D&D Snippets II: The Snippetting

[Winds]

The Truth

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I must admit...as much as I don't like either of them...I feel much more at ease with Aileph leading and Jessica supporting.

Since Kol is trap-checking, it falls to me to explain what we've been up to. They, in turn, explain that after finding our corpses, they got word to a wizard, who informed them we were still active, and transported them to us...more or less.

Something about it rings untrue, of course. Even to someone as relatively unskilled at reading people as I am, they almost radiate discomfort. No matter. They're both so dedicated to doing the right thing that I'm certain I can trust them. In any case, I have a secret of my own, and pushing them won't help matters...even if I did think I could push them to reveal something they thought needed to be hidden.

Soon after we finish catching up, Kol waves as to silence. He's standing in front of a large, dark door with several sigils inscribed on it.

"Look."

He presses a hand to the door. Unlike the rest of the place, it won't let ghosts pass through.

"Pedestal chamber?"

"Warded...even against ghosts, in a realm where souls are generally solid. If it isn't the chamber, it's something important."

"Right. I don't see any trap markings...but I want to be sure. That room will be guarded. What do you sense? Or you Aileph?"

"I can't feel anything but evil, and a lot of it. Couldn't even tell you the strengths of the auras without more focus than I particularly want to direct."

"If by that you mean you wish you could shut off your higher senses, I know what you mean. I can usually guess what a given spell lattice is for, but this place...there are spells, old and current, all though this place. I can't tell anything. But maybe we can do something else..."

I kneel and try phasing through the floor. It lets me pass...

And I really wish it hadn't. I choke back a scream-something I'm quite adept at now...and return to the group.

"Warlock...ya look like you've seen a ghost."

Jessica giggles at that.

"Pit lords. Erinyes. Others...doing things to each other."

"Like what?"

"Bad things. Not going that way."

"Then...I guess we do it direct. Kol, you're sure it isn't trapped?"

"Yes."

"Jessica? War-Kalach, are you up to this?"

I grimace and shake my head hard. "Open the door, paladin."

Behind the door is a pit lord. Ready for us, bearing a very large sword. At the thing's feet, the pedestal with the keystone sword.

"Kalach, can it hurt a ghost?"

"Almost certainly. And it's tough. Can't be harmed by normal weapons."

It seems content to stand guard, giving us a taunting grin. I throw a glob of acid, noting that that doesn't hurt it much.

"Any ideas?"

"Yes."

Kol, to everyone's surprise charges straight at the thing. Thankfully, the fiend is equally thrown-enough to make it miss him. The quick-thinking scout managed to pull the sword free.

The look on that pit fiend's face as the room shifts to being an ordinary tower room is enough to give me a warm feeling. Wish I had been the one to cause it.

Kol sets the sword down beside him.

"So..who wants to do the honors?"

"No one should, yet. This time, you need to listen to me."

Aileph seems about to say something biting, but he subsides and gives a curt nod after Jessica glances at him.

"Okay...so what is it, Kalach? What do you need to say?"

"I need to tell you more about the towers...and what happened to me when I drew from the deck.

You see, my soul was carried...well, to where we just were. Asmodeus...has been watching us. He did not care for my part in opposing his plans. He hurt me. A lot. But then, the balance card hit...and he made me a deal. He put me back...and told me to keep going. See, these towers...accidentally tied into the great magic that keeps him from working directly outside the Nine. Each tower lost weakens that spell...lets him use more power."

Aileph and Jessica look shocked by this. Kol looks concerned, which is about the same by his standards.

"So...we can't just break them. We need to claim them for deities that can hold them."

"Right. A good, champion deity. Several, since there's more than one tower left. You three can mull it over."

Aileph taps the phylactery he wears.

"This can tell whether the wearer's patron would approve of a given action...and Helm would very much not approve."

He offers it to Kol, who says the same of the Red Knight, his patron.

Jessica speaks up shyly.

"Um...we could claim it for my father..."

Shock and concern again. This time, I'm left spluttering.

"Your father...? That...but...huh."

Aileph, Kol and I share glances. No better ideas. She takes up the sword and stabs it into the pedestal, shouting something I can't quite make out. Everything goes white...but I can see a white metal helm, lit from within. All the same shade, but still visible.

I also feel a pain in my stomach. I look down to see the greatsword in the being's hands, and the fact that my ghostly body is already fading into ectoplasm.

"Interesting...choice..."

And then the white is gone.

Yep. How's that for a cliffhanger?

[Arkhosia]

The roguish type.
A short snippet introducing the first (well second) member of Caelynn's party.

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Now, before you join my entourage-" The dark elf, wearing a green blouse, purple cap and cape, and short blue skirt, leaning against the wall with her legs crossed and right arm holding a card deck, gestures toward her left where two figures stood. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't call us that! Besides, why do you get to tell your life story but not us?!" A tall Eladrin on the far left interrupted. He had an indignant, yet mischevious look on his face and his bright cobalt eyes shining with mirth. His black leather boots resting on the table, a beat up red-detailed trench coat, and a long blade on the loop of a satchel hanging on the back of his chair gave him a cocky appearance. "You elected me the party leader. Besides, your parents named you Roadkill!" The eladrin made a throwing gesture, and an illusory tankard of ale flew at Caelynn and shattered. "My parents were a**holess!" Roadkill said in a hurt voice, but his expression showed he enjoyed every minute of this. "And I told you to call me The magnificent Mage and maelstrom of misorder! And my backstory is awesome! The readers love a party magician." "Just ignore the elf. I don't know what he says half the time. So what's so special about you?"

Give me a character bio and my favorite will be used!

[Doxkid]

Barnabas Of Hollow Soul.

Artemis Of Brewing Storms

The Beginning

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In the small Halfling forest of Heart-Grove every child’s birth is cause for celebration, but this one’s was a particularly special occasion.

His mother’s family, already overflowing with shape-shifting mages aligned with nature’s will, saw potential in their new scion the likes of which none had achieved in decades. Merely carrying this baby had increased his mother’s power tenfold; so much so that she could barely contain her own magic, which reached out and invigorated all simple forms of life for miles every time she rose from rest and every time she lay down to sleep.

The small ‘town’, a few dens and tree-homes arranged around a handful of shops, knew from her child’s quickening onward to care for their own wounds privately if they did not wish for a stray spell to catch them off guard while she passed by; it became something of a joke that she belonged more to the healing tribes found living in the wild territories of the three prophetic dragon-gods than in the forest among those who knew her best.

None commented on the small silver locket she carried, a relic of the days long past where she adventured out in the savage lands with persons unknown.All who knew her politely held their curiosity at bay whenever she took a moment to caress the strangely scarred and smoothed trinket with the timid touch of a person who had seen all that they loved vanish in the wind. That she chose to return to her homeland to birth her child was all her family needed to welcome her back with open arms.

Early in a frigid fall morning she brought her child into the world. Seeking glory through the prodigy, elders humbly offered her their own names for the infant. They reminded her of many small favored from years past, subtly suggesting that her child would carry on their legacy when they finally fell to age.

She rebuked each of them, her locket held in hand and her baby to her heart.

“Barnabas.” She whispered to her midwife, one of her many siblings. “…His name will be Barnabas.” And that was the end of that.

No one noticed or cared about the sand wrapping around the roots of their eldest trees. What, in all, is a bit of odd dirt to those who take false forms to relax after a long day; to those who mark the passage of time by growing closer to trees rather than their own beautiful brides; to those who sup with the great personalities of the forest and later name them as “The Young Doe, the Great Horned Owl and the Clever Finch. Oh, and also some man who wandered by.”?

Celebration gave way to quiet, as is the natural way, and then celebration and quiet again in endless cycles as seasons passed and new occasions arose. Indoctrinated to accept life as it is from before his first thoughts had even formed, young Barnabas witnessed as much of the obvious parts of nature as he was allowed; when the Clever Finch grew too old and too slow he watched it land and take a final rest, witnessing greatness pass without a way to put words to his feelings; when the Great Horned Owl brought home a fresh kill Barnabas watched it take a life to sustain its own; when the Young Doe gave birth he watched a new life begin, paid for by effort and pain and the energy of the forest.

His first words were lost in a flurry of activity, more celebrations and quiets passing him by. Now, though, he could marvel aloud at each wonder, asking again and again the name of each action or actor and the why behind it all. At four years old, with his mind assured of the fullness to his knowledge and with sand secretly slithering under his home, Barnabas took the study of nature into his own hands.

When nature turned against itself, when powerful creatures preyed upon their weaker cousins, he was there to grant mercy to the weak. When the Great Horned Owl struck down a mouse Barnabas was there too, shooing the bird away so he could tend the rodent’s wounds…or give it a place to rest eternally, if need be. His aunts and uncles laughed. “We’ve a little paladin in our midst!” they exclaimed. “Better play nice with that grass, miss Young Doe, or he’ll stop you from eating that too!”

This was a village of close bonds and kindness, so him rejecting the natural order was merely a child misunderstanding how things had to be; this was something to be chided gently, but immediately forgiven…If, of course, you exclude the teasing this attracted from more learned children. “He will learn…he will learn…for now his heart is almost too large. But he will learn and we will all be the better for his kindness.” many elders said, still watching over his progress closely.

Many trees, denied the much needed touch of soil by the grasp of sand, came to complain of the problem to their keepers. This was considered so minor a problem that a single acolyte of magic was needed to correct it, shifting dirt and sand around until she could get at large pools and return much of it to a fertile state all at once. That was that and no further interest was paid to the matter, not even to discover how or why it had happened; No one has time to ponder what had probably been a minor spell gone wrong, after all, when they could instead laugh as a prodigy of magic rescues flies from spiders or worms from shrew.

Within months though, the sand returned to choking life from the forest.

Some were amused. This was slightly less bothersome than that odd prank which changed the gender of every beast in the forest, but it was still a matter that needed little attention. An elder tree-keeper resolved the issue without even leaving her bath, adding a touch of extra magic to keep the ground as healthy as ever before.

It only took days for the sand to return. And now it did not merely hide out of sight; rivulets of the stuff blossomed under every tree, around every home and through every den. Now those who tended to these things grew annoyed.

Seven of the mightiest mages from the forest joined their magic and collectively purged the land of this not so subtle blight. Within seconds it was back, dripping from every creature and plant like morning dew disturbed from its place upon a leaf.

Barnabas’ mother finally caught wind of these strange goings on. With her son missing, hidden behind some tree or shrub looking for a chance to be a hero, she took up arms and clad herself in the best of her old armor. Many asked what was happening, if she knew more of these events, if this was her doing, if this was something that could easily be stopped; her answers were always vague and cheering, but her body-language spoke of a horror none would survive.

As the sun set and Barnabas came home to ask another round of questions about the ‘Why’ and the ‘How’ of life, his mother drew her sword and roared a challenge to the first stretches of darkness. Many took to their trees or homes, retreating to watch from afar…but nothing happened.

Barnabas tugged incessantly at his mother’s arm, begging her to lower the life-harming sword in her grasp, but his strength was that of a child’s and hers was that of a warrior; she did not at all seem to hear his wailing as she waited for darkness to fall and roared out another challenge. The sand below them quivered and danced, but her stance was strong and her footing sure.

Many sent their companions and close friends, plants and beasts of the forest attuned to night, out to scout the darkest reaches of their territory. Those who allowed the wolves and owls and foxes from their side never caught glimpse of their companion again, nor did they hear the last cries of their favored beast as it fell.

In the dead of night Barnabas lay at his mother’s feet, voice cracked from his pleas for her to lower her weapon. Her ears were not for his cries, but instead for some silent enemy yet to appear before her; again she roared a challenge, no more using words than the ocean does during a harsh storm.

Their common methods and divinations failing, elders and knights of the land prepared themselves for battle within their hiding holes. A brave minority came to stand beside the warrior woman and her young. All of them had passed the test of battle before, but none knew of war as she did; at her side they looked to be children playing soldier, each unsure of themself even when their age was three or four times that of hers.

With the coming dawn not far some considered lowering their weapons and allowing the defensive spells they had prepared to return to nature. But again she roared her challenge, waking Barnabas at her feet which had not once moved even though the sand now flowed like water over her boots.

They then heard a laugh, a deep, warm laugh; one that put some of them at ease. Only the last warrior still standing –for many took a seat to rest their legs or doze against a sand weeping oak – found a foe in that voice.

Barnabas and his mother alike hissed, instinct won by birthright awakening within him and instinct carved from lost flesh and spilt blood stirring within her.

Immediately she roared another challenge into the darkness. The darkness roared a challenge back.

Sand swept away from her, receding as the tide would before an earth shattering wave. She strode after it with Barnabas crawling at her side, motherhood forgotten as she searched for her foe. Again she roared into the darkness. Again the darkness roared back, its voice magnified tenfold by a fear it instilled that only a species of former prey could possibly know or understand. Some elders ran, forgetting oaths to serve the village in favor of saving themselves. Some swordsmen lay down their arms and fell prostrate, hoping for mercy from the foe they could not see but they knew to be there. None followed her though, favoring the limited light and well known territory of their own streets over once or twice-walked paths in the forests depths.

The darkness did not wait for her to roar again. What must have been thousands of foul beings rose from sand and shadows and portals into the ether; Barnabas, ignorant to the world beyond his forest, instinctively knew these were not victims, not weak, not afraid and definitely not alive. For once he approved of his mother’s weapon.

The forest fell silent as the warrior woman roared one last challenge; unlike the others it did not fall when she drew breath, instead feeding upon long hidden rage. Her pace quickened and Barnabas could barely keep up. She barely noted him, senses trained against actual threats lurking just beyond sight. The laughter sounded again, but her rage drowned it out. Her thunderous footfalls crushed the weaker voice of the legion born from darkness as she charged them and they hesitated, afraid for the first time since their lives had ended and began anew.

