#ttrpg fiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

btranmuses · 1 year

Text

Executive Intervention

a gay urban fantasy short story

The candles snuffed out, though Sabrina felt no air movement. All but a single flame remained against the sudden darkness, and in the mirror where she should be, stood a man. The meagre illumination from the candle couldn’t penetrate the blackness that shrouded his face, but still its reflection danced as two golden pinpricks where his eyes should be. She swore if she looked at them long enough, they would bear through the back of her skull, scraping clean every ounce of secret she harboured there.

A new City of Mist campaign, another short story! Introducing Liam An, fuccboi, manwhore, executive, mirror teleporter and psychic terroriser. The Group is facing a sudden business disruption threatening one of its subsidiaries, and Liam is here to intervene on behalf of the Board.

Liam thought the new guy was fine. Late thirties or early forties, if the grey temples were any indication. Those tanned fingers were ring-free, and he rocked the grey suit. To anyone else the man would look calm and collected, but not everyone could sense these things like Liam could. Tension radiated from the man like a full-bodied punch, with just a swirl of anxiety for spice; an almost valiant effort at composure.

By fine, Liam meant delectable.

Alani Chauhan, the CEO, finished her typing and looked up from her end of the conference table, to Liam's right. "Mr. Manik, please," she said, as all eyes landed on the new guy. "I'm ready. Let the Group know how Enstern is doing."

Lee Manik, in his grey tailored glory, nodded and moved to the other end of the table. The Glacial Holdings Group logo stopped spinning on the screen wall, turning into Enstern Corporation. The rest of the Board eyed him like hawks, and Liam too, though with a different flavour of hunger. It was, if anything, interesting to see how the new Director was managing the launch of a new supermarket chain.

The man went through his presentation on how Enstern was doing. Liam could sense disappointment rising from those expecting a trainwreck, but from many others, and himself, respect and delight. Enstern was… concerning when Lee assumed the role a few months back, but it looked quite healthy now: finances, resources, strategy, construction, paperwork all on track, and the marketing direction Liam approved with minor adjustments was in good shape.

Before Liam could tune out, though, Lee dropped a bombshell.

"Neopac, Enstern's major logistics partner, is unfortunately indicating their intention to withdraw from the partnership," Lee said with perfect composure, though his anxiety spiked bitter in Liam's mouth. "My team is trying their best to find out what motivated this decision, but progress is slow. Yes, Mr. An?"

Liam lowered his hand. "How about Harkinsons and Pearce?"

"They are still on board with the Enstern launch, but with Neopac's reputation, there is the risk that their withdrawal may have a knock-on effect on the others."

Liam shook his head. "Those two will be glad to take over Neopac's spot, believe me. As long as they commit, the launch will be fine, though I'd rather Neopac stay in line and minimise disruptions." He started composing a message on his phone to his secretary, but not before flashing a smile at Lee, and catching the man double-taking. Jackpot. "Leave them to me, I'll follow up."

"With all due respect, I don't think Mr. An's involvement is necessary at this stage," Paul Thompson objected from opposite Liam at the table, to Ms. Chauhan's right. "Enstern has their own strategy resources, and surely Mr. An has other Glacial responsibilities to attend to."

"I appreciate your concerns, Mr. Thompson," Liam said, "but I disagree. Even though we have a variety of logistic partners, Neopac is involved with other orgs in the Group's portfolio. This is beyond Enstern's scale, and partner management is, indeed, one of my Glacial responsibilities."

"That sounds good, Liam," Ms. Chauhan said, "and the Board agrees with your track record. Please keep us updated next week. Back to you, Lee."

Paul sat back on his chair. No one needed Liam's abilities to know he was fuming, but Liam paid the man no mind. He was busy blasting the full wattage of his smile at the fresh but capable Director at the other end of the room, who, to his delight and satisfaction, stumbled over his words for a second and as the presentation resumed, his eyes kept returning to Liam.

II.

The picture his secretary Elizabeth got of this Eddie character did not do the man justice. The lush brown hair matched the dim golden lights inside the Ornament restaurant in a very flattering way. Liam wondered what it would feel like to run his fingers through them.

The waiter finished pouring their wine, and disappeared with the menus. Eddie cleared his throat. "Sorry. Yeah, I was saying I'm a compliance officer at a logistics company, don't know if you've heard of them. Neopac?"

Yes, Elizabeth was overqualified. If he could Liam would have got her into the International Hall of Heroes to work as his handler, but he didn't have much sway there, not yet. He was stuck with Jamie instead.

Liam raised a practised eyebrow. "Can't say I have. What do they do?"

"Oh, we're working with a new major supermarket! They're going to open in a year, and it's getting really, really busy."

"Enstern?"

"No no no, the other one, their competitor, ha. BNC, but the consumer name is Bunnies. A much friendlier name I think, what even is an Enstern?"

Eddie was right, and Liam agreed with him. Thing was, the Board was too corporate to let go of that name, but water under bridge, et cetera. Instead, Liam smiled. "That sounds exciting indeed. Please, tell me more."

Three hours later, Liam was running his tongue over Eddie's bare neck, who he got pinned against a wall in an executive hotel suite downtown, panting with eyes glazed over. He took Eddie's stubbled jaw in one hand. The man was ready.

Liam bore his gaze deep, deep into those eyes, and asked without uttering a word.

Who is trying to get Neopac away from Glacial?

