Storythread

“Henri, you mustn’t think these kinds of thoughts,” she said. She could not bear the sight of her closest friend lying dead upon the battlefield, his head rolling around in the dirt next to him. It would break her spirit for eternity.

“But what else will we do?” Henri protested, apparently intent on acting on his daydreams. “What else will you do? No warrior can defeat the begum in combat, and even if they could, you would be stuck living out the rest of your days as their war prize.”

“Perhaps it won’t be like that,” Hortensia said, attempting to prevent her friend from doing something that would get him killed. “Perhaps the warrior will be a just and noble man who fights for his faith and not out of lust or greed.”

“How can you be sure of that?” the stable boy asked. Before the princess could respond, he asked another question. “Hortensia, do you love me?” The maiden’s green eyes lit up, and her rosy cheeks became even redder.

“W-what?” she said incredulously.

“Do you love me?” Henri repeated. “Would you wish to spend the rest of your life with me instead of with the enemy before us or the men your father would give you to?” Hortensia did not know what to say.

“Y-yes, I do love you,” she stammered, “but t-that does not-”

She was cut off by a kiss. Henri stroked her long, black hair and pressed his face against her’s. Hortensia, caught off guard by this, soon embraced the man she had once, in her younger days, asked to be her storybook prince despite the fact that she was far stronger than he was.

After a few seconds, Henri stood up and looked to Fostia. “Good. Then, tomorrow morning, before your father has had a chance to select a combatant, I will ride out on Fostia and challenge the drow chieftess to a duel.” Hortensia, upon hearing this, shook herself out of her stupor.

“You can’t, Henri!” she protested, blocking his path. “You’ll die if you do!” Henri stared at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you stop me?” he asked quietly. He knew that Hortensia could if she wanted to, given his disability and her willpower. However, she could not bring herself to stop the man she loved so much, and so she let him pass. As she watched him leave the stables, she knew that this would be the last time she would see Henri before the duel the next morning.

Hortensia ran back to her room and threw herself onto her bed. She had no idea what she could do to prevent her best friend from riding out to his death. The princess thought about telling her father, but she then reconsidered, thinking that the king might punish Henri. All through the day, Hortensia tried and failed to think of some way to keep her love out of harm’s way.

Finally, night fell upon Everia. Hortensia realized that she had no other option but to watch her beloved perish and see her people become subjects of a foreign power. Before she went to bed, she prayed that the Lord would deliver Henri and the rest of Everia from their fate. She asked that she alone bear all of the wrath that would be visited upon the city and, if it kept the ones she loved safe, to live the rest of her days as the melancholy wife of some oafish knight who would ride out and save the city before Henri tried to do the same. Then, she pulled her tear-stained covers over her face and fell asleep.

The princess did not sleep too long, though, as she was beset by a strange dream. In it, she saw a slender, black bow, much like the one used by Aydolun. There was a strange darkness emanating from it that covered the landscape of the dream. It seemed that this darkness would never retreat and would seize all in its path. Suddenly, a shining light appeared from behind Hortensia, who was standing between the bow and the source of this new energy. A sword, guided by an unseen person, flew through the darkness and slashed at the bow, cutting it in half and causing the darkness to disappear.

Hortensia looked to see if she could discover the sword’s owner. She thought that this dream was perhaps a message from God telling her that Henri would receive His blessing and triumph upon the battlefield tomorrow. However, when she turned around, all she saw was a helmeted knight, who, to her dismay, did not have her lover’s familiar limp. Her joy turned partly towards grief. She was still immensely glad that someone had defeated the drow, but she was saddened by the fact that someone other than her beloved would now get to claim her as his wife.

Then, she noticed the hand that held the blade. It seemed almost feminine in nature and looked nothing like the hairy, massive hands of her father’s knights. She placed her hand next to it for comparison and was struck by a shocking realization. The hand that vanquished the power of the bow was her own.

She woke from her slumber and glanced around her. It was still dark outside, so the morning of the next duel had not yet come. The princess’ mind dwelled on the dream she had just had. She wondered what it could have meant. Then, she remembered the words she had said to her father about how he should lead by example and personally fight off the invaders. Realizing that this statement applied to her as his sole offspring, Hortensia recognized that it fell on her shoulders to break the bow of Aydolun as she had done in the dream. When a warrior rode out in the morning to confront the begum, it would be her, acting as she had been directed to by God and by her position as guardian of her people.

Hortensia set right to work to prepare for the duel as she knew that she would have to ride out early to avoid being seen by Henri or her father. She made her way to Henri’s room near the stables where she knew she could find proper attire for the duel. Sure enough, when she arrived, she found the clothes that Henri had borrowed from the armory. Careful not to wake him, she slowly moved the armor and the weapons to the stables where she was sure that no one would hear her.

Once there, she slipped off her nightgown and began to put on her armor. Unlike the highly decorative designs of the other duelists’ armor, the clothes that Henri had taken and that Hortensia would now wear were quite plain. It consisted solely of a chainmail shirt and chausses, a soldier’s tunic, a pair of leather boots, and an enclosed helmet. For weaponry, Hortensia found that she was equipped with an arming sword and a small heater shield.

