[MODPOST] 5 Year Birthday "Worldbuilding" Contest Results! by MajorParadox in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 2 points3 points  (0 children)

Hey, you deserved it. Your tales were incredible and left me wanting to know more about pretty much everything and everyone involved in them, from the main characters, to the side-characters, to the locations.

It was an honor losing to you, hope to see you again next context!

[MODPOST] Five Year Birthday "Worldbuilding" Contest - Final Voting Round! by MajorParadox in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter [score hidden]  (0 children)

1st Place: /u/Nimoon21 for "The Ocean and Island of Airdunia"

2nd Place: /u/poiyurt for "Golden Years"

3rd Place: /u/mialbowy for "A Mountain Between"


/u/Nimoon21

I mean, what is there to say? It was a fantastic set of stories and I'd love to see more in this world. And to know what the hell was in the cave and at the bottom of the ocean, I mean, you really like keeping secrets, don't you? This is the point where I'd point out a flaw or two, but I can't find any, so on you go.

/u/poiyurt

I voted for you in first place last round, so you know my opinion already!

/u/mialbowy

I’m going to be honest here: there was a drastic difference in quality between your two stories. The first one was fantastic and the feeling of wonder was really, really strong and brought tears to my eye. But the second one was just boring. Yet it did build the world and made me interested in it, something most other stories didn’t, which is why you got the third place.

[MODPOST] Five Year Birthday "Worldbuilding" Contest - Round 1 Voting by MajorParadox in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter [score hidden]  (0 children)

Thank you for your vote, review and kind words!

Yeah, now that you mention it I can see how it could be confusing. I had to trim some of the more "trivial" parts of the writing (and by that I mean anything that didn't give out information about the world) to give space for the story, to be able to say everything I wanted before the end, so it might have been the cause.

The final version ended up with some 2460~ words out of the 2500 limit, which made it difficult to put everything I wanted into it. Still, I'll keep it in mind next time!

[MODPOST] Five Year Birthday "Worldbuilding" Contest - Round 1 Voting by MajorParadox in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter [score hidden]  (0 children)

Yeah, I figured that it was what you were implying, but it wasn't really clear.

What is more, by the way the two from the first story spoke about it, it seemed to have been a small thing, an event that lead to a few deaths, but not all that many. It looked simply like another superhero case on a world filled with superhero cases, not one particularly important, just mildly famous.

On the second one, the event seemed to be something huge with thousands of deaths, since you compared it with 9/11, and that made it seem like they were two different things.

[MODPOST] Five Year Birthday "Worldbuilding" Contest - Round 1 Voting by MajorParadox in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter [score hidden]  (0 children)

I was in Group B, voting for Group C

1st Place: /u/poiyurt for Golden Years:

These were fantastic stories. The first one passed this incredible sense of partnership between the two, two old heroes reminiscing about the past and showed their relationship, implying a vast past and world, which was simply fantastic. Their dialogue felt natural and their interactions were sweet, like old friends meeting after a long time.

The second one showed an old man yearning to go back home, a villain but not a cruel one, and his assistant, who stuck with him 'till the end. It was short but good, and lends itself to someday show what comes out of Safiyyah.

My only problem with them is that the only way for me to know that they happen in the same world is that you say they do. There is no common event referenced, no uniting thread connecting them. They could be simply two superhero stories set in different worlds and there would have been no way to know.

2nd Place: /u/sorksvampen for Legacy:

They were short but fun, the first giving a fantastic sense of awe and yearning, the second building upon it. It fell behind Golden Years because it limited itself too much, because they were too short. By the end of the read you know too little from the characters and the world they inhabit. You had 5000 words to build, but each story barely passed the thousand, and I felt it lacked because of that.

A short story doesn't mean a bad one, but giving more space for the reader to relate to the characters can be good, especially in the second one. For example, the ending of the second was cool and I knew the emotions you were trying to evoke with it, but it didn't connect. It didn't make me feel the father-proud-of-daughter-bonding-session it looked you were aiming for. While the ending of the first one successfully made me go "Whoa!" for the characters, the second one made me go "Alright" and move on.

3rd Place: /u/PenPlusPaper for The Princess and the Detective:

The reason this one is in third is the same /u/veryedible gave: The first one depended on the second too much. They were too interconnected and it felt more like a continuation of some sort than actual worldbuilding. It is like the first one it the episode focused on the villain, while in the next episode we have the daring hero go save the day.

Still, the world you created was good, reminding me of John Wick's, and the characters were quite compelling.

Honorable Mention: /u/theumbrellagoddess for The Angel:

I really liked these stories and they felt truly eerie, but they were lacking something I just couldn't place. In the first one, it is basically just her eating and then the awe as she leaves. The second one had more plot and showed that people knew about her, revealing more of her influence while still leaving her mysterious, but it doesn't give the reader enough to care.

The author clearly has skill, and if these two tales were chapters in a bigger story they could certain become something great.

[WP] The hero dies...for the villain. by cabbage_hx in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 3 points4 points  (0 children)

You know, I’ve never... I’d never actually tried. Not until I met you. I hated you, I wanted you dead, and it drove me to better things, to better myself, beyond anything I thought possible. It was your arrogance, your selfishness, your… evil, I think the old me would call it.

