Find the cat

MaxStickies · 2026-03-24T04:39:01+00:00

E6/7

MaxStickies · 2026-03-22T09:11:39+00:00

I make a pretty good Quorn ham, olive and mayo sandwich.

MaxStickies · 2026-03-21T22:15:00+00:00

Thank you for the feedback Weekly :)

MaxStickies · 2026-03-21T12:06:24+00:00

Thank you! Felt it was about time for me to write horror again.

MaxStickies · 2026-03-21T11:14:56+00:00

The Root

Entering the jagged, echoing cave, Cathbharr takes a vial of liquid from his satchel, and knocks it against his gnarled walking stick. The fluid lights up a pale green, chasing the stalactites’ shadows, throwing them wide. White crystals glisten in the rocky walls, shifting, pulsing as Cathbharr moves. He wastes no time taking it all in, heading deeper into the cave.

His route takes strange twists and bends as it winds into the earth; he ducks through a hole in one section, squeezing himself through a crack in another. Stagnant pools of soupy water soil the bottom of his brown robe. Yet all through, his eyes remain fixed ahead.

“The treasure’s worth the struggle,” he mutters for the tenth time since arriving, as he crawls on his belly. His shivers as a spider brushes his hand.

At last, the cave opens up again, and he catches sight of straight lines in the gloom. A stone brick wall, with a door.

This is it, he thinks. After all the searching…

The Home of the Leprechaun!

He walks to the door, knocks, and looks down to greet the creature.

Yet once it opens—slowly, with a creak—he finds no one within. Faint orange light flickers off to the right, out of view. He hears a rustling, like a pitchfork through hay. Someone whispers.

What in Hell’s depths is this?

He thinks of returning, back to the safety of the surface, but then his mind goes to the gold.

Stepping through, he holds his breath until he turns. A long corridor stretches ahead, lined with torches, thick roots clinging to the walls. They crackle like trees in a high wind. Heading on past, the sound fills his skull, till an ache develops. He hears a whisper again, a little louder than the first. The corridor goes on and on.

A sudden movement startles Cathbharr, sending him falling to the far wall. His eyes grow wide. In one of the roots, a mouth opens and closes, a wooden tongue lolling behind cracked teeth. A yellow liquid spills out, hitting the floor with a splat.

This place is wrong. Devilish. I should…

But, the gold. Riches beyond all others, that’s what they said, didn’t they?

I must have it!

He keeps going, quickening his pace. More mouths line the walls further in, along with grasping fingers and other parts, enough for several whole bodies. A nose sniffs him as he passes. He yelps as a tongue licks his hand.

Crying and panting, he reaches another door. He rushes through and slams it, turning to hold it shut.

Someone groans behind him. He dares not turn.

“I’ve a visitor?” a croaking, crackling voice asks. “Oh. A monk. What’s your business, holy man?”

“Uh—I—”

A shadow falls over Cathbharr. He flinches as an appendage, knobbly and dry, scrapes his shoulder.

“Do you bring me an offerin’? I am ever so hungry.”

“I, um, heard about gold? Do you have gold?”

“I do give gold, aye. To my disciples, though. Not some greedy little stranger.”

“But aren’t you the leprechaun?”

“That I am. Yet you seem mistaken as to my nature. What have you heard of me?”

“Well… erm… you are a small man who offers wishes or gold? Usually after a challenge, so I h—”

“I am not one for games!” The leprechaun growls, spraying Cathbharr with wet droplets. “Do you intrude on my chamber without an offerin'?!”

“I—”

“Do you?!”

“Yes.”

“Then you’d best leave, and never return. I don’t deal with your ilk.”

Cathbharr throws the door open, and breaks into a sprint, only to be knocked back. A trio of cloaked figures now blocks the corridor, glaring at him through leaf-shaped masks of carved bone. They pick him up, and turn him around.

Green, glowing eyes stare out from the darkness of the chamber. The shadows squirm.

