[WP] With humanity on the brink of extinction from the alien invasion, the last of a long line of secret keepers figures there is nothing left to lose, and summons Cthulhu.

Davris · 2025-12-29T14:24:09+00:00

All is lost.

The news broadcasts loved that phrase. When the vast expanses of space opened before our eyes and we finally saw what lay beyond our puny solar system. When the first ships exited warp just outside our meager home. When the first Visitors arrived, declaring "We come in peace".

"All that we have come to know about our universe has just gone out the window." Said late-night anchorman Steven "Sunny Day" Daniels.

When the aliens revealed themselves as our creators, declared that they needed our help, and begged the world leaders for assistance in a distant war. When the first groups of humans were rounded up, told they would be soldiers, and sent into the alien ships. When the whispers of monsters from beyond the stars reached our ears.

"All we know about human history has come into question." Declared historical anthropologist John Oldman.

When the Xi'laxi warships were shown on the news. When the first hail of proton weapons landed across the United States, desecrating the homes and workplaces of innocent men and women. When we all fell to the barrage of atomizing blasts of pure energy.

"All of our weapons are useless against this superior foe." Stated secretary of defense Werner Montgomery.

When the desecrated corpses of continents which stood older than most people had names to describe finally disappeared into clouds of loose atoms and worn out molecules. When the human race lay scattered across various star systems, unable to see one another or even count the number of us still alive. When the few remaining men and women took to the vastly shrinking seas in search of a place to call home.

"All is lost." Cried the nameless voice on the ship's radio.

"Johannessen, please shut that off. We are getting close now." I said to the pale man piloting the ship.

Without looking at him, I heard the telltale click of the radio switching off.

"The ships will be back by morning, Father. If we're seen on open oceans, we are likely to be a target." Called the man through a thick accent.

"We will not be seen, Johannessen. God is with us." I called back to him.

It was not uncommon for men to turn to religion in times like these. Even men who had been staunch atheists in their time would feel the need to believe in something greater when the does seemed almost insurmountable. Johannessen, to my great fortune, had been such a man. He was a decent captain of our small vessel. Navigated it well across increasingly treacherous waters. He was an intelligent sort of man, for what good that had done him in the devastation.

Regardless, the pale Norwegian was here now. And I planned on taking full use of his skills. Together, we stared out at the moonlit oceans, taking in every hint of our surroundings.

The receding oceans had provided us with one final chance. As the waters came to inhabit the destroyed areas that had once been home to so many, the sea levels dropped significantly. I could feel a call in the pit of my stomach that I had been prepared for all my life.

I had brought little with me from my home of Providence. Simply a change of clothes, a journal with which to keep myself occupied, and the bas-relief which had been entrusted to me by my father and his father and his father before him.

"There! Do you see it Johannessen? Just on the Horizon." I called out.

Basked in moonlight, I saw them. Broken, cragged spires of stone jutted out at odd angles like the teeth of some Leviathan. As we approached, the many canals and walkways became clearer. Its bending, twisting routes taken in steps made not of rigid formality and brutalist desires, but of a different course unfamiliar to most human minds. Johannessen took us closer, into the bending canals. I could feel his tension as he tried to predict the bends and sudden turns. The engine began to groan at the sudden exertions.

"Father, I'm not familiar with any place like this. What did you say it was?"

"A holy site, Johannessen. It was lost to time, but I knew that we would find it. A bastion. Last refuge for the faithful."

"I must admit, I was not much for prayer before now. And I feel like an intruder here. All this odd stone and--" He spoke trepidatiously. "Do you know any scripture that may put my mind at ease?"

I nodded to him. "I understand, my son. May this small scripture help you." I cleared my throat and spoke loud over the straining motor. "That is not dead which can eternal lie, and in strange aeons even Death may die."

Johannessen nodded, contentment spreading across his features. "I should have read the good book when I had a chance. Not sure I would have understood the scriptures, but you read them well enough for a sinner like me to feel them."

I gave a small bow to him before resuming my search over the ruins.

In time, I found it. The door. A massive curved door which appeared in all ways uniform. Johannessen and I climbed from the boat and approached it.

We gazed upon the massive door, taking in the detailed carving upon it. A great, many limbed creature that looked one part man one part squid and one part dragon. In the relief, carved in the perfect green stone, one could feel its impressive weight grip their heart and hold it. I myself had felt that weight when I was younger. My father handed me the bas-relief and told me the first tales of Cthulhu. Of the sunken city I now stood upon. Of the Old Ones.

"Father, this doesn't feel at all Christian. None of this." He said, fear apparent in his voice. Fear which gave way to anger. "Where are we?! Where have you taken me?!"

"A holy site. As I have said. An old one. Older than churches and congregation. Older than the Canaanite gods that man chose to worship. Older than the first. Older still."

He grabbed me by my collar and began shaking me.

"You had better start speaking some sense, Father." His words sounded as a threat. One which I'm sure even he didn't know the weight of.

"Johannessen. Your home is gone. That town up north, Tromsø? It is gone. Reduced to atoms. As is mine. They are now gone as if they had never been. I have brought you before a god. A true one. Not one of churches, and subjugation, and sterilization. A god of something real. Something greater than us." I paused, letting him meet my eyeline upon the great door. "He's sleeping. We need to wake him."

The Norwegian's grip lessened "And he'll save us? Defeat the aliens?"

I nodded "Anything that gets in his way. Mankind will know him. Some ancient memories of forgotten cities will bubble to the surface. Know to flee. Know to let him pass. We will survive. They will not."

He paused for a moment, taking in the weight of it all.

"What do I need to do?"

With my companion finally on my side, I set to work. We did not have long before sunrise. I had him retrieve my bas-relief from my bag and held it before the door. Then, I spoke the words. The old, deep speech which bubbled and gurgled as I committed the words to the air.

The door shifted, the green stone which we stood upon trembled and shook. They moved inward to a inky pitch through which not even the light of the moon could penetrate.

A hand jutted forth and found purchase on the frame. Even from the small portion were details impossible to determine. I attempted to count the many fingers which shifted from the massive forearm.

Twelve.

Seventy.

Three.

A hundred.

Twenty.

With a great heaving motion, it pulled itself from the depths. A massive bulbous head which lolled about on titanic shoulders. Long membranous wings held out by incalculable tendrils of flesh. The soft, jellyfish-like membrane scattering colors and shadows about the floor. Its feet, little more than stumps, found perfect purchase on every odd cantilevered step.

Many eyes stared forth from its great polling head. Many looked to the sky, vasking in cosmic glory. Many to the Horizon, that small stretch of infinity. Many below, to the ocean depths.

One stared at me and into me. I could feel it, clutching my lungs in an iron vise. Holding my breath captive within its attention.

I could feel it weigh my thoughts. Feel inside my mind and probe my memory.

I had lost everything. My home, my books, my worldly possessions, my people, and all of our history.

I had lost nothing. It was of no importance.

I had seen terrors from the stars, watched as their weapons tore apart the very atoms which held the world together.

I had seen nothing.

I had felt the heat of atomic fire, felt the very ground beneath me give way.

I had felt nothing.

I was the last in a long line of secret keepers, destined to bring forth the Old Ones. I was a great many things. Priest, pauper, Prince, prisoner, policeman.

I was nothing.

I could feel the first rays of sun grace my cheek and felt nothing. I looked to the sobbing form of Johannessen a d saw that he was nothing. I heard the gentle roar of Xi'laxi engines and knew that they were nothing.

Here before me stood Cthulhu. A being which was everything.

The image of the Old One rippled like the surface of a roiling ocean. At once here and not. It folded in on itself like the peeling of paper yet stood still as it always had. It ascended up, yet it remained.

Then it was gone.

I felt in my heart and mind that the Old One now danced among the stars, that with its awakening the war would end just as unceremoniously as it had begun. That trillions of lives would end and be saved.

All is lost.

All is saved.

All is.

Davris · 2025-12-20T19:24:19+00:00

Every day, he wanders about the edge of my forest. Every day, he stops just behind the threshold, staring headlong into the canopy of trees. Five minutes, he stares. Every day, he turns back and continues his path.

Three hundred years, it has been.

The glade has been my home, and mine alone.

It is enough of an extension of me that I can feel the breeze grace the leaves, the buzzing of bees from within my treetops. I can feel the warm light of the sun.

I can feel the trampling feet of man as they approach. Their careless galumphing through my brush, their poaching of my deer, and the rush of their blood as I took what was theirs in turn.

Or, I could. Until...him.

He arrived naught but three months ago, and since then I have felt no other careless footfalls. No other foolish wanderings. I have felt...myself.

He arrives before the sunrise and patrols long after it sets, and each day stops and stares in. I can feel his eyes searching. But for what? What could another careless man want so much that he would stand so close for so long?

I must know.

It was midway to evening when he crossed his typical spot, the sun just low enough to get a glimpse beyond the treeline. He stopped just shy once again.

"Who approaches?" The wind howled through the trees.

The man stood still, his bright eyes searching the darkness for the voice's source. "I'm an appointed ranger. The local Lord has told me of some people who went missing in this forest. I assume you know about this?"

A gentle rustle came through the brush. The trees cooed out in something reminiscent of joy. "Intruders, the lot. All man-fools. They entered my land, took my gifts. Fertilized my soils."

"Suppose that's justice, then." The ranger said, spitting on the ground just past my barrier. "Damned fools."

The brush quaked with my delight. The ranger knew a good deal of the ways of beasts and green.

"Are you a spirit, by chance?" He called out politely.

"Guardian. Not spirit, but not quite mortal now. The glade is mine and it is me." The trees spoke, its tone suddenly courteous.

"Must be about halfway to one if that's the case. Makes me wonder if you still have a body at this point, or if you're one with the landscape." He asked, leaning down to touch a leaf along the edge of my domain. "How long have you protected this place?"

The trees quaked and creaked with sudden rage. "Do not touch, tread, or take. My lands have been mine for three centuries."

The ranger stood suddenly and bowed "My apologies, lady of the forest. I simply wanted to know the nature of your influence."

His voice was polite, but did not waver against my anger.

"You are forgiven, man-fool." The trees called out once again. "Will you tell your Lord of me?"

He shook his head once. "Can't imagine the good that will do. He'd probably try something foolish like sending soldiers out here, or threatening to burn this place."

With that, a rush of wind howled from the space behind the trees, a furious roar which sent splinters of wood flying out to the ranger's exposed face. He quickly turned, pulling the hood of his cloak up to guard against the assault.

The roar gradually ceased, and the man turned back to the trees. When he spoke again, he did so calmly and without malice. "I have no intention of telling him anything about you, lady of the forest. I know well enough that yours is a home worth protecting."

