The CHALLENGE chugs on!

[LeSwordfish]

Did I fail? I hit 1500 words each week, thats 6 days at 250 each?

That said, don't worry about being slow - as always, real life comes first.

[Glass Mouse]

Did I fail? I hit 1500 words each week, thats 6 days at 250 each?

That said, don't worry about being slow - as always, real life comes first.

Whoops, forgot to update that part. I'm on a roll with failing you for nothing these weeks, it seems

Fixed now!

[LeSwordfish]

No worries!

For this week: Six models.

[Icewalker]

Oof, busy week. I wanted to do another 1500 words of The Three Truths and not use my gamewriting to meet the quota, but it is midnight and I should sleep, and I did spend four hours today and many more across the earlier parts of this week formatting, editing, and some last writing of this 20 page game document for a camp.

Included here are 648 words of The Three Truths, and a sample page of the LaTeX formatting and writing I was working on. Glass Mouse I've sent you the full submission by PM. I'm quite proud of it, honestly.

Spoiler: The Three Truths

Show

Franz regained consciousness in his makeshift shelter, the sun seeming to have fallen low to the horizon. He stumbled to his feet and into open air. Even the partial cover of his shelter was reminiscent of the moist crawling prison of his dream. He hit the sand again and retched, spitting up several drops of thick blood.
He was not going to die here.
Franz placed the assortment of recovered artifacts back into the sack, and put one foot in front of the other, walking slowly and blindly towards the shifting horizon.

Franz woke when a shadow passed between him and the sun. He lay on his back in the sand. Had he passed out again?
The olive skinned woman bending over him squinted in the light reflected from the silvery sand. Her expression shifted as she took note of the dehydration, burns, and exhaustion, pursing her lips.
“That’s pretty bad.”
Franz agreed. He was not capable of responding.
“Here. Only a little first.” She pulled a round canteen of flattened metal from her waist, and poured a small dribble of water into his mouth. “I’m Ronove.”
“S...s...Franz,” he managed to croak. “Thanks.”
“Don’t talk yet.” She handed him the canteen, and he drank again, taking small sips. Her clothes were unusual for the desert, her arms exposed aside from a pair of uneven and unornamented metal bracers covering her forearms. “You’re lost. Can’t find your way out here.”
It wasn’t a question. He nodded.
She looked up, shading her eyes. “Southeast,” she pointed, “that way. That’s where you’re trying to go. Get an eye on the horizon and keep it there, you’ll find your way back to your friends.”
“How-”
“I said not to talk yet. You need to listen to what you are told.” She looked up again. “It’s time for you to move. There is a storm coming. Keep the wind at your back, and if you see something, do not approach it.”
She extended a hand. He grasped it, and she pulled him to his feet. The sun hit his eyes as he stood, and he blinked the blinding rays from his vision to find himself standing alone on the rolling dunes.
He was holding a round canteen of flattened metal, two thirds filled with water. There were no footprints in view aside from his own.
Franz locked his eyes onto the horizon, and began to move.

The storm hit after what may have been another hour of walking. Franz kept the wind to his back, digging again into the side of a dune and recreating his makeshift shelter, keeping his eyes on what little of the horizon was visible. It proved a mistake, with sand accumulating in the storm around the shelter, and Franz had to re-establish the cover every few minutes when a motion caught his eye.
A dark shape came into view in the heavy whirling winds, suspended from the ground, and large. Franz cupped his hands around his eyes to protect them from the sand, getting a view of the silhouette.
A pair of broad sweeping shapes extended from either side of the shadow like wings, two dozen feet or further to the tip. One of the broad lines broke part way up, a sharp angle hanging towards the ground instead of continuing in the same upward sweep as the other. The shape blurred and shifted as the silver sand whipped through the air. Franz pressed his back to the dunes behind him, feeling uncomfortably exposed.
The shadow held, fading in and out of view as the wind came and went, but the silhouette with the broken wing remained. Ages later, the wind began to die down, and as the sun returned to the sky, Franz was met with the same empty, featureless horizon. Canteen clutched in his hand, he put one foot in front of the other.

Spoiler: Neon Sunrise

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[Xiander]

Woops, almost forgot to post this. I did 2875 words of Warstorm.

Spoiler: Warstorm Cronicles, chapter 1, part three

Show

“What fight?” Jonathan spat the words, irritation brimming in his voice. “There is nothing here!”
Lightning flared above, and illuminated the landscape for a long second. In the sudden light, Jonathan could see multiple tress dotted over the green ground, and between them, not far away, a dirt road stratched from left to right. Just as the light began to fate, a carriage rounded a bend and raced into view.
It was a dark, obviously expensive carriage, drawn by two horses. The animals seemed to be fine specimens, which had been driven harder and longer than they should have.
Rushing over the small road at breakneck speed, the carriage would soon have been out of sight once more. But as the light from the lightning strike faded completely, the vehicle made a sudden turn going off the road, one of the horses reared up, and the whole thing tumbled and crashed against the ground.
Jonathan was running before the carriage had stopped moving. He rushed towards the wreck, barely thinking at all, but holding one thought clear in his mind: He should help.
He was dimly aware of his companions through the driving rain, and he noticed them following him towards the ruin of the carriage.
He could see the horses, lying broken still tethered to the wreck. He noticed the coachman as he got nearer, flung to the ground and probably unconscious. He only just got to the question of whether there was passengers in the carriage, when his senses screamed a warning at him.
He whipped his head around to see a jetblack horse rounding the bend, in pursuit of the wagon. The rider wore black clothes and held a heavy blade in his right hand. Every instinct in Jonathan’s body told him that this man was what the carriage and it’s passengers had been fleeing from.
As he noted this, the rider was followed by several others. Seven men, all clad in black and riding dark horses. Swords and axes wielded, ready to strike, and masks or cloth covering all their faces.
As he stood there taking in the horrid sight of the murderers aproaching their prey, Jonathan heard Nathaniel’s soft, melancholic voice through the storm.
“This is your first outing.” The bard spoke from right by his left shoulder. “You call the shots.”
He wanted to ask what kind of stupid rule that was. He wanted to say that this situation was crazy and impossible. He wanted to scream.
But he did not.
When he spoke his voice was calm and his mind was clear of doubt. He must have yelled to be heard over the storm, but his voice sounded like a polite suggestion.
“Protect the carriage.” He ordered.
There was no time for detailed plans, no time to survey the strengths and weaknesses of his allies and his enemies. All he had time for was that one order, and the hope that it would be enough.
His legs were moving at a run, without consulting his mind first. He noticed Nathaniel and Gunnar running next to him, headed for the carriage to get between the horsemen and their prey.
The horsemen were moving fast, and it was clear that they would get there long before Jonathan and his comrades. Still they ran.

A singing sound reached his ears through the din of thunder, as if someone had plucked on the string of a giant harp.
An arrow shoots straigh past him and sticks in the neck of the closest horse. The beast does not seem to realise that it is dead for several seconds. Then its legs buckle and it tumbles, flinging the rider out of the saddle.
The dying horse blocked the road, forcing the following riders to the side. One failed to spot this new obstacle and his horse crashed into the body, loosing its footing and going down as well.
The five men who remained seated in their saddels turned their horses to face the direction, from which the arrow came.
Jonathan risked a a glance over his shoulder. Standing perched on small mount of earth, the blonde woman from the hall was drawing a second arrow, her eyes already seeking out her next target.
He snapped his eyes back, to see two jet black horses rushing towards him and the two men at his side. Gunnar stopped running, planted both feet solidly in the ground and flung his axe with both hands.
The weapon spun through the air, cleaving falling raindrops as it went, and slammed into the front horse with a wet thunk. Jonathan saw the surprise and fear in the rider’s eyes, as the mount reared up, only to falter and fall over halfway through the motion.
Then the second rider turned his horse slightly, to race towards Gunnar. The giant brute was certainly a trained fighter, but he would fare poorly against a rider, having just disarmed himself in the most brutal way imaginable. There was no thinking, Jonathan just acted.
As the rider charged Gunnar, Jonathan’s full speed run brought him close enough to intercept. And he jumped.
He colided with the horse midair, which did little to slow it down. So he grasped out and caught the arm of the rider, using it as leverage, to swing a leg across the back of the mount.
The rider tried to strike out with his blade, but Jonathan was behind him, he was striking blindly in an akward angle, and the blade hit only rain.
Jonathan’s own blade rang against the sheath as he drew it. With a quick jab, he took the steel to the riders neck, snatching the reigns to the horse with his free hand, as the dead man tumbled from the saddle.
He saw Gunnar jump out of the way of the thundering mount and he fought to get the beats under control. With a firm hand, he guided his new mount to slow and turn, and then he was facing the battle again.
Four horses had been taken down, but only one man was confirmed dead. Three more riders surged forward. An silent arrow struck one in the eye, leaving two charging the spot where Nathaniel and Kemp stood shoulder by shoulder.
Pushing his own mount forward, Jonathan surged into the fray, seeking to protect his comrades from the fury of the mounted warriors.
There was no time, before his horse could gain speed, the two riders were upon Nathaniel and kemp.

Comming from both sides, the riders lifted blades to strike. The two horseles men lifted their own blades, but it was clear that they were at a disadvantage.
Illuminated by a suddenflash of lightning the riders brought down their weapons in heavy overhand swings. Kemp and Nathaniel moved as one.
The bard had not seemed like a dangerous man, when Jonathan spoke to him in the Hall, but now he moved with a speed and pressision not matched by most veterans jonathan had seen in his career. As the riders blade descended, Nathaniel did not parry it, as much as he struck it with his own blade. Unprepared for the impact, the rider lost the grip of his weapon, which spun out of his hand and into the darkness.
Kemp’s movements were even faster than Nathaniels. As the blade came for him, he slipped forward and under, doding it with apparant ease. His own weapon moved in a quick snapping motion, aimed for the flank of the steed, but apparantly not catching flesh.
The next instance, Jonathan found himself moving forward, his horse carrying him straight towards the two riders. He disregarded the one with no blade, and turned to deal with the other. Only to see the man tumble from his horse, as the saddle came loose, on strap cut cleanly by the swift motion of Kemp’s blade.
Jonathan snapped back to the other rider, jabbing his steel into the man’s chest as they passed each other. With a gurgling sound, the rider slumped forward, pulling Jonathan’s sword form his hand, as the horses kept moving.
He grapped the reigns with both hands, and pulled his horse to a halt. He needed to regain his perspective, he needed an overview.
They had taken the riders by surprise, and had ben lucky enough to eliminate the horses. But he saw the darkclad men stumbling to their feet where they had fallen from their saddles, and regaining their bearings.
Two men on the road, on not far from Gunnar, and one right next to Nathaniel and Kemp. He saw the men on the road realise that they no longer outnumbered their prey, and he realised they were going for the carriage, while their freinds fought his own comrades.
He snapped the reigns to make the horse speed towards the carriage, he had dropped his blade, but he would not let them get to their target without a fight.
As he sped past, he saw a darkclad man pointing his sword at Gunner, and he swore the great brute was laughing as he looked at the weapon.
Then he was past and jolting towards the road and the carriage. The men were closing the distance fast, but the horse caught up with one before he reached his goal.
Having no blade to hand, Jonathan instead used his horse as a weapon. The beast was well trained, and when he directed it towards the man, the beast trampled him without hesitation.
He could not trample the other man, since that one had reached the carriage. Instead, he let the horse race past the man, and flung himself from the saddle. Thunder roared, as they collided, going don in a tangle of limbs.
They crashed to the gound, and everything became a blur. There was not up or down, nothing but the other man and his weapon.
Then Jonathan’s back hit the ground and the blade struck for his throat. His hands grabbed the riders wrist, and they locked eyes as the man tride to force the tip of his blade into Jonathan’s flesh.
For a long second they struggled.
The man had murder and panick in equal amounts in his eyes. There was a wildness in that glare as he tried to murder Jonathan.
Suddenly, the eyes went glassy, then blod spilled from the man’s mouth, followed quickly by the tip of an arrow.