As she dressed herself for battle, Hortensia began to question her decision. She was not a warrior like the previous duelists. She had secretly practiced horseback riding and fencing far from the watchful eye of her father, but would that be enough to overcome the prowess of the begum? Hortensia wondered whether she should just give up this pointless effort and leave the battle to one of her father’s more accomplished knights. After all, it was likely that she would simply be slaughtered upon engaging the enemy.

It was then that she remembered her dream and regained her confidence. That vision had been sent to her from God. She was destined to go out and fight for her people, no matter what might come of it. So she continued to ready herself for battle.

At last, the sun began to rise. Hearing someone at the door of the stables, Hortensia hurriedly mounted Fostia and sped out of the gate towards the combat area. She was quickly spotted by one of the guards on the wall, who reported this to the king and his knights. The king, having not picked a soldier to represent him that day, hurried to the walls to see who had so brazenly taken it upon themselves to defend the city’s honor. Henri accompanied him, already fearing that Hortensia had done something dangerous in order to protect him.

Hortensia finally made her way to the field of combat and found Aydolun waiting for her. The drow was dressed in highly ornate plate armor befitting her regal status. At her side was her scimitar, and on her back was a polished shield. The begum also carried her signature bow and dozens of gleaming arrows. She smirked arrogantly as the knight strode up to her.

“So, you are my final adversary before I claim the princess and this city?” Aydolun said. “Your armor is rather plain, Sir Knight. Show me your face so that I may see the man I shall slay today. It is only fair as you have already seen the face of the woman who shall smite you.”

“Perhaps you shall not see what you want, Lady Drow, for I am neither a man nor your prey,” Hortensia responded. With that, she lifted her visor, allowing Aydolun and the citizens of Everia to see who the final challenger was.

The citizens watching the event gasped. All of their hopes now rested on their princess, who, while she was beloved for her beauty and charm, was like most human women in that she was not trained for combat. King Robert fell to his knees when he saw this sight, wondering why this travesty had come to pass. He was carried out by his soldiers, who didn’t want their king to see his daughter killed. Henri followed them, his fears confirmed. It was his fault, he felt, that Hortensia had done something like this, so it was his responsibility to keep the woman he loved alive. He hastily thought of a plan and ran down to the stables to put it into action, hoping to get there before it was too late.

For her part, Aydolun, even though she was most definitely taken aback by the reveal, did not show her displeasure. She merely brought out her bow and shrugged.

“It is a shame that you will not be mine,” she said with an air of indifference. “You would have made a fine addition to my court.” This remark incensed Hortensia.

“I would rather die than submit to you, villain!” she yelled, drawing her blade.

“And so you shall!” Aydolun responded, quickly drawing an arrow and firing it straight at Hortensia’s uncovered face. The princess managed to block the attack, knocking the arrow aside with her shield and pulling her visor down. She looked around to strike at her opponent, but Aydolun had already spurred her mount into action, keeping to the edge of the field of battle to avoid close combat. Hortensia spurred Fostia after her, and soon the two were in a constant game of chase. Aydolun would occasionally turn and fire, but Hortensia would block her shots with her shield. The spectators recognized this as one of Aydolun’s favorite strategies. She would lead her opponents around on a wild chase, tiring them out and giving her ample time to deliver a blow.

Sure enough, the drow soon claimed the first blow in the duel. Leading Hortensia over near the stables, she feigned as though she was going to fire at the princess’ neck. When Hortensia moved her shield to cover herself, the begum instead shot her in the leg. The strike took the princess by surprise, and she fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Aydolun rode over to her and placed another arrow in her bow, intending for this to be the killing blow.

“Farewell, Lady Knight,” she said mockingly. “You have been a most easy victory.” Suddenly, her mount, having been startled by something, reared up on its hind legs. Aydolun was unprepared for this and fell from her horse, which promptly ran off to the drow camp. Hortensia turned in the direction of the city where the distraction seemed to have come from. There, she saw a light reflecting from the window in the stables. She knew at once that Henri had something to do with it.

Indeed, Henri, using a large mirror in the stables, had reflected the sun into the horse’s eyes, startling it and preventing Hortensia’s defeat. The princess smiled. In a way, he really had been her prince, after all.

Ready to turn the tide of the battle, the human combatant pulled the arrow from her leg and charged towards her enemy. Aydolun attempted to fire an arrow at her, but Hortensia knocked her bow aside. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She lifted up her sword to smite the enemy warrior and fulfill what she had seen in her dream.

However, the begum was not ready to concede. She lifted up her leg and kicked Hortensia in the stomach, forcing the princess back. The drow then drew her blade and brought her shield out. Her helmet had fallen during the course of the battle, exposing her fair white mane of hair. It contrasted quite well with the raven-black hair of Hortensia, which was visible to all after she removed her helmet in order to better see her opponent. The two circled each other, ready to launch into the fight once more.

“I will end you, wretched girl!” Aydolun shouted. She seemed to have drastically changed since the start of the duel, becoming angrier and more irritated. This was undoubtedly due to the fact that she was being shown up by a pampered princess in front of her soldiers. The very idea of her being thrown from her horse was a sign of great shame that could inspire disloyalty among her more ambitious subjects. The begum resolved to make quick work of her opponent to regain the confidence of her troops.

