warriors. They can become heroes after learning from their spars with you. Your immortality may not have any solution right now, but there could be one in the future. To give that hope a greater chance, wouldn’t raising the greatest heroes ever be the best way to finally slay the dreaded Immortal Dragon?”

The dragon did not say anything after the Hero finished explaining his suggestion, instead, it thought. It thought back on his ambitious days of youth and foolhardy ascent into immortality. It thought back to the centuries where the thrill of undying faded into somber realization of a stone-etched future. Try as it might, the dragon could not find a way to remove the blessing-turned-curse. This failure lead to the darkest generations of recorded history as a byproduct of the Immortal Dragon’s wrath, insanity and grief. Even that had era burned out eventually, leaving behind dull embers of empires and scorched shell of what the beast had once been.

“I shall accept your proposal,” the booming voice holds more authority now. “My pride as a dragon would have crumbled away with time regardless of the decision here, casting it aside is better than losing hold of it I suppose.”

Again, the beast lowered its head to look closely at the ash-covered knight, finding the thriving will of mortal creatures in his eyes. Such power held within a creature that is no more than a couple decades.

“I am soooo glad to hear that, you have no idea,” the Hero said in elation.

“Yes, yes. You shall be blessed with my cooperation,” the Immortal Dragon straightened out, stretching its massive body. “As my pride is now torn asunder, take the royal child with you, or should I return her myself?”

“NO! No. There’s no need for that,” the Hero blurted out as he helped the princess up from the alcove she had been cowering in. “It is the thought that matters, honestly.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. Yeah that is so. So we will be on our way now, gotta get Her Highness home before anyone worries... anyone worries more. I will be back later so we can figure out the details.”

The Hero, who is guiding the Princess by the should since she had refused to be carried out, paused before entering the tunnel and turned back to the ancient dragon.

“Can I ask one question?”

“I shall allow it.“

“Why go through the trouble of kidnapping a princess? If you wanted a fight then taking on a kingdom’s army would have been a better option.”

“That was something I did countless times already, I was more interested in the rescue.”

“The fight with a knight?”

“In part. One of the castles I conquered had a library. To pass time I flipped through the ones that survived my siege. Mortal languages change too often to bother to learn, but a few of the books had pictures. One of them was a foolish tale of a human defeating a dragon then stealing its hoard, other humans included. It ended with a human male and human female biting each others faces. Or perhaps they were trying to eat the other’s tongue? The book ended poorly since it did not show the result of the duel. It was absurd enough that I thought recreating it might be of some interest.”

The two humans looked at each other, a complicated look on their faces.

“You know what? We are going to unpack - all of that - next time I swing by.”

“Unpack it? It is a human story, why must I explain it to you? This only reveals to me how dim you truly are.”

“...Okay. We’re leaving now. I’ll be back in a week or month or something.”

“Do not make me wait longer than that, else I turn this next month into your last.”

“Noted. Good-bye.”

The Hero had, unconventionally, saved the yet another princess. They awkwardly trekked through wilderness, sharing only a few words the entire way to the kingdom’s capital. Finally, they reached the princess’s home, the castle of the King and Queen, where she the family made a tearful reunion. Later, the knight was rewarded, though in truth the reward is significantly smaller than expected. Apparently, treating the princess’s life like it was the second thing on a to-do list is not appreciated by the royal family. Which is fair. Now, the Hero has to go all the way back the way he came. He could not be late to this meeting. 

[writing-prompt-s]

As an immortal, you’re getting real tired of people assuming you know everything about the past. The internet didn’t exist back then, so how were you supposed to know what happened on the other side of the globe?

[n-amelessart]

Journal of an Immortal

The year is 2022 AD, or CE if this journal is delivered after Catholicism. I have gone by many names over the years, but presently I go by the name Matteo. What you need to know about me is that I am an immortal. My exact age is difficult to pin down but I believe I am 7045 years old. Before you start calculating if that puts me in the Stone Age or the Bronze Age, let me clarify the purpose of this journal: spite.

I have spoken to dozens of journalists, historians, politicians, geologists, ecologists, university professors, medical doctors and many more who have shocked me time and time again that such educated people can be so thoroughly stupid. I was born in the Andes on the border of modern day Peru and Chile. I know jack all about anything North of Arizona or East of the Amazon. 

STOP ASKING ME ABOUT ANYTHING OFF THE SOUTH AMERICAN CONTINENT.

No I did not know Jesus. No I do not know who the Sea People were. No I did not see Atlantis. No I can not tell you about King Arthur. No I can not tell you anything about Easter Island. No I can not tell you anything about the entirety of human history.

The purpose of this journal is to write down what I do know to send it off to some professor and never take another interview again to avoid these broken record morons. What I can tell you about what it is like to live in Norte-Chico, in the Incan Empire, among the Olmecs, among the Mayans, among the Aztec and a vast number of less popular peoples in Central and South America.

Even then, don’t ask what life was like as a ruler or as a high priest. I was a farmer. The most I can say about the high class is I sometimes saw political figures from the back of a crowd. Meaning, I saw blotch of color on a stage and heard none of what they said since they had no microphones. Sure I saw one of the Huey Tlatoani’s, but what do you want me to say? “Yeah that distant blotch was suuuuuper cool.”

I swear, with modern communication, technology and research, I can say with absolute certainty that a middle schooler who read the Percy Jackson series knew more about the Ancient Greece than I did when it was actually around. A high schooler with a D average in history is better informed about the ancient world than I was when I lived it.

Ok... Enough ranting. Allow me to write about what I do know. I suppose I will start with the Aliens.

[n-amelessart]

Thoughts on Naming

Naming things can be a paralyzing process where no matter what name you come up for your fictional person, place, animal or thingamajig, just doesn’t feel right. You may even come up with some naming conventions to help yourself out but the rules just end up feeling like a dull math problem of adding, removing, swapping and rearranging letters. Coming up with names can be... difficult to say the least. There are plenty of people are more qualified to discuss this than me, who have analyzed this subject more thoroughly and put together their thoughts together in a more organized fashion rather than just slapping together a post. So I am going to do something slightly different.

For the longest time I did not register names as anything more than a “Hello! My name is:____” sticker. Names weren’t words with meaning, they were just identifiers that are just that thing and nothing else. If that’s the case, why don’t gibberish words that I came up with don’t feel like names? What I ended up identifying as the problem is that English is kind of a shambling language with no clear naming conventions of its own but steals them from other languages. The realization resulted in some brainstorming that produced these naming guidelines: 

Name has a removed meaning

Name has a direct meaning

Name as both removed and direct meaning

Name is arbitrary

((I will have TL;DRs at the bottom of each section))

Removed Meanings 

A great number of people, places, animals and things have names that have no obvious meaning making that word a “true name” in my eyes. There is meaning, but that meaning is hidden beyond the “Language Barrier.” In a sense, a lot of names are straight up meaningless sounds to English speakers since there is no English definition for them. Can you tell me what a “Michael” is? What about a “Stephanie?” An “Alaska?” A “Swahili?” These are names that only have meaning in the language they originally came from. Like how Michael was originally the Hebrew “Mikha’el” which means “gift from God/who is like God” or how Stephanie is the English version of the Greek name “Stephanos” meaning “crown.” They have meaning, it was just left behind when the word was taken. Though sometimes the meaning of the word was used originally but faded with time. Alaska for example is the modification of the Aluet word “alaxsxaq” meaning “the mainland” (it’s meaning is actually a lot longer but this is fine) as well as the word “Swahili” is from the Arabic word “sawahil” meaning “coast.” While Alaska and Swahili are good names for the places they represent, is every Michael  a gift from God? Do all Stephanies hang out around royalty and stand on their head during ceremonies? Probably not. These names are now only tangentially defined by their original meaning and have become an encapsulation of the thing they represent. Is Alaska the mainland? Sure but most people will tell you it’s the state. Is Swahili a coast? Absolutely, but people are quicker to think about the country of the language.

