Storythread

Storythread: Friday 13th edition. Don't worry, it's just a superstition... right?

This is a thread for creative writing of Veeky Forums-related fiction, so epic campaign greentexts and other non-fiction go elsewhere. If you have Veeky Forums related stories to post, post them here, and hopefully some kind user will give you feedback (or at least acknowledge that someone did actually read it, which let's face it is what writefags really want).

What counts as Veeky Forums-related? Anything someone could plausibly use in a campaign (which means basically anything if you have enough imagination).

If you don't have a story ready then I and other anons will be posting pictures throughout the thread for you to test your writing skills on. This is, more or less, a world-building and character-building exercise: two vital skills for playing roleplaying games. If you don't have any pics to post, you could try posting an idea for a setting or a character, and maybe someone will be willing to write a story using it. It's also an exercise in writing though, where writefags can try out their material and gain inspiration, so if you just want to talk about world-building you may want to head over to the dedicated world-building threads.

Remember that writefags love to have feedback on their work. Writing takes a long time, especially stories that go over several posts, and it can be really depressing when no one even seems to read it (and the writer won't know you read it unless you leave a comment).

And since writing takes a long time remember to keep the thread bumped. Pics are good, feedback is better.

There is a discord for writers:
discord.gg/6AwKHGF

The previous thread can still be found in the archive here
if you have any comments about the stories posted there


Don't forget to check out past stories on our wiki page:
1d4chan.org/wiki/Storythread

Other urls found in this thread:

docs.google.com/document/d/1HvTw-5ITw5JsbBrmzJj8rQsW6kA4N0Tgy2OA2EFGKkQ/edit?usp=sharing
youtube.com/watch?v=XDC6Zib5J9g
twitter.com/AnonBabble

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[This is a story I wrote 12 years ago when I was laid up with Crohns’ disease.]

I came across a most amazing tale yesterday.

My departed uncle’s things had come into my possession, and I’ve been looking through them. He was a translator, as I am, and he had collected writings of all kinds from all over the world.

One in particular vexed me. It had no title, and it was written in an ancient dialect. I looked over it casually, searching for anything about the author or purpose of the script.

1
Mother just got me this writing kit. I made sure she saw me using it. I don't like to write, but I don't want to make her feel bad. So this will probably be my last entry.

(The work was a journal with several numbered entries. From the first entry, I gathered that it had been copied onto the parchment from clay tablets- the ‘writing kit’ the author had mentioned. I flipped to the back, and found that someone had signed it. But I couldn’t translate the name. So I read further, hoping a clue would illuminate me.)

2
Some men came to our house today and took me away to fight. Mother was crying, so I did not look back. I snuck this kit along with me. It is all that I have to remind me of her. I waited to write until it was late, so that no one would see me. I am scared, and I want to go home, but I will never let them know that.

3
I have been training and I even enjoy it. My commander says I have promise, and he should know. The others hope to be as good as he is someday. But I want to be even better.

(The writing style was terse and bland. I thought that this might be a war journal from someone important, and that tantalized me.)

4
Our group is called up to march to the capital and secure the city gate. I doubt they would have called us up unless the situation was dire. It feels like there are butterflies inside of my stomach. No one talks about what will happen if we lose, but it is almost certain to be horrible.

(The first entries were all infuriating like that- intriguing subject matter, written in bland bailiff-speak, with hardly any details. I skimmed over them. He made it to the rank of captain, got married, was made an adjutant to some important commander. I’m not sure I translated this part right, but I think the wife couldn’t conceive, so they took in a war orphan. At least it wasn’t an elven slave like in the old sagas.)

(Apparently he also was wounded in action, and this is where the tale grew visceral.)

12
I nearly fainted today in the council room. They helped me outside and brought me some water. I drank it greedily, it seems I can hardly get enough of it nowadays. Then the supreme commander came and spoke to me. He has good cause to be suspicious of his captains in these dark times. I was afraid he would get the wrong idea about me, though I am completely loyal. But he simply said I should go home until I get better. When I protested, he relieved me of command and his guards "escorted" me home. I really should have kept my mouth shut, but it galls me that I cannot uphold my duty as I ought. War preparations are being made, and all I can do is sit on my porch and stare at the river like a doddering old fool.

13
I tried to present myself to the commander today, but he refused to see me. When his attache came out to speak to me, he was covering his nose and mouth with a cloth. "The commander insists that you see the doctor before you are cleared to appear before him" was all he said. Then he hurried away and shut the door in my face. What is wrong with these people? Yesterday they treated me like a father, but today like the lowest of beggars.

(Although it didn’t say directly, some clues in the text seemed to indicate that he was in fact a decorated war hero. I had no real evidence for that, but if it were true, then this journal could be worth something, even as a copy.)

15
Now everyone knows.

I was summoned to the training ground today and the entire council was there. I have been placed on administrative leave indefinitely. My companies and duties have been turned over to the other captains until such time as I recover. But from the looks of the men at arms, I can tell that no one expects that to happen. Each in turn conveyed their utmost respect- from about fifty feet away. I wish I could say that I handled it gracefully. But I blew up halfway through and ruined the ceremony by cursing out the whole lot of them. I cursed out my company commanders, I cursed out the captains, I cursed out the supreme commander, I even cursed out the guards who carried me away when I came too close. I thought for sure they would execute me after the things I said, and deep down inside I almost wanted that to happen. But instead they rushed me home.

When my wife asked what was wrong, they told her I had the sickness, that it came in through my war wound, that it was incurable. I had never told her anything about it. I tried to silence them, but all of a sudden my legs wouldn't work and I collapsed. Somehow my wife managed to help me into bed, all by herself. Neither the guards nor the staff would help her. Either they were too afraid of the sickness, or they were too afraid of me. Just before I fell asleep I saw the war orphan, a little southland girl, looking in on me. We just stared at each other for the longest moment. Then I gingerly turned away and went to sleep.