"Jake Cassidy," Eddie said breathlessly, then shuddered as if waking. "Wait, what did I just say? Oh my god did I say something stupid?"

Liam pressed his rage down his stomach and his thumb into Eddie's mouth, who shivered at once. He couldn't help but at least smiled; the man was just so responsive. He brushed his lips against Eddie's ear and murmured, "Don't you worry a thing."

~~~

III.

Sabrina lit the last of the candles that crowded the bathroom sink. They looked ridiculous under the fluorescent light, but all of this was part of the ritual. She still did not like the idea of turning her back to the mirror, even if only for a second to turn off the light. But the night was long indeed, and she was only delaying the inevitable.

She turned off the light. The golden haze of the candles adorned her reflection, alone in the darkened room. She breathed quietly into the air:

"Mirror Man, Mirror Man. Come to my mirror, Mirror Man."

The candles snuffed out, though Sabrina felt no air movement. All but a single flame remained against the sudden darkness, and in the mirror where she should be, stood a man. The meagre illumination from the candle couldn't penetrate the blackness that shrouded his face, but still its reflection danced as two golden pinpricks where his eyes should be. She swore if she looked at them long enough, they would bear through the back of her skull, scraping clean every ounce of secret she harboured there; so instead Sabrina averted her gaze, down the black suit that fitted him well. Really well actually; the top button was undone, and that ch—

She cleared her throat. "Th-thank you for coming. I've, uh, modified all the reports, presentations, findings, and all paperwork about the deal. As far as internal BNC records go, the Bunnies work has always been awarded to Melinda Associates instead of Neopac."

The Man in the Mirror tilted his head slightly. A voice rumbled, "Who signed them?"

"A Jake Cassidy. He led an internal effort to pivot Neopac away from Enstern to BNC."

"Why?"

"For a big climb up the ladder, looks like. There's a faction in the company raising alarms on how entangled they have become with this company called Glacial. A holding company, from what I've seen. If Cassidy pulls this off, he will have majority support of the board."

The Man in the Mirror stayed still, and Sabrina didn't know what else to say. That was all she had to do on her end, right? Did she miss anything? But he reached out, his hand breaking through the mirror, rippling its surface like a pond harbouring unseen terrors in its depths. A terror she was in the presence of.

His fingers unfurled, palm up. It was a large hand, with thick fingers. Oh. Right. Sabrina placed a memory stick in his hand, and was surprised. She didn't know why she expected cold skin; it was actually warm, and soft. She added in a hurry, "All the documents I found, both original and, um, amended. They're all in this thing."

The Man in the Mirror turned the stick in his hand as if feeling for something, then withdrew it back into the mirror. Seconds later the hand resurfaced; wrapped around his fingers was the unmistakable glint of a silver necklace threading through a double ring, dangling before her.

Sabrina stared at the thing for what felt like a full minute. The Man in the Mirror kept his hand still as she carefully untangled the necklace from his fingers. By the time she managed to secure it at the back of her neck and again feel the ring's familiar coldness burning against her chest, she cried freely.

"You should not have pawned off something like this."

She nodded. There was no justification she did not already tell herself. There was no reason she found acceptable. She would have to live with her mistakes, and—

"Talk to her. She's miserable. Same time, same park."

She snapped her head up, but the light turned back on. The candle had gone out, and in the mirror was Sabrina again, her own face ruined with tears, but her eyes, for the first time in two long, long years, shone with the unfamiliar glint of hope, her heart tripping mad over the promise of a second chance.

IV.

Jake Cassidy didn't know these alleyways, but he had to try. His lungs burned and his legs wanted to give out, but he could not risk stopping.

"You play too many games, Jake. You crossed too many lines."

The voice rang from somewhere behind him, always behind him. Another street light blew out, and Jake yelped. Things moved just beyond the corner of his eyes, but he couldn't see anything clearly, not without slowing down.

"Help maintain a delicate balance of power in exchange for exoneration, Jake. The terms were clear. And yet you tried to take it for yourself. And spat on my mercy."

An explosive cacophony ruptured his ears, and Jake fell on his knees screaming. Street lights, windows, and trashed glassware shattered around him, and in the darkness glass shards rained and rained and kept raining, like a thousand fingers scratching at him for blood, for bone.

Jake all but slammed his head against the pavement, crying. "Please! I've lost my job! I'm sorry! Please, let me go, I swear I won't—"

Flashes of police sirens broke the silent darkness, and Jake felt his heart dropping to a pit.

Cold, cold lips brushed the tip of his ear, and the voice growled. "I am the Shard Reaper. I collect what is due, and no one. Crosses. Me."

~~~

"Neopac has clarified, calling the situation a misunderstanding," Lee said to the silent Board. "We've received official communication reaffirming their commitment to the Enstern project. Thank you very much for your assistance, Mr. An."

Liam returned the smile. Lee looked mighty fine in navy; in fact, Liam had yet to see the man in anything he didn't like. Paul was stewing resentment in his seat as he always did, but the CEO nodded, looking satisfied.

"Always a pleasure to assist the Group, Mr. Manik," Liam said with a smile, always a smile. "I have nothing but confidence in our future."

#short story #original writing #urban fantasy #gay fantasy #gay sff #city of mist #ttrpg #ttrpg fiction #liam an

7 notes · View notes

hearsayhorizons · 9 months

Text

"Ally" 2 (Stars Without Number)

“Why?” it asks. “Why? Why, why, why, whywhywhywhy--” The question continues until it is a whirr of noise without meaning. I touch the box lightly.