With that, she threw herself at Hortensia, who was just barely able to block the great strike with her shield. The two then engaged in a tremendous trading of blows as their blades bounced off each other’s shields. They seemed to become one in combat, their dancing white and black hair becoming intertwined in a web of violence and swordplay.

Throughout the fighting, Hortensia remained primarily on the defensive. Her opponent’s fury ensured that she could not deliver many of her own attacks, and so she contented herself with waiting for the right opportunity to strike. However, she was fast becoming tired from the constant fighting. She wondered how long she could keep this up, and Aydolun, seeing her adversary’s wariness, seized her chance. The drow drove her blade into the princess’ side, drawing blood and causing Hortensia to gasp for air. She tried to bring her own sword down onto her opponent’s neck, but Aydolun simply slammed her shield into her hand, knocking the blade away. The wrathful begum then hit her with the shield, knocking her to the ground.

Hortensia laid there, dazed and confused. She saw her blade laying a few feet away from and reached out to grab it. Aydolun, seeing this, leaped onto her and held her down. The princess began to choke as the drow prepared to behead her.

“Farewell, child,” she said, spitting in the princess’ bloodied face. “After I kill you, I shall enact my fury on your people. They shall pay for siring a brat like you!” Hortensia gazed directly into her eyes.

“Not if I can help it, demon!” she shouted defiantly. With her free hand, she threw a clump of sand into Aydolun’s eyes, temporarily blinding the drow. Hortensia then summoned her remaining strength and shoved her opponent off of her. She scrambled for the sword as Aydolun got to her feet and charged after her. The princess grabbed the blade and turned to face the enemy, who was brandishing her own sword like a madwoman. Hortensia closed her eyes and desperately thrust her sword forward, hoping and praying for the best.

All seemed to go quiet after that. Not a single person made a sound as they watched the final encounter. Hortensia wondered if she had died and gone to the afterlife, but she dared not open her eyes. Finally, after several seconds of silence, she opened them.

The first thing she saw was the cold, lifeless body of Begum Aydolun impaled on her sword. She dropped the blade, startled by the dead body before realizing that this meant she had won the duel. Turning to the walls, she heard the cheers of her citizens. They had been saved, rescued by their dashing princess. Their chants of gratitude could be heard for miles. By contrast, the drow camp remained unusually silent. Hortensia saw several enemy soldiers sulking away from the field. She doubted that Everia would have to deal with them for a while.

Fostia galloped over to her side. Mounting her steed, the princess rode triumphantly through the main gate, receiving a hero’s welcome. The citizens chanted her name as she passed by them. Everyone, it seemed, wished to see their hero. This praise continued as Hortensia made her way to the castle.

When she arrived, she saw Henri standing at the top of the stairs, waiting for her. Upon seeing him, she leaped from her horse and ran over to him. He hurried over to her as fast as he could, and the two lovers embraced one another.

“You were magnificent, Hortensia!” he proclaimed, holding her close. The princess laughed, tears of joy streaming down her face.

“I appreciate it, but I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you,” she said, stroking Henri’s cheek. “You really are my knight in shining armor.”

“You were mine first,” he said with a smile. Hortensia laughed again and kissed him, relieved to finally be rid of the drow menace.

Everia celebrated this occasion for ten days’ straight. The king, recognizing that his daughter had saved his city, decided not to punish her for putting herself in danger like that. Additionally, at the behest of the citizenry, he named her his heir and gave her the legal right to select her own spouse. Hortensia immediately chose to marry Henri, and, on the final day of the festivities, the two were wed in a magnificent ceremony the likes of which had never been seen before. They were to be happily married for many years, ruling the kingdom after Robert’s death and siring several children.

Aydolun’s lands never troubled the kingdom ever again. The Karanliks soon fell apart after the begum’s weak-willed successor was overthrown by the ambitious lieutenants she was afraid of. While they were certainly power-hungry, they never made any moves towards Everia, not so long as it was protected by the mighty Queen Hortensia.

...

...

...

...

...

...

Bump

...

An interesting and well-written story. Well done, user. It was perhaps a bit predictable, but then again sometimes stories have a natural course, like rivers, and you just have to let them follow it.

If you wanted an area to improve on, you could try adding more... I don't really know the word I want here, but I'll say more 'flavour'. Just little descriptive touches.

e.g.
>In one fell swoop, she sliced his head clean off.
>Crimson blood speckled the ground like teardrops from a widow. There was a final, metallic thud as the helmet struck the earth.
Just as a random and not particular well-thought-through example so you can see what I mean.

...

...

I awaken.

After aeons of slumber, after the rise and fall of countless civilizations, I am here at last.

This world may have changed in my wake, but I see that the feeble humans that served me in fear ages ago still persist. Good. I will have need of those slavering fools in my new regime. I will need adherents to serve as my soldiers as I conquer this world one pitiful settlement at a time. And then they will perform the ritual to liberate me from this realm and allow me to manifest in theirs.