16
I caught my wife crying today. Because our schedules are so different, it has always been convenient for me to have my own bed, so that we don't disturb each other's rest. But she had stayed and held my hand. I woke up and, for an instant, I saw the tears. She looked away quickly because she thought that I would grow angry with her. But I was too surprised.

We have never had the closest marriage. "What is wrong?", I asked, but she was speechless. "Come on," I said "you'll be fine. You are still young, you'll do all right, even if it is the end for me." She shook her head violently. Then I said, "Your next husband will give you the joys I never could." "I do not cry for me," she snapped. "I cry for you. You're a valiant man, an honorable man. You act like the world wouldn't be any worse if you left it. When will you realize that the world runs short on honorable men? Why do you think you got away with that tirade yesterday? Because the supreme commander will do anything to keep an honorable man, that's why! He let you call him every name in the book, in front of his men. I bet he would do anything to have you back, even if it made him look foolish. And you can't understand that, much less deal with it." "You're the one who doesn't understand," I said. "I am supposed to work for the supreme commander, he's not supposed to work for me. I am a soldier, I face death around every turn. It's almost like an old friend to me. I want people to remember my service, my accomplishments. I don't want them to get hung up on the fact that I got… injured." "So you're just going to give up then!" she said. "I expected better from you. But I should have known you'd let your pride get in the way." She was boiling mad. She stood up and said, "Let me know when you're ready to stop being such a stubborn ass!" As she flounced out, I yelled, "Don't worry, you won't have long to wait!"

17
I wanted to end this, so I went to get my weapon. Everyone in our corps is trained how to end things quickly, to prevent imminent dishonor on the battlefield. I never really thought I would have to use this, much less in my house, in my own bed, but I'm sick of waiting. I made as if to go to the sitting room, but she was on to me. "Don't bother looking for your gear," she said, "I've got it all in storage." "Just going for a stroll dear," I said pleasantly, acting as if we hadn't been fighting at all. I made my way toward the back door, thinking to go to the toolshed to get something that would do the job. "Forget it," she said, following me. "The place is quarantined, we're barred in from the outside." I made my way to the kitchen. She stood behind me nervously. "Could you get me some water? I'm parched," I said.

As soon as she went around the corner, I started looking for the knives.

I found one and raised it, but she grabbed my wrist. She had been watching me the whole time. "Coward!" she screamed. "Traitor! Go ahead and abandon your country!" "No, my country has abandoned me!" I roared. "Where is my honor you spoke of? They stripped me of it!" I grabbed her by the throat with my free hand. Then I saw terror in her eyes, the same terror I had seen in the faces of my foes. On the battlefield, the day I stood, bleeding from a dozen wounds, yet still fighting. I vowed they would never take the city, my city, while I had breath. The relief found me there, leaning against the burned-out shell of a building. Watching my enemies run. My weapon, glued to my hand, caked with blood. I won that battle, but had lost the fight to heal.

...
A dizziness came over me, and she used the opportunity to take the knife away. Then she proceeded to scold me like a child. "Fool! Your honor is on the inside. No one can take it from you, so why are you throwing it away with your own hands?" "Leave me alone!" I screamed. "You don't know what it's like, you're just a woman! You don't know anything!" "I know that you're better than this," she said. "Yeah, let me appeal to your pride a little. You've defeated whole armies, and you can't beat a little disease? After a life of valor, what possessed you to take the coward's way out? Consider yourself- is this the way you normally behave? Cursing your ruler, terrifying your staff, attacking your wife?"

I didn't know what to say. In the silence I heard someone sobbing in a nearby room. It was the southland girl. "Why didn't you send her away?" I snapped, thankful for an opportunity to change the subject. "To where? She has no family. Now with the quarantine she cannot leave." My head swam and I suddenly felt very weak.

I don't remember what happened next. I woke up in my bed again. I might have dreamed the whole thing. I don't know because my wife never says anything about it. Whenever I ask, she says, "Oh I'm sure we both said some things, let's just forget about it." Sometimes she looks away when she says that.

18
What a strange day.

The wife came into my room all excited. "Honey, the supreme commander has summoned you! I brought your dress uniform, hurry up and get ready!" At first I thought I was dreaming again, but at this point I did not care. A twinge of pain curbed my exuberance, but it couldn't quell the excitement I felt inside. I figured the supreme commander would not have summoned me unless it was a life or death matter. It was a chance to serve again, a chance to die an honorable death. She kissed me goodbye, but I barely felt it. My thoughts were completely focused on what lay ahead.

I had to rest a few times on the way to the training ground. I told myself I'm probably just a little out of shape from lack of exercise. If I survive this mission, it might do me some good. I caught some people staring at me in terror and hurrying away. I figured the situation of the city must be dire indeed. No matter. All I wanted was an opportunity to go out with my feet shod and a decent weapon in my hand.

...
I had hoped it was a council of war, but none of the councilors were there. Only the supreme commander and his personal guard met me. They stood facing me about fifty feet away like last time. I didn't care for that. I felt like a farm animal on display at auction.

As I stepped to the center of the training ground, I happened to look down. To my horror, I noticed in the full light of day that the discoloration had spread all over my body. White blotches everywhere. But before the full weight of the realization set in, the supreme commander began to speak.

"Veteran marshal, the country needs you on a matter of state. Take this letter to the southland commander. I am sending a small detachment of guards under your command. Take a gift with you for this mission. Report back when you are done." He paused and then said, "I have heard good things about this man you are going to see. He is quite powerful. I hope you come back with good news." "May I tell my wife first?" I asked. "She already knows," he said, and his tone was curious. But I was so excited to be off that I didn't think about it until later. I gave him a salute and it was returned. Then the men came forward with the diplomatic gifts. We loaded them and rode south.

