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#oaken's mystery box
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Leave the first sentence of a fic in my askbox and i will write the next five:
"Perhaps if the gatekeeper at [town name] had been awake and attending to his duties he would not have been given such a fright when there came a sudden, noisy ringing of the bell at the gate."
"Alright, alright, I'm comin', I'm comin'," he grumbled, rousting himself out of his chair propped against the sun-warmed stones and scratching at his paunch as he moved to the heavy wooden gate. "Cease that racket, I heard ya the first time!"
He was no longer as trim as he had been in his youth, but he was no less powerfully built beneath his newer padding, and the oaken bar holding the gate shut was no challenge for him. He set it aside and swung the gate open, peering out at the travelers beyond.
They were an odd-looking party and no two ways about it, but he wasn't paid to ask questions. He held out his hand. "That'll be two coppers apiece," he grunted, and slotted the coins into the slit that would roll them through to the box in the gatehouse. Stepping back, he swung the gate wider. "Welcome to Honeywood."
@afaroffsong Your turn! ^_^ Who is this mysterious party and what are they up to?
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painsandconfusion · 1 year
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Cassidy
Bad baby Sand scribble part FOUR. whaaaaaaa? I did a werewolf thing???? ew. yall i dont like werewolves why did I do this XD
(tw: this is like 6,200 words long. ew. supernatural whumpee, knife, blood, shitty parental figures, manhandling, minor whump - i was a smol baby kiddo at the time i wrote this, dont come for me)
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Cassidy stood in front of a large, oaken door. She had seen it many times before, but she had never mustered up enough courage to go in or even knock. She sat down on the floor as she had done so many times before, daydreaming what was inside. 
Cassidy was small for her age. At twelve years old, she had an intrinsic sense of curiosity and wonder. She was allowed to go anywhere. 
Anywhere but through that door. 
Ever since she was two years old, longer than she could remember, she had lived with her uncle. When Cassidy was born, her mother had died in labor, leaving her father to care for her in the midst of a devastating war. Not too long after, her father had been drafted. Cassidy was sent away to live with her grandmother’s brother in a large estate hidden safely within the borders of a neutral country. 
She had quickly adapted to life with her uncle. She was cared for by the maids, and only saw him during meals. Well...those he came to. Often times he would have his food delivered straight to his office. Behind the oaken door Cassidy had spent her lifetime staring at, wondering. 
Her uncle was a mysterious man. He rarely ever talked to her, but she thought her liked her. He would always have a special smile, just for her, even if her never really took the time to know her. He would always lock himself in his study and work tirelessly on some mysterious task. Cassidy liked to think that he was creating something beautiful. Like a dollhouse, or a music box. But these were the dreams of a young child, and Cassidy was bright enough to know that. 
Either way, she still enjoyed dreaming. 
Cassidy sat there, in the flickering light of the candles. She was wearing her favorite dress, which she wore nearly every day until Martha, her personal maid, would take it away to be washed. She always loved the dress. It was a soft yellow with little greed beading across the hems. It also had a green ribbon around the middle, and puff sleeves that made her feel like a princess. Martha said it had been her daughter’s dress, before she grew up. Cassidy had noticed that Martha always talked about her daughter, Beth, in past tense. Still, she didn’t question. She never questioned. She had been taught not to. Even so, she noticed Martha’s eyes go misty whenever she twirled in the dress. And how Martha would hug her, a bit too tightly whenever her eyes got the mistly quality. 
The oak doors never moved. She knew that they had to, or else Uncle could never get in or out, but she had never seen them opened. That was about to change. As Cassidy sat there, staring, the knob never turned, but the door opened a crack for the first time. She stood up. At first, she looked away, thinking that t was wrong to try and see what was inside. 
After a moment, she looked back. Curiosity overtook her. She walked slowly towards the door. Still afraid of the unknown secrets of the room, she stood back as far as she could and plastered herself against the wall before nudging the door open with one hand. She peered inside.  
It was completely dark. Had it always been like that? Was it always dark inside? Had the door always been unlocked for her to wander in at any time?
She took a few glances behind her, looking for uncle or Martha who would come to fetch her away. She thought for a moment on how much trouble she would get if if she were caught. It only took her a moment to realise that she didn’t care. The promise of answers to the questions she had been asking for years was easily worth any punishment they could give her.  She took a shaky step inside. It was almost completely dark so she pushed the door open all the way in order to get as much light as possible.