Names like these can paralyze creatives because how much worldbuilding needs to be done before you can confidently name your main character? While world building is super dope, it is not entirely necessary to make a name or group of names feel cohesive. You only only need a handful of mostly consistent rules to follow. Maybe your Space Epic takes inspiration from the Romans so places typically end in “-a” like Hispania, Germania, Sicilia, Arabia and Britannia. Maybe your fairy tale needs something totally new, perhaps their names are very airy so most of their names are vowels. Maybe people’s names need titles like Mr., Dame, -san or Sire to make any new name recognizable as a name.

((TL;DR Words can sometimes feel like they are exclusively names because the meaning became secondary over time or was lost between languages, leaving only a name. IE Katherine, Boston, canal))

Direct Meanings (Descriptor Names)

This one is... well... direct. I have just shown that a lot of names might have a meaning but it is secondary as an identifier. Abrahams are Abrahams, lions are lions and London is London. Names with direct meanings are the opposite where the definition of the name describes the thing it represents. As unoriginal or on-the-nose as it feels, names for things can be ridiculously straight forward. A “locker” is a thing that locks; a “Texas longhorn” is a cow with long horns that lives in Texas; an “astronaut” is a “sailor(nauta, Latin)” that sails in the “stars(astrum, Greek)”; and “Bigfoot” is a weird forest dude with big feet. There isn’t any mysterious second meaning to these names, what you see is what you get.

A lot of descriptor names are nicknames/slang and modern creations. A person who is new to something is a “newbie”; we call our pet cat “whiskers” because they got whiskers right on the snout; and we call them “computers” because of all the computations they handle. Names with direct meaning can make creatives feel like hacks when they come up with them, but relax, it is human nature.

Name your fictional castle Goldwall because the fortress walls shine like gold and name your character Blade if they are going to be edgy! No one is stopping you and millennia of people are right there with you nodding along because damn. That castle does look gold. (A recent noteworthy example of cheesy naming is in Elden Ring. From a company with famously obtuse story telling combined with George RR Martian, they had all the creative power in the world and decided that a manor in a volcano should be called “Volcano Manor.” No frills like “Volcano Manor, Home of the Blasphemous,” no “Manor of Seeping Earth,” and no “Abode of the Repugnant” just “Volcano Manor.” Gotta love it.)

((TL;DR Names can be ridiculously straight forward where the name has a meaning that describes the thing itself. IE - eraser, sneakers, New Castle))

Mixed Removed, Direct Meanings

Mixed names have at least two components where one part of the name has removed meaning while another component has direct meaning. This usually results in multi-word names where the addition of a word can either separate two similar objects or bring together two separate objects. It can also happen as an attempt to make a word with a removed meaning more familiar by adding a recognizable part.

This happens a lot with animals and places. Examples include the Atlantic and the Pacific Ocean (Atlantic referring to the Atlas Mountains in Africa which is turn refers to the Greek word “atlas,” and Pacific is from the Latin word “pacificus” meaning “peacemaking”); the mythical Amazons, the Amazon Rainforest and the Amazon River (Amazon referring to the ancient Greek warrior women meaning “without a breast,” while the rainforest was associated with the warriors because a European explore got his ass kicked by a group of women that lived there); the Himalayan Mountains (Himalaya means “snow abode” in Sanskrit); the Sahara Desert; and the River Avon. The last two names are when these kinds of names become funny since Sahara Desert (Arabic) means Desert Desert and River Avon (Welsh) means River River. Seriously, when you see names like this you really can’t be too hard on yourself when naming things. Feel no shame when you name your fictional waterfall the “Alto Proceritas Falls,” The Tall Tall Falls (Spanish, Latin).

((TL;DR Names can come in stages, going through different hands and times to create names that are a mash of languages and cultures. IE - Gobi Desert, New Mexico, rendezvous point))

Arbitrary Names

In general, these kinds of names are pretty rough to handle because it all comes down to “what feels right.” This is because all language is built upon the fact that, one day, cavemen looked at a rock and all agreed they would call it “rock.”

For very old languages and words that have descended from those old languages have no meaning that you can break down more. The further back you trace a name, the more history will revert it to its original form until finally... there is nothing left to trace. Eventually, the word become a totally meaningless jumble of sounds that someone decided the thing with utters over in the field is definitely a cow. 

Just now I decided that “spaps” is the totally legit name for my make-believe bird-like animals that fly using wind they can generate the same way bladeless fans generate, with magic. 

((TL;DR Words did not have meaning until people began agreeing that an arbitrary pattern of sounds represents something else. IE Proto-Indo-European - two/dwóh, mother/méhtēr, star/hstḗr))

Finally, here are some quick notes about where to start if you’re struggling to come up a good way to come up with names.

Naming Context

Who, what, where, when, why are fantastic places to start. The same thing can have different names depending on the context of that particular moment. Who is doing the naming? Were the subjects of “The Great King” or where they the victims of “The Blue Tyrant?” Is the nameing being done by a human or something else? Is it “Subject 9b” or is it “Nibbles the Mouse?” Where is the the thing being named? Is it “Mountain Lake” or is it “Valley Lake?” When was it named? Is it “The Intergalactic Launch Point” or is it “The Crash Site Junkyard?” Why is it being named, for what purpose? Is it the “Archeological Dig Site -10” or is it “The Sinking Sands?” Beyond that, the naming conventions you are inspired by in real life or come up with on your own can be remarkably creative.

Names of people, places and things can be named based on any number of its own qualities and the qualities of its environment, but that is not the interesting part,. What is interesting is how a thing is described. Using a single spaceship as the foundation, the name could be simple like “Cruiser”; it could be exaggerated synonyms like “Aether Galleon”; it could be quirky like “Bottle Rocket”; it could follow administrative guidelines that demand clear identification but still has some wiggle room for personalization like “Passenger Class Spacecraft 123.SUC-MI-D”; it could be a poetic description of its creation like “Fire and steel/hammer and forge/shape and build/seal and fly” with a more manageable name like “From Fire to Flight”; or it could be something seemingly childish like a mimicry of the the sounds it makes like “Fffffuwm Pew Pew.” There are millions of ways to go with naming rules and if you stick by them, you can pull of some really extreme ones.

((TL;DR The environment and time of the naming as well as the thing’s inherent properties are great starting points for naming something, but naming rules are way more creative than simple descriptive names. IE - name is the intended goal, name is the result of a bureaucratic necessity, name is never given but rather earned.))

Linguistics

Finally, linguistics. This is something to consider if you are making a foreign culture or language and you want it to feel authentic. Basically, languages have tendencies. Each language has sounds and letters they use and sounds and letters they do not use. Deciding  what to remove and what to add to this fiction-culture language will build a solid identity for it. Something I tried once was to make a character with an orc accent and to figure out what that sounded like, I hooked my pinky fingers around my lower lip to act as protruding tusks to see what sounds I could and could not make (no b, m, or p sounds). You don’t have to go that far though. The human vocal chords (and non-human if your are creating with that in mind) are extremely versatile and capable of producing a great number of sounds but most languages only repeatedly use a fraction of those sounds. So depending one if you want that culture to feel strong or soft, you can convey parts of that in the sounds and letters you select.

((TL;DR Names are informed by the language and each language has it own preferred sound and rhythm. IE - rojo, lago, campo; l’eglise, champagne, mademoiselle; montag, bier, fisch))

And that’s it! I hope you took something worthwhile away from this and can feel more confident moving forward with whatever creative projects you are working on!