19
Although my condition has given me many opportunities for embarrassment on this trip, my men have not entertained any of those opportunities. My respect for these brave souls has never been higher. Every day they witness the struggles I go through. They stop whenever I ask, and help me up and down without shaming me. It bothers me to have to ask for help. Seeming to recognize this, they watch me without hovering, ready but respectful. They know my condition may well be contagious, yet they are not afraid to stay close to me.

I was intrigued to see handwoven garments among the gifts. When I took a closer look, I noticed something strange. The weave looks suspiciously like something my wife made me last year. It's not exactly the same, but it seems as if one piece of clothing inspired the weaver to make the other. Could my wife have made these? Why would she want to give the southland commander anything? My wife's only connection to the southland is the little girl I brought her to keep her company. The girl is nothing special. If her family had any clout she would have been returned by now.

If I live to make it back, I'll have to ask my wife about this. I bet she delivered these clothes in some clumsy attempt to help me out on my little adventure. I seriously doubt I need her meddling.

20
I can't believe she went behind my back.

We arrived at the capital city. After we washed up and changed into our dress uniforms, we were ushered into the council chamber. I was doing all I could to allay the suspicion evident on every face. As well as the disgust. People were putting cloths over their mouths and trying to keep as much distance from me as possible. I wasn't prepared for that, and it really hurt. When the commander finally appeared, we saluted him and I greeted him in the name of my supreme commander. "I have been sent to you to bring you this letter and these gifts, Commander", I said respectfully.

He refused to take it from my hand and made his flunky go get it for him instead. I waited anxiously while the commander broke the seal on the letter and opened it. Though unafraid, I suddenly wanted this mission to be over as soon as possible. Something about this suddenly did not feel right. I had mentally rehearsed for every outcome I could imagine. But I got the sense that I was not at all ready for whatever was about to occur.

I was right. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. The commander gave a loud cry, and then he yelled at us, "Get out of here! Leave the council chamber right now!" I was completely shocked. If the letter was offensive, why didn't he just execute us? As he hurried toward the exit with all his advisers, I asked him why. He shouted, "He mocks me! I'm not a god! How am I supposed to cure you? You've got the plague!"

It was the most embarrassing moment of my life. If I had my sabre, I would have fallen on it then and there, but they had confiscated it at the door. I watched the recorders write down every word for posterity, and then hustle out of there one by one, until we were alone.

...
It won't be long until everyone on the face of the earth knows about my disgusting infirmity.

I can't do a thing about it without disobeying orders from the supreme commander, whose mission has rapidly deteriorated into an international incident. They can't execute us without starting a war, and they can't accept our gifts without sending me back cured. They even made us camp outside the city like pikers. They say it is the law, but that is nonsense. My men would have caught it by now if it was contagious. I think they are secretly hoping that we will just wander away and never come back.

...
I put two and two together and I think I figured out what happened. These southlanders are the most superstitious folk I have ever met. The other day, I saw my wife and that southland girl together, whispering in excited tones. Later, I heard my wife telling the doorman to deliver some message for her. Then the supreme commander said that my wife knew about my mission. I guess that the girl told my wife about some fairytale medicine they supposedly have here. My wife must have bought this crackpot tale out of sheer desperation. Then she sent to the supreme commander asking him to send me here to get some of this fabled medicine.

And nobody ever asked me what I wanted. Nobody asked if I wanted to be publicly humiliated. I am a soldier; it is my entire life. I am supposed to be respected and feared, but now I'm just a joke. Here I am, running around after foolish fairy tales. I've been sent on a wild goose chase for some redneck home remedy. I can't even speak to my men, and I'm surprised they haven't deserted me in shame.

(I had stepped away from my desk to rest my eyes for a moment, when disaster occurred. A freak gust of wind suddenly blew through the broken shutter, caught the papers on my desk, and carried most of the journal directly into the fireplace. They blazed up instantly, dashing my hopes for a lucrative deal in the process. My translation notes were still there, caught under the inkwell. But everything I had read, along with most of the rest of the journal, was gone.)

(Here is what survived.)

I don't get it. All my life I've earned everything I ever got. But this was free. I have never gotten anything I didn't earn (except for this writing kit, which is rapidly running out). Maybe that is why I was so suspicious at first. Maybe I thought he might be sending me on a wild goose chase while he got away. Even reading what I wrote then, I'm still not sure exactly what I thought.

I kept looking back as I rode away. My men couldn't stop talking about it, they were so excited. But I didn't have much to say.

26
I had stopped to deal with a man who was interested in some of the clothes we had brought. That's when I happened upon the article of clothing my wife had made. I decided to keep it for myself. I suddenly missed her more than ever, and it was frightening. Would she even be there when I came home? Just like Mother had done so long ago, she had stood there in the doorway, watching me leave. She was crying, so I didn't look back. Maybe I should have. I had told the man I would change my ways. If –he- was not impressed, then -she'd- probably laugh right in my face if I told her that. I was no prince to the man, but I had treated my wife much worse. Well, I really don't know what to expect. Normally that's not a problem for me, but this time it feels different. I feel like this is the most important battle of my life, and I don't even know how to fight it, let alone how to win.

27
At the city gates, I sent the men ahead of me to give their report. I had something else to attend to first. I followed the river around to my house. I had loved this river ever since I first saw her. It was where I sat and healed from that desperate last stand so long ago. But it never could heal me all the way. Now there was another river competing with her in my mind, the place where the plague was destroyed. I never went back, but perhaps you could say that river came back with me instead. It certainly never left my memory.