With her son only a stride behind her she fell upon the many monsters wearing the skin of men. Her sword resonated with her unending roar, her unceasing challenge for the army to find her even ONE opponent that could be her match. Five or ten beings fell to each of her blows and she struck out with all the anger of a woman widowed, of a warrior isolated from their comrades by the ennobled deaths upon the battlefield. Her charge slowed only long enough for her to reach behind herself to drag Barnabas closer, just as her lucidity waned and her fury grew.

Those clever enough to see her child as a weakness found themselves at a loss for what to do; her constant attacks drove the army apart by felling some and keeping fresh a once forgotten sense of mortality in others.

But still the laughter persisted, too quiet to be heard over her roar but still there; even if only she heard it, that was enough to keep her movements quick to ensure none that even managed to lightly scrape her side survived to brag about it. None cared if Barnabas still had a voice or even that he was there in the first place.

The first hints of dawn peeked over the horizon as her cried finally fell silent, a path of barely illuminating fallen foes stretching too far beyond the limits of sight. Ahead and around the pair an army of undeath loomed. Barnabas choked silently, his body too drained to sob, his legs weak after running without pause and his arm bruised by a berserker’s strength hidden behind a mother’s guiding grasp.

His mother stood tall in the growing light, looking the part of the knight who rescues a princess; while her thick armor had found itself scuffed and scratched and bloody, she seemed stronger for it. If not for her slow panting, Barnabas might have believed that strength would never fail.

And then they heard the laughter once again. She answered the unknown foe with a battle cry that rustled trees and rushed into the fray again, Barnabas still carried along in her wake.

Denizen of the forest – oft without flesh upon their bones or with their bodies frozen in the earliest stages of decay – came forward to fall to her blade. Massive creatures without names stooped to strike at her and learned of their mistake only when they backed away without an arm. Beings that were almost men and women maneuvered around her, employing complex tactics that afforded them true death by her hand half a second after their peers. Even spells washed over her, painting the landscape but unable to slow her beyond the minor effort of shifting to weather magic meant for her son.

Hours later her voice broke and her pace slowed. The sun refused to rise into the sky, only the first touches of its light illuminating the battle. Her sword and gauntlets were filthy with blood and ichor; the coating of crimson so thick one could barely tell where metal ended and leather began, or even if there was a material to it besides the blood of those who dared oppose her.

The laughter did not stop but finally she did. Cursed ghouls considered her weakened form warily, unwilling to approach she who had slain oh so many of them already. Some others, vampires perhaps, licked their lips at the blood streaming from the rare few cuts in her armor, but stayed back knowing what became of the others who were more daring. Even the simplest of undead were held at bay by the sheer force of her anger and strength; zombies swayed in the softest of winds, their connection to their dark masters weakened momentarily by her mere presence.

None wanted to approach her first. Truth be told, most wanted to simply run away and hide in some dank corner of the universe where they would never cross her path ever again. Her panting slowed as she regained a measure of her lost strength and stood proud once again; several of those upon the front line took a step back, pressing themselves into their brethren undead to stay just a little farther out of her reach.

“Impressive.” A man chimed in, so jovial one could easily forget for a moment that life eating monstrosities openly stood in every direction. “I expected much from you…but this? All of this? Magnificent!” Barnabas whimpered as much as he was able, the voice as terrifying to him as his every nightmare combined and yet somehow pleasing to the ear. His mother shifted her stand slightly, her head slowly turning in hopes of pinpointing the source of the man’s voice for her next charge.

“Oh? Who is this little guy next to you?” From a thick wall of mummified priests strode a Halfling man in regal attire, every facet of his appearance inappropriately immaculate for someone surrounded by ugly undeath. A moment later a scaled beast took a place at his side, its form locked somewhere in the grey area between Dragon and Alligator, Crocodile and Drake. Sand rose from where their feet struck, the ground rippling under them as dirt and grass became dust and grit. “He looks quite familiar…doesn’t he look familiar, my widdle gum-drop?” The large reptile did not even seem to notice as the Halfling man, a full head shorter than it, reached up to stroke its neck. “Yes he does! Yes he does! You’re so smart! Yes you are!”

She said nothing in response, barely keeping her anger in check. Barnabas said nothing in response, both because he could not and because he did not wish to. The undead shifted anxiously, knowing either of the mortal powder-kegs could easily be the end of them.

“I think someone is supposed to introduce the proud uncle to his only nephew; don’t you think so gum-drop? Don’t you think it’s impolite to leave two gentlemen and a gentle-gator guessing at each other’s names?” The reptile slowly opened its mouth, releasing an overly long tongue tipped with sharp talons. The appendage, easily as long as the Halfling was tall, flicked up to scratch above the reptiles eye before receding into its mouth. Eventually the beast blinked that eye, the other orb gazing blankly into space. “You’re right! I need to take matters into my own hands! You’re so clever, aren’t you boy?”

With a flourish the Halfling bowed. “Good morning, my youthful kin. I am your devilishly handsome, spectacularly clever uncle; please call me Artemis.” He waited a beat and then stood tall once again. “I don’t suppose Jenny has told you much about me. Nothing good anyway; she always was a stick in the mud, eh?”

The conversation was distinctly one sided. No wildlife persisted to make a sound, no undead cared to wheeze and Barnabas had fallen silent once again.

“She was never too creative either. Did you know that? I bet you knew that. That’s my silly little sister-in-law Jenny; boorish, stick in the mud, party pooper extraordinaire! Did you know that she once told me she didn’t have time for fun?! Everyone has time for fun…even when we’re falling into layer five hundred and eight of the Abyss. Boy was that a party for the ages.” His infectious happiness did not belong there, but it spread all the same. Ghasts cracked smiles against their will. Zombies released slow pulses of air that might have been giggles if produced by any other being.

“That’s good though. You always know just what boring old Jenny is going to do, even when she doesn’t know herself. Like how she fell in love with my brother; who didn’t see that coming? Or like how she came home, after everyone else …” he struggled for words endearingly, looking to a savage and pale Gnoll for help. One of his hands swept outward, displaying two gaudy rings as he indicated the mass of undead around himself. “…Had fun. She’s so silly! Isn’t she silly?”

“If you say it, I will kill you Artemis. You can still walk away from this. Do NOT make that mistake.” Jenny spoke her first true words in what seemed like hours or even days. Barnabas glanced up at her torn between disapproval and pride, fear and confusion.

“Bah, like you’d ever hurt someone as cute as me.” Artemis winked at his nephew and Jenny yanked her son backward to better shield her son from view; all the same Barnabas smiled back at his uncle just the tiniest bit. “Anyway, everyone knows what you’re going to do before you do it, Jenny-wenny. And I just so happen to know whose life and name you prized above all others. Other than mine, of course. Boy I’d sure feel silly if you named your son after me. Wait…what if you made me godfather?! I’d just die of embarrassment! What kind of godfather comes to visit without gifts? Toys? Candy? Speaking of candy, what wouldn’t I give for a good--”

“SAY HIS NAME AND YOU DIE!” Jenny released her son’s arm, letting him crumple to the ground as she took a more aggressive stance with her sword.

“Yeah, I know my brother wasn’t too fond of his name. Come to think of it, he even asked to trade names with me once! But a good man’s name is a good man’s name and you’re just too…too obvious to name your son anything else. Besides, I just so happen to think ‘Barnabas’ has a nice ring to it.”


...

[Lord_Gareth]

Misery
The Quiet Knight

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I knew that Sir Varren was an unhappy person the day I met him.

Our group - the Ghosts of Red River - had been hired to 'investigate and take action against' hostile events on the border of the kingdom. I'm not sure I like the kind of person who describes entire villages vanishing as 'hostile events', but the minister in question was paying in good hard currency, so I suppose I shouldn't complain too much. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Sir Varren came as part of the deal - a representative to ensure that the Crown's interests were seen to and to report our conduct to Queen Mariella. I've never met the person myself, but she has a reputation for Standards - something that turns off most mercenary groups, but a sure sign to us that she was worth working for.

Sir Varren met us at the gates to the capital city, already astride his own horse. I admit that he wasn't what I expected out of someone with a 'Sir' in his name; he was dressed in riveted leather, not plate or mail, and his clothing was dark green and gray. His build was lean, not mighty, and yet despite this he wore a claymore strapped across his back. He had short, ash-gray hair, bright blue eyes, and a symbol denoting his faith to St. Cuthbert of the Cudgel dangling from his neck.

He said very little as the rest of us prepared, offering only to ride ahead to check out the lay of the land. He seemed shy, not solemn, and avoided contact with us for as long as he could.

Three days out, we started finding the bodies.

Monsters and feral animals, slain with blows that were a strange combination of savage and surgical - many of them with only one mighty, utterly precise strike. They were dragged off of the road, and we all suspected that Sir Varren was responsible, but he wasn't volunteering information and we didn't want to offend him by asking. He ate on his own, just outside the circle of firelight, and slept away from the rest of us as well. His personal space had a kind of fear, almost, around it - not fear of him, but his fear. Somehow he just seemed fragile, and none of us wanted to be the one to break him. Still, I felt bad that he was left out of everything we did together.

We stopped at a town on the border of the affected region, and I decided to get Sir Varren a peace offering. Having noticed that he smoked, I bought a small number of cigars and some tindertwigs, and when next we made camp I approached him during his watch. His bright blue eyes turned to notice me, but he said nothing.

"I thought you might like these," I told him, offering out the cigars and twigs. He smiled, shyly, and took them.

"Thank you," he murmured. "You didn't have to. I make more than enough to keep myself in tobacco."

"Well..." I hesitated, then took in a deep breath. "I kinda wanted to ask why you're always apart. You're welcome around the fire any time, y'know?"

He was quiet for a long moment, and then he put a cigar in his mouth and took up the tindertwig. "Miss...?" he inquired.

"Kestrel. Vivienne Kestrel."

He nodded and sparked the tindertwig, and I saw them - the shadows.

Dozens and dozens of them, dancing around him in the flickering light. None of them were human, and I recognized many from my magical studies - demons. Tanar'ri, Obyriths, and nameless horrors coughed out from the blackest pits of the Abyss danced around Sir Varren, mocking him and tugging at his flesh, gnashing tenebrous teeth and shrieking silently in mock terror. His own shadow huddled at his feet, cowering in terror, trying to avoid the crushing hooves and sweeping claws of the fiendish shadows around him.

Sir Varren lit his cigar and took a deep drag, his eyes wet with shameful tears that refused to fall.

"No reason, Miss Kestrel," he muttered, his voice tight. He snuffed the tindertwig with his fingers. "No reason at all."

[mebecronck]

I have been reading your snippets, just haven't had time to critique. Between work and trying to get my own works of the ground, it hasn't been easy. But anyways ....

A simple title for a not so simple story.

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Football

A Cronc Short

"I'm glad you could come with me, Cronc." Jessica says with a smile as they enter the stadium. Thazar's magic did a good job of making Cronc look more human. He still towers over everyone else, but at least he doesn't look like an orc.

"Y u wan Cronc coom?" Cronc looks around at all the people. He never heard of football. The closest thing he can think of is goatball. A game played with the hide of a goat stuffed with rocks. You throw it as hard as you can at the other player hoping to knock them off their pedestal, normally a giant rock in a river.

"I just wanted some company. I have never been to a football game before. Well, I have never been to any sporting event before. I just felt awkward doing this alone." Jessica clings to her entry ticket with both hands. She is hopping with each step she takes.

"Y wan see gaim?" Cronc scratches his head. He's happy that Jess invited him, but big crowds and sitting ... and watching ... are not something he is comfortable with.

"Well ..." Jessica slows down and pulls her hands in close. She looks down at her feet then turns to look directly at Cronc. She takes a deep breath and says rapidly, "Two guys from school invited Isabelle and me to a football game next week but I don't know anything about football and I don't want to look like a fool in front of my friends so I wanted to go to a game and learn about it but Isabelle doesn't want to go with me and I don't know who to invite and ..." she pauses to take another breath.

"Wat?" Cronc's face goes blank.

"I just want to learn about the game before I go with my friends next week." Jessica says plainly.

"Oh kay. We goe wuch gaim." Cronc says with a smile. The aroma of grilled hot dogs and burgers finally hit him and he starts to drool.

*****

"Oh, look. We are right behind the goal posts, or are they called uprights?" Jessica pulls out a book and starts flipping through the pages. "It looks like both are correct."

Cronc sits down with a mountain of food in his arms. He drops it in the space in front of his chair and starts shoveling snacks into his mouth. "CWUNK WIK FWUT BWAL!"

"See, I knew you would enjoy yourself Uncle Cronc." Jessica steps up onto her chair so she can wrap her arms around Cronc's neck. "Thank you, again, for coming. I would have been too embarrassed to go alone."

Cronc swallows down his food. "No beggy."

People start filling in the seats around them. One person with no shirt and a giant G painted on his chest takes the seat directly behind Cronc. "For Christ's sake! I got to sit behind the mountain." He waves his hand at Cronc. "Hey! GOLIATH! Can you sit on the floor or something? I can't see the game."

Cronc, who is not unaccustomed to sleeping on the floor, says, "MEH," swallows, "... Oh kay." He stands up to let the folding sit return to the up position and sits on the floor, with his food still spread out in front of him.

"Great ... now I can see the back your head instead of just your back." The shirtless man throws both hands in the air.

"He can't help being tall, sir." Jessica tries to defend Cronc. "Maybe we can switch places," she says to Cronc.

"Why don't you shut your ...," the shirtless man thinks, "Actually, I like the idea, why don't you do that."

Cronc shrugs and moves his food over to Jessica's side as Jessica tip toes around the mass of food and Cronc to take her new seat. She sits down at the same time as another man takes the seat next to her. A middle-aged man in with a Trojan's t-shirt on.

"That guy is a total loudmouth, huh." The man laughs and points his thumb at the guy behind her.

"I'm sure he is just frustrated. I don't hold it against him." Jessica looks down at the floor and kicks the ground with her feet.