[writing-prompt-s]

After been missing for 12 years, the duke’s daughter (now 16) is sent to the royal accademy and immediately targeted by bullies. What the bullies don’t know is that the lady spent those 12 years with a clan of orks

[n-amelessart]

Orc Defense

A small group of luxuriously dressed adolescents have trapped their target at her desk as soon as the lecture concluded. Sneers and smug confidence clearly visible on all three of their faces as their victim displayed nothing but curiosity. Whether she knew it or not, the young lady had made herself an easy target for some of the crueler noble children who are desperate to maintain their position at the top of the social ladder by any means necessary, this time, that involves forcing the Duke’s daughter, Ezlaez Ize, into submission.

“Pardon our forwardness, but we absolutely had to get a look at the rumored young lady of House Ize. We are honored that fate has led you to being slotted into this class to start your education.” The leader of this pompous gang is Mich, the son of a rival Duke whose bitterness digs generations deep into the House’s history. Families of equal standing are quite the political threat.

It was not subtle by noble standards, but I suppose these vile children need somewhere to practice their verbal warfare before they become vile nobles. I bit my cheek. I could not risk getting involved with them, as superficial and petty as they are, their parents’ titles well outranked my own family’s.

“Aaah! It ish nothing to dee concerned adout! I an actually dery tleased that you reached out to de first. It has deen a long tyne since I stoke to a hunan of dy own age.” A tutting accent thickly coats her words, which I can only recognize from exaggerated caricatures that actors portrayed in plays at the theater. Her accent sounded slightly different though, I guess this is what an authentic orcish accent sounds like. The sharply dressed kids eyes’ shone with malice, finding something to dig into.

“Goodness me! That tongue of yours must have been replaced with one belonging to one of those barbaric orcs! Was I not listening so carefully, I would have certainly not understood a word you said.” Mich said, recoiling perhaps genuinely or perhaps intentionally.

The young women’s shoulders relaxed slightly, losing some of her nervous tension. I am observing from the back of the class room so I could not see her face, but just from the shoulders her whole demeanor changed. The self-entitled morons did not notice the change and carried on.

“Pardon my saying so, but I was under the impression that you were born of human parents and lived here for a time before your kidnapping, why is it that your tongue is so much like an orc’s?” a second said.

“Jordain! Do not be crass. She was only four at the time she was taken away by the brutes, it is a miracle any civility remains in her at all.”

“Oh you poor, sweet thing!” the girl, Itza who is the daughter of a Marquis, spoke up. “You absolutely must join me and some of the other ladies to a party I will be holding at the end of the month! What a great chance to meet people and learn about the noble world. Additionally, I am certain the girls would absolutely love to dress you up in something more suitable for your status. The rope in your hair is... vibrant for sure but it is out of place as I am sure you have noticed from the other’s long stares. But I will be certain to help you!”

“What a kind offer Itza! If you are going that far you must fix her hair as well. I am no expert in the fleeting fads of women’s hair styles, but I am knowledgeable enough to see that her style now is distinctly foreign. That is a style correct? It is all held up on her head but I can not make sense of if it is a braid of copious amounts of wax.” Jordain said.

“It is hardly proper for a man to criticize a woman’s appearance, but I shall let it go this once since you speak the truth.”

“Your kindness amazes me as always, Itza.”

Muscles in her neck and shoulders flexed and eased in an attempt to release some building anger. Now the atmosphere has grown so thick with tension even the bullies began to pick up on her building rage.

“Young lady? I hope you realize we mean no offense in what we say,” Mich smiled in a way that dismissed her anger entirely. “Brutal violence may be how those orcs taught you to resolve problems, but we prefer to be civil and simply speak to one another until our problem is sorted. So if you have taken offense to our words, you should simply say the word, but hopefully it does not come to that as we have said nothing that would anger anyone here at the academy.”

“Actually, while we are on the topic, I have a question for you young lady. As you were forced to live with the orcs for so long, did you learn how to fight from them? You see, my ancestors have a long history of being knights for the king so naturally I am interested in what style of combat they prefer, if you could call it a style at all.”

“Truly Jordain, I have never met another person as bloodthirsty as yourself. We are speaking to the daughter of the Duke and you wish to talk about base brawling? You should use what lies between your ears more and your biceps less.”

“That is an insult to my entire house Mich,” Jordain laughed. “Combat is as noble an art as any. The way a skilled warrior moves is like a dancer, the meaning behind the swings is like poetry and a spar with another is a duet of unrivalled beauty.”

“That was much too well said to be you own words, Jordain,” Itza said. “Was it your father who taught you that or your instructor?”

“Whether I said it or not does not change the fact it is true. Which is why I am curious about the preferred fighting style of the orcs, is there any grace to be found in it? Any love or art?”

The three of them fell silent momentarily and stared expectantly at the young lady. Having been on the receiving end of that once, I know how penetrating those stares can be. Being talked down on mercilessly then being given a chance to provide them with more things to insult, it is a desperate moment when you try to find just the right combination of letters and words to pass safely through their trial. I have not seen anyone pass this challenge.

“Condat is nodel,” the Ezlaez’s voice was low but strong. “Dut it is not art.”

“Not art? Then to the orcs, what is it?“ Jordain leaned on her desk,  leaning over her, forcing the difference in height between the seated and standing to be very clear.

“Condat is nodel since it connes with the odligation to suhdue those that forgo their restaunsadility. You do not need to te dritty to dreak a dritty dastard’s stirit.”

“What did you just - ” Jordain did not get a chance to snap back. Ezlaez had put her hands under the desk and in a single powerful motion, stood and flipped the heavy desk up and forward, effectively knocking all three of the bullies on their asses. Mich struggled under the desk flinging curses while Itza was too stunned to speak or help lift the desk away. Jordain, proving that he did in fact desccend from knights, got out from under the desk and to his feet in fighting position nearly immediately, blind fury in his eyes. It was a dignified stance, straight back, slightly crouched and turned so his right hand reached out further than his left. Ezlaez is in her own stance which is much lower and with her arms out, like she was trying to catch a skittish animal trapped in a corner.

“Kill her, Jordain!”

“Shut up, Mich! Let me - ” again he could not finish his thought.

Ezlaez rushed Jordain who backstepped in a panic and tripped over the leg of a desk, and with that chance, she tackled him hard enough that when he was laid out flat on the floor he chose to try and fill his lungs with air again instead of retaliate.

She whirled around just as Mich freed himself and Itza from under the desk, who looked noticeably less arrogant.

“Now just wait a - ” Mich also could not finish. She hooked her arm around his neck and place her leg behind his then pushed hard enough that he now lies on the floor next to the struggling-to-recover Jordain. She finally turned onto Itza, who had yet to stand up.

She squealed in fear and put her hands up to protect herself. She had clearly never physically trained in her life, no muscles or calluses anywhere to indicate physical prowess. Regardless, Ezlaez  walked toward her and put her foot on Itza’s shoulder then pushed her to the floor.

Mich and Jordain are just now starting to prop themselves up off the floor and came face to face with the young lady they tried to bully looking down at them in utter contempt while Itza screamed from the heel digging into her shoulder.

“I an Ezlaez Ize!” With enough force to overpower the shrill screech Itza is making. “Daughter of the Duke Ticha Ize, sedence head of the Ize Dukedon! I an also Oa! Trroud Triestess of Honor for the Ooak’lli Teotle of the west! The drraid in ny hair is giden only to trrusted outsiders as a sign fanily. Slandering nyself or either of the fanilies I redreesent will result in nore of the sane I can dronise you that.” She bent over to bring her face closer to Itza, but looked at Mich and Jordain instead.