When I saw that front door, I started shaking. I didn't know why, but I think I might now. When it opened and she came out, my heart seemed to stop. I had her cloth in my hand. We just stood there and looked at each other.

...
She said later that at first she had thought I was a ghost- until my stomach growled. We both laughed. Seems like I am always getting embarrassed in front of that woman. Later I tried to tell her what I needed to. I'm not sure how well I did, but she mostly seemed to understand. Interestingly enough, she said it was the little southland girl who told her about the man. Pretty brave of the girl to bring it up, since she had seemed to be terrified of me.

I bumped into the girl on my way out. I towered over her. She stood there looking up at me, too afraid to move, too afraid not to. She looked so helpless.

I remembered bringing her home that first night, how she slept snuggled up against me during the ride. Carefully, I knelt down next to her. "I went to the man," I said. I tried to show her where I had been wounded, but I had to guess at it because neither mark nor trace was left. "See, now I'm all better." Her expression didn't change. "Thank you," I said, and I asked her to tell me her name. She hugged me goodbye that day, and it felt special. We are a motley family, but I think we can become a closer one, and maybe that would be nice.

...
I could not keep the supreme commander waiting. For so long, I had wanted nothing more than to stand in his presence again. And now that I had the chance to, I felt reluctant, and for the strangest reason. Before, I had always seen myself as worthy and capable, even while wounded. Now I am healed-- stronger than ever! and I don't feel worthy at all. I stood in his presence again, but it wasn't like the old days.

The myth of me is gone. But, maybe that's for the best. I no longer feel as if I have to prove myself to everyone. Even to prove myself worthy of regaining my life. The Last Cleric didn't seem interested in any of that. I'd think he would let me know if I needed to do that.

Once I had come back, the supreme commander looked at me differently. All the host did, too. It wasn't because I had healed, but because I had changed. (Maybe the two kind of go together?) I guess they wanted to know if I could still be trusted. Perhaps they wondered if I was in the pocket of the southland god. I had wondered the same, wondered if he would call in a favor from me someday. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

I have more to write than will fit, so I will stop here.

(There was only one more entry.)

28
It has been a long time since I last wrote with this kit. I dug it up again to finish the story. See, I ran into the Last Cleric again today. I saw him just as he was leaving my city. When I greeted him, I saw that he had been crying, and looked very distraught. But when he recognized me, something came over him. As I talked with him, it was as if hope came back into his eyes again. I didn't say anything spectacular, but I guess I didn't have to. I had reminded him of something good.

My body was a message, like the first time I met him. That time it spoke death, and he would not listen. But this time, he heard it speak hope, rebirth, and peace.

The magic he had once cast on me came back to him, and it healed him.

THE END

I was traveling along the Kortian coast, keeping to the beach, keeping the path straight. I was injured, my left arm was mangled--not irreparable which is why I was making the journey in the first place--but bad. The little bones inside the hand, the ones on the palm, were broken and the healer at Smoketree village wasn't skilled enough to set them. "Go to Videnver." He said. "Go see Talko, he'll do you right 'slong as the coin is in his hands before and after. He'll do you right."
So off I went. I wanted to charter a boat to Copeland and I figured, a town that big, a coastal town at that, ought to have a moneychanger and a port. Two birds. So I go. Spent the first half on the road with a traveling music troupe and once it forked into Viden forest I decided to split to the south, and head for the beach. I've always liked the water. The sound of the waves, the sunshine, the sand. Real soul-soothing.

But the Kortian beaches were nothing like that. The ground was hard and wet and little white stones everywhere instead of sand. Sharp stones that you couldn't even sit down on without a thick blanket or a sleeping bag.

And the water was dark purple, wine colored. I don't know if it was just a trick of the light or some bloom or whatever, but it made me nervous. I stopped sleeping at night and only rested during the day. Superstitious, maybe, but hell, the nights were cooler anyhow and the moon was near full so there was plenty of light.

Anyway, on the 3rd day, I'm about 5 miles to the town and I see this kid. 7 maybe 9 years old, sitting on the stones in his shorts and bawling. Mind you, it's past midnight so my hand is already reaching for my crossbow. The kid sees me and gets up and starts walking toward me, still sobbing. I see blood running down his leg. At this point my crossbow is out and pointed at the kid's head. Shit like this doesn't happen past midnight--so yeah, I was scared. And then the kid starts puking...

>Continue?

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A sword and sorcery story with violence, nudity, and heart.

docs.google.com/document/d/1HvTw-5ITw5JsbBrmzJj8rQsW6kA4N0Tgy2OA2EFGKkQ/edit?usp=sharing

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As was usual in some Cincinnati park, a curious man called Kinley, watched a Voornern wildly go about some new political ideology to unite the races of Earth. He proudly occupied on wooden bench, raving and hollering through his bio-filter mask about hope, kindness, and understanding propelled the human race to it’s zenith. Statements like that made Kinley wondered if this Voornern was smart enough to crack open an elementary history book, but the way he sometimes messed up basic historical facts suggested not.

Beneath a cartoonish top hat, the Voornern wore a black, weathered trench coat draped over a white dress shirt most likely to obscure his two other unsightly appendages all Voornern had. Between the furious flashes of his arms that moved like windmills, Kinley saw them bulge underneath his clothing.

Kinley pinched his nose bridge out of sheer disdain, and chuckled. At least this silly Voornern was entertaining, and not like the ones addicted to drugs or alcohol that aggressively panhandled him at night.

After jumping up and down on the bench hard enough to make it shake, the Voornern suddenly pointed at Kinley with an accusatory finger.

“You? You! You!” he chanted in his artificial, vibrating voice. “I have seen you in the blackness of my eyes when I slumber, and I know that YOU shall be my prophet!”

