#DiceGames: Day Two

My second DiceGames prompt is: “Write a love story. Blood and gore is mandatory.” I first started writing a Mr. & Mrs. Smith type of story, in which lovers try to kill each other. But then I came up with an idea that was more along the lines of what I write.

Unfortunately I can't complete the challenge because I'm going to Menorca for a week's holiday, and I didn't have time to write the third story. I'll post the story and visit the other participating blogs once I get back.

They had followed the trail of blood and prints through the woods, and found the deer in a clearing, an arrow jutting from its haunch. He watched her as she stepped lightly ahead of him, leaving shallow prints in the snow. As always, she wore a coat of grey fur with darker shades running along her sides.

A drizzle of frost fell onto her back, revealing yet another carrion bird had arrived. The crows clutched spindly branches with crooked claws. Their thick beaks opened and closed as they squawked, awaiting a true predator to open the carcass.

He snorted in contempt at the presence of the foul birds. Should any of them dare attempt to steal, he would run them off.

A ripping sound caught his attention. Skin and fur came loose as she revealed their prize. Her long face disappeared amidst the carcass of the stag. She gorged on the dark red flesh, reveling in its taste and texture. He padded over to her side and joined the feast. Once they had their fill they would call to the others; there would be enough food for the whole pack.

He watched her with pride: her belly was round with their unborn pups. They would enter the world in the den their ancestors had found decades ago. They would be greeted and raised by the ruling pack of the Weeping Woods.

Gently he nudged his mate. She looked at him, yellow eyes glinting with joy. They lifted their snouts to the sky and howled in calling to the other wolves.

#DiceGames: Day One

Timony Souler's DiceGames challenge: three days, three dice rolls, three prompts. My first prompt is: “A red-haired vixen is trying to kill you. Deal with it.”

Auburn slammed the young woman against the wall. She lifted a hand to her victim’s throat, resisting the urge to finish her writer. Maybe she had a good reason for torturing her and the other characters.

“I’m sorry about what happens to you. I’m sorry about what happens to your… uh, family and friends.” Emilia peered over crooked glasses. She lifted a hand to push them back, but the though died under Auburn’s glare. “But you’re in a story and a story needs conflict or it suc—”

“Shut up!” Auburn’s fingers twitched. Her nails grew longer, sharpened into claws. “I don’t care what the parrots of writing blogs are repeating.” The shapeshifter lifted a hand from Emilia’s throat and set it on her shoulder. After a moment’s pause she continued through gritted teeth, “First you sent me to anger management and now you’re doing horrible things to me and the other characters.”

“I’m a writer! That’s more or less what we do.” She tried to shrug.

Auburn rolled her eyes. That was her writer’s excuse for everything. Why couldn’t she write something nice like children’s books? Then again that would mean no profanities, bashing heads or seducing people.

“Then stop writing.” She arched an eyebrow. “Or I will stop you.”

Emilia’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “I can’t…”

Auburn lifted a finger and drew it slowly across Emilia’s throat, leaving behind a white line. “Then I’ll have to kill you.”

“I know you, I created you. You don’t kill unless it’s necessary.” She pressed against the wall, trying to disappear between the stone’s seams.

“Try me.” The shapeshifter grabbed her hand and lifted it before her face. “And I can always cut off your fingers. We’ll see how you write then.”

“If you stop me from writing you’ll kill yourself. You only live on the pages and in the readers’ imagination.”

Auburn’s finger went lax, allowing Emilia to wrench her hand free. She stared at her writer, or tried; the smudges on her glasses almost hid her eyes. On impulse Auburn wiped her glasses with the sleeve of her dress. There, now she could see her writer’s fear better.

“You have a point.” She stepped back. “And the thought of hurting someone nice, it just doesn’t feel good.”
Emilia sighed and pushed her glasses up again.

Auburn crossed her arms. “You’re going to make this up to us. I want a happy ending for everyone.”

“Even the villains?”

“What? No, of course not.” She leaned against the wall. Anger tightened her features as she spoke, “The villains deserve my fist in their face and a life in a dragon’s gut.”

“If a happy ending makes sense, then I’ll write one, but I can’t annoy the readers.” She lifted her hands as Auburn opened her mouth to object. “You want your part of the story to be read? If I had you ride off into the sunset on a white fool’s dragon, with a strapping young lad, while chomping down a chocolate pastry…”

“All right! But if you kill me off, make it a big scene.” Auburn spoke the words slowly, “No off-the-page death.”