His foe pitched to the side, and Jonathan rolled to his hands and knees. Getting to his feet he suveyed the remnants of the battle.
Of the seven riders, only two still stood. One was slowly backing away from Nathaniel and Kemp. The other stood in front of Gunnar sword drawn and pointed at the great brute’s heart.
On her perch away from the fighting, the blonde woman was drawing another arrow. Jonathan sprang to his feet scrambling towards Gunnar and his foe. He didn’t like the man, but they were allies in this fight. The brute was unarmed against an armed foe, Jonathan had to help him.
He was too late.
The rider stepped forward, stabbing for Gunnars heart. And Gunnar caught the blade one his bracer, pushing it wide and teaving the other man completely defenceless against the punch he then delivered with his right hand.
Jonathan was unsure weather it was thunder he heard, or the impact of Gunnar’s sledge like fist against the rider’s neck. The man toppled backwards, falling to the ground like a rackdoll.
On that que, the last surviving rider turned and ran from his two opponents. In a mad dash for survival, he sprinted through the rain. He got several yards, before an arrow sang through the air and burrowed it’s wicked barb in his back. In silence, he fell dead to the ground.
Jonathan stopped running and came to stand still, just watching the surrounding destruction. In camp Arthello, he had seen veteran fighters ply their trade. He had watched soldiers of great skill fight battles and win against bad odds.
This was on an other level.
Five of them, with only the most essential weapons and no knowledge of their enemy, had triumphed against seven mounted warriors. They had sufferd no wounds, it had barely even been a fight. These warriors were not veterans. They were to veterans what veterans were to farmer’s daughters.
The four which had come with him had skills to rival young gods. And, Jonathan realised, he had been as much a part of this battle as they had. He had killed three men and he had no wound to show for it, save a bruised blossoming on one thigh where it had struck the ground as he brawled.
Nathaniel approached him,wiping off his blade reverently and sheathing it once more. The bard looked oddly sad, his dark hair plastered to his forhead by the rain.
“This is what the hall does.” His voice was filled with that same melancholy onathan had first heard in his song.
“What do you mean.” Jonathan realised he was hoarse, had he been yelling while they fought?
“It pits the warriors of the hall against enemies of greater number and with better gear, and then it watches them win anyway.” The bard shook his head. “There is no man in that hall who is not a killer, and not one of them is not also a great hero.”
“Hero and killer is often the same thing, only seen from different perspectives.” Kemp stepped into view with that same twinkle still in his eyes. “For now young one, your task still isn’t done.”
“What?” Jonathan blinked, what task was the old man referring too.
“You ordered us to protect the carriage.” Kemp pointed out. “We have protected it, but it’s contents still aren’t safe.
For a moment, Jonathan just stared at Kemp and Nathaniel. None of this made any sense. He didn’t really know why he had given the order to protect the Carriage, and he had even less of a clue as to why the four other warriors had listened to him.
Still, he had taken that decision, and he did not go back on his choices. The carriage had been defended about the imminent threat, but kemp was right. The riders had come for the carriage with an almost suicidal zeal. It was unlikely that whoever had send them would give up with one attempt.
Whatever was in that carriage was important, and Jonathan had made himself responsible for it by acting to protect it once.
A huge form stepped through the rain, and Gunnar appeared, his beard drenched with rain, and his hands spotted with blood. Apparantly he had finished off his opponent without resorting to using a weapon.
By his side, the blonde woman stepped into view. She had drawn a hood over her head, and was slightly less drenched than the rest of them.
“What is our next step?” She asked softly.
He thought for three breaths, then gave his orders.
“Nathaniel and Kemp will see to the coachman.” He gestured to the brute and the blonde woman. “You two come with me to find out what was in that carriage.”
There was a second of silence, then everyone complied. They acted like trained soldiers following a resppected leader. This even though they didn’t know him at all, and despite Gunnar openly disliking him before they left the hall.
With his two followers by his side, Jonathan reached the broken carriage. Lying on the side, it had been battered out of shape so badly, that the only visible door was stuck closed. Jonathan pulled at it once, then stepped back.
With a resolute movement, Gunnar stepped forward and grabbed the doors latch. He grunted, as he tore the door open. There was the sound of splintering wood as the whole thing came free of the mangled remains of the carriage.
In one nimble leap, the blonde woman got onto the overturned carriage and peered down into the space inside. She stared at the contents for a long moment, then silently offered Jonathan a hand to let him get onto the carriage so he cound see for himself.
He climbed up and looked down through the door. Inside the carriage was a woman, she lay akwardly squeesed into the tight space. Her ches was puntured by a sharp length of metal, torn free by thimpact, to be plunged into her like a weapon.
Her breath came ragged, with out shaping any words. Instead she ligted limp arms to hold a small bundle towards Jonathan.
Without thinking, he reached down and took the bundle from her. As he recived the thing she had cradle against her in the crash, she smiled a weak smile, then breathed out one final time.
Jonathan righted himself, looking down into his arms to take in the bundle. With a carful motion, he moved a bit of cloth, to reveal the face of an infant child.
Both of his current companions took in this sight with silent respect, obviously aware of the gravity of the situation. This was what the coachman and the woman in the carriage had been willing to risk their life for. This was what the riders had persued so doggedly.
A child.

I hope you are doing okay GlassMouse, I was getting a little worried about you

[jseah]

1501 words for Hero's War

Spoiler

Show

The wings slashed down in a fury of white feathers and deadly magic. The zombies that didn't collapse under the barrage of disrupton magic were set upon by hunting spears. The sharp points seeking out the limbs and bodies as the Elkas made attack runs down the crumbling street.
Five minutes later, Ka flicked a zombie arm off his spear's crossguard with a snap of his wrist. Beside him, Tiki also cleaned his weapon, picking off bits of rotted cloth.
"Lolu, can you sketch the clothing the zombies were wearing?" Ka asked her as he bent down to cut off a less damaged section of the furry clothing worn by the zombies.
"Kee and I will keep a lookout in case there's any more of them," Tiki said. Ka nodded and the two of them hopped up to the roof of one of the sturdier looking buildings remaining around them.
The city itself had shown its age. Where the towns and cities in Ektal weren't bereft of history, their buildings had patches and the streets were kept marginally in order. This city had clearly been abandoned some time ago.
The houses, shops and workshops, that were familiar in many ways, lining the street were partially collapsed and overgrown. The packed dust of the street had gained a second coating of soil and sand blown in fron the desert to the south; it only barely hid the cracks and damage caused by weather and nature.
The buildings themselves were ruins of wood and stone. A few roofs had collapsed and many looked dangerous, only the sturdier solid stone constructions still looked reasonably safe. Here and there, moss and grass covered the area, with the odd fast growing tree already peeking out of the rubble.
And all around them was the silence. Other than the wind and the faint cries of insects, the city held no signs of life that cities should. And unlike the sounds of wind or the rustling of a forest, the city was also dead and empty save for plants and rocks. And monsters.
A year or two, Ka estimated as how long ago the city had fallen, though he wasn't confident in his guess.
He unscrewed the thin metal cap of a head sized container, since emptied of food, and began to pack the cleaner pieces of the bodies' clothing into it. Once that was done, all that remained was Lolu's sketch of their overall appearances.
"Zombies!" Before Ka could settle down to wait, Tiki's warning cry cut through the quiet.
Ka looked up from his perch on the building's edge as Tiki pointed down the street. Shambling across the intersection at the far end of the road was a group of zombies, maybe thirty or so. He hoped the zombies didn't notice them, according to Cato, they were blind and deaf.
No such luck, the group turned and faced their way, milling about for a few moments before turning to them and charging.
Ka hefted his spellforming wand and leveled the open end of the tube at the zombies. A firebolt spat down the street, joined by sparks of magic from Tiki and Kee.
"Get in the air!" he shouted at Lolu, she was tucking away her sketchpad.
She leapt upwards immediately, surging to the sky on a huge burst of power. Her bid for escape was cutoff by a glow appearing among the mess of zombies, a familiar glow. Ka yelled at her but was too late. A flash of light shot out and speared through the lower part of her wing. Lolu screamed and spun awkwardly into the dirt covered street.
"Cover her!" Reacting instantly, Ka leapt off his perch on the building and glided down to Lolu where she was struggling to her feet. Tiki and Kee stepped up their firing, no longer conserving power for flight later.
Ka hauled Lolu to her feet and glared at the hole in her wing. Hissing painfully and holding out the injured wing stiffly, Lolu showed a black circle burnt straight through her feathers.
The more immediate problem was that she couldn't fly. Actually, they all couldn't, not with a zombie shooter right down the street ready to blast them out of the air.
To say that the situation was getting grim was an understatement.
Ka cast around for cover from the shooter, they had to get out of sight before it had recharged and could kill them for real. There! A small path crammed between two buildings leading over to the next street.
"Over there!" Ka pointed and began dragging Lolu without waiting for Tiki and Kee to reply. He half carried her into the wall and examined the wound more thoroughly, the blackened feathers surrounded a charred mess that went through the skin and out the other side. It had somehow missed any bones and the wound wasn't bleeding, probably sealed by the heat. A small mercy. Painful but not something that would cripple her permanently.
Something whacked his shoulder and shook Ka out of his panic. Lolu was snarling at him, tugging her arm out of his grip and rubbing a developing bruise where he grabbed her.
She still grinned weakly at him, "you're too forceful-... what... would Mii think about you dragging another woman-"
"Can't believe you can still joke with an injury like that," Tiki said from behind Ka.
Ka nodded and glanced at his brother, who only nodded back silently. He understood the significance of a wing injury. No time for that now though.
"Kee, take Lolu and bring her into the next street," Ka said, the pounding of zombie feet was getting closer.
"What about us?" Tiki asked.
Ka nodded at the fallen bodies of the original group, the edge of the pile visible from the alley mouth. He took up the spellforming wand hanging from his pack on a strap. "We'll be making sure that bunch won't be getting up again. "
"And the rest?"
Ka fingered the porcelain canister in its padded pounch in their packs. "I've a plan. "

They were slowing each other down, Ka thought, watching the zombies cramming themselves into the alley. They clawed over each other in a frenzy, ignoring that other routes existed through the city. Sitting here in the alley, letting Lolu charge their spellforming wands with her magic, Ka thanked his ancestors that Cato's observations were right. The zombies really did go for the most powerful magic signature in a straight line.
Ka made a mental note to write that down later. He fired his spellforming wand one-handed, torching the front zombie with a quick firebolt. This was just like the big battle after the black mist collapsed, all semblance of order or coordination absent.
Still, that didn't explain the shooters. Those never appeared when the mist wasn't around. Perhaps it was something new.
Tiki fired over his shoulder, removing the next one behind that tried to stamp out the fire. The rest were stalling into a giant pileup, backed by a rising plume of smoke that was the burning bodies of the first group. The alley was turning into a choking deathtrap.
Still, Ka waited.
He blasted the next leading zombie, then a glow he was waiting for appeared in the crowd.
"Now!" Ka and Tiki yelled at the same time.
In his other hand, Ka popped the tab off the side of the canister with his thumb and slung it over the heads of the zombies towards the glow. Two more from Kee and Lolu arced over him to disappear beneath the zombie feet.
The instant the canisters landed, the shell of magic in the walls exploded outwards, primed by the removal of the tab. The compressed magic inside the container rapidly converted into useful power, turning the canisters into flying shrapnel that cut through the zombies.
The living fire solution inside, augmented by magical liquid fire, was far less merciful.
The front most zombie that escaped the sudden inferno behind was blown in half by a forcebolt from Tiki as they quickly ran backwards to avoid the wall of heat filling the alley. The light from the fire cast flickering shadows ahead of them despite the bright daylight.
"Well, that's that then," Tiki quipped.
Ka didn't lower his spellforming wand, "Kee, Lolu, watch the street. Stay out of sight from the alley, we don't know if any more zombies survived in there..."
He let himself get cutoff as the stone wall sagged and one entire side's wall collapsed sideways into the alley, shortly followed by the building on the other.
"By the winds, that is some fire," Tiki had an incredulous look, "did we just see the wall melt?!"
"Magic augmented living fire can melt steel," Ka muttered, quoting Cato from memory. Somehow, he didn't think he was going to forget this scene.

[Artman77]

my art is on http://wingmind.tumblr.com/

[Glass Mouse]

Status for the weeks January 23 - 29!


Glass Mouse passes with six hairstyle drawings.

Lycunadari passes with three photos and three pieces worth of elf drawing.

LeSwordfish passes with six painted figures.

jseah passes with 1501 words for Hero's War.

Artman77 passes with an amulet, Storm, a robot, the Joker, an orc, a stormtrooper, and a logo.

Icewalker passes with 1000 words of game judging, 648 words of The Three Truths, and a LaTex format.

Xiander passes with 2875 words of Warstorm.

Some Android did not upload/send me anything.


Thus, Some Android FAILS this round!

Glass Mouse, Lycunadari, LeSwordfish, jseah, Artman77, Icewalker, and Xiander PASS this round!


Current standing:

Spoiler

Show

Glass Mouse
Current run: 33 weeks
Longest run: 290 weeks
Themes: 2 weeks

Lycunadari
Current run: 212 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

LeSwordfish
Current run: 34 weeks
Longest run: 24 weeks
Themes: -

jseah
Current Run: 51 weeks
Longest Run: 33 weeks
Themes: -

Artman77
Current run: 1 week
Longest run: 13 weeks
Themes: -

Icewalker
Current run: 17 weeks
Longest run: 13 weeks
Themes: -

Xiander
Current run: 30 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

Some Android
Current run: -
Longest run: 42 weeks
Themes: -

This week's theme (January 30 - February 5) is way too late to choose.

Next week's theme is chosen by Some Android, if you are still around. Otherwise the turn will pass to me.

---

I hope you are doing okay GlassMouse, I was getting a little worried about you

That’s sweet. I’m okay, though, it’s just SAD kicking my butt because I forgot to plan for it. It happens

[Some Android]

Next week's theme is chosen by Some Android, if you are still around. Otherwise the turn will pass to me.

Human Anatomy

Maybe I'll try and get 6 or more drawings done to get back into the swing of things.