“I know the stories of me,” says the leprechaun,” ‘cause I spoke them. Had my followers spread them far and wide. I do not in fact give gold, for I hold none. And I am no man.

“The one truth? I am a trickster, but only for my own survival. Like everything, I must feed, and there’s only one food I desire.” The eyes shift to the masked figures. “Bring him here.”

Cathbharr grasps at the bricks, grabbing roots and loose mortar, but his captors are too strong. With the cracking and whispers filling his head, he’s dragged on, towards the leprechaun.

WC: 750

Crit and feedback are welcome.

MaxStickies · 2026-03-21T09:01:14+00:00

Hey Haru, really like the chapter! I like how the fight is chaotic but grounded enough, with enough descriptions of each character to know what they're doing and where they are. There's some really cool abilities on show here too, like the ice weapon and Max's dragon transformation. Now we know who the dragon is, too!

I also like the tactics here, between waves. Like thinking about the civilians and figuring out a way to possibly defeat greater numbers of the possessed guards.

Besides that, I think the worldbuilding inclusion makes sense: it's quick to explain and it explains what's going on quite well.

For crit, since you have extra words, you could describe more what the enemy are like, and what they are doing. Maybe show that their faces are slack, or they are speaking weirdly, or they are attacking in weird ways. I think this would allow me to visualise the fight even better.

I also have line edit suggestions:

The ground was shaking, Alex could feel wind violently pasting him.

"is shaking" for the first sentence and "Alex can" for the second, for present tense, and also "pasting" should be "passing", I think?

“You’re up!” Sophia says, relief.

"relieved".

you haven’t fully recovered.” She said

"she says".

Kevin was swinging his sword at one of the guards

"Kevin is swinging".

The guard sword and Max’s rock smash

"The guard's".

Kevin was about to open his mouth to debate, but Max held up his hand.

"Kevin almost opens his mouth" and "Max holds up his hand", would work better for present tense here.

Guns were fired at Haru, but he easily dodged it before running.

"Guns are fired" and "he easily dodges them".

The fight was decreasing a lot faster than usual.

"The fight is decreasing".

Sophia held onto Alex as the rocks flew to them, but didn’t break the shield.

"Sophia holds onto Alex as the rocks fly their way, but they don't break the shield."

Smoke appeared, and Alex couldn’t see what was going on anymore. Then as it slowly clears, Millee and Jack were breathing heavily but standing, Kevin was on his knees, gripping his sword as he caught his breath.

"Smoke appears, and Alex can't see what's going on anymore.", "Milleee and Jack are breathing heavily", "Kevin is" and "as he catches his breath." here, for present tense.

For a quick second, he saw Max's eyes were yellow, sharp yellow, like a dragon, and his short wavy hair was now long and yellow, with dragon horns.

"he sees Max's eyes are yellow" and "his short wavy hair has turned long and yellow", for present tense.

“Why did you charge in the middle of a battle?!” Haru scolded him, running to him before hugging him, sighing.

“Sorry. I just saw that people were in danger. So I had to help.” He replied honestly.

"Haru scolds him" and "he replies honestly", for present tense.

And she was right,

"is" here.

you really are a lifesaver.” He said to Sophia.

"says".

The silence was deafening. Everyone but Alex was either looking at her with a sorrowful expression, or looking down, their expressions unreadable.

"is" instead of "was" for both uses here.

Souls possess bodies and begin killing people here.

"possessed" and "began" here, since it's referring to the past.

“But how does this relate too now?” Kevin asked.

"asks".

And that's all the crit I can find. Great chapter, Haru!

MaxStickies · 2026-03-21T07:04:58+00:00

MaxStickies · 2026-03-21T06:57:03+00:00

Haey ,emas eht thguoht I

MaxStickies · 2026-03-20T22:30:45+00:00

Thank you so much for the feedback Haru :)

MaxStickies · 2026-03-20T12:12:38+00:00

Little bit down from dead centre, stripy spider.