“I don’t think I’ve created anything capable of killing you, but all right.” She lifted her glasses off her nose and stared at them in disbelief. “Did you just spit on my glasses?”

The shapeshifter gave her a flat stare.

“Never mind, just go back to Verannia.” She waved her hand in dismissal. Auburn turned to leave. “Wait, how do you know about blogs?”

The shapeshifter shrugged as she opened the door. She looked over her shoulder and grinned. “I go through your mind when I’m bored.”

Emilia’s jaw dropped. “Just go. I need to plan a scene where you knock the marrow out of a skeletal demon.” She buried her face in her hands and muttered, “Pihkura*, what did I get myself into.”

*Emilia likes to use obsolete finnish swear words, such as “pihkura”, “pahkura”, “kehveli”, “himskatti” and “himputti”.

DiceGames: The Queen of the Vrildrias

My last entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge. For this week, I rolled number four: “Make a deal with the Devil.” I know, it's late but here it is anyway :)

The thick stone walls failed to keep the warmth of the fireplace from fleeing, but they trapped the chanting and the screams inside the room. Neither would have been needed if her daughter had been able to summon the greater demons. The mingling smells of incense and sulphur assaulted Queen Yassa’s nose; lesser demons often tried to impress their summoners with smells, sounds and a frightful appearance, but they fooled no one.

“No luck, Luerra?” Yassa, Queen of the vrildrias, growled to her daughter. Luerra shook her head, clawed fingers clutching a black staff. The whelp couldn’t even perform magic without a tool.

“I have not found one suitable, mother.” Luerra’s maw opened into a wicked grin, baring rows of tiny sharp teeth. “They all want to tear their victim to pieces. An assassin could create a seemingly natural death.”

Yassa toyed with the idea for a moment; it would be easier. She already had assassins at her beckoning. “And when the mages find that he was poisoned? No, we need magic stronger than theirs, one of the greater demons.”

Luerra spat on to the rough stones, the vile sound echoing as she cursed: “Stupid humans and our stupid ancestors. Peace with the humans is not worth sharing power.”

“The King of Humans wants to decide what to do with the virra-birds spying on the meetings.” The vrildria Queen placed a hand on a statue of their god, claws clicking against the smooth surface. “Such a trivial matter. If I were the sole ruler the Kingdom would prosper. Instead we toil at these petty issues.”

“Queen of vrildrias and humans.” The flicker of excitement in Luerra’s eyes made her skin crawl. “If not in your time mother, maybe in mine…”

“Do not think of using my tricks on me, daughter.” Wrinkling her sharp snout, Yassa lifted her head. “I can smell betrayal.”

Can you smell opportunity as well?

Yassa froze; her daughter had betrayed her. She wasn’t as stupid as she’d seemed, but had managed to summon one of the greater demons and had commanded it to kill her. She would make such a good ruler.

No, no, no. I am not a demon, but more.

“Vixi.” Luerra breathed the name into the heavy air. Silence fell; both could feel the cold presence of the deity, the smell of death and decay lingering, mixing with the sulphur and incense.

“Oh, our deity speaks to us.” Yassa’s hand gently caressed the statue of the god of death, a winged snake arched into an S-shape. “Don’t we usually pray for 17 days, months or years?”

I have need of a loyal servant.

“I am no one’s servant.”

Forgive me. I am in need of someone loyal who can wield power on my behest.

“Better.” She watched as her daughter poked the statue with the black staff. Her thought returned to the source of the voice. “What can you offer me?”

A god can offer you anything.

“The King’s death would be most satisfactory.” She swiped the black staff away; her daughter recoiled, hissing and baring her teeth. A glance was enough to defuse the whelp’s anger.

He will die.

“I need to stay in power if I am to be of use.”

Yes. There will be demons running amok and you are the only one who can keep them out of the city.

“Queen Yassa, the only one between annihilation and survival.” Her musings were abruptly disrupted by a scoff. She turned to her daughter; a stupid grin graced her long face.

“Your magic is weaker than mine and everyone knows it.” Luerra leaned on her staff. She muttered a word; sparks shot out of from the tip of the staff. “I may need a staff for my spells, but you can’t wield a simple flash spell.”

“True.” Yassa scratched her throat thoughtfully. Her daughter was weak of will and could practise magic, a good pawn.

Call forth my minions 17 days after the King is dead. It is the beginning of my work. Once finished, you shall rule unchallenged.

Yassa smiled as she left her daughters chambers, reveries of her reign filling her with dark joy.

Alone now, Luerra listened as the god spoke, only to her.