[Xiander]

This week I did 1629 words of warstorm, finishing the first chapter.
Here it is:

Spoiler: Warstorm, chapter one, final part

Show

“He is still alive.” Nathaniel’s voice cut through the storm, jerking Jonathan out of his reverie.
For a moment, he thought Nathaniel was refering to the infant, then he remembered the coachman. He looked at Gunnar and the blonde woman. They both looked back, waiting for his decision.
“You two round up one of the remaining horses.” He said, righting himself.
He held the child closely to his chest as he jumped to the ground. The baby made some unsatisfied sounds, then started to cry. Not knowing what to do about that, Jonathan pressed on.
He found Kemp and Nathaniel kneeling next to the fallen coachman, who was sitting against a tree, looking bruised and battered, but not completely broken.
“What is your name?” He asked without preamble.
It took the man a moment to react, then he spoke his voice trembling.
“Thomas Combe.” He glanced at the two men beside him and then at Jonathan. “Who are you people?”
Glancing first at Kemp, then at Nathaniel, yielded no help in answering the question. But Jonathan knew there had to be an answer. Something had to be said.
“We are warriors,Today we fought for you.” And he knelt, holding out the child, for Thomas to take. “More men will probably come soon, you should leave.”
“The heir!” Thomas gasped, and reached to take the child. He was looking at the babe when he spoke again. “Will you come with me? To protect him until we find safety.”
Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, but Nathaniel placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with eyes full of sorrow.
At that moment, Gunnar returned towing one of the jetblack horses. He was not sure how he knew, but it was clear to Jonathan, that this was the end of his conversation with Thomas.
He took the horse’s reigns from Gunnar’s hand, as Kemp helped Thomas to his feet. With out a word, Jonathan haded the reigns on to the coachman, who took them with the hand not holding the child.
There was a pause, then Jonathan turned and strode deliberately into the rain, leaving the small battlefield behind him, and leaving Thomas and the infant to their own devices.
He walked in silence, and soon he felt the presence of his four companions beside him. They walked in silence, the heavy rain and the thunder punctuating the sullen mood which had fallen upon them.
“Why did we fight?” Jonathan asked the question of the storm as much as of his companions.
“You told us to.” The blonde woman pointed out. “You saw the situation, and you made your choice.”
“And you saved a child.” Gunnar added, there was an odd note in his voice, almost like pride.
Thomas had called the child an heir. But the heir to what? A city? A kingdom? Jonathan’s head spun with the implications.
“What will this mean?” He asked, suddenly hoarse.
“Who can really say?” Kemp mused. “Perhaps a kingdom will survive due to your actions. Perhaps a different kingdom will fall. Perhaps the man and the child will be found by enemies before they reach safety, and their doom will merely have been delayed for a few hours.”
“How did we get here? And why?” Jonathan asked, trying to make sense of what he had just seen.
Silence for a moment, then Kemp answered.
“The hall took us here.”
“And what happens now?”
“We go back to the Hall.” Gunnar paused as he spoke to wrest his axe free of the horse it had killed.
“Why?” Jonathan stopped in his tracks and looked at each of his companions in turn. “Why do we go back? Why do we do anything the Hall wants? Why do we not leave and go back to our lives?”
They all looked at him, but no one spoke. After a long silence, Nathaniel shook his head, eyes full of sorrow.
“You will return to the Hall.” He spoke the words, not as a comand or a dare, simply as a sad truth. “We all do.”
Having said his piece, the bard turned around and walked into the rain. Giving Jonathan one more twinkling look, Kemp moved to follow Nathaniel.
“I’ll say this for you pipsqueak.” Gunnar was wiping blood off his axe as he spoke. “You are a stubborn son of a devil, and you fought like a cornered badger tonight. I look forward to getting to fight you myself.”
Still wiping at the blade of the axe, he set off after the other two, leaving Jonathan standing in the storm.
He wondered what would happen to the child. And to the coachman, Thomas. He wondered how commander Lovis would fare without the message of warning, which he had been tasked to deliver.
“What is your name?” He looked up to see the blonde woman looking at him, green eyes peering out curiously from her hood.
“Jonathan.” He mumbled.
“Linni” She said with a mysterious smile. “The big brute was right, you fought well tonight.”
“You did some impressive shooting as well.” He meant the compliment, but he could not help asking: “But why did you all follow me? You know nothing about me.”
“We know the Hall took you in.” She shrugged. “That says a good deal by itself.”
She started walking, and gestured for him to follow.
“What does that say?” He still didn’t fully understand why they referred to the hall as if it had a will of its own.
“That you are a warrior.” She shot him another sly smile. “And you just proved that you are also a leader and a loyal companion.”
He thought her words over.
“Does no one ever leave the Hall?” He asked, wondering about his own path.
“It happens that someone does not return after a battle.”
“What happens to them?”
She shrugged, and left his own imagination to puzzle out the answer.
“What happens now?” He asked.
She pointed ahead into the darkness and the rain. A bolt of lightning sparked somewhere overhead, illuminating the great Iron gates of the Hall.
“I’ll let you decide on your own.” She said, and her smile was somewhere between encouragement and challenge.
Without another word, she strode toward the great gates, leaving Jonathan in the pouring rain to contemplate his fate.
He thought of Camp Arthello and the lost battle. He thought of the war he had left behind when he ventured into the pass.
He set his jaw stubbornly, and turned away from the gates. The rain and wind hurled themself at him as if they were trying to drive him back into the hall. Still he started walking out into the darkness.
He strode through the storm, blinded by sleet and darkness, and as he walked, flashes of the night’s fight kept returning to him. Steel meting steel, rearing horses, his companions and him winning against the odds.
The wind howled around him, as he stepped onto more even ground. As he looked up, he saw the great iron gates looming over him again.
Had he gotten turned around in the storm?
He turned again and walked away from the hall. Determined to find his way back to his duty. He had served as one of Arthello’s elite guards for years, always following every order. If he wanted any chance of fulfilling his last order he had to leave the Hall behind.
Once more he found himself in front of the gates. It was as if the storm shaped itself around him, unwilling to let him go anywhere but to the gates.
“What do you want of me?” He yelled at the storm.
The storm answered with a flash of lightning. For a second it was like he was back in the fight. Strugling for his own survival and for that of his allies. Adrenaline rushed through him and his heart beat harder. There was exhileration. There was a fierce joy.
Then his senses returned to normal, and he paused. Had the storm just answered him?
He thought of the battlejoy. The feeling of pure focus in the midst of a fight. Then shook his head to clear it.
“That isn’t why I fight!” He yelled angrily at the storm.
A roll of thunder. And he saw Kemp and Nathaniel beset by two riders, he saw Gunnar weaponless against an armed man, he saw Linni save his life with one utterly presise arrow.
He felt that same fear for his comrades’ lives. The need to protect and guard his allies from harm.
“No!” He roared.
The wind picked up fiercely. And he saw a woman lying in a ruined carriage, pierced by metal, dying. He saw her spend the last breath of her own life handing a child to him.
And he thought of the child and the man, who had lived because of his actions this night.
“Yes..” He mumbled low enough that he could not hear it above the raging storm.
The wind died down suddenly, and the thunder stilled almost completely. There was something profound in the drops of rain spashing his face.
And in the almost silence of the storm, there was a promise.
He stood there silently, for minutes, maybe hours. He thought of his duty, and of the will of the storm. He could refuse, even if it meant dying of cold and hunger on the threshhold of the grand hall, that was still an option.
One last time he thought of the child.
Then, with a deep breath, he stepped forward, reaching the enormous iron gates in just a few steps. He could hear the warriors feasting within.
The gates were ajar, and he felt the warm air of the hall on his face, as he stepped through.

Further more, I leap on an idea, which has been rolling around my head for a while. That led to me writing this 1249 word short story:

Spoiler: Erin and the Shark

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The man in the office next to hers, reminded Erin of a shark. His eyes were tiny and dark, and he would stare at her intensely every time she passed by. He would mumble and mutter under his breath, and she was sure he didn’t like her at all.
Erin wasn’t even sure what he did for the company. He hadn’t been there the day she was introduced to everyone, and no one had commented on him or his responsibilities afterwards.
She had been happy to get the job at the accounting firm, in fact it had come just before she gave up on job hunting entirely. The company was a nice place in general and the pay was good. She could handle the work just fine.
All in all she should have been overjoyed.
The only problem was the shark in the office on the corner. She got uncomfortable even just being close to his office. So she would tiptoe past the door, and try to avoid meeting him whenever she could.
The first day she had been talking to Claire, the recptionist. Without knowing, she had stopped right beside his door, and asked some simple questions about the computer system and who to include in her emails.
Suddenly she had caught the scent of ciggarette smoke, not freshly blown smoke but rather the kind which has been sitting in clothing for a while. And he had been right behind her.
“Please be silent.” He jabbed. “Some people are trying to work.”
Then without waiting for a response, he had disappeared into his office. Erin had been so surprised that she had completely lost the conversation. She had assured Claire that she was fine, although Claire seemed doubtful.
Afterwards she had realised she should probably have asked Claire what his deal was. But the moment for that had passed, and she couldn’t get herself to bring him up again. It seemed like no one really liked talking about him, since nobody else brought up the subject of the Shark-man.
Since that first encounter, Erin had been nervous. She would try her best to move silently and avoid the shark-man, but every now and again, the sour smell of stale cigarette smoke would assault her nose. Always just before he appeared and commented harshly on something she had or hadn’t done.
It made her anxious and she had a hard time focusing on her work. Even at home she would expect the shark-man to suddenly appear. She would wonder why he disliked her so much.
After a month it was bad enough that she had trouble sleeping. She would lie awake and fear the next days encounter with her office neighbour.
That was probably why she dosed off in front of her computer that day. She had done her scheduled work, and was looking through her email folder to see if there was anything she needed to follow up on.
She would normally catch herself nodding and stand up for a bit to clear her head, that day she didn’t. She slipped into a light sleep. The kind that was just deep enough to remove her from her surroundings, but not nearly deep enough to afford real rest.
In her dream, she was on a telephone call with a disgruntled custumer. She did find it slightly odd that she was taking this call while sitting in a jungle, but she decided not to comment. It was hot enough in the jungle that she was sweating, and halfway through the call a bird started making shrill, piercing calls.
She apologised to the costumer and looked around for the bird. It was nowhere to be seen. She kept looking and the bird kept shrieking, three stacato shrieks, then a pause, then repeat.
She was just about to pick up the phone again, when a voice broke through the ligt film of sleep.
“Wake up!” Said the Shark, his voice hoarse and rough from to many ciggarettes.
She darted upright and looked at him, trying to hide her surprise. Why was he in her office? Had she done something wrong?
“What…?” She didn’t get to finish the sentence before he cut in.
“Get up, we need to leave.”
Then she noticed that the shrieking bird was still sending shrill notes into her ears. Only it couldn’t be a bird…. It was the fire alarm.
A knot of terror formed in her belly.
Her head was spinning from sleep, as she got up and looked around. The sound was ringing through the whole building, but she didn’t hear any voices. What was going on.
“Come on!” The Shark-man growled.
His rough tone finally snapped her into action, and she hurried to the door. She pulled it open and stared into a hallway. The air was thick with smoke.
She stopped.
Was there really a fire? What was she supposed to do if the building was in flames? What were the safety regulations?
His shoulder felt cold when it bumped hers, as he slipped past her into the hallway. He stopped and looked back at her.
“Follow me, keep low so you don’t breathe the smoke.” He got on all four and crawled through the hallway.
Her heart was pumping and she could feel her eyes watering, but she swallowed hard and got on her hands and knees and crawled after him.
Sweat ran into her eyes as they moved towards the commonroom. The smoke stung in her nostrils and she had to force herself to breathe evenly.
She realised at some level that she was on the cusp of having a panic attack. However, the Shark-man’s pressense somehow kept her focused and calm enough to keep going.
They reached the commonroom and Erin stopped.
The smoke was even thicker in here, and the heat was palpable. To one side of the room Erin could see the flames dancing beyond the door to the kitchen. How long before the flames would spill into the commonroom? Surely not long.
The shark-man mumbled something to low for Erin to hear, then crawled off into the smoke, leaving her to stare at the approaching flames.
Could she get to the elevator before it was to late? She didn’t know. Paralysed, she watched the flames eating into the commonroom.
Then there was the hissing sound of a fire extinguisher. The Shark-man stepped out of the smoke, spraying thick foam at the flames around the kitchen door.
“Go.” He said hoarsely. “Get out of here.”
Erin clambered across the floor towards the elevator.
“No!” He barked. “Go to the firestairs.”
And she did.
She crawled at full speed through the smoke, and reached the stairwell, hurrying down the steps.
When she stepped out of the fire exit onto the parkinglot, there were firemen and coworkers waiting for her. Her eyes were foggy and her mind was spinning. She let them lead her to a place where she could sit down and have something to drink.
Claire sat with her and made sure she drank the water slowly, and didn’t have a melt down after the fact.
Only after emptying two papercups, did Erin get her mind straight enough to ask.
“Where is the sh…” She stopped and corrected herself. “The man from the corner office?”
“Who?” Claire sounded surprised.
“The man from the corner office.” Erin asked again.
“Erin.” Claire sounded worried. “No one has used that office since Mr Green…. He died a month before you were hired.”

[Icewalker]

Eugh so much for making up for my falling behind on The Three Truths this week. I only wrote 550 words of the prose, although I wrote a solid 965 words worth of actual creative content (after removing mechanics writing) for the same campaign so I can still pull that in for the deadline. Still, I feel like I've copped out of 2000 words of writing in the last two weeks, hopefully I can make that up to myself soon...

Spoiler: The Three Truths

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Chapter Eleven
In Which

At the dig site breakfast was taken in silence as everybody attempted to forget their dreams. The food was cold: nobody had started a fire.
“What do we do today?”
“What? Oh.” Devi didn’t look up. “Um. The structure on the north end of the site. There are some areas there I want to focus on some more. Right, sorry Shamgar, north, the north house.”
Shamgar nodded into his food. Peter and the trio were no louder.

Shamgar was the first to come back to himself. The stones they dug through gave him hope. Devi was the last. They were still uncomfortable sometimes when they saw others handling blades.
“Somebody is coming.”
“What?” Devi responded to Kawan incredulously. It clicked. “Scavenger scout?”
“No I do not think so.”
Devi frowned, joining Kawan on the dune north of the camp. “Who in the many hells is out here?”
The figure stumbled closer, its gait uneven. It did not appear to respond to the two figures of Devi and Kawan on the dune. It dragged a sack through the sand behind it.
“Franz!?”
“What!” Shamgar shouted from below. “Franz?”
Devi rushed down the slope, feet digging into the shifting ground. Franz kept stumbling forward, unresponsive to the figure running towards him.
“Franz! Franz what did...what’s in...how are you alive?”
Franz blinked at Devi, staring for several seconds.
“Those burns look terrible. How are...how?”
Franz let go of the bag and extended one arm towards the orc, placing a palm on Devi’s shoulder. “Oh. It’s really you isn’t it.”
“Yeah Franz it’s me.”
“Good. I made it. Great. Then I can…good.” Franz promptly collapsed unconscious into the sand.