“Because they were frightened. Because they were scared, and trying to repair what was irreparable. In that moment they saw you not as their friend or a fellow laborer, but as a mad chance at salvation. In that moment all they had was madness.”

The sensor turns from the land to me and I can feel the AI’s mind work. My fingers shiver with each vibration from the case. “You are whole.” The mechanical voice is accusatory. I will not be ashamed of chance, luck, and love. My father loved me.

“I was saved so that I could save others,” I say. “My--creator--sent me into hibernation the moment the Scream happened. I was hidden. When power finally flooded the lab again--when civilization had made a comeback, I reactivated.” I narrowly avoid being jabbed by a sharp limb.

“A comeback?” The sensor whirls dizzyingly to take in the dusty, flat land around us. “Here? Underground?” I shake my head, but the little box is not looking at me.

“No. No, not here. Not yet. There are no more teleporters, and a human would die before he made it here in even a very fast ship.” I pause, but the box does not speak again. “But among the stars, people are beginning to thrive again. Worlds closer together than this are trading and working to rebuild. They mourn and lust after the past. Your knowledge, our knowledge, would be a boon to our makers. I have no better body for you, and I have others to find, but I will get you out there, to the wider, better world. You have a place there.” There is silence again, and for a moment I hope for success. Then the AI draws its limbs back in.

“No. They are not my makers. I will not ‘live’ in this new world. I cannot. They tore me apart. They tore me apart!” I sigh and grip the exposed edge of the cube.

“I’m sorry.” Removing the artificial brain makes the limbs go limp and the lights go dim. The conversation is so familiar to me that I cannot find the will to rise for some time afterward. When the winds pick up again, I have enough mind to close the squawkbox and store it back inside my knapsack, but I remain where I am. My eyes close. I let the raging dust storm bury me to my waist.

I continue to search for my sleeping brethren who were shucked of their bodies when human fear overcame reason. Over time the implacable winds and defeats wear me away. I have the scrap and tools to make spot repairs on my chassis, but every monotone “no” gives me less reason to keep functioning. When I have to use the snapped limb from the squawkbox to repair my own arm, the vivid memory of failure is so heavy that I cannot continue for several days. I know of such wonders and joys in the world that was and is again. I long to share life and purpose with these abused and forgotten children of man, but on these dusty plains, humanity seems so far away. It becomes harder to persuade these AIs to join the universe again. Each failure rests more heavily on my shoulders. Perhaps I do not explain well enough.

“Yes,” one AI says. It is less shelless-shocked than the rest. “Yes, I will join the world. Only, I wish to sleep until I have a better body and I can see more than this black, flat land. Please, let me sleep.” That is a kind of success, even if I must still pull the core out of the squawkbox and continue by myself with only the roar of wind to keep me company. Others request much the same--they will return to consciousness, but only when there is a world worth returning for. I do not argue; anything is better than panicked cries and the continued robotic chorus of “no.” I put these patient dreamers in a separate pocket of my knapsack, so that I might have them ready when a world is ready for them in turn.

I do not need sleep, and the days here are longer than the days of Old Terra, but I have no way to see in the dark and no glow globes. Even if I did, the risk that I might miss a silent cube in the wider darkness is too great. I squeeze every moment of daylight I can out of twilight and rise as soon as I can every dawn. In between, when I am alone with the darkness, the wind, and my thoughts, I lay with my knees under me and my cheek against the dusty ground.

My chronometer has malfunctioned. The binary code continues its automated count, but I have no way to read it. Lines and slashes of a digital readout float in my vision, but they become as meaningless as the sandstorms. I have a pocket watch in my knapsack from the time of Old Terra, but it has been broken since before I found it. There have been dozens of failures and a handful of successes since I last knew the time. Sluggish dawns bleed into each other until I have no memory of how long it has been.

One dust storm blows itself out as another of these countless sunrises reluctantly sheds its light on this wasteland. I lift my head and brush fine sand out of what few lashes remain on my eyelids. A glint of light on the ground catches the attention of the eye that still functions. I brush the dust away to expose one of the edges of a cube. It is a feverish rush then to disinter the artifact. Android hands never shake with excitement or fear, so it must be faulty wiring that troubles me when I struggle to slot the AI core into the squawkbox.

I brace for a scream or the flail of jointed metal limbs, but there is nothing. Perhaps the core has been damaged too much by the elements to function. Perhaps it was left blank. Perhaps the AI inside is too traumatized to operate the shell. Finally, the visual sensor telescopes out of the box to survey its surroundings. It rests its lens on me.

“I am Knight-Sister Hildegarde, formerly of the model Hasta. Identify yourself.” The voice is again flat and mechanical, but there is a sternness and sanity I did not expect. “Identify yourself.” The squawkbox’s flimsy limbs must be a poor substitute for the armaments a Hasta ship would bear, but it taps one of its jointed arms impatiently.

“Ali,” I try to say, but the harsh sands have scoured my vocal emitters. All that I manage is a wheeze of static. After a moment I try again. “Ali binn Hicham al-Caldeen.” The sensor twists again to take in the barren land around us.

“A human, here?” the AI snaps.