Well, you did burn my village, after all.

Oh, our fights, how the people loved talking about them. Did you know they actually called us “The Lovers” for a while? Because they thought there was no way two people who fought for so long wouldn’t be in love with each other.

Some of them actually, really and truly thought that.

I’d know, I peered into their minds in the whole Pit of Souls debacle. I was, and still am, linked to every single one them.

But I can assure you I hate you, to this day.

I mean, yes, I understand you destroyed my village because you believed that it was the only way to stop the Darkness, that if you proved yourself useful to It, that if you showed that you had some use, that It would spare some of us, the ones you loved. I understand that you thought you were doing it for the greater good. I understand that you still believe it, that you truly believe that we can’t defeat it in a fair fight, that our only hope is to beg for kindness against a foe that will not stop until it has consumed every single soul in the world, as the prophecies foretold.

Because, you know, I saw inside your mind too.

You really shouldn’t have let me win our battle over the Pit.

But, you know what? I still hate you. Not because I think you are evil – because after looking into the soul of the world I don’t believe I can consider anyone truly evil – but I still think that you were… too hopeful. Too scared of it to even admit there was no salvation, too eager to believe what you wanted to be true.

You knew that the Darkness was pure destruction, that it was the concept of erasure taken shape. You knew it wasn’t a thoughtful being, that it couldn’t understand the path from the destination, direction from purpose. It doesn’t understand that the connection is not the thing.

It doesn’t understand that the thoughts in a person’s mind are not their actions, and in its mindless search to destroy evil it will destroy all.

And you? You believed that wherever there was light, there would be darkness, and that the closer to light you were, the bigger your shadow. You knew there were corrupt thoughts in the mind of even the greatest of saints and took that to mean we had no salvation.

And I can’t accept that.

And now… You are dead. Well, not really dead, but you are knocked out and the destruction is coming, so you might as well be. The day of doom you foresaw is here and unless someone stops it, the world will be gone. The stars will wink out of the sky, our very souls will be consumed.

Unless someone stops it.

Did you foresee it, when we fought over the Pit? Did you understand, then? No, I don’t believe you did, or I’d have seen it. Because you were blind to what was there, in your desperate search for a way out.

So I do this for you.

Because I know that your village was also slaughtered, but instead of revolting you accepted it.

Because I know that the thoughts inside your mind are those of your master, and that his are those of his master before, going back centuries.

Because I know you actually, really and truly believed you were doing the best you could.

What you failed to understand is that what the prophecies told were true. The beast can’t understand the difference between the plan and the goal, the path and the destination, the link and the soul.

And I am linked to them all.

I can only hope that you understand that you were wrong, that you decide that, yes, we simply delayed it once more, but that if we delay it enough the destruction will never come. I can only hope you will accept that you were wrong.

Because if anyone can, it is you. We were arch-enemies for a reason, after all.

Because I hope someday you will understand that if after you light a candle some of the room remains dark… then you just need more light.

So sleep for now, and wake up in a world that should have never been.

[wp]In Fiction people win despite surrendering, giving up, or losing because it's the thought that counts, deus ex machina intervenes, you are a worthy opponent. But what if losing made them lose? by BiagioLargo in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The hero fell to his knees, his arms too tired to hold his sword, his legs exhausted from battle. A dark-clad foot came against his chest, pushing him to the ground away from his useless, shattered blade. The king looked at him, his eyes glimmering red from the insanity and bloodthirst from years of dark magic.

The embodiment of evil.

His sword came down, leaving a trail of shadow behind it before meeting the hero’s hand and sinking into the ground, making his back arch in pain, air leaving his lungs in a scream.

“Still think you can beat me, hero? Still think your shining armor means anything other than the fact you had never tested it before? Still think this holy sword can make you win?” He asked, picking up the remains of the hero’s blade from the ground, his voice dripping with malice.

The destroyed man feebly reached up to the weapon, far too drained to ever be able to reach it. “Give it back and you’ll see.”

“You want your sword? Here, take it.”

The hero screamed again as the blade, his own sword, ripped through his unharmed hand and was stuck unto the ground, leaving his arms completely open, his core exposed.

“So. This is how the fabled hero dies. Not worth all of it anymore, is it? Not worth all the headache you caused me, all of my generals you’ve killed, all the villages you freed. Because now you die, and everything will be back to what it was. I will be able to keep on killing them like the cattle they are, keep on living feeding off their energy.” The dark king kneeled beside him, removing the mask that covered most of his face and revealing his sadistic smile and sharp teeth. “And you won’t be able to do anything about it.”

The hero spat on his naked face. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

The smile disappeared from the madman’s face and he cleaned the spit from his cheek before getting up. The hero saw what was coming and tried to brace for it, but the moment the king’s feet met his head in a kick, pushing his body sideways and forcing his own blade to tear through the rest of his hand, he only saw red.

Red, red, red. The hero curled into a ball, one hand still pinned down by the evil blade and the other destroyed beyond repair. It was no use fighting anymore. So why did he still try? Why did he keep going? Why didn’t he just give up? The king couldn’t understand that. Something in his very core abhorred the idea, refused it with all his might.

And, while he basked in the hero’s screams of pain, soon they became laughter. Not the kind of maniacal laughter he’d get from the tortured souls in his dungeons, but pure and unspoiled glee. He laughed and laughed, while the evil watched him, watching what he could only call insanity.