By the end of the following day, Franz had recovered significantly.
“I figured there might have been some valuable things that they might have taken.”
Devi looked through the mosaics, metal fragments, jewelry pieces, outpost map, and small statuette that had been in the bag. “I...how did you get them?” Devi stared at the burnt, injured, wiry figure of the scholar. There was no way he was capable of fighting a group of desert scavengers.
“I bought them.”
“...oh. Oh.”
“I just got a little turned around on the way back.”
“Never do that. Never go out there alone if you don’t know how to navigate.”
Franz nodded, lying back on his bedroll. “I don’t think I’ll be forgetting that anytime soon. I’m used to having landmarks. I’m also used to the sun rising in the same spot on the horizon, and only once a day. Anything valuable in the bag?”
“Very. This mosaic is stunning.”
“Looks like a battle.”
Devi nodded. “Yeah, some nighttime battle between the Eder and the Khoriad probably. The other contemporary civilization that the Eder did battle with. Best we can tell, I guess the Khoriad finally won. I’ve looked at the linguistics, and I think modern Damai might have some influence through old Orcish across the last thousand years from the Khoriad language, although I’ve never seen enough texts to be sure. They aren’t all that much more studied than the Eder are. And this other mosaic has another Eder prayer. Keen eyes to keep the flock / None to leave behind. There’s another word of the sacred language with it, something for finding lost sheep.”





(Caution: don't read if you don't like brutal violence. These notes contain not-particularly-graphic descriptions of torture.)

Daius: I’ve dealt with him before. We can’t take the threat lightly.
Hessia: He didn’t seem to be much of a problem.
He is a planner, not a fighter. We were lucky he was unable to reign in his companions. With competent field agents under his command he was able to...well let’s just say certain problems that Scrawl has caused for the Church still have yet to be resolved.
I see.
No. You don’t. They’re classified.

Devi Sunjaya wakes up tied to a chair in the room where Peter had been. There are bloodstains on the floor. The light comes from a few lanterns. It smells of blood. Brother Daius is standing over them. They are very well tied. A crate in back of room holds their gear and possessions.

“Devi Sunjaya. I am going to ask you questions. You are going to answer them. How did you acquire this mosaic?” Daius gestures at the mosaic, which is set down on the floor leaning against one wall.

He hacks off fingers brutally with his black glass dagger, bleeding from his own hand in the process. “One.”

Next questions:
What is the location of this dig site?
Where are the locations of all of your past dig sites? How did you find them?
Is that all of them?
Where is the location of the Eder city?
Who is your horned companion?
What lies at the coordinates on this note?
What do you know about the chalice of the Eder?

“I thought you would be more responsive to the threat of losing your ability to write. I see I was mistaken. I have misread you.” Levels a steel dagger at Devi’s eye. “What you treasure is your ability to read.” Takes an eye.

“That eye really is a mess. Let’s clean it out a little more, shall we?” Digs out pieces of eye with dagger. It doesn’t really work. Devi passes out.

Franz is tied with his arms and shoulders thrust behind him near-dislocated, a stone curve pressing his back down and forward in an incredibly awkward, painful position. He has been stripped naked. He is tied around the underside of the table-sized stone altar.

You picked the right side, Hessia.
What do you mean, Brother Daius?
Staying with me when Conte fled. She is a coward, and an incompetent. You'll be well rewarded for your loyalty here. This assignment is of much greater importance than you know.
What does this ruined civilization have to do with the Church?
That's what we're here to find out. Even the Retainers themselves don't have an answer to that question.

Daius and Hessia drag Devi’s chair back into the other room. “The small one again. We’ll see how their answers match up.” Hessia drags out Peter. It’s hard to make out the questions, but it’s not hard to make out the screams. You catch “Ugh. Gag him.” Peter’s pained shouts become muffled, but can still be made out from the next room.

Did he pass out?
Give him a moment. He’ll wake up and we’ll continue. We can’t have delays: Retainer Anton Avato said he may come here himself.
What!?
Retainer Callo may even join him. You read the assignment brief. Two bishops disappeared here. And that was back in the days when the position meant something. There are classified details beyond that which I cannot share, trust me when I say even that fact undersells the significance of this. Soon, maybe, you will get to know the truth.
What do you mean?
I'll be putting in for your advancement when this is through.
Thank you, Brother.

Thump at the window. Then another. Then a crack, glass falling in, some breaking. “****.” Silence. No sign of Daius. Kid pokes his head in. “Hey. Is that elf bastard close?” The kid has dark blue eyes, flaming red hair tied back, golden brown skin, and some sort of marking on his neck.

“Aw man this did not work as well as I’d hoped…” Kid tries reach in, pulls back, attempts to clear glass from window but is having a hard time with it, slowly picking out big pieces while he balances outside. Eventually he climbs in, and starts cutting Franz’s bonds, as he’s right under the window.

He’s wearing run down street clothes, lots of dust, and no shoes. He carefully picks his way around the broken glass on the floor with his bare feet. The mark on the kid’s neck has the detail of a tattoo but the consistency of a birthmark. It looks like a series of thorny vines along the side of his neck, opening into the outline of a flower about two inches across just below his right ear. The pattern continues down under the shoulder of his top, and visibly out onto his shoulder and upper arm.

As he cuts Franz’s bonds, footsteps return to the door.
“Well it’s better than nothing. We’ll take the satyr next.”
“Oh, ****!”
Rose hands the knife off to Franz, desperately looks for cover, and jumps for the window and climbs up out of sight.
Daius and Hessia drag in Peter tied to a chair. He is unconscious. His whole right hand is a mess of blood.

They take Shamgar next. They...they don’t share any languages. They ask something. Shamgar says something. They confer.

Rose comes back in, and asks how to help. “Oh no, they took the piper? Come on how can I help? Please?”

Daius has prepared Shatter, and will use it specifically targeted at one of Shamgar’s horns to crack it, but not break it entirely.

“Hey mister, I ain’t never heard music like that before. It was incredible. Can you teach me?”

“Hey miss, you a boy or a girl?”
“Neither.”
“You can do that?”

[jseah]

1300 words for Hero's War, completing the chapter (finally!)

Spoiler

Show

It took them many hours of grooming in shifts before Lolu could even spread her wings. Then hours more while they tried to awkwardly dress the wound and apply some of the cursebreaker. All the while, small groups of zombies gravitated towards them from over the city. By the time they were done, it was night and the majority of the city's still moving corpses were piles of ashes in the streets below them.
It didn't go unnoticed that the later zombie groups were smaller and less frequent, and also had more zombies with bits of crystal on them.
"All right, we're in the air!" Lolu's strained shout was just as shaky as her rise. Her damaged wing was stiff and less responsive, only flight capable by dint of sheer grit against the pain it must be causing her. There wasn't anything Ka could do for her though, the morning sun was the only comfort she would get up here in the air.
Ka drew in the tow line that connected him to her harness after she let it go. Assisted takeoff like this was something that no Elka in their right mind would have considered. Quite apart from the cost in his lift, the difference in speed between even the slowest flight and running on the ground was large. Still, it was the only way Lolu was going to fly so they had managed it with a large heaping of magic.
"Kee, lead the way," Ka said, flicking a wingtip.
His brother nodded and brought them over to the section of the city near the breach in the walls. There, the damage was greater, with most of the buildings collapsed or broken in some way. The pieces of wood and stone scattered through the streets and over each other, traces of makeshift barricades and broken lines in the sand were evident from the air.
"Down there, in the rubble," Kee pointed. They looked closely.
At first, it looked as if the rubble was empty and still. Then Ka caught a glint of movement, and another. Something inside the rocks shone back up at him, the rising sun glinting off something crystalline.
Under the broken pieces of city, buried in dirt, or just blending into the general mayhem was broken bodies. Some were missing arms and heads, all were missing one or both legs. Here lay a graveyard of zombie parts, fallen defenders of the city's last stand, fallen no longer.
As they soared over the area, Ka caught more movement. The zombies were twitching down there, perhaps in response to the low flying Elkas. And there were a lot of zombies.
So many in fact that Ka was rather surprised not to see any black mist. There was a small army down there, even though all the ones that could move were already gone.
"The mist is there," Kee pointed out, "it's concentrated around the zombies, like how it appears when they are trying to reanimate. "
They looked down again and saw it. Instead of a diffuse translucent shadow, the mist here was almost pure black, even though they could still see right through it. The dense tendrils were coiled around the zombies, the signatures were too fuzzy to make out from the air but Ka thought they were concentrated around the damaged limbs.
Limbs that were covered in slowly growing crystal.
"Lolu, can you keep up a circle on overwatch? Your takeoff is the most difficult and we don't want to spend too much lift," Ka said.
"Uh, you can't be thinking of going down there, can you?" Tiki asked incredulously.
There was a pause.
"You're insane," Lolu noted. But none of them really countered Ka's decision, they knew this was important.
"Hold my pack for me, and keep watch," Ka unclipped the rations and camping supplies before tossing them to his brother.

"Your brother is insane, I agree with Lolu completely," Tiki said to Kee, "brave. But insane. "
Kee just shrugged, circling aimlessly with his spellforming wand ready in his hands. The three of them watched as Ka landed outside the hole in the wall and approached the closest zombie in a series of short hops.
"What is he doing? I thought we were just going to get some sketches and notes of their growth?"
Tiki's rising alarm was met with no answer from Kee. It wasn't as if they could read Ka's mind.
Ka approached the broken zombie lying under a large piece of wall, the legs of the monster crushed where the wall itself had fallen on it. He stepped up and neatly trapped the zombie's flailing arm underneath his heavy boot and broke it with a stamp. Then he drew his long knife.
"By the winds, is he going to-"
Yes, apparently he was. Even Tiki trailed off into silence as Ka brought his knife down onto the crystallizing stump of the thigh. A piece broke off. Ka picked it up gingerly, cloaking his hand with a disruption sheath. And frowned as it began to dissolve.
The zombie flailed again with its other arm and Ka chopped the offending limb off, then starting to work on peeling the zombie crystal off the zombie like a choko skin. Finally, he scraped his shavings into an empty food container and hooked it on his belt.
Ka was about to go after another zombie when there was a scrabbling from behind the wall. One of the zombies there abruptly lurched to its crystalline feet, shuffling towards Ka over the uneven ground.
Ka didn't have time to raise his wand before it was blasted apart by a trio of bolts from above. He looked back up at them and waved appreciatively.
"That's enough Ka, if the zombies are starting to get up, you need to get out of there!" Tiki yelled down at him.
Ka looked back at the small dense clumps of black mist crowding around the zombies, as if considering getting another sample. Then a ripple passed through the zombies, a fluctuation in the mist that gave Tiki a very bad feeling.
"Uh, if you felt that, then you need to-"
Tiki didn't get any further. The mist suddenly moved out from the zombies back into its familiar hazy cloud. Ka stumbled backwards and ran directly towards the edge, spreading his wings for takeoff.
Not a moment too soon, far too many zombies were suddenly struggling to their feet in a grotesque parody of movement, all jerks and uncoordinated motion. Quite a few simply fell over where they stood and some never even managed to stand at all. Like animals still learning to walk, Tiki thought to himself. Enough were still able to scramble over the broken ground towards Ka.
Tiki considered the situation with a measured eye, Ka's speed against the zombies, and held out a hand for them to hold fire. Kee glanced at him but acquiesced to Tiki's hunting experience. Lolu was more nervous, constantly fingering her wand.
Ka achieved takeoff and soared into the air on a gout of powerful lift well ahead of the frontmost zombies.
"That was far too dangerous," Tiki said once Ka had joined them in the air.
The elka held up the rattling container, sealed with magic. "This will be worth it. "
"Yes, yes, now have you had enough adventure?" Lolu asked, nervously scanning the crowd below for any blooms of light that signaled a shooter charging up. After her close shave, there was far too much glinting crystal down there for her to feel safe.
"We go, back to the Fort. "
Tiki nodded, finally. "May the god of wind and the light of Selna guide us home. "

627 words for yet another aborted attempt at a fantasy story

Spoiler

Show

"Hahaha. " It was all she could do to laugh weakly. The fan-shaped pieces... things that were arrayed around the central cylinder would be unassuming if not for the unknown material.
As the only person who understood what this was, Elle was slightly frightened. The implications of building this was scary, the amount of destruction she could wreak if she made a mistake.
Still, she had a debt and this was the only way she could see to pay it.

"We have come for the interest," the man leaned threateningly over her counter.
The debt collector stood in her empty shop, looking slightly bored as his three minions surrounded her.
"Can I speak to him directly?" Elle asked neutrally.
The debt collector continued looking bored, "no delays are accepted. If you cannot pay we-"
"That's not what I wanted. I wish to pay my debt, not just the interest," she paused for a moment to let him process what she was saying, "I understand that the sum has grown over the years, please tell me how much it is. "
Now he raised an eyebrow, "to pay your debt in full including this month's interest will be nearly ten gold. "
It was clearly too much by any method of calculation. Even if she hadn't paid any interest at all since the start, it would hardly have amounted to eight. But the point wasn't for her to pay it off after all, not that such would have been possible since ten gold was most of the total currency in town.
"I understand. However, while I cannot pay in money, will you accept an item in trade?" Elle asked.
She took out a small stone from her sleeve and put it on the counter. It gleamed a brilliant green, almost as large as the tip of her smallest finger.
Greed sparked in the collector's eyes immediately as he reached out for it. Elle snatched it back with a glare and held it up on her hand for him to examine. Shooting her a dirty look, the man peered at the gem.
"A flawless emerald? Where did you get such a thing?"
Elle shrugged, trying to look casual. "This gem is surely worth more than the value of my debt if you sell it to the right person. Cancel it and the gem is yours. "
The debt collector smirked, "surely not. We don't deal in gems and certainly cannot get the full value. I'll cut six from your debt and we'll not talk about interest today, hm?"
Far too unfair but with those men around her and no way to pay this month's interest, she wasn't in a good bargaining position. Elle sighed and nodded, "very well. "
She took out a second gem from beneath the counter.
"There, you get two, my debt is paid. "
Elle held in a snort at the look on his face. Clearly he had been instructed not to let her debt go. Her little herb shop was not very profitable, not enough to attract the interest of the bigger muscle, but her parents had always managed to pay their interest in time.
Keeping her under the moneylender's thumb had been very profitable for them. Not anymore.
Elle breathed out in audible relief as the man scowled and left with the gems. His minions had alternately growled and loomed at her on their way out but their theatrics were ultimately toothless in the face of the feeling of freedom.
No more debt! No more impossible demands!
She grinned, things were looking up ever since she found the canister in the crater in the forest. After all, emeralds were easy to make when one could transmute materials.