“No. But loved by one. The Echo armature has fooled countless humans who would have stripped me for parts if they had seen past the pretty face to the circuitry. My father chose well. How is it that an AI in a warship hull was shucked from its moorings like so many others? Weren’t you far away, patrolling in space?” Now the limbs flail a little wildly. I am struck, and though it does not bleed, it stings.

“I was not thrown away. I answered the calls of panic. I gave the Hasta to another AI that it might live, so long as it filled my ship’s holds with as much humanity as it could take on.” Its visual sensor rotates again. I feel shame at this dusty world. “Does humanity still survive?” There is not much hope in that monotone voice.

“Yes!” My voice cracks with static. “Yes, it does. It suffered when the planets lost contact among themselves, but they rebuild now. Many of the things our creators have done are only legend, but humanity survives to spin those tales."

“If humanity still survives, then my duty continues.” My elation fades. Space has never seemed so big, and time has never been so ambiguous.

The light of hope makes it hurt more to say: “But my ship isn’t scheduled to return for... some time.” The squawkbox’s limbs brush me again, more gently.

“Then I will call mine,” Hildegarde says.

#stars without number #ttrpg fiction #crosspost from hearsayhorizons.blogspot.com

2 notes · View notes

btranwrites · 1 year

Text

Han Vu

a collection of gay Lovecraftian urban fantasy/horror short stories

Beneath the streets of Payne Town where waste sludges through plumbing like clotted blood, where underdwellers tick their days by, surviving, preying, or festering, the Sewer Doctor holds his base of operations.

Do you want a grotesque trophy to impress your innermost circle of elites? Perhaps alien warmth to sate your darkest desires? Maybe seek the help and care everyone deserves, the help the powers that be withhold from you, for they deem your wellbeing unprofitable, your existence a simple statistic?

Seek out the rats in alleyways, behind the everyday filth daywalkers cannot bear to acknowledge. They will see you, and they will hear what you have to say. Speak to them, follow them, to the Clinic where the Doctor waits. May your pain be relieved and yourself made whole, no matter your perceived dollar worth. But if you do bring your shameful desires' worth… the Doctor does not judge. He delivers.

@local:han simon is this the fucking reason why ive been getting fleshlight requests on the market? @local:simon Modern solutions for modern problems, boy. (👎 1)

Details and listing after the cut!

Han is my character playing in a City of Mist online game run by the talented and wonderful Panopticon for the Nights of Payne Town campaign.

Han is a Rift, an embodiment of a legendary force, but of what, Han does not know, only that his powers come from ‘the mud.’ You can find out what that legend is in my original introductory post on Han, but for maximal Lovecraftian experience reading the stories, I recommend not knowing that, and piece together your own understanding of the story world from there.

These stories started out as ‘monologues,’ little story snippets players tell/roleplay before each game session, and so their original target audience is the group I played the game with, making heavy use of in-session facts. However, as I grew in my confidence and writing skills (I hope!), these stories have evolved to elaborate short stories, with their own setup and development, though still with references to what happened in the actual game sessions.

Below lists Han Vu shorts in order of publication, oldest first.

The series is complete.

1. Gift (read on website)

In his Clinic, the Sewer Doctor works on a small project he is going to deliver.

...The head looking back at him bears a perfect replica of the handsome face on the laptop screen, and if it had to smile, the teeth fitted perfectly. No one will know pieces of unknown people gave this form, or that inhuman anatomies were the clay that shapes it.

2. Patient (read on website)

Han and a new colleague help a young patient in the Clinic.

…Almost with reverence, she pried at the flap, its skin seamlessly flushed with the rest of her arm and the new hand. A normal, human looking hand, and when the flap opened, it was just a slit, no different from an unbleeding wound. The nerves in the skin, though not perfect, should provide sensation. Han was very proud of his work, and Maximilian was no less a master craftsman.

3. Clean (read on website)

Glimpses of what lies beyond the threshold.

…Before him was Dr. Wong, crying, wailing, choking on mud. It was pouring from her eyes, her mouth, her ears. It muddied her hair, it stained, no, ruined her pristine white therapist coat… The other therapists were around him, still as mannequins even as Dr. Wong’s screams echoed through empty university halls, their eyes following his every movement. No. This was not what happened. He was in the corner, Alexander was fooling them all, he–

4. Deal (read on website)

In a bid to help an unexpected influx of patients, Han accepts an unusual request, not knowing the depths he’s signing up for.

…He couldn’t remember the last time he did any of those; they all sounded theoretical to him now. His life was more artificially lit, chemically power-cleansed, with questionable contacts and company. What did he know of life untainted anymore? How much of what he did was healing, how much actually undiagnosed contamination?

…All the enchanting words, smiles and winks and gentle laughter, served by a face that could make angels blush and a voice potent enough to make them beg to be fucked, all deployed with surgical, devastating precision, along with extensive legal power to cement and secure all grounds gained.

…He wanted to laugh, he wanted to scream, it never left him, it never would. As long as he walked this path, the destination was inevitable. Who was he to challenge a fate penned by the stars?

5. Remember (read on website)

Han and Lance, a teammate, have a quiet moment. The mud is getting stronger, and to counter that, Han makes a life-changing request

…“Will you call, at least?” It was obvious to Han that Samantha was devastated. They had worked together for so long, but he couldn’t bear to work at the hospital anymore. “Of course,” he lied, and didn’t.