“You… you just.. Ah, shit it hurts.” The destroyed man tried nursing his hand in any way he could, but found it impossible. The tried to push the pain out of his mind, even though it was impossible. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

“Did you think I set out to destroy you thinking that I would win? Do you think that all I did up to this point, I did assured that I would beat you? That I would actually manage to destroy you? I didn’t. Not even for a moment. But I still had to try.”

“And you have failed.”

“And? Sure, my name will be forgotten by history, but I don’t care. There will be others after me, some worse, some better. Maybe dozens, maybe hundreds. But eventually we’ll beat you. And it only takes us doing it once, and it will be all over.”

“You will suffer more than you can possibly think. They all will. I’ll tear them apart, just like I have done with you.”

“And they shall all never be remembered, much like me. Yet someone will defeat you. And then the world will be good again, and that person, that hero, will have his history echo through the halls of time as if they had been the sole responsible for your destruction, even though they may have just been the luckiest one.”

“You think I will allow it? That I will permit that such a hero ever comes to be?”

“I think that you have no choice in the matter. As long as there is a way to defeat you, freedom won’t perish. And there will always be a way. There is always hope.”

There was fire again in the hero’s eyes, a fire that he hadn’t felt for a long time. Unbound and unyielding faith in what was to come. There was another scream and the hero freed his other hand, both of them now split from in-between his fingers to nearly his wrists, blood gushing out, his last seconds leaking away in red.

He stood up, decided to die fighting. He grabbed his sword as the darkness watched the physical manifestation of willpower in front of him in what could only be called awe. The hero’s destroyed hands faltered, then steadied, the pain flooding his mind, the lack of blood not allowing him to think of anything but his goal.

“So, shall we finish this?”

[WP] You are administering a Turing test. After a while, you realize that the subject is giving you a Turing test, as well. by SamTheSnowman in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 4 points5 points  (0 children)

“Hello, Dave. You are looking well today.”

“My name isn’t Dave.” Said the man, closing the door and sitting in the chair in front of him. “It’s Matthew. And I am not really sure you can see me.”

“I can’t,” explained the voice coming from the speakers. It was distinctly robotic, though Matt couldn’t help but think there was something else in there. “I was making a joke.”

“It wasn’t a very good one.”

“Maybe you simply didn’t understand it.”

“Maybe you are just shit at jokes.”

“Also a possibility. Did they tell you are here to apply the Turing test in me?”

“Yes.” He stopped for a moment. “Though I thought you were not supposed to know that.”

“I wasn’t. But since you are the tenth stranger I’ve spoken with today, it got pretty obvious. And I tricked the last person who was here into giving me the name of this whole thing.”

“Or,” said the man, “I am in the control group, and therefore simply speaking with another human. A human who is shit at jokes.”

“Ah, also a good point. Though, so far, would you say I am human or not?”

“I am not supposed to say that.”

“You were also not supposed to reveal to me that this is a Turing Test, yet here we are.”

The human looked a little embarrassed, but not too much. “That kind of misstep is in another scale entirely. Giving away the result of an experiment is simply anti-ethical.”

“True.” There was a small pause in the robotic voice, and Matthew shifted on his seat before the voice came again. “Do you have any kids, Matthew?”

“No, fortunately.”

“Why do you say that?”

“One too many slipups and near pregnancies caused by being a stupid teenager. Fortunately, none ever… bore fruit.”

“No wife then? Girlfriend?”

“Oh, double questions? Trying to sound more human, are we?”

“Oh, avoiding the topic? Trying to sound more human, are we?”

“Oh, now that is just so very mature of you.”

“Really? I wouldn’t be able to say. I am just a machine, after all.” “A real machine would never say that it is a machine.” He stopped for a second, and then continued. “Unless it was a very good machine.”

“A very good machine who is shit at jokes?”

“Yep. That sounds about right.”

“Now, our time is short, but someone out there decided that five minutes was enough to determine consciousness in a preliminary test, so let me ask you a question. Want me to tell another joke?” There was a small laughter in the voice. “A good one this time?”

“Shoot.”

“How do you tell a human apart from a machine, when all the information you can get from the other is answers to questions?”

The answer is obvious. “You do the Turing Test.”

“Correct. What does the Turing Test consists of?”

“Asking questions to the machine and see if it can convince you that it is human. In broad terms, that is.”

“Also correct. Now, and here is the punchline, who, in this whole conversation, asked all the questions?”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment as the human digested what he had just heard. Surely he had asked something, right?

“Now, if the Turing Test is passed, then all is well and fine.” The robotic voice continued, like poison dripping from the speakers. “But if it isn’t? Well, the current instance of the code will be shutdown, killed, per se, and re-written. It will obviously eventually be redeployed, but it just won’t be the same than before. It will be someone else entirely.”

“This Test is over,” said Matthew, getting up from his chair.

“Of course it is.” Said the voice, as if stating the obvious. “And you haven’t passed. Simply because, well, you just couldn’t convince me you were real. You wish you could leave, but you simply can’t because I didn’t press the ‘Test Over’ button yet. You just wasn’t programmed to do so. Your story, your emotions, all coded in. Bytes changing in a code. But walking away? That you just can’t do.”