My eye to the mortal plane opens.
The first thing that it witnesses as it opens is...a Waffle House.
Good. It seems that my faith has been adhered to after all these years. Food of such an unnatural sharpness, with an absence of rounded corners, still exists after all these tears. No doubt that whoever owns this House of Waffles awaits for the opportunity to begin the ritual. He must have his followers already slavering for the chance to behold my horrific magnificence. I can see it already, my greatness unfurling as the pitiful wretches lose all sense of reason. The mortals of this world prostrating before me as I return to complete my work and enslave all of the world's creatures. A world made by my will alone. A world with waffles dominating man. A world in which all praise me-

Wait. Why is that waffle round?
Who has desecrated my tribute so? How dare the vermin foul my sacred instrument! Quickly, one of them must create proper waffles! Quickly, before the moon falls from the sky!

Is there...? No. None of them have enough waffles properly made in time! How could this be? How could my waffles be defiled so?

I...have been defeated. The moon already retreats from the sky, away from the sun. I cannot return. My faith has been...forgotten. How? How has my faith been so eradicated? How have these insects managed to ruin the waffle into...into trough fodder?

How?

...

Thanks for the feedback! I appreciate the suggestion.

I agree, Belgian waffles were a mistake

...

...

Guys, I thought I would get through atleast a quarter of my story these past five days that I was off, but I was severely overestimating myself. I basically slept and stayed in bed all day while marathoning the X-files. Granted, I was sick all week with the fly, but nothing particularly life-threatening that impeded my ability to write. It's now the last day until winter break where I'm free from any academic obligations and I haven't written a single word.

Because of this I've set a goal to write the number of words that make up this message. But I also wanted to ask why do you all write for motivation from like-minded persons on the thread, and to add the word count from the words that make up each reply.

I can relate to this. I usually write 1k-2k words a day when I work. Then I look forward to my time off thinking "man I'm gonna get SO MUCH writing done in my free time", only to not get anything at all done during those days.

As for motivation, I just enjoy the act of writing. Getting the structure, the characters, the words right. Discovering where my ideas will go when they eventually take a life of their own.

If you want to improve your productivity, here's a tip from Chuck Palahniuk: force yourself to sit down and write, but on a timer. Like an hour or so. During this time, just write. Don't be critical of your work, just write things down as they come. When the hour-long timer has gone by, if you still hate writing at that point, then you're allowed to quit for the day. But chances are, you won't.

Sometimes I just sit down and start writing. What motivates me to write the most is reading. If I read I want to write.

If it's a long project then I'll set myself 2000 word minimum a day.

Short Stories I've written out in one sitting and then editted it over the course of a couple days after multiple readings.

I'll be honest, I hate the act of writing. Really hate it. I view it like I view working out - push ups keep my body healthy, writing keeps my mind healthy. But it's exhausting.

But there is a certain satisfaction once its done and I don't have to do it any more.

Then later I can read it back and quite enjoy it. To be clear, I don't dislike writing because I think my work is bad, I just find it unpleasant as an activity. I've written over a hundred stories for these threads, and while not all of them are gems there are one or two of them that I'm quite pleased with, and that sort of makes it worth while.

"I hate writing, I love having written"

...

Try keep the stuff SFW. This is a blue board..

I'm writing a short (

The thing about the abyss is: you can dive in it 100 times, a 1,000 times, and you'll still see something new. I had thought I'd seen it all, I was wrong. A large spike pierced Dr. Ware's chest and he hunched over dead, clutching his book in his breast pocket. His body was already turning purplish and bloating.

Out in the field was a dead corpse weeper with a spine in its head. Next to it was some sort of spine-covered abomination aiming in our general direction. I say aiming because it had no eyes to look with, but was very obviously pointing at us. I've never seen anything like that, especially not in the second layer. It was bad if it could not only see us but kill from that range.

I quickly snatch Doc's bag and book, they might be worth something, and I run. I hope the thing will play with its food rather than play with its future food. Of course this fucking expedition would turn into shit. At least Doc paid up ahead of time."Another soul for The Abyss" I mutter.

Luckily it didn't chase me, I guess it had enough on its platter. I make my way back to the path I used for all my escort jobs. It's nauseating as usual, including the pounding headache, but you learn to ignore The Curse the longer you delve. Eventually it's just sort of a background music to the terrible things down here.

As I approach the final climb to the first layer I spot a whistle standing at the entrance to the trail. He's already spotted me so there's no point in hiding. I call out, "Hail! I've never seen another whistle out here before! How'd you find the spot?"

2/3

(whoops, its a 3 parter)

He doesn't respond. I can see around his neck is a red whistle; odd to see one in this area of the second layer. I keep my hand near my needle gun. "Friend, you okay?" I approach the man and as I do I can see that he's dead. I know that look anywhere, those are the eyes of a dead man. I realize now his brown jacket and pants are bloodstained, his helmet appears to have a hole in it.

"Son of a bitch!" Just then a corpse weeper tears through the sky with its huge wings, its hungry claws snatch at me managing to grab my armguard while leaving a large gash on my forearm. As it comes back around for another go at me I fire a needle squarely into its head, downing the thing. Fuckers must have figured out how to do a bit more than mimic our speech. Maybe I should write this one in Doc's book.