"So, who are you rooting for?" The man asks.

"Well, I guess the Trojans. I'm from L.A. so they are the," Jessica pauses, "home team, and you are supposed to root for the home team, right?" Jessica glances between the floor and the man next to her.

"You have never been to a football game before, have you?"

"No, sir."

At this moment the crowd in the stadium erupts with shouts of passion as the players take the field.

"Oh, the game is starting." Jessica quickly starts thumbing through her book, trying to find the pages detailing the start of the game.

The man next to her speaks up and says, "Hey kid. Don't worry about the book. I'll help teach you."

Jessica smiles and closes her book. "Thank you so much, sir."

"It's no problem. My name is Don Hayes, but my friends call me Donny."

"Thank you, Mister Hayes. My name is Jessica."

"Please kid. Call me Donny."

*****

The first quarter is almost over. Cronc has finished his food and Donny and Jessica are enjoying the game. Jessica is picking up the rules pretty fast. All the while the guy behind them has been a complete nuisance. He swears at every play and throws his popcorn out in anger.

"So the big guy isn't actually your uncle?" Donny points at Cronc.

"No, I just call him my uncle. The only real family I have is my father. He encouraged to look at his friends as an extended family. So I made up how they are related when I was young. So I call him Uncle Cronc." Jessica beams a smile at Donny.

A horn is blown and an announcer declares that a flag was thrown on a play.

"OH! COME ON!" The shirtless man throws the whole bag of popcorn this time.

Jessica's smile fades and she starts to look at the floor. Donny places his hand on Jessica's shoulder and says in a calming voice, "Don't worry. Jerks like that guy there isn't common. Don't let him ruin your fun."

"Thank you, sir ... eh ... I mean Donny." Jessica gives a weak smile. The crowd suddenly explodes with energy, people start standing up and Jessica copies. She starts swaying back and forth trying to peek between the people in front of her. "What's going on?"

Cronc notices that Jessica is having a hard time seeing. He quickly gets up to his feet and leans over to her. With one arm he hoists her up to his shoulder. Sitting on Cronc's shoulder Jessica can see that the Trojan's now have possession of the ball. The quarterback is running across the field and there is no one in his way to prevent a touchdown.

"Yes," the adrenaline is starting to flow through her, "Come on," the roar of the crowd, the shouts, the pure energy, "YES! TOUCHDOWN!"

The quarterback spikes the ball into the end zone and pumps his fists in the air. Jessica almost falls off of Cronc's shoulder as she waves her arms in excitement. Cronc not as amused by the whole thing steadies her as he sets her back down on the ground.

"Crunc no git et," he shrugs and starts to rifle through the wrappings to see if he missed anything.

"Argh! You stupid bitch." The man in the shirt shouts, "I knew there was something I didn't like about you. Damn Trojan girl."

"Wha ... I ..." Jessica stares at the shirtless man pointing at her with a scowl on his face.

"Screw you! You should be back at home learning to cook from your mommy in the kitchen." The man throws his bag of peanuts at Jessica.

"I ... I ..." Jessica looks at the ground, her voice weak.

"Shut up, *******." Donny stands up and glares at the shirtless man. "This is her first game. Don't give her a hard time just because she doesn't like your team."

"You keep out of this prick, this is between me and teen Barbie bitch here." The shirtless man clinches his fists.

Cronc turns his head to look at the argument. He sees something that disturbs him. Something that makes him boil red hot. Jessica looks straight at the ground, with tears falling from her face.

Not wanting to start something in front of Jess, Cronc does his best to restrain himself for even a moment. He grabs some money from his pocket and hands it to Jess. "U go git u snakks. Wi," Cronc pauses looking for the right word, "tawk. Wi tawk, yah." This is the most restraint Cronc has ever used in his life. To him, it is painful.

"I ... I, just ..." Jessica tries to compose herself, but is failing.

"Do what your uncle says kid." Donny puts a hand on her shoulder, "We will talk this out with the man here. It will be okay when you get back."

"Oh ..." she breathes deeply, "Okay." She walks slowly away.

"Yeah, you best leave bitch. Football is not for you valley bitches anyways." The shirtless man sticks out both arms then beats one fist across his chest.

As soon as Jessica is out of sight Cronc jumps up to full height.

"You loud mouth punk. I should knock your teeth out." Donny starts to remove his shirt and start a fight.

Cronc turns around and slams one fist into the shirtless man, pinning him into the back of his seat. "U MAEK JESS CRIE!"

"Come ... on ..." the shirtless man chokes out the words, "It's just ... compe ...tition."

Donny watches and starts to back away slowly.

"U MAEK CRONC ANGRY!"

*****

Jessica stands at the back of the line to the concession stands. She looks at the wad of money in her hands and then looks up to the TV screen showing the game.

"Maybe, I'm just don't fit in with these sports games." Jessica tries to hold back the tears.

Suddenly everyone around starts to stir. She can hear gasps and shrieks of terror. She looks around trying to see what has caused this when she looks up on the TV screen.

"Is that ...," Jessicca says in disbelief. She sees a shirtless man flying between the goal posts.

*****

"Well, that was an interesting first game." Jessica says walking out of the stadium with Cronc.

"U awl gud noa, yeah?" Cronc says for the hundredth time.

"I'm fine now," Jessica answers for the hundredth time. She is glad that he is concerned for her, but if he got her anymore junk food she will explode. "Thank you for standing up for me. I don't quite approve of the method, but I'm glad you did."

"NO WUN MESS WIT CRONC ... eh ..." he looks for the word, "NICE!"

"Niece," Jessica corrects. "I heard from Donny that the guy is going to be okay. He will be in a body cast for a year, but he will be okay."

"U megik hem awl gud?" Cronck wiggles his fingers to illustrate.

"Ummm ... nah. The recovery time will do him some good. Oh, Donny told me I should look him up on Facebook."

"Wut Fassbuk?"

"I don't know."

[Arkhosia]

@Mebecronk
SCORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Winds]

Really just the other half of the previous snippet.


...And other returns

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As the ghost dissolves into ectoplasm, the white-armored deity seats himself on a white throne. It is the same uniform white of the demiplane and its creator, yet the eye can see it clearly.

"I wish you had not done that" he says. "Our agreement may have kept me from interfering with your life, but I do not tolerate Evil in my presence."

"He was my friend!"

"And I was keeping him under control."

The deity continues as if neither Jessica not Aileph had interrupted him.

"Not to mention opening my plane to interference from others."

He sighs heavily.

"Still, what's done is done. I will guard this place...but do not open a second gate here. You must find other ways of defending the rest.

He seems to glance at Jessica, lack of visible eyes not withstanding. He sighs again at her expression.

"Very well then..."

He moves to the puddle of ectoplasm...


...And not even a moment later, the white is back, armored thing and all. Before I so much as sit up, he grabs me by the head-and my head fills with something of the nature of the higher planes. I feel it suffusing me...burning away some of the lingering corruption of the Nine within me.

"Agh...ah...that feels different..."

The not-face seems to glare at me.

"I will not be your patron. You will not pray to me."

For once, I can't think of a sour remark to that.

He then turns toward Kol. "So long as I'm handing out favors..."

A shift of the eyes, and Kol is a living human again.

Jessica and her father trade a few more words, but I don't really hear them. I'm just walking outside, out of this white...

I feel a little unsteady as we leave. My magic is not...really different, but it feels different. Still like a flame inside me...but more like I'm surrounded rather than ignited. It feels good. Better than I've felt about it in a long time.

As we leave the tower, I catch the end of a discussion between the others.

"...so he goes by the name Jack."

"Huh."

"So are you all right, Kalach?"

"Yes, Jessica. Just one problem."

"What is it?"

"I do not like your father."

@Lord Gareth

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...Well. That's interesting. Varren has quite a history, I'm guessing...

[mebecronck]

Ladies and gentleman. My first second draft.

Wow, that looks weird. Well, for the first time I'm posting a second draft of one of my stories. About half is old and half is new.

Please read it and tell me what you liked about this version and what you liked better in the old version, if anything.

Also, "My magic is failing. Normally posting a Cronc short would summon DrBwaa from The Neatherverse. Soon, he may be lost in the void. I must create a new even better Cronc short to save him, but how? What is better than a Cronc short? DRBWAA, I HAVE FAILED YOU!"

Please read that in the voice of William Shatner. It makes it ten times funnier.

Without further adieu:

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The Modern Bard

The Hostage

"You should have kept your mouth shut." Mister Jefe punches the man in the face, again. He is in charge of the drug branch of the East Syndicate. His real name is unknown. Under any normal circumstances I would just slit his throat and be done with it, but he is not my mission.

I was hired to bring in the man tied to the chair. The guy with his blood pooling on the ground beneath him is a snitch. Thanks to the information he provided several of The Syndicate's dealers were put in jail. The only reason he is still alive is because they don't know what else he leaked to the local police.

I don't know why my employers want him. Maybe to get the information in his head. Maybe to kill him before he rats them out. Maybe just to save him from Mister Jefe. What matters to me is that I get paid.

It was easy getting into the room. In an organization like this, every employee has his vice. The guy I'm impersonating liked to smoke. That got him killed. His body is now in a dumpster outside the back door. I used the magic woven into my clothes to change them into his. The magic hides my tools and weapons. I used a few makeup tricks to make myself look exactly like him. I picked up his gun to complete the disguise. I don't know how to use the damn thing, but I can hold it like I know what to do.

I'm not allowed in the room that is holding the hostage. I can look inside thanks to my cat, Lucky. With a simple arcane spell I can look through her eyes. She is perched on a high window on the southern wall. She can see the man tied to the chair. Mister Jefe is taking a break from beating him in the face. There are five guards total in the room, three spread out and two on either side of the hostage. Counting the guard standing next to me, guarding the only entrance and exit, that makes six guards total.

That is just in the immediate vicinity. I counted no less than thirty armed men on my way to this room. It looks like fighting my way out is out of the question. I could sneak my way in and out of here, but not with a wounded man over my shoulder.

Through Lucky's eyes I examine the room in detail. It is wide with a high ceiling. Nothing decorating it other than four support beams and the chair the hostage is tied to. There is a door on the northern side of the room. The door is open and I can see no one is in it. It is probably an office or a big broom closet. Either way, it gives me an idea. I will need perfect timing to implement it.

*****

"Hey, man. Can I bum a cig from ya." I approach my partner guard and hold out a hand. My eyesight is divided between the man in front of me and Lucky's eyes. Mister Jefe is warming up for round three on the hostage's face by throwing mock punches in the air.

"You need to cut back, Little Bobby. That stuff will give you cancer." The guard looks down to his jacket pocket for a just a second. I take that moment to strike. With one swift motion I slip a dagger out of its sheath and run it across his throat. Crimson blood runs down the front of his chest and he collapses to the ground.

I open the door to the hostage's room. The large space is not well ventilated. This helps my smoke bomb. I throw it in and it releases a large cloud of smoke that conceals my entrance. The cloud hovers long enough for me to run in and grab my target. I leave a smart phone behind where I picked him up. I quickly take him into the office. I push him to the ground and cast an arcane locking spell on the door behind me. The spell has a twist of my own design. It locks the door in a way that only magic can open it, and makes the door tougher for people to break down.

I turn on the light and look at Mister Jefe. He is still coughing from the smoke. I throw a quick punch into his gut to knock the wind out of him. I thrust the palm of my hand into his nose, breaking it in the process. He falls over onto the ground, tears welling in his eyes. I thrust the heel of my boot into his crotch, for good measure.

I take some pleasure in this. I hate drug dealers with a particular passion, but I must restrain myself from killing him now. He serves a purpose, but only while he is alive. I know I can't get the snitch out of here on my own, so I am going to make them do it for me.

I walk over to the corner of the room and place a wireless camera on the wall. I attach a tablet to it and open up a computer program to send a video call to the phone outside. Lucky, still being my eyes in the room can see that the smoke is starting to clear up. Once the call is sent, I walk over to Mister Jefe and start to pat him down. I take every weapon I find on him, two guns, three knives, an extra clip for each gun, and a pair of brass knuckles.

"Who the hell is this?" I hear a voice from the tablet. I have already allowed the magic of my clothes to change back to normal. A utility outfit with many pockets and straps, complete with a hood and mask to cover my face. I lift the hood over my head and pull the mask over my mouth and nose before I turn to face the camera. All they can see is my blue eyes.

"Hello, gentlemen. It seems we both have something the other wants." I lift Mister Jefe up from the ground and show his bloodied face to the camera. They can see it clearly thanks to the phone's high definition screen.

Lucky can see that they already concluded that I'm holding their boss in the office. A little smarter than the average thug in my opinion. They can kick and shoot at the door all day, it won't open.

"What we got that you want?" The thug shouts into the phone. Obviously they are not that much smarter.

"I want you to release the man in the chair. You will take him outside and call him a cab. There he can take it to the local hospital where he will be treated."

"How about we just kill him." Lucky can see him pointing a gun to the man's head.

"Two problems with that plan, home boy. First, your boss wants him alive for questioning. Second, if you kill him, then I have no reason to keep Mister Jefe alive." I walk to the other side of the room and lean up against the wall. I watch Mister Jefe roll across the ground. I might have done some serious damage to his balls with that kick.

"I think you bluffing. I think you don't got the cojones to kill."

"If you want my killing credentials you can find Little Bobby in the dumpster by the back door and his friend just outside the room. Now, here's the deal." I pause for a moment as I observe through Lucky's eyes; two men leave the room to check the kills. One returns immediately, obviously satisfied with the corpse.

"I am going to start counting to ten. Everytime I hit ten, I will cut off one of Mister Jefe's fingers. Starting with the index fingers, moving to the pinkies, and finishing with the thumbs. If my friend in the chair is not in a cab by the time I finish each hand, then I will slit Mister Jefe's throat." I pull out a dagger and look directly at Mister Jefe. He cannot see me through his teary eyes, but he feels my boot as I press it down on his right hand. I put enough weight on it to secure it to the floor. I kneel down and lay the blade of my dagger against his finger. The slight pressure from the blade releases some blood.

