slimyscrivener

[slimyscrivener]

Sugar Syrup Summoning Pt3

Our neophyte summoner attempts to explain the internet to a demon. Some looks are exchanged, an evening comes to a close.

Beginning ~~~~~ Previous ~~~~~ Next

As much as looking my demon in the face was daunting, having her stand behind me was in a whole different world of weird. Her body sounded slick, every simple shift or twitch of her body lingered at the edge of being audible. As I sat ensconced within my faux-leather office chair I could hear the sound of her breathing. A far away sound, like the sloshing of a distant bathtub. Once or twice she made as though to lean her arms on the chair back but stopped herself midway and instead placed her hooves awkwardly on her hips.

When the computer finished booting up from sleep mode she leaned in.

Her breath smelled of coffee, and her body gave off the aroma of sweet mushrooms. I felt myself getting hot around the cheeks again but for entirely more embarrassing reasons. She smelled like ooze, like slime on warm flesh, and if pressed I’m not sure I could accurately describe what that even meant in words without blushing madly. It made my brain feel foggy as though trying to peer through a car window on a humid day. My hesitation as I stared at the peak of her muzzle leaning past me became noticeable and she angled her head to look at me.

“It’s very colourful.” She said, the scent of coffee was a mundane detail I could cling to and I nodded in response.

“Yes, I like my, uh. My backdrop.” Which was a dull thing to say that the demon probably wouldn’t understand so I rounded to the task.

“Anyway, it’s sort of like a- a box of functions. I mean, it can do all kinds of things. The computer I mean.”

I opened up my word processor and starting to type at random.

“This would let me write up something and then I can have it printed over there.” I indicated my bulky old printer in the corner with a backward thrust of a thumb.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, a hooved hand gripping the plush side of my chair. A breath caught in my chest as she cheerfully continued.

“We have something like that in the offices, it’s a bit finicky for me though. I prefer something like this that stays put.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, neither the idea that demons had offices nor the concept of a computer that didn’t stay put. I felt my head swim at the idea that demons has computers IN their offices. She didn’t seem apt to explain, leaving me adrift in rapidly devolving thought,  so I tried to carry on.

“Right, uh…” A deep breath in, then released.  

“So, the net.”

Popping open my web browser, I preferred Narwhale-lite because Narwhale-premium takes up too much system resources and also because poverty, I navigated to my media feed.

“This…” I said, scrolling slowly, “is sort of an example. It’s a feed, uh, it’s a list of things my friends have said or news articles. People share them on the net and they get passed around. And my feed sort of aggregates all of that stuff for me so I can read it in one place. And the net is… like this huge collective storage space of information that keeps changing and evolving. I guess, and there’s people that manipulate it and use it for communication too.”

I turned to look at Lilwanyu, wondering if ‘aggregates’ was a confusing way to phrase it, or if that absolutely terrible explanation of the internet was just a mess, but she seemed rapt by the images on the screen. Eyes blinked, some wandered reading while others widened in some expression I could hardly ken.

She said, in a breathy murmur, “how fascinating..! And do you set it to your exact specifications for the information you want to collect? How much of your activity does it aggregate for other people using this same function? Does it only collect from events that are shared or does it do so by some other process?”

Lost for words, I had to think a moment. She’d grasped the concept faster than I had assumed she might, and even used the same terminology I had used back at me with surprising deftness. I needed to amend my explanation and get more technical before I accidentally started giving her the wrong idea.

When I clicked the mouse I found that I had gone a bit sweaty and wiped it down with the hem of my shirt before I continued.

“Y- yes. I mean, people have to put things on the net before they can be collected, and it only collects the stuff that I put up there too. I have my preferences set up for what it will share publicly and privately, and what it will show me from other people and sites.”

“Interesting…” She breathed, and I wondered if the demon hadn’t gotten… excited? I had the impression that she was gripping the seat more tightly, it had begun to list to the side ever so slightly. I realized it was leaning me in closer to her as she stooped in to look at the screen more closely. I had to actively scoot myself against the other arm rest to stop myself from physically touching her.

Though, for a moment, I wondered what it might feel like. Was she covered in soft, peach plush fur? Or perhaps it was slimy, as slick as its texture seemed to imply? I found myself staring at her arm where it curled out from under her shawl. Without thinking I followed the shape of it up to her hand, to the muzzle resting upon her palm. Most of her eyes were on the computer, but one was fixed firmly upon me. Its pupil was a thick band, like a goat’s eye, with a sclera of yellow like aging parchment. As I stared back at it, the pupil began to dilate.

It grew until it filled all available space within its socket. Ink black and shimmering like oil, as I watched it began to ooze at the corners, overflowing down the lines of her face. My mouth went dry, I felt breath pass over lips hanging open, but I couldn’t bear to look away. Oil slime tears bled into other eyes, and their pupils slowly turned to gaze at me. One by one, until my vision was filled with a field of eyes that shined like bubbles upon a darkened sea.

In my chest, my heart had started to quake, ribs were aching as though its beat sought escape from the cage of my bones. Something inside me was wanting, I’d never needed something so badly, but I couldn’t give the need a shape. It was formless, oozing around the edges. The eyes upon me did not judge, they were waiting.

Expectant.

I blinked.

“I had no idea humans had such tools.”

Her words jarred me so hard I slapped the mouse on the desktop with an awkward plastic clack.

If she noticed she didn’t mention it, continuing to chat as though the last thousand years of mutual staring had never occurred.

“This is quite sophisticated. Can you find information not aggregated by this function specifically?”

Nodding my way out of some distractingly slimy thoughts, I went through the motions of showing her a variety of my bookmarks without speaking.  Going through news and cooking sites then segwaying into forums and webcomics. When she started to ask direct questions I mustered the will to speak, though it came out in a hoarse squeak at first. I wanted to call it a feeling of numbness but that was incorrect. My skin was buzzing, like an electric chill. I felt more exhausted than anything else, though her quiet cadence and curiosity began to sooth the sensation. More questions as I went, some of which I was unable to answer, she was exceptionally keen and quite interested in the technology of it. Eventually I asked if she wanted to mess around with it for a while.

“Oh..! May I?” She said, sudden excitement making her yank the chair ever so slightly. I yipped, jumping in my seat, causing it to spin and face her directly. Her arm moved with the chair and she turned with it so that the two of us were face to face.

The intent look that she gave me made my head swim. I wasn’t certain if I was ready to have her full attention again, especially after that previous… whatever it was. Just, being so close to her made me feel so vulnerable, in a indescribable way. I never considered a demon being disarmingly sincere, but that was the best way I could describe it, when she looked at me I could tell she was looking directly into me. In a person I would be hard pressed to understand this kind of behavior, these looks she gave me. In a demon, I was distressingly without a clue. It had a simultaneous, ‘this demon wants to eat me’, and, ‘this demon wants to eat me’ sort of feeling.

“Y....” I stammered, awkwardly attempting to casually lean back in the seat, “Y-yes..? Sure I’ll uh, I’ll set up a guest user account for you since you’re going to be-”

A thought struck me, sudden enough to break through a new bout of brain fog, and I sat up again.

“Wait. How long are you going to be here?”

Some eyes started to glance about the room, the middlemost one stared up at the ceiling. While she thought on it I quickly put together another account for her and logged myself out, giving myself something to do that wasn’t staring my demon in the face.

“Well”, she said, “I presume it will have to do with how long it takes me to satisfy your request?”

“I guess I should make up the couch?” I frowned, standing up from the computer and gesturing at the seat. “Here, the password is just your name backwards.”

As she settled into the chair, curling her tail around her hips and bringing her legs up to perch on the seat, I continued to think out loud.

“I guess you can use the other room. I haven’t had a chance to fill it yet. There’s just a mattress though, she took the box spring.”

It had been a fraught sort of parting when my last roommate left.

“That will be fine.” Lilwanyu responded, her voice having a distant quality as she henpecked the keyboard. Luckily the mouse was well suited to a three fingered hand and she picked up on that quickly enough. Then again, she was also writing and speaking just fine in English, now that I thought of it.

I watched her for a few minutes, a thought slowly creeping up on me. Was this an incredibly terrible idea? Turning a demon loose on the internet with unrestricted access to what had apparently, to her, been unknown technology? Even if it was, I really had no means to stop her from doing so. Again the thought of binding her came to mind, particularly the part where I hadn’t done so.

A feeling like a snowball traveling downhill was picking up speed. Lights turning on in my head. I felt panic beginning to build.

“H-hey…” I tried to effect a casual tone and only succeeded in a nonchalant squeak.

“S-so, what are you uh, looking up th-there..?”

“Humans”, came the distracted response. I had the strangest feeling of being just a little hurt that she hadn’t spared a single eye to look at me as she said it.

“Oh, haha. Well...” No more words were forthcoming and I shut my mouth.

I watched her read wikipedia articles in silence for a few minutes before I realized that at this point I was a host, she was a guest and, there were certain expected behaviors.

“I’m going to go make up your bed, alright? You, I mean you sleep, right?”

A few eyes turned to look at me as she responded.

“Yes I do”, she said, “thank you.”

It was fast, this change from being terrified at her attention to being relieved. I hadn’t actually spoken with anyone, outside of cash register canned responses, in months...

Had it really been months?

Hesitating, each step out of the room followed by a glance back at the great horse monster using my computer, I went out into the living room. Staring up at the popcorn ceiling, standing there in the center of a carpet that crunched under foot, it almost felt like a normal night once she wasn’t in view anymore. But the apartment felt less empty, even just knowing she was there out of sight. It was a nice feeling. Screwing my heel up against the fabric, listening to the crisp sound, I glanced down.

The rug’s texture felt as though it had been badly burned, but it looked relatively the same as before. I rubbed the toe of my slipper on it and watched fibres flake off in tiny bits. Perhaps I shouldn’t have used it as a ritual ground, but the concentric circles seemed like a good idea at the time. Wouldn’t the unbroken circles have been a good binding for a demon? Or did the process of the summoning destroy them somehow in a way I couldn’t have foreseen?