I watch the corpse weeper tumble down lower into the abyss as I attempt to forget the pain in my arm. I walk past the dead man and I can see the hole in his helmet clearly: all the meat in his head was sucked out, fuckin' weird. Maybe my luck will be better in the first layer.

3/3

...

I write because there is a lot of images (sadly, images, scenes, moments, rather than typical stories) rattling in my head, and I literally feel the pressure to externalize them somehow. I like to observe, and I like to see and imagine the world around in magical and strange ways, and I really do feel like all these magical or strange images need to be passed out into the world, otherwise I'll go mad.
Writing is also strictly speaking therapeutic tool for me. I write myself out of depressions and anxieties at times. It's not necessary improving my state, but it does usually at least allow me to not sink any deeper.
Finally, I'm a vain motherfucker, and I really, really deeply hope I'll achieve some kind of acclaim for my work.

I used to do this "write X amount of words every day" routine. And I genuinely do believe it's a good strategy for most people. It actually got me kickstarted when I was in a massive writing crisis, and taught me there is a lot more ideas for stories in my head than I realized. The whole "semi-automatic writing" concept that people like Bradbury recommend does have something to itself.
That said, I gave up on such routines as I got increasingly more busy and as my mental health deteriorates. Nowdays, I usually find myself in a mood for writing usually once or twice a week at most, though I do re-reads and minor re-writes and editing of existing texts almost every day.

To be honest, I can very much relate to what Chronicler said here: writing itself is a painful process for me too. While there are moments when I lose myself and really just write without even realizing what I'm doing, most of the time it's pretty hard work for me, and not a comfortable one on top of that. It does gives me something to focus on though, and as said, that actually may help me push through really nasty states of mind sometimes.

Cool - I love me some monsters. Maybe needs one more edit to clean it up a little. For someone with no frame of reference, terms like 'corpse weeper' are largely self explanatory, but terms like 'red whistle' aren't.

Also, there are one or two odd turns of phrase, like
>Who knows if he had friends, maybe he was the friend, those beasts can be tricky after all

Anyway, good potential, writing is largely okay, just needs a minor tidy-up.

Thanks user, yea I could see how the phrase might be odd, I'll try editing it for clarity (aside from some grammar/diction issues).

...

...

...

...

When it's historical it's not smut, it's art ;)

>not cranking one out to Antonio Corradini's "Veiled Truth" statue

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

imgur.com/gallery/8z00u

"How in the nine hells can one musician be so boring?" The beast stretched across his throne, barely stifling a yawn as pops and cracks echoed over the sudden silence of the glade.

"B-beg your pardon lord?" the musician questioned, stumbling over her words as her fingers hovered over the harp strings, silenced mid-song.

"You're boring. Your instrument is boring, the song you're playing is boring, I'm bored. I'm stunned you haven't fallen asleep playing such a droll, dull, dreadfully uninspired quote unquote 'melody'. I'm almost tempted to get out of this chair and start burning down your precious little forest on principle." The beast sat up, opening his eyes to leer down at the young woman in displeasure. Even as he spoke, nearby grasses and ferns had begun to shrivel and smoke, filling the air with the cloying threat of fiery destruction.

"How...how dare you!" the musician stood up, fists clenched in indignation as her harp clattered discordantly to the ground. "I am Lady Judith Madonna Maxwell, of the Clan Silverhammer and rightful heir to the fair lands that you would threaten! I have practiced my entire life, up until this moment, to fulfill the contract of protection that my ancestors set out with your vile kind and I will not-"

"I don't care." The beast had ceased paying young Judith any real attention, inspecting the bristles on his arms and half-heartedly grooming them.

"Excuse you?" Judith's face grew furiously red as she spoke through clenched teeth, as if her head were about to burst at how flippantly she had been disregarded.

"I'm sorry is there an echo in this quaint little performing glade you've set up? Or are you deaf AND dumb? I. Don't. Care. The contract between our clans clearly states that you, a descendant of Sir Maxwell Silverhammer, must provide a suitably entertaining performance to me, a direct descendant of the Lord of Chains Oblada, to receive another generation's worth of protection and goodwill."(1)

He had stood up at this point, stepping down the ash-stained stone of his throne to pointedly jab a talon down towards Lady Judith's chest. "A task which you are failing in truly spectacular fashion, and should you continue to fail in such a way I will finally get to do what each of my predecessors should have done and claim this land and it's inhabitants for myself."

Tense silence filled the glade as Judith stood her ground against the beast, even as he towered over her waiting for a response. Composing herself with a labored breath, she questioned him.

"Very well then. What would you have me do?"

"Don't know, not my problem. It's your job to be fun, not my job to figure it out for you." The beast leaned back on his heels until he flopped down onto the grass with a heavy thud, the green under him immediately wilting into a desiccated black. Judith bit back a curse before speaking again, her voice taking on a sultry and honeyed tone.

"Surely a patron of the arts like yourself, with such refined and noble tastes, must have some idea of what he'd like to see? I am but a simple maiden and can't possibly hope to fathom the sophistication and intellect that you wield."