"I hope you are left handed Mister Jefe," I look at the camera, "or it is going to be very difficult for you to sign your employee's paychecks."

"Go to Hell, you cara de mierda." Mister Jefe spits at me as he holds back screams of pain.

I stare at the camera and say slowly, "One ..."

"You bitch. You ain't going to get nothing." The voice from the other side isn't even shaky.

"Two ... Three ..."

"You go ahead and count, man."

"Four ... Five ..."

"You think I scared of counting!"

"Six ... Seven ..."

"You know what we going to do to you."

"Eight ... Nine ..."

"We going to cut you family man. Make them bleed."

"TEN!" I slice off his index finger. Mister Jefe can't help but scream. Lucky can see the men in the room suddenly freak out. The man holding the phone looks away from it and covers his face. I take out a lighter and grab Mister Jefe's right hand. I take the bare flame and cauterize his wound. "This will make sure you don't bleed out," I tell him as he screams, "and make it difficult for doctors to reattach your finger."

I release him and he rolls to the far corner of the room, and curls into the fetal position. I pick up the severed finger and walk it over to the camera. I hold it up close to make sure they can see it clearly. I lower the finger so they get a good look at my eyes, so that they can see how serious I am.

"One ..."

"DO WHAT HE SAYS!" Mister Jefe's voice is still firm even under stress. He forces himself out of the fetal position and tries to recover by leaning up against the wall. He pulls himself upright in a semi-standing position. The sweat streaming from his face is starting to wash off the blood.

"You heard the boss, untie him." The voice from the other side of the tablet comes through clear. He is scared. I can see through Lucky's eyes that they are doing exactly what I said.

"I will know if he gets in the cab safe or not. Try anything funny and the next finger comes off without counting." I look into Mister Jefe's eyes. The tears are gone and he is very angry.

"He can go. I will find him again, but you will not leave here alive." Mister Jefe sounds quite confident. It is funny that he believes he is in control of this situation.

*****

Lucky follows the hostage, peeking through the windows as he moves from room to room. When he exits the front door, she watches as they manage to call down a cab. The hostage is helped into the backseat. She watches as one of the men writes down the cab number in a notepad. Obviously, they intend to use that to start tracking him down later.

"He's in the cab, now let our boss go." The voice comes in through the tablet with some venom in it. Lucky is no longer watching. She knows it is time to get clear of the building.

I look at Mister Jefe from across the room. I drop his severed finger on the ground and stomp on it. I twist it beneath the heel of my boot like it was a lit cigarette. Mister Jefe just smiles. The blood from his broken nose has stained his teeth red.

"You are dead. You can't get out of here alive." Mister Jefe laughs. "YOU ARE DEAD!"

I let him have his moment as I gather my camera and tablet. He shouts and screams various threats at me. Saying he will find my family and friends and make them suffer for what I have done. I am well familiar with this type of man. He controls people through fear. It is the only power he knows. To enforce that power he must speak, shout, and threaten. He will not stop throwing words at me until he gets some sort of reaction. Then he will play off it to put me in his power. He has one problem, though. I am not afraid.

Studying Mister Jefe's voice is easy. I pay close attention to his inflection. How he enunciates each word. His tone of voice is not to far off from my natural speaking voice. The only challenge will be accent. It is not a typical spanish accent. Probably a regional dialect I am unfamiliar with.

Once satisfied, I walk up to him slowly with my dagger drawn.

"What? What do you plan to do?!"

I kneel down and place the tip of the dagger against his throat. The keen edge draws a trickle of blood.

"If you kill me," He swallows carefully, his eyes wide open and sweat raining down his skin, "the rest of the syndicate will avenge me."

I thrust the dagger in deep and leave it in. The blade blocks his windpipe, choking him while the blood pours from his neck. I hold his face with both hands, forcing him to look me in the eye. I want this to be the last thing he sees. I want him to know. I am not afraid. I watch as the life drains from his eyes.

Once he is dead, I retrieve my dagger and clean it on one of the few dry parts of Mister Jefe's jacket. I change my clothes to make it look exactly like Mister Jefe's, blood stains included. I work some makeup to approximate Mister Jefe's face, adding some fake blood to make it seem like my nose is broken. I run my fingers through my hair to mess it up. Luckily, we share the same hair color and are nearly the same length.

With my disguise in place I set off a smoke bomb and cast the spell to unlock the door. I hide my right hand in my armpit, acting as if I am applying pressure to prevent bleeding out. With my other hand I cover my mouth and fake a few coughes. I run outside and start shouting at the men, doing my best Jefe impersonation.

"GET IN THERE AND KILL THAT PENDEJO!"

All the guards enter, except one. He walks up to me and starts asking if I'm okay. I answer by quickly slicing open his throat. He falls to floor and a pool of blood starts to form around him. I cast the same arcane spell to lock the door, trapping the guards inside. I pull out my cellphone and make one phone call.

The smoke in the room should be settling soon. If they are smart enough to look at the cellphone we were talking on earlier, they will see a series of numbers. Starting at thirty and slowly dropping to zero. By that time, I will be safely away from the building, watching the fire works with Lucky.

*****

Tracking down the hospital was easy. Lucky could read the cab's number from her perch. One quick phone call, and a strong story about being related to the injured man, and I had the name of the hospital.

I have disguised myself as a janitor to gain entry. A few bard tricks and charms to convince some attendees that I'm just here to clean and I will find the room in no time.

I move from room to room, pretending to tend to the trash and bedpans until I find the man I was looking for. I pull out my cell phone and call the pre-programed number. "I have him. As soon as I confirm the money transfer I will tell you where to find him."

I hang up the phone and open up an app to track my account balances. Tracing the phone is pointless, I had an expert technomancer cast some spells to make it impossible. After ten minutes the balance shows a new deposit. Exactly what was agreed upon. I send them a text message with the hospital's address and room number.

Another job done. What happens after this point is none of my concern.

"Hey." The man in the bed wakes up. "I recognize your voice. You are the guy who saved me."

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

I leave the room. What happens after this is not my problem ... right?

[Dr Bwaa]

I'm here. Between going out to the woods for four days and you guys posting a whole bunch all at once... again... it's taking me a little longer to get a post together. Also all the work I promised to wombat is in a different critique style so that's taking longer than I'd hoped as well. I'll have comments for you all soon, I promise!

[TheWombatOfDoom]

I'm here. Between going out to the woods for four days and you guys posting a whole bunch all at once... again... it's taking me a little longer to get a post together. Also all the work I promised to wombat is in a different critique style so that's taking longer than I'd hoped as well. I'll have comments for you all soon, I promise!

*bounces* Is excited. Thank you kindly for your efforts! I'm looking forward to your fruition! And a trip to the woods sounds wonderful!

[PaperMustache]

GUESS WHO IS BACK IN THE LAND OF THE INSPIRED! -victory dance- This one is the long dreaded (on my part) change in narrators as I try to make Mya's actions more ambiguously motivated.

Blind Girl in the Dark

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What would she do without me? Oh I could think of a few things. For one she would never leave that library. She would never touch that long brown hair of hers that drove me mad with envy. It was all messy tonight, tangled and sweaty, pulled out of her face into a pony tail. Anything out of her sight was irrelevant to her. She would lose pencils in those little pointed ears of hers all the time if I weren't there to pull them out for her. No one would know that in the dimmest light, when it was not quite dark, those blue eyes of hers actually glowed with some sort of faint, magical light. She'd probably already be some kind of stuffy professor at the university! Who wanted that?! Sometimes I thought she forgot that we were only seventeen. Like she thought she was going to die not knowing everything there was to know about everything.

I was day dreaming again, ignoring what my friend was actually saying. It was boring anyway. She was reciting the Brotherhood's oath to me.

"Sam! Come on, focus. Technically this is supposed to be memorized beforehand!" She snapped and I knew something was actually wrong. Mya was in some sort of trouble. Her pace was too quick, irritated. Where had all this stuff about the Brotherhood come from in the first place?

"Mya? You're sort of scaring me." I ventured.

"What?! No I'm not!" She said way too defensively.

"Mya...did something bad happen?"

"No! I mean...yes. It was my dad..." The thought of the man sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn't account for it but the unquestionably kind man had always terrified me. It didn't matter how many times I had dinner with her family, how many stories Mya told me about the man, or how well he got along with my dad, something about him gave me the creeps. I always hated when people said Mya was just like him. Her aunts and uncle would always say she was a miniature copy of her father. They didn't know her like I did.

"...so apparently my family is cursed and everybody here is crazy so I just need to leave town, okay? Because I'm the only sane one!" I had been daydreaming again. I had missed what she was so upset about!

"Uh...you sound real sane." I ventured.

"You know what? That's what Inara said. She said I was scaring her. Well you know what's scaring me? Everything! So I'm going to leave but I have to join the brotherhood so my dad knows I'm coming back!" I had never seen her so panicked.

"Hey, it's okay." I said softly, giving her a quick hug. "I don't really understand, but if you have to leave then you have to leave. You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"Good!" She said quickly. "Now pop quiz, what tenants do you vow to uphold as an agent of the Brotherhood?"

I sighed. "Uh...peace, secrecy and...uh."

"Autonomy. Both of the organization from outside influences, and of outside governments and organizations from Brotherhood rule. Remember: ours is not to rule, but to guide from the shadows." She supplied.

"Yeah...right." I muttered.

The entire walk back to her house was a never ending quiz on brotherhood tenants. I tried to change the subject, but Mya seemed to be stuck on this. She barked, and quoted and recited the entire way home and I had no way to determine what was really bothering my friend.

I followed her into her house, past the barely used sitting room and the kitchen where her mom made the best apple pies, making for the library. It seemed Mya always knew where her father was, and it seemed like they were both always in the library. It was a modest room with a massive bookshelf that took up the back wall. Everything here was exclusive, not for me. There was a chair for Mya and one for her dad, a lamp and a table for them both to share, a special nook for her journal and one for his spell book, a desk for her and a desk for him. It always made me feel unwelcome, as if I were spying on something sacred and special. Come to think if it, all this furniture was older than Mya, it was probably meant to be shared with her mother. It was a funny thought, Mrs.Collins taking a break from her cooking and tinkering to sit down and read.

I was daydreaming again. Mr.Collins had been in the library after all and Mya was talking to him, but not really looking at his eyes. She was pacing, which was never a good sign.

"You see, I've put this off too long already. I'm a sorcerer of more than adequate skill for fieldwork and I uncovered the Brotherhood on my own several years ago. It is customary to make an offer on the spot in that circumstance in order to keep the investigator's mouth shut about the organization."

"You were thirteen." He chuckled. "I had ways of keeping you quiet. I believe I offered you extra dessert if you didn't tell your mother."

"I'm joining, unless you're going to deny the request of two potentially dedicated and useful agents." Mya was serious as the grave.

"Samantha is joining too?" He looked worried for me and I instantly felt horrible for being so scared of him. "Sam, is this really what you want?"

"Um, yes sir!" I blurted out uncertainly.

"It's a life oath. You can't walk away once you're in." He warned.

"If Mya is going, I'm not gonna get left behind." I gave her a little squeeze from the side that I could tell completely ruined her attempt at looking confident and independent. She huffed, but her father smiled.

"Very well. As long as she has you to keep her from getting in too deep. Remember, we have all kinds of research and magic studies branches. There's no reason for you two to be doing field work for the rest of your lives."

"I won't be." She said gravely, with a strange smile. "In a few years, I'm going to take over."

I wanted to slap her for saying that to her dad. No matter how much I didn't like him, he didn't deserve to have his own daughter challenge his leadership like that. Gods, in this business, that statement could easily be a death threat!

To my surprise the man returned the strange smile. It was chilling coming from him and I quickly forgot that I had been feeling sorry for him. He leaned over and ruffled her hair affectionately, or maybe condescendingly? Was he putting her in her place?

"I took over when I was twenty three years old." He smirked. "The youngest leader in our history and the longest serving. Think you can beat me?"

"I'm going to be much better than you ever were." She said confidently. What was going on?! These two were inseparable just this morning.

Mr.Collins broke the tension with a quiet smile, and wrapped Mya in a hug. "You already are, kid. I'm proud of you."

Mya tensed, then relaxed and hugged him back. "I love you, Dad."

The hug was over quickly. Mr.Collins conjured the black half-mask that used to give me nightmares as a child and slipped it on. He offered us each a hand. Mya took it without hesitation. I took Mya's instead.

We were teleported to someplace dark and damp. A cold wind blew over us faintly as we stood in the pitch black. It was all the same to me. What's a little darkness to a nearly blind girl?

"We're in the Red Mountains." Mya supplied. Not for my benefit, I thought, but to let him know that she wasn't fooled.

In response, he snapped his fingers and a dancing orb of light appeared in his hand, washing a dim light over us and the cavern walls. They were made of red rock, a stone unique to the Red Mountains. I saw those blue eyes of hers glowing in the dim light and I knew she was pleased.

He began leading us down the cavern wordlessly. It seemed to go on for ages.

"I'm assigning myself to Tel'Dorsil." Mya mentioned.

"We have few contacts in the elven city, and their government is not warlike. What merit do you think it has to divert resources to it?" Mr.Collins answered.

"Their government is isolationist and their magical studies and knowledge are greater than the world outside. I wish to establish a scholarly dialogue with their mage school. Get them to assist in the development of others further south."

"Starting yourself off easy I see. Very well. We have a handful of contacts there who we will alert to your arrival. But you're getting ahead of yourself."

The cavern ended in a small room. The dancing light cast flickering shadows on the walls. The masked man turned to face us and I could see his eyes as blue and alive as his daughter's. Two hooded men stepped out of the shadows to flank him. Their faces were obscured, but they wore the sigil of the Brotherhood, an eye open before a crescent moon, in silver around their necks. Mr.Collins pulled his out as let it hand over his chest, it was old and tarnished from age. He began to speak in a low tone.