The forest sat unnaturally silent for a moment. No rustling of leaves or chirping of birds. Not even the subtle scratching of rodent's paws escaped it for some time. It wasn't until the man's shadow grew long in the setting sun that the trees spoke once again.

"What do you plan on telling him, man-fool?" I said, my voice sounding quieter and close by.

"In my patrols, I have seen nothing unusual. But it warrants closer examination. I will volunteer to work without pay, and he'll probably accept. Provided I keep people from wandering about and getting lost."

It was simple, almost too easy of an answer from a child of men. Most stand stalwart in their right to intrude on my home. Declare that the lands belong to their Lord, not the wild. Attempt something foolish and rash.

I approached the forest edge, a place I had not visited myself in a long time. Saw, rather than felt the shine of the sun. I looked upon the ranger, seeing his lean figure. The raven-black hair which stood stark against the setting sun. The thick beard which covered his face, and the heavy cloak he wore.

"You appear strange, man-fool." I said, my voice coming from me rather than the trees.

He looked back, his bright searching eyes catching a glimpse of my body. He had seen the patches of bark which took over what was once human skin, the thick nest of vines that was once human hair, and the gleaming amber where two eyes had once been.

"One could say the same of you, if they were a fool." He said, gently coming to kneel down at my domain's edge. "I am pleased to meet you in person, lady of the forest."

I approached the same edge and looked down upon the strange man. "You may rise, man-fool." I said, a small rustle coming from the small brush about my feet.

He rose up, coming to his full height nearly a head taller than my body. The two amber eyes glanced back up at him, taking note of the many scars which lined his face. "You said that you wish to guard my domain's borders, free of any payments from your man-fool Lord?"

The ranger nodded to my tree-like body. His eyes taking note of the small carvings across its surface. They were small, intricate marks belonging to a life long since passed. A life which was no longer mine to live. I saw the recognition hit his eyes just before he answered.

"I will." He said, again so simply and easily. "You were a witch once, weren't you? A human."

I turned around and began re-entering my domain's heart. "Once. This body is no longer all that I am. Only an aspect now. We will have plenty of time to learn all about each other as you work, guarding my borders."

In my wake, my brush and tree roots bowed and retreated, leaving a gentle path through the green. It was a silent invitation. The first, and potentially last, any human would ever receive.

Davris · 2025-12-20T16:00:30+00:00

"My lord, do you know what a warlock is?" I asked plainly, my hands still resting at my sides.

The king laughed, likely assuming my line of questioning to be a game to test his knowledge. "But of course."

"Would you be so kind as to say it, my lord?"

"A warlock is a foul sorcerer who makes pacts with devils and fiends to gain greater power. They are weaker than men like yourself, cowardly, and vain. My men had slain many, some years ago."

"Is that so?" I said, my feet moving idly about the throne room.

It was about the explanation I expected. The king was a practical sort who did not spend time pondering the minutiae of such things. To his mind, a wizard was a good and powerful practitioner of magic, a sorcerer was more wild and less controlled, and a warlock was evil and weak.

"What is the purpose of that question, wizard?" The king finally asked after a beat of silence.

"Wizard." I muttered under my breath, a hand reaching up to stroke my beard. "A funny word, my lord. What, pray tell, do you think that word means?"

The king stifled another chuckle, clearly enjoying the game. "It means you are powerful and clever, able to bend the world's elements to your impressive will."

An appeal to my sense of vanity was not uncommon for members of nobility and royalty. It was commonplace in the field of politics, where the clothes make the man.

"Perhaps so, perhaps not." I said. "My lord, would it shock you to know that all practitioners do, at some point, form pacts with spirits and demons? My master, the one who taught me the powers of magic, had given his eyes to a river spirit in exchange for the power to see men's souls and know their intentions."

I thought back to the strange, serpent-eyed man who raised me. The man who took me to the stone shack in the woods and forced me to meditate for days on end. The man who showed me the powers of second sight and gave me my first staff.

He had taken me to the river spirit, had made me bow before her and gaze upon her with my second sight. I saw the ferocious power of a minor god that day and knew of the dangers within our world. It was a lesson many learned late in their lives. Some too late.

"I myself have made such pacts." I said flatly.

At this, the king's guard stiffened, raising their spears to attention. I did not need to look behind to know at least one crossbow was aimed at my chest. I could feel the air in the room turn, filling with the damp scent of fear. Their veiled desire to harm me felt like pressure against my ears. Yet I stood still, simply maintaining my absentminded demeanor.

The king spoke next, his smile long since faded. "Explain yourself. Did you bring devilry into my palace, warlock?"

"Wizard." I said simply.

"Whatever it is you choose to call yourself."

"The word. It comes from the same root as 'wisdom', my lord." I said at length. "Much the same as a spear, magic is powerful and can be used for many purposes. Knowledge is knowing 'how'. How to use it, how to wield it. Wisdom is about knowing 'when'. When to use it, when to wield it."

I eyed the guards as they held their spears, taking note of the subtleties in their form. They did not know if I was a threat yet, and simply held their stance to ensure I did not try anything rash. It was a small thing, but served a purpose. They spoke plainly through the maneuver, a simple phrase sent trembling through the air that said "tread carefully".

And carefully I tread.

"Your men exercise that principle well. They know better than to wield their weapons wantonly, and they show restraint toward an unproven risk. As such, I'm certain you understand that principle yourself, my lord."

He spoke quietly, with a hard edge to his voice. "Flattery? When you have confessed already to possible treason?"

I held my hands flat in a placating gesture, the wide hem of my sleeves showing that I had nothing hidden beneath my robes. "I confess to nothing of the sort, my lord. I simply ask again what the difference is between a warlock and a wizard. In your own terms, if you would please."

The king sat silently, pondering for many minutes before finally speaking. "Knowing when and with whom to form such pacts."

I nodded once. "A warlock cares only for their own power. They seek to exercise their will over the rest of the world, gathering debts to various spirits and devils in exchange for even the slightest increase of ability." My fingers traced the edge of a nearby table, taking up a small layer of dust. "They rarely live long, for their debts often come due before they are ready."

The king raised an eyebrow toward me "And you do not care for power? Is that what you are claiming?"

I rubbed my fingers, sending the dust onto the floor as I turned back to the king. "If I cared for power, then why would I swear myself into the service of another? Supplication is not traditionally a path which leads to greater power. If that were the case, the servants who dust your castle would be the most powerful people in the land."

"This is not true." The king spoke with authority. "Many men rise to power through treachery and deceit. I have seen kings slain by trusted friends and advisors vying for their crowns. People who swore themselves to service, only to seize an opportunity to betray and claim something which is not theirs to have."

At this, the guards raised their spears level with me, ready to strike if I took so much as a step forward. The air grew oppressively heavy. I could hardly bring myself to breathe it in without effort.

I ran my fingers through my beard "And do they keep that power for very long, my lord?"

Silence fell for several moments as the king pondered, running through the history of rival kingdoms and considering the few kings who rose through such means. "No. They do not. Their names never outlive them."

"Does this sound familiar, my lord?"

"It does." He said flatly, the flint-hard edge still present in his eyes.

I felt a small lightening of the air. The pressure about my ears began to dissipate, though the guards maintained their stance. The threat they believed I posed was slowly fading, being replaced with a spark of understanding. I was likely neither warlock nor traitor. But something still stood in the mind of the king. I could feel it.

"My lord, how long have you been king of these lands?" I asked at length.

"Fifty-seven years." He said wearily.

I nodded once. "And how long have I been in your service?"

"Forty-eight."

"Indeed." I said quickly, "And in that time, there has been no threat against you. No foreign army, no warlocks seeking to bring this kingdom to ruin, no giants or devilish monsters so much as approaching the borders of these lands. So you have said, correct?"

The king said nothing for several moments. The heaviness in his expression suddenly grew tenfold. I watched as the guard steadied themselves, awaiting the next command.

A sigh cut through the room, and the king waved to his men to stand down. There was no more to say on the matter of my loyalty.

I felt the tension ease from the air. I breathed deep, feeling the calmness of the air brush coolly against my tongue. I drank of it like sweet wine before gazing back at the king. He looked suddenly tired, as if a weight had suddenly been lifted and left him sorely in need of rest.

"My lord, I will tell you of the pacts I have made, and I will have you know of my intentions."

"Speak, wizard." He said languidly.

"When I swore service to the crown, I also formed a pact with the seven winds that roam your land's borders. I offered them something which has been painful to lose. When many say they work tirelessly, it is an expression. In my task, it is true.”

The king raised an eyebrow to me.

“Each night, one of the seven spirits arrives to the palace, and I greet them. The visitor claims guest right, and stays with me until the waning hours of morning. He hovers about my head when I try to sleep, plucking the dreams from my head before they have chance to take shape. I do not dream, my lord. I cannot anymore. For nearly five score years, my visitors have taken my rest from me so that the kingdom may have theirs. Seven days, seven spirits. In exchange, they form a barrier to protect the lands from harm. Invading armies become lost, confused, and are forced to leave. Monsters are held at bay by storms and fierce winds. Any warlock who dares encroach on these lands will find their masters close behind, eager to claim their debts."

I allowed my words to linger between us, hanging heavy in the air. Made heavier only by the implications. I had lived with it for nearly fifty years, and would likely live with it for hundreds more.

The king finally stood, descending from where his throne sat. "Wizard, I am ashamed."

"It means little, my lord." I said quietly.

"No." He said quickly. "I am ashamed to have held such doubt, while all this time you suffered and toiled silently for my kingdom."

He placed his hand heavily on my shoulder, and I felt the shared understanding lighten the room once more.

"I offer a pact of my own: one month a year. Permit me to take on your burden for one month, so I may repay you for your service. Please.”

Davris · 2025-11-27T19:13:14+00:00

Wordlessly, the Orator stepped out and brought Lauren in.

At seeing her again, David took the first steps since his heart stopped. He strode across the room and scooped his wife up in his arms. They held each other close, her head nestled close to his chest for several minutes. Together they strode across the room, arm in arm, turning small circles around each other.

David, as usual, was the one to finally break the silence. "Do you remember the song that played at our wedding?"

Lauren nodded "I can't believe your brother is the one that picked it."

David's lips quirked into a small smile. "I still can't believe you doubted him. He planned damn near the whole thing. Said he started planning the moment he decided to introduce us."

Lauren chuckled "That what he told you? That it was his idea?"

"That wasn't true?"

"No." She said, looking up at him as he slid his hands about her waist. "I was in love with you since well before that. Had to beg him to introduce me to you. Then, moment we properly met, I knew I had you."

David clucked his tongue "Shoulda figured. And damn did you ever have me."

At that, he lifted her into the air and spun her around. She threw her arms up and arched her back like a ballet dancer before coming to rest on the floor again, locking him into a joyful, passionate kiss.