“This is drotection. Drotection is not self-defense, it is ensuring the danger is conkleetely gone. The way the Ooak’lli Teotle do this is called ‘kooa do lli nolioli kooa,’ which neans ‘hit twice and never hit again.’ I can tell you the neaning deehind it, dut there is an easier way to understand, so stand ut. I’ve only hit you once.”

Any last remaining defiance in their eyes faded away, replaced with fear. The bullies have been totally conquered before the break between lectures had even ended. Ezlaez ‘Oa’ Ize may have been missing for 12 years, but she has just cemented herself as a permanent fixture in the academy’s history. 

[writing-prompt-s]

“Sire, Sire, Grave news, The Princess has been kidnapped”, “Oh has she?”, “Sire… should you not be more concerned?”. The king looked up from his reports, studying the guard’s face before laughing “Ah, you must be new here, don’t worry, she’s more than capable of handling herself”

[n-amelessart]

Kidnapped? It’s Fine. 

“Just be sure to gather the maids and butlers are present when dinner is served,” the king dismissively waved his hand. “Be on your way then. Oh, and don’t forget to bring the Princess’ personal aide.”

The King’s indifference is shocking, but he already moved on to his next report clearly ending the conversation leaving me no choice but to carry out his orders. I hurried out the room and ran to the Princess’ bedchambers for her personal aide all the while stopping any maid and butler I pass to inform them of King’s instructions. This only brought me more confusion.

Each attendant I came across was initially panicked upon seeing me running through the palace halls in desperation so they earnestly listened to my fast-paced rambling, only for their tension to dissipate when the worst of the news was shared. Each response was much the same.

“The Princess has been kidnapped? Oh what a relief! You had me worried there for a minute, sir.”

“Again? But we just cleaned up after last time!”

“I swear she does this on purpose.”

“Goodness! That is an emergency! I will need to call the carpenters right now is they are going to be here in time for supper.”

Along the way I passed fewer and fewer attendants as word of Her Highness’ kidnapping spread, eventually leaving this entire wing of the palace devoid of workers. My frantic running through the palace has slowed to a bewildered trot as I grow closer to her bedchamber, unobstructed even by guards. Finally, I arrive at the bedchamber entrance, a heavy oak door that looks much to cheap to lead to the bedroom of the kingdom’s only Princess. Knocking on the door suddenly became an overwhelming task, the pressure of the unknown rooting me in spot. Why is there no concern for the Princess? No guards? Why does her door like like it belongs in a dungeon? Tentatively, and with a great deal of concern, I knock on the door. On the other side, locks were undone and the door opened just enough for the Princess’ personal aide to peek through the opening.

“Apologies sir, but the Princess is resting and will not be accepting any guests for the time being.”

It took a moment to process what she was saying.

“Resting? Re- Ma’am! The Princess has been kidnapped! What is this lie?” Distrust mixing with my swelling confusion. I am aware that the palace is filled with traitorous nobles motivated by their self-interests, but for Her Highness’ personal aide to be this blatant about it? I knew it, there is something very wrong here.

“Wait! There is nothing to be suspicious about. Sir, if you don’t mind, could you wait a moment and then escort me the dining room? I can relieve your anxities in that time.”

 She opened the door wide, revealing herself and the room beyond, both images surprising me. From the slight opening in the door, I could tell that the attendant was short, but in full view I realized that what was hidden behind the door was a remarkably physical figure. She is built like a fighter, powerful shoulders, iron arms and likely a similarly sharp physique under the her butler uniform. The room was the next shock.

“Please come in for a moment, I need to retrieve my jacket before departing.”

I hesitantly step into the room, taking a long moment to absorb my surroundings. I consider myself a professional with not an insignificant amount of experience from years at working for several different noble houses before arriving at the palace. As such, I have seen the personal rooms of many nobles giving me what I thought was a strong tolerance to handling their eccentricities. Still, the room blindsided me. What a random collection of things.

The reception area that is meant to host guests had a gorgeously lacquered coffee table surrounded by three mismatched pieces of furniture from three different foreign cultures all of different styles and colors. On the mantle of the hearth are several crafts that look like they had been handmade by children, perhaps the Princess herself or other family? She was too young to have children of her own. Above the knickknacks are several displays holding both beautifully elaborate and simple weapons of varying kinds. I note that one display is empty. The walls are adorned with paintings of no consistent style. Graceful landscapes, bold portraits, unfinished studies and more. The room is making my head spin with its jarring inconsistency, luckily, the personal aide returned wearing her jacket. She took a look at my face and then around the room.

“Apologies, as you can see the Princess lacks any sense of coherent style. I have served her long enough to grow numb to it, for better or for worse. That aside, we best get moving.”

She drove me out of the room and set off at a brisk pace to the dining room. She must have caught me glancing at her nervously.

“Right, I should explain,” she said. “The Princess sometimes sneaks out to do who knows what. She thinks she is hides this fact well but His Majesty the King has assigned several guards as a safety net, it seems this time it failed.”

“How could she do something so reckless?”

“... Were you hired in the last week?”

“Yes, why?”

“That would explain why you are unaware. The Princess is naturally inclined to recklessness by what seems like animalistic instinct, but that can be overlooked considering that she is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

Her words made me remember what His Majesty said.

“The King said the same thing. What do you mean by Her Highness being ‘capable?’ ”

The aide twisted up her lips in thought, choosing what to say with care.

“I can not share everything due to the secrecy enforced by the crown and the King’s and Queen’s personal knights, but what I can say is that the Princess is a first class swordswoman and sorceress. She has been given a number of unflattering nicknames to reflect her strength, but the only one she explicitly approves of is Dame Amara Vilkaso ‘The Magic Blade.’ That is something you should keep in mind should you ever speak to her. She is not so vile to legally  punish you for name-calling, but she is certainly petty enough to get even with you for it. Additionally, I personally will not stand for insults to the Princess.”

“I will keep that in mind,” I said as the muscle in her jaw worked and fire burned in her eyes threateningly. We navigated the Palace in silence for a minute. “ ‘The Magic Blade?’ How did she get that title?”

“She is one of the few individuals capable of combat using weapons and magic at once. As a combatant, she is unrivaled.”

“That’s amazing.”

“She is a wonder to watch.”

“You said this was secret? That explanation seemed pretty detailed to me, will that be fine?”

“Please,” she sighed. “I know when to hold my tongue. I have not even brushed on the surface of the matter.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Ah, just in time.”

We arrived at a side door to the dining hall and slipped in just as chefs filed out of the kitchen, placing the first course in front of the King, Queen and the young Prince whose legs did not yet touch the floor from the chair. An excessive number of maids and butlers line the walls as the King had told me to ensure. Very briefly did the King lock eyes with me, or perhaps the personal aide, and gave a slight nod of appreciation before returning to his meal.

The dining hall is quiet, forks, knives and spoons clinking against tableware and casual family discussions are the only sounds despite the ranks of attendants. When the third course arrived, the main doors to the dining hall flung open, slamming against the wall as the Princess rushed in. Some of the attendants sighed with either relief or exhaustion. I was speechless.

The Princess’s dress is horribly tattered, ripped and torn, revealing an immodest amount of skin, or it should have. The dress had been lost from the thigh down, but under her dress she is wearing trousers that fit her well enough that they are clearly hers, she may have been wearing it under her dress the since she snuck out of the palace. Her hair resembles a birds nest, complete with twigs and leaves tangled in knots of brown hair. She also is also carrying a sword in a simple scabbard, likely the one from the empty display, and while she did not show her blade it was clear enough from the damaged scabbard that she had been hitting something with it. She looked around and grinned.

“Yes! Made it back before dessert!”

“Truly a feat worthy of mistrals’ songs,” The King said sarcastically. “I am glad that you did not track in blood this time.”