"Mya Collins, Samantha Mathews, you stand before us today as strangers, but you will go from us as brothers. From this point there is no turning back. You will pledge to give your lives and your efforts to serve our interests, or you will die."

The hooded figures on each side both slid knives from their sleeves in unison. I gulped, not sure if Mr.Collins would really let us die if we refused. Mya looked unfazed.

"We walk in the shadows. Our eyes are open in the darkness. You pledge today to honor your brothers, to honor our tenets, to honor the balance of power in our world."

"We swear." Mya answered.

"You forfeit your own interests in service to the world. ours is not to rule, but to guide from the shadows. You will never use our assets for personal gain."

"We swear." I joined her that time, muttering weakly. I paled in comparison to her confidence.

"You will sacrifice yourselves for your brothers. You will never leave them behind, and in return they will look after you." I felt he was looking at me when he said that.

"We swear!" I said it a little louder that time. That one was easy. I needed Mya and she needed me.

"Peace, Secrecy, Autonomy." He finished, and the hooded figures muttered it with him, which have me a start. One of them was female...Mrs.Collins?

"Peace, Secrecy, Autonomy." Mya echoed before I could join her. The entire room looked to me expectantly.

"Uh...Peace, Secrecy, Autonomy?" I whimpered desperately. Thankfully they stopped looking at me and moved on.

Mr.Collins stepped forward to Mya first and took his amulet from around his neck. "Welcome, my brother." He smiled as he put his amulet around her neck.

One of the hooded figures approached me. I fidgeted awkwardly until she spoke.

"Welcome, my sister." There was laughter in Mrs.Collins' voice as she tucked a shiny new amulet around my neck. I couldn't see her face, but I knew the woman was laughing at me. I stuck my tongue out at her shyly and I thought I heard her laugh as she stepped back.

"Go now, brothers." He said it pointedly, as if to correct his wife for saying it wrong. "May your eyes be open in the darkness."

We turned around and I realized that the cavern was lit to us somehow. I could see the red stone walls as well as I could have seen in broad daylight. I marveled at the trick until Mya took my hand and led me out.

"It's magic." She chuckled, tapping the amulet. "True sight. Sort of ham handed, yeah?"

I giggled as we wandered through the cavern, wondering if Mr.Collins was going to catch up with us and take us home. "That was really scary."

"Usually there's a blood ritual, but I guess they skipped it for you."

My stomach turned at the thought of blood. "Ugh, I'm glad! I would have run screaming and your mom woulda had to kill me!"

Mya laughed and ran her fingers over the tarnished silver.

"Thanks, Dad." She whispered.

The next step we took yanked us out of the cavern. I could feel the sky above us even if I couldn't see it because of my poor vision. We were back in Driscol. We were outside my house.

Mya chuckled. "I guess this is where we say good bye. I'll see you tomorrow after you pack, alright?"

"Alright, Mya. Goodnight." I said, yawning.

She smiled easily and I hoped she would be okay walking home alone.

"Good night, Sam." My best friend said softly before walking out of my range of sight. I watched her blurred image walk away until I lost her in the darkness.

Now, my next snippet will either be a prequel snippet from Mr.Collins' perspective that starts out like this:

Spoiler

Show

My robes were soaked with blood and ripped to shreds. I had broken another cheap sword, and gods help me there was a bit of flesh caught between my teeth that I couldn’t quite reach. I was making a mess of the carpet. Why had I teleported to the library after sating?

Or the next part of this series that I haven't started writing yet.

[Lord_Gareth]

*Tensely awaits further reviews >.>*

[mebecronck]

The watched pot never boils.
The watched clock never ticks.
The watched forum never updates.

@Lord Gareth
I started reading your most recent work. I haven't finished it, but I like what I read so far. Lately it has been, "Too much to do, too little time to do it."

Also, I have been trying to write a little something whenever I can. I wanted to try my hand at horror. Something simple at first.

So, without further adieu:

Spoiler

Show

Ethereal

Boo

"I'm not going in! No way!" Bobby is hesitant, but his new friends are not going to let him out of the dare so easily. Being the new kid in town is never easy. Bobby had to deal with this before. Being a "military brat" means moving frequently, and making new friends is always a battle for him. A battle hard fought at the age of seven.

"What's the matter? Afraid Suzie Sydell is going to get you!" The tallest one stands on his toes over Bobby and holds his arms over his head. The rest of the kids laugh at Bobby as he backs away.

"Look if you want to be in the club, then you got to stay an hour in The Spook House." The shortest one in the jacket and backwards hat is the leader of this club. He creatively named the old building The Spook House. Appropriate for the imagination of someone almost eight. Being oldest makes him feel like he is in charge, despite being the shortest.

"I can't stay in there for an hour, my curfew is in thirty minutes," Bobby tries to escape, "Guess I will have to do it some other time."

The tallest kid blocks his path, "If you don't do it, then you'll be called a chicken for the rest of your life."

Well, Bobby doesn't want that. He musters all his courage and marches towards The Spook House. He makes it about half way to the front door. The overgrown lawn with bushes and vines block any clear view of the windows. The paint flaking off the walls and the door, and rotted wood that remotely resembles a front porch gives the building the perfect atmosphere to call it The Spook House. It also has the same effect as two magnets with the same poles pointing at each other. The closer Bobby gets to the front door, the slower he moves.

"Come on! CHIKEN!" All the kids start clucking and flapping their arms. One kicks at the ground with his leg, like a chicken digging for food. Bobby swallows and turns the doorknob on the front door.

*****

The inside of the house is pitch dark. Bobby feels around the wall near the door and finds a set of switches. He flips each one over and over again, but no lights turn on. He feels around in his pocket and pulls out a small flashlight. It is also a key chain, but no keys are on it. He will have a key to his home on it, once dad gets some copies made.

He turns on the light and starts shining it around. Various insects scurry away when the light strikes them. He can see the only thing in the house is a TV set and a phone attached to the wall. He can see doors leading out of the main room, all of them are open.

"Just one hour. I can do this," Bobby tries to calm himself, unsuccessfully, "It's just me, alone, in a dark old house. Nothing to be scared of."

With just his thoughts to keep him company he starts to think about the legend of Suzie Sydell. A young girl, about Bobby's age, who was constantly bullied by the rest of the school. Every day they would find new ways to torment the girl. One day she had enough, and tried to stand up to the bullies. She gave them a piece of her mind and they gave her a beating. All the bullies ganged up on her, kicking and punching. All they meant to do was remind her of her place, but they ended up killing her.

The bullies were never punished for the murder. Supposedly because one kid was the son of a judge and another was the daughter of a lawyer. Collectively they made an argument that they were too young to understand properly what they were doing. They said it was ridiculous to charge seven year olds with first degree murder. The kids didn't even get detention.

A month after Suzie's death, the kids were found dead in their rooms. They were hung from the ceiling. Their own intestines making the noose. The walls were painted in the kid's blood. Just three words repeating over and over again.

"Suzie Sydell Homocidal"

Bobby shudders and tries to silence his mind.

*****

Thirty minutes in and nothing has happened. Bobby wonders if the other kids are even still outside. He is starting to relax. It is nothing but an old house after all.

"I wish I brought a game with me. At least then ..." A light suddenly illuminates the wall. It flutters from bright to dim. Each time the light dims he can hear a click. Bobby slowly turns his head to see the TV is turned on.

Nothing but static is showing, but he can see the channels are changing. The screen shows three. Bobby starts to walk slowly towards the television. Two. He makes it half way into the living room. One. He stands in front of the screen, looking directly at it. Input one. The screen turns glows blue. The walls glow with the blue light, making everything seem blue.

Bobby turns off his flashlight and puts it in his pocket. He is mesmerized by the television screen. He just stares into it blankly and breathes in deep through his wide open mouth. He quickly notices how cold it is in the room. HE can see his every breath.

When he takes his eyes off the screen he notices the bugs are moving around in tight circles. They are not crawling. They are hovering. Their wings are not even flapping. Cockroaches, spiders, flies, and other insects he doesn't recognize are hovering inches off the ground and moving in tight circles.

Bobby feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He feels as if someone is looking at him. Someone behind him. He slowly turns around, his eyes tightly shut. He bites his lower lip and when he is turned completely around, his back now to the TV, he opens his eyes.

He sees a young girl, about his age, in a plain dress, and stringy hair. She is standing in his shadow, the blue light from the TV gives her a blue outline. Her features are obscured in the darkness of his shadow and the blue light reflecting off the wall behind her.

She stands perfectly still. Bobby pulls out his flashlight. His hands shake as he tries to turn it on. In the panic he drops the flashlight. Out of instinct he drops to his hands and knees to pick it up. Realizing his position, he looks up to see the girl. The blue light from the TV reveals her face. All of her features are normal for a young girl, except her eyes. No iris, no pupils, just black. Ebony black eyes. She is looking right at him. Her whole head has turned to face his directly.

Her mouth opens slowly and she sings.

"Every night when I get home
The monkey's on the table
Take a stick and knock it off
..."

He hears a loud thud, like a door slamming shut, and the TV goes off at the same time. The whole room goes dark. Bobby brushes his hand across the ground and eventually finds the flashlight. His hands shake even more as he tries to find the button to turn it on. He can feel his heart beating in his chest. His breathing deep and rapid. He finds the button and turns on the flashlight. He points it all around the room.

The light moves rapidly up and down with the shaking of his hands. The girl is gone and the bugs are moving away from the light like normal. At first everything seems back to normal, but then he realizes that all the doors are now closed.

Bobby takes a deep breath and runs for the front door. He slams into it with force, dropping the flashlight with the impact. The flashlight lands pointing away from the door. He starts feeling around the door until he finds the handle. He twists and turns, but the door won't open. He slams his fists on the door and screams for help.

A sudden feeling of hopelessness strikes him as he looks at his feet and backs away from the door. Tears well in his eyes and strike the ground. The silence in the room is broken by his tears hitting the ground. He looks at his flashlight and sees the bugs standing near it start to rise off the ground. They start to move in a circular pattern.

Bobby wants to scream but the sound won't come out. His legs feel like they are weighed down with bricks. He has to force himself to turn around. The light of his flashlight illuminates the far wall. The head of a young girl is resting on the ground in front of it. Slowly the head rises as the rest of the girl emerges from the floor.

Bobby opens his mouth trying to scream for help, but the word won't come out. He backs away from the girl until his body is pressed firmly against the door.

The girl moves slowly and silently towards him. Her head hanging low, with her stringy hair covering her face. As she gets closer, Bobby can see her body is transparent, as he can see the TV through her dress. Soon the girl is standing directly in front of him. Her head inches away from his.

She lifts her head slowly. Her stringy hair parting to reveal her face. Bobby looks directly into her ebony eyes. Nothing reflects from them. Just pure black. She moves her head so her lips are right next to his ear. She whispers one word.

"Boo."

The door opens behind him, and he falls backwards out of the house. He runs as fast as his feet can carry him. He pushes through the kids trying to stop him in front of the house. He doesn't stop at crosswalks. He only hesitates for a moment to open the front door of his house. He runs upstairs and hides under his sheets. He doesn't even take off his shoes.

*****

Bobby barely sleeps through the night. He keeps his whole body under the covers.

"Bobby, breakfast is ready," his mom calls from downstairs, "Hurry up. You don't want to be late for school."

Bobby feels like he has no choice. He has to get out from under the sheets. He wonders if he can fake being sick so he can stay under his covers forever. He takes a deep breath. He moves his hands to grab the top of the sheets and grips firmly. His hands are still shaky. He pulls the sheets down enough so he can peek out into his room. The morning light shines through his window and illuminates the room well.

He slowly sits up in his bed. He stretches his arms and then looks down. His eyes open wide in terror. His flashlight is at the end of his bed. He didn't pick it up before he left The Spook House. How did it get here? Did his mom or one of his friends return it?

He picks it up to see a note attached to key chain part of it. Only two words are on it.

Forget something?

Here is a new one. The inspiration of the story just hit me today.

Minor spoiler alert for later in the Jessica story. Nothing big. You are probably expecting it anyway.

Spoiler

Show

Teacher Parent Conference

A Jessica/Jack Short

"What's that you got there?" Isabelle, as nosy as ever, sneaks up behind Jessica between classes. She notices the envelope that Jessica won't stop staring at with an expression like the envelope holds her execution orders.

"It's a letter from Mr. Pierson," Jessica says softly, "It is for a parent teacher conference, to discuss my grades in Algebra."

"You're kidding? A studyholic like you is failing!? Stop kiddin' me and tell me what it really is?"

"I'm not kiddin'. It's not my fault. I get confused by the equations and when I raise my hand to ask a question, Mr. Pierson just ignores me."

"This is pretty serious," Isabelle says while placing a both hands on Jessica's shoulders, "Look, if you need help with the work, then I'll get a study group going. We'll help you understand whatever is confusing you."

"I don't want to be a burden," Jessica backs away holds the envelope close to her chest, "I don't want to take time away from your band. I know it is important to you."

"Hey, I'll still have plenty of time for my hobbies, but you need help and I'm not letting you do it alone," Isabelle grabs Jessica and pulls her in for a big hug, "like you always try to do. You don't have to do everything alone just to prove you are independent. Sometimes people need help."

"Thank you," Jessica tries to hold back tears, "Do you think Janet will be mad? I still have to give her the letter."

"She will take it well, and if not, I'll be there to help defend you."

*****

"Who's that guy staring at you?" Isabelle points at the tall man in the suit standing between them and the school bus. School just let out and Jessica was looking forward to the calm ride home that would lead to handing over the letter to Janet. She was looking forward to it, until she saw her dad.

"That's my dad." Jessica says with an even tone.

"YOUR DAD!" Isabelle's voice breaks an octave in terror, "As in, rain death upon the legions of Hell, feel my wrath, stand before me and suffer damnation, DAD!"