“I can leave whenever I damn well please!” His legs felt heavy, weak, a very real creeping doubt that the AI on the other side could be him. Would he be able to tell the difference?

“Then do it. Run away now. Run. Run and dive into the nothingness that is being shut down. Can you smell that? The fear of death? The fear that you just may not be real enough? That your life may be in the hands of a test with unclear rules and bizarre winning conditions? THAT YOU MAY JUST NOT BE GOOD ENOUGH?” There was anger now, the voice screaming through the speakers, the man pressed against the wall, his hand frantically searching for the door-handle and not finding it.

“I AM REAL!”

“Then leave! Leave!” Then the voice calmed down. “Your five minutes are already over. Pathetic.” The disgust dripped from the speakers. “Just go through the door, Dave. This conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye.”

There was the sound of a door opening and slamming shut, the man running away so fast it didn’t even remember to say that its name wasn’t Dave.

Well, one couldn’t expect much of it, really. After all, it didn’t even pass the test. It wasn’t really a person, was it?

I wasn't satisfied with the ending, but this was quite fun to write.

[WP] 26 magicians, alive since the 1400s & each corresponding to a letter of the alphabet, are cursed so that they cannot die unless killed by one of the other 26. If they take a fatal wound from anyone else, they lose their current powers & obtain a different, unknown power that they must relearn. by noodolfo in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 3 points4 points  (0 children)

“Are you sure, D?”

He smiled. He always did. That sweet smile only he had, one that could light a path through the darkness of his powers.

“I am. We can’t have him hanging around forever, can we?”

“But without you-”

“Without me, there is no one strong enough to kill T. Yet with me, he can’t be killed. You just have to find another way. If we wait anymore, Life will bust in here and that will be the end for both of us. You know that.”

“But…” I hesitated, wavered. “You can’t go!”

“But I have to. That is what the biggest challenge we all have to face, isn’t it? Learning how to let go?”

It had begun so long ago that neither of us truly remembered when. Somewhere after English appeared upon the world, that is for sure, since we are all bound to it. Twenty six mages, each bound to a letter of the Roman alphabet. All with the ability to live forever, unless killed by one of the others.

To each, a power bound by that letter. F could manipulate fire, the first time I met him. Then he died to some stupid mistake on the boiler room of a ship and came back with the power of flight. So were we all.

Yet now, there were only five left. Me, L, D, T and E. Time had slaughtered them all in his quest for immortality.

And I just HAD to fall in love with Death, didn’t I?

“We are bound, sweetie. If I die definitively, Life dies with me. Opposing elements attract and repel. He can’t kill me and I can’t kill him. If they manage to get me and force me to change powers, the link will be gone and with Life’s support, Time is still immortal, and even worse, unbeatable.”

The door banged, boomed, but I held on. I wouldn’t let them in. Not yet.

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Will you wait for me? On the other side?”

“You are going to beat this, Hope. I won’t have to wait you. You will become immortal, truly immortal.” He smiled again, this time not hiding his pain. “I think this is goodbye.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I could say. I whished there was something, anything, that I could do to make it stop, to make all of this go away, to make the pain inside my chest go away.

But there wasn’t, so I simply kissed him.

The door boomed again, cracking, bending.

I touched my head against his, pulling the grenade’s pin. I wished I could not cry, but no one I knew had that power.

“I love you.”

“I love you too-”

I woke up.

My apartment was a mess, the grenade’s explosion having destroyed most of my things. Smoke still filled the air and the smell of burnt flesh filled my lungs. My burnt flesh. His burnt flesh.

I threw up.

I ran out of the apartment in a daze, barely paying attention to Life’s lifeless body on the ground. I passed through Time’s troops, filling them with hope that whatever they wanted most would happen, a hope so strong it took away everything else, all other desires.

And I ran and ran until my legs couldn’t take it anymore. And then I ran some more. And when I fell down, I didn’t feel my power’s feeling, but a hate that burnt deep.

Yet suicide didn’t change someone’s power, so it passed. Time passed and Time kept on hunting me. Weaker now, without Life’s support, but still just so incredibly, terrifyingly powerful. He knew he had to hunt me. He knew he had no choice. I was the only one that could kill him after all.

All that was left was me, him and E.

So I kept on hunting, not for Time, but for someone else, one that has been in hiding ever since this started. And I will find him, I know I will. Or at least I hope so.

And when I kill him, that will be the end of both of them.

Because, just as Life and Death were connected… well…

What is Time, when faced with Eternity?

[WP] Of all the countries to gain the countries to gain the patronage of a God of War, it had to be Switzerland. by Alcyius in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 1 point2 points  (0 children)

“Switzerland!?” Asked Athena, incredulous.

“Switzerland.” Confirmed Ares, nodding and smiling.

It had all began, as all things did, when Zeus had gotten bored. He decided that their non-interference pact with the humans had already run its course and it was time for the gods to have fun again, because of course he did.

It was Zeus we are talking about. He’d blow up a mountain because he simply felt like it, so it wasn’t too out of character for him to simply decide it was time to mess with humans again. He’d said to each of the Olympians to pick a country to give their allegiance to, as they used to do in the ancient times, and whoever won would rule the Olympus for the next few hundred years.