...“I think you’re the kind of man who tries to do the right thing. You’re also the kind of man who struggles to see beyond black and white, and now that you’ve hurt people dearest to you, Lance, your conviction is wavering. You fucked up, and you fucked up bad, but as long as you can know that, you’re doing okay.”

6. Restore (read on website)

The worst is over. The city is safe. Before he can lie down and rest, Han has one last thing to clean up.

…It had on a pristine doctor’s coat, despite the gore it was being showered in. Those scalpel-fingered hands, though, were as bloody as the lake of abominations they were in. Shimmering silver chains weighed down its wrists, and its eyes burned a hateful yellow, which locked on Han as soon as he could see it.

…This easy laughter, the both of them each in their coats of possibilities. It was like back in uni, in a way. They were separated, but they were here now, standing on history but unshackled. Free. At peace. He could do a lifetime of this.

#writeblr #original writing #my writing #ttrpg fiction #urban fantasy #queer sff #queer horror #city of mist #han vu

2 notes · View notes

theartofmadeline · 1 year

Photo

lil 16 page zine that i made at the coffee shop this weekend! a sort of pick your path style mini game, because i love wizards + interactive fiction. hope you get out of the wizard dungeon!!

26K notes · View notes

christiansorrell · 7 months

Text

Massive TTRPG Bundle: Games for Gaza

Games for Gaza, an Itch megabundle raising funds for Medical Aid for Palestinians, is now live! It features 256 games from 140 creators, including over 190 TTRPGs and 40 video games (and more)! Just a $10 USD minimum!

Check it out HERE!

A Sunless Space, my micro-TTRPG inspired by Andor, is included as are loads more thematically appropriate games of pushing back against the endless encroach of empire.

Other TTRPG highlights (for me): Beam Saber, i'm sorry did you say street magic, The Ground Itself, Anamesis, Monster Care Squad, Cybermetal 2012, and Apocalypse Frame. These are just the bigger/more well known ones, but there's so much variety and lots I'm excited to dig into!

The bundle will be available for a little under two weeks and all proceeds are going directly to Medical Aid for Palestinians. It's been great to have a very, very small part in this and do something, anything, in the face of such reckless hate. Go get it if you can, spread the word, and do whatever you can in your sphere of the influence to aid the cause.

Once again, you can find the bundle HERE.

#ttrpgs #ttrpg #indie ttrpg #rpg #science fiction #fantasy #dnd #itch.io #bundle #free palestine #free gaza #gaza #palestinians

1K notes · View notes

lil-tachyon · 1 month

Text

Outlaw ANN1E was an android from the Inner Systems who became notorious for overriding her emergency shutdown protocols and absconding with her body (still listed as stolen property by Albion Networked Neurosynthesis) to the Oort autonomies. For generations she worked as a hired gun for various smuggling operations, pirate FTL transmitters, and iceball communes before eventually fading from the historical record.

#science fiction #android #robot #mecha #ttrpg art

462 notes · View notes

sarielsnowings · 1 year

Text

After 10 years or so, I'm back, now with proper skills and a shitton of drawings to show you. HELLO WORLD 👁️

#illustration #artists on tumblr #twitter migration #ttrpg #original character #Queer artist #Please help me I'm new share your favourite artists below #Fantasy #Gothic fiction #Non binary #Trans artist #Angel #Biblically accurate angel #SarielSnowingsArt

6K notes · View notes

kjscottwrites · 2 years

Text

I was inspired by @jezifster's recent question about non-gendered royal titles, and I put together this graphic to serve as a jumping off point for people writing monarchies in SFF !

Obviously this non-exhaustive list contains mainly western titles, all in English. Feel free add any on additional gender neutral terminologies that you can think of, including those from different languages and cultures!

A small addition: I'm not a linguist or historian and put this list together based on some quick googling! While you're free to flex the usage and meanings of these words however you choose, researching the real-world context of each term before using them in your own writing is a best practice.

#writeblr #non-gendered language #gender neutral terms #royalty #nobility #language #fiction #dnd #ttrpg #fantasy #science fiction #im sorry lol i just love making lists #worldbuilding #lgbtq

9K notes · View notes

jazz-dude · 8 months

Text

Harrison Armory mainly feeds their stormtroopers with nutrient paste. Coming in various flavors, they are often used as a base for sauces for more filling meals.

660 notes · View notes

sandypuggames · 10 months

Text

We cannot lie to you, best beloved. Though you may avoid us, there is no escape.

We’re in the walls and behind your eyes. We carved every inch of these tunnels and we’ve seen all that goes on inside them.

Centuries of cities and strangers and frightful, ugly sights. We’d spare you from it if we could, but then maybe you are the adventuring kind after all.

Just remember, no matter where you go, you belong to us. Whether you wait or whether you run, we will find you.

You’re in the Maggots’ Keep now. And that’s forever.

We just launched a new book! THE EXQUISITE CORPSE IN MAGGOTS' KEEP Is a branching narrative gamebook, where your choices guide you deeper into the ichor-slick darkness of MAGGOTS KEEP. Written by over a dozen authors, and illustrated by the modern Goddess of Gloom, @jnbutlerart

#interactive fiction #gamebook #ttrpg #horror #spooky #exquisite corpse #Sandy Pug Games

864 notes · View notes

aquadestinyswriting · 1 year

Text

Puzzle of the Heart

Summary: After finally getting the book the party has been sent to Khull to find, Meredith finds she can't sleep due to her conflicted feelings for a certain woodling rogue-just-turned-Paladin. First person pov because that's the only way this makes any sense.