"One and the same," Jessica sighs and walks up to him. Isabelle takes several steps back away from him.

Jack is in a human form. His wings are gone and his eyes look normal, except the iris is pure white. His hair is the same white, styled back and held in a ponytail. His beard is well trimmed and shaped to conform to his strong chin. His suit is black with a tie and his shoulders are blocked with his arms resting behind his back. His shoes well polished and toes pointing straight forward. Standing a little over six feet tall with a very muscular frame, he looks like a soldier standing at ease.

He doesn't pay attention to the many kids walking around him, pointing and laughing. The scowl on his face is aimed with purpose. He stares directly at his daughter as she approaches.

"What are you doing here father?" Jessica says softly while looking around. "We had a deal. This breaks it."

"I also made a deal with Janet," Jack says in flat tones that doesn't match his angry expression. He speaks with clarity and enunciate each word perfectly. "When she became your legal guardian I made an arrangement. Whenever an event which requires the presence of a legal guardian or parent should arrive I may choose which of us should be present. Under my discretion."

"Just like you to make loopholes." Jessica stomps her foot in protest. "I would have appreciated being told about that."

"May I have my letter?" Jack sticks out his right hand.

"Fine, but exercise more 'discretion' next time." Jessica digs through her binder and produces the letter. Jack pockets the letter without looking at it.

"Your bus is waiting for you. I made sure it won't leave until you are on it." Jack starts to walk towards the school. After a couple of steps he stops. "You should hurry home. Janet plans to order a pizza."

Isabelle walks around Jack as he passes by, keeping a wide gap around him. She runs up to Jessica and asks in a panicked voice, "Your dad isn't about to kill Mr. Pierson, is he?"

"I sure hope not." Jessica says with a sigh as she walks towards the bus.

*****

Jack waits directly outside Mr. Pierson's classroom door. He stares unblinking through the glass divider at Mr. Pierson directly. His grimace unchanging. He can see that the teacher is in the middle of a lecture with another student and parent. A mother and son. The lecture is made up of shouts mostly. Coming from the teacher as well as the mother. Apparently, he was shooting spitballs in class.

The short, slender woman is dressed in mostly purple and wears a loud hat with feathers sticking out of it. She wears far too much makeup and long false fingernails. Her son is a little taller than her and wears blue jean pants hanging too low on his legs. He wears a white tank top and a red, white, and blue bandana.

After the conference is over, the mother grabs her son by the arm and starts walking him out of the class. She continues to scold and wave her free finger at her son as she moves. She doesn't even look as she runs directly into Jack. She feels like she ran into a brick wall.

"OH!" She backs away without letting go of her son, "I'm sorry. Didn't see you there." She looks Jack up and down and lets her son go. The kid runs off as his mother eyes Jack. "I'm Miss Dunn," she puts extra emphasis on the miss, "and you are?"

"Jack," he answers without breaking his concentration on Mr. Pierson, "Excuse me." He walks around Miss Dunn and enters the room.

"Oh, well if you are interested in joining the PTA ..." Jack closes the door. "Ah ... heh."

*****

"Who might you be?" Mr. Pierson says to the point, sitting in his chair. He takes his eyes off his papers for just a moment to assess the man who just entered the classroom.

"You summoned me." Jack pulls out the envelope and places it on the desk with force.

"Jessica's father I presume?" Mr. Pierson stands up from his desk and eyes Jack, "We have much to discuss."

"I have much to tell you." Jack stares back.

"Why don't you take a seat." Mr. Pierson waves his hand at student chairs and desks.

"I will stand."

"Fine," Mr. Pierson sits down and rests his elbows on his desk. He gestures with his hands as says, "Let me begin by saying that Jessica is a very well behaved student. A little timid, maybe even shy, but well behaved. The problem is her grades are slipping. Lately everything she turns in is D's and F's. Now, I believe ..."

"As Jessica's only teacher for her first sixteen years," Jack interrupts; he stands on the other side of the desk looking down on Mr. Pierson, "I know well my daughters learning capabilities. I find her to be eager to learn and very studious. From my observations of your teaching techniques I find the failings here do not belong to the student. They belong to the teacher."

"Now, wait a second here. We are here to discuss ..." Mr Pierson stands up from his desk and waves his finger at Jack.

"You will be silent, or I will silence you." Jack lowers his disguise and reveals his glowing eyes. His holy aura starts to reveal itself and the energy shakens Mr. Pierson. He loses the energy to stand and collapses in his chair. He leans back in the chair and stares at Jack. His mouth clenched shut and eyes wide open.

"I observed my daughter in this classroom," Jack continues, his voice flat, "I watched as my daughter struggled to understand your lessons. She sought your guidance and you failed to show any concern. I witnessed her study in her room. Her lack of comprehension impedes her progress. This could have been easily rectified should you have properly educated her."

"Now, I can't stop the class every time she has a question." Mr. Pierson's voice shakes with his body.

Jack reveals more of his divine aura. Holy energy releases like smoke from his eyes. His aura glows brilliantly. His wings become visible. The classroom itself starts to reflect his holy presence. The painted cinderblocks that make the walls slowly transform into polished marble. The carpeted floor becomes solid, smooth stone.

Jack speaks with a voice that holds more authority than before, "You may have dealt with a discontent protective parent before," Jack waves his hand and teacher's desk moves away, "but know this; the deepest darkest imaginings you may conjure cannot fathom my wrath."

Jack leans in and looks Mr. Pierson in the eye, and says with utmost clarity, "I will be watching. I will judge your methods. Should I find you wanting as the teacher of my daughter, then I will rectify this problem."

Mr. Pierson bites his lip and closes his eyes tight.

"LOOK AT ME!" Jack's voice seems to shake the very foundation of the building. Mr. Pierson opens his eyes to see he is staring at a man even taller than before in ornate medieval armor. Holy energy pours from the eye slit.

"Do we have an understanding?" The voice echoes from all directions. The whole room starts to resemble the Parthenon.

"Yes, sir." Mr. Pierson says meekly.

"Then we have an arrangement." Jack stands upright and backs away from Mr. Pierson. "I'm glad we had this discussion. Should you fail as my daughter's educator again, then we will have this conversation again. Except, it will be under more uncomfortable terms."

With that Jack vanishes. The whole room returns to normal, except Mr. Pierson's desk is on the other side of the room, with several student's desks fallen over in between. Without bothering to straighten anything up, Mr. Pierson grabs his bag and runs from the room.

*****

Jessica sits at her desk. First period is about to begin, and no matter how many times she reads through Pythagorean Theorem she just can't understand it. All the letters and symbols just give her a headache.

"Still having a hard time?" Isabelle interrupts her thoughts. This is her free period, so she decided to surprise Jessica with some good news, "I got a couple of friends to join us for tonight's study group. They need help in history and, get this, their strongest subject is Algebra."

"That's great," Jessica beams a smile, "Now all I have to do is survive through class today." Her smile slowly turns into a frown.

"Stop looking at the downside. That's not like you." Isabelle playfully pushes Jessica's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I just can't help but worry about what my dad talked about with Mr. Pierson yesterday."

The bell rings as Mr. Pierson walks into the class.

"Got to run, Jessica. Tell me how it goes after class, okay." Isabelle speaks while heading out the door. The school has a rule about interrupting other classes while on free period, so she can't stay while class is in session.

"Bye." Jessica waves weakly. At least Mr. Pierson is still alive.

"Alright class, we last left off on the Pythagorean Theorem." Mr. Pierson's hand is a bit shaky as he writes the equation on the board. "Did anyone have trouble understanding what we covered so far?"

Jessica raises her hand, expecting Mr. Pierson to ignore her again.

"Jessica, what did you have trouble with?"

Jessica smiles from ear to ear as she stands up to cover what confuses her about the equation. It must have been a good conversation.

[Arkhosia]

Love the story Mebecronk.
Corrections:

Spoiler

Show

"What are you doing here father?" Jessica says softly while looking around. "We had a deal. This breaks it."
Fixed it.

[mebecronck]

@Arkhosia, master of cantrips and favored soul of the Catnip God.

Thanks for pointing that out. What did you think of my horror story before that?

Was it scary?

Even a little?

[Arkhosia]

@mebecronk: it was very suspenseful, loved the ending. Also, loved the "Boo"= TERROR!!!!!!!AHHHHHH!

[Lord_Gareth]

Y'know Ark, I did ask what it was about the bard snippets that you liked.

[Arkhosia]

Y'know Ark, I did ask what it was about the bard snippets that you liked.

Oh, sorry.

I just love the humor that happens in them and the casual writing style.

[mebecronck]

I am going to try and hold off on posting my new stories for a bit. I can see that Dr Bwaa is starting to get a big backlog of stories to critique, again. So, I'm going to wait for his critiques before I post my next ones.

[TheWombatOfDoom]

In the mean time...lets have a critiquing party of our own! I think I did a decent job with Paper...though I haven't gotten a response...at least I don't think I did...

Anyways, it made me want to do a little more...

So do you have any requests, mebe? If you'd like to return the favor, my story a few pages ago I wouldn't mind a final critique on - Close to Home. See OP for link.

[Lord_Gareth]

I'll trade ya, Wombat - but I can't post my critique until I get to the in-laws' place next.

[TheWombatOfDoom]

I'll trade ya, Wombat - but I can't post my critique until I get to the in-laws' place next.

Alright. What back would you like me to scratch?

[Dr Bwaa]

@TheWombatOfDoom
Your critiques are in the mail. Enjoy

@Doxkid
Welcome to the thread! Just so you're aware of how (I) do things here: I read everyone's snippets pretty much right when they're posted. I try to post comments and critiques on every snippet anyone posts, so let me know if you'd rather I didn't do so. Even if I don't say anything right away, I still read your posts--I'm probably just working on a backlog of critiques before I say anything about it.

@Everyone Else
Don't stop posting on my account! It's been a crazy couple of weeks, but I'm back in the swing of things and my biggest single project is now taken care of, so the rest of you will get your critiques by this weekend.

If anyone's really bored and looking for some critiquing to do, the latest chapter of Outrage at Joseph's Gap could definitely use some reviewing.

Speaking of that, the first draft of part 2 of Slime, Muck, and Filth is finally done! All that remains is to get the energy to edit it once or twice, and put it up over here!

Anyway, I'm super glad to see so much activity in here, even if it means more reviewing for me Keep 'em coming!

---

...Also, I realized today that the first post is at about 41000 words, which means the archive will have to grow into the second post before too long. I think that's pretty darn cool.

[Lord_Gareth]

Alright. What back would you like me to scratch?

The latest back, of course.

[PaperMustache]

@Wombat You did a marvelous job. I'm just having trouble figuring out exactly how to critique your work. I'm hopping on a plane on Saturday and my current plan is just to print it out and give it the good old fashioned red pen treatment. I'm really sorry for taking so long. I have read it, it's just very very long and very very well written. Also I write nearly exclusively from an iPhone nowadays so that makes formatting a little difficult.

Edit: Or you may have been talking about responding to your critique? I ascribe my lack of initiative on that front entirely to overwhelming guilt that I haven't been able to get to yours yet...and also the iPhone problem. It was marvelous and extremely helpful and I took a lot of the advice into account with my latest snippet. I might get a few minutes with my mom's laptop later on today so I might respond then. Thank you for the effort, it was very thorough and very much appreciated.

[TheWombatOfDoom]

@Wombat You did a marvelous job. I'm just having trouble figuring out exactly how to critique your work. I'm hopping on a plane on Saturday and my current plan is just to print it out and give it the good old fashioned red pen treatment. I'm really sorry for taking so long. I have read it, it's just very very long and very very well written. Also I write nearly exclusively from an iPhone nowadays so that makes formatting a little difficult.

No worries. That's how I edit usually as well! If you'd like something smaller, I can arrange that!

[PaperMustache]

@Wombat Only if you would rather have something smaller critiqued. I told you I'd do it and I'd rather not disappoint.

[TheWombatOfDoom]

@Wombat Only if you would rather have something smaller critiqued. I told you I'd do it and I'd rather not disappoint.

What you have now is more of import, so if you're of willing mind, I'll be of a patient one.

[Doxkid]

@TheWombatOfDoom
Your critiques are in the mail. Enjoy

Oh, cool. I thought this place was a storage thing; like the Homebrew Extended signature.

Truth be told, I only skimmed the first post...

[mebecronck]

Here is a new entry into the Jessica story arc. Not much forward movement in the plot, but some character development.

I can't wait for your critique Dr Bwaa.

My Impatience (A Comedy)

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No really, I can't wait. I'm halfway done with my time machine. Right now it can send an apple two minutes forward in time, but it explodes after one minute. Oranges seem to do fine, though. I haven't figured out why, yet, but I'm working on it.

Hurry, before I start testing on mice. I don't want to clean up exploded mice. It reminds me of "Watership Down".

Edit: That's it, I'm ready to move on to animal testing. I didn't want to do this to you Tom. Oh, I named the test mouse Tom. It's supposed to be ironic. You know Tom and Jerry, except ... eh ... you know what I mean. I didn't want to test my time machine on you Tom. I can only blame my extreme impatience and weird sense of humor.

-Two minutes later-

Well, that was unexpected. I sent a mouse two minutes into the future, and got a cat in the return trip. Don't know how a mouse turned into a cat as a result of the time displacement, but I can't say the name Tom is ironic anymore.

Going to have to do some more research before I can move on to human testing.

Note to self: Monitor cat to make sure he doesn't explode like the apples did.

Edit: I have moved on to human testing. My impatience has emboldened me even further. I tested five cats total. Three of them started as mice. All of them exploded two minutes after the time dilation experiment. I lost Tom, Tabby, Whiskers, Cat 4, and Cat 5. I discovered that not naming the animals made the grieving process quicker.

I will read Dr Bwaa's critiques, no matter how many cats explode.

