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.

Creatures of Verannia: Dragons

Having posted mostly stories lately, it was due time to write something about the creatures that inhabit Verannia, the land where my main story takes place. Previously I wrote a post about about wurmtail hounds; now is the time for dragons.

In Verannia, there are four dragon species: red, green, white and black. Red dragons are the largest and the most common type of dragon seen in Verannia, whereas the green dragons mostly live in Velara, the neighbouring kingdom to Verannia. The elusive white dragons live in the Far North, hunting seals and polar bears in the permafrost glaciers. Black dragons inhabit both Verannia and Velara.

Although all dragon species can interbreed, they rarely do so because the offspring will be weak and infertile. For this reason, interbreeding is considered a taboo amongst dragons. Dragons are solitary creatures and normally do not seek for the company of others of their kind. Encounters usually result in roaring, bursts of fire and aerial displays to intimidate the opponent.

Red, green and black male dragons live in the southern Verannia and are obsessive hoarders. They spend years gathering a hoard, fighting with other dragons, burning villages, towns and castles, and seeking for clues of lost treasures. Once satisfied with their hoard, they no longer actively seek for more treasure. Instead, they focus on guarding the hoard jealously. Male dragons love their treasures more than anything else in the world and simply guarding them indefinitely gives their lives enough meaning. Most of their time they spend half-asleep, becoming active only for the occasional clashes with other males and treasure-seekers. Old male dragons in particular have very little interest in what is happening in the outside world. Weaker male dragons that are unable to obtain a hoard of respectable size or are too weak to defend it usually fly with the females, providing them with food and trying to make an impression.

Female dragons spend most of their lives in the north and only fly south for winter to court the males. The female chooses her target based on the size of the male’s hoard; for the females, a large hoard is simply a sign of power and good health. After mating, the male stays behind to guard his hoard and the female flies back north to build a nest. Good-sized caverns are rare and often the female has to defend her claim on the cavern. Having settled down, the dragon lays her eggs (usually 3–5). The incubation takes half a year and the eggs hatch in late summer. During summer and autumn the dragonlings grow fat and gather strength for the winter.

Childhood is the most dangerous time in the life of a dragon. Dragon pups often engage in violent play that sometimes leads to injuries and even death; injured dragon pups are unlikely to survive the winter. But the other dragonlings are not the only threat the little ones face. There are also poachers and many predators to look out for. Because of the vulnerability of their young, dragons have sworn an oath with northern shapeshifters to protect each other. The shapeshifters guard the dragonlings and in return a few female dragons stay in the north for winter to protect the shapeshifters. During the Long Night, which lasts for almost two months, the sun does not rise above the horizon and the northern regions are enveloped in darkness. Having a few dragons to protect you from the nightmarish monsters that arrive with the Night greatly enhances your chances of surviving the long winter.

Friday Flash: The Trap

Only two more to go after this, then I can rest. Continuation to The Dragon Dance.

The cold wind of early spring cut into the bare skin of Jark’s hands and face, but failed to reach his mind. He’d warned Nuria not to get attached to shapeshifter found half dead in the Ice Barrens, he’d warned her again. Other’s had been found and rescued from a cold death, but they had repaid by attacking the humans who came to trade, some even attacked other shapeshifters.

Once Fain found out that he was one of the shapeshifters stolen as a child he would hate all humans. Nuria was part human. Even if he didn’t harm her, he would have to be exiled. The village depended on trade with the humans who didn’t view them as monsters. It would be better for everyone if they were rid of him.

Jark’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted when another shapeshifter ran into him. He regained balance swiftly, while the person who had run into him lay on his back. Jark was about to offer his hand to the fellow when he recognized the face. Fain.

A child appeared, touched Fain’s forehead and shouted gleefully: “Tag, you’re the hunter now!”

”I’ll get you in a moment!” he shouted. Getting up, he brushed a bit of dust off himself. ”Sorry Jark, I wasn’t paying attention. Nell was about to catch me.”

“She and the other children will miss you.” No one had had the heart to tell Fain his village had been destroyed, the fool still planned on returning to his tribe. “You will guard the reds for one more summer?”

“Yes, but we’ll return. I want everyone to meet our children someday.”