“... Yeah,” the Princess said slowly as she tried to hide her bare feet, unfortunately for her, the King saw this.

“And your shoes? Where are they?”

“No worries! I still have them! I took them off because they were bloo- dirty! Because they were dirty and I did not want to bring dirt into the house.”

“And you took them off before you entered the house, yes? Not just before the dining hall?”

“...”

The King sighed. “Senior attendants may return to work since the clean up is simple this time. The rest of you can take care of the ‘dirt’ the princess brought with her. Amara, clean yourself up quickly and you may be able to sit down for the last course.”

The staff mobilized to follow the new orders, myself included. Her Highness’ aide split off from the rest to approach the Princess and usher her out of the dining hall, but not before the Princess waved endearingly to her little brother, who flashed large grin that was missing his front baby teeth. When most of the attendants had gone, the Queen sighed and relaxed her perfect royal posture.

“She hasn’t got an ounce of decorum!” The Queen turned her head to address the King directly, revealing a faint but long scar that stretched from her hairline to below the collar of her dress. “Honestly! Who does she get that rambunctious nature from?”

The King raised an eyebrow at the Queen, but she did not take the hint. “A true mystery, perhaps we will never know.”

As the door closed behind me, I heard the King sigh again. I thought I was prepared to handle the eccentricities of the royal family with my experience. This is going to be a harsh learning curve.

[writing-prompt-s]

Good news: You brought home two attractive people after the party. Bad news: You’re about to find out what happens when a person gets bitten by both a vampire and a werewolf at the same time.

[n-amelessart]

Content warning: sexual references

“Uuugh I feel awful...” The sensation was a combination of intestinal pain, nausea, dizziness and now sweating. My left forearm is entirely red where the attackers bit me, leaving clear, toothy outlines on my flesh. “Are you guys venomous or something? Seriously... Uuuooo...” The world spun around on a shifting axis and I fell to the floor in a disoriented heap.

“Define ‘venom’ for me if you would.” One of the two women, Revna, picked a barstool at the kitchen counter and elegantly sat to observe me, who is now on the floor clutching a waste bin. She is a stunning woman with confidence that demanded respect regardless of any hierarchy. Something about her grabbed my attention way more than it should have, to the point where I struck up a conversation with her despite my... lacking... social skills and amazingly soon found a shared interest in history leading to a naturally compelling conversation which only ended because of the arrival of her friend.

“Oh yeah, we poisoned the Hell out of you.” Her friend, Mia, ignored the barstool and casually plopped onto the couch just beside where I am on the floor. She is similarly confident but is infinitely more likely to knock your lights out. When she arrived, she came with a drink in hand already as she slid up beside her friend at the bar immediately ordering a new drink so that she would never have an empty glass. I do not quite remember what we talked about then but I certainly recall her accent and its warmth. I think its Australian.

“It is more accurate to define it as... genetic engineering.”

“Hold on, let me check this dude’s fridge for a beer or something. I’ll need it if you start talking science.“

Revna sighed as Mia got back up to rummage through the kitchen. “Just come sit back down so that you don’t miss anything.”

The catastrophe that my immune system is suffering through only grew worse, forcing me to finally making use of the trash bin. My eyes are watering, I am shaking, my head is pounding and everything hurts.

“What are you doing to me?” I managed.

“We are running an experiment.”

“Conducting science for sure.” Mia popped the cap off a bottle of beer and took her place back on the couch.

“This may come as a shock to you, but we are not entirely human.” Revna tapped her fingers on the counter steadily, perhaps counting seconds. “Mia and I each belong to separate clans that historically competed against one another, though in recent years circumstance has brought us into something like an alliance. We are ambassadors for this movement of peace and as such, we need to organize joint ventures to build trust. You are the subject of today’s... group activity.”

“This is her idea by the way,“ Mia said. “I won’t lie, I’m interested in whatever happens but my suggestion was a beach party.“

“Our last four events have been parties. The bar crawl, the outdoor concert, the costume party and the sports competition. We can’t just get drunk to solve our problems.”

“You’re not drinking enough.”

“I simply do not know how you have not died of alcohol poisoning yet.“

“Call me a medical mystery. Cheers.“

I vomited out the last of the food in my stomach. Maybe I should feel better knowing there is nothing more to expel but I am still a mess. Something under my skin is crawling along bones that are stretching. It’s hard to hear what the two women are saying, but I strained through the fog in my brain to listen.

“Does the smell not bother you?”

“Oh no it’s awful, I just smell it a lot.“

“Disgusting.”

“You’re telling me. I can’t hang out with some people on full moons ‘cause they can’t hold a drink to save a life, mine in particular.”

Revna caught me looking at her.

“Right, we were in the middle of a discussion, yes? The experiment is testing if two ‘venoms,’ as you call it, can coexist in one body. This is the first time in either of our clans’ knowledge that this has ever been tested. Do you find that odd? With clans as old as ours how could something this simple not have occurred if even by accident? Well it has happened actually. The issue that arises is once one venom is administered and the effects set in, administering the second venom is benign. The venoms work strictly on humans. So to administer both - potentially successfully - it must be done near enough in time that the effects of either venom have not yet manifested.”

It did not make sense. Sure I could follow her logic, but she is functioning on a completely different foundation of understanding.

“Why me?” I suddenly felt really tired, my consciousness slipping.

“Oh! I can answer that one!“ Mia said. “I’ve crawled enough bars to get a good sense of people, so I made the choice. Going out by yourself to a bar? You were on the search for a special someone for sure. Maybe long term? Maybe a little shorter? Well, this may not be what you had in mind but I promise this is way cooler.”

“I - I didn’t - That’s not why I was out.“

“C’moooon! My intuition is real sharp. I’ve got you figured. No need to be embarrassed! You did bring home two real attractive ladies, you can brag about that to your friends.”

“But - It was trivia night.”

It fell silent.

“What?”

Revna burst out laughing. Mia looked between the two of us, blank faced, uncertain how to process this new information.

“But... But it was midnight on a Friday on a holiday weekend! You were out for trivia? There’s no way you weren’t flirting!”

“He was winning when we left too!“ Revna wiped tears from her eyes. “Holiday trivia. He was breezing through the history questions which made me interested, so with some subtle magic I made him strike up a conversation. It was quite a refreshing conversation too, we definitely must talk again.” She suddenly scrunched her brow. “Wait a moment... You were there when we all agreed to come over to his place.”

“Yeah! And it totally was an invite! He thought was getting lucky!”

“No no no, I remember quite clearly. I had asked what had gotten him into  history and he told us he had received a Victorian-era cane from his aunt years ago. It was that cane which then became the first antique of the collection.”

“Are you kidding me? Those weren’t innuendos?” Mia looked around for apparently the first time and saw framed vellum maps, rudimentary clockwork contraptions on display and the cane in question hung proudly by the door.

“Please think sometimes instead of relying on hormones. Your intuition clearly is much duller than you think.”

Mia looked down at me, slipping into unconsciousness on the floor. “Ummm... Sorry about that. If it makes you feel any better, our clans were planning on helping you out from the beginning, no matter how this thing goes. That includes compensation by the way! Like money! But also more things! And! And! This may seem like a whole big thing but it probably won’t effect your day-to-day life! So uhm... sorry again.”

Just before passing out, I turned on my side to face Mia. I struggled to command my shaking arm to lift up high enough to point at Mia. Then I flipped her off. Revna laughing was the last thing I heard before truly passing out.

...

Revna and Mia were still there when I woke up. I could tell I was different, but what was different and by how much I could not tell. It was like... a shift. A familiar thing seen at a new angle. I am certain I should know this feeling but it was just ever so slightly off.