On to the human testing. I volunteered to babysit the neighbors two year old daughter. I will consider the small size of the test subject to act as a scale model of when I eventually use the time machine. I took extra precautions to make sure I don't remember the child's name to ease the grief resulting from her eventual and unavoidable explosion.

-Two minutes later-

Even more baffling; I sent a two year old girl two minutes into the future and got back a used fondue pot. I have no idea what to make of this, nor can I be certain of what is in the fondue pot. It tastes good with cheese, but I can't place the flavor. I will have to monitor it to see if it explodes.

Edit: Alright. This is it. I'm about to use the time machine on myself. I only had one more test subject use the time machine. The two year old girl's older brother. He was five. I concluded that the larger the human test subject, the larger the fondue pot. The pots didn't explode, and the substance in the boy's pot did not taste good with cheese. I haven't worked out what causes this, but I have no choice in the matter.

The police are right outside. The parent's of the kids don't believe me when I told them the fondue pots are their kids. I have to use the time machine myself to escape. I will set it for one day. Hopefully, I will not turn into a giant fondue pot, but if I do, I hope I taste good with cheese.

I also hope, that as a fondue pot, I can still read Dr Bwaa's critiques.

Jessica Chapter 8

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Jessica's Misadventures
in High School

Chapter 8
The Meeting

"Has she said anything?" The Chief walks down the hall with purpose to the interrogation room. He addresses the guard standing outside Jessica's room with a point of his finger and a glare.

"No, sir. In fact she has been very quiet." The guard salutes instinctively.

The Chief almost cracks a smile and says, "Military man, right?"

"Yes, sir. Army retired. Iraq war veteran." He stays at attention.

"I like that. Navy retired myself," he snaps himself out of recalling the old days, "Open the door. I want to speak with her myself."

The guard turns around and pulls out the key to the door. The Chief ordered her room remain locked after she left unescorted last time. The man starts to open the door and an unnatural glow emits from inside the room. It outlines the border of the door and changes in intensity.

"Sir? Are we both seeing the same thing?" The guard speaks up timidly. His hand gripped tight on the door handle, keeping it just barely cracked open.

"Well, open the door. Right now I'm not surprised by anything that happens."

The guard opens the door all the way and looks inside. Jessica is sitting on the table in the lotus position, her open hands resting on top of one another in her lap. Her thumbs are arching above her fingers, making an oval shape with her hands. Her wings are arched wide around her body. Her body is held perfectly straight. Her eyes are wide open, staring at the nothing directly in front of her, but looking right through it. A strange energy dances across her body, and she remains perfectly still.

The Chief looks at her and remains speechless for almost a minute. He collects his wits and says, "Lock the door behind me," and he walks in.

*****

"I'm here to collect Jessica's belongings." Janet walks up to the caged window and knocks on it to grab the attention of the attendee.

"Good. The sooner I get rid of this thing the better." The attendee collects a sealed plastic bag containing a brown linen drawstring bag. The attendee lays the bag in the sliding tray and pushes it through a one-way gate designed to separate the attendee and recipient at all times.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Janet laughes while looking at the attendee sideways.

"What?"

"Procedure. I got to sign for it first."

"Yeah, right." He pulls the sliding tray back in and puts the chain-of-custody paperwork inside, without removing the bag.

Janet removes the paperwork and starts to fill it out. As she writes she can't help but ask, "Why are you so eager to get rid of it?"

"The bag is just ... it's ... It's weird, okay." He gestures with his hands dramatically, "We opened it up to account for the contents, and ... It's bigger on the inside."

"What?"

"I know. I know. It sounds ..."

"Like something right out of Doctor Who." She starts laughing hysterically.

"Fine. Whatever. Just take the bag and go." He waves her off with his hand.

Janet places the paperwork back in the tray and walks away with the bag. She leaves it sealed in the plastic bag, but her curiosity makes her wonder if what the attendee said is true. She restrains herself from opening the bag herself to check it out.

*****

"Is this how you sleep?" The Chief asks after circling the table a few times.

Jessica shakes her head and blinks a couple of times. The energy that moved across her body vanishes. She looks around for a moment and sees The Chief. "Oh, sorry. My meditation draws a lot of my focus. I didn't see you come in."

She pulls her wings in tight and jumps off the table. She straightens out her robe and then bows curtly. "My name is Jessica. What is your name?" She says beaming a smile at The Chief.

The Chief smiles and says, "I'm The Chief of Police. You can call me The Chief, everyone else does."

"Isn't it rude to address someone by only their title?" Jessica turns her head to the side.

"How about Chief Anders, then."

"A pleasure to meet you Chief Anders." Jessica says still beaming a smile. She sticks out her open hand for a handshake. Chief Anders hesitates for a moment and then smiles as he grasps her hand.

*****

Janet walks up to the interrogation room door, still carrying the sealed bag. She sees the guard stands at attention right in the doorway.

"I got Jessica's belongings. The Chief wants me to deliver them to Jessica." Janet says as she approaches the guard.

"I'm going to have to check with him before I let you in." The guard turns around and unlocks the door. He hesitates for a moment when he puts his hand on the doorknob.

"What's the matter?" Janet asks. She can see the sweat forming on his brow.

"It's nothing." He turns the doorknob and opens the door. There is no glow coming from inside the room, but a sound emits from the other side of the door that startles both the guard and Janet. The Chief is laughing.

The guard's hesitation gives Janet the opportunity to let herself into the room. The guard closes the door and locks it after her.

"First thing tomorrow, I'm putting in for a transfer." The guard makes a mental note as he says the words.

*****

"So your dad killed Hamilcar Barca?" Chief Anders says, laughing between words.

Jessica gives out a giggle and says, "Yeah. The rest of his army was so embarrassed that they never told anyone what happened."

Chief Anders tries to contain himself and forces out the words, "If that happened to me, I wouldn't want to tell anyone either."

Jessica takes a few breaths to calm down and says, "Father tells the story differently, though. Very straightforward. Giving unnecessary details. I like to add my own flare."

"A very serious man, with a military mindset, huh. I bet your father and I would get along famously." His laughing starts to subside and he looks over to the door, "Officer Watson, I didn't hear you come in."

"I collected Jessica's belongings as you requested, sir." Janet says as she places the bag on the table.

"Oh, thank you so much, Janet." Jessica eagerly grabs the bag and starts to rip the plastic open.

"Janet, huh?" Chief Anders looks at Officer Watson sideways, "I'm glad to see you two became so familiar."

Jessica takes her bag out and opens it up. She thrusts her arm inside while muttering to herself. The bag should barely hold her hand, but she manages to get her whole arm in, all the way up to her shoulder. Chief Anders and Janet stare with blank expressions. She starts pulling things out of the bag. A dirty robe, several books, a bag of trail mix, more books, and she even pulls out two jewelry boxes; one big and one small.

"Aha!" Jessica holds up a book she just pulled out of the bag, "Father?" She says to the ceiling.

"Yes daughter?" A voice emits from the middle of the ceiling.

Chief Anders jumps up from his chair and backs away from the table, staring at the ceiling. The blank expression on his face turning slowly to a mix of anger and fear.

"I found Henry's copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula." Jessica says to the ceiling.

"I am sure Henry will be glad to hear it. He has already turned in for tonight. I will tell him first thing in the morning."

"Thank you. Is there any other books he is missing?"

"He did not mention anything. I will ask him that, as well, when he awakens in the morning." There is a brief pause, "You should be getting to sleep soon, too. It is very late."

"Thank you, Father," Jessica says exasperated.

"Do you want me to send you Sherry? You seem to have forgotten her."

"What? No, I don't need Sherry anymore." Jessica's face turns red as she starts looking back and forth between Janet and Chief Anders. Both of them are looking at the ceiling. Janet seems to be taking it better than before.

"Are you certain? I recall you have trouble sleeping without her."

"Good night, father." Jessica says between her teeth. Hoping to end the conversation.

"Good night, daughter."

The room goes quiet. Jessica's face is beet red. The silence is broken by Janet when she asks, "Who's Sherry?"

Jessica drops her head and sighs. She whispers, "The teddy bear my dad made for me."

"Oh, that is so cute." Janet says in a cutesy voice, then laughs.

"I'm sixteen. I don't sleep with a teddy bear anymore." Jessica crosses her arms and looks down at her feet.

"Who was that?" Chief Anders finally speaks up and walks back to his chair slowly.

"That was my dad." Jessica says bluntly.

"Okay," Chief Anders takes a long pause, "Is he still listening."

Janet answers, "Probably, but he won't answer unless we say something to him." Janet tries to hold back her laughter.

Just to alert everyone I turned the time machine joke into a mini-snippet. After I post this comment here I will delete it. That way you get an email alerting everyone about the update.


(Note: that was when it was another post. Now combined)

I wish we could get an email whenever a post is edited, too. If there is a way, then could somebody tell me.

Incoming critiques.

@Arkhosia

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The dark elf, wearing a green blouse, purple cap and cape, and short blue skirt, leaning against the wall with her legs crossed and right arm holding a card deck, gestures toward her left where two figures stood.

That is one really long sentence. A whole lot of ands in there. Also, the previous sentence needs an opening quotation.

A tall Eladrin on the far left interrupted.

Who's left? My left? The character's left? Cronc's left? My left foot?

His black leather boots resting on the table, a beat up red-detailed trench coat, and a long blade on the loop of a satchel hanging on the back of his chair gave him a cocky appearance.

I think posture is what gives a person a "cocky" appearance. Not clothes. Also, the descriptions in this sentence are a bit "jumbled". The first time I read this I thought the table was "beat up" and "red".

"You elected me the party leader. Besides, your parents named you Roadkill!"

Roadkill can't be the leader? Why? There are several fictional biker gangs lead by guys and girls named Roadkill and they are not pleased by this discrimination. Don't make them wag their chains at you.

"My parents were a**holess!"

You think your parents were *******s? You should have met Maverick's parents. He wanted to get away from them so fast he jumped into a fighter jet and just took off.

The magnificent Mage and maelstrom of misorder

To make it proper, capitalize every word but "and" and "of". Also, shouldn't it be Disorder. Also, every time?! I would start saying, "Hey, Four M" before I use that whole name.

Finally, this is a story. Which means multiple paragraphs. I suggest making a new paragraph every time a different character speaks. That way we have an easier time figuring out who's talking.

@Doxkid

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A polite aura of ignorance

I don't get what you are describing here. Are you referring to the way people are reacting, how the character is acting, or something else entirely?

It is an interesting turn of phrase, and I like how it sounds, but I can't seem to visualize what is being described.

…or to the decision to finally be reincarnated, at any rate.

This line doesn't quite match the atmosphere of the rest of the story. It took me way off guard and forced me out of the scene. I was getting absorbed into the story and this just kicked me out.

When the Great Horned Owl struck down a mouse Barnabas was there too, shooing the bird away so he could tend the rodent’s wounds…or give it a place to rest eternally, if need be.

And then The Great Horned Owl starved to death, because a little kid wouldn't let him eat. The poor, hungry owl.

If, of course, you exclude the teasing

You seem to use "Of course" and "Oh" a little too frequently. It messes with the flow of the story, and isn't really necessary.

that prank where every beast of the forest had its gender changed this was slightly less bothersome,

I think you need a comma or period between "changed" and "this".

It only took days for the sand to return.

Damn you sand! You just get everywhere. I can't even enjoy a stay at the beach without you getting into every crack.

Seven of the mightiest mages from the forest joined their magic and collectively purged the land of this subtle blight.

I don't think subtle is the right word here. From what I read up to this point, it has been anything but subtle.

The forest fell silent as the warrior woman roared one last challenge; unlike the others it did not fall when she drew breath, instead feeding upon long hidden rage. Her pace quickened and Barnabas could barely keep up.

Whoa! Mom is letting her kid follow with her! Into this! I'm guessing this kid is some "chosen one" character, but other than his unusual birth this story hasn't given me that impression.

Chosen one or not, a mother wouldn't let her child follow her into "Sand Hell". Reading fantasy, I do have to suspend my disbelief, but this is a bit much. Perhaps if you established him as being capable of handling himself earlier.

Massive creatures without names stooped to strike and her

I think you meant "strike at her".

Even the simplest of undead were held at bay by the sheer force of her anger and strength; zombies swayed in the softest of winds, their mindless drive to slaughter cowed momentarily by her presence.

If this is DnD, then this doesn't make sense. I'm a big fan of the undead, in all settings. Zombies and skeletons would keep attacking. They can't feel fear. They are incapable of hesitation. Unless she is a cleric and used "Turn Undead" then they are still attacking.

I know that you are trying to create a scene here, but when using a previously established world setting you got to stay true to its rules. Otherwise readers who are fans of the setting is going to become confused.

Barnabas whimpered as much as he was able,

I got to ask, "Why is he even in the story?" He doesn't seem to serve any purpose. Is he Chekov's Gun? Is he going to go off by the end of the second act?

“Oh? Who is this little guy next to you?”

Ah! The kid is finally going to serve a purpose.

"Please, Necromancer. Take the kid away from the poor excuse of a mother. Did you see what she did? She dragged him into a battlefield of undead nightmares. I know you like to play around with dead things, but you got to be a better parent than her!"

“He looks quite familiar…doesn’t he look familiar, my widdle gum-drop?”

We are three fourths of the way through the story, and we are finally getting some character development.

From the antagonist.

We received plenty of exposition on the heroes of the story, but with a few short lines I can now relate to the necromancer. I have a better connection with the villain of the story than the heroes.

“I think someone is supposed to introduce the proud uncle to his only nephew;

Are you M. Night Shyamalan?

Jenny spoke her first true words in what seemed like hours or even days.

Or even the whole story. Unless you count when she named Barnabas true words.

Barnabas glanced up at her torn between disapproval, pride, fear, tiredness and confusion.

That is quite the laundry list of emotions to be conflicted with. Well, one is a physical state, but still that is quite the list.