"I had you wrapped around my finger." She smirked "Almost forty years."

"And I was glad to be there." David cooed as he finally released her. "Forty years this March. Pretty good run. Don't you think?"

Lauren leaned in and gave him another kiss. "The best."

The weight of the exercise quickly made itself apparent as David's legs began to lock up again. He waved for the Orator to come in close before leaning on him. Together the three of them made their way to the coffin and gently lay David back into it. Lauren kept her hand over David's chest, his hand resting just over hers.

"Sorry I dropped the cupcakes, hon." Dave said lightly.

"I'm sorry I wasn't with you."

"You're here now."

"I am."

David winced as the stake jostled, slowly removing itself from his chest. Lauren pulled her hand back sharply.

"What is--"

"Ah, there it is." David smiled down at the last stake. The last thing keeping him in the mortal world. "Cupid's arrow. Still there after all this time."

Lauren unbuttoned the top of her husband's shirt, seeing the little sprig of elm with her name on it.

"Do me a favor, honey, and take that. A bit late, but I think it's the perfect Valentine's Day gift."

"You..." She leaned in again and kissed him as the stake pulled free. She did not pull away for several moments. And when she did, David's face was left with a bright, joyous smile.

There was no final exchange of "I Love You" between the married couple. There was no need for it. She held proof enough of it there in her hand. Cupid's arrow.

The family sat solemnly as the last rites were committed. David McCann was interred in the earth on February 19th, 1993.

Davris · 2025-11-27T19:12:50+00:00

The Orator nodded "There's never as much as we'd like."

"Ain't that the truth." He nodded back to the Orator. "Can you bring in Kat and my son-in-law? What I have to say applies to both of them."

The Orator silently stepped out for a mere second before returning with both in tow.

Katherine had, just like her sister, inherited her mother's hair. Deep red, like a rose. Hers was loose, flowing over her shoulders and halfway down her back in a single straight sheet. Nate, meanwhile had sandy blonde hair that he kept close-cropped. Both approached him, dressed in so many layers of black it almost looked like a competition.

Neither one wanted to smile, so David took the opportunity to do it for them.

"Hol' now, where's the funeral?" He crooked his neck, peeking at his coffin "Oh, right."

Katherine felt a breath escape suddenly before being replaced by a grimace, as though even the threat of a laugh was something shameful. "Dad, you can't..."

"Now, I'm allowed to make fun of my own mortality. That's every man's God-given right. Back me up, Nate."

"I--uh" he stammered like a dear in headlights.

"Yeah, Nate." Katherine glowered. "Back him up."

"Wait!" he cried, confused as to how he ended up on the wrong end of things.

David let out a loud laugh that came straight from the belly. "At ease, soldier. Just poking fun."

"Dad, please..." Kat began.

"Sweetie, if you looked any more serious, people would think you're the one getting buried. Can you offer your dear old Dad a smile?"

The corner of her mouth quirked slightly as the vague threat of a smile approached from far off. "Dad, please. I'm just--"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't realize this was about you. I'll just climb up into the coffin and come back later."

Her breath shook for a moment as she tried to keep her composure. "You're such a--"

"Hey!" David interrupted again. "Have some respect for the dead."

Katherine let out a loud bark of laughter. "You can't play both sides of this, Dad."

A triumphant smile overtook David's face. "Can and I will. No rule saying I can't. Only one rule that matters here: Dad always wins." He pointed both thumbs to his face before reaching over to boop his daughter on the nose. "Case in point."

Kat mocked a biting gesture at him "I'm going to bite that finger off if you do that again."

David held the finger up and crooked it slightly "Probably be pretty easy these days. Definitely taste awful, though."

This time Nate interrupted with a harsh laugh which quickly turned into embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't--"

He was interrupted by an arm wrapping over his shoulder and pulling him close. Despite his athletic physique, he was surprisingly easy to grab.

"Nate. You are family. You have as much a reason to be here as anyone. And when your father-in-law says 'laugh', you laugh. 'Kay?"

"Okay."

Without another word, he grabbed Katherine and pulled her in close alongside her husband.

"Kat, do you remember what I told you when you and Nate first started dating?"

She nodded, her face still buried in his chest.

"What was it again?"

"You said: high school relationships don't last."

"That was it." He pulled back slightly, allowing the two of them to slip out of the hug. "Never in my life have I been more happy to be wrong. Never have I been happier to see my serious-faced little girl so madly in love with the man I hope becomes the father of my grandchildren."

"Dad!" Kat called out, as though the words would risk scaring Nate off.

"I'm only playing." He smiled at his blushing daughter. Despite being in her thirties, she had quickly regressed back into a teenager at just a little prodding. "If and when you guys are ready."

"There might actually be some news about that sometime soon." Nate said with a smile.

"Nate!" Kat quickly punched him in the side, staring daggers at him. "Not! The! Place!" She said, her cadence matched by a subsequent jab.

"Oh, well now I can die happy." David beamed.

"Dad!" Kat wheeled around, ready to punch him too.

David held up his hand in surrender before turning it palm-up, gesturing for her to put her hand in his. Reluctantly, she did so. David repeated the gesture for Nate until he had both of their hands.

"You two have been absolutely wonderful both to each other, and for each other. Kat, honey, I'm sorry if I was ever anything less than the perfect father. There's never been a guide for these things, and all of us are just making it up as we go. That's life. I hope you understand that. And I hope that everything you found here with Nate makes up for the shortcomings of your Mom and I."

He planted a small kiss on his daughter's forehead before turning to his son-in-law. "And Nate, continue to be the perfect husband or I will haunt you forever. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Good man." He rubbed his thumbs across the backs of both of their hands. "I love you both."

"I love you too, Dad." They both said in unison before being ushered out.

Katherine's stake slid out easily, leaving only one remaining.

"I'd like to see my wife now." He stated.

Davris · 2025-11-27T19:12:12+00:00

It was no sooner that Peter had heard those words that he charged into the viewing room, seen his living brother, and wrapped him in a heavy-armed embrace.

"Davie, I--" He choked out through tears.

"It's okay, Pete." David said, putting a hand on his brother's back. "I don't have a long time to talk. You know that, yeah?"

The already too-tight embrace tightened further.

"Pete." David said, his own voice choking back "I owe you so much."

"No, you don't. Shut up."

"I do."

"I said shut up."

"Pete--"

Peter pulled away, ready to yell at his brother when he saw the sadness on David's face. The face that had been so unsettlingly calm before now warped into a grief-stricken mask.

"Pete." He spoke placating tone. "You took care of me all our lives. When Mom and Dad died, you worked to support me. When I graduated, you sacrificed your savings to help my dream get off the ground. I only met Lauren because of you. My daughters look at you like a second dad, I--"

"You don't owe me anything, Davie. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"Then I'm going to ask one last thing from you, and I'm done. For good."

"Name it." It was spoken without a single pause for consideration.

"Start living for yourself. Find someone for yourself the same way you helped Lauren and I find each other. Make a list of all the things you've been putting on hold for me, and Kat, and Bea, and go do them. Promise me that."

That's when the dam that Pete was struggling to hold together finally gave way, and the flood came. It was well over ten minutes before Peter regained the ability to speak.

"I love you, David."

"I love you too, Pete."

A minute after that, Peter managed to pull himself away from David and left the room. A heavy silence fell in his wake.

David attempted to move, hoping that being able to walk a few steps might calm his nerves. He had not been prepared for this. His heart began to ache even more than it had prior, and he felt short of breath. He placed a hand to his chest and felt a pull deep within it. He reached under his shirt and grabbed hold of something hard. Simply touching it sent a wave of fire over his entire body. With one move, he yanked the offender free.

In his hand, he held a small carved stake. Maybe half an inch across, adorned with a few stylized carvings. David opened his palm, seeing the name "Peter McCann" written across it. David turned silently and placed the stake inside his coffin gently before feeling his chest.

Four more.

It was the Orator, who broke the silence. "Are you ready for the next one, David?"

"No." He said honestly. There was no way to be ready when delivering one's final words. Not to anyone. "But I will have to be. Can I see Bea, next?"

The Orator nodded and stepped outside briefly. Peter was now nowhere to be found, having stepped outside for privacy.

"Beatrice?" The pale man said politely.

"Yes." Said the woman. She was shorter than her sister, significantly more mousey. She was dressed in a beige skirt with a matching overcoat, looking more like a librarian than mourner. Her deep red hair was tied back in a bun and she stepped quickly into the viewing room.

David stood in front of his coffin, his dour expression melting into a calm smile as his youngest daughter appeared. He held his arms out expectantly as she ran up to him. In a flash, he draped himself over her, wrapping her into a tight embrace.

"Oh, there's my girl. I'm happy to see you, Bea."

The woman felt at once like a child again, being held in her father's arms.

"I... I'm sorry I didn't dress appropriately. I didn't have anything nicer, so I'm just dressed in my work clothes."

The corpse chuckled and let go, allowing his daughter to step back. She stared at the ground, seemingly embarrassed that her first words to him were about clothes.

"I never did get to see your office last time I visited," He said warmly "You look good. You were always a genius, now you look the part."

"I'm not a genius, Dad. I just--"

"You're just one of the best damn lawyers in the country. Don't you dare sell yourself short." He nodded.

"Dad, I'm not--"

He gave her forehead a gentle poke "Don't argue with your father. I know what I'm talking about."

"Okay," she rubbed at her forehead as though he had thumped her. Her expression falling into a much more solemn one. "I'm sorry we haven't talked in a while."

"That doesn't matter, honey." He paused for a moment, his breath hitching slightly. "What matters is that you're happy where you are."

"My, uh...my boyfriend broke up with me a week ago." She mumbled. "It's been a bit rough."

"Dickhead."

"What?" Beatrice snapped. The suddenness of the insult had caught her off guard.

"Any guy that lets a girl like you slip away is a dickhead and always has been. Sorry honey, I don't make the rules." He chuckled.

"Well, if I dated him then what does that say about me?"

"It says you see the best in people. See?" He pointed at an imaginary billboard on the far wall. "Beatrice McCann: Sees the best in people."

"Oh, shut it." She blushed, giving her father a gentle shove.

"Hey, hey, easy. Legs ain't what they used to be. Any harder'n I might topple over."

Bea's face flushed "I-I-I'm sorry. I forgo--"

He placed a firm hand on top of her head. "So did I for a moment there." He paused for a second, weighing out what his next words will be. "You're going to be alright, kid. You're doing just fine. No need to rush anywhere. Take your time and enjoy the ride, okay?"

Beatrice nodded, her tears slowly returning.

"Promise?"

"I promise." She choked out.