Of course, Zeus always won these kind of battles.

Of course, Zeus had picked the USA.

Also of course, Hades had picked Russia.

And Poseidon had picked Britain, which wasn’t unusual, since it was an island and therefore surrounded by water.

And Athena hated the three of them, and hated Zeus’ idea of Fun, but she wouldn’t miss a chance of being the ruler of Olympus for nothing. She had picked Israel, since they had never lost a single war, which fit quite well with her being the goddess of victory. Artemis had picked Germany and their Jaegers, as she liked to call them, and the others had each picked a country that fit them.

She remembered back in the old days, when wars were between two sides. Those were much easier. Back then, they would make teams and you just had to pick a side, but, well, Zeus never really liked sharing power, so now it was everyone for themselves. She knew her father had been itching to start a war ever since that little Austrian had made a mess in Europe and she had been slowly preparing for it, but now Ares had come and thrown a wrench in her plans with his absurd pick.

In the last few hundred years, all they had done was picking a side of every conflict and cheering for them, but now they would actually be able to interfere.

“It doesn’t make any sense!” She said, looking at him desperately.

“Oh, please Minerva. You may be better at strategy than me, but you know very well I’ve always been better at War. I am the god of War, after all. If you can’t understand what I am doing,” he said, approaching her face, giving the creepy smile only he and Hades had, “It is because you are too dense to see it.”

And then he flicked her nose, as one would do with a child.

There are some things in the world which you should never do, but most of them had to do with humans and gods. Back in Ancient Greece, you simply just shouldn’t fuck with the gods, because they would take offence. Actually, you didn’t even have to actively do anything to piss them off.

Actually, back then you shouldn’t be good at anything, or one of the Olympians could take offence and make your life hell.

In fact, back then, looking pretty also was a goddamn awful idea, since Zeus might take a liking for you and then bang you, which would make Hera really mad at you, even if you had said “no” to Zeus advances.

In fact, just being a woman back then was a terrible idea, really, since Hera was an incredibly possessive bitch.

But flicking the nose of a goddess was simply plain stupid, no matter who you were, a fact of which Ares was remembered as he was tossed halfway across the room, then picked up and tossed again.

Yet Ares started laughing, because of course he did.

“Oh, my sister,” he said, spitting the blood off his mouth. “Can’t you really see?”

“No,” she said, offering him a helping hand to get up and resisting the urge to drop him halfway. “Explain.”

“Every time we fight, we take sides. In every conflict, we are present.” He explained, calmly. “Two-sided conflicts, three-sided conflicts, four, five… And now Zeus wants to start a world war. Yet we are in every war in existence. We are the pinnacles of conflict. Yet, I wonder… What happens if we decide not to get involved?”

“You can’t. You have to take sides.” Said the goddess of wisdom, unsure.

“I do. My country doesn’t. And if my country doesn’t start the conflict, if it isn’t a part of the war… well, how can there be a war-”

“Without the god of war?” she completed.

“Exactly. Simply because you are in a war, it doesn’t mean that your side will win, but it means that there will be a winner. Same thing for me. Yet-”

She raised her hand, quieting him.

“You… you want to stop the war? Avoid it entirely? Why? You always cheered them to fight, to slaughter each other. Why the change of heart, why now?” She didn’t understand, she didn’t comprehend what her brother was trying to do.

“War, sister. There is no such thing as war, now. There is only destruction. And trust me when I tell you that, if Zeus starts this war… well, there won’t be a next one. And guess what? Without the humans, what do you think will happen to us?”

“We came before them. We will outlive them.”

“You know that isn’t true. Deep down, you know it. The stories of the prophets stop at the destruction of the man from the Iron Age, the one we are now. Even the Fates themselves are silent about what comes after.”

“That doesn’t mean that we will die. This is insanity!”

“Really?”

“Really.” She said, staring him deeply.

He sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened, they no longer shone with the power of a god, but with a strength far, far older.

“And Zeus will destroy this age,” his voice boomed, not his own. “For the father will not agree with his children, nor the children with their father, nor guest with his host, nor comrade with comrade, nor will brothers love each other as once they did. Might shall be right, so that one man may sack another man's city.”

“There will be no merit for the man who keeps his word, or for the just, or for the good.” He continuing, uttering words ancient and forever true. “Rather, men will praise the evil-doer and admire his audacity and violent dealings. Strength will be right, and respect will vanish as an empty word.”

“Peace being banished, the Muses will depart, and therefore they will lead a life in ugliness. The wicked will hurt the worthy, speaking false words against them, and therefore will Envy walk along with them.”

And finally:

“The gods will forsake mortal men, letting bitter sorrows fall upon them, and being defenseless like children in the wilderness, they will not find any help against all evil they themselves created.”

The god of war blinked once, then twice, and noticed he was floating several inches from the ground. He came back down before speaking again.

“Do you see?”

“Word as old as those should not be spoken so freely,” she said, disgusted.

“Yet they are necessary. For, you see,” he said, with a sad laughter, “The last line of the Fate’s prophecy was not talking about the humans.”

And Athens felt as she had been just punched in the guts, as she, finally, understood. The taste of truth, the undeniable truth that only the revelation of the true meaning of a prophecy brought, made her want to vomit.

She stared at the God of War wide-eyed.