Artemis winked at his nephew and Jenny shifted to better shield her son from view;

Again, why did you take him with you?! Why not, oh, I don't know, leave him at home where a whole town can protect him?! Your mother can't be the only competent fighter in the village. Not to mention the safety in numbers.

Mother of the year here folks. For our next field trip we will take a walking tour through The Nine Layers of Hell.

all the same Barnabas smiled back at his uncle just the tiniest bit.

YES! Go with your uncle. Artemis is a better developed and more memorable character. Not to mention, he has got to better a better parent than your mom. At least with him you got some damn good babysitters. Try playing hide and seek with a babysitter that has "Lifesense", it isn't easy.

I’d just die of embarrassment!

... and come back as a lich.

Besides, I just so happen to think ‘Barnabas’ has a nice ring to it.”


...

That ... is a rather weak end. It doesn't even feel like an ending.

Well, to give an overall impression:

The first three quarters of the story dragged too much. It didn't keep me engaged. When Artemis was first introduced the story finally became interesting. I could better connect to Artemis than any other character, because the rest, Jenny and Barnabas, just aren't well developed. I didn't care what happened to them and I felt no personality from them.

Artemis was subtle and his character reflected through his dialogue well. Everyone else, they did ... things ... but nothing shown through it. They were all one dimensional. When they did show emotion it always felt contrived.

In the end I felt like I wanted to know more about Artemis than whatever might happen with Jenny and Barnabas.

@Dr Bwaa

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while Nim watches and offers advice like "lift it up!"

This one knows what he's talking about. You should pay close attention to him.

"Looks like it's me! What do you know!

Sure, you can stay up here. Alone. No one to protect you from the unknown terrors that lurk in the dark corners. Fangs stained red from the blood of ...

I get it. Sheesh.

I can actually hear him grin.

It's time for Science Nerd Talk:

This is actually true. Your voice will have subtle differences depending on you expression. You will actually sound a little different when you are smiling, frowning, or have a neutral expression. It all has to do with how the air moves from your mouth. Just like how the squeal of air from a balloon sounds different depending on tight you pull on the lip.

The difference is far subtler with facial expressions though.

"Well, good luck John, and you two as well.

Officer Barbrady, "Move along, people. There's nothing to see here."

"The sewers really are stopped up. The passage is blocked

Curse you Gods of Ironic Humor!

Would that I could die instead. Hell can be no worse than this.

My characters, Jack and "The Devil"/Asmodeus, reading this.

The Devil, "He really thinks Hell couldn't be worse than being submerged is sewage." He starts laughing, and nudges Jack with his elbow.

Jack looks at him with a blank expression, "Why are we reading this together? Don't we hate each other?"

They both look back and forth across the room, then down at the feet. After the awkward silence, they both leave.

I picture how I must look, and laugh all the harder, spitting and coughing between breaths.

River of Slime scene from Ghostbusters 2. I just can't help but draw the comparison.

"We wouldn't want this to be too easy."

Chekov's Gun all over again. Now it is going to be damn hard.

Keep watch for any wretched creatures that would live in a place like this

After all, something had to build that dam of dead bodies. It's not like corpse dams are formed naturally.

Also, I'm convinced that neither of these characters seen a horror movie. All they need to do now is say, "I'll be right back" to guarantee that they die.

I spy at least two spine-covered tentacles

Whoops, sorry. I seem to have recorded one of my hentai over your snippet. In my defense you should have write-protected it.

twisting the top of the creature's enormous jaw entirely off its body in a geyser of foulness.

His dying words, "Just two days from retirement."

"Maybe we can find a washroom."

A thousand hot showers can not clean my mind of what has been seen.

Also, I'm disappointed in you. They are in the sewers, surrounded by crap, and you didn't make one fart joke. Not one! I had higher hopes for you.

Overall:

I enjoyed it. The story kept me engaged. I was able to relate to the characters well. They are well developed and their interactions are natural. Although, I feel Filbert wasn't as well developed as the others. I could tell a lot about Nim and our hero, but Filbert just seems a bit generic. He is more the straight man that the jokes play off of.

@Lord Gareth

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His build was lean, not mighty,

The "not mighty" is unnecessary. "Lean" already implies that.

slain with blows that were a strange combination of savage and surgical

Can you elaborate on this? It is a nice contradictory expression, but it would be nice if you followed with the "How". If the "one mighty precise strike" is the description, then it doesn't say "savage and surgical" to me. A little more description of this scene would be nice.

I kinda wanted to ask why you're always apart.

I think this should end with a question mark.

"Kestrel. Vivienne Kestrel."

"Bond. James Bond."

Also, they been traveling this long and he doesn't know her name, yet. This guy is really separated from the rest, or a complete ****.

Overall:

Short and sweet. I enjoyed the story and obviously it is leading to further ones. You left a nice hook to get us to read the next one with the whole "demon shadow" scene.

@PaperMustache

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Oh I could think of a few things.

Oh, I could think of a few things, too. Like how there needs to be a comma between "Oh" and "I", and naughty things. Mostly naughty things.

I spend way too much time on the internet.

Sometimes I thought she forgot that we were only seventeen.

Eh, now I'm not thinking naughty things. Right officer. See. Not thinking them anymore. You can put the taser down now. Please.

Where had all this stuff about the Brotherhood come from in the first place?

A really crappy fan-fiction. Probably "Thirty Shades of Grey".

Well you know what's scaring me? Everything!

I know a good therapist for you, Charlie Brown. She works for only a nickel.

Sorry, that line reminded me of the scene where Charlie Brown and Lucy are talking and she says, "The fear of everything" and Charlie Brown shouts, "THAT'S IT!" Aha ha ha. So funny.

Uh, where was I at. Oh, yeah. Critiquing.

I was daydreaming again.

Okay, now I dub thee "Doug Funnie".

You will pledge to give your lives and your efforts to serve our interests, or you will die."

Well, if those are my only two options. Let me think about for a moment. Tough call. I'm going to need to make a pros and cons list for this one.

"We swear." Mya answered.

Mya is acting more like the stories hero than ... well, our stories hero. In fact, our hero has been mostly following her in this whole story segment.

"We swear." I joined her that time,

Hey, look! Our hero stepped up ...

muttering weakly.

... and promptly retreated. I'm supposed to be rooting for this one, right?

"Peace, Secrecy, Autonomy."

"Honor, Family, Tradition, Donuts! MUCHA LUCHA!"

which have me a start.

... huh?

"Uh...Peace, Secrecy, Autonomy?" I whimpered desperately.

Are we sure we got the right hero? The story of Mya seems to be the more entertaining read right now.

Sort of ham handed, yeah?"

Okay, where's the ham. I was promised ham. Don't you be holding out on me!

"That was really scary."

... uh, no it wasn't. Neither reading it, nor visualizing it made it scary. It seemed more like a secret club meeting than The Midnight Society. If you find that scary then I advise that you don't read "Where's Waldo". Somewhere in the picture, Waldo is hiding. Whoo ... BOO!

"Usually there's a blood ritual, but I guess they skipped it for you."

That would have been scary. See. Depending on the ritual of course. I mean slicing your hands for a blood oath would have been an excuse for being squeamish. The real fear would have been if they gave a newborn child as an offering to the dark gods.

My stomach turned at the thought of blood.

You are joining an organization called The Brotherhood and you get nauseous at the thought of blood!

Are we absolutely certain that we got the right hero for the story?!

Overall:

It is a good story, and I look forward to the next entry. The hero is not ... well ... the hero doesn't seem to fit well in this story. I keep wondering, "What the hell are you even doing here?" We need some motivation. In the transition from Act I to Act II I feel like the hero is just going to run away instead of continuing the story arc.

I post these into a new entry so that you will be alerted to the critiques. Then I will combine it to my previous post so I won't be double posting.

Combined

Incoming new critique:

@TheWombatofDoom

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Ryan idly wondered what these corridors under the labs were for. He knew it was for the electric tubes that ran along the top, but it couldn’t be just that.

Why not? A lot of things are built with just one purpose. Ryan is just over-thinking it.

There were similar tubes main part of the city,

... huh?

Before he could conjecture further, they came upon their quarry - a door.

Your number one threat; a door. You must be the aliens from "Signs".

Ryan hadn’t considered the risk Larin was taking by sneaking them into the labs.

You didn't. You selfish jerk.

It’s going to be very dangerous in this hall in about ten minutes.

Foreshadowing, thy name is Zuul!

Darien and Ryan obediently waited, rocking on the balls of their feet with an antsy anticipation.

After creeping through the dark tunnels, Ryan felt exposed in the open room.

They look at each other and try to make small talk. "So, how about those Cubs?"

Awkward.

As he glanced around for prospective hiding places, a glimmer caught his eye.

SHINY!

Ryan's curiosity was interrupted by the faint sound of hooves clocking against the stone of the floor.

I think the word is "clopping". Despite what the Brony community turned it into.

The Kawe was a majestic creature. Distant glimpses had not prepared Ryan for the experience of being near one. Its appearance and demeanor was that of a deer: calm, beautiful, proud, but there was one major difference. Where horns would have been on a deer’s crown instead came forth lightning on the Kawe. Even now the bluish electricity sizzled and crackled around behind its head. Ryan watched, enchanted as the electricity twisted about in some sort of dance.

Quick, throw your Master Ball.

or went spent time with Darien.

... huh?

“Why can’t we hide or go back the through the tunnel we came through?”

THE through the tunnel is the worst possible way out! It's a trap!

Right now hiding seemed like a better idea than running through a maze of hallways.

Always works for Scooby and Shaggy.

Larin added as an afterthought, snatching two masks that hung on pegs by the door and handing one to each boy.

Great luck or convenient plot device? Either way, it's a little contrived.

A quick study showed Ryan that the mask seemed to be some kind of tinted glass that when worn could see through.

... what?

Ryan realized he never thanked Larin in the rush to escape.

Oh, darn. Better head back. Don't want to seem rude.

Ryan assured himself that that would have to come later.

Did it really take that much convincing?

Right now he had more pressing matters - to escape.

No kidding?

Darien was beginning to tire and was falling behind.

Someone forgot Rule #1 of Zombieland. Cardio!

He grabbed Darien’s wrist and pulled him around the next corridor at random.

How do you randomly pull someone?

Darien and Ryan were immediately able to put more distance between them and their pursuers as they weaved through the traffic in the crowded hall.

Parkour! PARKOUR!

A crash behind them made Ryan glance back.

Someone forgot to parkour.

hoping no one would recognize him.

Just don't say it out loud, otherwise the trope will catch you.

“Ryan?!”

OUCH! I forgot, in books the trope will catch you either way.

Okay. I didn't forget, but Chekov's Gun had a hair trigger here.

Well, this is not going to end well.

You think?

So, when there was need for more room, the only way to go was down.

So, how about down and out? They obviously know how to tunnel. So tunnel out.

Ryan turned his eyes to one of the many lightning rods that rose out of the wall that encircled the city.

Another effective way to escape the city. Use the lightning rods to attract the lightning and it won't strike people moving past them.

The tubes ran throughout the underground city and the city above, giving light to all, among other things.

I see the other use for them. Obviously this is the internet. It is a series of tubes.

Ryan wondered what had his ancestors had done to warrant such an extreme measure of confinement.

Your confinement was caused by the extra had in your sentence. The Gods are Grammar Nazis.

Further, the question every resident of Eron had to wonder was

"Why do we drive on the parkway, but park in the driveway?"

Why were they still imprisoned generations later?

That was my second guess.

Whatever the cause, he supposed it had to do with magic.

Damn wizards ... of the coast.

There was a silver lining

No, that is just more lightning.

Despite getting caught, Ryan felt the adventure to the school had been worth it.

Yeah, who cares if your friend gets kicked out of school. You got to see a deer with lightning shooting out of its head.

Selfish ****.

Soon, Ryan would be sneaking into the rest of the world.

We have a major leap in plot here. How did we get from crying in his room to "I'm going to see the world"? We need some threads of thought to connect these two points. Wasn't he grounded? Aren't they trapped? What about Larin? Why is he suddenly planning on escaping the unescapable city of Eron? Why is he no longer depressed?

Ryan glanced back at his half packed room.

Why is he packing? The plot jumped several pages here. We need a transition, people. Something to connect these two points.

His parents wanted to give Ryan his dreams.

It is at this point that I realized, "EXPOSITION!" I am suddenly getting a lot of exposition here.

Ryan found no passion in ash carving or glassblowing, but put a sword in his hand, and he lit up like a flash of lightning.

If fighting is forbidden, then how did he get a sword?

What was more important to Ryan and Darien’s parents was that helping their children escape gave them something they as parents never had – freedom.

When did they come into this? Okay, I'm totally lost right now. Someone give me a map. I need to find out where the plot ran off to.

They still weren’t happy, to say the least, but since nothing really was harmed,

Except for the teacher who took a nose dive to the floor.

This is serious business.

Because this is the internet. Did you see the series of tubes under our house?

He felt ashamed, realizing the escapade to the school had cost him the entire day.

And possibly Larin's academic career, but who cares about that.

Seriously, such a selfish ****.

“I decided it would be best if I didn’t mention Larin’s involvement to the school. I figured that could be something we just keep to ourselves, yeah?”

Good watching out, father. Not like your son showed more than one or two sentences of concern.

His father had just done something very kind.

Something very kind for your friend. That you forgot about while you were daydreaming about your own goals in life.

Overall:

I enjoyed it. There are parts where it drags too much, but the pace works well enough. The protagonist, Ryan, is both likeable and with flaws. His main flaw being his selfishness, which at times is a bit grating.

I'm guessing the leap in plot was caused by the fact that you have previous entries on this story line. Which I guess I missed out on. If that's the case then the fault is mine. This feels like an introductory story, though, and if this is "Chapter 1" then you really need to connect those two points.

One of the better snippets I read in a while, though. Looking forward to the next work.

Entry will be combined and deleted.

... and again.