Kinley looked around at the other viewers of the unhinged Voornern before speaking. “I think you have the wrong dude.” Maybe Kinley could entertain the other people at the expense of this stupid, rambling Voornern? “I don’t think I have much of the prophet look to me, man. Just shaved about a day ago.”

A few people laughed in response as the Voornern shrunk back, beaten-looking.

“N-no! Do not laugh at me as you would laugh at my drunken, street-wandering kin,” the Voornern ordered as if he had more than a thimble worth of respect or control over the small crowd. “I have seen the truth, and it lies within this one.” The Voornern pointed his unsetting, too-moist finger at Kinley again.

“Please don’t point at people. Mr. Truthfinder. It’s not very nice.” Kinley crossed his arms in slight annoyance, the flash of one-sided humor running from his face in an instant.

“Including myself, I know many things may not always be nice,” the Voornern said with a hint of pleading to his voice. “But you must be the prophet of your truth, and I will assist with that – by force if I must.” He darted off the bench, quickly advancing on Kinley.

The small crowd around or near Kinley rushed to disperse like mist, certain the Voornern was about to get physical. Kinley raised his hands defensively. “Hey! Cool it!”

“I will cool nothing,” the Voornern shouted just a few feet from Kinley. “You have your first job as a prophet, yes you do.”

Once Kinley realized the Voornern wasn’t a threat, he lowered his arms as anger bubbled in his stomach. “No, you weird fucking alien-“

The Voornern reached into his trench coat, and quickly withdrew a semiautomatic pistol. Scores of people scrambled away, screaming and shouting warnings of an armed, half-insane Voornern.

“Holy shit,” whispered Kinley, instantly putting his arms back up, but in surrender this time. “You don’t need to do this. Please put the gun away – holy shit.”

Gun firmly in his hand, the Voornern slowly approached Kinley until the barrel was leveled millimeters from his nose bridge. “Excrement is not a holy thing, but you are, prophet.”

“Why?”

“You know exactly why.” The Voornern flipped the safety off with a chilly sense of professionalism, like he’d done this many times before. “Prophet o’ Prophet, I will not actually shoot you down like a rabid dog in the streets, for I have something to help you with the mission. Show me your hand.”

While staring the Voornern directly in his black eyes like pools of melted onyx, Kinley lowered his trembling hand, hoping his twitches didn’t make the Voornern accidentally shoot him out of fear.

One of the Voornern’s skinny auxiliary arms snuck out of his shirt to drop a sticky, folded note on Kinley’s sweaty palm.

“In that note, you will find the path of the prophet scrawled in sacred lyrics. They may be difficult to interpret, but you have the potential to be more than a human man.” The Voornern slowly backed away, his gun hand still drawn on Kinley’s profusely sweating face.

“What?” he shouted back, shaking hands still up. “This makes no sense! What even is your name, man?”

“Hannibal - I have a fixation with elephants, oh yes I do.” The Voornern grew further and further away, but not less menacing with distance. “We will certainly keep in touch!” he screamed before loudly vanishing into some nearby bushes.

In a slight daze, Kinley made sure Hannibal was truly gone before unfurling his orders. The paper was sodden with barbeque sauce, but he was somehow able to read the strange poem on it.

In this humid human month of May
find the clock tower that breaks during the day
and shatter it into multitudes of dust
so that the evil clockwork may crumble to rust

“Huh.”

Kinley heavily vomited from stress, soon passing out for the the soft grass of the park to catch him.

Bump

>youtube.com/watch?v=XDC6Zib5J9g

Three adventurers are out in the open fields after another journey of adventuring and completing a quest. Vincent Le Gras, the warrior and the most youngest of the group who is aged 24. Then there's Alfred Faucon, a bard who specialises more in story telling, poetry and smooth talking with people and is also the oldest of the three-man party. And Coramar Inadi the Half-Elf wizard who's group's go-to specialist in the magical arts and even healer as he also is adept in healing and restoration magic. Coramar is currently scrounging around the woods with his pet dog to gather some firewood.

"Quite a pleasant view ain't it?" Said Alfred as he contemplated the seaside view of the cliff they are standing on in the shoreline.

"Ehhh, I don't Al, looks to me like any view of the ocean in any shoreline cliff. Such as the ones in Zeoccopia and the ones in the lands of the Duchy of Ommerat. And tell me again why we are camping out in a place like this and not stay overnight in a civilized area like a town? Especially the village we were in just a few hours ago, which also had a tavern aswell?" Said Vincent with his sword still in hand as he also scanned the horizon.

"Because we got kicked out of the settlement we were in earlier by the village's mayor. All because you were boinking around with the local tavern's two barmaids and-" Alfred Faucon was speaking just as Vincent abruptly interrupted.

"So what if a threesome between me and those two big tittied wenches happened??? I even gave those two babes pay-"

"And those two tavern maids were the daughters the tavern owner of the inn in that village. To which he is enraged that a stranger such as yourself impregnated those two daughters of his." Alfred interjected.

"Yeah okay so I 'violated' the purity of those two wenches, and fine their dad can be all 'outraged' at me and all. But that never gave the mayor of that town the right to 'banish' us!"

"Because it turns out that you also slept with village mayor's daughter and also cummed in her that one night when we accepted that village's bounty of clearing out a den full of goblins that was harassing them before heading out the following day. And after a one day trek from that village to the location of that goblin's den, we came back to tell them we cleared out that goblin hideout, only to be greeted by the outraged mayor going on about how you slept with his daughter she confessed of sleeping with you the other day before. ANd it didn't help that the tavern owner also complained about you sleeping with his two daughters too during the night we arrived at that village aswell." Alfred explained.