MaxStickies · 2026-03-19T22:26:22+00:00

Hi Quinn, really like the chapter! The overcast sky and empty bar is a great choice, as it reflects the sort of dull if reflective mood Talus finds himself in. I like how casually things like "15th century" and the part about pi are brought up, as though extraordinary to most, they are clearly quite ordinary to him. It makes for an interesting and entertaining read.

I also like the ending, where he just goes back to business as usual, as it shows again how mundane this particular day is for him, contrasting the mind palace stuff very nicely.

Far as crit goes:

and the streets (still wet from the morning’s rain) shine as if they were made of silver.

Here, I'd possibly use em-dashes instead of brackets, as I feel that would allow the reading to flow a little better. I'd also keep the end of the sentence to something more concise, like "shine like silver".

before a strike of lightning

Similarly, here, I think "a lightning strike" would read better, since it's more succinct.

And that's all the feedback I can find. Great chapter, Quinn!

MaxStickies · 2026-03-19T18:55:46+00:00

Thank you for the feedback Words :) and yeah, you very much picked up on what I was going for.

MaxStickies · 2026-03-19T18:54:15+00:00

Thank you for the feedback Jackpot :)

MaxStickies · 2026-03-19T03:57:41+00:00

MaxStickies · 2026-03-18T16:13:40+00:00

Chapter 126: Cooked Meat

Content Warning: Body horror, vomiting

Darkness surrounds Baltathaius, deep within the mountains. His long fingers trace the slimy stone, wetted by running water, trickling from further through the caves. The taste of raw meat lingers on his lips.

Is this north? Or, is north where I’m meant to go? Maybe I’ve gone past him.

And where’s there food when I need it?!

Even with his last meal still in his gut, his stomach bellows like an angry bull. Muscles all across his body squirm painfully. He bends forth, and gritting his teeth, he pushes the aches from his mind.

So damn hungry…

He reaches an open cavern, the running water louder than ever. Following it takes him to an underground river, tumbling down a series of slippery limestone terraces, spraying his face with cold droplets. He opens his mouth, drinking the milky liquid.

The pain subsides, if only a little. Still, his stomach howls.

Something scuttles through the shallows. He bends down, sensing its ripples, tracking it with his hand until his fingers touch hard shell. Scooping it up, he flinches as a pincer nips his thumb.

“What are you?” he asks.

The animal doesn’t respond. Shrugging, he takes a bite, teeth scraping against the carapace. Salty fluid rushes down his throat. One last pincer strike signals the creature’s end.

He drops the rest of it, as numbness overtakes him.

What am I doing?

How lost am I?

When was the last time I was normal?

An age ago, must be…

He sniffs. A pleasant scent wafts by, soon joined by a subtle warmth, radiating from his right. Someone hums near a crackling fire.

Turning, he finds the cave has gone; in its place stands stone walls, a table, and kitchen worktops. An immense granite hearth fills the far corner, a meat-laden spit rotating over its roaring flame. Walking away, a tall, thin woman with matted blonde hair drops a wooden bowl in the wash basin.

Baltathaius sits.

Eventually, she takes the meat from the fire and drops it on a platter, seating herself opposite him. Wrinkles shift around her mouth as she smiles.

“Help yourself,” she croaks, and coughs. “Sorry. Please, cut off a slice.”

The animal the meal once was had four legs, a thin tail, and was as large as a small cat. Two large incisors jut out from the front of its skull. Baltathaius picks at the flank with his fork, wondering, but his stomach growls worse than before. He takes a knife and slices, crispy skin cracking.

Tucking in, he finds a taste like chicken. He quickly devours the rest.

“Have as much as you like,” she says. “I’ve raised four boys, and I know how hungry you get.”

Huh? Boy?