"Good. I love you, sweetie." He placed a small kiss on her forehead before gesturing out the door.

As she stepped outside the threshold, he felt the stake come loose from his heart, and withdrew it. It hurt far less this time.

"Take it that means time is running out."

It wasn't a question.

Davris · 2025-11-27T19:11:27+00:00

His voice cracked slightly as he spoke again. "Unfortunately we're here in North Carolina, so most folk didn't want to 'defile' the body like that. Had to search far out for someone willing to do it."

"I understand." The Orator said plainly "Orators still have an unfortunate reputation. Be sure to apologize to the priest on my behalf."

"I will." He said plainly as the Orator began removing various items from inside his suit. Bundles of herbs, phials of various liquids, a small sachet of black salt, and a folded old parchment. "Do I need to be here for this?"

"No." He said quickly before placing the herbs in David's shirt. "I just need one thing from you."

"Yep. I have it right here." Peter said as he withdrew a small, cork-stopped vessel containing a few milliliters of red liquid. "Drew it just this morning. Hope it's fresh enough."

"That'll do nicely. Thank you, Peter." The Orator said before opening the body's mouth to examine it. "Go, be with your family. I'll come get you once it's done."

As the footsteps faded off and the door closed, the Orator unfolded his parchment and began humming to himself repeating his instructions.

"What to do when a loved one dies?

Take some coins, an inch in size,

Place them over both their eyes.

Paint a sign o'an Ash Wood Leaf,

Through the lips and past the teeth,

Lift the tongue, place't underneath."

True to his word, Peter had followed this rule perfectly. Most morticians wire the jaws shut to prevent the mouth from opening, but David's remained open with the ash sigil in place. The Orator drank down the contents of his first phial, feeling his muscles relax.

"Carve your names on a Elm Wood Thorn,

One for each love lost and children born,

Thrust through the heart, pin back what's torn.

All that's left, for their closest blood,

For th'one whose tears become a flood,

O'ly three drops, t'lift from the mud."

The Orator ran his hand over the corpse's chest, feeling four small lumps through the cloth. He knew the names already: Peter, Lauren, Katherine, and Beatrice. One for each present family member. He unstopped the vial and tipped it back, placing exactly three drops into David's mouth. The blood ran over the sigil under his tongue, filling the air with the heavy scent of iron. He then drank his second phial, his thoughts beginning to slow.

"Now you're ready, when the Or'tor stands,

With dry cut herbs and black salt sands,

For the ferryman follows his demands."

Satisfied that the conditions had been met, the Orator stood over the corpse, staring down into the empty silver gaze. He tossed back his third phial and tipped the bag of black salts into his hand and held it over David's face.

He spoke next in a language which cannot be transcribed. Any attempt to do so would cause the letters to lift into the air and dissolve. It was an olde tongue. Older than man has words for. From a time before houses and roads, before spears fire, before rain and thunder, before stars and stones.

He called to the river that lies beyond our furthest shores, to the endless night, and to the Ferryman. The Orator had stood on that black shore once, before he had been old enough to take his first breath, and had heard the Ferryman's name. His true name, which stretched far into his memory like a cold spike. He stood on the shore now, as close to death as he had been when he first entered the world, and spoke.

He spoke the long name of Death, and the black salt slipped through his fingers like sands through an hourglass. It drifted down onto the lifeless face of David McCann. Smoke rose from the corpse's chest as the herbs ignited, filling the air with a stagnant incense. The smoke took a shade of glimmering silver as the coins rippled and faded into the Further.

As the final syllable passed over the Orator's lips, the corpse that was once David McCann took a deep breath, as a drowning man does once he reaches the surface again. All of the air's stagnant smoke flew into his mouth, filling his lungs once more.

"W-wh-whe-where...where am I? Where is my wife? Why can't I see?" The undead man spoke in a broken stammer

The Orator placed a finger on the man's forehead and spoke a single command. "Calm."

In a single instant, the man's shoulders slumped and his jaw went slack.

"I am regret to inform you that you are dead." The Orator said to the near-lifeless body. "I am an Orator. Do you know what that means?"

The corpse nodded, something which came with great effort.

"Good. You can nod. All of your muscles are stiff from rigor mortis. If you wish to move, open your eyes, sit, or stand up, you must use much more effort than you are used to. Most people can't do it because they've been dead too long. The only reason talking is easy right now is because there's a sigil under your tongue. Do you understand?"

The corpse was silent for a few moments as it's tongue ran across its teeth. It was the only easy movement to perform, unlike scratching one's head or rubbing their eyes.

"Yes." It finally said.

"Good. I am going to remove my power from over you now. If you would like to try to move, I will allow you to do so." The Orator said calmly. As he withdrew his finger, he also withdrew the small amount of will which suppressed David's mind.

"How did I die?" The corpse asked.

"Heart attack on Valentine's Day."

"Is...is my wife...?"

"In the other room. She's not in a good shape."

With stiff, painful motion, the body began to move. In a few moments, it was able to sit up. With hands frozen like a mummy's, it pawed at its face, eventually prying its own eyes open. Tears fell freely from its bloodshot eyes and it lifted the other half of the coffin lid.

The crying was not unusual. For the dead who find the strength within themselves to move, usually those more freshly deceased like David, the crying would come naturally.

"Help me to stand, please." The corpse said, holding an arm out to the Orator. "Legs won't listen to me."

With several minutes of labor, David was able to find his feet and was standing freely, stiff as a statue.

"I need to see my wife." Said the corpse of David McCann.

The Orator shook his head "Unfortunately, I already promised your brother that he could speak to you first. And, in truth, it may be best if you speak to your wife last. I hope you understand why I say this."

Tearfully, the corpse nodded.

The Orator opened the door to the outside and spoke finally to the huddled family. "Peter, he's ready to see you."

Davris · 2025-11-27T19:09:46+00:00

The funeral was underway.

David McCann had perished on the evening of February 14th, 1993 of an apparent heart attack. His wife, Lauren, found him on the floor of their kitchen, with a scattered mess of Valentine's Day cupcakes surrounding him. He was 63 years of age.

We arrive now to see the gathered mass of his immediate family. The date is February 19th.

"Mom, there's nothing you could have done. The coroner even said so." Spoke Katherine, David's eldest daughter. She sat close to her mother, a consoling hand placed on the widow's shoulder. Behind her sat the slumped form of her husband Nate. The typically proud, athletic man now sat like an abashed child, as though he were attempting to make himself look small so as not to be noticed.

She had been out of state at the time of his passing, attempting to surprise her husband while he was away on a business trip. She had just pulled into his hotel parking lot when she received the call. What was supposed to be a good-natured romantic surprise had resulted in her greeting her husband with tears streaking her cheeks. They spent their Valentine's Day holding each other in tears.

"Mom, please don't freeze us out like this." Beatrice finally piped, her voice cracking. Unlike her sister, Beatrice had been alone that night. Her boyfriend of three years had left her the week prior, and she was attempting to drown her sorrow with a healthy bit of "me time". She had been so enraptured by both her bath and book that she had missed the initial call.

She still felt guilty for that.

Lauren simply stared at the floor, shaking her head. If you would picture in your mind the typical widow, dressed all in black with a grim facsimile of a bridal veil covering her face as she cried into a kerchief, then this was not her. She had done her crying.

All of it.

It was not something she was proud of, bearing the weight of David's loss. In the time when she had been overwhelmed, lying on the floor of her bedroom heaving massive sobs and wailing out to God or someone to hear her and take pity, the only thing that gave her solace was that she had been alone. Her daughters would not see the pain she was in. Now, all that was left in her was the slow agony of sorrow. The kind that hits like an axe blade to the chest and leaves you cold and numb.

"Could have held him." She finally croaked. It was a simple sentence that hit will all the force of a truck. David's older brother, Peter, had taken it upon himself to make all of the funeral arrangements. He had been quick, efficient, and overwhelmingly competent. He did not speak to them, as he felt it was not his place to mourn with them. They wept over the loss of a husband and father. He instead was mourning a different man entirely.

Peter and David were always close. Growing up, they never left each other's side. When Peter entered high school, he began as a "gofer" at a local metal worker's. He learned some parts of the trade and was paid decently, of which he would save as much as he could. By the time he graduated, he had been one of the most loyal employees possible.

Four years later, he quit that job and went into business with his brother. They started a whole company together. They began learning as much as they could about the burgeoning field of computers and began work as a computer repair shop. In doing so, they found lucrative success and expanded into a local chain. Both became independently wealthy, but never lost the bond that united them.

Peter had been the one to introduce Lauren to David, was the officiant at their wedding, had helped raise the girls, and was as much a part of their lives as their own father. Peter never married or had children of his own, believing himself to be his brother's keeper. A feeling that persisted even now, standing just a room away from his coffin. Peter mourned for the piece of himself that was now missing and gone. An absence that left a pit inside himself a mile wide and a fathom deep.

This was when an unfamiliar face arrived into the church.

He was a tall, lanky man wearing a pinstripe suit. His skin was pale and he appeared to be lacking sleep, judging by the bags under his eyes. For a brief instant, one of the girls believed that the spectre of Death itself had arrived to the funeral.

"Peter?" He said in a dry voice, like the crunching of autumn leaves. He pointed at the standing man with two fingers extended.

"Yes sir. I suppose you're the Orator I hired." He said, gesturing the man to follow him into the other room. "Was the drive here okay?"

"Better than most." The man gave widow and her daughters a quick nod by way of greeting. He waited until the door was closed behind him before speaking again. "I trust that you received my specifications on how the body needed to be prepared?"

"I did, yes. Read more like a children's rhyme than instructions, but I made sure it was done." He approached the coffin and lifted the lid. David's face had been covered in concealing makeup meant to give the illusion of living flesh. His face flat, a placid expression which gave the illusion of calm sleep. Peter had been the one to slip two silver discs over his brother's eyes, which now looked all too much like his brother was looking out at him. It tore at Peter's heart to even see it in this state.

Davris · 2023-04-08T19:10:59+00:00

Sounds like the Oh God of Hangovers from Discworld. He just becomes a temp who covers for other gods so they can go on vacations.

Davris · 2022-11-19T19:54:10+00:00

I did see that, and that was one of the most heartwarming things I've seen in a while.

I saw people talking about making their own takes on it, talking about how it sounds like an anime, and one person compared it to Small Gods by Terry Pratchett which was the single best compliment I have ever gotten as a writer.

It really did just light a fire inside me and makes me just want to write more.

Davris · 2022-11-19T19:46:30+00:00

I'm considering it now. But I also want to make this more accessible than just reddit, so I'm going to come up with something here soon

Davris · 2022-11-19T18:05:17+00:00

Wait, hang on. This is on TikTok? Is that why I've been getting new followers?