"Come one now! How the fuck was that any of my fault!? Those two tavern maids came to me first, I mean those two offered to keep me company when I entered my own room that night. And that mayor's daughter, also came on to me before we headed out again to deal with that village's goblin mess. And now here we are forced to camp out for this approaching night with the sun slowly setting before we head to port... I guess that's the price I had to pay for being good looking and attractive while still being at the prime of my youth huh?" Vincent said as he finally sheathed his sword back to its scabbard at his waist.

"Heh, you can probably thank our good ol' group wizard Coramar for that. Specifically for casting those magic shield buffs to help protect you and that still handsome boy-face from having nasty scars." Alfred joked.

"Yeah well I'am still at the prime of my youth all while being adept with a blade. And what about you again? Your the bard who likes to tell stories and recite sappy poems?" Vincent also joked back.

"Hey now you young whipper-snapper. Not all bards are musicians and or womanizers like you. Some bards such as myself do indeed specialize in other forms of art such as writing, story telling and poetry. Somethings you yourself should have some time in partaking in, the world could always use more artists than fighters."

"Hmmmm... Maybe some other time, preferably when we finally get to some civilization first."

"Well look at the bright side. Even though we got kicked out of that village and are considered to be exiled and to never return there again. The mayor of that village was atleast still considerate enough to give us our reward for taking care of their goblin raid problems." Alfred said reassuringly as he got the hefty coin pouch rewarded to them from his sling bag and gave it a slight bounce at the palm of his hand. Giving off the sound of gold coins clinking before putting it back at his bag for safer keeping.

Then the half-elf wizard Coramar and his dog finally came back from the gathering of fire wood as Vincent called him out.

"Well look who's finally back from gathering some wood. Does gathering simple wood proves to be a daunting task even for a magic user your self Corry?"

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>>Continue?
The answer to that is always yes.

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White and orange chunks splatters on the white stones. The kid is keeled over, not heaving exactly, no noise whatsoever. The stuff just dribbles his out of his mouth like someone dumping a can of beans. The kid is holds his stomach and pants. Then he starts bawling again.

At this point, I'm feeling disgust and maybe even some pity for the poor kid, but my crossbow is still beamed on his head. I'm not an idiot. I ask the kid if he's OK. He just continues crying and I'm not sure if he heard me. I ask him again. He says he's lost his mommy and daddy. How long ago? 3 days. He's been living on mushrooms and pondwater. Where were his parents going? Kid doesn't say, so I ask again. Kid says "Graveyard." I click off the safety on my bow.

Why are they going to a graveyard? Kid shrugs. How did you get separated? Kid shrugs again. At this point I have a mind to just blast the little bastard in his eye, but I figure that won't win me any points with the guys in the sky. Now he's asking me if I can help him find his parents. What am I supposed to say? No, I'm actually a tremendous asshole? I may as well kick the kid in the chest and spit on his face while I'm at it.

So I say yes and I tell him to stay up front; where I can see him and where the back of his head aligns neatly with the cross hairs of my bow. The kid starts prancing around and singing. We walk for a half-mile before the beach slopes up to a cliff side. At the top I can see the outline of small semi-cylinders. At first I think it's just more rocks but they're arranged too regular. The kid stops too. My finger caresses the trigger, waiting for a reason.

The kid turns around. He's smiling and covering his mouth like he's trying not to laugh. He points at something behind me and like a dope I turn around. Just darkness. I turn back and the kid is looking straight up. His neck is aligned with the chin, his jaw unhinged, his mouth gaping and a bony white hand, climbing out behind the teeth.

>Continue?

Screams still filled Ella’s mind as she recalled watching the witch burn on the pyre the evening before. Whether the woman was truly a witch or just a protestant, Ella knew not. All that was clear was that someone other than herself was being put to the torch. It was rare for the Church’s Venators to go looking for witches in among the ranks of the camp followers, but with the Imperial army having moved into the Rhineland the lands formerly held by the Protestant forces had yielded a number witches. It made Ella uneasy knowing that the Venators were near, but, in a way, it was reassuring that they were hunting different game. The huntsman reluctantly accepted the horned succubi that followed the Imperial Army as prostitutes, but Ella knew they would not suffer corpse eaters and blood suckers like herself. Her kind had to obscure their existence or they would find silver blades surrounding them and a pyre in their future.
Ella had abandoned her shack in the woods outside of Vienna, feeding upon travelers and poachers, to follow the armies of Europe as they slaughtered each other in this great and terrible war. For twelve years, she had followed the Imperial forces, picking off the infirm and the wounded, and gorging herself upon those that clung to life despite losing limbs or suffering mortal wounds. It had been a boon. In her short 225 years of existence, she had never lived as well and eaten as much as when she had become a sutler for the army. But with the the Venators having followed the army into the Rhineland, there was a fear that crept into the whispers of her kind.

A single martial priest could be dealt with, but the Venators numbered more than just one and the army of some 5,000 Imperial troops would be more than enough to slaughter Ella and her kind. So Ella went hungry. There were those that chose to take the risk, but Ella wanted to live. She had grown used to taking a victim every few days, but now hadn’t eaten in over two month. As a result she had come to look sickly and pale from lack of blood. This was only exacerbated by her insistence on staying out in the sunlight to be seen selling meals and wares by the Venators.
Ella prepared her workstation when she heard a man callout, “Frau!” in an accent that marked him as being from Tyrol.
Looking up, Ella say a youngish looking Venator in his vestments and black and gold armor.
“Yes, your holiness?”
“Addressing me as brother will be fine, child.You serve frühstück here, do you not?”
“Yes, Brother.”
The Venator smiled and pulled out a silver Guldengroschen. “A hot meal would do quite nicely,” he said with a smile.
He was tall and broad of shoulders and looked like the sort of man that could kill a common soldier in fisticufs, but he was soft and warm at the same time. His eyes were not the eyes of a killer. When the soldiers first killed they had a look that could drill holes through a man’s torso, but the Venator’s eyes were warm and inviting. She took the coin in her gloved hands, careful not to let it touch her bare skin.
“You look unwell, child. Certainly more gaunt than a vendor such as yourself should.”
Ella tried to smile for the handsome young killer. “I cannot afford to eat my own food. Not when a soldier is willing to pay a Guldengroschen for it.”