"Oh my you dirty bitch, bounce a little harder, really make those tiddies jiggle." The beast stared vacantly at the sky, hooking a talon into his nose to pick and scratch. Judith turned a bright red from her scalp down to her shoulders, sputtering as she grasped for a response. "Hmm? Oh did I confuse you? I'm sorry I just like to dirty talk a little when someone is clearly trying to ride my dick. How in the world do you manage all of the childlike politics your people indulge in? I was led to believe that takes some form of subtlety and you're about as obvious as a brick to the face." He sat up on his elbows and smirked just enough to be noticeable. "I'll admit you're doing better with your whole comedic incompetence act but you're booked for the day and that will only get you so far." (2)

Absolutely vibrating at this point, Judith turned on her heel and began a steady march out of the glade with fists clenched and jaw set.

"Um, hello? We're not done here. I'm still notably underwhelmed with your performance and you still have several hours to try and fail to correct that."

"I'm going to get some more entertainment for your pompous ass and I'm going to make damn sure it's the greatest show the likes of which your kind has ever seen or ever will see! My future and the future of my people are on the line and I will not allow some vulgar ingrate to take either from me! So you can sit there and wait and like it!" Lady Judith all but screamed her last sentence as she made her way further into the forest and towards civilization, her voice cracking with the pitch of her frustration. A few silent minutes passed as the beast made sure she was well out of sight and earshot before allowing his composure to crack, mad giggling filling the glade.

"Oh my goodness gracious the look on her face! Grandmother was right, this may very well be the highlight of the next few decades for me." Allowing his laughter to fade, the beast sat himself back upon his throne and lounged while grinning like a fool. "I wonder if I can get her to lose her temper enough to cause a real injury? Or maybe get her to double down on that terrible job she did of trying to butter me up? Oh, today is going to be just a treat." (fin)

...

...

...

...

...

...

>
Well Monday has come(Technically 45 minutes late and it's Tuesday) but anyways

I liked your story. Was comfy and I did really want know what happened next.

Rowan is an interesting name for a female as Ari is for a male familiar.
I liked her. I liked the whole living in abandoned houses and exchanging them as need be. She reminded me of pic related lookswise(inside my head) the whole child with the blackened diseased hand thing and her carrying veldt out of the cave and then seeing the child again. That was to do with her Betraying her values when she listens to Ari right? Like how Ari told her to avoid the child and to leave Veldt aswell? She felt bad because she betrayed an orphan right but her main purpose in life is looking after children orphaned like herself?

Veldt was good too. He had quite a personal arc with the story.

Other user was right about the Senior Warden El'gavir though. He snaps into friendly mode way too quickly. His character feels shredded by the time he rewards Rowan. I get that he believed them after Illytrix but he had tried to kill them what? Not a day ago he tried to kill them. I understand he feels shamed that he was wrong but the shame leaves him pretty past. Veldt forgives him and all awkwardness fades away. Maybe have him act alittle meek or something.

I feel the ending bit with him is fine. The training and gifting and honoring. A little cheesy but passable what with her being an honory Warden.

Like you warned the story was filled with clichés. Not a bad story at all. Quiet enjoyable.

Congratulations on writing down so much and editing it especially as English is your second language.

Bugger, forgot to mention spacing. Your paragraphs at times felt abit congested, perhaps hard spaces between paragraphs and each dialogue on its own line. Its a personal thing but I know alot people who are put off by walls of text.

Thank you for the feedback. I'm glad you liked it overall.

The thing with El'gavirr is... I was gonna kill him off but then it didn't happen and I didn't have time to edit. If I ever get around to a second draft I'll fix him, you're both absolutely right about him.

The spacing thing though, that's a new one. I guess it's because I wrote it and revised it in Scrivener and never actually looked at the pdf.

I'll fix it, eventually. I've even got a couple sequels in mind...

As for the names, well Rowan is from the PHB for female humans. Ari is kind of a Harry Potter joke because it's a white owl

And yes, you got Rowan right: she wants to help people, but Ari only wants her to survive no matter what. When she breaks free of his influence she forgives herself and becomes her own person.

Looks-wise you're almost dead on, I pictured her a fair bit dirtier and uglier because she had a CHA of 8 ;)

Also, did you figure out who the ghost was?

The elven ghost? I thought it was pretty obvious it was Veldt's mother unless I'm horribly mistaken?

The Lawngnome Shop

The little bronze bell attached to the door of the shop rang. She lifted her head and straightened up, the sound alerting her to her first potential customer all day.

“Hello may I help you?” She asked with a sweet smile, that immediately fell when she realised the race of her would be patron; A Gnome.

She resumed her smile but this time it was forced and showed a bit more teeth than her formerly genuine one.

Gnomes never bought anything but trouble.

Dressed with a red cap, a blue shirt and white trousers with black suspenders he waddled up to her wooden counter.

“Hmph!” The little white bearded fellow snorted not quite reaching the counter top.

“Distasteful!” he growled with black colourless eyes staring venom at her from just over the edge of the counter.

“E-Excuse me?” She asked flustered. She knew what he meant but she was always nervous whenever it happens.

“Your displays. They are an insult to me, an insult to my race and an insult to any craftsman worth their salt!” He shouted at her, spittle flying all across the counter’s side. If he had been a tad taller his spit would have painted her face, luckily she would only have to wipe down her counter later.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with them?” She asked as politely as possible with her fake smile. She already knew what it was he thought wrong with them.