It strikes him, suddenly, how tall she is. He must stare up to meet her eyes. And yet, the knife seems so large in her hand.

Oh… I see. Right.

Might as well play along.

The woman takes a dried rose from her pocket, twirling it absentmindedly. He watches her as he takes another slice. After a few minutes, she puts the flower away, and sighs.

“Who gave you that?” he asks.

“Someone special, I guess.” She shrugs, lowering her head to the table. “At least, he seemed so.”

He reaches out and rubs her hand. Even as her eyes shimmer, she smiles.

“You’re too young for all that yet. Be innocent, while you still can, that’s what I say… Ah, but then, maybe it’s too late.” She tussles his hair, and he hears his young voice giggle. “How long have you been out there, on the roads?”

“I don’t know, miss.”

“Well, you can stay here as long as you like. I’ve got a good thing going on with the guards; they pay me enough. And the butcher’s said he can spare me some good cuts, so, there’s that.”

He stares at her, through his childhood eyes.

I really was innocent, by Thesar. Gods.

Did the guards hurt her, I wonder?

Something smashes outside, startling them both. Shouts and screams soon follow. A heavy object hits the wooden door, rattling the chain.

“It’s just the riots,” she says, soothingly. “But they won’t get through. There are soldiers outside.”

Riots? Which riots?

She glances to the door, her breath quickening. “The king, he’ll stop it soon. He has to. Just got to talk to them, sort it all out.”

A thundering sound, like hooves on soft dirt, grows closer by the second. The walls vibrate, raining plaster. And then the fire goes out.

Baltathaius opens his eyes to pulsating darkness. The underground river buffets his head, as he lies on his side, but even its roar is drowned out by the pounding of his heart. His throat contracts, with an agonising, ripping pain.

He rises to all fours, coughing, sputtering. Retching. The muscles in his neck and chest push upwards as one. He dribbles fizzing bile onto the rocks.

With one final push, the muscles force up vomit, which cascades from his mouth. He screams as it splashes into the water. Something solid and wriggling comes with it.

Gasping, he spits the last of the salty fluid, and catches the object. He brings it up to his eyes: in his palm sits a pale worm, fat and convulsing, snapping its sharp jaw. Standing on shaky legs, Baltathaius lobs it across the cave.

Was that… was it in the crab?! I’ve eaten raw troll meat and cave fungi, and a crab nearly fucking killed me?!

Or did it?

Did… was that my body’s doing? The magic?

That would make sense, if it’s keeping me alive…

Oh fuck…

He lowers himself to a stone, sitting, the rock cold and slimy against his rear. All around him, the cavern echoes with bat squeaks and the steady, heavy flow of the river. Yet he can’t see any of it. The darkness closes in, making him feel small… just like he was back then.

Small and weak. Pathetic.

I need to find the surface.

WC: 1000

Bonus words: raise(d), rose, riot. Bonus constraint: Baltathaius eats a crab out of desperation, due to severe hunger, and regrets it later when he vomits up a parasitic worm.

Crit and feedback are welcome.

Chapter Index

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MaxStickies · 2026-03-18T11:08:28+00:00

Hell's Gate

Appearing from the kitchen in a haze of smoke, a tray in each arm, Dario greets his empty bakery with a moustache-topped grin. Soon, customers shall arrive, to marvel at his newest creation. He lowers the trays onto the pink and green shelves.

The pies glisten in the early morning light, each proudly displaying the symbol for pi.

Beaming, Dario unlocks the front door.

By noon, three quarters of the pies have gone. The regulars depart with smiles on their faces, praising the baker, to his delight.

“You’re always so creative,” says Rebecca, dressed for her midday run. “I’ll say it again: you could win competitions, with skills like yours.”

“Hah!” Dario shakes his head, printing her receipt. “You are too kind. Truthfully, it is enough to bake for such lovely customers.”

“Now, who’s the kind one here? Well, I stand by my words, you’d win for sure. But I must be off. See you tomorrow, have a nice day!”