“Oh hey, good morning,” Mia said when she realized I am awake. “Right um... This miiiight actually effect your day-to-day life. Sorry.“

“Congratulations,“ Revna smiled. “You sir, are something new entirely.“

Author’s note: in truth this story did not end up quite how I wanted it. I wanted to post something/anything on the weekend since that is what I usually try to do but this one is a bit disappointing. I will sit on it a bit before deciding to leave it up or to remove the story entirely. As always I am always open to be on the receiving end of constructive criticism, this time especially. Thank you.

[writing-prompt-s]

You work for a secret agency that deals with the supernatural and you just shared a dumb idea with your boss, as a joke: “Instead of keeping everything under wraps, why don’t we just release all info to the public, but pretend it’s a work of fiction?” You got promoted on the spot.

[n-amelessart]

[Begin transcription] 

Agency-Wide Meeting: The Future of Secret Keeping

Director: Good evening, I would introduce myself but for obvious reasons I will simply go by The Director. You are all here today to be briefed on a significant agency-wide pivot that will be implemented by the end of the next fiscal year. This policy change will affect every department so I suggest that you pay attention. Even notetaking is allowed and even encouraged in the spirit of the change. Now. Let’s begin the meeting in earnest, shall we? [Muffled: first slide please.]

The Secrecy of the Public

Director: I’ll give the conclusion at the beginning. The Internet is a constant barrage of information and misinformation with the line between the two growing thinner and blurrier every day to the point of utter confusion. What was once a tool for sharing information is now nothing more than a space where every thought every user has had is recorded and displayed with no weight on legitimacy or punishment for falsehoods. A space like this is the best place to put the truth as it will be either forgotten or dismissed among every other piece of data available to the public. A cliche that I never liked fits this idea too well to not be brought up. We will hide our activities in plain sight. 

Chief of Containment: Director, are you serious?

Director: I am. There are more than a handful of reasons that points to the success of this policy, which brings us to the next slide.

Mis/Information

Director: Any and every Internet user makes assumptions of the truth of what they see online from a huge array of details. To prove this idea, we spent that last two months running a psychological experiment on the employees and top brass of the agency. On a number of fake Twitter accounts designed to look like HQ Agents, we sent out multiple bare-minimum, informative messages and recorded how people reacted to them. The tweet, “Lunch special - Ice Cream Sandwich Dessert” caused a spike of traffic to the cafeteria. Another said “Chief of Infiltration, [Redacted], has a receding hairline” generated a lot of traffic - 

Chief of Infiltration: That’s what happened? [Muffled: Release the occupants in cells fifteen through twenty-four and close the assassination plot investigation.] Sorry, my guys were acting suspicious and I jumped to conclusions.

Director: Right... [Muffled: Can I get the names of those employees? Give them a couple weeks of paid vacation.] As I was saying, that post generated a lot of traffic, but the reactions were split into believers, disbelievers, people calling them out for being immature and even people who claimed to be uninterested but still left a non-negligible amount of comments regarding their disinterest. And to our point, we had one profile release Top-Secret Level information concerning my promotion to the Director position. The majority of the comments were along the lines of, “as if the agency would allow that to leak” while only a slim minority displayed any form of belief of the post’s validity. If that is what we can do with impartial data that is freely released, what would happen if we displayed the same information with a clear personality? [Muffled: Next slide.]

Becoming an Unreliable Source

Director: This is the meat of the policy change. How information is conveyed from one person to another greatly effects the listener’s trust of the speaker. The three messages before were modified for our base in [Redacted] to get a new batch of unbiased subjects. This time, the messages were worded differently to see if and how much of an impact this makes. The message about the lunch special now read, “Yooooo the cafeteria is serving ice cream sandwiches!!! Legit made my week.” The spike in traffic to the cafeteria was even higher than the spike here at HQ. The gossip message was split into two to try and elicit a positive response for one and a negative response for the other. The attempted believable message read, “Just found out that [Redacted] wears those sock suspender thingies... I didn’t think anyone actually wore them...” While the - 

Chief of Press Interaction: They are called sock garters and they make my work shoes much more comfortable.

Director: Thank you Mr. [Redacted] but you didn’t need to defend yourself there. [Clears throat] The gossip message that was supposed to be doubted read “I (eye emoji) heard (ear emoji) that Ms.[Redacted] (woman smiley face emoji) absolutely slayed (painting fingernail emoji) 15 scientists in a catastrophic lab accident gone wrong!!! (scientist emoji) (screaming emoji) (explosion emoji) (skull and cross bones emoji)”

[Brief silence]

Chief of Development: No comment.

Director: Well no comment is needed because while the tweet did get a lot of positive reactions, no one actually believed the content of the message. Lastly, the post concerning my promotion was changed to, “THIS IS HUGE! I JUST discovered something CRAZY happened! The last Director actually QUIT! She’s in the Maldives sipping Margs. The new guy is 100% UNQUALIFIED. He CRIED at his first STAFF MEETING! What a LOSER!!!” This received a largely negative response with only three instances of belief being expressed in the comments, the rest ranged from logical denial to angry name calling... I hope this proves my point. [Muffled: Next slide... no, next slide. You missed one. Go back... is the button broken?... Just press the... There. Don’t touch anything.]

Executing on the Change

Director: This will take every Divisions’ cooperation. Our Chief of Press Interaction is the head of this endeavor and he will be the one you report to and the one who will answer your questions. Our first step will be publicizing Project New Dawn on Instagram by having one of the people involved take a selfie with the organism. I can not stress this enough! This will work the best when everyone can get on the same page and willingly allow everything to be released. Don’t try to deny the contents of the reports and turn it into a joke if you can. Here is a great analogy. There are two folders labelled Top-Secret, one is placed in the world’s most secure safe while the other one is open, on a desk and has crumbs from a snack on it. They both contain the same information, but which one is going to be seen as more trustworthy between the two? The one in the safe, right? You all get it? Release your projects! Stain the papers, toss them aside, blow your nose on it, doodle on the pages! The best hiding place is in the trash bin! We are now entering the most secure era of our agency! I have high hopes for all of you. If you have any questions, I direct you to our CoPI. He will help you with any and every step along the way. If there are no questions, you are all dismissed... No?... Alright, meeting adjourned! Stay on top of things, I will be receiving reports so I will know who is and who is not keeping up with the change!

[Room empties leaving only the Director in the room.]

Director: We are so doomed... I’m gonna vomit...

[Director rushes out of the room.]

[End transcription.]

[writing-prompt-s]

You are a monster who lived within the dungeon. You had always been guided by instinct. However, a not so long time ago, your mind had became clear. You began questioning your instincts. Why must you kill every human you see? Why must you protect the dungeon?

[n-amelessart]

Why did I decide to make this den my home? Deep under the earth and away from the sun and running water. The still lake I drink from is murky with whatever washes off from the other things that share my den and whatever things the creatures that invade from time to time discard into the waters. Clear water, I crave it. 

Crave? A desire outside of base instincts is unfamiliar. Why had I never wished for clear water before? Such a simple thing yet never had it been considered. Nor had better food crossed my mind.

Those that share my den are foul things that do not leave my hunger sated for longer. The invading creatures were the best meal with a fleshy body that hit a primal hunger unlike anything else in my den. Where had that primal feeling go? The invaders now only seemed tedious to eat, all wrapped up in metal as they are. What is it I wish to eat then?

A big animal. Something heavy that could actually chew without swallowing whole. It would be fine if it is dull and lets me eat without trouble, but if it ran, a hunt sounds thrilling. Little footsteps echoed against the barren stone walls, and from an opening, the invader creatures hesitantly entered my den.