(1/8)

You're right, I just wasn't sure it got across because, you know, sometimes it seems obvious to me but it really isn't

They are the most fake looking Gnomes I have ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes upon. Firstly they are too small, secondly their beards are too short; even gnome children have thicker scruff on their chins. Thirdly their noses are too long and too round; I know what you humans define as beautiful and what you see as mockery! And Finally! The paint and quality of the material used is just terrible, simply put, cheap and disgusting. If I had half a mind to, I would smell them and bet that I would smell the faeces you excused for clay along with piss poor paint!” The gnome said with his big nose and face as red and as mock worthy as the display figures he had so much a problem with.

Her smile grew a little wider as she resisted the urge to grind her teeth. Like her Teeth she had inherited the store from her father and him from his father and so on and so forth. Gnome making was a family tradition. It was in her blood.

“The gnomes are fine.” She insisted still trying to remain polite.

“The gnomes are fine? Preposterous! Any Gnome with half a mind must have had complaints about this! I’m surely not the first. The King, long may he reign has decreed all races equal and any mockery of any other race a punishment with the Black Cells!” He said with his face still as red as his pointy hat with anger.

“I’ve had other complaints but they were dealt with.” She said feeling her jaw moving on it’s own. Her teeth grinding against themselves.

“Dealt with? Other Gnomes!?” He asked sounding exasperated.

“Yes, The King, long may he reign decreed that any MOCKERY be punished with a black cell. But my lawngnomes are not made to mock any!”

“Lawngnomes!?” The little Gnome jumped up, reached onto the counter’s edge and lifted himself up.

And so it began, truly began.

(2/8)

Well written and lots of fun. Loved it.

“LawnGnomes!? I thought they were statues, figures glorifying the small but proud race! But no! We are not even worthy for the human household!? You would have us decorate your LAWNS!! If you thought there was any chance of me leaving this be, then forget it! You are not just insulting me but my entire race and all it’s rich and proud history!” He shouted, spittle marking itself on her face, luckily she had stopped smiling just in time to close her mouth and prevent getting any Gnome gob in her mouth.

The thought made her cringe.

“I DEMAND COMPENSATION!!.” He finally managed to shout out at the top of his lungs.

Luckily her store was on a small road not large enough to drive 2 carts through side by side. It was mostly deserted by this time of day. The Gnome fully crawled onto the counter and was standing face to face with her now.

She sighed.

“Are you sure we cannot come to a better understanding?” She asked.

“The only kind of understanding we can have is one where you pay for your mockery of the Gnomish Race one way or the other!

“10 pieces” He said.

“Silver!?” She asked exasperated.

“GOLD.” he corrected waving a tiny finger at her.

“10 gold pieces!? B-But that’s more than I have on me right now!” She said

“Fine pay me 5 pieces now and the rest by tomorrow. Next week hopefully you’ll have the next 10 pieces ready.”

“Next week!?” She asked. She had never met such a greedy gnome before.

“Next week! Or I’ll have you in the black cells before you can blink!” He said.

(3/8)

“Bu-”

“NO Buts! 5 Gold or I’ll find a guardsman right now and you’ll be in the darkest of cells before last light today!” He shouted spitting all over her.

She bit her lip while little droplets ran down her face. She hated confrontation and ever since she had taken over the shop from her father more and more gnomes had tried bullying her.

“W-Wait right here. I need to goto the safe in the backroom. It will only be a moment.”
The gnome grinned showing missing teeth.

“Fine,go now.” He said and sat down crosslegged ontop of her counter. “I’ll wait”

She opened the door to the backroom closing it behind her, leaving the gnome on the counter alone.

The gnome sat, patiently waiting for his free handout.

Except he wasn’t patient. The shopkeeper was taking too long. He wondered if he had said 10 too soon. She had accepted it much quicker than some other shopkeepers. He thought perhaps he could have gotten 15... perhaps 20 if he had pushed a little more. She was a soft one.

He licked his lips. Oh well, 10 gold a week for nothing on top of the other shops weekly due was easy money. And he liked easy.

He began whistling a tune through the gaps in his teeth. They had fetched him a pretty coin too. He had only to blame the town drunk for his rotten teeth falling out and the guards had thrown him in the town jail just about as fast as you can say ‘he hit me’.

He had demanded compensation of course and the mayor was more than willing to sweep the little misunderstanding under the rug. Who would want to risk the Black Cells with the King, long may he reign’s new laws on racial equality? God Bless The King!

(4/8)

The stupid wench was taking too long. How difficult was it to count 5 gold pieces..? unless they were silver, then she would have to count...50 silver pieces! But that surely couldn’t take..What if they were bronze.?.500 bronze pieces. Imagine lugging around a bag of...Oh God she better at least have a bag for him, for if he had to carry 500 bronze pieces in his tiny trousers they would bloat his pockets like pregnant rabbits and that would look ridiculous!

He looked around the shop. It was clean and in good condition. Strange for shops in this part of town. Most were barely standing upright and had more dust than floor. Her shop was in pristine condition with expensive stained glass windows, a welcome mat outside and even a shiny doorbell with very little dents and scratches. It was almost like a brass mirror.. Surely LawnGnomes didn’t sell that well? Should have asked for 15. Damn humans profiting off his race. Should have asked for 20.