There were also several stubs of candle melted into my carpet, the landlord will be furious if I can’t scrape that out, and an overturned offering dish. It looked as though it had toppled over when Lilwanyu appeared and its contents released onto the ground. I stooped to look and feel the carpet but, there was no trace of the liquid. Originally, I had been using honey and a variety of morbid ingredients but tonight I had the inspiration to just dump out a bottle of simple syrup, like what you’d use for cocktails. Just that, some blood of course, and the other thing.

‘The other thing’ I eventually found under the sofa, a perfect orb of selenite. At least I assumed it was perfect, that’s what the ebay seller had assured me. Presently when II picked it up I felt an electric jolt that made every muscle in my arm spasm. Dropping it with a yelp, it rolled sedately back under the couch. I clutched my smarting hand to my chest and stared at the sofa.

“Whatever. Just… just stay there I guess.” I mumbled.

Standing, I went through the motions of making the mattress into a bed. My only spare sheets were cast offs from a nearby hospice, run through a washing machine and several bleach baths. It was still cheaper than buying new bed linens. In the process of fitting sheets and locating comforters I felt exhaustion creep in to replace the adrenaline of the last few hours. When I walked back into my room the sight of the demon hardly stirred the sleep that had begun to fog my mind.

I let her know the bed was ready and muzzily explained how to put the computer into sleep mode when she was done. As I finished Lilwanyu turned in the chair to look at me.

“Thank you, I won’t be a bother while you’re sleeping will I?” Genuine concern, so many eyes watching me, so tired.

Shaking my head and waving a hand casually I responded.

“Naw, I sleep like a rock when I actually get to sleep. Having someone around makes it easier.”

“Oh.” She said, “then, goodnight to… ”

The demon did something strange:

she blushed.

The flesh of her cheeks and neck blossomed in purple hues as her expression flashed through frightened, to anxious, and then settled into exasperation.

“I’m so sorry, I never asked for your name.” She said, from her tone I thought at first she was angry at me, but I recognized it as disappointment in herself. Ah yes, I am very well accustomed to that feeling.

She hadn’t asked, I realized, and I had never bothered to give it to her. Wow. It has been a long time since I’ve talked to anyone I guess.

I laughed to assuage her feelings. Trying to sooth the emotions of a demon..! What a strange day.

I said, “it’s Alice.”

As an afterthought I added, “She. Earth.”

Lilwanyu nodded, then with a smile she said, “goodnight Alice. Tomorrow we shall begin fulfilling your wish.”

My heart abruptly throbbed in my chest at the sight of her teeth, at just the bare sliver that showed when the demon smiled. I couldn’t put together a response to her assertion so instead I simply said goodnight and rolled up into bed.

With covers over head I calmed my heart back down, luckily the weight of sleep was there to make the work easier. I amused myself by thinking how absurd it was to be napping as a demon was busily polluting my search history with things like “humans, how to talk to them” and “how do humans make friends.”

As I fell asleep, “Humans, top recipes”, came to mind as well but in the half conscious mind of an exhausted young woman it really didn’t bother me that much. Honestly, it would have been a lot easier to just ask her to eat me, that would have solved all of my problems pretty nicely regardless of her interpretation.

…

Oh.

Damn.

[slimyscrivener]

[slimyscrivener]

Sugar Syrup Summoning Pt2

Successful demon summoning leads to an awkward conversation in the kitchen. A young lady is anxious, a demon frets. There is also coffee.

Beginning ~~~~~ Next

We faced each other over a janky pile of plastic and aluminum I had the audacity to call my kitchen table. It had a stained green top, ostensibly fuzzy. Presumably it was meant to be a card table but when you start pulling furniture out of the dumpster the pretense of purpose is the first to go. Regardless it was completely functional, though to call it green was being quite generous.

Together we sat, on mismatched chairs, my demon and I.

I was having a hard time looking at them, though their appearance was only part of the reason. My embarrassment at having broken down in front of them was still hot on my cheeks. I’d only just recovered, still red eyed and blotchy, and come to the kitchen when she’d called me in. She hadn’t commented on the ten or so minutes of sobbing on the couch, I doubted she would. When we both came to sit down there was a lot of awkward looks that had finally resolved into a vague mutual stare. Well, I suppose I’m staring at her shoulder and she’s occupied with her arcane coffee methodology.

The demon placed a small ceramic mug in front of me and another in front of themself. Then, from their little pot, they poured us each an equal measure of a thick, dark liquid. It smelled stronger than any coffee I had ever had before, without having the undertone of being severely burned. I wasn’t certain how eldritch the draught would be, but it smelled pleasantly of cardamon.

I watched the demon shift in their seat to get comfortable, pushing a well groomed looking tail between the slats of the chair’s back. It didn’t look especially comfortable with the way their legs and ankles bent not to mention having their tail cramped up behind them but they kept a cheerful smile up.

Wretchedly I wondered if they weren’t forcing that happy disposition for my sake. How pathetic does a person have to be for a demon to be worried about them? My next thought was how upset they would be if I asked them to stop smiling, or at least not do it with so many vicious looking teeth.

“I make it very sweet”, they said, “so I hope you don’t mind. When I make it for company I usually use a lot less sugar.” They sipped at their coffee, one three fingered hand fussing with their shawl.

“It uh-” I hesitated, chewing my lower lip.

“It won’t like, seal an ancient and deadly compact or something right? It’s not like, fairy rules, is it?”

“What? Fairies aren’t real. What a silly thing to say.”

I gave a spot over the demon’s shoulder and slightly to the left an incredulous look.

“That didn’t actually answer my question I think.”

She made a bubbling, musical sound that I interpreted as a laugh.

“Oh, no. No, nothing like that. You’ve already made your deal with me. It’s just coffee. It won’t make you beholden to fae contract or turn you inside out or anything like that.”

I collected the tiny mug and felt it warm my hands. It was cold out, being deep into fall now, but my apartment was warm enough at least to take the chill out of the air. My eyes lingered on the dark liquid.

Just coffee, nothing magical or anything. As she had explained: just strong coffee. Casually lifting the mug to my lips I began to inquire.

“So, uh, about that contract-”

I sipped the brew.

An involuntary spasm ran through the muscles of my face and I felt my jaw tighten. I squeaked out through gritted teeth.

“Sssweet! It’s really S-sweet..!”

Eyes blinking, some furrowing, confusion looking like pandemonium on the demon’s face. It resolved into concern and they made a sharp ‘tsk’ sound, drumming their digits on the fuzzy tabletop.

“I’m sorry, here- here... “ They made as though to take it from me, attempting to lay a hoof on the mug.

I reflexively pulled away from the creature and lifted the mug up in both hands.

“N-no no, it’s okay. I was just really surprised… It’s more like, coffee syrup, i-it’s so thick.”

Sipping again to show them that it was alright, I only shuddered, having prepared myself for the shock.

They watched me drink, squinting a swath of eyes as though testing my resolve, then eventually leaning back in their chair. I watched a very uncomfortable moment where the demon squirmed in their chair and finally they tucked their legs up and perched, hooves flat on the plastic seat.

“So... “ Here they seemed to struggle, chewing the inside of their lip as they thought of what to say before continuing.

“So… I am called Lilwanyu, She, from the Spoke of Darkness.” When they said ‘Spoke of Darkness’ the lights dimmed in the kitchen for a moment, then flickered back on again.

Another encouraging smile from the demon, shudder, another sip of coffee.

I frowned, mulling over ‘she’ as an appellation until I caught on. Mentally I amended my description of her.

“The Spoke of Darkness?” I asked, bringing coffee to my lips but balking at the saccharine miasma that wafted off of it. Noting, as I did, that the lights did not dim when I spoke it aloud.

“It’s where you summoned me from..? I would tell you the specific city but I expect it wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

“Oh, right right.” I said, abruptly worried that there was some detail here that I was missing, that I might have missed some bit of data in my research. Demons had cities? I suppose that made sense really, I had sort of assumed they just hung around great pools of boiling sulfur or something. All of the net searches I had performed prior never mentioned such a place, but then they also didn’t adequately describe the sort of creature that might come from the other side. Nor, how sincerely pleasant they were to talk to, if perhaps, not to look at.

I wasn’t staring her in the face, I was trying to avoid that, so instead I watched her arms. The fur reminded me of satellite pictures of nebula, the particularly cool coloured ones.  At least, I assumed she had fur, the equine shape of her might be affecting how I interpreted the fuzzy exterior. I watched her fidgeting with the tiny mug, tapping it between two hoof like digits. Pointed at the tips, I had a hard time understanding how they could be so articulate. Then I saw her lift an arm and the flesh of her stuck, very minutely, to the fuzzy tabletop. It stringed out and then slowly oozed back up into her forearm.

She was speaking I realized and I had missed the entirety of it. My heart had started to race again, I kept trying to cling to mundane details as a means of centering myself in this moment but they kept failing me! What was she made of..? Some sort of animate goop?

Clearing her throat, the demon repeated herself.

“What do you need me to do to help you feel less alone?”

I balked at the question, “Ah, well… I had sort of hoped that you’d be able to deal with that. Like, I dunno. Just magic me up into someone less shitty or something.”

Feeling wretched, I sipped the coffee if only to stop myself from having to talk.

Ugh.

She finished her own measure of the dark draught and placed the mug down with a soft thup.

“Well…” She said, “I don’t really know that I can ‘magic’ you into someone else exactly. Would changing your appearance make you more desirable to other humans? I don’t know much about them, I admit. But I could do that, if you wanted.”

I sighed. “No, not exactly. I think I look… Fine? I guess?”

Perhaps I could mime drinking the coffee, or would that be exceptionally rude?

“It’s not really that..? Just maybe, make my brain less awful?” I swirled the liquid in my mug, kicking up the dregs, just to have something else to focus on.