The candles out in the hallway flickered and illuminated the feet, but they did little to penetrate the darkness looking all around here. There was something eerie about the room. No matter how hard she tried, she could not see into it, even with the light of the candles. 
The sound of shoes clicking down the hallway made Cassidy spin around. Her heart jumped into her throat. She couldn’t be found. She wanted to run back out the door, to escape before anyone saw her, but it was too late. If she ran out now, she was sure to be seen. Instead, she covered her tracks and closed the door quickly and silently. 
She put her ear to the thick wood, listening out into the hallway. She could hear the shoes come up to the door, then move, blessedly, past it. She could hear Martha’s voice humming a sweet melody as she made her way down the hall, completely unawares the Cassidy was just behind the forbidden door. 
When Cassidy could no longer hear Martha, she sighed and let herself slide down to the foor. That was close. Too close. That was a bad idea. She immediately decided to leave. Quickly. Cassidy stood up and fumbled around for the knob. When she found it, she turned and pushed to open the door. Only, the door didn’t open. 
Cassidy tried again, throwing herself against the door this time. It was locked. She tried to see through the darkness to get to the latch on the door but there wasn’t one. Why would Uncle have his study lock from the outside? Either way, she had to get out. If they found her in there she was going to be in a lot of trouble. 
Cassidy turned around, looking for another way out. She reached her arms in front of her, trying to see through the darkness. Even now, her eyes were starting to adjust and whatever traces of light touched the room, she could see. She looked around. She couldn’t see the floor, but she make out the top of a table or desk. She had to find a candle, a lamp something. She moved slowly towards the table. Cassidy plastered her eyes open, trying to see as much as possible. There was a lamp sitting on the edge of the table. A real, electric lamp like she had only ever seen in the fancy shops in town. But... Uncle didn’t like electricity. He never bought the new fangled gadgets. Maybe he had finally given in. 
Cassidy felt around the lamp trying to find a way to turn it on. You didn’t need a match or anything. The lady at the store had shown her how to turn it on by pulling on a chord. 
Her fingers fumbled around the metal base. 
There. A small chain was dangling from the base of the lamp. She pulled it quickly and light blinded her. She covered her eyes to block out the sudden light. It was much brighter than a lamp or candle. It seemed to illuminate the entire room.
Something behind her shifted in the darkness, and Cassidy whipped around, backing into the wall. She scanned the room, trying to see what she had heard. The room was much brighter now. It was all still in shadows, but she could make it out. She was next to the table pushed up against the wall. On the table was an assortment of items such as knives, notepads, gloves, bowls, a few boxes and several pieces of silver. In the corner of the room, there was a large desk with books and papers stacked and piled onto it. She could see in the corner there was a bookshelf that was stuffed with volumes. The room was fairly large, but it seemed smaller with so many things in it. She focused on the largest item last. In the center of the room there was a large looming figure. It was like a giant box, but it had a black fabric thrown over it. Like the birdcages at the zoo. 
Had this been where the noise came from?
Cassidy was instantly curious. What was behind the fabric. What was in the box? She took a few small, silent steps forward, staring at it all the time. It was difficult to see in the shadows. After a moment, she turned back to the lamp and tipped it upward, splashing light around the rest of the room. 
Something shifted again. She had been right. It was from in the box. She looked quizzically at it. Had her uncle been keeping an animal in here? 
Cassidy reached around and gripped the corner of the black fabric. She took a deep breath and slowly pulled the material away. It was heavy, but she managed. 
She peered in. It wasn’t a box. It was a cage. The walls were made of iron bars with a nonexistent door. The cage hadn’t been what she was expecting, but what wasn’t what made her stop. It what was inside the cage, staring back at her. Cassidy gasped and dropped the material. 
The shape of a boy, only a few years older than her, was curled up into a ball, only his red tinged eyes staring back at her. Cassidy wanted to scream, to run, but something stopped her. The boy was crying. He looked unblinkingly up at her, tears slowly, silently, streaming down his cheeks. He stared at her, obviously more frightened of her than she was of him. Cassidy spun around, looking around the room. She was suddenly afraid of being caught again. This was definitely not what she had expected.
The boy lifted his head a bit more and looked at her. She looked back. Who was he? Where did he come from? More importantly, why did her uncle have a young teenaged boy locked up in his study?
Cassidy tried to clear her face of expression, as she had seen Martha do. She cleared her throat and looked back at the boy. 