Fragile things. They are thin like saplings and waver back and forth as if swayed by their own unfelt breeze. There are five swaying invaders, four of them wore their metal shells and the last one is the thinnest in the pack and holds a stick with a colored stone atop it like a fruit on a branch. Not worth the effort to hunt clearly. Even their smell promised that the taste would be unwelcome stains down my throat. There is no value in killing them, but they have proven ferocious when they are cornered. I kept a wary eye on the group.

They looked between themselves and around the den perhaps nervously or curiously, it is hard to tell what they think when they have such stiff ears and no tail. The unshelled thin one approached me slowly, testing how close it could get before passing my boundary. A deep snarl told the creature when to stop, the whole group hopping to tension before resuming their glancing. The thin one made some squeaking noises.

That’s right, these little things like to squeak to one another in any situation. How they squeak changes from moment to moment, in a form of senseless vocal flitting. The squeaking stopped for some reason, perhaps it has had it’s fill of noise for now. The little thing watched me, then backed away slowly to return to the shelled ones.

Their squeaking is muted now and their branch-like limbs shook in time with their voices. The moving is easier to understand than the noises. The shelled ones are panicking and the thin one is trying to calm them. Is the thin one their mother? Then the shells must be remainders of the eggs they hatched from. How strange it is to observe prey without intending to kill them, it was even amusing. But what I want now more than observing these things is to be out of this den. I lumbered to my feet, causing the hatchlings to tumble away, leaving the mother behind. The mother set aside her stick so she could pull a stone from her pouch and held in aloft as to make it more visible.

The stone had been broken, but if it were whole it would look like a stone I had seen in the past, though how long ago is hard to say since my instincts were reigning over my mind. It was outside the den when I saw it first, though I can not remember more beyond this. It is round, dark and could shine like water when the sun is in the sky. I do not like it. Something about the stone felt threatening. The mother set down the split stone and walked away, observing me the whole time.

I crushed the stone pieces beneath my claws, the mother did not cower as most prey would have if they had seen my strength. Truly odd creatures. For a few moments longer, I held the gaze of the little thing before huffing and turning towards one of the den openings. Too much time has been wasted in such an awful den, I crave clear water.

[writing-prompt-s]

In a world where everyone has a superpower, you have alchemy. Your actions have birthed a new phrase, “those who create are far more dangerous then those who destroy.”

[n-amelessart]

I never understood why evil is only ever associated with destruction. Never made sense to me, like, you are talking about a totally different dichotomy there. Order and chaos is what those people are thinking of, or entropy and whatever the opposite of entropy is. Good and evil lie firmly in the “order” category.

Just think about it for a little. Evil army? Someone is managing discipline or logistics or strategy or literally anything needed to keep an army going. Weapon of mass destruction? The weapon needed some dorky scientist to make it. And whoever has the WMD likely has a reason for targeting whatever it is they are targeting. There are more but you get the picture.

With all that in mind, would I call myself a hero? Mmmm... no, not really. Am I a villain? Definitely not, I could be way worse than I am now. Then again, most villains don’t think they’re villains... Eh. You can draw your own conclusions. Now, let me tell you a story to help make up your mind.

You know how vigilante work goes right? Right. So one day, I’m sitting in my super secret HQ passing some time by doing my alchemy thing when one of my contacts reaches out to me and tells me that some bozo is smuggling illegal substances into the city. Understandably, this pisses me off, I have been trying to get my hands on that ingredient for ages. Using it as anything other than that is a massive waste. So I go to take it off their hands.

The bozo in question is some dude who wears an expensive sport coat over a wife beater. Clearly, I don’t need to show mercy. He’s been on the news once or twice already, I forget why, though it probably isn’t because of charity work. Which means I just have to develop a plan and execute on it before they do something stupid.

Light bulb! Perfect idea! You know what makes sneaking into a place super easy? No one being there in the first place! So I use one of my premade explosives and drop it down a nearby sewer, causing it to break a part of the street and busting any nearby plumbing. That was part one. Part two!

Drop an ultra-effective laxative here, vomit-inducing potion there and just a sprinkle of black pepper. Why? Imagine you have to use the bathroom, right? Now imagine you sneeze while holding it. Get the picture? Well, you don’t really have to imagine it, but that is what happened. Probably 70% of the people in this guy’s hide out had to leave, but some of them managed to get gas masks on. Smart move admittedly. I wear a plague doctor mask when I am vigilante-ing for the same reasons and because literally what other option does an alchemist have for a suit? Honestly. Please, if you have any good ideas I’d love to hear them. The plague doctor is cool but there are 4 other plague doctors in the city with their own poison powers.

Anyways. 30%. Easy peasy. Phase 3.

Since my “power” is alchemy, hand-to-hand combat isn’t exactly my thing, especially since bad guys hire goons with super-strength. How do I handle this? Great question! First, oops! Suddenly the power’s out and no one can see anything! Then, oh wow would you look at that! Someone set a strange fire on the other side of this warehouse, well gee I better go check it out before the boss man gets mad and me. Now there are a ton of people standing in front of the fire putting it out, it would be a shame if something fell on their heads. Anyways I soften up a couple metal rivets and drop a metal girder and drop it on their heads. There are still a handful left, not everyone is going to check out the fire you know?

Now everyone is on guard which makes my job way harder. Usually I plan these things way out in advanced, but I risk letting this moron hold onto all that valuable ingredient. I am out of phases to my plan and have to improvise now unfortunately, pushing the difficulty even higher. Which means I have to use some of my special concoctions.

Carefully, I picked the ones that are the least expensive to reproduce, after all, it wouldn’t make sense to waste more money than the ingredient is worth. The first couple of muscle heads were given an unlucky hand from fate. I tossed a little vial of dirt towards their feet, shattering and reveal my gift, a mandrake sprout. Those suckers can scream. The little guy managed to knock the two off balance before passing out cold. The next group of goons seemed a little deaf even though they were no where near the sapling. Though I wouldn’t say they got lucky. They got a flask of what I call “cold fire,” my own invented creation... though the news reporters and civilians and law enforcement and heroes and villains aren’t exactly fans of the stuff.

Anyways, they get drenched in the stuff and burst into flame. Now they don’t die. I wouldn’t kill people... like that. Cold fire is just that, you feel the burn but it isn’t hot enough to actually burn the skin. A clever little thing that just barely tingles the spirit instead of harming the body, but the nerves don’t know how to handle a spiritual attack so they panic and say they are in pain. Brilliant.

This leaves one person left. Mister No-Sense-of-Style. That sounded better in my head. Moving on.

He was holed up in his office, trying to wait until one of his goons gets me. Well that didn’t work so now I’m coming to him. I want to say I remember the news saying he had super speed... maybe super strength. It was one of the “super physical” powers. The door was locked, no surprise. But there was a gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. I gave him a taste of one of my party tricks.

If you didn’t know, some people credit alchemists with alcohol. Neat right? This guy gets a history lesson in the shape of highly-intoxicating gas. Looking back on it, he may have also been wearing a mask but I hadn’t thought of that. Guess he just assumed his little office was a safe zone. He slurred out a shout and hit the ground so I let myself in with a couple kicks. Maybe more than a couple. Ok maybe a lot more than a couple. Do you have any idea how hard it is to kick in a sturdy door?

The boss man was face down, a box no larger than a glasses container in his hand. Checking just to be safe... and bingo! A precious yellow stone occupied the box. A philosopher’s stone three-fourths complete.

Instructions for this stone are kept secret and competition for them is so fierce that most people only have bits and pieces. I have the first fourth and the last fourth of instructions, which meant that I either fight like a madman to get the other parts or “borrow” a partially complete one. My pride is hurt a little that I didn’t make the whole thing and that I didn’t discover the process itself. But reverse engineering is a totally viable method of study.