“So I can talk to people and not freak out, or get all sweaty and gross?”

She put up a hoof to her cheek and leaned on it. Various eyes peered around the room, at the bare walls, the mismatched chairs, the chipped plates in the drain rack. I began to feel anxious about the state of my apartment, I honestly had been about as prepared for company as the demon. Then I started to feel rather anxious about my life in general, that there really wasn’t any changes I could have made to make the space any less terrible.

She said, “I could do that, I suppose. But anything like that would be temporary, and honestly only marginally more effective than just getting you drunk, I suspect. There are permanent methods but then you might no longer be you? But then you already dislike who you are it seems…” Trailing off, staring at the plates in the drain rack, her expression seemed pensive. For as much as I could read that escher painting of a face. Well, no, that description was probably a bit too cruel. She was probably very pretty by whatever metric people used to judge appearance where she comes from. Somehow, I liked the idea of considering her pretty. It seemed like a pleasantly defiant thought.

“How much experience with people do you have?” She said finally.

Now, I thought glumly, it was beginning to sound like I’d summoned a therapist instead of great and terrible demon. I glanced at her face briefly, a few of her eyes blinked independently of one another and then turned to look at me.

YUP, definitely still a demon.

“I used to have a few friends a long time ago.” I managed to say, dredging up the memory.

“But that was when I was a little, just some other kids in my class. We stopped talking somewhere in highschool and then-”

I shrugged and finished my coffee. It wasn’t any more palatable after cooling off.

“And you never met anyone else?” She said.

“Not really, I was busy. I talk to some people on the net but, that’s different.”

Lilwanyu gave me a blank look, then tilted that equine head.

“What is ‘the net’?”

“Oh it’s ah…” I tried to shape the answer in my head but I suddenly realized how utterly alien the concept would be to someone from another world. I felt myself start to say something about a series of tubes but squashed the notion down.

“You know, why don���t I just show you?”

[slimyscrivener]

Sugar Syrup Summoning Pt1

A young woman toils day after day in dead end work and comes home to an empty apartment. Nearly every night she performs a ritual to summon a demon with the hope of fixing her life. Then one night, she gets it right.

Beginning ~~~~~ Next

It appeared in the center of the circle, a silhouette of inky void surrounded by a corona of dust. The swirling cloud clung to my skin, tasting sweet on my lips as the silhouette expanded and filled the room with darkness. Dust motes became stars that filled my vision. Blinding darkness resolved itself eventually into the usual shape of my living room, though now it had another occupant.

Something equestrian stood on what used to be a bull’s eye rug. Tall, with long legs and cloven hooves. It’s neck drooped in an almost nervous pose, their graceful head blossoming with eyes.The beast turned a soft muzzled face toward me and blinked.

“Have…” It’s, their, voice sounding as though it were playing through the bell of a clarinet.

“Have I been summoned..?” Three of their wide eyes on me, the center one was somewhat off putting, I tried not to stare, instead forcing my gaze to roam.

“Yes..?” I said, finding myself staring at a tiny copper pot. Attached to the pot was a lacquered black handle, attached to which was the three fingered hand of the demon I’d summoned.

“Oh..! OH!” They looked as though they’d have hopped in place had they not remembered the little pot they held. Instead, it was an awkward half stumble, small hooves pattering my rug. I noted that it crunched under their feet, I’d have to check on that later.

They recovered and bubbled with chatter. “I’m sorry, yes! Thank you, I mean, do I have to thank you? I’ve never been summoned before you see.”

Nodding, a numb feeling of shock at what I’d done settled into my head. What came next? Were they going to demand some terrible payment? How does one go about making demands of a demon? Should I be binding it? And for that matter how does one even bind a demon?!

I found myself staring at the demon’s wardrobe, as though one more incongruity was too much, but I was noticing their one visible piece of clothing: a fringed poncho. A heather purple poncho with little embroidered stars on. This fact was standing out to me above all others, perhaps it was how mundane it seemed compared to the manner in which this day had suddenly gone off its rails.

“My mother used to get summoned all the time,” they were saying. “She told me about it, but I never thought I would because… ah… well, I mean that’s not important I suppose?”

I watched them fuss with their shawl, threads of silver in its embroidery catching the dull overhead light.

“I really hope I’m presentable enough, I wasn’t really expecting this, gosh. So…”

Their tone changed somewhat, I had the impression that they were facing me again.

They said, “for what desire have you summoned me..?”

I was staring at their face now, a mane white like sea foam had fallen over one half of their muzzle. It reminded me of a wave cresting over sand painted by sunset. They kept nervously tucking it back behind equine shaped ears. On her forehead were horns of translucent crystal, they glittered in a faceted sort of way with the light. I felt my stomach twist when I noted I could see through them to something I hesitated to describe as the inside of her skull.

I shifted my gaze elsewhere and focused on her busily patterned shawl. Looking them in the face was nearly driving me to nausea.

They definitely seemed as though they were getting nervous now.

“It’s alright…” They said, “I mean, whatever it is you need, I can handle.”

Then, a little more frantically, they added, “If you summoned me you’ve already paid my price upfront right? I don’t mind doing whatever it is you need doing, not a problem at all. It’s a pleasure, really!”

Distantly I knew something in that statement should have worried me, but only now did I realize how childish my purpose had been all this time. I’d spent months in preparation only to fail in performing the spell so many times. I had honestly started to assume that the website that described it was entirely fake and that I was just deluding myself. Perhaps all of the stories of successful summonings I’d read on the net were all just stories, just fakes designed to give the writers an air of importance and a cloud of sycophants to fawn over their fantastic tales.

I had grown accustomed to the consistency with which I had failed, it had become my near daily ritual. Come home, undress, microwave dinner, turn my apartment into a sticky disaster of reagents and ritual fluids, fail, clean up, go to bed…

My mouth felt dry and I realized I’d been holding my jaw tight, my eyes losing focus. I was doing it again, that thing I always do when I’m trying not to-

I could feel tears marking hot runnels down on my cheeks.

The demon let out a worried, “oh…!”

I heard myself mutter, “I’m so…”

The muscles of my face pinched against the corners of my eyes as I tried again.

“I just… I just don’t want to be alone-”

“anymore.“

I couldn’t see the demon’s face but in the silence of the apartment I could hear their mouth open. That oozy quality of their body gave it a vague popping sound as they did.

Then it shut.

The demon swallowed audibly, a hoof pawing the now crunchy rug.

“Alright.” They said.

I forced my gaze up to their face, despite the genuine smile on that muzzle I could see worry in the tight corners of their many… many eyes. They forced their smile up a tick when my eyes met theirs, as though trying to encourage me. It made my stomach twist again, as much shame as revulsion knotting up. Their smile wasn’t helping, so many eyes.

“Okay!” The demon placed a hand-hoof on their hip. “If that’s what you want, I’m happy to oblige… Um…”

They only now seemed to remember the little pot they held, they held it out toward me in a questioning manner.

“Do you like coffee?”

[slimyscrivener]

The Test of Mettle Pt5 Final

A short story based on a dream, various adventurers seek their heart’s desire in an eldritch Test of Mettle. A new adventuring party is formed and the Thief is a bit put out.

Beginning    ~~~   Previous   ~~~~   

Something so big really did not have any business being so stealthy, but the dragon had learned the way of it quickly. It felt there was great store of supernatural powers at its disposal but it was as though being expected to exit middle school and then immediately perform differential calculus. She was especially proud of this achievement, that she had found them.

Unknown to her, they could hear her creeping up the building, dark talons digging into old masonry. Bits of plaster pattering to the alley way below her were the only sounds she left in her wake. Though perhaps, someone close enough could hear a sound like leather as scales shifted over powerful muscles. She peered birdlike into a darkened window at the second floor. The Thief was staring at her, cheek resting in their palm and elbow on the surface of their desk. Blinking, suddenly unsure of what she was intending to do here at all, she tapped the window with one of her horned frills.

With a smirk, and a shake of their head, the Thief stood up and crossed to the window. There was a busy few minutes of massive dragon wings and limbs squirming through an urban window until things settled down. And this was the shape they resolved into.

A dragon, scales a nebulous purple that glittered like flakes of mica, all six of the limbs of its body curled onto the room’s throw rug. A majestic creature of fantastic myth nervously picking at the braided rag rug of a middle of the road inn. It would only be a pygmy dragon that could even fit in the room at all. As it was, the room accommodated her about as well as it might accommodate an especially fit war horse. Provided the horse had a plethora of extra bits that stuck out and occasionally knocked over glasses and chairs.

The thief settled on the room’s double bed, the linen under layer of their armor worn by itself hung loose without the leather to draw it tight. She had never seen the Thief in such casual attire and though it had been some time since the test there were still bandages visible under the worn shirt. And then of course, there was the eye patch.

The dragon spoke first, a low whisper from its barrel chest.

“I’m s-”

“Don’t.” The Thief immediately cut her off, chopping the air with their hand.

An index finger was raised and waggled as though chastising a child.

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t ever say you’re sorry. Don’t be the kind of person that goes around apologizing for things.”

Blinking, the dragon stared at the Thief in bewilderment. She had rehearsed this exchange quite a number of times and had never expected it to go this way. Shifting on the rug, she made a high-pitched noise as an indignant bird might, were the bird made of 400 pounds of muscle and scales.

“Don’t give me that either, we both went there with something we wanted. We fought as hard as we could and you won.”

The dragon was staring at the Thief’s patched eye, the ruined socket underneath out of sight but not out of mind.

“It’s fine.”

She kept staring.

“It’s fine, really.”

She kept st-

“Honestly! I’m working on something much more interesting to stick in there now anyway. It’s not the end of the world, just a setback.”

Slowly, the great lizard laid her snout on the foot of the bed. She watched the Thief miserably, and the Thief looked away to hide the smile that had formed.