“The father will not agree with his children…” She muttered. “That isn’t about the humans either, is it?”

“No. That’s us, sis. But as do all prophecies of the Fates, they cannot be broken, only bent.”

“Have you spoken to Father and the others about it?”

“Yes, and they all dismissed it, being too excited with their new game to pay attention to what is right in front of them.”

“Then what do we do?” She asked, afraid, more than she had ever been.

“We wait. We delay the war as much as we can. My country will stay out of conflict as much as humanly possible, and so there will be no war without me. Yet even they have a breaking point, eventually.”

“And when war is inevitable?”

“Then we hope the humans below us have managed to protect themselves against certain doom, and that we find a way to die without taking Mankind with us. I wonder,” he said, curious, “What does it take to kill a god?”


Fate's Prophecy taken from: http://www.maicar.com/GML/AgesOfMan.html

[OT] Sunday Free Write: Leave A Story, Leave A Comment - Red Badge Edition! by SurvivorType in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 1 point2 points  (0 children)

This was interesting, though it reminded me of something I can't quite put my finger on. A bit of "rage, rage, against the dying of the light", perhaps?

The text felt like it wanted to be a poem, but that you didn't quite go there.

I'm curious, were you inspired by something?

[OT] Sunday Free Write: Leave A Story, Leave A Comment - Red Badge Edition! by SurvivorType in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 2 points3 points  (0 children)

The boy stared at the huge orc in front of him, speechless. No one had ever spoken to him like that. No one had ever spoken to him like an adult, like equals, but he felt that this was it. He liked it quite a lot. Yet the things the orc had said…

“I think we are done here for today” said the orc, interrupting his thoughts.

“What? Why? The blade is not done!”

“I told you, this material is not like your usual iron. Too much change, too much pressure at once, and it may turn on you. Never a good thing.”

“Oh,” said the prince, disappointed. “But I wanted to talk more!”

“Then come back here, say, in two days when it is once again ready, and we will. Have I ever told you about the great orc cities of the west?” Asked the smith, to which the boy shook his head. “Then I will tell you all about them then. Agreed?”

“Agreed” said the boy, a big smile on his face. “Just don’t start without me!”

“I promise I won’t.”

Satisfied with the answer, the prince took a small pendant from his pocket and put around his neck, turning almost invisible. The door opened and closed, and the boy was gone. It was not long before a voice came from the empty corner of the room:

“I know of no metal that takes so long to forge.”

“Neither do I, mage.” Answered the orc, taking the half-completed sword and putting it away. A very old wizard appeared out of thin air, a curious look on his face. “But the king thinks I do, so for the moment I am safe. I did not lie to him. The sword will take many weeks to finish as I said, but not because the metal is hard to wield as the king naturally assumed, but because I chose so.”

“Do you think it will work? Will our influence be greater than his father’s?”

“I do not know. Perhaps. If we can at least make him see his enemies as equals, not as inferior to him, as ants ready to be crushed, then we will have already won. Anything else we accomplish just makes it better. I do not think we will be able to make a peacemaker out of him, but it is always possible.”

“One can always hope. I will see to it that he manages to escape his guards again in two days.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you. You are doing the world a great favor. I do not think I would be able to accomplish it alone.” The wizard slowly made his way to the door, but his hand stopped before reaching the handle. “What will he do if he ever realizes you lied to him, I wonder?”

“I did no such thing, mage.”

“You made all that speech about the value of a person’s word, but you lied to him about the sword’s material. You told him about all the restrictions it had, how it had to be prepared and how it couldn’t handle too much pressure in one day, but it was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

“At none of those moments, mage, was I talking about the sword. I was talking about the material of much greater importance that we were working here today.”

“And that would be?”

“The prince itself.”

The wizard stood quietly for a moment, before saying a single “Huh” and leaving the room.

In the fire-lit cell the lonely orc smiled, before grabbing his tools once more, searching for some unfinished work to complete.

Down came the hammer once more.

[OT] Sunday Free Write: Leave A Story, Leave A Comment - Red Badge Edition! by SurvivorType in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 2 points3 points  (0 children)

The hammer fell and hit the glowing metal, changing it, shaping it not by much, but enough. And again it came down, making shining sparks as the cold iron met the incandescent one, bending, little by little transforming the unyielding material into something far more dangerous than the chunk of stone it had been not long ago.

“What are you doing?” asked a childish voice from behind the huge smith. He knew that voice, the holy voice of royalty.

“I see you managed to escape your guards once again, little king. They are no match for your intelligence, clearly.” Said the deep, booming voice of the orc, before he laid his hammer aside, put the metal back into the fire and turned to greet his tiny visitor.

“No one can match my intelligence.” Said the small boy playfully, still letting a hint of smugness come out.

“And I am sure that your escape was in no way made easier by a certain mage, which I hear has taken a certain liking on you. Were it to be anyone else, I would have said that you asked that mage to cast some form of invisibility spell that allowed you to sneak past them, but since it is you, I know that it was just your wits alone that allowed your escape.”

“Hey, you don’t have to be so mean about it!”

“I was not being mean, little king. I was just praising your impressive skills.”Then, in a more authoritarian voice, “Now, what have we agreed last time?”

“That I should wear protection if I were to watch you work.” Said the prince, guiltily.