Your mother’s reign will be short; do not cry when it is over. I shall need you then.

She’d always known her mother reign would not be long. The humans tolerated a vrildria queen; it was the only way for the two species to coexist peacefully. But as the sole ruler? No, there would be a revolt, demons at their doorstep or not.

“Thank you for answering my prayers,” she whispered, bowing her head. She would kill her mother herself if the deity asked for it.

DiceGames: Death on the Doorstep

A bit late, but here it is: my third entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge. Again, I rolled number one: "Death just knocked at your door - convince him why you shouldn't die yet."

Silence had fallen, the world outside held its breath waiting for the knock to be answered. The door opened with a loud creak, a round face peeked through. “Yes?”

A solitary hooded figure stood still in the doorway. Behind it thunderheads rolled in front of the sun, enveloping the world in twilight.

“My name is Reaper, Grim Reaper.” The air grew cooler with the words, frost gathering in the doorframe. “Jason Thorne, I have come for you.”

“Are you sure?” Jason furrowed his brow; his lifestyle was unhealthy, but this was ridiculous.

A white skeletal hand appeared from the folds of the black robe, fingers clutching an old parchment. A thin finger ran across the list of names before settling on one.

“Yes. The gates of hell lie open before you…”

Behind Jason the clock struck five.

“Oh, it’s tea time.” The Grim Reaper walked past, straight to the rickety table. “Pour me a cup will you, dearie.”

Jason rummaged the top shelf for his roommate’s mother’s tea set. They were pink and with lilac flowers; The Reaper seemed delighted.

“Oh, I love flowers; they die ever so quickly, mind you.” Jason watched as the bony fingers grasped the handle of the teapot and poured the brown liquid into a small cup. “So, how’s life been treating you?”

He stared for a moment as the Reaper poured tea into his mouth, all of it ending up on the front of his robe. The Reaper cocked its skull inquisitively. “Up to now, well. I have a roof on top my head, my health—”

The Reaper scoffed at this.

“Why did you come for me?” Jason hadn’t touched his tea. The Reaper snatched Jason’s cup and drank it, before pouring himself another.

“That’s simple. You’re dying.” A manic cackling borne from the depth of the robe echoed in the room.

“But I can’t be! I haven’t lived yet.” Jason stood up sending his chair on the floor with a loud thud. “You’ve opened my eyes, I must see more of the world, experience it in all of its glory. I want to give up this fruitless effort at life and really live. See the green of the woods, smell the salt of the sea and look upon on a sunset with a loved one!”

The Reaper listened, enthralled.

“I have never even been truly in love. I have felt a woman’s touch, but no one who could gaze upon me lovingly. They were all meaningless, but now I see that life is not meant to be lived alone. Please, I beg of you Reaper, give me another shot at life!”

“Well— Oomph!” The Reaper crumbled into a heap of black fabric and bones, behind stood a lanky young man holding a bent crowbar. Jason stared at his roommate, then at the unmoving mass of black and white. When the grim reaper failed to show any signs of life, they both erupted into laughter.

“Nice, we killed Death!” Ben slapped his forehead. “Should’ve been done a long time ago!”

“We killed Death, so are we immortal now?” Jason poked The Reaper with a toe.

“Guess so.” Ben scratched his back with the crowbar. “What should we do about that?”

Jason reflected on the situation for a moment. He didn’t want to do anything stupid like jump off a cliff to test their newfound immortality. Then he knew; “Wanna go rob a bank?”

“Sure!”

An ominous rumble filled the room. Lightning stuck through the dark grey sky, sending the neighbour’s cat flying off the fence. Birds fell silent once more, lighting struck again.

The Reaper rose, a scythe in one hand, the other holding the back of his head. A low moan emanated from his bony jaws, shaking the foundations of the house.

“You fools fractured my beautiful skull!” The scythe rose. “Prepare to pay!”

The blunt end of the scythe struck Jason in the face; then the Reaper turned and struck Ben in the back of his head. Both died instantly, falling prey to the dark magic of the scythe.

The Grim Reaper crossed his arms, threw back his head and laughed heartily. No one messed with the bringer of death. Then, to his horror, he realised that the roommate wasn’t on the list. He was supposed to live a long and healthy life.

“Darn!” The Reaper struck the end of the scythe into the floor, which rotted and collapsed under the wasting touch. “HQ is going to be furious!”

The Grim Reaper gazed upon the two dead bodies; their souls were already headed towards a warmer place. He truly needed to learn how to control his temper.