“Yes, children…” Gods, children by an abomination who guarded the evil dragons. He had to get rid of him quickly. “Once home you’re going to guard the black dragons.”

“Oh yes, I’ve seen them up close when I was young. They are so beautiful, powerful and…”

“Evil.”

Fain hid his clawed hands behind his back, but he couldn’t hide the change in his light brown eyes; they had turned a deep grey. Just as Jark had hoped, he was upset. All shapeshifters who guarded dragons were proud of theirs. “Just because a few maim and kill for their delight-”

“Do you hear yourself? You’re part black dragon, aren’t you?” He pushed Fain’s long hair off the nape of his neck to reveal black scales.

A low growl emitted from Fains throat; it ceased for a moment as he spoke. “Speak another word and I will tear your throat.”

“They should be hunted down, all of them.”

White, leathery wings grew out of Fain’s back as he fell onto his hands and knees. Bits of fabric fell to the ground as his human form was replaced by something much bigger, a fool’s dragon. He charged without warning, his dragon-like head ramming into Jark. Fain missed the smile on his face; he had ran into a trap.

Claws dug into the fool’s dragon’s long neck, the sudden weight pulling him to the ground. Jark’s polar bear form was strong, but fool’s dragons were stronger. Fain stood up, the white bear hanging on; swinging his neck sideways he managed to lose the bear.

Jark landed on his side, quickly rising to his feet. Black lips curled into a mocking smile. He waited until Fain rammed into him again. This time he slapped Fain’s head with a giant paw, then pinned his head to the ground.

He whispered into the fool’s dragon’s ear: “Your mother was a spawn of evil and you’re only slightly better.”

Fain’s eye flicked towards him, the grey iris lost in a sea of white. Roaring Fain flung his head upwards, sending Jark stumbling backwards into one of the houses. He drew a deep breath, but his senses still got the better of him. Though the buildings were enchanted against fire, you still did not breathe flames in a village of wooden buildings.

A crowd had begun to gather. The children who had played earlier now peeked from amidst their parents. Ignoring them, Fain spread his white wings, rose onto his hoofed hind legs and shook his brown mane. He trumpeted a loud battle cry and lunged forwards, sharp white fangs glistening with saliva against a backdrop of red. His teeth were about to sink into the bear’s neck when he heard an angry voice shout, “Fain, stop this instant!”

Fain’s ears flicked back and forth as he considered the order. Reluctantly he let go of the insolent shapeshifter in bear form.

“Change!” Nuria’s hands were balled into fists, her eyes shone a bright scarlet. “I will not talk to you while you’re in battle-form.”

“But I will be indecent in human form.” He lay down in front of his partner, a sign of submission with most creatures.

“Just change into something else you rarfnigan!” She grabbed him by the mane and lifted his face to hers. “Now!”

Fain shrunk into the form of a white lap dog. His big brown puppy eyes were enough to douse Nuria’s anger.

“What happened?” Her anger had found a new target. Jark lifted his great white head and growled.

“He attacked me, unprovoked.”

From the midst of the crowd a pink wolf snorted. “We all know Jark’s a troublemaker.”

“He did something to make Fain go mad!” Nell shouted, stomping with each word.

“I merely said that the evil dragons should be dealt with.” Jark cast a fearful glance at the small bundle of fluff that Fain was now. “He changed into the form you saw, a fool’s dragon. Only a drake and a dragon are stronger. He was going to kill me.”

“He insulted the good blacks!” Fain barked. Nuria picked him up into her arms, stroking his back gently.

“No matter what, you never attack another shapeshifter.” A tear rolled down her dark cheek. ”The village elders will decide if your temper is a threat.”

She carried him home and picked out new clothes for him. He dressed in silence, shoulders slumped, his eyes still grey from sadness and shame.

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.

Friday Flash: The Dragon Dance

Again, a follow up to my previous friday flash, Light and Dark. Bear with me, there's only three of these left.

Nuria stepped lightly on to the red circle, marking the centre of the Ruby Scales village. The circle was formed of red rocks of varying shades. She lifted her arms up, letting the watchers take in her ceremonial dress; red silks caressed the earth, a belt of red scales adorning her hips. The top half was made of dragon scales as well, sown into the form of a dragon spreading its wings, neck rising towards her face.In the south women danced and afterwards their husbands danced for them, though in a different manner.