[LeSwordfish]

I painted eight models in total this week.

I'm pretty busy next weekend running a gamejam, so will likely upload next week's submission either way early (like wednesday/thursday) or way late (like wednesday/thursday).

[Glass Mouse]

Boom! Who's totally on time with an evening off to write comic scripts? THIS GAL!

Status for the weeks January 30 - February 5!


Glass Mouse passes with two character portraits and twelve silly sketches.

Lycunadari passes with seven outdoors photos.

LeSwordfish passes with eight painted models.

jseah passes with 1300 words of Hero's War, and 627 words of abandoned fantasy story.

Artman77 did not upload/send me anything.

Icewalker passes with 550 words of The Three Truths, and 965 words of campaign notes.

Xiander passes with 1629 words of Warstorm, and 1249 words of sharky short story.

Some Android did not upload/send me anything.


Thus, Artman77 and Some Android FAIL this round!

Glass Mouse, Lycunadari, LeSwordfish, jseah, Icewalker, and Xiander PASS this round!


Current standing:

Spoiler

Show

Glass Mouse
Current run: 34 weeks
Longest run: 290 weeks
Themes: 2 weeks

Lycunadari
Current run: 213 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

LeSwordfish
Current run: 35 weeks
Longest run: 24 weeks
Themes: -

jseah
Current Run: 52 weeks
Longest Run: 33 weeks
Themes: -

Artman77
Current run: -
Longest run: 13 weeks
Themes: -

Icewalker
Current run: 18 weeks
Longest run: 13 weeks
Themes: -

Xiander
Current run: 31 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

Some Android
Current run: -
Longest run: 42 weeks
Themes: -

This week's theme (February 6 - 12), chosen by Some Android, is Human anatomy.

Next week's theme is chosen by me - let me know in PM or announce it in this thread, and I'll include it in the next status.

---

Maybe I'll try and get 6 or more drawings done to get back into the swing of things.

I'm glad you're feeling good enough that you're maybe kinda sorta up for getting back to drawing.

Eugh so much for making up for my falling behind on The Three Truths this week. I only wrote 550 words of the prose, although I wrote a solid 965 words worth of actual creative content (after removing mechanics writing) for the same campaign so I can still pull that in for the deadline. Still, I feel like I've copped out of 2000 words of writing in the last two weeks, hopefully I can make that up to myself soon...

Ugh, I know the feeling. I hate the weeks when I just barely pass - it feels so much like cheating!

I'm pretty busy next weekend running a gamejam, so will likely upload next week's submission either way early (like wednesday/thursday) or way late (like wednesday/thursday).

Acknowledged

[Xiander]

Boom! Who's totally on time with an evening off to write comic scripts? THIS GAL!

Well done!

[Icewalker]

Ugh, I know the feeling. I hate the weeks when I just barely pass - it feels so much like cheating!

Yeah, exactly. I do a lot of creative work, in a lot of genres, albeit mostly game related. Piecing together the equivalent of 1500 words of content is something I can do pretty reliably, but I mean, I'm here doing the Challenge for the explicit purpose of getting me to work more consistently on my prose writings! So it definitely feels like cheating. And here I am, late Friday night, having again not gotten anything done on it so far this week. See if I can't get a little written down tonight, and then commit lots of Sunday to the rest...

[Some Android]

Got my work up.

[Icewalker]

1563, good enough for the Challenge, though not good enough to catch up with my cut corners from the last two weeks.

Spoiler: The Three Truths

Show

“Good. I’m glad it was helpful.”
“Very. Never do it again.”

With a week’s food left in the supplies, they set out south to return to Kota Ombak.
It was Peter who realized the possibility first. “Hey, Devi!”
“Yeah?”
“This mosaic!” Peter gestured to the depiction of the battle, the piece sitting in front of him in the cart where he was taking notes. “The sky, look at the sky in it.”
“Yeah, it’s really impressive. Wait, do you think it’s accurate? That would tell us a fair bit about the Eder’s knowledge when it came to astronomy.”
“I do think it’s accurate but Devi that means a lot more than astronomy. We can navigate by it!”
Devi blinked. “We...we could! If it’s an accurate night’s sky, then we can figure out exactly where the sky it depicts is.”
“Exactly! Now I know you know navigating by the stars but that’s not actually going to cut it here. Our stars have changed a few times over the centuries. But I know a fellow back in Kota Ombak who might be able to help, he does astral research for the clergy of the Sun and Moon Cathedral, real smart chap!”
“So, uh, speaking of navigation,” Franz pointed ahead of the cart. “Is that red stuff supposed to be there?”
Peter looked up from his rapid scribbling in his research notebook. He blinked, checked the position of the sun, and closed the book. “No. No it is not.”
“Right. What is it exactly?”
“That would be the Salt Seas.”
“Oh, hells,” Devi grumbled.
“Is that bad?”
“I mean,” Peter hedged, “it’s not that bad. We can skirt the edge of it. Your burns are gonna sting like a bunch of scorpions are throwing a party on your face, though. Sorry Franz.”
“I...I’ll manage.”
“Ah, Devi, what is that...woah! Get off!”
Shamgar yanked his khopesh from his belt, swinging it at the small implike figure clinging to the side of the cart. With a rattling snarl, it ducked under the blade before spitting a mouthful of wet red grit into Shamgar’s face.
“Gah!”
The traveling party erupted into motion like a kicked bee’s nest. Peter leapt for a waterskin and tossed it to Shamgar, who failed to catch it, falling off of his camel. The salty denizen returned to rooting through the possessions in the cart, tossing cooking equipment, Eder relics, and rations over its shoulder as it looked for something more interesting. Franz grabbed hold of a cooking pan at the same time as the creature, a tug-of-war ensuing over the abruptly rusting metal.
Devi, their regular sword put away in the cart, grabbed the nearest weapon to hand: the broad-bladed Eder sword they had recovered from the dig site, and swung it at the intruder.
The weapon connected with a thundering boom, the shockwave from the sound palpable in the air. The creature flew thirty feet off the cart, leaving Franz holding a cooking pan and blinking as the would-be thief landed with a plop into the nearby stretch of salt laden red-colored sand, flowing like a river through the desert.
The echo faded off of the dunes, leaving the late afternoon to return to its regular quiet breeze.
“...Woah.”
“Oh!” Shamgar finished wiping salty grit from his eyes. “It’s one of those swords! You should keep that one.”

The north wall of Kota Ombak and its Bronze Gate was a welcome sight.
“The City of Waves!” Devi sighed, sipping the last of the black-tinted water from their waterskin. “Where the water tastes like smoke instead of looking like it. Let’s stop at my home first, drop off the dig gear and some pieces. Then we can bring the rest of the finds to Peter’s before returning the cart and camels, and then get something to eat which hasn’t been stored in a box for three weeks.”
Peter raised his own skin. “I’ll drink to that.”
Franz nodded limply, exhausted from the long trek through a climate so different from his home’s. “I’d drink to anything now that we’ll have a reliable supply of water again.”
The sun was well in the sky by the time the travelers reached Devi’s front door. A small box sat on the doorstep, wrapped in light paper. ‘DEVI SUNJAYA’ was written in block letters on the top of the otherwise unmarked package.
Devi reached for the box. “Huh, what’s-”
The world erupted, leaving nothing but heat, pain, a deafening ringing noise, and soon a cold and silent darkness.

Chapter Twelve
In Which

“Devi!”
Shamgar’s hands were outlined with white light. Devi could feel it pouring out, making some of the pain go away.

“Hey. Hey, Ms. Sunjaya. They’re coming around.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, kid.”
“Are you really sure?”

Shamgar picked himself up from the cobbled street. He found he had drawn his khopesh. Echoes of foreign Khoriad speech echoed in his mind, but not his ears. He tried to shake off the memories. He was in Kota Ombak. Eder, and the wars with the Khoriad, were a thousand years underground.
And an explosion had just blasted Devi Sunjaya twenty feet across the street and into the wall of the far building.
“Devi!”
Shamgar ran to the collapsed orc. Devi was clearly unconscious, blood beginning to stream from cuts across their head. One of their legs was broken. The burns across their whole torso from the fiery blast were severe.
“Shepherd, give me light and life / that I may ward the herd from Thrush’s hooves,” Shamgar dredged the many syllables of the third stanza from his memory, tailoring the tone to match his friend’s wounds. The word filled the street, the sacred language drowning out the ambient chaos of the alchemist’s bazaar just block away, passing through walls and buildings as if nothing stood in the way of the sound. White light coalesced around Shamgar’s hands, and he pushed the energy into the wounds, renewing burnt skin and open wounds. It wasn’t much. Blood continued to drip past Devi’s closed eyes, the angle of the archaeologist’s leg clearly wrong where it lay next to them. “Damn it Devi, hold on.”
A few onlookers had begun to stop, and a dark-haired orc girl ran forward. “Devi!” Her words came quickly, fearful and concerned but not panicked. Shamgar blinked at the Damai. She asked a question, and receiving no answer, shook her head and turned, running back into the crowd and out of view.
Peter stumbled over. “Oh no! Oh no. Are they…are they okay?” The halfling was bleeding from the shoulder. Likely a stone loosed by the blast that had smashed Devi’s doorstep into rubble.
Franz watched the silhouette disappear from the edge of the rooftop across the street from Devi’s home. He looked to the archaeologist. Shamgar was pulling bandages. If Devi was not going to survive, there was nothing Franz would be able to do to change that. He moved in pursuit, taking an alley between buildings.
The girl returned after a minute, pulling a man who looked tired beyond his few years. He slung down a bag, dropping to kneel next to Devi and pulling several alchemical salves and rolls of bandages. With a glance at the quality of the Shamgar’s first aid, the healer nudged him aside with several curt words in Damai, taking over with expert hands. Reverting to habits from his time working triage with the mercenaries Shamgar reflexively moved to Peter, cleaning and bandaging the less severe wound.
A small boy not more than seven years old and holding a small cloth bag in his hand edged around the young girl’s legs and towards Devi.
“Ms. Sunjaya? Orvic is Ms. Sunjaya gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know Dusty. Ahmel, how is she?”
The healer waved a bloodstained hand, saying nothing.
Dusty pulled a small vial from the bag, flickers of silver light playing through the old scratched glass.
“I wanna help.”
“Ah, Peter,” Shamgar asked in Surrian as they continued, “What are they saying?”
“Oh! Dusty’s got that little healing potion, wants to help. He’s been saving it forever though and Orvic there, the girl, wants to make sure it’ll actually make a difference, cause that kind of thing is valuable when you haven’t got much to live on like the Copperheads-Uh, that’s these kids, few of them stick together just trying to get by. Orvic’s smart, takes care of the lot.”
“Tell them Devi is going to be okay.”
“...Is Devi going to be okay?”
Shamgar nodded, watching the healer’s work. “Yes. They are strong. This is not enough to keep a warrior like that down.”
“Hey, Orvic. Shamgar says they’re going to be okay. Dusty should keep his potion.”
Ahmel wiped the blood from around Devi’s eyes. “Hey. Hey, Ms. Sunjaya. They’re coming around.”
Dusty continued holding out the little vial at arms length, his eyes wide. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, kid.”
“Are you really sure?”
“It’s a good thing you came for me quick as you did, Orvic.”
She nodded. “I’m not sure how we’ll pay, but I’ll figure it out.”
“Don’t,” Peter chimed in. “I can.”
Orvic gave a shaky smile, nerves catching up to her. “Thanks Mr. Shoehorn.” Dusty hesitantly returned his little vial back to its place in its cloth bag, and the bag back to its place around his neck.

[Xiander]

So Instead of getting back to Marked by Blood, I got sidetracked and started a new story this week....
Anyways here is 3034 words of Vin Loche trying to help.