DiceGames: Vixi's Promise

This is my second entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge. You throw a dice and look up the corresponding prompt from Lady Antimony's list. For this week, I rolled number one: “Sometimes it's easier just to let them die...”

P.S. Number 17 is an unlucky number in Italy because XVII can be rearranged to "VIXI", which means “I have lived” (implying “I am dead”) in Latin. That's where Vixi's name comes from.

“The deity promised me power.” The mage’s voice was taut with apprehension. “He spoke nothing of skeletal demons.”

Lheyr stared from somewhere beyond the empty eye sockets. The demon cocked his horned head a little; humans were so impatient, especially the ones who already had power. “Think of me as your guide through this process.”

“Process?” The mage’s fingers curled into fists, knuckles whitening. “Speaking to your god was hard enough. I prayed in his temple every day for 17 years before he answered. What more is there?”

“You need to tap into demonic magic.” A bony hand lifted as the demon touched its rib, just where the heart would have been. “Vixi is the god of death, but he is also the lord of demons. Our power is his power.”

The mage fell silent, his face obscured by the shadow of his hood. Yet Lheyr could sense apprehension and fear. Ribs expanded as the demon drew air, a memory of the time it had been human. Like the mage, Lheyr had prayed to Vixi for power and received it. The difference between him and the lesser demons was that he knew how to use that power.

Yes, he wielded power ruthlessly; even the other skeletal demons cringed at his actions.

He waited for the mage to seek out demonic magic. Like the elements, it was there, you just needed to take hold of it. But unlike the elements you could cast any kind of spell with it. The only downside was that you turned into a demon in the end, but it was downside only to those afraid.

“Use it, feel the magic taint your soul,” he whispered.

Lheyr watched the mage flinch as he felt the touch of evil magic, but he continued on; twin flames erupted from his palms, spreading darkness instead of light.

“More,” the demon spoke softly.

The flames grew, their darkness enveloped the mage, but Lheyr could still see him. Arms held out, head tilted slightly back, they were always dramatic.

The flames flickered.

“When—?“

“When I say you’re done. More power.” Lheyr began calling his own magic, drawing deep from the murky core of his being. Users of demonic magic didn’t turn into demons suddenly, there were stages. First you had nightmares; eventually the horrors of the demonic world would become reality. The last stage before the change was the most frightful; demons could see the unwary user of their magic and begin dragging him or her into the demonic world.

The mage flinched as another skeletal demon touched his arm with a clawed finger. Perhaps this one would cross of his own free will.

But the flames died abruptly.

“This is not what I asked for! I will not become a demon for the sake of power!”

Lheyr stood still, hollow eye sockets staring at the outraged mage. Everyone knew Vixi’s promises came at a price, but how high, they couldn’t possibly foresee.

“The pact must be honoured.” Lheyr’s arms lifted, fingers reaching towards the mage, then twisting back as he stole away the hapless man’s life force.

“Fight me! Turn into a demon or die!” Lheyr’s bony jaws twisted into a smile. “Either way the master shall have you!”

“I will not become like you.” The mage called on his own magic, fire sparked between his hands growing into a ball of flames. Lheyr scoffed at the feeble display of power. Why did they always choose a flashy spell? All pomp and no power got you killed when facing a demon.

“The strongest demons are second only to the gods themselves. You want power, become one of us!”

The mage threw the flame, striking Lheyr in the face, but the demon continued on, ignoring the soot on its skull. It continued on sapping the life from the mage, bit by bit, and scattered it to the four winds. A demon did not require life force, it fed on pain and despair.

One final time he repeated the offer, “Join us.”

“No.” The mage whispered. He crumpled down into an unmoving heap. Lheyr nudged the corpse with a clawed toe. No reaction. Another skeletal demon, this one resembling a snake with bony arms and an oxen head, stared at him.

“Son, tell the missus that we don’t need prey. Another one died.” The demon crossed his arms. “I looked forward to teaching possession to a new demon.”

Lheyr would stand vigil until his god raised the mage from the dead. Vixi would have a new servant and the mage would have power, the pact would be honoured, though not as the mage had intended. Lheyr sighed and shook his head; sometimes it was just easier to let them die.

DiceGames: The Ratter

This is my first entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge; there will be one for every monday of September. You throw a dice and look up the corresponding prompt from Lady Antimony's list. The rules are here. For this week, I rolled number one: "You've woken up to discover you're a rat - what's happening?"

His little heart flung itself against his ribs like a bird in a cage. Smells and sounds befuddled his senses, everything was happening too fast. He had to change back, but found he couldn’t.