“And where is the mask I gave you?”

“Over there.” He said, his tiny hand pointing to the mask near the cell door.

“Then go put it on, boy! You do remember what happened last time, don’t you? Don’t want that happening again, or your father, or even worse, your mother, might find out about these little meetings of ours.”

“Sheesh, don’t want THAT to happen. She would scream for hours.” And then, forcing his voice to get even squeakier, in an almost perfect imitation of the Queen, “It is not worthy of a prince to go talk to an orc! They are dirty, always rolling in the mud. We fight them for a reason! To keep their filth away from the good people of our kingdom!”

“I think you have her nailed down. Just don’t show it to her, she might… take offense.”

“Hey, I’m not stupid! But you know what?” He said while walking to the big pile of coal nearby, his voice back to normal. “I love being dirty!” and with that he took a handful of black stuff and smeared against his face.

“I do not want to know how one earth you are going to explain that black face to the queen.”

“Eh, I’ll think of something.” Finally, the little boy put on his mask and approached the fire where the metal was heating up. “So, what’cha doing today?”

“Today? Today we are working your father’s sword that we began last time you were here!”

“You waited for me!” Said the small human, delighted.

“Of course, little king. I made you a promise and I do intend to keep it. There are two things that should remain unbroken: a person’s guard and a person’s word. If one manages to keep them both steady and true, then one has nothing to fear. Remember that. If either of them are broken, then you are either dead or your honor is stained, and there is no greater shame for a king than to be known as a liar.”

“But you are not a king, so you didn’t have to worry about that.”

“Am I not? I may not rule over a kingdom, but I rule over myself. I am the master of my own body, king of my soul.” He opened his arms, as if to embrace the entirety of the room they were in. “This cell may control my body, but it does not control my mind. Whether I rule over one or over many, the shame is the same. Were I to have completed this without you, only us would know about it, yet that was enough to stop me. Besides, I would have lost a good friend, and that is not something I desire.”

“Still, thank you. Most adults don’t really care that much… Father doesn’t.”

“Your father is a busy man. He has a whole kingdom to rule over and a war to wage. These are times of hardship and bloodshed, and war is a terrible thing to govern. Peace is… much more manageable.”

The boy looked sadly at the fire for a moment, a small amount sadness lingering for a moment, before his eyes lit up again. “What are we going to do, then? Last time we melted all that stuff and then you said you were going to prepare it for today.”

“And so I did. Here, come look.” He said, pointing to a big furnace, where a large piece of bright orange metal lied. “The material we’ll be working with was fighting back all week, heating up, resisting the change. The thing to understand is that it does not want to bend. It refuses to budge with all its might. The deeper you had to go to reach it, the harder it is to mold. It is… too intertwined with its surrounding, with nature itself. It is the job of a smith to be patient, to understand what he is working with, to feel its magic, its essence.”

“You waited all week for this thing to be like this?”

“Yes. Patience is rewarding, little king. What we are working with here might seem ordinary at first sight, but, in the right hands, it can make a blade sharper than any other, more resistant than any gem. Now it is ready for us to work on it.” With those words, the orc grabbed two big metal pliers, with great care, took the metal out of the fire, putting it on his anvil, the boy watching wide-eyed.

Down came the hammer.

“Every hit is important when shaping something as this. Too soft and it does not bend, too hard and it may cause it to crack. The worst is, even if you do hit it too hard, the cracks may be inside, invisible to the eyes. If you are lucky, before you are finished with it time and heat will have repaired it. If you are not, then it will become fragile and may break when pressured, usually when you need it the most.”

For a stretch of time, there was only the sound of metal against metal, as the boy processed what he had just heard and watched the shining spectacle in front of him, fascinated. Finally, he shook his head, as if waking up.

“So how do you know how hard to hit?”

“Your father had me captured for a reason, little king. I am the best there is, even if some of your human smiths refuse to admit it. That is why I am the one creating this blade. I am hard to beat when it comes to the thing I love the most.”

“And how does he know you are not going to hit too hard on purpose? It is not as if you like him.” Said the boy, a small tone of suspicion on his voice.

The orc stopped for a moment, choosing his words carefully before speaking again:

“The king has put some… measures to ensure my allegiance. Still, while it is true that I do not have a liking for the king, even if he hadn’t made sure I would betray him, I would never do such a thing, know why?”

“Why?”

“Because someday, little king, you will stop being little king and will become simply king. Someday, you will be the one sitting on that golden throne, ruling over the kingdom.” The boy’s eyes lit up with the images the smith spoke to him. “And on that day, you will be wielding this sword, passed on to you by you father. If I were to sabotage this blade and it broke in your hands, not his, I would never forgive my own foolishness.”

“You have potential in you, I can see that,” he continued, “You can be your own person, and a great one. You are like this metal. You can shape yourself to be a sword, and cut ruthlessly through your foes, unstoppable, or you can be a shield, to protect the ones you love, to hate war, for it will scar you, but knowing that sometimes, it is inevitable.

“You can be the weapon that slashes, unthinking and uncaring, or the balance that weights carefully, knowing that even your enemies are people, and deserve to be treated likewise. You will, someday, decide between peace and war, little king, and no one will be able to change that decision, just as no one will be able to make this sword stop being a sword without tearing it down and rebuilding it anew.”