Spoiler: Trying to help, part one

Show

It should have been pretty simple.
Shaya had asked me to speak to her friend for her. She had left some stuff at the friend’s place, and she needed me to pick them up.
No problem, right?
In hindsight, I should have asked Shaya why she wasn’t picking up her stuff herself. But then I had been too busy watching her face while she spoke, to ask any clever questions.
I swear to god, I get stupid around Shaya.
At any rate, I went to the place that afternoon, thinking I would ring the doorbell, collect the stuff and move on. I started doubting that sentiment when I parked my car outside the building.
It isn’t often I park in a place where my car looks new compared to the ones surrounding it. I mean, It’s not exactly a cadillac, but in this neighborhood I might as well have been.
The building itself was worn down, covered in grafitti and not at all classy. But ****, given where I live I shouldn’t point fingers.
The beat up cars and the run down building weren’t what tipped me off to the problem. You get stuff like that all over this city, and honestly, fine people live in squalid neighbourhoods. No, it wasn’t the look of the place.
It was the magic stamp.
They come in all sizes and shapes. Everything from actual stamps, over welcome mats, to framed family photos. Basically any sort of graphic representation can be a magic stamp.
In this case it was a piece of grafitti. It was a nice piece, only a bit bigger than both my palms together, it depicted a firebreathing dragon.
To a normal person, it looked like the work of a really talented street artist. Something special, but not unique. Spend enough time in the city and you see dozens of pieces like that.
To someone with twilight eyes however, this was an obvious marking of territory. Almost every magical denizen of the city found some place to call their own. They marked it with their personal stamp, and usually that kept them from running afoul of each other by accident.
Running afoul of each other on purpose was another matter, but what can you do?
I looked at the dragon and cursed.
Shaya and I had an unspoken agreement that we were friends first and magical allies second. At least I had thought we did. Sending me into someone else’s territory, without warning me was a pretty low move.
Still, Shaya probably had her reasons, and I did want to help her out. And I was pretty sure. she wouldn’t send me blind into a fight.
The stamp was clearly magical, even without trying to notice it, my eyes picked up the energies invested into it. Still, I figured knowing a bit about who lived here was probably safer. So I closed my normal eyes and looked at the stamp with my twilight eyes.
In the twilight of my mind, the mark left it’s magical imprint. Every stamp was diferent, but they all gave an impression of the one who had placed them.
The picture this one painted was pretty hefty.
First I saw the claws and fangs. Then heavy wings beat in the wind and a gout of fire exploded towards me. I opened my eyes, just before the fire would have caught me.
Magical sense or not, fire hurts.
And I did not want to see how realistic an impression of third degree burns this particular magic creature had invested into the stamp.
What the hell had Shaya gotten me into?
Either, her friend was some sort of magical being, in which case i sure hoped Shaya had called ahead to warn of my arrival.
Alternatively, the magical stamp had nothing to do with Shaya’s freind and it just so happened that a magical person had taken up residence around this place. In which case I would have to give Shaya a talking to about keeping an eye out for potential threats and rivals.
I looked at the building once more, then took a deep breath and locked my car. I had promised Shaya to help, and I keep my god damn promises.
The door to the building was locked of course, and I spend a minute trying to find the right buzzer. I briefly entertained the notion of using my twilight eyes to scout out the area for threats.
I decided against it.
Opening my eyes to the twilight would also mean letting the twilight in. If anyone was trying to keep magical beings out of their territory, it was a safe bet they would have boobytrapped the twilight side of things pretty hard. It was the goto method. Normal people could walk right by twilight traps and nothing would happen, but is someone with a presence on the twilight came along, then BAM! Trap sprung.
I was lucky in that sense. I could choose to keep my twilight eyes closed and not make a fuss on the twilight side. It did leave me blind to all things magical, but it also shielded me from the prying eyes of other magical beings. When your gifts were on the small side of things like mine, anonymity was your best freind.
So I kept my other eyes firmly shut and rang the buzzer to apartment 4c. It took a long moment, before the speaker hummed and let out a raspy voice.
“Yes?”
“Hi.” I said cheerfully. “I’m Vin Locke.”
“Aah.” The speaker whispered. “Shaya’s friend?”
“Yeah. Shaya asked to pick up a box of her stuff.”
“Oh.” There was a short pause. “You should come in then.”
There was a buzz and a click, I pushed the door open and stepped into the stairwell. The steps were worn and dirty. The whole place smelled musty and abandoned. Still, compared to some of the places I had been this was perfectly nice.
I took the steps two at a time. No sense in dallying around if I was really on someone else’s territory, and I didn’t want to keep Shaya’s friend waiting.
I reached the fourth floor. Three doors marked A, B and C greeted me silently. I knocked on door C, preferring to anounce my arrival well before I overstepped any bounds.
There was a shuffling of feet behind the door, then the sound of three locks being unlocked and a chain coming off it’s hook.
Wow, Shaya’s friend had some paranoia issues.
The door creaked open and revealed a slim figure in a green robe.
Jet black hair framed a porcelaine face, and I found myself unable to tell if I was looking at a man or a woman.
Shaya’s friend eyed me, a nervous glimmer playing in deep blue eyes. It was all but openly apparant that something was wrong here. At least to me it was damn clear. Unease nearly radiated off the slim figure in the doorway.
I pick up on that sort of stuff pretty easily. Whether it is a side effect of me being touched by Twillight or just a personal talent has never been clear. But it is a talent that has saved me from almost as many problems as it has gotten me into.
“Hi.” I said cheerfully. “If you just show me the box, I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”
“Oh,” The voice was soft as velvet, much prettier when not heard through a speaker. “Come inside, I will find it for you.”
As I followed Shaya’s friend into the appartment, I caught a glimpse of the nameplate next to the door. Rain W it proclaimed in bold letters. Well, that didn’t really reveal anything about the gender of Shaya’s friend. I guess i could think of Rain as them, but maybe I was overthinking.
I slipped into the apartment, as Rain stopped to lock every one of the locks. I took the time to look around, taking in the place with both my normal eyes and the bit of magical awareness I retained even with my twilight eyes closed.
Just beyond the front door I got a clear concept of what type of person Rain was. The first word which came to mind was collector. There were paintings on every spare bit of wall, and all flat surfaces were adorned with statuettes carved in all kinds of wood.
There was no common motif among the art pieces, it was everything from abstract art to carvings of elephants. All of it was of excellent quality though. I caught myself wondering how much all of this was worth, and why Rain was living in this kind of neighborhood, when selling just a couple of art pieces might net a six figure number on any bank account.
The answer was pretty simple to puzzle out. The items had to be more important to Rain than the money, or the living space.
I stepped into the living room of the small appartment. It was more of the same, only even worse. There wasn’t a spot of wallpaper visible in the entire room. Every bit of wall was either covered by paintings or shelves. All the paintings were pretty, and all the shelves were adorned with more figures and carvings.
Rain entered the room behind me, looking around nervously, as if they expected someone else to be here. After a second, Rain pulled together enough to adress me politely.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“That sounds nice.” I cracked my trademark smile.
I hadn’t planned on spending more than a couple of minutes here, but there was something going on. Rain’s entire being sang with it. Something had disturbed them enough that the entire room resonated with it.
I may have been poking my nose where it didn’t belong, but I never could help myself with this sort of thing.
I took a deep breath and felt the atmosphere with my entire being. I filtered the entire impression of the room into my very core. Without opening my twilight eyes, I would get a blurry picture at best, but it was worth a shot. So I took it all in.
It is not an easy thing to do, but it is something I do well. Taking in the big picture and zooming in on details until I figure out something that wasn’t apparant.
It crept into my mind slowly. This wasn’t just a collection, this was something much more profound and important. This was not just a bunch of valuable pieces of art.
This was a hoard.
Which meant that the person leaving that magical stamp on the street below, had been Rain.
Okay, I’m going a bit fast here, let me explain. A hoard is a technical term used by magical folk. Collecting stuff is normal, among humans and magicals alike. A hoard takes that simple concept and elevates it to something much more important.
Magical beings who make hoards, aren’t just doing it because they like stuff. That might be one of the reasons for doing it, but there is a deeper reason, a reason which resonates with their magical soul.
These magical beings draw nourishment from their hoards, the treasure sustains them and empowers them. Such a being is much more powerful when around it’s hoard. As a result, they are almost all deeply territorial, and almost homicidally protective of their hoard.
And I was standing in the middle of Rain’s hoard right now. With the amount of power I had sensed in the magical stamp, I decided I had better be on my best behaviour.
Okay, I had figured out part of the puzzle. Rain was a magical being, and a hoarder. That still left the question of why they were looking so nervous. This was the place where Rain would be the most powerful.
So why did I pick up notes of panic all around the room?
Rain returned with two mugs of steaming tea.
“I did not know if you take sugar…” There was mild apology in rain’s voice.
“No problem, I’ll drink it pure.” I put on a friendly smile.
Truth was I liked my tea sweet as sin, but right now the tea was secondary. I had found a puzzle, and I never could resist puzzles.
“So how do you know Shaya?” I asked as I recieved my cup of tea.
“I…” Rain thought about the question for a long moment. “Helped her out when she first arrived in town. I have been here for a long time, so I thought it would be gracious to lend her some help.”
Oh, that changed things a bit. Rain had done Shaya a Favor. Capital F Favours were a sort of currency in themselves among magical beings. Money is nice and we all have to eat, but when you have acces to the Twilight world and routinely have to deal with ghouls and goblins, being able to call on someone you can trust is hard to put a pricetag on.
I wanted to ask more questions, but I kept in mind that I wasn’t here on business. I had other stuff to do today, and this was supposed to be a brief stop. Get the goods and jet….
But I had been hooked by the riddle. What was going on here? Why was Rain so nervous, if she was the same being who had placed such a powerful stamp?
“What kind of help?” I asked, keeping the conversation going, while I searched for some hint of what was going on.
“I gave her a place to stay for a little while.” Rain explained, her voice was level, but her eyes kept darting around the room.
“And she left her thigs behind when she moved on?”
“Yes,” she looked at me briefly, then away again. “It’s just a box of painting equipment.”
“I’ll take it off your hands, no problem.” I sipped my tea, watching her closely.
At first, her eyes had seemed to flicker around the room randomly. With closer inspection I noticed that wasn’t exactly the case. True, she was constantly scanning the room, but it wasn’t completely random.
Every now and then, her eyes would settle on the same shelf, giving it a long stare before moving on. The shelf was the same as any other shelf in the room. Neat black wood, crowded with small figurines.
Except, there was a gap.
Just big enough to catch my attention. Everywhere else, where there was room, there was a sculpture or figurine. But this spot was empty, even though it was just the right size for another figurine.
And on the shelf there was a spot, clearly free of dust. Something had beeen removed from that spot. A piece of Rain’s hoard was missing. And I would bet almost anything that Rain had not permitted anyone to carry it out of the apartment.
My deduction was disturbed by Rain’s soft voice.
“Should I go find Shaya’s things for you?”
“Sure,” I said, sipping my tea. “I’ll just enjoy the tea while I wait.”
I smiled widely at her, and she returned a halfhearted smirk. She placed her tea, completely untouched on the small coffee table, then left the living room.
I gave her to the count of thirty.
By ten I was deeply impatient. by twenty I was pacing back and forth. By thirty I clamped my eyes shut and my Twilight eyes sprang open like an overwound jackinthebox.
The vision of Rain’s sanctuary hit me like a brick wall launched from a catapult. Everything in here was magical. Not in the dungeons and dragons way. Not because some mad wizard had spend time and magic to make all these things into some sort of weaponry.
The magic here was a deeper, much more subtle kind. Rain was a magical being, and a hoarder at that. These thinges had become magical simply by being in her hoard. And it was obvious that most of them had been so for a long time.
With my twilight eyes open, i was sensitive to all sorts of magic. This room was so flooded in power that I had to take minute and a few deep breaths, just to make the room stop spinning.
Once I no longer felt like someone was shooting fireworks across the inside of my eyelids, I gathered my focus and traced the connections in the room.
I think I mentioned that I don’t have a lot of power, magically speaking. Most people take that to mean I can’t do much with magic.
Most people misunderstand.
I am not a powerful magical being, I don’t wield destructive forces at my fingertips. In a magical brawl, I am the equivalent of a ten year old with a glass jaw.
But I have a special talent. I see the relations between things. I see gossamer threads connecting two people who work together but seldom talk. I see heavy chains of energy binding together a couple who has been married for ten years.
It is a useful talent, but not one considered very powerful by the kinds of being you run into on the twilight side of things.
Now, I concentrated on the connections in this room. It was like a spiderweb, If that web had been made by a spider the size of a donkey and high on caffeine and crack.
Every object was connected to every other. Thick bonds of sympathy wound together in complicated patterns. And all the things were also connected with some point not too far away, somewhere in the apartment, if I were to guess. I imagined the shared bond was with Rain herself.
It was hard for me to keep looking at the intricate mosaic of connections, but I concentrated and homed in on the thing I had been looking for.
Thin, overstretched chords of sympathy stretched out of the room, through the door to the stairwell. Something connected to this room and the hoard in here had been taken through that door and out of the apartment, some days ago. But not long enough that the connection had been completely broken.

[jseah]

500 words for another attempt to start a Worm fanfiction. Hmm. This attempt might be better at any rate. Maybe worth continuing a little.