“Who are you?” She had tried to make her voice clear and polite, but it came out shaky and foreign to her. The boy finched at her words and shifted away from her. He stared at her. He still looked frightened, but now it was mixed with confusion and curiosity. 
He didn’t reply. She tried something different. “My name is Cassidy.” She said. Her voice was calmer than before. She wanted to try to speak in a way that would calm him down, but it seemed to be working for her too. He stared back up at her. Cassidy slowly sat on the floor. She looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do next. 
“Conor.” He whispered. She looked back at him. 
“Conor? That’s your name.” She clarified. Slowly, he nodded. 
He seemed to be gaining confidence quickly. “How did you get here?” He asked. “Who are you?”
Cassidy was glad that he was speaking, but she wasn’t sure how to answer his questions. “Um...I guess I live here. This is my uncle’s house. I’ve never been in this room before.”
He stared back at her. “When is he coming back?” He asked.
“My uncle? I don’t know. He comes and goes all the time. I never know exactly where he is. I’ve never been too close to him...”
Conor tensed and looked rapidly around the room. He seemed to be afraid of Uncle. But why?
“Did my uncle put you here?” Cassidy asked hesitantly.
“I think so. At least I think it’s the same man.”
“Why?” She asked. “Why would he put anyone in a cage?”
“To experiment…” The boy replied, his eyes threatened tears again.
“What do you mean?” Cassidy inquired. “Experiment what?”
Conor looked back up to meet her eyes. He looked like he was in pain. Slowly, he unwrapped his arms from around his torso. He held them out for her to see. Dark hair made its way down his arms and over much of his hands. She noticed it poked out from under the color of his shirt as well. He was practically covered in hair. 
Cassidy gasped. “Did he do this to you?” She she whispered.
He pulled his arms back and looked away. “No. He didn’t. You don’t understand…” He stammered. “I’m not…”
“What?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m not exactly human. Well, I am. Most of the time…”
Cassidy stared at him, trying to understand. How can someone be ‘not exactly human’?
“What?” She repeated.
Conor sighed. “I’m a werewolf.” He clarified. “Well...not yet. I’m going to be though. When I’m 18...”
Cassidy stared at him, dumbfounded. A werewolf? 
“I...I don’t understand.” Cassidy stammered. 
Conor paused. “I don’t know why he wants me. I think he is trying to figure out how to kill my kind. I just don’t know what to do.” His voice cracked and he looked away.
Cassidy was furious at her uncle. How could he do something like this? Did he realize how much he had been hurting this boy? 
She could see that the outer sides of his arms were covered in cuts and welts. Fresh. She stared at them.
“I’m going to get you out of here.” She said definately. Conor looked up.
“How?” He whispered hopelessly. There isn’t even a door to this cage. The bars are all lined with silver. If I even touch it it burns me!” he showed her the backs of his arms. 
Silver. Werewolves can’t touch silver. Right...
“It gets worse as I get older, too. Once I’m a full werewolf, silver will be able to kill me…” 
Cassidy stood up. there had to be a way to get him out. She wrapped her hands around the bars, giving them a good tug. She pried and pulled at them, unable to change a thing. “Ugh! She grunted “I can’t move them.” 
Conor stared that the dirt and muttered “Of course you can’t, you’re human. I’m strong enough that I could, but I can’t hold onto them that long.” 
“Okay…” Cassidy mused. “So I just have to find a way that you can hold onto the bars without getting hurt.”
Conor scoffed. “Good luck with that.”
Cassidy looked around the room. She cast her gaze on the table she had first seen when she had entered. She searched them for anything she could use to help her. She looked from the silver to the knives. 
Conor was right. He was experimenting. Some sick form of torture to figure out every way he could hurt Conor. Anger and hatred bubbled up in her chest. She had trusted her uncle. He had always been kind to her and she loved him in return. 
All of the feelings she once had for him were now ebbing away as she looked around the room. This room made to hold and torture a young boy. 
Cassidy saw a pair of woolen gloves on the edge of the table. She grabbed them and jumped back over to Conor. 
She thrust them through the bars so that he could reach them without touching the cursed silver. 
“Will these work?” She asked him. He looked at the gloves carefully, afraid to touch them. 
“What are they made of?” He asks, eyeing they skeptically.
“I don’t know...wool I think.” She pulled them back out and turned them inside out. “Nothing inside. Just the liner. I don’t see any silver...”
“Okay, let me see them.” Cassidy held them back out for him. He didn’t take them, but touched them lightly with the tips of his fingers. Cassidy had no idea when the last time was he touched something without being hurt. 