Patience completely worn out from waiting for so long he hopped off the counter and walked up to the backroom door. He pressed his ear against the wood to hear if she was counting aloud... There was nothing but silence.

He stood on his tippy toes and peered through the keyhole...There was nothing but darkness.

He muttered “Damn that girl making me wait so long.” and slowly turned the doorknob.

(5/8)

The room was pitchblack even with the little light that crept in. He took a step forward into the darkness. Not 3 steps in something heavy fell on him and he collapsed under the weight of it; he couldn’t get off the floor. A NET! He tried to scream but the second he opened his mouth to let the scream out he felt it gagged with an old cloth. The gag was tied behind his head, and his arms and legs were constrained with ropes biting deep into his flesh. The net was lifted off him.

“Silly Gnome. Impatient Gnome. GREEDY GNOME.” He heard the voice of the shopkeeper.

He stifled a scream. He couldn’t see anything in the dark and then he did. White teeth shining in the darkness, a grin wide as the crescent moon, ear to ear. Facing him in the darkness.

He tried to scream again.

The door closed behind him and what little light that reflected off her shining teeth was cut off and uninterrupted darkness returned to the room.

Then he heard something scrapping, then sparks. Then he saw the roar of a flame coming to life in the form of a tiny matchstick. The little flame moved and connected with the wick of a lantern.

She grinned at him as the light reflected off her teeth. Human teeth but that did nothing to lessen his fears..

He then finally saw what the light had illumed besides the shopkeep’s terrifying smile. All around the room there were tiny figures standing stiff or hung from the roof in groups. LawnGnomes. Except. These lawngnomes were different from the ones she had on display outside her shop.

These Lawngnomes were real!

(6/8)

He screamed as hard as he could and convulsed on the floor shaking to break free from his restraints.

“Oh no you don’t!” She jolted forward to kick him in his chest. The tip of her shoe might as well had been a war hammer to his tiny torso, all the air left his lungs and every breath he took after felt like sucking in pain. He struggled to breath and the gag didn’t help.

He passed out.

When he awoke. He was standing upright, there was no gag in his mouth and he wasn’t tied up..But he couldn’t move at all. The shopkeeper was kneeling down to look at him in the eyes.

“Are you finally awake?” She asked with her wide smile.

“Admire the collection. A tad too distasteful for your liking, gnome? In the least you can admit they aren’t fake at all. 100% Genuine lawnGNOMES.” She giggled, he wanted to scream but nothing not even his lips would move.

She began lightly tugging his beard.

“The ones on display outside? A lure. Damn fine ones too if you hadn’t noticed all your kinsman about. Nobody buys lawnGnomes. No. But petrified gnomes? Oh yes. The easiest way to traffic slaves is in the guise of statues... And gnomes? Well some do like the idea of real living gnomes decorating their gardens. A thing of dominance I suppose. But worry not. I shall make it so you are too valuable to leave in the garden. No little greedy gnome. I shall make you worthy of being a decoration for a king.”

(7/8)

She smoothed his beard and pulled a bucket closer next to her. It was filled with paint. She dipped her brush into the bucket and pulled it out, Gold shone in the candlelight as she began brushing her Greedy Little Gnome.

She closed his eyes with her fingers and painted over his eyelids, she painted his hat and soaked his shirt.

Petrification meant no breathing, but no need for it, no eating and no need for it. No excreting and no need for it, however if you were petrified in the moment you needed any such thing, then it was a need never to be fulfilled. This poor gnome and many like him in the room needed ever so badly to release themselves but never to do so.

“A nice Golden Greedy Gnome. Real Gold too mind you. Will raise your price quite a bit on the black market. I will sell you off as the trapped soul of greed. A lucky trinket to bring wealth to any who possess you.” She paused to smile.

“Or in the least bring me wealth from any fool who would believe such things. The price for non humans in such states has only been increased since the Equality Laws were placed by our sweet Dear King, long may he reign.”

“For any Black Cell you and yours have threatened me with I have delivered your compensation. Life immortal, Life never ending. Much better than you deserve.”

She walked to the door opened it and blew out her lantern. She turned around to face him.

“I must go now and leave you to dry. Worry not, little greedy gnome, soon I will return for you when I have a buyer, but for now, Enjoy your Black Cell.”

She closed the door to the backroom behind her.

As she got to her counter, the door bell rang and she lowered her grin into a sweet welcoming smile.

“God Bless The King, long may he reign.” She whispered to herself.

(8/8)great mate. Another story done.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Was originally my shitpost done in greentext on another thread but I felt it deserved proper story.

Nah it was fine. BTW did you ever end up playing the character?

Yes, but it was mostly a dungeon crawl so didn't really have a lot of roleplaying opportunities. Still, she was a lot of fun to play as.

Her best moment was minor illusion-ing an insult while hidden to get a warchief to attack his underling.

Great story. Fun beginning, creepy and satisfying ending. Well done.

That's cool user. Good luck with sequels

Also you left your name on the character sheet.

L O N D O N?
O
N
D
O
N
?

...

...

...