Spoiler

Show

"You present me an interesting problem, Miss Hebert," the Director looked at the thin girl sitting the chair across her desk. The girl's posture was dimuinitive, hunched and defensive as if she was weathering a storm in her life.
Which in a way, was the Director's fault, not that she could admit it.
"Most prospective Wards don't make demands. "
She watched the girl shrink further but the girl did not leave.
"They are requests, not demands," Taylor elaborated, "I need these things if I am going to join. "
And if she didn't, there was no telling what she would do with that dratted notebook of hers. Emily had to hand it to her, Miss Hebert was definitely not the weak unassuming prey that Sophia thought she was.
"Very well, state your demands and we shall see if we cannot come to an agreement," the Director said, keeping her sigh to herself.
"There are only three," Taylor said, "first, Sophia is punished and I am transferred to Arcadia. "
Emily nodded silently. Sophia's punishment was already set in stone and a transfer to Arcadia was not beyond the PRT's reach.
"Secondly, I am not going to fight. I don't want to patrol, I don't want Endbringers, I don't fight S-class threats. I want to join the Wards for protection, not to put myself in danger. "
The Director scowled, again trying to keep it from showing on her face. Sophia's punishment would lose them a very effective force, if troublesome to control; a pacifist was not something that Brockton Bay needed.
"All the Wards have duties and responsibilities-"
"I am asking for an exemption," Taylor cut in immediately, "I am sorry but I cannot compromise on this. " The girl paused then added, "I am willing to use my power to help the PRT and the city as a whole but I can do so with less risk and more effectively than as a superpowered policeman. "
Piggot gritted her teeth. "And third?"
"I need protection. Not just the reputation of the Wards, but actual officers. Preferably Hero protection but I understand if you can't spare them. "
That made the Director lean back into her chair. Was someone after the girl? She asked as much.
Taylor shrugged, "I will have. Once what I can do becomes known. I have thought about this and I ask you to believe me, the rules of capes will not protect me. "
"I would say that we can't spare the officers either," Piggot replied, "but I suspect you have an answer for that too. So, tell me, what can you do that makes it worth the PRT's time and people to protect you, and for villains to risk retaliation to kidnap you?"
The girl looked down at the copy of the notebook and the backpack on the floor in front of her shoes. She sighed and nodded, "all right, I'll tell you. I'm a tinker. And... it's best if I show you what I built somewhere private. "

1147 words for Hero's War

Spoiler

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"Trade representative from Minmay here to see you, Chancellor. "
Duport nodded and waved a hand for the guard to open the door. The stick thin man bowed politely as he crossed the threshold and approached her desk with a large folder under his arm.
Duport leaned towards her advisor.
Thomas whispered in her ear, quickly summarizing the brief. "His request is a trade proposal. Primary concern is thorndown cloth and clothing. Intelligence says he's probably honest. "
She snorted to herself. It wasn't as if there was anything to spy about in the territory, not with her finances barely clinging to solvency and the citizenry too exhausted to get up to much mischief. The past month had been touch and go, barely papering over the incurred debt with some very quick diplomacy. Very stressful diplomacy. Now that the first of the Aesin irrigation projects were complete, the drain on the finances was beginning to let up.
"The light of the sun shines well on you, Chancellor," the man bowed again formally, "I am Alvan, trade representative of Minmay. There is a proposal we would like to discuss. "
She waved a hand when he paused.
"The three clothing and weavers guilds in Minmay have finally agreed to a merger. In the process, they are interested in a broad collaboration with your Thread and Weavers guild and wish your aid in setting up the meetings. They hope to move significant number of workers to your port cities to work under the guild here and your permission or better yet, blessing, will improve fortunes of both of us.
To that end, my Chancellor has convinced the Minmay Ironworkers to sell machines for the drilling of mana pumps to you and for the magic driven weaving machines for your Thread and Weavers guild. We expect that you will benefit greatly from this service. "
Duport frowned as the man drew out three sheets filled with dense words and numbers from his folder and placed them in front of her.
"You're giving us all of this? I don't understand why your guilds would want to move here," she asked him. And why Minmay would let revenue sources simply leave. Worse, selling her mana pump drilling equipment for a small markup above the price in Minmay? Unbelievable. There was an angle the other Chancellor was driving at.
The man explained smoothly, "for a long time now, the cloth guilds in Minmay have been dependent on the thorndown fuzz exported by your territory and it is clear that such low density material is simply not profitable to move long distances. With the advent of new technology, we expect that your region will become key to the production of fabrics in the long run. This is simply them moving now while they still can. "
"Asking Thread and Weavers to take in such an influx of people is not easy," Thomas said, reading the estimated numbers from one of the documents.
Alvan countered immediately, "initial talks have already begun. Since the production of the first drill heads actually. There are no guarantees but the guilds are willing to work out their differences and come to an agreement. "
"And how long will these drills take to be made? The last I heard, the Minmay Ironworkers has a one month backlog of orders. "
Again, the man had all the answers. "The backlog will be cleared in two weeks. Additionally, if Thread and Weavers reach a satisfactory agreement, one of the advantages Minmay is willing to offer is for Duport to jump the queue on the first drill head. "
"A one month-"
"In two weeks, yes," Alvan smiled as much as Thomas frowned, "Willio is expecting production to double once the new machines are familiarized. Courtesy of the magical power afforded by the mana pumps. "
Unspoken was the fact that this advantage could be Duport's too.
It was tempting, way too tempting. Minmay's man was all but throwing money in her face and she couldn't see the downside.
"Why does Minmay not simply put the spinning and weaving machines in Minmay?" Thomas asked again, "your production advantage will more than offset the transport cost and your merchants aren't paying our gate taxes. You say they want to come, why is Duport better? What does Minmay gain from developing our weaving industry?"
For the first time under fire, Alvan frowned and sighed, "it is prevailing opinion that there aren't enough people in the Minmay region to make a strong clothing industry. You have a natural advantage and the labour to do so. Rather than waste men on cheap fabric, there is more money to be made selling and replacing the machines that do so in your territory than producing the thread in Minmay. "
Chancellor Duport looked at her advisor. So that was the trick? Minmay was giving them a whole business specialty because he couldn't find the manpower to make all the stuff?
"It's more than that, the difference in the value of the goods, of machines versus clothing, means that we will always be poorer than he is. And dependent on the machines made by the Minmay Ironworkers in order to function. "
Even with the explanation, it did not rule out Duport eventually building her own machine-building ability. Over the time frame being talked about here, easily half a generation for changing the business of an entire region, there were no such thing as a guarantee that Minmay would keep his lead.
The only reason why no one else could keep up with the University was the fact that Cato and their team seemed to create new things every month. That and it had only been just under two years since those books appeared. The University could give away its knowledge because it had already changed the world multiple times when the impact of the first change was only starting to be felt.
And yet, even with her suspicion that Minmay was planning something, the offer to preferentially sell her machines for the development of her territory and the Thread and Weavers Guild was not one easily dismissed, no matter the future drawbacks. Such a boost to her finances, present and future, would greatly help the territory and the people in it who were uncertain of what the changes to the economy meant for them.
"Very well, leave the full proposal here and I will consider it in conjunction with the Guild," Duport gestured and the Minmay man placed half the folder on top of her already copious reading material. "You may tell your Chancellor that tentatively, we are of favourable disposition. "
Thomas gave her a Look but a nod from her postponed the query.
"We thank you for the understanding, I am sure Minmay will be greatly pleased to here your reply," Alvan bowed and took his leave.

[LeSwordfish]

I painted six more models. Thanks for letting me submit way late!

[Some Android]

Did we lose a Glass Mouse?

[Some Android]

Got my art up.

[Glass Mouse]

Status for the week February 6 - 12!


Glass Mouse passes with two pages of comic scripts and three sketches.

Lycunadari passes with three pencil drawings and six nature photos.

LeSwordfish passes with six painted models.

jseah passes with 500 words of Worm fanfiction, and 1147 words of Hero's War.

Artman77 did not upload/send me anything (again).

Icewalker passes with 1563 words of The Three Truths.

Xiander passes with 3034 words of a new story.

Some Android passes with twelve full-body anatomy drawings.


Thus, Artman77 FAILS this round!

Glass Mouse, Lycunadari, LeSwordfish, jseah, Icewalker, Xiander, and Some Android PASS this round!


Current standing:

Spoiler

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Glass Mouse
Current run: 35 weeks
Longest run: 290 weeks
Themes: -

Lycunadari
Current run: 214 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

LeSwordfish
Current run: 36 weeks
Longest run: 24 weeks
Themes: -

jseah
Current Run: 53 weeks
Longest Run: 33 weeks
Themes: -

Artman77
Current run: -
Longest run: 13 weeks
Themes: -

Icewalker
Current run: 19 weeks
Longest run: 13 weeks
Themes: -

Xiander
Current run: 32 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

Some Android
Current run: 1 week
Longest run: 42 weeks
Themes: 1 week

This week's theme (February 13 - 19) has not been chosen for obvious lateness reasons, but next week’s will be My, what sharp teeth you have.

---

Did we lose a Glass Mouse?

Nope, just busy. Still trying to get back on a proper track here, sorry.

[Icewalker]

Remember when I kept saying I was going to catch up on The Three Truths? Well, I didn't. (Wrote about 400 words of it this week.)

I did however write over 2000 words of fictional scripture across multiple translations of a nonexistent original text, and I'm not done yet tonight. I cannot post them here because they are secrets for another friend's project. Glass Mouse, I have PMed you the footnotes from one translation alone (over 600 words: I had a lot of fun with this one) if that's enough quantification to show that the material exists? I can send you more if need be, but would rather not.

[jseah]

935 words for Hero's War

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"Duport, you do realize that this deal only benefits Minmay, don't you?"
The Chancellor shrugged at her advisor, her slouch reappearing unconsciously now that there wasn't anyone else to see it.
"I understand that Minmay benefits from this more than us. He will leave us the lower value business while maintaining his lead," Duport nodded, "but even the lower value business of making clothing can be valuable for us. And given our situation, you must admit that we have no hope of being on par with Minmay. Certainly not for decades. "
Thomas retorted, "even so, if you agree to let Minmay provide those machines for us instead of building our own, we will never be on par with Minmay. "
"Yes, I see that, but I believe Minmay has offered enough to make the deal advantageous to us. Look, he's even giving us a favourable deal on the new mana well drills, without something like that, Duport will be greatly outbid by the other territories! You know that all the Federation is looking to buy from them. "
From her perspective, while her advisor raised good points about the long term disadvantages of being dependent on Minmay for their industry, Duport was also aware from her financial lessons that the short term advantages were also important. Her territory was suffering a short term problem after all.
"Just why are you so suspicious of them anyway?" she asked him curiously.
Thomas frowned, "the offer is too generous. I suspect there is a hidden drawback. Chancellor Minmay is offering to help us build up our industry for a long term gain and potentially our goodwill and dependency, but the sale of the drill is the sort of concession I would expect for negotiations to settle on. Not something he would offer as a starting point. No, he is deriving some advantage from our acceptance that isn't just sales of machines. "
He thought a bit more, "not that he has any shortage of customers for industrial machines. In fact, I am seeing less and less advantage for Minmay in this deal. He won't lose money, but his profit is not great. So why?"
"Why would Minmay be interested in selling us machines? That is a good question," Duport rocked back in her chair. Minmay could sell thread spinning and weaving machines anywhere, with the surplus in food in Ektal. So why her territory specifically?
As it was, Thomas thought of an answer first. "Ah, I see," Thomas nodded, "he's linking our territories together. If our territories have regular trade on the scale he is proposing, our tax income will be greatly dependent on our relations with his territory. He wants influence on us to counter influence from Ektal. "
She looked up at her advisor, who was nodding to himself. The chancellor was about to open her mouth when there was a knock on the door. Duport gestured for her guards to open the door.
"Chancellor, there is a communication from King Ektal," the messenger handed the guard a letter who bore it to her.
What would the King want with her now? She cracked it open and scanned the single sheet of paper before handing it to Thomas.
"You were right." Duport commented.
The letter was a straightforward request to meet with an Ektal Academy representative, to discuss the possibility of offering teachers in alchemy for her peasants. Ostensibly for the production of weapons. The parallels in both requests were less than comforting, especially when they had come at the point where Duport had finally gotten a small space in her budget for development.
With a sigh, Duport spun her chair away from her desk, rubbing at her weary eyes.
It looked like there was something to spy on in her territory now.

Landar leaned in as she examined the complex traceries under the flap of skin. It was slightly nauseating to look at the trickle of blood over the exposed muscle but the alchemist reminded herself of the observations she was getting.
The doctor standing next to her had deftly avoided all major damage to the subject. Without Kupo and her practice at surgery, this whole observation would not have been possible.
"So it's not blood," Landar muttered, "the skin doesn't lose power even if its disconnected from the blood flow. "
"Having lifeforce be the same as blood would really be too easy," Kupo agreed.
"How fast can you remove the piece of skin? I'm going to try to contain it before the lifeforce can fade. "
As Landar prepared the receiving box, Kupo detached the flap of skin with a deft swipe of her scalpel and flipped it into the container. Landar closed the magically sealed box and hooked it up to the detector. They settled down to watch.
And that was how Cato found the two of them standing over a human body, smocks and gloves splattered a bloody red, watching the chart recorder ticking over.
"Hey Landar! ... Er, is everything all right?" he stopped at the door to Kupo's lab and looked a little green.
"Hey Cato! And yeah, I wouldn't say everything is all right," Landar muttered, eyes still glued to the graph. Cato had a brief moment of consternation before she continued, "it feels like we're standing on the ground looking up at Selna. We can make all the observations about lifeforce we like but they're not connected to anything we know of. That lifeforce is maybe perhaps not completely made of magic is about the only conclusion we can come to. "

1130 words for the worm fanfiction, kinda too bad that I went overboard on the tinkering