The Venator shook his head and pulled out a second coin. “Eat with me, child. I insist.”
This was not the first time a man had purchased her food, Ella was a reasonably attractive woman, but there would certainly be things that a Venator would be looking for in suspected vampires that average soldiers would not know to see. Still turning him down would look suspicious, so Ella chose to indulge the man.
As she prepared their meals, the Venator began to ask her questions.
“Do you have a husband?”
“At the start of this war, yes. He took ill with diarrhea and wasted away. Leaving me with nothing but our mule a few chickens and this wagon.”
She wasn’t entirely lying. When She had started this journey she had one of her progeny with her. He was a sweet boy of just 27 and had only been of her kind for two years. He was too young and thought himself invincible, like the ancient Uphyr of the steppes who could take men as they pleased. He had been caught and been met with pike, blade, and shot. They nailed a sign to his chest that read, “corpse eater” and gave him to the pyre. Ella had not sired another mate to check her loneliness since his death, as the dangers of trying to teach a fledgling to survive at the heels of an army of man were too great.
After they finished eating the Venator gave her a smile and wished her well. The day was long and the sun harsh, but when evening came, Ella found a man dying of gangrene to make a meal of. His blood was poisoned by the rot, but even then it felt good to end her fast. When morning came, the young holy man arrived at her cart again.

“You look better already, child. I’ll take two meals, again,” the Venator smiled as he set down the silver coils.
“Thank you, Brother…”
“Nicholas, my child. When I took my vows, I chose the name of St. Nicholas to be mine own.”
“The saint of merchants, thieves, and prostitutes?”
“And brewers and pawnbrokers, child,” he added with a grin and a wag of his finger. “He is a saint of second chances and of the people we are oft to forget. Even in these trying times, where heretics control much of the North, we must remember that all men and women can know salvation should they act in good faith with the lord our God and commit to good deeds and recognize Christ as our savior. Even the horned women that follow our armies may pass through the Gates of Saint Peter should they repent their ways and make good with God.”
“And what of the witches that you hunt, Brother Christopher?”
The holy man shook his head and his smiling face turned solemn. “Miracles are the purview of the Church and those few men and women touched by God as saints.To be a witch and make magic is to bargain with daemons and devils, and contracts signed with those dark forces are not easily broken. I am sure even you have heard the rumors of Doctor Faust and his deal with Mephistopheles. A witch may be redeemed, as all may be, but so few choose to be. They have chosen to cavort with daemons, and use their souls as payment. They are a different sort of monster than than the cursed werewolves that prowl the forests and make meal of men against their own will or even the vampyr.”
“But vampyrs knowingly kill. To live they must commit a great sin and break one of the sacred commandments,” Ella responded.

“Yes, child, but as there are just wars there are just killings that cannot be construed as murder. This war against the Northern heretics is just for it seeks to restore Christendom. A monster that fought alongside the warriors of Christ would be no monster and would find a place in the Kingdom of Heaven where a Swedish heretic would not. The Papal leaders said as much a century ago at Trent.”
Ella recalled hearing of Trent, but in the time since then, she had not seen armies of monsters fighting alongside the imperial troops.
“Where are these monsters, then? I see none fighting for his Holiness the Pope nor for the Kaiser.”
“You have not seen the great red Wyvern, Kaiser Ferdinand flies into battle against the Saxon Griffin Knights? Are your eyes well?” Nicholas japed.
“A dragon is a mount. It’s an animal no different from a horse.”
“You truly must never have seen one of the great feathered titans then. For, I assure you, they are quite different from a horse.”
Ella shook her head. “I mean they are not like vampyrs or succubi.”
Nicholas raised his hand and nodded in agreement. “You have not seen them because few have joined our cause out of fear, but that is beginning to change. The Kaiser has raised an army of trolls which is marching to meet Gustavus Adolphus in Bohemia, and the Dwarves that venerate the Virgin Mother are hard at work in their Viennese ghettos making weapons to liberate their homelands from the heretic Northerners. There is even talk of making a Dwarven electorate. The tide is turning, child. We are all soldiers in the army of God, and you can make a difference, instead of hiding in the shadows.”

With that, Ella realized that the Venator knew what she was.
The camp around them continued to bustle with the sounds of the early morning, but Ella was silent as she watched Nicholas after this revelation. He made no moves for his sword or a silver dagger he might be concealing. He simply continued eating his meal. She could try and kill him and run, but they would hunt her and they would end her for killing the priest. Her fight or flight response had her on full alert, but all she could do was stand and look upon the options presented to her in horror.
It was a long while before Nicholas finally broke the silence and spoke again.
“We have a dwarven blacksmith in our ranks, should you decide to answer God’s call, he will be waiting for you.”
With that, the priest flashed one last smile and departed.

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>[This is a story I wrote 12 years ago when I was laid up with Crohns’ disease.]
Crohns isn't something you really recover from, is it?

I kind of want to keep going with the concept of the Venators in another short story, but I'm torn between throwing together a story following a Polish Venator hunting a Gjenganger in Sweden during the Great Northern War or one hunting a Nuckelavee in Ireland during the potato famine.

imageless bump

Bamp

I appreciate naked barbarian women, that I do.

imageless bump

>Still thought it was a good idea to stick your dick in the monster in your bed, Ray?