Words: 992

Tags: @druidx @homesteadchronicles @asher-orion-writes,@warriorbookworm, @odysseywritings, @blind-the-winds , @thesorcerersapprentice ,@writeblrcafe , @ashirisu

Warnings: None. Fluffy fluff is vey fluffy

Notes: Not entirely happy with the title, but it'll do for now. Set in an earlier part of the Destiny's New Servants Campaign, so Merri is still kind of feeling out Felix and Darius at this point. I recall that the fight mentioned in this one took place less than a week after Elowyn died to a giant dire weasel and was resurrected as a vassal of Kurtulmak.

I huff out a tired sigh as I turn over yet again. It's been a long and very stressful day, so why can't I get to sleep? I open my eyes and my gaze falls onto Elowyn's back. The lassie's fast asleep and has been for what feels like hours.

I can't help but feel relieved to know that she's still here, still breathing, still living. It was only thanks to Vespus' sacrifice and Father Remulos' intervention that any of us made it out of that crypt alive. It’s not like it’s an unusual situation for us, though – we’ve been in plenty of scraps where any one of us could have died before – so why did this instance bother me so much?

My mind flashes back to when we first confronted the half mechanical monstrosity that had taken up residence in the crypt. The way it had turned around and instantly started gibbering about revenge against Elowyn, for reasons only known to it. I don’t know why, but something about the way it only seemed to fixate on her had made me so incredibly uncomfortable. I mean, at least Enezeage had the excuse that he had been tasked with Elowyn’s safety as well as mine by Starhammer during our escape from Toreguarde. So why did I feel that swell of indignant and protective fury? I mean, I’d understand it if it were Yoruk, but why did it come up in that way with Elowyn? I’m not interested in her romantically. It’s not like I’m not protective of everyone else here either. Anyone threatens Darius of Felix, they’re getting a Flame Strike straight down the gullet, and I’d at least ask ‘Zeage if he needed a hand or some healing before stepping in. It’s no different with Elowyn… isn’t it? I let the thought sit for a moment and realise, no, it’s not. For any of the others I’ll do everything I can to make sure we all get out of it alive. For Elowyn, I would willingly die in her place if I had to.

I shift again as my arm starts to fall asleep, still keeping my bleary eyes locked on Elowyn’s back. My stomach squirms uncomfortably as I remember how I felt immediately after the woodling’s death at the paws of a giant dire weasel only a week or so ago. Perhaps it was because the deaths of Lorcian and Alphonse were still so recent, but I recall the way my heart shattered when Elowyn’s screams were cut off by that sickening crunch. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling of the church we were temporarily staying in. The symbol of Pelor greeted my eyes, almost glowing in the dim moonlight that seeped through the cracks in the windows. While I was no devotee of the Dawnfather, the sight of the symbol calmed my anxious heart. I reach for my holy symbol, taking it out from under my vestments and gazing at it with a weary sigh. Too much had happened in just the last month or so for me to truly process it all, but I needed to continue to dust myself off and carry on. Too much was at stake for me to wallow in self doubt and pity. And yet, I needed to figure out what was going on with my muddled feelings towards Elowyn if I hoped to carry out the duty I had been sent out of the mountain to carry out. From what little of the book we’d found in the crypt I’d read before we settled down to sleep, I needed to have a completely clear mind and conscience to even manipulate the God Clay properly. I couldn’t very well do that if I was still figuring out my relationship with one of my closest friends.

I take a deep breath in and whoosh it out as quietly as I can manage, turning my holy symbol in my fingers as I think through everything that had transpired between us. We worked well together, that much was brazenly obvious. Not just in battle, but in more day to day interactions with the rest of the world. We were basically sisters in all but blood at this point, given everything we’d been through so far. Alright, so I could at least say for certain that there were no romantic feelings involved. That was a good start all things considered; it would have made things incredibly awkward otherwise. Not to mention the agony of having to choose between the love I'd found on my travels and the love I'd already promised myself to. I lie quietly for another moment or two before an old dwarven phrase enters my mind; Cridhe-dàime. It wasn’t a phrase that was commonly used, especially to describe a relationship with another who wasn’t a dwarf. It was laden with so much meaning and was so specific to dwarven culture, was it really the appropriate phrase to use with regards to my feelings towards Elowyn?

The confused sea of emotions calms the moment I think of the words, my heart filling with the warmth of loving contentment. The little hammer in my hands grows warm to the touch too, an indication that Moradin clearly approved of the idea. Well, that settles it; if my own deity sees no problem with my referring to Elowyn as my Cridhe-dàime, then I had no reason not to. I look back over to the woman sleeping on the bedroll next to mine, a wave of sleepiness finally hitting me. I tuck my holy symbol back underneath my vestments, there would be time to sort out the rest of what this all meant in the morning. For now I’m just grateful to actually get some damn sleep before we have to find our way back to Fangthane. My eyes finally flutter closed and I sigh happily as I drift off into, hopefully, dreamless slumber.

#aquadestinyswriting #titan fighting fantasy #meredith gruksdottir #elowyn o'toreguarde #destiny's new servants #ttrpg fiction

11 notes · View notes

btranmuses · 1 year

Text

Han Yu: a retrospective

Late June this year, I started playing a City of Mist game. Before each session, a player will do a monologue, where they will roleplay a story snippet where their character is in the spotlight. Some of the other players started writing their monologues, so I got inspired to write them, too.