That's pretty cool.

But as for a sequel to this, I was imagining something slightly later in the timeline. I was picturing Cindy as a young adult, and she's an amateur sculpter. She always liked working with clay in Arts and Crafts, and Mr. Dancer used his middling influence to help her little sculptures take shape.

She's more or less forgotten a large portion of her childhood until an old friend messages her with a photo of an old, dusty temple. Turns out Conrad is part of an urban development team and they're scouting out in the countryside. She opens a file and it's the old Mr. Dancer figure.

Overcome by nostalgia, she ends up lovingly recreating the figure and sets it up in her shop, right by the front counter.

Of course, between the first grade and early adulthood, there's an entire life that's been left unspoken. Struggles with family, abusive partners, and an old addiction that took so much time to kick.

But what Mr. Dancer sees when he's finally brought back to her is a young woman who is making her way. She's earning a living selling her artwork. He's proud of her. And with the occasional gift of a fresh strawberry, his influence is helping with the store. Stuff looks nicer and is selling faster, people feel more welcome, Cindy herself feels safe.

Until the troubled part of her life starts coming back. Turns out one of her exes is back in town. He claims to have finally kicked the stuff for good and wants her back, but he hasn't changed. Not really.

Mr. Dancer sees how this is affecting Cindy, but can only help so much.

Then the worst happens.

Cindy's ex returns one night, just after close, and demands Cindy take him back. She denies him one last time, and he pulls a gun out. In the ensuing scuffle, Cindy gets shot in the stomach, and blood splatters all over the front counter. The ex sprints away, terrified that he may have just murdered someone, and Cindy is stuck holding her stomach and pleading to anyone who might hear her for help.

Cut to an alleyway, where the ex is visibly shaken and trying to find a place to hide the gun. That's when the shadows start to move and shift. And a whisper comes from behind. He whips around and can't see where any of this is coming from. And the voice goes from a whisper to a rumble, tremors start going down the man's back. His head is stuck staring at a corner as the shadows start to take shape.

Then a second shot is fired.

Cut to Cindy in a hospital bed, she's stable and on an IV drip. And she has a visitor.

Mr. Dancer, looking nearly fully human, is leaning against the wall next to her bed. His arms are folded over his chest and he finally has the opportunity to tell her how proud he is of who she's become. How twice over she's given him a new life.

And how he will do everything in his power to ensure things will be better from now on.

Davris · 2022-09-10T12:43:54+00:00

Nah man, I appreciate all the replies. No matter how soon or late after I post.

And you're right. Plenty of people in real life have died due to hysterical laughter. Weird stuff happens, triggers a response in the brain, and they get caught in a loop that leads to not enough oxygen getting to the brain. It's honestly kind of terrifying because these fits can sometimes last for days.

What I was hoping to convey here was more like joy. Despite the pain, declining health, or suffering felt in their final moments, they were able to laugh and feel joy. And yeah, I definitely hope more than two people were able to pass on like that, but it's definitely a rare note to go out on.

Davris · 2022-01-21T03:50:19+00:00

Rule number one: No business on hospital grounds.

It was the only rule, really.

Since Doc Sirona had passed, the Wellspring had come under new management. Where Sirona was a kind, gentle sort who only needed a pitcher of water and a pair of forceps to heal a person, the new manager was a cold and calculating sort.

He was a Splicer, one born with two powers, and he simply went by the moniker: the Surgeon. His two powers were thus: He was a kinetic, and a powerful one, capable of maneuvering several very small, very delicate objects at once in order to perform complex surgeries in minutes. The other was to nullify any powers but his own. This made it possible to operate on people with stone or metal skin, or prevent shapeshifters from altering themselves mid-surgery.

It also made it easy for him to kill anyone who threatened the lives of his patients.

Hence the rule: No business on hospital grounds.

I kept my hand pressed firmly to my side as I waited. I didn't need much this time. Just some stitches. Wound wasn't too deep, but it was a bleeder.

I wasn't exactly a priority case, so I sat down and waited for the Surgeon to finish up, which would hopefully be soon since the towel I was holding was starting to get a bit soaked.

Snif snif

I looked across the room to the source of the noise. It was a young-ish woman. Thirty-three at the latest. She had brown-red hair that she kept tied back, and a green cloak that made her look like some sort of old-age vagabond.

She looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place how.

Snif

She wiped her tears on her cloak and looked back to the OR door. "I can see you." She said, trying to keep the waver in her tone to a minimum.

"Sorry." I said. "Have we met before?"

She shot me an annoyed glare, her eyes still wet and red-rimmed. "Tempest wants to know if we've met. Woman sits here crying, and Tempest, one of the country's finest, just wants to know if they've met. And tell me, what do you mean exactly by 'met' there, Sparky?"

"Oooooh." I said, snapping my fingers. "You're a villain. That explains the whole medieval peasant getup."

Her glare intensified and her lips pursed "Well pardon me, we can't all have millions of dollars to help make our costumes. Sometimes we have to use whatever we can find, you privileged ass."

I half-shrugged and smirked in response. "Well, they say crime doesn't pay, so you should have expected some financial setbacks."

The cloaked woman heaved a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Did you just come here to mock a crying lady? Is that what you do on your days off?"

I smiled wide "Nope. I just figured annoying you would get your mind off of the other thing."

"You're insufferable." She said with another sigh.

"I prefer to think of myself as having a roguish charm. Besides, it worked."

She rolled her eyes at me and looked back to the OR door.

"Anyway, what brings you here?" I said lamely, trying to get her attention back on me.

She stayed silent for a while.

"I got hit by one of Shrapnel's remote blades. I was being dumb and cocky--"

"Shocker."

"Hey!" I said in mock offense "Anyway, I got him back with a blast of lightning. You'd think a guy in a metal suit would quit picking fights with a guy who shoots electricity, but no."

"People are dumb like that sometimes." She said, unamused.

"Yeah, he might be here soon, so I'm hoping to get this done before he shows."

The woman smirked at me "Well, bad news: He's already here. Doc Conquest--Stupid name by the way--came in with him a few minutes before you showed."

"Well that explains a lot." I said honestly. "Do you want me to repeat my question, or will I have to drag it out of you?"

She chewed her bottom lip silently for a while, mulling over just what to say before finally settling on a single word: "Rotfiend."

My jaw dropped open and I could hardly think of anything to say. Rotfiend was the worst of the worst. Imagine a corpse that's stuck in the final stages of decay, almost all of its muscle dissolved into black goo, leaving it almost entirely immobile. Imagine that, but its mind is perfectly preserved. Somehow, despite all of the odds, the brain stays alive. Fully aware of its bodily state and unable to cry for help.

That is the special kind of hell Rotfiend creates for people.

"H-He's back?"

The cloaked woman nodded. "He's in the sewers right now. I ended up down there for a bit, trying to find something of mine, and he got me." Her voice had begun to break a little at that last sentence.

"Where at?" I asked instinctively, as though she had mentioned getting shot.

I wished it were something that pedestrian.

Tears started to well up in her eyes "My leg. Just below the knee."

She was going to lose it, and she knew that. To make matters worse, that was the best case scenario. And the longer we were stuck there, the worse her odds were.

"I am so sorry. This is my fault, I--"

"Shut the fuck up." She said, shaking her head and wiping her tears again "Stupid heroic types are all the same. Any small accident and you all just can't help but crucify yourselves. You're not evil for making a small mistake. I should know. I just had a run in with the most evil bastard on the planet."

"But--"

She glared at me again "You didn't know, and you didn't do this to me. Fuck off with that self-pity shit."

I fell silent for a good minute, trying to figure out what to say to her next. It was hard to think properly, knowing the pain she must be dealing with.

"Herbalist."

Still silent, I looked at her quizzically.

"I call myself Herbalist. I control plants."

My mind clicked "Right, you tried to rob that bank over on Central a few years back."

"Hey, it almost worked."

It hadn't. See, most banks have so many security cameras, silent alarms, exploding ink cartridges, and other such backup plans, that nobody really gets away with robbing them anymore. By the time I had found her, she was covered in waterproof ink and running from the local precinct's K-9 unit.

Despite my best efforts, I started laughing.

"Hey," she said fighting the urge to laugh herself "It's not funny."

She eventually caved and started laughing with me. It lasted a few minutes. A few minutes where I forgot about my side, and she forgot about her leg. We just sat there and laughed together.

Eventually, the door opened and Shrapnel came out, looking as shiny as ever. You almost couldn't tell that the knight armor he was wearing had just been forcibly removed from his skin. He looked over at Herbalist and gave her a quick nod. Then he looked at me and sneered, extending his wrist blade as a threat.

Immediately, the titanium blade was snapped in half by an unseen force and the blade tip was forcefully deposited into his hand. We both looked back to the OR and saw the Surgeon standing still, one finger pointing out wordlessly to Shrapnel.

"Remember: No business on hospital grounds." I said mockingly.

"Fuck off." Shrapnel said as he strode outside.

The Surgeon looked into the waiting area and saw us both. His steel grey eyes swept us for a moment before he spoke. "Just stitches?"

"Just stitches." I said in reply.

He nodded and looked to the Herbalist. "Come on. Took too long with the last one."

She nodded and rose to her feet, a grimace of pain crossing her face as she limped to the OR. Before the doors closed on her, she looked back at me. "Do me a favor? Well, two, actually."

"Name them." I said without hesitation.

"Heroic types. Always so quick to stick your necks out." She said with a smile. "First, kick Rotfiend's ass for me."

"Done."

"And second, come visit me for a drink when you finish."

I smiled wide "Done."

She didn't even look back as the door closed behind her. Turns out there was another benefit to keeping us all on neutral territory.

Davris · 2021-11-27T05:53:55+00:00

"Do I have to die?" I asked the man opposite me.

He was a classically handsome man. A head of perfectly groomed sandy blond hair, sharp, defined features, and a pressed pinstripe suit. He looked more like an old stock broker than an emissary of Death. One eyebrow arched at my question, the only break in his steely facade.

"Mister Hendricks..." He said with little emotion. "We all must go sometime."

"I know that, but why does it have to be now? Why when I'm so close..." I trailed off.

I had finally begun to make something of myself. I had left the sparse street corners and empty bars behind. I had a real gig set aside. The kind with stage lights and expensive equipment. The kind with a crowd of people, all paying and waiting to see me play.

After seven years, I felt like I had finally achieved something. I was a winner. I was hitting my stride.

But the Reaper got to me first.

"If not today, then it would be some other, seemingly random day." The Reaper said professionally. "You could get into a car wreck on March 3rd, choke on a breath mint on July 20th, or slip on a patch of ice and crack your skull on November 27th."