“Allera! Why are you doing this to me? Let me change back!” He squeaked upwards, hoping the sorceress would answer his plea, but she only laughed.

“This is your punishment, fool!” Her cold, green eyes stared down from high up. “I saw what you did.”

“But—”

“I will let you change back once you’ve found the hairpin I lost in the vegetable garden.” Her perfect lips formed a circle as she spoke, “Go.”

What good is being a shapeshifter when your magic can be blocked by a sorceress? He shook his pointy head. He should have left the first time this happened.

The shapeshifter in rat form scuttled under the backdoor. He stood for a moment, sniffing the air for cats or the neighbour’s ratter. Birds he couldn’t smell, he would just have to spot the shadow of the predator before the claws caught him.

Fighting down the urge to grab and eat the beetle that skittered past, he scurried to the far end of the vegetable garden. It wasn’t huge, but he would do better to be meticulous in his search. One row at a time he searched for the elusive hairpin.

Why does she even have one? Her silken brown hair didn’t need any adornments.

The hairpin wasn’t in the field of peas or in the row of beef tomatoes. Desperately he climbed onto a cabbage. His little claws sunk into the tender plant as he balanced on his hind legs.

Swaying back and forth atop the mound of green he failed to notice the shadow passing over him. A shrill cry alerted him; quickly he pulled his claws free and jumped to the ground.

Oh no, not a…

In a flurry of brown the little bird landed in front of him. Before he could run and hide, squeaky words burst from the grey beak: “She cast you out again! The Sorceress cast you out again!”

“Shut up, virra.” The stubby front legs were just long enough to cover his ears.

“I have a name, you know.” The bird mercifully fell silent for a moment.

“Shut up!” he shouted; the bird had opened its beak to speak again. The ball of feathers looked insulted.

“No, it’s Yeolde, and I have what you seek.” The bird held up a spindly grey leg, revealing a decorative hairpin. The thin claws holding the pin spread, but hairpin did not fall. “It’s stuck until you remove it, but you have to be severely annoyed.”

Rats did not communicate with facial expressions, but somehow he managed to convey the emotion to the virra.

“I see you are in the correct frame of mind. Take the thing; I need to earn my daily grain.”

He cringed at his pink foreleg; this wasn’t his true form. He had to change back soon, or the need to chew something, anything, would become overwhelming.

How other beings survived living in one shape was beyond his understanding. Likely ignorance kept them placate, stupidity in some cases. Allera the Sorceress was different; she was a powerful earth mage. She could encase herself in the life essence of an animal, thus becoming it. Although her magic was different from shapeshifter magic, the end result was much the same.

It had been her magic and the way she wielded it that had drawn him to her. He had been her apprentice for years, fetching herbs from deepest woods, taking care of the garden, keeping the house clean, all just to be close to her.

He squeezed himself under the door, the accursed pin held firm in his grasp. She waited for him, arms crossed across her chest.

“Go look for my ring,” she spoke without looking at him.

“Yes, exalted sorceress.” He sighed; she didn’t care to hear her real or her pet names when she was angry.

“Watch out for the cat.”

“Yes… Wait, the cat?” He froze, this was going too far.

“The neighbour’s cat has been skulking around. I’ll deal with the feline if he becomes too interested in you.” Stifled anger was clear in the tone of her voice.

“I am not going through this again.” Something in his voice moved her. Slowly she lowered her gaze, her arms falling down into her lap. “What exactly did I do wrong?”

“I saw how you looked at that bitch.” She looked away; he followed her gaze to the window. Outside a pitch-black rat-dog was busy digging.

“I may be able to take the form of a dog, but I am not interested in them!” He felt repulsed at the thought; him, a noble shapeshifter, able to take form of a wolf, looking lustily at a dog? Ugh. “Even if I were, I have you. You’re beautiful and talented in magic. I couldn’t believe my luck when you asked me ‘how do shapeshifters court?’”

He could feel the spell lifting from his shoulders. With joy he changed back into his true form, a human. He walked on two legs, he had hands again, and he could smile with his lips and kiss his lovely wife.

“You said the shapeshifters of the Southern Plains bring a piece of fresh meat to their loved one. But you didn’t live in the plains anymore.” She smiled, her eyes the colour of the forest lighting up. “Then you kissed me.”

Gently his arms slid around. Her cheek rested against his chest, so soft and warm. How she could have thought him stupid enough to look at another female, he could not understand.

“Don’t belittle yourself, dear wife,” he whispered into her ear. “The enchantment you cast has not faded.”