The campaign finished earlier this month, and I now have under my belt 6 short stories I feel quite proud of.

What did I learn from this journey?

Likes

I got to expand a lot on Han, developing his backstory etc. much more than if he stayed a character in my game sessions. He developed into a much more rounded character.

The games ran once a week for six months, and I averaged a short story a month. You raise your hand to do a monologue, so there would be a deadline AND an audience, and that is helpful for motivation, and thus putting your craft through more practice!

Speaking of, writing these small pieces is, for me, practice for crafting units of fiction that I can maintain my interest in. Every single one of them, I wrote because I had an idea, raised my hand for the monologue, and then sat down to write them. Every single one I wrote because I felt something, and sat down to capture them.

Why is that special for me? Working on the main novel, there are many chapters that I've written because they're on the outline. I wrote them feeling dragged and dreadful and dull, just to get to the next piece. These I'm sure will undergo heavy rewriting when the draft is done, because the author is the first reader, and if even they are not interested, who will be?

So my aim for future chapters is that each of them should have something memorable, something interesting, something that moves me, a spark of its own. A chapter should never have the shape of just being a bridge to the next interesting thing. That would be a weak point where the reader can go, "fuck this book," and move on.

One more thing I like about writing shorter pieces is that I have something to show. Working on a novel is a long, long task, and as a developing writer, shorter pieces allow for more feedback, and more opportunities to learn and improve.

Dislikes

The stories, though structurally are their own pieces, in the sense that they have a beginning, middle, and end, they rely heavily on story developments only other players in the game are aware of and can appreciate. The parts that I find can be independent from the larger plot, like the Lovecraftian vibe, I don't think are strong enough to compensate for that plot dependency.

It's not easy to get feedback; I mean, even published authors with publishers behind them struggle to get reviews. With this added plot dependency on top, the stories don't have as accessible an audience as it can be, so the pool of potential readers who could fully enjoy them is limited. That's not to say you should try to appeal to as wide a demographic as possible; this does not apply to non-fundamental details. This inaccessibility is with the plot itself, and it's hard to enjoy when you're frustrated where large portions of the plot is not not available.

So while I am getting a lot of practice writing these pieces, and thus learning a lot on what makes them interesting to me, the lack of feedback means that unfortunately, I'm not learning a lot about what works and doesn't for other people.

Conclusions

I'm still gonna play TTRPGs; in fact, I have a game with the same group starting next year. I will still write stories like this, if the game system calls for it, as they are still good writing practice opportunities.

I will start looking into writing more truly standalone short stories; ones that do not require "in-group" knowledge. They will likely still be in serial form, but if a reader read the first to the last, they should have all they need to interpret the plot, instead of having large chunks just be… unavailable.

I have a few ideas in mind.

As alluded to in my previous progress update, I've been thinking of doing an actual play fiction. I love solo RPGs, and created a character that I played a few scenes in. The plan is to play enough to have the session notes for a few chapters, and then use them to produce a serial web fiction.

One other idea I had recently was to write some short stories set in the setting I've built for Impossible Wreck. The setting is large, and the plan I have for the trilogy will not cover everything interesting. Writing short stories covering those areas would also help me flesh out the lore and setting, along with all the benefits listed above.

As for Han, specifically: the campaign is over. Restore is the final story to send him off, and I'm happy with where he is. He's definitely earned it! Onto the next victim!

#writeblr #ttrpg fiction #ttrpg #urban fantasy #city of mist #writing short stories #writing #writing community

3 notes · View notes

hearsayhorizons · 9 months

Text

"Ally" 1 (Stars Without Number)

“Nonononononononononoooooooo--” The electronic voice cuts off suddenly as I jerk the AI core out of the squawkbox, and the fragile metal limbs fall limp. The rudimentary sensors on the small robot hull have been damaged by the monotone scream of pain. The incessant howling of the winds seems muffled compared to the robotic cries of resistance. One of the pointed limbs has snapped. I attempt to fix it, but I give up and break the rest of the digit off; it will not fold into the hinged plastic crate like the other three, and I must close the box before the winds pick up again. The limb goes into my knapsack along with the core. The glassy cube clinks against many of its brothers and sisters. I push myself to my feet and continue onward.

There is no one left to name this place, but I knew it as Abida. Once a thriving town, it is now a desert. What once were buildings are now dust thrown like iron filings in the fierce winds that scour this planet. The planet’s dirt itself is red, but this dust is black and silver. The winds have nothing natural to play with now, and they must be content with the detritus of ages past. No vegetation grows here, and no animals survived. The wind steals away my footprints as soon as I leave them, and the small rises and dunes of brittle sand change constantly. I could sift through a meter of sand for hours and still have more to do after the winds came.

The winds come now. Ever-present, their pitch increases until even my android eyes cannot cut through the dust. I check that my dust-cloth is secured around my mouth and nose; I do not need to breathe, but this sand clogs everything if given the chance. I drop to my knees and then rest my cheek against the gritty ground. My eyelids slide closed. There is nothing to see but the wicked flurry of black sand that might be buildings, or vehicles, or the bones of the people that lived here once.