But she was in the North; she danced for the dragons, celebrating the pact between shapeshifters and the dragons. As the drumming began, she dropped the left side of her hip then the right, mimicking the lumbering walk of the dragon. Her arms and shoulders moved upwards, then downwards, fluid as a snake in the water. The rhythm of the drum sped up, she began to walk. She rose to the tips of her toes, arms reaching for the sky. As the drumming began to slow down, she spun round once and fell to the ground her back arched, arms folded against her sides.

Howling, roars and others sounds rose from the crowd of shapeshifters. Her smile was polite, until she spotted her partner Fain, sitting between another human and a bright yellow bear. Her eyes narrowed a little as her smile widened. He got up, ran into her arms and whispered sweet nothings into her ear.

“Meet me back home?” The crowd had begun to disperse; a pink wolf stalked past them, chuckling.

“I promised to watch Orri’s child.” Fain smiled; the eight-year-old Nell had taken instant liking to him. “He’s off courting Lizell.”

“Good, we aren’t meant to live alone.” She stroked his cheek gently, before walking past him towards their home. As she pushed the door open a hand descended on hers.

“Hello, Nuria.”

“Go away, Jark.” She stepped over the threshold, but he followed.

“I wonder how Fain the Faint bound the beauty to him?”

She turned to face him. His true form was a great, white bear, but now he was human. Handsome in someone else’s eyes, but to her he was a nuisance.

“I would rather question my right to bind his heart to mine. I will likely die decades before him, because of my human blood.” She sighed; shapeshifters were all a mix of species. The more shapeshifter was in you, the slower you aged. “I hope I have enough dragon or shapeshifter in me to live as long as he does.”

He dismissed her words. “I do not think he will stay sane enough to be in a relationship. I wonder what will happen when you tell him that his village was destroyed. He’d have been a child then, ripe for plucking from human point of view.” A shiver of disgust went through him. “Bloody humans. Your Fain somehow escaped the attack and wandered in the White for years. Or he was abducted by those from Mt.Noir, escaping when it was burned.”

“He’s strong enough to take the form of a fool’s dragon.” Her heart sunk. Fain, her partner, could not have been kidnapped as a child; he did not deserve such a past. “He could have survived…”

“Remember the one who also escaped? The poor thing would attack anyone who looked at him the wrong way. We had to send him into the Ice Barrens to die, poor thing.” His blue eyes glinted with malice. “I heard Fain hurt another trainee during battle practise. Arnie said something about black dragons being evil.”

“He just scratched Arnie’s arm, it healed quickly like all shapeshifters’ wounds. Do not hint that he would harm me. I love him for his kindness.” She smiled; when he wasn’t with her, he could be found playing with the children. “He’s good with the little ones, though he is horrible at the game they play, tag was it called?”

“He’s run into me twice.” Jark crossed his arms.

“He always runs into someone or something when one of the children chases him. Usually a wall.” She chuckled at the image. “I think he does it on purpose, to make the children laugh.”

“He may be kind and gentle now. Yet when he finds out what happened to his tribe?” He took a step towards her. She stood still, stopping any further advance with an icy glare.

“He will stay here with us. He is happy with me.” Hatred resonated in her voice and emanated from her face, yet he still persisted. “Go away. I heal wounds and am averse to inflicting them. But I make an exception with morons.”

“You just tease, beauty…”

She felt his hand on her wrist; quickly she slapped her hand over his, locking his hand in place. She lifted her arm over her head and spun round gracefully, in one fluid movement she brought her arm down and with it Jark who still gripped her wrist.

She stared at his eyes, dark red with anger. Hers had not changed. Control your emotions, use speed and grace. Anger and rash actions will lead to your defeat.

“My mother taught me how to bring an attacker to the ground. She also taught me how to rip off the sword arm. Do not trifle with me.”

Jark stared for a moment, the red slowly changing into a dark blue. He got up and smiled to her as if nothing had happened, then walked off.

Nuria shook her head; Jark would not give up so easily. Likely he would try to aggravate her Fain into a fight. Hopefully he would resist the urge to punch the moronic shapeshifter in the face.

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!”