This great behemoth, it was just a huge puppy. Or rather, a puppy that suddenly had a mental capacity far outside even most humans. How big her emotions must be, and how new. At least she seems to have gotten used to her body. Being that big and sneaking into the second story of a building without alerting a single soul, it was impressive. The Thief had caught her, of course, it was what they did.

“Anyway, you should be happy...! Look at you now, you’re gorgeous and just… oozing with power. I bet you can even breath fire, right?”

They thought about that and then added, “don’t though, I don’t have the coin to pay for damages.”

Without picking up her head the dragon mumbled in response.

“I don’t know, I’m not sure how to even if I can… I don’t think I can do fire. I only just figured out talking...”

“Maybe steam or lightning?” The Thief said, “or… force? Whatever that looks like. Or light maybe...?”

“Why did you let me win?” Was the murmured reply from the dragon.

The Thief’s eye widened and they raised their hand again, finger pointing.

“Oh no, no no no. I did not ‘let you win’.”

“You’re a dragon.” They only felt mildly silly having to point this out to her. “I’m not going to beat a dragon in bare knuckle fisticuffs no matter how much magical goop I’ve got slushing through me at the time. And most of it was running out by then.”

“I felt you stop-” She struggled with the wording, tail thrashing books off their shelves as she thought.

“I felt you stop resisting.”

Briefly, the Thief thought about saying that the potions of strength had run out at just that moment. But she thought better of it, seeing the dragon staring at her so sincerely. They shrugged.

“It was a strategic retreat.” Seeing the look from the dragon they clarified.

“I accepted that I couldn’t win to avoid greater losses by continuing to fight. You were hopped up on adrenaline and might have killed me if I kept fighting. So, I gave up. I didn’t let you win, you beat me. I just didn’t feel like going through the motions.”

And, they added internally, you were terrified. She had just become the very image of perfection, a new body and a new mind full of possibility and nascent joy. If they had been in that position, the Thief wondered what they would be willing to do. Though, they had also had the briefest time to enjoy their own image of perfection as well; but for as long as they’d waited for it they could stand to wait a little longer. They weren’t getting any older, so there wasn’t any hurry.

Realizing that things had gone silent in the room, outside of the heavy, rumbling breaths of the dragon, the Thief rubbed at their temples.

“So. Where’s wand-up-her-bum? I can’t imagine she’d let you go too far.”

“We’re... taking a break”, hedged the Dragon.

The Thief burst into laughter, swatting at their thigh.

“A break?!” They managed to blurt out.

The Dragon made an anxious noise and shifted her gaze to the corner of the room then said:

“She was-”

A thoughtful pause.

“Upset.”

“I certainly imagine she would be...!” Jeered the Thief, images of the Sorceress squawking and thrashing arms sprouting feathers as quickly as they shed them forming in their mind.

The Thief prepared a thought to follow that question up, but seeing the dragon’s expression they shifted targets.

“Well, maybe you can tell me about that later. It’s pretty late for lazy criminals like myself.”

When she gave them a puzzled look they clarified again, “I’m between jobs so I’m enjoying sleeping normal hours, I mean.”

They stared at each other for several long breaths, clearly the dragon wasn’t really up on the social nuances of ‘you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here’. The Thief cleared their throat and indicated the bed beneath them.

Catching the hint, the Dragon shifted awkwardly, lifting their frilled head.

“Yes, well. I just wanted t-to say I was s-”

She caught the squint from the Thief.

“... sleepy. I’m very sleepy.” She finished lamely.

Feeling that perhaps they ought to throw the great beautiful beast a bone the Thief sighed and stood up from the bed.

“Listen, this isn’t a royal suite or a lair bulging with riches or anything but if you want to stick around for the night feel free. You’re going to have to watch me get into my night clothes though, I still pay for the room. And you don’t look like you’ve got any pockets on you. So I doubt you can chip in.”

The Dragon stood and paced about in a circle several times then curled up on the rag rug that dominated most of the floor. And, as happens in these instances, this meant she now took up a great deal of the floor space.

“So, no different than usual...?” She said, her tail draping over her long head as she settled it onto her paws.

“Well, you talk now so that makes it a little weird.”

The Thief thought about that and said, “but only a little.”

***

It was not altogether enough hours later when there came a sharp rapping at the door. Quietly cursing about dragons and a lack of depth perception, the Thief stumbled out of bed. After a few moments, they cracked their door open, enough to peek out and address the inn’s attendant. A ginger haired young lady gave them a mild look and proffered the tray in her arms.

“Morning service. Hot water and breakfast, 7AM wake up call.”

They nodded, giving the attendant a serious look.

“Yes, thank you, very good.”

A pause, the attendant proffered the tray again.

“Do you want me to bring it in or...?”

“I suppose, but tell me, do you think your morning would be greatly improved by seeing my little purple pygmy dragon, might it?”

The attendant rolled her eyes and puffed out a dismissive, “pfft”.

In response, the Thief nudged the door to swing open and reveal the snoozing dragon curled up on the floor. Without missing a beat, the attendant cracked a wry smile.

“Tch. I’ve seen bigger.” Then she deposited the tray into the Thief’s arms and went down the hallway with the rest of her cart.

Watching her leave the Thief’s expression tightened and they sighed, turning to address the waking dragon.

“She’s going to charge me double occupancy on this room, I just know it.”

They shut the door with the heel of their foot and placed the tray down on the writing desk. Settling down to straddle the chair, chest against the seat back, they addressed their new roommate.

“Alright. So, is this a thing now...?”

They made a gesture, flapping their hand to the dragon and back to themself.

“A thing?” The dragon muzzily responded, “well I guess-”

“No no, if you’re sticking with me then you have to be sure. Is it a thing or not?”

The dragon looked down at their talons, flexed them against the polished floor, then looked up.

“Can I still ride on your shoulders?” She felt a bit embarrassed even as she was saying it.

With a laugh, the Thief poured two cups of coffee from the tray’s carafe, retrieving the mug she’d used the previous night to go with the one newly delivered.

“Hun, I think it might be more appropriate for me to ride YOUR shoulders from now on.”

They passed a mug to the Dragon who accepted it while nodding thoughtfully.

“I think... I think I would really like that, actually.”

Raising the mug to her, a grin on their face, the Thief toasted to the partnership. Their cups clinked together and they drank, the Dragon quaffing more than drinking.

“Good”, the Thief said, “then you can help me pay for the room.”

[slimyscrivener]

The Test of Mettle Pt4

A short story based on a dream, various adventurers seek their heart’s desire in an eldritch Test of Mettle. The Thief and their Boa have a spirited discussion.

Beginning    ~~~   Previous   ~~~~   Next

It nodded a head of artificial feathers. Now was the right time, finally, to make the wish of which they had been instructed. It hardly had to be told to do this, in truth it had been chomping at the bit to make it since they arrived. Literally, chewing at a spare rod of wood in the Warrior’s pack over the hours it waited. But now it spat out the soggy splinters and screwed up its mind. The bell tone came again, as it had come incessantly over the time it had waited, and asked the question.

Squeaking wasn’t a formal language, but clearly The Test understood it clearly enough.

The first change the Familiar noticed was a rippling along its back, shifting all of the serpent’s vertebrae with disconcerting pops. Then a creaking of snake’s leather harvested from old boots, skeins of material once sewn together to form their skin pulling taunt. Finally, their body straining as it grew inside the backpack, the entirety of them exploded in a shower of pink feathers and canvas scraps.

Bones spun in the air, elongating, and reshaping themselves into a more majestic curve and curl. Patches of fake scales glimmered into true brilliance, turning from a dyed purple into a swirling array of galactic shades. The clay that filled the Familiar’s former body bubbled through the air, taking on the hues and arteries of real flesh before quickly attaching to bone and hiding beneath scaly skin.

When taloned paws slapped the earth, a new dragon coming to rest on the phantasmal grounds of The Test, time had barely passed.

From the ground behind it came a sputtered cough as though too much liquid were being forced down an already occupied throat. A neophyte dragon turned, feeling muscles for the first time and looked at the ragged shape of the Thief.

For their part, the Thief looked unnaturally cheerful.

“H-hey now”, they chuckled, wiping at the corner of their mouth.

“You’d make an awfully big boa now wouldn’t you? Heh…”

Standing up to their full height, two empty bottles gripped between the fingers of their right hand, corks in the palm of their left, the Thief smiled.

“I’m sort of all out of dragon slaying arrows here- and I’m not certain I have any intact ribs left so ... if you wouldn’t mind maybe backing out for old time’s sake? Maybe?”

The Dragon shuffled to face the Thief directly, watching them, and then opened a mouth brimming with teeth like so many gleaming daggers.

Somewhere hundreds of miles below a statue hit the ground at terminal velocity and exploded.

A glow, so intense as to penetrate the semi translucent phantasmal earth of The Test, lit up the dragon from beneath throwing each new line of musculature into sharp contrast.

And then the beast roared.

The thief’s chest heaved, and an onlooker might have mistaken the sound for a laugh.

***

It had never had the experience of weight, moving this massive new body was strange and alien. As it swung a paw tipped with vicious talons, the movement overshot and raked a young pine into so many scraps of kindling. The Thief was nimble, even as beaten as they were, and was clearly operating on magical assistance. There was something grim that the very first sounds it was to hear with its tapering draconic ears had to be the laboring heart and pained grunts of their once friend.

She, as the dragon had decided some time ago while it was still a glorified eldritch plushie, was having difficulty fighting the Thief. Not simply because they were a formidable opponent. Which was only truth for a certain value of formidable. And not just because she was entirely unused to this new and amazing body but, because this was not the fight she had imagined.

Leaping through the air, she caught the Thief’s boot in her maw and bit down. With a flick of her great neck she flung them back into the clearing. She had imagined fighting the Warrior like this, not as though she hated him at all, but she certainly didn’t care for him as much as the strange creature that smelled of potions and leather.

The earth churned under her feet as she stalked about the edge of the clearing.