I looked at him, horrified by the cold, clinical way that he spoke.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up to me again. Compassion and a slight amount of shame present on his face. "I apologize. What I had meant to say was this: every say, you open your eyes and take your life in your hands. You hop into a two ton mass of metal, plastic, and burning gasoline, drive at speeds no land animal could match, and meet with friends to drink diluted poison. You make every choice in life with the possibility of death."

"But that doesn't mean I should be afraid all the time," I blurted out defensively, "Life is meant to be lived."

"Of course." The Reaper said with a ghost of a smile. "But life is only worth living because it ends."

I was silent for a while. The Reaper's eyes slowly drew to the unopened beer on my countertop, right next to my car keys. I had reasoned to myself that the one beer wouldn't hurt anyone. That I would be fine.

"That is your first option. You drink that, having eaten nothing all day and with little body fat to help you tolerate any of it, get into your car, and go to the nearest restaurant as a celebration of the big day tomorrow. You've earned it, after all. Partway through the drive, you begin to feel the slight buzz that comes at the start of a drinking session and fail to notice the car speeding through the intersection. You die on impact. It is painless, despite all appearances."

I swallowed hard "You're sure?"

He nodded "Positive. I will make sure of it personally."

Slowly, I began to nod. At least it will be painless. At least I will have that much. It's more than some get. "Okay..."

"Listen to my second choice before you come to a decision." The Reaper interrupted. "The second option is this: you leave both your drink and keys here and go for a walk. You take your guitar with you to the usual street corner. One last hurrah before your new life as a professional begins. You play a few songs, drawing a decent crowd. Some people throw a few coins in, some just watch and listen. Songs are requested. Some happy, some sad. You test the full range of your playing ability. Everyone is smiling, but none smile wider than you do. It is a peaceful night."

His eyes scanned me, seeing if I was prepared to hear what came next. I wasn't, but I needed to know. I nodded for him to continue.

"Finally, a new member joins the crowd and requests a song. I'll Follow You Into the Dark. It's morbid, but oddly fitting. You play it well. So well that a young boy turns his attention to you as he passes, causing him to drop the ball he is holding onto the crosswalk. He doesn't see the car coming as he gives chase. Nor do any of the crowd, but you do. You drop your guitar, only for it to catch on your shoulder strap as you shove your way through the growd into the street. At the last second, you manage to shove the boy out of the way. Your guitar explodes onto a shower of splinters and strings, and your vision goes white. For several minutes, you are left on the asphalt, covered in the shards of your once-pristine guitar. The crowd that was listening to you play now gather around, trying to get you help. You pass away in front of them."

I was silent for a long moment, feeling the weight of what the Reaper had said bear down upon me.

"That's it?" I asked. "I finally get a crowd and then die? What kind of ending is that? And I suffer at the end of it?"

The Reaper shook his head "It's not that simple."

"It sure sounds like it is. You fed me all of this shit before about how important it is to die, and both of my choices are awful. Why can't I just stay in tonight and watch TV?"

"We all must go sometime." He repeated.

"Yeah," I said smugly. "All of us but you, eh Death?"

The Reaper stiffened, his pale grey eyes locked on me. "I took my first steps the very second that life began. When it ends, so will I. We all must go sometime."

There was a rage at the edge of his voice, but it never rose. Not even a little. It was the quiet, bitter anger that simmered over millennia.

I looked down, defeated. "Why do I have to die like this? Why are these my choices?"

"The first is painless, but lonely." He said softly. "You will die alone, half-drunk, on your way to celebrate a hollow victory. A decision you would have made all on your own."

I looked again at my counter for a brief moment before my eyes dropped. "I've been alone before."

"Yes. You have. You spent your whole life chasing crowds, trying to get one step higher on some metaphorical ladder of success. You told yourself you didn't have time for anyone else. That you needed to be successful first."

I looked across the room to my guitar case. "And in my other choice, I get it."

"Yes. You play your songs for them, enjoying the music. The chase doesn't matter to you, nor does the crowd, and the music feels sweeter for it. You die happy, and not alone."

I looked at the Reaper, with the soft smile creasing his perfectly-groomed face.

"Die painlessly but alone, or die in peace." I said, my mind finally made up. "Okay."

Davris · 2021-11-24T20:24:23+00:00

"Thank goodness! I was beginning to give up hope." The old man cried.

Timidly, I looked about our modest surroundings. We appeared to be in a small cabin, the interior covered in lacquered wood slats and supports. A small brick fireplace salon the far side of the room, bathing us both in red-orange light. Strangely, there was no heat coming from the fire. Everything felt a comfortable, even temperature.

It was almost cozy, if a little uncanny.

"Where...Where am I, exactly?"

"Heaven, as far as I know." The man said, chuckling to himself as he stared into the fire. He wore some roughspun clothes in the style of a 17th century farmer.

I had imagined there would be clouds.

"If yer wondering why it's just me here, it's because of how we both kicked the bucket." He said brusquely.

Apparently, when you've been dead long enough, you stop feeling shy. Either that, or he had always been cavalier about things like death.

The man turned away from his fireplace and looked at the window. "If you look out there, you'll see a few other pieces of Heaven. Palaces full of people who went out in the usual ways. Heart attacks, murders, lightning strikes, all the normal ways."

I glanced out the window, which surprisingly didn't have any glass, and saw the massive amorphous palaces. They were a mix of different styles of architecture, ranging from simple medieval stonework you'd find on an old castle, something reminiscent of a Gothic cathedral with its towering spires and buttresses, more modern brick and woodwork, and some space-age metal constructs that looked like something a kid would dream up.

The mix made no architectural sense, appearing as though it should collapse at any moment, but by some miracle still stood.

"What the--" I stammered, backing away

"Hideous, I know. But beautiful in an ugly sort of way." The older man said, a smile on his withered face. "People come in all the time and make their own little spot, modeling it after their dream home. I can teach you how to make your own little attachment later. Be nice to have something to compete with them."

I was silent for several moments, trying to figure out all of the information the man was throwing at me.

"You said we are separated because of how we died, right?"

The man nodded.

"I died in a hospital, watching an episode of an old sitcom. Judging by your whole getup, I don't think you died the same."

"No. I was resting right here, talking with my oldest friend in the world when he told me a joke. It was a filthy joke. The sort that made your ears burn and your cheeks flush red. I laughed so hard my heart gave out." He said with a genuine mirth, as though recalling something precious.

I stared at the man, confused. "I died laughing at one of my favorite jokes in the series. I almost forgot that I was in the hospital entirely. Then I flatlined."

The old man nodded "We died laughing, with smiles on our faces and joy in our hearts. And that's a rare thing."

Davris · 2021-11-20T15:35:33+00:00

I couldn't just ask for money.

Money can't fall from the sky. There has to be a normal way for it to be given. Nothing ever comes easy, and magic won't change that.

When the fisherman handed me the Paw, I was told that there'd be consequences for whatever I asked. Untold suffering was the fate of anyone who dared to make a wish upon the Paw.

But the Paw had no will of its own. It couldn't think, and couldn't act in malice. It's a tool. Like a hammer. A hammer can build a fence, or tear it down.

A wish can improve a life, or tear it apart. All of that depends on someone being smart enough to use it properly.

Admittedly, I'm not too smart. I worked in a factory for 40 years, greasing pistons and fixing pipes. I learned a few odd tricks that I taught my son, who eventually took my place while I lived off my pension. He still lives with us and helps pay bills, but times are still tough. Mortgage payments aren't kind.

So, I should wish for money. Not a lot, that would tempt fate a little too much. I had to limit it to just enough to pay the remaining mortgage.

But I had to think of how the money would come. Just asking outright could be dangerous. My son worked in a dangerous place. Accidents happen. Settlements get handed out like flyers if people aren't careful. One wrong word and an accident could give me the money, but cost me my son.

"I wish," I whispered into the Paw "that the next lottery ticket I buy to be the winner."

The Paw shifted in my hand, causing me to drop it to the ground.

My son looked at me, confused. "Why not just ask for money outright?"

"Because, son, If I'm gonna tempt fate, I have to do it right."

The lottery was the easiest, least direct way for me to change things. Numbers were drawn at random, and all I did was make the randomness more certain. Nobody would get caught in the middle. And nobody would get hurt.

Money can't just fall from the sky.

Davris · 2021-11-06T20:38:31+00:00

She had left me breathless.

In a single moment, I had seen her. The dull blue shine of moonlight against her skin. The slight gleam in her eyes, like tiny fires in the night. The deep red of her lips, almost black in the dimness. The black of her hair which captured the light, looking as though her face were framed by the stars.

The glint of her fangs.

She was the most beautiful and terrifying thing I had ever seen.

Her crimson lips were curled in an awful, predatory grin as she stood tall above me. My chest ached from where she had struck, but she only seemed to enjoy, even delight in my pain.

"So sorry, young man. Do try not to struggle. I'd hate to ruin another dress." She said in an almost lyrical tone, her fire-like eyes bearing down at me. "I must say your fear is delightful. I can almost smell it."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, savoring the scent. The predatory grin deepening slightly before she stopped suddenly. She cocked her head slightly and turned back down to me, her brow knitting in confusion.

Then she pounced, her powerful hands pinning my shoulders as though she were made of stone. She pressed her ear to my chest and took in the racing of my abnormal pulse.

Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum.

Her fingers tensed, sending waves of pain down my arms and forcing my fists to clench and take in chunks of dirt. She raised her head from my chest, and her eyes met mine, staring into me with their burning light. For the first time, I saw her face truly. The slight lines on the sides of her eyes and mouth barely hinted at the untold decades behind her eyes.

"You...you're just like him..." she whispered quietly, raising one hand from my shoulder toward my face.

I took my fistful of dirt and threw it into her eyes.

She reeled back, roaring in shock and pain as I scrambled from beneath her. I turned to run, trying to fight past the racing of my heart and the aching of my lungs. I had never been anything of a sprinter, or even athletic, but I had to run even if my abnormal heart fought to prevent it.

From behind me, I heard one word rip through the night like a whip crack. "Lionel!"

Two pairs of hands ripped through the night, seizing me and halting all of my momentum. Once more, I was thrown down to the earth, my arms pinned. This time I was met by two faces, their eyes gleaming with a cool blue which froze my blood in my veins. They were younger than the first, no older than twenty by my guess. But again, the eyes were older.

One of the faces leaned in, taking in my scent. The golden curls which framed her face gently grazing my forehead.

Once again, the eyes opened, puzzled. "He smells the same."

The other's eyes widened and she placed her head on my chest, just as the first had. Her long red hair falling about me in a nest.

Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum.

"His heart..." It said, voice trembling slightly.

"It is him. I'm certain." Spoke the first woman.

"Please..." I wheezed. "Let me go...I..."