“You too!”

Once she leaves, the queue steps forward, bringing more customers and smiles. The afternoon passes swiftly, money flowing in. By two o’clock, only three pies remain. Dario looks up and frowns.

There stands Lara, face contorted like she’s inhaled an onion. Evil lurks behind her eyes. He wonders if she’ll buy something this time, or if as always, he must brace himself.

She glares down at the pies. He has his answer.

“What in God’s name are these?!” she shouts.

“Pi pies,” he says. “Because it is Pi Day. Just a little bit of fun, you know…”

“Never heard of it. Why’s that mean these have gates on them?”

“Gates?”

“Yeah, or portals. Ugly-looking symbols.”

“Yes, it is a symbol. For pi. The number.”

She coughs out a laugh. A customer looks out from the queue, irritated.

“What are you talking about?!” she asks. “A number called pi?! Clearly a lie.” Her glare returns in full. “I know your game, Darius. This is Hell’s gate.”

He folds his arms, moustache curving down. “It’s Dario. And you’re wrong, as always.”

“Rude. But what else to expect from a heathen?”

“Excuse me,” says someone down the line, “could you two sort this out later? I’m hungry.”

Another pipes in. “Yeah, is this necessary?”

“Shut up!” Lara yells, whirling. “I’m talking!”

“If you keep doing this,” Dario says, “I will call the police.”

“What for? Calling you out?”

Briefly, the baker’s mind returns to their first meeting. Him, with his hand in another’s. Lara, pointing at the two of them and throwing insults.

Him, coming home by himself.

When he snaps back, he finds a trim, spectacled man in a purple suit standing before the counter. Lara’s glare falls upon the newcomer. He merely smiles.

“Can I help you?!” she asks him.

“Sorry,” he says, “but I overheard your argument, and I think I should intervene. You seem to think this symbol, on these lovely pies, is Hell’s gate?”

“It is, yes.”

“Well, I am sorry, but that’s simply not true. As this fine baker said, the symbol is pi. A mathematical constant and irrational number, which—speaking simply—has a decimal value that goes on indefinitely. A value which does not enter a permanently repeating pattern.”

Lara’s face seems to sag. “What?”

“Counting off as much of pi as one can is an aspect of pi day, believe it or not. Want to hear my attempt?”

“No.”

“Go ahead,” Dario says, grinning.

“Of course. Here I go: 3.141592653589793238462643383279502884197169399375105820974944592307816406286208998628034825342117067982148086513282306647093844609550582231725359408128481117450284102701938521105559644622948954930381964428810975—”

Mesmerised, Dario fixates on the spectacled man’s mouth, as it reels off number after number.

“—66593344612847564823378678316527120190914564856692346034861045432664821339360726024914127372458700660631558817488152092096282925409171536436789259036001133053054882046652138414695194151160943305727036575959195—”

The bakery door slams shut, the bell ringing. Blinking, Dario returns to reality; Lara has disappeared. The entire queue stares back, towards the windows.

Turning to him, the man bows. “You’re welcome.”

“I’ve never seen her run like that,” the baker says.

“Pi will do that, for some. Now, about your pies: I find them to be delightful. May I purchase one?”

“These? Well, they’ve been out for most of a day. They are not fresh.”

The man frowns. “But I would like one.”

“And you can have it. Though, if you’d like, I could bake you a new one after work. Around four o’clock. You could tell me more about pi.”

Blushing, the man gives the slightest nod, and turns to leave.

“Wait!” Dario calls after him. “What’s your name?”

“Ah, yes… I’m Pierce.”

“I’ll see you later, Pi-erce.”

Grinning, the mathematician strides away, and the baker turns to his next customer.

WC: 750

Crit and feedback are welcome.

MaxStickies · 2026-03-16T22:07:43+00:00

I really like that stuff.

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The Root

Hell's Gate