The Thief, that treated her kindly.

Desperately clambering back up to their feet, speaking in that cocky, funny voice.

The Thief, that would pet her back.

She recalled the last time the Sorceress had stroked her back the way they had. Decades of interceding time came to mind. And that was another new feeling, memories all bubbled up in front of her real as they had never been before when her mind was made of unfired clay. Certainly, she had felt before when she was a sorceress’ familiar, but it was all so much bigger now. It was all so real, just as real as she was, and it was frightening.

Something pinged off of her scaly back and into the trees, she blinked out of the reverie and hissed. The Thief was saying something cheeky and shrugging helplessly, then a turn of the heel and off again they ran. Thin metal things fell from their hands, as she chased she glanced at them. They were darts perhaps? Magically enhanced darts? Those were ancient, she recalled, the Thief was running low of cantrips.

And they were getting tired. The Thief stumbled over roots and stones, losing their lead almost immediately.

She stretched legs, the intersection of equine and feline, and leapt over the obstacles that confounded The Thief.

The landing was heavy, great draconic paws crushing the ground at either side of the Thief’s head as her bulk forced the rest of their body to the ground. They twisted up under her, pulled a fist back, and punched her across the jaw.

Shocked, the dragon stared down at them.

Panting, the Thief did not pause, and swung with their other fist. Somewhere below a knee wildly connected with her stomach. In truth, she was not a massive house sized dragon of legend. She was only a mite more than above average size for a human, tiny for a dragon though even this was exponentially bigger than her previous size.

Another hiss, and she brought talons down upon Thief’s face. Again, another shock, the Thief caught her at the wrist with one hand and, violently shaking with the effort, kept it held there in the air.

She could simply reach down with her teeth and tear their neck out. It would be easy, occupy their other hand, then simply do it. They could never budge their whole bulk; their strength will give out. But they continued to stare down at the Thief, at their face streaked with grass stains and blood. Recoiling somewhere in their mind from it, some part that was still a strange little monster that road on their shoulders, she hesitated.

The Thief hurled their other hand up at the dragon’s head, sand and grit splashing against the side of her face. Had it not been for the second eyelids she had acquired with her change, this would have been an effective maneuver. In the circumstances, it only resulted in a rumbling growl. The dragon brought her other paw down on the Thief’s face, talons curled in like the blades of a plow.

She refused to let this go, to stop being this beautiful, real, living creature. How could the Thief understand this feeling? How could anyone feel all of these new emotions, larger than anything she had known before. Pain and anger, the strain against the Thief’s potion enhanced strength. Fear at the thought of losing this, the possible despair. Even considering the possibility made tears form at her eyes, the first she’d ever shed, so huge was the concept of loss to one new to the world.

Only having what she had always desired could give this feeling, this sudden rush of conviction. And still she wept, because her friend would not concede. Nor could she fathom how to work her body into asking them to do so. They had fought too hard to give up now, and with each moment her talons crept closer to the Thief’s face. They won’t give up, she knew it, dragon sized tears pooled and fell from the curling frills of her cheeks. The gobs of it smacked the Thief’s collar bone.

Something fleshy gave under the weight of her paw and it suddenly shot forward. Many things happened in the span of a moment.

Her talons penetrated the Thief’s eye, sliding through as easily as a knife through jelly.

The Thief did not cry out, instead their jaw set tight as they returned the dragon’s stare. A steely composure she had rarely ever seen in them was etched there.

She felt an eyelid flutter against her paw and she began to pull away, sudden revulsion working its way up her gut.

Phantasmal earth below them shimmered, and the Thief’s body fell through it from under her.

Watching, dumbstruck, she saw the Thief turn in the air and heard words half lost to their fall. After some time, their magic broom soared up under them and caught them. Their body thumped into it, a flailing of limbs connected with the length of timber and curled around it tight as it shot off and out of sight.

The Dragon watched this all occur, feeling ocular humors trickle down her talons and along the lines of her palm. She dropped her paw to the earth and ground the oily wetness into it. Then, slowly, they lowered their body to the ground as well. Trembling, the entirety of what had just happened flooded into them just as the old memories had.

She’d hurt the only person that was ever kind to her, maimed them, and driven them away.

All that was left now was the Sorceress.

She wept, with what she felt was the complete assurance of knowing no one would ever call her Boa again. If she ever felt affection it would only be because she had become useful again and only now did she truly understand how lonely that existence had been and would be for her.

***

A illusory sending floating over the phantasmal grounds of the test. There wasn’t much time before the whole scene evaporated, and her familiar was not responding to her instructions. She had lost track of it completely after it had made its wish. This was deeply concerning for her, she had assumed it would maintain its link even after the change. When she found it her feeling was of mixed relief and confusion.

It was sobbing in a patch of crabgrass, wings over its head and trembling.

The peculiarity of the situation was enough to make the Sorceress pause, but this only lasted a moment before her sending moved to the dragon’s side and spoke.

“Familiar, there is work to be done. Get up.”

After what felt like an age, when time was at a premium, the dragon uncurled a wing and looked up at her. She was unsure if the red around its yellow sclera was normal or not. It was not in any way a usual breed of dragon with colors like that. Her sending placed a hand on her hip and the other pointed up at the great column of clouds.

“Ambrosia…? Do you not recall your instructions? Fly up there and collect it, you have to be quick and learn the use of your wings before this land evaporates.”

The Dragon stared at her, then up at the clouds.

“An- bo-si-a”, it managed with some effort.

“Yes.” Said the Sorceress’ sending.

“Make sure you collect enough for yourself as well. You will need the strength to survive both the journey there and back to the ground…”

“We really do not have time to linger, this is our only chance, do you understand...?”

She couldn’t tell if this was sinking into the dragon’s head, but it reared up with aching slowness. It looked at the Sorceress again, then up at the sky.

It squinted.

[slimyscrivener]

The Test of Mettle pt3

A short story based on a dream, various adventurers seek their heart’s desire in an eldritch Test of Mettle. The party’s wishes are granted and things begin to rapidly spiral.

Beginning    ~~~    Previous   ~~~~   Next

After a morning’s simple breakfast and smoky campfire tea the party reconvened on the matter of The Test. The Sorceress once more explained the particulars, that The Test of Mettle would materialize at a tremendous height in the air as a great mass of phantasmal land. Earth, rocks, trees and other vegetation would all appear upon the illusory island in the clouds. One by one, people could set foot upon the island and request their heart’s desire. This would be delivered to them by the power of the test, and all they had to to do to keep it was be the last person standing on the island. Overall, it was a surprisingly simple procedure.

“About how many should we expect up there..?” The Thief asked, thumbing through the cracked parchments lining their scroll case.

“It changes every time The Test appears…” Hedged the Sorceress, running a taloned hand through her shock white hair.

“But it’s always around hundred or so, when it decide it’s had enough anymore people that set foot on it will just fall straight through.”

The Warrior grinned and added, “so we best get in early then, eh?”

Their preparations were quick and it was not long before the party, diminished by one sorceress, were floating up to the island on a glimmering disc. Below, the Sorceress directed the spell which would only just barely get them to the island provided the party was prepared for a little scrabbling and amateur acrobatics. They each exited the disc to climb onto the island, relieved to see that none of their number went hurdling through to the earth below. As the Cleric’s foot touched to the surface of the great phantasmal land mass the cage of The Test snapped shut, and began.

***

A sound like a bell shook all thoughts from her mind and replaced them with one, a question.

“What does your heart desire..?”

A breath in, and then out. She let the words of her wish form, a tentative whisper inside her mind that began grow in intensity.

Feeling the fire welling up inside her even as the answer appeared there in her mind, it expanded so quickly she thought light would pour from her eyes. At every edge, every angle of her body, radiant warmth was spreading. There was a vibration, an energy seeping out of her, a dam aching to burst. Certainty blossomed, the voice of God within, and she knew all the paths that laid before her-

***

They blinked, flexed their muscles, and looked down at their hands.

Their fingertips curled, wrists twisting about under their scrutiny. With a languid drop off their hands, they hooked their thumbs into their belt.

“Ah”, the Thief said with mild satisfaction, “good to know….”

A glance to the side, and their eyes widened in sudden apprehension as-

***

He touched his forehead, hand pushing through his bangs, his voice shaking.

“It’s gone. Th-the scar is… gone. It’s like-”

The Warrior turned to the Cleric, tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes.

“It’s like it never happened, I remember it like it was just a story someone told me, something that happened to someone else.”

Tears falling in earnest, rolling over the topography of his face, he quavered as he spoke.

“I-it never happened! I know it, it never happened. Like I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life.”

The Cleric gave him a kind but distant look, something was changing behind her eyes. She was listening, but only on the surface. When she took his trembling hands she patted them absently, staring through his sobbing face.

“Is it as you wanted..?” She said, her voice reverently soft.

He laughed, a nearly hysterical sound.

“Yes..! Ha, haha, of course it is! We’ll- We have to…”

She murmured something to him, and he pressed to her.

“Wha- what did you say?”

Leaning in closer, gently pulling his hands close to her body, she whispered.

“Die happily, my love.”

He gasped, wordless choking noise, barely a twitch from the bulk of the great Warrior. He was staring at the Cleric, gurgling as a trickle of blood pooled in the shelf of his chin. And slowly, he slumped onto her. As he did, she kissed him, embracing the rapidly cooling bulk of her lover.

She leaned back with bloodied lips, taking the weight of man and armour while withdrawing the thin shard of corruscating fire she’d buried in his chest.  Letting it drop, fading into motes of dust and light, she reached the arm around his thick torso. That hand cupped the back of his head, fondly petting the shorn skin there. Prayer hummed from her mouth and she lowered him to the glowing earth below them.

“My God walks with me now beloved, he will carry you to your eternal home. No one can take your happiness from you now… never again will you be hurt thusly. Be safe… beloved…”

The body slipped through the shimmering field and fell to the earth below. But instead of a dead weight of iron plummeting through empty air, the body flared into incandescence, burning flesh and steel away to ash.