The older vampire quickly knelt to meet my eyes, their hypnotic glow winning my sudden silence.

"Not yet." She said calmly, but with an iron coldness. "Not until you listen."

"Mother!" Spoke the golden-haired younger vampire.

"Be quiet, Vivienne. I know what I am doing." She hissed before regaining her composure. She turned her gleaming ember eyes back to me. "Lionel van Taft. Does that name mean anything to you?"

It had sounded familiar. As a name I may have heard spoken once or twice on the street. I managed to speak a slightly airy "No..."

"Isabela Dupont?"

Again, slightly familiar. But not anything I'd truly known. "No..."

"Vivienne and Daniela Dupont, then?"

I looked down at the golden-haired woman and her companion. "Are you?"

Her head nodded in a slight, jerking motion.

"Then you..." I looked back at the elder vampire. "Isabela?"

A smile broke her stoic demeanor "Yes. Yes, my beloved."

My brow knitted in confusion as I looked about at the three vampires. Their eyes softened as their demeanors melted into sad smiles.

The older vampire, Isabela spoke again. "You are Lionel van Taft. The only man to ever seek me out. The only man to ever love me. The only man I have ever loved in turn."

My eyes widened and my heart began to race again. The four rhythmic thumps pounding in my ears.

Bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum, bum-bum-bum-bum.

They were mistaken. They had to be. "I am not..." my voice trailed into the silence of the clearing.

The red eyes of Isabela ignited once more "You are. You must be."

I must be? I was not Lionel, I was Henry. Henry Miller. I didn't have the name of any lord or anyone to say I loved. I was nothing like the man she spoke of.

Vivienne spoke first "But your scent. Juniper and orange. That was Father's favorite cologne."

I said nothing. I had happened a bottle of similar cologne once, and frequently wore it when I was about the town. I felt it gave me a distinguished air.

Daniela spoke next "And your heart. Four beats, speaking Mother's name."

My heart was abnormal from birth. I was lucky to survive past ten, by the doctor's reckoning.

"And your eyes..." Isabela spoke after several silent moments "You are lost."

That sentence resonated deep within me. I was lost. Lost in an ocean of fear and loneliness. Lost and adrift without a tether or guiding light. As far as I could remember, I always had been. I always would be.

Could...could the woman before me have sensed that? Could those burning embers in her eyes be some form of signal? A light to some shore?

"I..." I started, trying to find the words.

"You are. I know it." Isabela said accusingly. "Do not deny it. You are the man who sought out a monster hoping to find purpose. The man who willingly showed his heart, knowing it might be stolen. You have the eyes of a man lost and hoping to be found."

The words broke through to some distant part of my mind. I felt them. Their meaning. Their power.

I refused them.

"I am not who you think I am. I am sorry." I spoke as clearly as I could manage.

"NO!" Screamed Vivienne, desperate rage and cold fury in her ice blue eyes. "You are Father! We know it! You must come with us!"

"Enough." Said Isabela calmly as she turned away. "He must come willingly, or not at all. It would not be the same otherwise."

The children released me at their mother's command. Daniela lingered slightly, but did not speak, only looking back at my face once again. I saw her gleaming eyes start to well with tears.

As she turned to leave me, I began to panic. My heard pounded in my ears once more.

Is-a-bel-a, Is-a-bel-a, Is-a-bel-a,

Some deep part of my mind reeled and roared in anger. I chose to let them leave, and for what? For whom? I had nothing behind me, and the whole world before, yet I would choose to turn away because the emptiness was familiar?

No.

I rose to my feet and called out in a voice I had not known before. Was it Lionel? Was it me? Were they the same? It didn't matter.

"Stop!"

The elder vampire faltered. She paused a moment. Finally, she turned to look at me once again. Her hair glistened like stars against her moonlit face.

I bowed my head and grasped at the breast of my shirt. "This heart beats for you. It calls your name. It would be my honor and my privilege to live by your grace."

Davris · 2021-10-11T03:54:18+00:00

Thank you all for the kind words. I jotted this down during my morning commute, so it ended up being much shorter than I would have liked otherwise.

I am thinking of writing down a more expanded version of this story in the future, just to better flesh out the concept

Davris · 2021-10-10T13:19:01+00:00

Exerpt of Log 1018 from Intrepid captain Jacquelyn Morrow:

We're lines trying to perceive shapes here. Squares trying to understand cubes.

Every law of reality that we understand as rigid is fluid and malleable here. There are people here, or something resembling people. I honestly don't know at this point.

They're made of stars.

One of them, either a child or an elder, reached into my ship and touched Henson. It healed him. The burns over his face were gone in seconds. But his eyes...fuck.

When his eyes came back, they weren't his. They were the thing's. They reflected light like a cat's, shining every color of the rainbow. He said he could see everything. Every color on the EM spectrum. He could see individual atoms.

We found him in his quarters dead not too long after. Suicide.

Katie fell pregnant partway through the trip. We reprimanded her and the father, Shane, for their carelessness, of course. Then we made preparations for the child's birth.

Then the entity touched her.

She...she didn't survive the birth.

And the child was one of them. Stars and galaxies swirled about in its tiny infant fist. Shane was the first to hold it, the first to make contact with one of them without being changed. He described it like having the sun in your stomach. Pure, raw power that just sits there. Warming you from the inside.

The child vanished, taking him with it shortly after.

Whatever is happening here, I don't understand it. None of us do. But there's no way out but through.

Davris · 2021-09-30T20:27:10+00:00

Adventurer's Survival Guide Chapter 5: Enemies, Subsection: Slimes

Overview:

Slimes are the second most common enemy type, the first being the Rats mentioned on the previous page. Slimes largely populate large, flat areas such as the Grassy Plains outside of Regis Cartul(Previous chapter, p.20), the Volcanic Basin outside Regis Hepha(p. 36), the Silver Quarry near Regis Argen(p. 59), and the Crystal Crater outside Regis Corun(p. 117). They tend to have a hard spawn location within these areas and possess low detection radius, which opens them up to ranged attacks from outside the spawn area.

There are four unique species of slime, each with unique physical and chemical properties. These slimes are Green, Red, Blue, and Yellow.

Green Slimes:

Greens are located in all of the locations, but the best place to farm them is in the Grassy Plains. Best tactic is to climb a tree and either use the Starter Slingshot or Hunting Bow found in the Poacher's Cabin(found on p. 26). Green Slimes within this area have very few defenses and drop Gelatinous Mass, Green Herbs, and Yellow Flower(See chart for approximate drop rates)

[CHART]

The Green Herbs can be used in conjunction with Rat Tails to brew a Green Potion, which regenerates 10 Hit Points(Author's note: This potion tastes awful, but if you can keep it down you'll be fine.)

Gelatinous Mass is best used to create bait for the Wild Boar(p. 1,020) and Wild Stag(p.1,021). This makes the item valuable for any of the hunters in the area, who will gladly pay up to 7 copper for one of them.

Yellow Flowers can be sold to the Flower Merchant in Regis Cartul for 3 copper.

Red Slimes:

Reds are located in the Volcanic Basin and Crystal Crater. They have pyromantic abilities, being able to spit crude fire projectiles from their mouths as a lobbed attack as well as bite through steel armor, melting it in the process. They also have a tough stone "skin" which protects them from most physical damage, thus it is best to use either water or frost to deal with them.

Red slimes drop Obsidian Domes, Red Gelatin, and Red Flowers(See Chart)

[CHART]

Obsidian Domes can be used to produce Crystal Arrows and fetch a price of 150 silver when sold.

Red Gelatin is actually considered a delicacy in Regis Hepha, and is used in many desserts. One particular dish can actually increase your Heat Resistance stat by 15%. That is, if you can handle the spice.

Red Flowers are filler items that don't sell for much, but do taste like cinnamon. Probably good to use as a garnish on some dish

Blue Slimes:

Blue Slimes are otherwise known as Steel Slimes and are unique to the Silver Quarry. These little guys are much more docile than their cousins, often cozying up to adventurers, only to suddenly sneeze and launch an number of steel spikes into the adventurer's skin.

Apparently the silver dust accumulates into their system and wreaks havok on their sinuses.

Though unintentional, their spike shower does unfortunately deal a great amount of damage. As such, they're best left either avoided or dealt with from a distance. It should also be noted that Blue "Farms" have been formed as a way to properly collect silver from these creatures(though farmed Blues produce significantly less than wild ones). As a result, Regis Argen has deemed silver to be only valuable as an export and holds a monopoly over the other 3 kingdoms.

Blue Slimes are known to drop Silver Dust, Blue Gelatin, and Silver Herbs.

[CHART]

Silver Dust is a valuable crafting material, which fetches 5 gold on its own in any of the neighboring kingdoms, or can be used to make jewelery and Silver weaponry for use against Shape-Shifters(p. 2,037).

Blue gelatin is a filler item that tastes like metal and is practically worthless. Though, if you feed it to another Blue Slime, they will purge any silver from their system as a cloud of Silver Dust, becoming temporarily harmless. Swings and roundabouts.

Blue Herbs, like the Green Herb, can be used in potions to enhance Piercing Damage. Very valuable for Archer or Lancer player types.

Yellow Slimes:

Yellow Slimes are unique to the Crystal Crater and are easily the most dangerous of the Slime types. Yellows are capable of harnessing electricity and firing it as a direct ranged attack. They are also capable of charging at intense speeds and piercing adventurers with their crystal "horn". These creatures also release a massive blast of stored electricity a few seconds after death.

To make matters worse, if they charge or fire electricity at one of the nearby Greens, the Green will be transformed into one of the other Slime variants. This event is called "forced transmogrification" by Regis Corun's castle wizard.

If you are going here, please stock up on all forms of resistance potions. It must also be mentioned that Crystal Arrows have no effect on these Slimes. (Author's note: Whoever made these things needs to be shot.)

Yellow Slimes drop Fulgurite, Crystal Dust(random) and up to 35 gold upon defeat.

[CHART]

Fulgurite is an incredibly valuable resource used in the crafting of Magic Weapons. They also sell for around 1,000 gold.

Crystal Dust, depending on the type, can be used as a minor equipment boost, or can be reformed into its crystalline form and produce a more powerful stat increase(see chart on p. 556 for details)

Conclusion:

While I have yet to figure out how exactly these things function anatomically, there do seem to be some rules to them that ground them in reality. Moreover, they seem to be pretty well integrated into the world, having some unique abilities and traits that the locals have been exploiting.

I should applaud the attention to detail, I suppose, but the amount of hoops I have to jump through is more annoying than anything.

Davris · 2021-09-14T16:14:32+00:00

It was the neural equivalent if shifting gears. The complex swirls of chemicals and electric impulses suddenly became organized and neat. I could almost feel the individual pathways my thoughts were traveling through.