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"Greetings Taylor," the warm voice from the screen was definitely not something that she expected from Armsmaster's lab. At least not after she finally got to know what the man was like. "I'm Dragon. It is always good to meet a new tinker. "
Taylor blinked at the woman in the video. "Oh, uh, Dragon?! I didn't think my power testing would be worth your time. Uh, not that I don't want you to watch however!"
The premier tinker in the world merely smiled back, "oh, it's really all right. I was just helping Armsmaster over here. "
"What did you build that you think is so important?" the subject of their conversation asked, cutting over their pleasantries. "I hope you didn't build something truly dangerous. "
Taylor nodded, more to herself than in reply. "Yes, I built this. "
She unpacked two boxes from her backpack. The big one was just a large empty container connected via a flexible steel-cased duct to the smaller one, which looked a little like a gun except for its huge open bore and lack of magazine.
"It's a construction gun," Taylor explained, placing the objects on the table and hunting for a wall socket to plug it in. The worn toaster cable and the mismatched plastic covers might make the devices look amateurish but the other two tinkers were well experienced with newbie tinkers and that such devices displayed far more ability than their appearances would suggest.
"I thought of making a normal gun, you know, like Kid Win has, but my power doesn't seem to like weapons. I can build things like powerplants and tools and stuff but I can't seem to make a single weapon, that's kind of why I didn't want to patrol. I'll just be defenceless really," Taylor chattered away as she powered up her creation and seized a pile of scrap before dumping it unceremoniously into the big tank.
"So, what does it do. Simple, it builds things. Give me materials, power and time and I can build anything!" Taylor said brightly then deflated, "that I know how to program in anyway. "
She pointed it at the open floor and pulled the trigger. A glowing box delineated the edges of the construction, both heroes recognized the effect as hardlight, and was slowly filled from the bottom up into a perfectly functional kitchen toaster.
Much of the scrap in the input box had melted into little lumps which Taylor emptied out.
"Too much nickel and rare earths in your scrap, toasters don't really have a lot of microchips after all," she muttered.
"This looks like a molecular constructor," Dragon started.
"Atomic actually," Taylor interrupted, "it's atomically precise. "
"Wouldn't it have been easier to put it into a closed box?" the woman asked, "from what I know of hardlight projections, your construction gun would be mostly for containment, not whatever actually makes the object. "
Taylor nodded, "yeah, to be honest, the build part is less than a quarter of the volume but I didn't choose a vacuum box like would be sensible because I wanted to be able build things bigger than the constructor itself. "
"And you might wonder why I would want that," she ran a hand through her hair and began to pace, "the most important part is actually to build things the same size as itself. The constructor can build another constructor. And build time is simply the number of atoms in the blueprint. So, since I think the constructor will last long enough to build fifty of itself, then I don't really need to do any maintenance! Just chuck the broken pieces into recycle and build a new one!"
Taylor looked at Dragon's screen calmly. Sure, it wasn't replicable and no one other than Taylor could repair it if the gun broke; but it still broke all the 'rules' of tinkertech anyway. It didn't take the tinker long to realize the implications.
"Your construction gun can build tinkertech?" Armsmaster asked. The wrong question as it turned out.
Taylor shrugged, "sure, I guess so. For the ones that don't rely on metastable energy states or exotic matter anyway. If it can be built with plain atoms from the periodic table, then this can build it. I mean, I could build a refiner that could handle isotopic refinement or supply stable nuclear orbitals but..." she deflated once more, "it will take a bit more than just a hardlight construction field and atomic manipulation. "
Dragon coughed as her partner's brow began to narrow. "Taylor," she asked gently, "you said any atoms, correct? Have you tried making organics? Can you construct something like rice or bread?"
Taylor smiled weakly, "I thought of making food and yeah, theoretically. I mean, sure the gun can handle carbon and nitrogen easily, the problem is that food is really really complicated. I have a construction blueprint in here for a block of sugar in a single crystal but that's not food. I can translate most common equipment into blueprints but my power doesn't seem to like organics. I can also build a destructive atomic scanner but well, that requires materials I couldn't get. "
Dragon and Armsmaster shared a look.
"What other things have you tried building?" Armsmaster asked.
"I uh, broke my TV and tried to replace it. Um, it turns out that while my constructor can handle magnetic alignment I have no idea what was on the flash memory and even my TV contains some. I could make TVs that come preprogrammed if I knew what the programming was but I couldn't get it online from the manufacturer. "
Taylor shrugged and continued, "I also tried to make a taser and a gun. The taser worked fine. The gun... the gun worked. The bullets not so much. "
She dug into her bag and drew out some more paper containing her notes on the bullets. "I tried to make bullets but they kept exploding. I figured out why only a few days ago. You see, I made gunpowder directly from its chemical formula. Just take all the compounds in their ratios then mix them. Two molecules of this, three of that, one of this, put them next to each other and repeat across the volume. Adjust spacing until weight becomes the same and done. "
Taylor laughed a little sadly, "I think what happens is that gunpowder isn't supposed to be perfectly mixed and if you put highly volatile compounds next to each other like that, well, they explode. I could have tried making the mixture less homogeneous but after I destroyed a table I didn't want to risk that anymore. "

[Xiander]

This week was a little less prolific than my standard lately. Anyways, here are 2015 words, Vin is still trying to help.

Spoiler: Trying to help, part two

Show

I opened my eyes again, and let my twilight eyes close. I had the information i’d been looking for, and I did not want Rain to walk in on me while I was peeking at her things.
I drank my tea and thought about Rain and her hoard. A few more bits of information would have been nice, but was it worth revealing my magical nature?
Rain appeared again, carrying a small cardboard box. I put on a friendly smile, no sense in making the lady more nervous.
“I think I found everything.” Rain said with another small uncertain smile.
“I’ll be on my way then.” I decided not to try and press her for any more information. I had already been rather impolite, using my powers to spy on her. Magical beings, especially private and powerful ones, tended not to take kindly to that sort of thing.
I recieved the box, thanked her and made a polite exit.
The wheels in my head were turning as I walked down the stairs. Something was missing from Rain’s hoard. It hadn’t been missing long. I had happened to walk into the picture while the bonds of sympathy were still fresh enough for me to trace.
There was a logical conclusion.
I got to the ground floor, exited the building and went to my car. Having deposited Shaya’s painting supplies in the trunk, I got out my phone and dialed a number.
It went straight to voicemail and Shayas smoky voice told me to let her know what was up.
“I know you did this on purpose.” I said, then hung up.
Having delivered that message, I did a bit of thinking. It was a few minutes past midday, I had an appointment with a client around two o’clock. I had originally planned to drop off Shaya’s things, get some lunch and then go to my meeting.
The Rain situation meant I might need to change that plan. The treats of sympathetic connection between the hoard and the missing piece were still holding, but depending on Rain’s relationship to the item, they could snap at any moment.
And why did I care?
I had only met the lady once, I knew almost nothing about her, she hadn’t even asked for my help. I could stroll right out of the picture and wash my hands off the whole thing. I absolutely did not need to get involved.
Except I actually really did.
It is a personality trait which I have been told many times will end up being the death of me. I am adept at noticing feelings in people. I guess you could say my magical power is hyper empathy.
Which is a double edged sword. On one hand, I am good at predicting how people will act, on the other hand I put myself in their place so completely that I end up feeling what they feel. If I left this alone I might find myself just as distraught as Rain within a few hours.
Further more, Rain had helped Shaya. And out of pure principle, that made Rain my friend.
I help my friends.
So I sent an apologetic text, explaining that I could not make my meeting. Then I put away my phone and got in my car. It started on the third try and I was off to find the missing treasure.
Tracking it was tricky.
With my twilight eyes open, I could make out the strands of energy connecting the missing piece to Rain’s hoard. The problem was that opening my twilight eyes was not a simple thing to do.
You might have noticed that I tend to close my physical eyes when I open my magical set. I do this because trying to watch the world with both sets at once gives me headaches.
It is like holding up a finger right in front of your nose, and then trying to focus on the finger and the horizon at the same time. It is like trying to focus on one thing with your left eye and something else with your right. It is incredibly hard to use both types of vision at once, let alone doing it while driving.
I took a deep breath, and opened my twilight eyes. The street changed, while remaining completely the same. I saw both the mundane and the magical at once and it tore at my mind.
I slowed the car to a crawl and forced myself to take in every impression and sift through them with care. After a moment I found the thread of sympathy, which I had first seen in Rain’s appartment.
I picked up a bit of speed, and drove through the city, chasing a thing I had never seen, to bring it back to a woman I didn’t know.
Another reason I normally don’t walk around with my second set of eyes open is the things you see with them. After driving for fifteen minutes, I had passed seven magical beings, and I was pretty sure two of them were demons. Even the less openly evil ones were potentially bad news.
Territory aside, if they noticed me and decided not to put up with me spying on them, I would be in big trouble. I am not suited to open confrontation, and I have made it this far by keeping a low profile. So I ducked my head and drove on by the magicals, keeping my eyes on the road.
The thread of sympathy snaked it’s way through the city away from Rain’s neighbourhood and towards more dangerous ground.
The longer I followed the trail, the more clear it became that I was going straight to southtown. It wasn’t a name you’d find on any map, or in any tourist pamphlet. In fact, you probably wouldn’t ever hear any mundane person talking about southtown.
But to the magical denizens of the city, southtown was the name for the place you only went if you had a very good reason, or if you lived there. It was a fairly small part of the city, and yet it held a dense population of magicals, mostly the more dangerous and volatile types.
There was a dark energy about Southtown, something harsh and unrelenting, which drew the more brutal of the magicals. It also meant that there were more Loci in this part of town, than the rest of the city had all together.
What’s a Loci? Actually, the singular is locus.
It’s where twilight meets reality, where magic blooms, and It is where the monsters live.
Loci are places of power, and magical beings gravitate towards them. At the same time, some clever instinct makes mundane people avoid these places. It’s not that a locus is necessarily dangerous, it’s just that dangerous things tend to hang around them.
Southtown wasn’t my home turf, and I was tentative about going in there, but I had a lead to follow.
The gossamer threads lead me through southtown and finally led me to a worn down building. A halfway burnt out neonsign over the door proclaimed this Pat’s pawnshop.
I stopped the car, and thought my options over for a good long while. I was about eighty percent sure Rain’s missing doodad was in that shop somewhere. I also knew someone had knicked it from her, and that most likely whoever had done that, had a fair Idea what it was worth to Rain. And probably, whoever it was also knew wasn’t quite human.
If I just strolled in there and asked questions, someone might get suspisious and decide to close my mouth, for good.
I needed a plan. I needed some sort of backup. And most of all I needed a sandwich, I was famished at this point, having pushed my lunch aside to chase Rain’s missing treasure.
I got out of the car, opened the trunk and looked into Shaya’s box of junk. Pencils, paintbrushes, and jars of paint. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then my eye caught a small vial of ink, and i smiled. I snatched it up and closed the trunk.
I got in the car and drove away from the tatty pawnshop. I had a few preparations to set up, before I made my entrance.
It was half past two in the afternoon when I stopped my car in front of the pawnshop again. I had made my preparations and eaten a sandwich big enough for two. All this truth-seeing really does work up an appetite.
I stuck my hands in the pockets of my coat as I crossed the street. Look casual, don’t stare, and keep you second set of eyes tightly shut, I told myself.
The door to the shop swung open and there was the jingle of a bell.
“Moment!” Someone yelled from the backroom.
I stepped into the store, looking around curiously. The place was crowded with shelves, displaying all sorts of knickknacks. All of them old and in questionable repair, but all of them probably worth something.
The whole place was dusty and shappy to look at, but there was something else gnawing at my awareness. Something was slightly off with this place. Without my twilight eyes, it was only a slight tension in my mind, but it was persistant enough that i noticed it after a few moments.
I suspect some instinct was telling me to get the hell out of there. But then those kinds of instincts never managed persuade me to act sensibly before. So I stood my ground and waited for the man out back to appear.
I kept my other eyes shut, I wanted to give the impression of being completely harmless. I have learned over the years, that people tend to act much harder against anyone they percieve as a threat. If I was just nosy, but not dangerous, I could probably avoid being killed over this.
Or so I hoped.
A curtain was pulled back behind the greasy counter at the other end of the room, and a man appeared. He was heavyset, with a pronounced belly and a round face accentuated by a thick mustache. His shirt was red, adorned with several food stains and a name tag revealing him to be Pat.
I shot him my tademark smile and he lifted an eyebrow in return. Apparantly a nice costumer was enough to render him quizzical.
“What can I help you with?” He drawled. It sounded like a line which he had repeted so many times that it played automatically whenever he saw a custumer.
“Good day.” I spoke in my professional voice. “My name is Vin Loche, I represent a client, who is looking for something specific and is willing to pay very well if you can procure it.”
His other eyebrow joined the first tight under his hairline.
“Well, let me know what this client is after, and I’ll see if I can’t scare it up.”
I crossed the room to stand right in front of him by the counter, looking closely at him as I spoke again.
“It’s at statuette.” I held out my hands to show the approximate size. Then I took a gamble. “It looks like a reptile. A crocodile with wings I guess.”
He made a valiant show of acting like he thought that over. He tried to keep a pokerface in place, but under my gaze he might as well have been singing a song about where he kept the statue.
“How much is the statue worth to your client?” He spoke as if he was trying to decide wether this was worth the effort to him.
I put on a thoughtful grimmace, and mulled over my options. Then I took another gamble.
“I wager it is worth more to my clients than it is to you.” I let my smile turn brittle. “And I bet it isn’t worth the trouble you would get, if I were to let the police know that you have stolen goods in this place.”
His face froze in a grimmace of surprise and anger.

[LeSwordfish]

This week I made the Showcase post for the game jam I was running, which totals 1490 words. I also made a level for our game.

[Glass Mouse]

Status for the week February 13 - 19!


Glass Mouse passes with twelve silly sketches.

Lycunadari passes with five hiking photos and a winged person.

LeSwordfish passes with 1240 words of game jamming, and one game level.

jseah passes with 935 words of Hero’ War and 1130 words of Worm fanfiction.

Artman77 did not upload/send me anything (again).

Icewalker passes with 400 words of The Three Truths and 2000 words of fictional scripture.

Xiander passes with 2015 words of magical helpfulness.

Some Android passes with a bunch of anatomy drawings.


Thus, Artman77 FAILS this round!

Glass Mouse, Lycunadari, LeSwordfish, jseah, Icewalker, Xiander, and Some Android PASS this round!


Current standing:

Spoiler

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Glass Mouse
Current run: 36 weeks
Longest run: 290 weeks
Themes: -

Lycunadari
Current run: 215 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

LeSwordfish
Current run: 37 weeks
Longest run: 24 weeks
Themes: -

jseah
Current Run: 54 weeks
Longest Run: 33 weeks
Themes: -

Artman77
Current run: -
Longest run: 13 weeks
Themes: -

Icewalker
Current run: 20 weeks
Longest run: 13 weeks
Themes: -

Xiander
Current run: 33 weeks
Longest run: -
Themes: -

Some Android
Current run: 2 weeks
Longest run: 42 weeks
Themes: 1 week

This week's theme (February 13 - 19), as already announced, is My, what sharp teeth you have.

Next week's theme is chosen by LeSwordfish - let me know in PM or announce it in this thread, and I'll include it in the next status.

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I think I'm getting back in an alright groove. Nothing spectacular, but the comic project is progressing, slow and steady. Feels nice.

[Some Android]

Some Android did not upload/send me anything.

Yes I did.

Got my art up.