Flexing her fingers, waves of thaumic energy dripping from the tips of her nails, the Cleric then turned to look at her empty surroundings.

“Now… where has the criminal gotten to…”

***

Working with quick, precise circles, the Thief was tying a grey silk bag shut with silver cord. The bag, which the Thief had a moment earlier blown into until it was the size of a human fist, was tied off just as a loin clothed fellow burst through the tree line. The sweaty man was wielding a sword that could only graciously be called ostentatious, waggling the blade in meaty paws. It was as tall as he was and dripped with enchantments the way a roast drips with grease.

The Thief squinted at the vaguely sword shaped pylon and remarked internally that happiness takes all sorts of forms, and who were they to judge a heart’s desire.

They were reminded of its wielder when the pink man thing bellowed a challenge as he charged. With flicking movements of the wrist the Thief started to spin the bag with one hand.

A hand on their hip they tossed the bag at the oncoming barbarian and watched as it PAFFed against the unarmored man’s chest. Or perhaps squelched was a better word.

The knot undid itself and air howled from the bag’s interior rocketing the barbarian into the air. Their massive magical meat cleaver thudded to the ground as their leather booted feet came clear of the phantasmal earth.

When the barbarian became a speck on the horizon the Thief’s gaze shifted to the sword. After a minute more it faded away into the same ether that composed The Test. They shook their head, they likely wouldn’t all be that easy.

An explosion rocked the illusory earth below and they shot a look over their shoulder. The gout of flame was visible even this far, a plume of fire that engulfed a stand of ethereal pine.

***

Elsewhere, but not as far as the phrase might imply, a patchwork creature was rummaging through wrapped parcels.  A few minutes earlier it, and the bag it occupied, had been dropped to the ground and not picked up again since. It was about then that the tone had sounded in its head. Dutifully, it ignored the sound and dug about until it found the apples. The big meat man always had apples.

***

Another wave of fire crested the glassy banks of the hill, conjured by the hand of a woman in cleric’s robes. She stood tall, scale mail gleaming in the light of her surging magic. The subject of her explosive wrath, another spell caster, had been engulfed in the last great cataclysmic wave. Deceivers, charlatans, she shook her head as the words formed in her mind. One could not suffer them to live. These had always been her precepts, the will of the great lord of flame and judgement. But all things were cleansed in fire, and even these filthsome souls would find solace in her purifying wrath.

Something moved, shimmering, an invisibility that would have hidden the figure from normal eyes. Hers, however, were now lamp lit with the power of her god. The flimsy organs had boiled away, even now she could feel the blackened ooze of them on her cheeks. In their place was certainly, knowledge that was profound and perfect. She saw the ostensibly invisible figure and knew its crimes. It’s many many crimes, both of the land’s laws and moral bankruptcy. And as she swept a hand toward it, calling the fire within her again, she knew that only the disgusting shape of the Thief could have filled that description.

Flames roared again, a column that flowed liked a tidal wave over the Thief and engulfed them. Her hand was still raised when a shock of pain erupted from her back in a pang of icy cold.

The Thief staggered back, half expecting the knife simply to shatter on the Cleric’s armour, but it had sunk quite firmly into her back. It’s last charge delivered, the dagger’s blade was already disintegrating as she swung around to face them. A hand raised, sleeves billowing dramatically from under her armor, the Cleric bellowed a word of power.

The movement ended, hand held high, triumphant.

Silent.

She scowled, light drooling from the corners of her eyes, and then turned her ire on the Thief again.

“What did you do, criminal?”

The Thief had allowed themself a moment of terror, like one does when facing the avatar of a righteous god, but it seemed the wrath was not yet forthcoming. Peeking through arms crossed defensively over their face, the Thief finally started breathing again.

“It’s ah, the old Mage Killer trick.”

Eyes narrowing at them the Cleric growled, “you said all of its charges had been used up. Hence, not using it on the Octolich.”

“I lied”, they said. “So, that’s it for your magic. I’ve got plenty of time now until it wears off, just, just give up okay? You can just-”

The thought was cut off as the Cleric, having retrieved and unwrapped a parcel from over their shoulder, swung the fallen Warrior’s broadsword at the Thief. Dirt and gravel kicked into the air as it drew furrows through the earth. The Thief collapsed backwards and rolled away, springing up onto their feet and getting back into the time honored tradition of the strategic retreat.

“Liar! Coward!” Bellowed the Cleric, which the Thief felt were probably accurate descriptions.

***

Having consumed all of the apples, bacon, candles and part of a bar of soap the little creature finally rolled over onto its back in the darkened space. It was not so much bored, as it hardly ever got bored exactly, but the tone sounding in its mind was becoming annoying. If it’s little head had been filled with something other than clay and old bones it would probably have been driven to distraction by the sound. However, thankfully for it’s mistress’ purposes it was a bit too thick for that.

However, it was definitely antsy to get things moving along.

It considered the bar of soap again.

***

The Thief slammed against the trunk of a phantasmal oak, digging the iron tips of her climbing gloves into it to pull themself out of the way of another sweep of the Cleric’s broadsword. They shimmied around the bulk of the tree, feeling the hair of their neck raked by the sword’s point. There was a thunderous THUNK and a great heaving grunt from the Cleric. Guessing, hoping, the Thief dug through their rapidly diminishing trove of tricks and charms in their belt pouches. They dug a scroll clear of their belt in one hand, the other busy catching their weight as they crawled from the Cleric.

“Do you only know how to run criminal? Everyday I had to endure your presence..!”

Here she savagely pulled at the broadsword again, but it had become almost impossibly buried in the oak. Despite this, and in spite of the local physics, it budged with her second wild heave.

“I had to make my bed with law breaking criminals, salacious sorceresses..!”

“Very good alliteration.” Murmured the Thief, eyes scanning the scroll with what little time they had.

When the sword came free and whirred through the air in a tremendous arc, the Thief was prepared. They’d kept themself low and twisted their body to throw themself clear. Unfortunately they had not anticipated the Cleric to release the sword mid swing and put the centrifugal force of her weight as she spun into a iron shod kick to the Thief’s solar plexus. The criminal was lifted into the air with the force of it, hurled several yards and through the underbrush.

They thudded, smashed through vines and boxwood bushes, and rolled into the familiar clearing where they had initially landed on The Test. Wheezing, attempting to overcome the distant though of pain despite magical infusions, they rolled on to their back. Arms trembling, they lifted the scroll up, feeling as though it would be impossible to hear the spell over their organs screaming. One hand took itself from the parchment and pointed at the approaching Cleric, forming arcane gestures as they spoke.

The Cleric could not hear the spell over her crashing through the same underbrush the Thief had disturbed, and even if they could there was little it would have done to dissuade her. She stooped, caught the handle of the recently thrown broadsword and held it pommel to palm. Bringing it up in an overhand swing, her other hand coming up to snatch the cross grip and force the weapon down, the Cleric leapt on the Thief.

She didn’t stop, even with magical trickery involved, physics still had a hand to play. And perhaps it was still a bit peeved about the earlier incident with the tree. Even as the spell took hold and the Cleric’s skin petrified, she continued to travel through the air. Time appeared slow to the Thief’s eyes, as the Cleric went from a couple hundred pounds of armor and malice to nearly a ton of dense stone on a disastrous trajectory with their very fragile body. They twisted, grabbed a hold of a jutting stone in the clearing and pulled themself with one savage movement.

It wasn’t a scream, the Thief’s larynx was too terrified to unclench enough for that, instead it was a bit more like a horrified squeel. This died away as they continued to live, rather than be utterly crushed under the Cleric turned statue’s weight.

They risked a look, and yes, their right foot had been caught under the bulk of the statue. They would have been more concerned about the pain but of the many potions coursing their their system one of them had boosted their constitution to the point where their threshold for pain had nearly made them numb. Quite aware that pain should be happening, but without the pesky business of actually being in pain, the Thief was only mildly annoyed with this development. With a shove of their boot, the Thief pushed the statue off and on to the shimmering ground.

After a moment, as though the Test were making a decision, the Cleric statue fell through the earth and plummeted to the ground below.

The Thief let out a sigh of relief, staring up at the sky, and was perfectly in range to see the dragon arrive.

[slimyscrivener]

Test of Mettle Pt2

A short story based on a dream, various adventurers seek their heart’s desire in an eldritch Test of Mettle. The party’s Thief amuses themself by telling a story under the moonlight.

Beginning    ~~~    Previous   ~~~~   Next

The Thief was watching the stars, laying out on the branches of a living oak. Their boa, the mishmash familiar that had been formed with aspirations of being a tiny dragon, squeaked at them. Daintily, the Thief plucked the black handkerchief from its head and returned it to their belt pouch.

“She’s asleep now…? Must have drugged herself, I like to think I’m an insomniac but that woman sets the bar a bit high for my taste. How are you doing?”

Boa disengaged from the Thief’s shoulders and crawled onto their chest. It circled twice, then laid down, its beaky snout near the Thief’s chin. Its eyes blinked, little black beads set into a head of purple scales and pink feathers. They had never seen the creature actually sleep, though they supposed it must doze from time to time, otherwise it would have to get frightfully bored. They brought up a hand and pet down its back where it was incongruously fuzzy for some reason.

They were watching a cloud pass, the shape of it throwing shadow before the moon, letting it move on before starting to speak again.

“Do you know about Ambrosia?”

The familiar shook its head.

“Ah! I’m surprised I haven’t told you this one before. Let me see…”

The Thief shifted on the bough, getting comfortable on the gnarled old growth. They made a point of learning about every arcane curiosity they could, no matter how farfetched or unlikely they seemed. Being that, in their line of work, they had learned that all manner of unusual magics existed in the world and even the most impossible things were possible. Despite this, Ambrosia remained the most farfetched but indelibly famous of such tales.