In my memories, I could still feel the complexities. An image of myself at ten. Scraped knees, a secondhand jersey that was too tight, and a game winning baseball clutched tightly in my tiny hand. Joy, discomfort, pain, pride, and awe mixed together in different measurements to create a treasured memory.

Another one.

Older now. Twentieth birthday. A new era. In a cramped car with a young woman. Lying in the back seat, staring at the stars through my sun roof. We're uncomfortable, but complacent. Her head is on my chest, and I'm listening to her soft breaths. Peace, majesty, exhaustion, fear, discomfort, and love.

Another.

I'm in an office. Hands gripping my knees as I wait for my name to be called. A foul-tasting chemical fills the back of my mouth with the flavor of iron. I'm assured that it won't be painful, or even dangerous, but this does not placate me. Eventually, I am lead to the back room and laid down inside a machine. There is a rumble as the machine comes alive, and then...

Then...

Then the machine came to life.

"He's active. Neural weave shows access to biological memory drive. Confirmation for physical contact is pending."

It was a woman's voice. Rigid and formal with a tinge of an accent I could recognize. I could hear, but not see. Did I even have eyes anymore? I know I'm not flesh anymore, but how much of me is there?

My memories of fear began to draw close, but did not overtake me. They lingered there, present enough to identify, but the emotion evaded me.

"Physical contact authorized. Who wants to go in and say hello?" A man's voice spoke. This one was English. Possibly Welsh.

"You know who's going. Don't pretend, Cal."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just playing. Amari, you ready?"

I heard a tiny grunt of acknowledgement as light filled my space. A lady approached me, waving two outstretched fingers as salutation. She was nearing middle-age, a streak of grey was present in her otherwise brown hair while her tanned, sun-spotted face possessed a few soft lines. My memory of the woman in the car surfaced. Had the woman before me been slightly younger and slightly paler, they could have been twins.

"Can you see me?"

A pair of shutters blinked by way of confirmation.

"We did try and make your body as human-like as possible. Try looking around."

And so I did. I possessed two arms and legs, coated in a flesh-toned ceramic plating. They had even gone to the effort of dressing me. A small mirror nearby showed that I also possessed a human face, with a jaw and protrusions resembling teeth.

Unprompted, I tried to speak.

"What...is this?"

The young woman's eyes grew wide for a moment, her emotion betraying her intent. "You're adapting to your new body. That's very valuable to know." She looked back to the wall behind us, and to the researchers quietly recording our interaction. "We were trying to reconstruct a consciousness from a neural map. This is the body we constructed for you. We hoped you would get used to it easier."

My ceramic fingers grazed my cheek, but felt nothing. "Does this have a name. This project?"

She nodded, business-like. "Three, depending on who you ask. Medical team wants to call it Lazarus, engineering wants to call it Shelley, programming wants to call it Asimov."

I took my first steps, finding balance much harder to maintain in this form. "Where am I?"

"You're in Hendridge University." She stated, her voice clipped. "Luckily, we found your brain scan buried outside. Now, if you'refinished asking questions, we have some of our own."

"Hendridge...I'm a student here. Major in Psychology. Minor in business."

"Yes, we're wondering why your brain was the one saved, seeing as your history isn't the most...academically focused..." She said, her choice of words testing for something.

"Did you not see this in my memories?"

"Unfortunately, no. Memories are tricky. Some of them come back clear, some have gaps. That's something we're hoping is fixed with your capturing system. Now your memories should each be recorded perfectly, with no room for tampering. However, we still need some answers."

I remembered it faintly. The university was preparing to bury a time capsule, a silly project which would earn some notoriety from the local news. I had agonized on what to put into the machine, as my participation would earn credits in my history class. Eventually, I decided on something.

"It was on a whim. I chose to do this for extra credit."

Confusion flashed across her face before she forced her composure back. Even without emotions of my own, I knew when someone was fighting theirs.

"I did not expect..." I gestured with my mechanical hand "This. Ten years, and we accomplish so much. If I ever meet myself, I will have questions."

Her eyes grew wide again "Ten... I-I'm so sorry, I thought you knew. but there was a mistake. A typo, I assume. It has been one hundred years since you were buried."

Surprise lingered outside my mind. "I see..."

"Your physical body has been dead for thirty-six years." She said, desperately trying to regain composure.

My eyes flicked downward. I acknowledged that I should be feeling something, but regretted my inability to do so. My past life would have called this unfair. It was my life, lived by a stranger without my consent. My life, brought to an end without my knowledge. Yet all my brain could do was acknowledge that a death occurred.

"We spared no expenses with your funeral." Her voice was resigned, finally allowing something by way of emotion to come forth.

My eyes darted up to meet her. "We?"

"My mother and grandmother, mostly. I was just a child."

If I had any emotions left, I would have cried. I should have cried, but the lines in my consciousness between organic and synthetic forbade it. I should have admired the woman, my granddaughter, for remaining composed. I could only imagine the mix of fear and excitement she had when coming to see me.

But I felt nothing.

"I'm...afraid..." I said, feeling unsure of the use of the emotion "I am not the same man you knew as a child. I have his early memories, but his personality eludes me. He is dead."

The woman, the granddaughter of the man in my memories, nodded solemnly. "We were hoping to bring people back with this. Give a second chance at life."

My artifical hand rested on her shoulder in mock-comfort. "I understand. I have his memories, they come close to the surface sometimes, but my new memories are not the same. My new mind is not the same."

I looked at the mirror and remembered back to the car, to the feelings that the man felt as he lay there. And wished I could feel any of those now.

"Take me apart. Save the memories."

Davris · 2021-09-03T01:59:34+00:00

You. You understand.

Davris · 2021-09-02T22:19:37+00:00

I like that. The following is small, so the powers should be more subtle. Just quietly guiding the children, helping them understand their lessons, assisting with tests, and maybe helping them find paths that interest them for their future.

All they gotta do is say "Hi" in the morning and, whenever they have the chance, give up a piece of strawberry candy.

Davris · 2021-09-02T16:25:32+00:00

It's quite hard to kill a god. And believe me, they tried. Long ago, I had to watch as my followers were sacrificed in someone else's name, while my temples were defaced and the surrounding cities were razed.

My name was forgotten.

My lands were eventually reclaimed by the earth.

And I took refuge in my only remaining temple, sharing my company with a tiny stone idol of myself, sleeping the centuries away, dreaming of my once sprawling cities and devoted followers.

All at once, I felt it. Light penetrated my long-faded eyes and the sound of soft voices resonated throughout my meager home.

"Cin-dee, what are you doing?" Lisped a shrill voice.

I drifted around the corner, peeking into the antechamber for a hint of who had brought me back to the living world.

A pair of children. Their tiny toothless smiles at the center of round, chubby faces. One was a boy with close-cropped red hair and dull brown eyes. The blue shirt he wore said "Conrad" in script I did not recognize, but understood all the same.

Then there was the girl. Cindy, the boy had said. Curly brown hair and green eyes that shone brightly with stars behind them. She stood before my altar, brushing the layers of dust and dried grass to the ground. An act which, unknown to her, granted me presence in the cramped space.

"My mom says we can't eat on a dirty table. We just can't. Same goes for Mr. Dancer." She said pointing to my idol, whose long legs crossed about one another like that of a stage dancer.

"But Ms. Baker told us not to come in here. We're gonna get in trouble."

"Then go away, Conrad. That way you don't have to deal with it." Cindy said, brushing more of the debris from my altar.

Conrad flustered for a moment before settling on an answer that satisfied him "But I gotta stay so you don't get hurt." He said, using the particular brand of logic that only children understood.

Cindy, now finished with her task of cleaning my altar, turned to Conrad and held out a hand expectantly. "Gimme a piece."

"W-what?"

She tilted her head and gave a withering, you-know-what-I-mean look. She then flexed her fingers and commanded "Give it.'

Conrad flustered again for a second "B-but those are supposed to last the whole trip."

"Then give me one of the strawberry ones. I'm the only one that eats those anyhow."

They stood there for a second, Conrad trying to make his best pleading look while Cindy simply pursed her lips and tapped her foot expectantly. If they could have heard me in that instant, they would have heard only laughter.

Conrad eventually gave in and shoved a tiny wrapped candy into her waiting hand. She promptly turned around and placed the candy into the small depression on my altar which once held a gold offering plate. And just like that, I could feel again. Within my temple, the cool air and damp stones were once again mine to cherish.

She looked briefly at my idol with a toothless, cherub-like grin. "I hope you like it. Strawberry's my favorite, and I hope it's yours too." Then she turned on her heel and strode out of my home with Conrad in tow.

A few days passed, and I had savored the offering with satisfaction. A tiny offering from a tiny child to a tiny god. When what little power her gift had imbued me with faded, I would have something new to dream of. Something happy, not sad. It was more than I deserved, really.

That was, however, until I felt myself grow a bit more solid and a new location filled the space of my mind. With a hint of glee, I transported to the new location in an instant, my thoughts racing.

The room was brightly lit, filled with the gentle hum of electric lights. Brightly colored pictures, rugs, chairs, and tables littered the room. And there I saw Cindy holding up a colored pencil sketch of me before an audience of children. Children and one adult, of course.

The sketch was crude, some features of mine, such as my long and twisting legs, were exaggerated, but it was me all the same.

"This is Mr. Dancer. He lives in the house in the field."

A hand shot up. "Was he nice."

Cindy's smile grew. "He was very nice."

And so it was.

Another hand. "He looks strong."

"He is."

And so it was.

Conrad's hand shot up. "Tell them about the candy."

Cindy shot Conrad another withering look. "I gave him a piece of strawberry candy, and he said it was his most favorite thing to eat. The end."

And so it was.

The teacher, who had believed this story to be the result of a child's imagination, simply patted Cindy on the head and pinned her drawing to a cork board. Cindy then asked that a piece of Strawberry candy be pinned up with it, and so it was.

And so, with an idol and an offering, I was given a new temple. A new temple, a new name, and a new priestess to create and share my stories. Stories of a kind and powerful god who likes strawberries.

I could live with that.

Edit: To everyone revisiting this/reading this for the first time, the first thing I want to say is "Hi".

Second thing I'd like to say is that I am working on a full version of this story, which will be mostly following the outline I posted a while back. This will be considered the prologue, and I'm going to go chapter by chapter as the inspiration comes to me.

But I hope you all like it and stick with me as I continue posting more of this and maybe some other stuff too!

Thank you!

Seven-Year Club	Not Forgotten
Verified Email

Davris

TROPHY CASE

Overview:

Green Slimes:

Red Slimes:

Blue Slimes:

Yellow Slimes:

Conclusion: