GhoulsGalore: Presence

This is my first entry to Lady Antimony's GhoulsGalore challenge. For every week in October, there's a word and a being, and you write a story of 250 words. This week the word was 'boustrophedonic' and the being a poltergeist.

The slender fingers ran across the words written in boustrophedonic fashion. From right to left, then left to right, the archaeologist read them in her mind. The site had an otherworldly feel; it belonged to another era, its inhabitants long gone. She could almost imagine whispers on the faint wind.

Speak. Speak the words, it seemed to say. A rock rolled to her feet. She whispered one of the words, a tremor of excitement running through her. They had deciphered some of the meanings. It seemed to be a guide or a map, but a symbolic one; it spoke of stars, darkness and signs left by the gods.

Speak the words. I need to find a way out.

Another rock rolled down into the ruins. Were her comrades playing a joke on her?

Please don’t leave me here!

She walked back out into the humid air and tangle of strange plants, but the chill of the shadow cast by the wall clung to her. One of her colleagues ran up to her, his face distorted by disbelief and anger.

“The bloody idiots cut off our funding! We’ll leave in a couple of weeks.”

“Maybe it’s best,” she whispered. Upon entering the site she had felt dread. With every day, the feeling had grown deeper. There was something amiss in this place, something stamped its presence here.

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.

The Daily Grain

This is my entry to the First Campaigner Challenge of the Writers’ Platform-Building Campaign.

The door swung open, in a blur of brown the virra bird flew through. It hid atop a decorative cabinet and listened.

“Root of the Healing Tree, amber, tooth from a black sea serpent and the book.” The bird could imagine the merchant rubbing his sweaty palms together, purring over the payment. “You’re all set for the summoning.”

“I won’t be doing the summoning.” Another voice, this one a woman’s, laughed. The virra peeked over the decoration, a glint caught its eye; a bloodstone set in a gold ring adorned the woman’s index finger. The bird followed the hand as it fell to the woman’s hip, fingers curling around a sheathed dagger. “I was sent at the Queen’s behest, a task of utmost importance.”

Quickly the virra scrambled backwards, shrinking into a tiny ball. It shrank further as the screams of the merchant sliced through the air. Silence fell; the bird stood still, time passed.

“Just another day’s work,” it heard the Queen’s assassin mumble as her footsteps receded.

The door swung shut, the virra waited for a moment. Then, spreading its wings, the bird flew out of a hole in the window, shouting:

“Knowledge for sale, knowledge for grain!”

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.”

Tuesday Tale Challenge 4 on Glitterlady's Blog

Not sure where this came from... Read the other stories here.

She hadn’t seen him sprinkle powder into her drink, had not tasted it on the tip of her tongue. Even the urgency in his voice had not given him away. He had dissembled his intensions successfully.

The idea had been nagging him before she mentioned divorce. He’d toyed with the idea of killing her, but the word had been the nail in her coffin.

She would once more become the dutiful little wife, obeying his every command. She would essentially be a rotting corpse—but hey, nobody’s perfect. 

It was good to be a necromancer.

Tuesday Tale Challenge 3 on Glitterlady's blog

 The other stories can be found here.

His foot was caught by a crack in the road, sending him down. The concrete kissed his cheek roughly. Ignoring the pain, he got up and ran, spurred by the fear that they might have followed. He chanced a quick look back, but the old splintered road was empty. The trees swayed and the stars sparkled above, but nothing else moved. Stopping to catch his breath he contemplated what had happened.

They tried to burn me alive. But fire was his ally; the flames had burned the ropes and parted before him. They fear me, only because I’m cursed with magic.

After The 7 Virtues

The 7 virtues blog challenge is the first blog challenge I’ve taken on. I found it daunting at first, but after writing the first one, Chastity, I realized that though writing a story in 100 words wasn’t easy, it was not impossible. Once I remembered the advice: “short stories rely more on the idea than novels”, I took the dog out and sought ideas that would encompass the 7 virtues. Once I’d found one I would begin adding layers, just as I do with longer stories.

I learned from 7 virtues blog challenge that even 100 words can tell a story, as a result when writing or revising I choose the words with care. A few well-chosen words can help set the tone for the scene and keep it up. “Blades of grass that bent under the terrible force of the wind” tell that something awful is about to happen, while “Morning dew dappled the gently swaying field” is much calmer, setting the mood for contemplation or a love scene; even though we’re essentially describing grass. Description can be a powerful tool; I got to see it in action. There were many great stories that essentially described a person doing something with little or no dialog. The words they had chosen, the actions of the characters and the looks on their faces spoke more than words.

Reading what the other participants imagined when faced with the challenge of creating stories inspired by 7 virtues was rewarding. Some went the less virtuous way, creating horrific tales with gruesome endings, while some had truly virtuous characters whose example should be followed.

Thank you Lady Antimony for throwing us the gauntlet and thankyou everyone who picked it up, it has been a pleasure reading your stories. Hopefully the next challenge will be just as fruitful.

1. Chastity

2. Temperance

3. Charity

4. Diligence

5. Patience

6. Kindness

7. Humility

7 virtues: Humility

Snow crunched beneath Duro’s paws, cold clutched at him, but his bloodlust kept him moving. The human was near.

Duro was the only one left of the search party, the others died of the poison. He would hunt down the humans who dared kill shapeshifters and kidnap the children.

The prey was sleeping; with a leap he was upon the human, pinning him down.

“This human might not be one of them…” He sniffed the shivering body, but smelled only fear. He could not determine his innocence. ”Perhaps I’m not the one to decide over matters of life and death.”

7 virtues: Kindness

She wore black as befit a grieving woman. It was her first time out in months, yet she was beginning to regret it. Shouts filled the air as he hurried onwards.

“We found the shapestealer pup!”

She stopped and turned. Pushing her way through the crowd she found what the men had hunted: a small green dragon hissing, spreading its puny wings.

“Get away, it’s just a child!” She lifted the small thing into her arms and ran through the parting crowd.

She risked a glance down; the dragon had changed into a fair haired boy.

“My child, now.”