“Let me see, the story I heard goes like this.

There’s gods for everything right? A god of light, darkness, the wind that blows and the earth under our feet. And there’s gods for other things, war, justice, law and so on. Well, a long long time ago there was a god of… gods!

Okay so, he was specifically the god of divinity and, honestly, he was probably more like a godly bookkeeper. He kept track of who was god of what and when those portfolios of primordial meaning would occasionally change hands. He was also in charge of when new gods would get appointed from among the mortal ranks. That happens sometimes you know; great heavenly wars tend to end up with some dead gods. Though, I mean, a dead god isn’t ever really dead in the way people are but that’s not really part of the story.

Anyway, so the god of divinity, nobody remembers his name it was so long ago, he’s sitting at his great golden writing desk and taking stock of elemental vocations among the current pantheon at the time. He’s ticking off the boxes: water, fire, rock, plants, light, dark and eventually he gets to wind. Just, tapping his quill on the glittering parchment in thought. And he realizes that… there isn’t a god of wind! The poor guy nearly falls out of his chair, he blurts it out right there. ‘There is no god of wind!’

The air, being pretty sneaky and good at getting into hidden places, hears this and carries the message out into the world to a waiting set of ears. Meanwhile, the god of divinity is beside himself, he’s fretting a hole into his heavenly office with his pacing. Eventually he decides to go down to the land of mortals and find someone to appoint. Normally he’d take a few years or decades to make the right decision but the ledgers say there hasn’t been a god of wind in centuries! Who was even keeping track of the clouds? Figuring out how to keep the air sweet and breathable, lending fragrance to the world and keeping it from going stale?

He looks down at the world and sees that everything is still running as usual, and that makes him really confused. Noticing that there was a specific area that appeared to have some very unusual cloud formations he decides to check in. So, he goes down to the world of mortals in his usual shape, a fuddy duddy bald fellow with some ill-fitting spectacles.”

The Thief paused, stroking up the familiars back to gently rub the bridge of its snout.

“Still okay there? Haven’t fallen asleep or… whatever it is you do?”

With an enthusiastic peep the familiar nuzzled the Thief’s finger.

“Haha, okay, back into it then.”

So, the god of divinity putters out to the place with the strange clouds and finds an area almost entirely empty of life. It’s all huge boulders and sand, the only living things around for miles are some gruff looking goats and the gnarled weeds they eat. Eventually after walking for a few months he comes upon a woman lying on an especially big boulder. She’s just laying out, smoking a long pipe, and watching the clouds overhead. Occasionally she lifts her hand and points the mouthpiece of her pipe up at them and draws a few lazy lines. The god looks up and sees that the shapes she draws makes the clouds distort into new contours. Slowly, bit by bit, she’s shaping off clouds and sending them away to float off across the world.

Eventually he just can’t take it anymore. He goes right up to the boulder, stumbles up it in his mortal body, and addresses the woman.

He says, ‘hello there my good woman how is it that you can direct the clouds thus?”

She doesn’t look at him but responds, ‘because I can.’

He frowns, ‘but you must have learned somehow, and why are you doing it at all?”

The woman waggles her pipe at a particularly voluminous cloud, shattering it into many smaller corvettes of floating cotton.

‘The wind taught my mother to shape it, and now I do the same. And between you and me, I’m a lot better at it. She kept herself a bit too busy with… personal sorts of shapes you know?’’

‘Th-the wind did...?’

Our god of divinity is beside himself now, the wind taught her mother? Who was the wind to choose its own master? And how could a human ever achieve such incredible magical power?

And then the moment of anger fades, and he suddenly feels really tired. He sits down next to the woman and cranes his head back to watch the clouds shifting and flowing above.

‘Are there many other humans… so skilled?’

She shrugs, ‘probably I suspect. People better than me will come along, after all, I only get a few decades to get good at it.’

Despite being a god, he was hardly all knowing. He was unfamiliar with the people of the mortal world and had never considered that they could achieve so much without the interference of divine powers.

‘Does the world even need me...?’ He murmurs.

‘Maybe…’ The woman responded thoughtfully, ‘maybe it's not a matter of whether the world needs you or not but what you can do to make it better with the time you have… and it is such a shame… if only we had more time imagine what we could do.’

And she raises both hands up to the clouds and begins to shape them into a scene. There are resplendent towers of art growing from fabulous cities. Great machines both mechanized and arcane take wing over the cities, filled with people of every sort. Images of immense forests and floating kingdoms float by upon the horizon.

Who would the god of divinity pass his own mantle on to some day? Who would choose the gods of the world when the day came that he was undone? Would he consign himself to the endless half existence of godly death, forgotten and with no one to mourn the loss? There were lifetimes to the gods themselves, he was suddenly quite aware of how short they could be.

‘Can you tell me…’ He said, ‘who is the god of divinity...?’

She frowned up at the clouds and placed her pipe back to her lips.

‘Sorry, I’ve never heard of any such god.’

He squints at the clouds, the words ringing in the new hollow opening up inside of him. Was he truly irrelevant? No. He wouldn’t allow it. He would be remembered, and he would do what he could with his time.

When he stood up it was so sudden as to cause the woman to half spring to her own feet. He glared at the clouds and then pointed to the greatest, most tempestuous of the thunder head clouds.

‘You say you are skilled. Would you be a god?’

She nods without hesitation.

‘Yes, I would.’

‘Then’, he says, ‘I will place the seeds of divinity there at the pinnacle of the world. If you get up there then you can claim it for yourself. And if you do, you tell the world the path to being a god. You tell them it is the fruit of Ambrosia and he gifts it to the greatest of them.’

Without a backward glance, the god of divinity abandons his mortal body and erupts into the sky in a golden comet. He slams into that thunder head and when he finally reaches the peak of the world he takes handful after handful of his godly body and hurls it off into the world. Just great wads of god flesh thrown into the inhospitable, impossible places. Eventually, there just isn’t a thing left of him at all.

The woman watches all of this, pipe nearly falls right out of her mouth. But then the wind curls up to her ear and whispers, it says a strange new fruit of light and power has begun to grow at the tops of her clouds.

She smiles, because the whole thing went better than she could have imagined.”

After a few minutes of silence, the familiar squeaks into the Thief’s face. They chuckle and rub the feathered creature’s head.

“What? What happens next? Well, she flies up there and eats of the godly fruit obviously. The stories all get sort of different at that point and they don’t really say what it does or how she gets it. Supposedly it lets you live forever though, that much people agree on.”

The Familiar tilts its head at them and they can’t help but smile.

“Have I even seen it…? Well... “

A shuffling beneath their tree heralded the Cleric’s approach. The Thief twisted from looking at the familiar and gave a lazy salute down to her. Dutifully, she gives them a curt smile in response. Settling down against the tree she folds up cross legged in the fallen leaves. Thief and familiar exchange a look as to imply that story time was unfortunately over for the present, the familiar laying its head on the Thief jerkin. Time passed like this, the Thief idly stroking their boa’s back, the Cleric reading by the glow of her holy symbol. After a few uneventful hours, as the evening tucked into the business of being thoroughly night, the Thief attempted to rouse the Cleric.

“How do you feel about tomorrow?” They said, turning their head slightly.

“Very little”, was the Cleric’s reply. Likely realizing that it would be impolite to stop there she continued.

“We'll see what the test can do… I guess we’ll have to fight as well. I'll be happy to back out at the end so someone else can have their wish, to be quite honest. It all sounds so needlessly stressful.”

“Really? There’s nothing you want badly enough to fight seriously?”

“I doubt it could give me what I really want. “

“But what if it did?”

The Thief attempted to crane their neck around further, to see the Cleric’s face, but the boughs below them obscured the details in the dark. Just as they had assumed the Cleric to have either fallen asleep or gotten tired of their conversation they heard her speak,

“My greatest wish is that everyone could be happy, and have the fate they deserve.”

Frowning, the Thief couldn’t help but feel very nervous about that answer.

[slimyscrivener]

Test of Mettle Pt 1

A short story based on a dream, various adventurers seek their heart’s desire in an eldritch Test of Mettle. But what those desires are and how far they are willing to go is yet to be determined.

Beginning    ~~~   Next

The subterranean lair of the Octolich was filled with the lingering wails of the hopeless, the lost adventurers that had fallen there, leagues beneath the earth. Traps of each shape and stripe filled its endless halls: spikes, arrows, gases, and every awful contrivance a Dwarven mechanist could be convinced to create. And a few that would only be devised in their fevered dreams, neon mushroom foam at their lips as they scrawled their arcane blueprints. It was as though the Octolich had a near inexhaustible supply of gold for such elaborate pitfalls. Though apparently not much to spare for bodyguards. Aside from the telltale traces of sorcerous cephalopod slime upon the floor there was little indication of habitation.

Or perhaps any villainous militia had proven as incapable of dealing with the traps as the adventurers that perpetually failed to raid the depths.

“Well… what do you think Boa...?”

A figure with the sort of build designed for squeezing through broken windows, their carefully pinned bun of dark hair hidden behind a standard grey green rogue’s cowl, was addressing the garish shawl around their shoulders. The shawl, or boa as they called it, uncoiled and lifted a reptilian head. It squeaked, and the Thief nodded.

“Hm, yea that’s what I thought.”

Some surprising number of yards away through solid rock and, until recently, locked doors a Sorceress groaned. Looking through her familiar’s eyes, she squinted the little beady orbs at the Thief. The creature squeaked again, this time with a noticeably impatient air.

“Ah huh”, knowing that the Sorceress had slipped back into the creature’s head the Thief turned their attention to the absurdly complex locking mechanism in front of them. There before them was a vast tract of tumblers, alien spirals of pins that rotated on klein-bottled springs. The Thief had absolutely no idea what sort of key would be used in this lock, something with more dimensions than they had fingers most likely. Of course, the Thief was much more pragmatic than to try and pick this sprawling mess.

Metallic whining echoed in the hallway, the tortured sound heralding the din that followed. Steel bracings and plates slammed into the floor tiles, eaten away by carefully applied acids. Their supports had been chiseled and drilled by a perhaps not graceful but very tenacious rogue. It was a riot of noise as though a busy kitchen had been turned upside and shaken, cast iron pots thrown free and soaring like so many flakes in a snow globe. The chintzy reptilian boa around the Thief’s neck squawked with significantly more indignance at this. The Thief gave a shrug in response and blew a raspberry at the mess.

As though to throw the entire enterprise into farce one final plate slid to the floor and spun, gently, on its side until wobbling to the floor. The Thief winced at this, favoring the familiar with a tight-lipped smirk, then began to dig through their various pockets. They pawed through their belt pouches and selected a plain grey vial, then shook it in the Sorceress’ familiar’s face.

Elsewhere the Sorceress cursed, midway through standing and rousing her waiting companions. A heavily armored man with such accoutrements as to simply scream warrior for hire nodded and sat up. He and his accomplice pushed away from the long table their party had sequestered for planning, heavy timber squeaking under so much tinned meat. The Cleric, fourth member of the party, finally opened her eyes from meditation when the Sorceress’ voice started traveling from aggravated to indecently shrill.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare you worthless scum su-”

On the other side of her familiar’s eyes the cowled figure popped a tiny cork from the bottle, a sound lost to the thumping of… 7… possibly 8 tentacled legs? The Thief prodded the Sorceress’ familiar’s beaky snout and then swallowed the draught. Immediately, the Sorceress’ vision through her familiar’s eyes went dark and she cursed loudly, expansively. Sheer audacity causing the tiles under her feet to discolor a sickly yellow as the tips of the Warrior’s manicured mustache hissed and popped with sudden heat. He gasped and swatted at his own face with an audible THAP.

Midway through beginning her protective prayers, the Cleric passed a hand over the Warrior’s face to calm the tiny flames and reddening imprint of a gauntlet across his cheek. She smiled, tired but confident, and patted him on a pauldron.

“It looks like it’s time for us, love”, said she.

He nodded cheerfully, bringing a broadsword up to rest on his armored shoulder. The great blade’s hanging charms began to glow a healthy incandescent red as the Cleric began her chant again.

“Yupper, looks like it luv. No worries though right? It’s just some fish zombie that slings ancient eldritch fire. Nothing unusual about that.” He winked at the Cleric who responded with another tired smile, lifting her holy symbol to her chest.

“Thing I don’t understand is”, he went on, “does it need to stay wet...? You know, being that it does magic, stands to reason that it reads books, books being notoriously ill served by water… but it’s still a squid, right? It’s just a great fish with robes on and tentacles. How does it…”

He gaped.

“How does it turn the pages...?”

“MAGIC” the Sorceress screeched, one hand pulling at her cropped hair while the other traced sigils in the air, activating the plethora of her own traps that she’d added to the hallway most likely for the lich to traverse.

“Magic, magic, it’s always magic. Mage hand, easy, look...!” She demonstrated by creating a phantasmal hand in front of the warrior and having it make a rude gesture.

The Warrior blinked, then squinted at the hand.

“What uncouth ghosts this place has, honestly, I don’t think it’s the sort of place for a lady like you.” This was directed at the Cleric who was attempting to stifle a chuckle.

“Don’t encourage him…” The Sorceress sighed, her own preparations complete, she moved to the back of the gallery they’d holed up in. Furniture and sundry magical means barred all the entrances, leaving only one exit for the Warrior to set his bulk into. She ambled back a bit further and preened the dark feathers sprouting at her cheeks. Squawking altogether too much, she noted mentally, it was starting to bleed through.

Wet slapping upon expensive tiling echoed down the corridors, a sound edging closer and closer to the adventurers filled the gallery.

“I really…” The Warrior began, Sorceress rolling her eyes in the rear.

“I really want to see how in the world that thing walks around…”

In a whisper designed to be just barely audible to the Sorceress, the Cleric said,

“Magic.”

***

A wobbling shadow disappeared around the corner, and the Thief allowed themself to breathe again. Being invisible was no excuse for being sloppy about hiding, there were plenty of creatures that could pierce right through such a simple obfuscation draught. They had better, but this wasn’t the time for it. They had quite a selection of magical trinkets and potions in fact, but they were being saved for ‘the right time’. Which had yet to come, and their bag was getting quite heavy.

Settling down into a crouch, they tilted their head to watch the corridor an eight-legged lich had just skulked down.

“We should probably follow along eh...?”

The Thief’s boa gripped their collar in tiny claws, then squeaked. Somewhere far off a nightmare of oily tentacles was cursing in a dead language, accompanied by the sound of lightning bursting from hidden floor runes.

“Well, we want to give em some space so they can trip ALL the traps for us. Then we sneak up and deal some well-placed hits from the safety of being nowhere near the blast zone.”

‘The blast zone’, being their nickname for the Warrior of which he was altogether quite fond.

Lazily, the Thief unfastened two thick staves from their pack. They screwed together in the middle, forming a long staff of mottled olive wood. Angling the head of bristles behind them and the crooked knob to the front, they mounted the worn traveling broom just as the sounds of battle began in the distance.

“Alright Boa, I think we’ve let them dangle for long enough now. Hang on, I want to make a good entrance.”  

Boa, which was not the name of the Sorceress’ familiar as she had never actually named the creature at all, dug its little talons into the Thief’s leather jerkin. As a familiar the pseudodragon was the relatively low class option. Essentially it was a chimera of different animal parts smashed together with magic and glitter glue. The kindergarten art project of magical familiars. This one was a bit more of a feathered snake than dragon but, it’s six little legs could cling tenaciously when it had a mind to do. Its pink feathers fluttered in the sudden rush of wind as the Thief lifted into the air on their broom, shooting down the corridor ringing with eldritch cursing and the din of fierce melee.

***

“Boots!”

Fire snapped, throwing cinders up in a spray as the Warrior howled with laughter.

“Two tentacles to a boot...!” He was shaking his head, prodding the fire with a stick before merrily tossing it in.

“And…” Covering his face, another peal of laughter causing him to visibly shake with the sound.

“And pants, the bleeding thing had pants on!”

“Well.” The Cleric smiled, leaning on the Warrior’s side, “I mean it wouldn’t have been polite to walk around without pants on, but I feel the ruffled fencing shirt was a bit much.”

“Oh…?” The Warrior snickered, “I thought it made him look rather rayfish.”

Squinting at the fire the Cleric murmured, “I thought it was an octopus...?”

“It was a none-a-pus when I got done with it...!”

“Well...” She tugged on the Warrior’s mustache playfully, “...just let me know if you ever one-a-pus.

“OH, MY GODS” Squawked the sorceress, savagely stoppering her ink well and glaring at her companions.

“The Octolich job was weeks ago, don’t either of you cretins remember what tomorrow is...?”

The Warrior grinned, tucking the Cleric up under one meaty arm. “Sure, that magical wish test thing, right?”

“The Test of Mettle.” Said the Sorceress, leafing through her scrolls and finding her composure in explanation.

“And I can’t go with you clods so you’d better be ready for it.”

“We can back out at any time correct, and killing is not… necessary, is it?” Said the Cleric, looking rather comfortable in her robes and muscle arm scarf.

“It isn’t necessary, but things get very heated. No one wants to give up their heart’s desire when they finally have it in their hands.”

There was quiet around the fire, nothing but the gentle crackle and snap. A wind played through the leaves overhead, ruffling the Sorceress’ shock of white hair. Both the Cleric and the Warrior were staring at her, the former more surreptitiously than the latter. She was a walking reminder of what could be achieved through the test. Having won it years, though the Cleric suspected it was closer to decades, ago the Sorceress had complete mastery of her own shape. That she opted to keep herself looking like indigo scaled dragon woman spoke quite a lot to her personal tastes. For a magic user capable of perfect shape change she still spent very little time in melee, but there was such a thing as style even to something such as she.

“Not sure what the test can do for me, I’m already the most handsome person I know.” Said the Warrior, releasing the Cleric and standing to stretch. Absently, he pushed his hand up through his bangs to expose an old scar, thumb feeling the tiny groove. Letting his bangs fall back into place he hesitated, pensively eyeing the clouds overhead.

The Cleric watched him, her expression growing concerned, before standing with him.

“It’s my watch with… them. Tonight, but… did you want to talk a little...?

The Warrior shrugged, but his face did not reflect the same jocular motion.

“Sure love…”

Watching them leave, the Sorceress attempted to sight through her familiar’s eyes again. Once more, there was nothing but pitch black. The Thief was purposely sitting in the dark, she was certain, and of course her familiar didn’t have dark vision… or infravision or any sort of magical vision. Really, its best trick was that it managed to keep functioning at all. If her plan for tomorrow didn’t work out she resolved that it was time to get a replacement that could measure up to her needs.

When she was young, which was quite a long time ago, it had been an excellent familiar. But now she was dealing with liches and lesser demons. The only real function it served her was being able to keep tabs on the Thief. And she was starting to get concerned that the two of them were bonding more than was appropriate for what was little more than a magical puppet.

[slimyscrivener]

Grand Finale

Grand Finale for Cassini

I will dive on through Saturn’s rings So the moons I love are spared the sting Of my nuclear heart

I sang to you of ethane seas I saw the greatest storm, to please The Earth that smiled at me

I made the journey you could not And told you stories of what you sought Even now, as I fall

So spend not a moment in grief As I pass on with the belief That the Earth smiles on me

Always

[slimyscrivener]

Dead Days

Sometimes I wish so desperately That dead days would stay buried But those putrid graves still linger Making moments, precious and small Into corpses walking, rotting, remaining Until, wading through the stinking mire I exhume those wretched, toxic hours And murder them again

[slimyscrivener]

Why

Walking in a world of grey Through an anxious haze.

My reason I would say, “For tea and windy days.”