He held the tips of his fingers on them for a few moments before moving his hands under and telling her to let go. She did and he looked at them carefully before putting them on. 
Once the gloves were on he stood up as much as he could in the small cage. Cassidy hadn’t realized how big he was. She had seen that he was thin, but he was also very long. He was much taller, and perhaps older, than she had thought. Conor moved up close to the bars. Taking a deep breath, he reached out to let the gloves touch the metal. He winced, expecting a shock or burn, but he held still. After a moment her wrapped his large hands firmly around the silver bars. He looked at Cassidy and nodded. 
“Stand back a little.” He advised. “I don’t know how these are going to bend or break.” Cassidy complied, moving back beside the table. 
“Here goes nothing….” Conor muttered.
She saw his muscles tense up and his eyes focus as he pulled at the bars. After a moment they creaked and started to give. Conor grunted and pulled harder. The first bar snapped from the frame and it’s momentum brought it slamming back against his body. 
His let go of the bar and ground his teeth. She could see a new welt on his face where the bar had hit him, but he seemed to be fine. He threw the bar to the other side of the cage and continued pulling on the second. After a few seconds, it pulled out too, and Conor was careful not to let it touch him. Now the gap was wide enough for Conor to slip through without touching the bars, still, he pushed out on them to bend the opening a bit wider, just in case. 
Conor slid through the opening and stood up fully for the first time in a while. A grin split across his face. That was the first time Cassidy saw him smile and she couldn’t help but join him. 
“Thank you!” Conor said, scooping her into a hug, making her giggle. Cassidy hadn’t known him for long, but she sure liked him so far. She hugged him back. 
“You’re welcome.” She was still grinning as he put her back down and started to stretch. His back and neck popped and cracked as he moved freely for the first time in...how long? Cassidy decided to ask.
“How long were you in there?” She said, dropping her smile. 
“I’m not sure...a few months I think...” He answered. “Either way, too long.”
Cassidy stared at him. “How old are you?”
“15” He replied.
“You’re pretty tall for 15” She stated.
This made Conor laugh. She liked his laugh. “Werewolf, remember?”
Cassidy smiled. This was all so strange. He was so strange. But he made her happy. She was definitely glad she decided to go into the room. 
Then she remembered. 
“Oh, no…” Cassidy stuttered, looking around the room. “What are we going to do? I have to get you out of here, but there are people in the house. Uncle could walk through that door any minute and the door’s locked from the outside!” Cassidy circled around, trying to think. Uncle was going to come in. He should see what she had done. She would be punished and she didn’t even want to think about what would happen to Conor. 
“What are we going to do!?” She repeated.
“Calm down, We’ll think of something…” Conor said, grabbing her shoulders to still her. He looked around the room. “I can get us out of here, but you are going to have to get us through the house. I don’t  know the way. Can you do that?” He asked. He looked directly into her eyes, his eyebrows raised. Cassidy nodded fervently.
“Okay…” Conor sighed. “Here we go...” 
He walked up to the door. He tried the doorknob, but it did no more for him than it had for Cassidy. 
He sighed. “Okay, here’s how this is going to work. If we want out, I’m going to have to either break down the door or bust the lock. It will be loud. If anyone’s near, they are going to hear it. Once we’re out we will have to get out of the house quickly and quietly without being seen. You sure you want to do this?” He looked at her.
Cassidy met his gaze. She understood. Her uncle would know she had helped him. There was no way he could have gotten out on his own. He would be furious. Cassidy had no idea what kind of man her uncle really was, or what he would to to her if he found out. “Okay, but I’m coming with you when we’re out.” She stated firmly.
“No. No way. You can’t be caught with me. You will stay here. This is your home. I’m not going to take you away.” 
“You don’t understand. He will kill me when he finds out.”
“He doesn’t have to know it was you.”
“Of course he’ll know. Who else would? The only people in this house are my uncle, Martha, and me. He will know it was me. I don’t want to know what he will do to me after that. I never knew him well and after seeing all this,” She gestured around the room, “I don’t want to.”
Conor sighed. “Okay. You’re right. I can’t leave you here. We will figure out something out.” He turned away from her and looked at the door. “You ready?” He asked.
“Yeah. Let’s go.” He wrapped his still-gloved hand around the doorknob and thrust his shoulder into the wood. Cassidy heard the crackling as it broke away from the farme. Conor tried to be quiet about it, but the door fell with a crash with him on top of it. He stood up quickly before grabbing Cassidy’s arm and pulling her out. 