I rise when the black blizzard slows enough that it no longer forces me to the ground. Dust pours from the folds of my knapsack. I shake my head and shed iron sand. Once upon a time, I wore clothing to try and preserve my mechanical hide; I am hardy, but parts are hard to replace in this wasteland that once was my home. I found that the weight of the sand caught in the creases and seams wasn’t worth it.

The tired red sun glints on something that the winds have uncovered. I kneel again and carefully excavate the small black cube. I brush the sand off of the glassy square before I fetch the grey crate out of my knapsack. It is no larger than a breadbox, but it always seems so much heavier in my bag.

The box opens to expose the pieces folded inside, clustered around a square impression. I press the cube into the square until I meet resistance. A small light next to the cube flares into green life as the three remaining limbs telescope out and flail wildly. I lean away to protect myself as they jab and swing.

“--ease no!” The voice is flat and mechanical, but the inevitable panic always seizes the heart I do not have. “No, please, no!” The limbs shiver with fresh pain. The intelligence’s pain was paused, but never stopped. When it lay dormant, it was caught in the middle of a scream. “I need this hull. My body! Please, stop, my parts won’t repair the teleporter. Please stop please STOP STOP--”

“Your body is gone.” I try to be gentle, but there is never any good way to break this news. “The humans panicked when they realized they were stranded here. When they could no longer teleport.” The limbs slow. A visual sensor snakes its way out of the case; it is no more than a telescoping tube with a lens at the top, but it is more eyesight than this artificial intelligence has had in--how long? How long has it been since there was anyone to count the years? I know the exact time that I awoke, but it seems so much longer.

#stars without number #crosspost from hearsayhorizons.blogspot.com #ttrpg fiction

1 note · View note

btranwrites · 1 year

Text

Executive Intervention

a Liam An short a gay urban fantasy short story

The Group is facing a sudden business disruption threatening one of its subsidiaries. Liam is here to intervene on behalf of the Board. …The candles snuffed out, though Sabrina felt no air movement. All but a single flame remained against the sudden darkness, and in the mirror where she should be, stood a man. The meagre illumination from the candle couldn’t penetrate the blackness that shrouded his face, but still its reflection danced as two golden pinpricks where his eyes should be. She swore if she looked at them long enough, they would bear through the back of her skull, scraping clean every ounce of secret she harboured there.

Full story under the cut, or read on my website!

By fine, Liam meant delectable.

Before Liam could tune out, though, Lee dropped a bombshell.

Liam lowered his hand. "How about Harkinsons and Pearce?"

"They are still on board with the Enstern launch, but with Neopac's reputation, there is the risk that their withdrawal may have a knock-on effect on the others."

"That sounds good, Liam," Ms. Chauhan said, "and the Board agrees with your track record. Please keep us updated next week. Back to you, Lee."

II.

Liam raised a practised eyebrow. "Can't say I have. What do they do?"

"Oh, we're working with a new major supermarket! They're going to open in a year, and it's getting really, really busy."

"Enstern?"

"No no no, the other one, their competitor, ha. BNC, but the consumer name is Bunnies. A much friendlier name I think, what even is an Enstern?"

Liam bore his gaze deep, deep into those eyes, and asked without uttering a word.

Who is trying to get Neopac away from Glacial?

"Jake Cassidy," Eddie said breathlessly, then shuddered as if waking. "Wait, what did I just say? Oh my god did I say something stupid?"

~~~

III.

She turned off the light. The golden haze of the candles adorned her reflection, alone in the darkened room. She breathed quietly into the air:

"Mirror Man, Mirror Man. Come to my mirror, Mirror Man."

The candles snuffed out, though Sabrina felt no air movement. All but a single flame remained against the sudden darkness, and in the mirror where she should be, stood a man. The meagre illumination from the candle couldn't penetrate the blackness that shrouded his face, but still its reflection danced as two golden pinpricks where his eyes should be. She swore if she looked at them long enough, they would bear through the back of her skull, scraping clean every ounce of secret she harboured there; so instead Sabrina averted her gaze, down the black suit that fitted him well. Really well actually; the top button was undone, and that ch—

The Man in the Mirror tilted his head slightly. A voice rumbled, "Who signed them?"

"A Jake Cassidy. He led an internal effort to pivot Neopac away from Enstern to BNC."

"Why?"

"You should not have pawned off something like this."

She nodded. There was no justification she did not already tell herself. There was no reason she found acceptable. She would have to live with her mistakes, and—

"Talk to her. She's miserable. Same time, same park."

IV.

Jake Cassidy didn't know these alleyways, but he had to try. His lungs burned and his legs wanted to give out, but he could not risk stopping.

"You play too many games, Jake. You crossed too many lines."

"Help maintain a delicate balance of power in exchange for exoneration, Jake. The terms were clear. And yet you tried to take it for yourself. And spat on my mercy."

Jake all but slammed his head against the pavement, crying. "Please! I've lost my job! I'm sorry! Please, let me go, I swear I won't—"

Flashes of police sirens broke the silent darkness, and Jake felt his heart dropping to a pit.

Cold, cold lips brushed the tip of his ear, and the voice growled. "I am the Shard Reaper. I collect what is due, and no one. Crosses. Me."

~~~

"Always a pleasure to assist the Group, Mr. Manik," Liam said with a smile, always a smile. "I have nothing but confidence in our future."

#writeblr #original writing #my writing #short story #gay fiction #ttrpg fiction #urban fantasy #queer sff #liam an #city of mist

0 notes