>It's embarrassing that you even still believe in such a childish notion. Seriously, even children know better than to believe in this nonsense.
>And then you let your hormones control you?

>What kind of person even looks at a monster the way they would a woman?
>Did that monster interrupt you in the middle of something?
>Perhaps you were already mentally damaged? You do have a record of brain injuries...
>Either way, it is impressive that you could somehow force a monster who has dismembered lesser men with but a kiss. Then again, with that many arms and a mouth that looks like it drools unholy ichor, who would try kissing that?

>But enough about you. Now there are some questions about your...partner.
>What kind of monster would consent to having sex with a human?
>How could she be so weak that somehow a human with no sort of combat training?
>What sort of loveless life did she lead to have such a gaping weakness in her monstrous soul?
>Why did she pick you? You who had never known her when she was alive. You, who have no strength to speak of to resist such a terrible thing. You, who is insignificant in any way imaginable.

>Perhaps this is too much for your mind to process, what with all the sexual pleasure going through your brain.
>Maybe you'll forget all this the moment you finally stop. Maybe these questions will haunt you for the rest of your life, however short that life will be.
>There's just one thing you need to remember: A monster like that's bound to want revenge on you. Just pray that you have the fortitude to withstand such horrors.

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>Slaneesh we are getting some bad rep lately and we might need to nueter your lore abit
>Whaaaaaaaaat? Why?
>Well you see sexual deviance is not exactly family friendly?
>Since when is 40k family friendly?
>Thats besides the point, listen Slaneesh we are going to have to focus on your perfection side or just going to have to let you go
>Wait hold up I think I have an idea!

>And that kids is why it's okay have a Pet worm...That's attached to your crotch....that spews lubricant and hot sauce.
*Kids start crying one by one*

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It could maybe use a little polish, and I think that jump towards the end abbreviated a bit too much, but its certainly engaging.

Just to be clear, the Last Cleric is Jesus, right?

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Bump

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Even in the dead of night, the great city of Rome was vibrant and alive with the sounds of life. Felix, a palus guard, was accustomed to the sounds of the city, but a sound rarely heard echoed out into the night. The monstrous shriek was half the roar of a lion and half the scream of an owl, and many times louder than either. The whole of the city seemed to go silent for a moment, and then the wail came again. Then came the clanging of metal against stone and Felix knew fear as he had never known. He could have run, he probably should have run, but instead he found his legs carrying himself towards the draconarium. Maybe it wasnt too late, maybe the monster could be kept in its cage. Over the sound of his feet striking marble he could hear the sound of a great pair of jaws slamming together. The sound was accompanied by the smell of fire and burning flesh. Harpies cackled in distress and the Thracian Mares neighed in fright as the smell of fire and the gnashing of teeth roused the other beasts of Emperor Neros menagerie.
As Felix emerged into the moonlit palace courtyard, he saw the feathered serpentine neck of massive beast bob upwards as its scaly jaws snapped open and shut trying to best position its meal for swallowing. In the elephant sized beasts jaws was a man, or part of one at least. The sight of the dragon was terrifying and awe inducing, even after have seen the beast many times before. To have seen Caesar descend upon the city on the back of his Gaulish monster, the dragon Vespasianus, when the Roman people had only heard stories of dragons up until then would have been amazing.
1/2

Near the creatures feet was the mans lower half and what must have been two other men, smoldering in the pale moonlight. The great iron gate that kept the monster in its cage had been lifted off of its hinges and now lay on the ground, several spears lying near it. The monster craned its neck and grabbed the mans lower half and made quick work while, Felix watched in a mixture of horror and awe as it made meals of them men at its feet. The screams and shrieks of the the various other monsters that the Emperor had made pets seemed to annoy the titan as it let out several short barking screams, which only served to send the other creatures further into their frenzies. Even with the screams of the the captive beasts, Felix could hear the footsteps of other guards, as they emerged across the courtyard. They would be as impotent to corral the beast as Felix. Like a baby goose, the feathered titan would only be calmed by the one it thought was its mother, the Emperor Nero.
Felix wanted to shout as the others approached the monster, but he found himself wordless as the beast spread its wings and made its feathered crest dance. It screamed, and them men attempted to flee, but the scream was followed by a spray of liquid fire. The beast screeched again as it began to beat its powerful wings against the air. It began to run forward on its stilt like legs, leaping up onto the concrete wall that lined the courtyard before taking to the air. The dragon rose slowly as its powerful wing beats echoed through the night and it made its way into the city.

Rome would burn that night.
2/2

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Bump

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Good story, user. does the note actually have a meaning, or was the alien just nuts?

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It's a good concept, and this story is good, although I was more interested by the vampire than the Venator. And honestly, I think I would have liked it more if you'd written it as the real world, where the magical creatures kept themselves hidden, instead of introducing succubi and dragons and stuff. I kind of feel like that was what you were going for in the first two posts from the last thread, which I liked.

Either way, I'd be interested to see what you come up with next. Personally I think the Great Northern War is a much more interesting setting than the Irish potato famine.

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When I did the original I had no real intention of adding more fantasy creatures, it was a one and done kind of thing that was floating around in my head after I ran a largely unsuccessful campaign set in Central Asia in the 1870s that dealt with the Great Game and the party going up against the last of the ancient steppe Ubır.
I was chatting with a friend about the impact of dragons being real and it got me thinking about our world where most of the monsters of legend are real so i decided to pull from the earlier short about the vampire to build up that world. I might do more stuff in the vampire world later, because both settings interest me a lot.

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Yes, of course! another anime here loving it

user*, phoneposting

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