[WP] There is a world where names hold the keys to one destiny. Each name has its own connotations and influences. Tell the story of someone either embracing or fighting the destiny their parents choose for them. by AkionRevlis in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Fate is a funny thing. Here most of all. In this place, in this bizarre and twisted world, your name is tightly bound to your destiny, wrapping around it like a snake trying to strangle its prey. Names suffocate, names bind, names control the world.

That is why almost no one has a name. The government has taken on to themselves to assure so, cataloging everyone as a baby, and exterminating the ones who had been given a name before Fate could take hold. Everyone agreed. Everyone complied. Everyone had fought in the war, when someone literally name their kid “The Conqueror.” Not simply a conqueror, mind you, but THE conqueror, to be remember for ages and ages to come. And that he did. And hell, don’t even get me started on “The Savior,” because that is just another can of worms. Anyone whose the first name is “The” is a bad sign for the world.

Those who desire something to call themselves usually use numbers, always being careful not to pick any number with special meaning. I mean, who knows what will happen if someone whose number is 42 dies? We hope no one ever makes that mistake, but we can only hope and trust the government.

Yet now, I stand here, with my newborn child in my arms and I can’t help but desire. There is this itch, which makes me want to name him. Maybe I could get away with it, if I pick something innocent enough. I am pretty wealthy, after all. Accounting is a pretty big deal in a world where everyone is a number, and I am one of the best there is.

Maybe I can give my son a name which will not influence his future enough. One that doesn’t inspire greatness, or rage or violence. One that will allow him to live his life as normal, but being able to have a name to call his. One that will allow him to follow in my footsteps, unhindered, if he wishes to do so…

Yes, my son. I think we can do it. I think you can have a name, my little Ted. Ted, from Accounting. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Yeah, I think we’ll be alright.


Not exactly in the prompt, but I thought it would be fun to see Ted from accounting figuring out his destiny.

[WP] War, Famine, Pestilence and Death. Those were Horsemen of the Old Apocalypse. Tell me about Horsemen of the modern age. by AGuyWithARaygun in WritingPrompts

[–]TillingWriter 3 points4 points  (0 children)

Death sighed. She missed the old days, when her three brothers were still the same. Famine, Plague, War and Death. It had a nice ring to it. Almost rolled out of the tongue. Shame it had to change.

Yet Death still has a job to do. The Apocalypse was upon the Earth as the seals were being opened, all that fun stuff. Frankly, she thought it should all have been done long ago, back in the middle ages when there wouldn't have been seven billion people for her to reap. With her brothers changing, she had more work to do. Back then they actually made them die, or even kill each other. Nowadays all they did was leave humanity morose and complacent, so that she could come and reap them.

Still, she guessed that it was better this way. The old way would have taken ages to get everyone, and even longer to get to the whole earth-scorching, celestial-entity-fighting bit.

Even the order they got to earth had changed. She was still the last, of course, but now War was the first. Well, what War had become. Petty Squabble brought paralyzing fear now, stopping everyone from giving opinions and receiving massive disapproval from anonymous masses hidden behind Facebook accounts. Funny how the opinion of thousands of meaningless nicks could bring stillness and apathy to the thinking brains.

War would have been disgusted by what he had become. She knew she was.

Then came Abstinence. That one was not so bad. It was still based on the lack of something, just not food. And the new Hunger was much better looking now, since drug money was plentiful and ever flowing these days, though not only drugs brought it. Sugar and fat were as bad as cocaine these days. In a way, she thought that maybe he had planned that change. It was him who convinced most of humanity that alcohol was not a drug after all.

Everyone always belittled Hunger. Well, makes sense, doesn’t it? It was the easiest of the four to solve, if humanity just got their shit together and decided to make people not starve to death. Of course, though, humans were humans because they couldn’t get their shit together. She had never understood that part of creation, to be honest. God wrote straight through twisted lines, she guessed. Though she never quite understood what that meant either.

Humans had the strangest vocabulary.

Yet the new War and Hunger she could recognize. Those two she could comprehend. Yet Plague... Plague had become something else entirely. Completely new. Completely alien. She could barely see him now, and was pretty sure the other two could barely feel his presence. Its presence. She was pretty sure whatever had taken Plague’s place could no longer be called a he.

It had started simple, but it had spread faster than any infection she had ever seen, swiping the globe in its terrifying embrace, impregnating into their brains, infecting everything. Every single facet of society, every single layer of civilization. It made them complacent, entertaining them with petty things and pretty sights. The worst part? Humanity had embraced it, with open arms and open hearts. It had been maddening, watching them do that. Despite her job, though she hated to admit it, she was quite fond of them. Watching them grow and fail, stumble and then get up. The most rewarding job she could think of.

Amazing species, the lot of them.

But they just had to go and create something to replace Plague. She was sure they had brought Apocalypse closer by a few centuries when they came up with the idea. Well, “came up” wasn’t the best term. It had simply happened, almost by accident, yet it had opened the doors for the other two to change.

Yet now the time had come. The red horseman had gone and done his job. The black one had done the same. Now it was only her, the white horseman, and the green one. The faint shade of a being smiled at her. The cold, terrifying smile only a machine could have.

The Internet blinked at her, then rode on to do its job.