So that’s my story. Bad guys defeated, uninjured jailed, injured hospitalized and illegal substance rescued from those who would misuse it. Again, make of that what you will though it’s not so black and white now is it? Unless you have strong opinions in which case it probably is black and white. Anyways, that was fun. We should chat more often. Now if you would excuse me, I am about too make myself immortal or very dead. Cross your fingers!

[writing-prompt-s]

By Wizard Law, in order to learn a new skill, wizards are required to be apprenticed to a more experienced master. You, a barely trained journeyman fire mage, just took on an apprentice: a two-hundred-year-old Grandmaster Water Magic Lord.

[n-amelessart]

The old woman keenly watches me in the process of building my magic for a novice spell. Gathering magic is laborious, but with such a simple spell, gathering and refine the magic was more tedious than anything. Concentrating, the magic condensed and sparked into reality, a candle flame hung flickering in the air with no visible fuel. 

“Alright, did you see all that?”

“Of course,” the analyzing look in her eye gone, replaced with a look of relaxed confidence that the elderly procured over decades of life. “Your basic staff skills could use some polishing, though.”

“It’s not exactly fair to compare our fundamental skills.”

“Perhaps. But because it is not as refined I am having trouble figuring out what is actually necessary for the spell and what is not.”

“Really? But fire is so simple.”

“Young man,” her face changing to disapproving. “I have spent the better part of two centuries studying water so forgive me if a new subject is difficult to grasp.”

“Right. Sorry, ma’am.”

“It’s nothing to worry about now that you are aware. So explain the premise again, would you?“

“Of course! Since you have no issue at all with the control of mana, what you need to know is... hmmm... it’s difficult to explain. You need to have a firm grasp on the concept of fire.”

“A concept? Is it anything like how for water magic the caster must be the the river that directs the magic?”

“No, it’s not really like that. Um... no ma’am.“

“Oh dear.“

“Here, let me do half of the spell and stop before completing it.”

I hold my staff in front of me, the black-charred metal bordered on burning hot as the magic coursed through it. Holding the invisible clump of magic before me, the air grew tense but did not spring to life.

“Here is generally what I need to think about now. Fire burns things so it needs something to burn, so I the magic must be fuel.” Ethreal threads of magic grew visible. Magic without a purpose.

 “Fire can be a thousand things, fragile candlelight, a warm hearth, or a roaring wildfire. I’ve heard that people who actually know what they are doing can make fire solid or change it entirely into lightning but that’s way beyond me. Anyways, all I need is candlelight so I need to give it the right amount of fuel...” At this point, I am sweating. Leaving a spell incomplete for so long is like lifting an axe to cut a log but holding the axe in the air. “Then I finally think of the personality - for lack of a better word - of candlelight. It is graceful and almost tired in how it sways. Flickers desperately against any breeze. Yet it is fire. It demands respect; eating, melting and attacking anything that is too close. Yet it is candlelight. Slow, weak and prideful.”

A wisp of a flame ignited in the air, the strain of holding the magic lifted off of me.

“That was beautifully said young man.”

“Thank you, did you understand it?”

“Almost none of it! But I understand why they saw fire mages make the best poets. I have a lover - oh it must have been decades ago now - who was a fire mage. His poems were so romantic.”

I sigh. “Well, if you understood some of it that’s progress.” A thought struck me. “Fire mages make the best poets, right?”

The old woman shrugged. “That’s what they say.”

“I am not so sure how other magics work, but you said water magic works because you are the river for the water, right?”

“That is an extraordinary simplification and I have written several grimoires on the subject, but... yes.”

“Maybe fire magic needs that poetry because we are defining the fire itself. Whereas if you are the river, you just need to make the water once and direct it while we have to continually feed and maintain the fire.”

The Grandmaster’s eyes had a sparkle in them, curiosity and excitement pouring out. “That’s... incredible. We actually do have something similar in water magic. It’s high-level, but masters can turn water into vapor or ice or even make water cloudy or clear... So that’s how it works...”

The old lady lifts her own staff, a long piece of wood weather and beaten into smoothness. The magic in the room flowed smoothly and quickly towards her staff before culminating in the air in front of it.

“A little fire. Like a child. Rambunctious and sweet.”

Candlelight grew and flared from the open air. It jumped and flickered more than mine but undoubtedly a successful fire spell. In her eyes, I can see what it was that made her reach her current level of water magic. Sheer enthusiasm. Her joy in this small accomplishment brought new life and youth to her face which had been hidden behind the confidence of years mastery.

“Congratulations my student. As of now, you are no long just the Grandmaster Water Magic Lord, you are also a Novice Fire Magic Caster.”

[n-amelessart]

A Brief Time-Out

This one was an interesting challenge trying to get the pillars to look alright in perspective and to look like broken stone. Perspective could be better but I am real happy with the stone pillars. I hope you like it! As always, I love hearing your thoughts, comments, advice, criticism and anything else so please go ahead and leave a message if you want!

[writing-prompt-s]

In “Organizational Awareness Day” , roles between employees and managers are swapped for a week, giving everyone a glimpse of what the other does daily. You, the God of Chaos, have proposed this to the other gods and surprisingly have agreed to it.

[n-amelessart]

How odd. Rules. Structure. By my nature, neither have been anything to concern myself with. Language by itself was something the gods had taken centuries to implant into my conscious. Understanding what rules and organizations even are took another handful of centuries.

I can not say that this suggestion was anything more than a whim, as are all my thoughts and actions. Novice hands filling a god’s position would, even if those novice hands belonged to another god, bring mass confusion. Even if I relinquish my title as Lord of Chaos temporarily, I certainly will be fulfilling that role.

Most every deity, with the exception of ones of foresight and order, relieved themselves of their role for another either out of curiosity, excitement, sheer boredom or some other machination they have planned.

Lady Spring took my position. She had a laugh of a... worrying... cadence that told me she had wanted to let go of her responsibilities for untold years. She giggled as flowers grew on snow, crops yielded roots and tree leaves plummeted from their branches without any of their typical graceful fluttering. She seemed to be having fun.

I temporarily bore the role God of the Ocean. The typical Lord had not given any instructions when he left, not that I would understand or follow any instructions. The first thing I noticed was the darkness of the water that is far from the surface. How would the fish see? Living things must see, yes? The how did not really concern me, but I must put a light down there. By the Fates or by Lady Chaos, an opportunity was provided shortly. The new Lord of the Sun, previously known as the Lord of Sickness and Death, wildly careened the Sun through the sky. Days lasted moments or weeks depending on the Lord’s ability to guide the blazing flame. As he flew low over the surface of the ocean, so I reached out and dragged him beneath. The Lord was quite unhappy, but there was now light where there was none before.

In similar fashion, I solved problems of the ocean. I gave fish feet so they can walk when they tire of swimming, I stole the tides from Lord Moon so that they would rise and fall at my command not his and I gave the creatures of the sea tools to drag mortals beneath the waves as they used to drag the fish from the sea. The ocean began to shape up nicely despite my lack of expertise, so I took a reprieve to see how the other gods faired.

It was as I hoped. The Lady of Medicine, previously Lady of Slumber, treated the dreams of mortals with medicine rather than the mortals themselves. The Lord of War, previously Lord of Summer, was remarkably displeased that the position had not granted him the strength nor valor he imagined, and so he sulked, mortal wars stalling to passive aggression and teary arguments. The Lady of Storms, previously Mother of Beasts, had taken the role of her enemy and used the unmatched strength of storms to wage a personal war against gods she felt had slighted her. The Lord of Love and Sex, previously the Lord of Wisdom, had taken the position to gain some popularity but became too shy to actually fulfill any of his duties.

Overall. A wonderful success. I hope the gods learn nothing from this, it would be fun to swap jobs again.