“Come on!” He said. Not bothering to whisper. If anyone could hear their voices, they would have heard the door. 
“This way!” Cassidy ordered and she started running down the hallway. Conor followed, thumping loudly. He wasn’t exactly graceful. She headed for the backdoor, the one that lead into the kitchen. Uncle never went over there. If they were lucky, they could get out before anyone could find them. She rounded the corner and started sliding down the stairs with Conor on her heels. 
“Cassidy!” Uncle screamed. She spun around to meet his wild gaze. 
He was in the parlor, now moving quickly towards the stairs. His eyes latched onto Conor and he drew a silver knife from his belt.
Cassidy stared at the knife and screamed. Conor picked her up, pulling her back up the stairs. Cassidy looked back down at her uncle. He wore and expression mixed between confusion, horror, fear, and anger. He darted up after them. She had never realized how agile her uncle was, but it was all too obvious now as he quickly caught up to them. Conor probably could have outrun him, but  Cassidy couldn’t and Conor didn’t leave her behind. 
Cassidy screamed again as she tripped and went hurtling to the floor. 
“Cassidy!” Conor yelled, skidding to a stop and turning towards her. Uncle was very close now, sprinting at them with a knife in hand. Conor picked her up by her elbow and carried her down the hall at a full sprint. 
Conor must have realized that he was not going to win. He had no idea where he was going and carrying Cassidy slowed him down. He raced down the hallway. Dead end. He stopped suddenly and spun around. Uncle slowed down too, only stopping when they were ten feet apart. Cassidy could hear Conor’s rapid breathing and she clutched his neck. 
Conor set Cassidy down quickly and she struggled to figure out what he was doing. Quickly, though it became obvious as his massive hands wrapped around her throat. 
Cassidy instinctively tried to pull them off, but it was useless. Conor was far stronger than she was. She started to panic, unsure what to do. She looked wildly up at her uncle. He was staring at her in horror. 
“Let go of my niece you filthy half breed.” Uncle said with more venom than she had ever  known he had possessed.
Conor didn’t waver. “Oh, fond of her are you? I see. Too bad.” Conor tightened his grip around her, and she sputtered, clawing at his hands for release. 
His voice was precise, deadly. She hadn’t ever heard him talk like that. She didn’t know what to think. A few moments ago she trusted him with her life. Now...not so sure.
Her uncle slowly put his hands up. “Calm down, let’s just talk this out.” He said slowly.
Conor laughed coldly. “Oh, we’ve had plenty of time for talking. You never bothered. That’s your own fault. Besides there’s nothing to talk about. I’m making you a deal. Either you take it or you don’t. Not much talking involved in that.”
“Okay, what do you want?” Uncle asked.
“First, put down the knife. I don’t like it much.” He ordered. 
Uncle pause, eyeing his blade. “I don’t like being at a disadvantage. How can I trust you?” 
Conor sighed. “Look I’m trying to be polite here but if you move that knife one centimeter closer to me I will tear you apart.” He paused. “And the girl as well.”
Uncle turned white and hesitantly complied, letting the knife drop to the floor with a thud. “Now, here’s the deal. Option A: You let me go. No one gets hurt. Everyone’s happy. Option B: You refuse. I kill the girl. Then I kill you. Understand?” 
Uncle nodded. 
“Your choice?” Conor asked.
Uncle stared from Conor to me, then back to Conor. He squinted at him. 
“I think you’re bluffing. I don’t think you’d hurt her. It seems you’re rather attached to her. I don’t think you will do it.” He challenged.
Conor chuckled coldly. “Watch me.” He whispered slowly. 
His hands tightened around Cassidy’s neck, cutting off most of her air supply. Cassidy thrashed around, wide eyes, trying to get away from him. Her uncle watched the scene for a moment before taking a step back and raising his hands higher. “Okay! Okay. I’ll do whatever you want just let her go.” He said frantically. 
“That’s better.” Conor said coldly. His hands relaxed, allowing Cassidy to gulp down air, coughing and sputtering all the time. 
“Now back up.” Conor instructed. 
Uncle compiled and started moving away from them. Conor moved forward, still holding onto Cassidy’s neck. He bent over slowly to pick up the knife the Uncle had dropped, careful not to touch the silver blade. He moved his hands away from her throat and replaced them with the knife. Cassidy could feel the cool metal pushing into the flesh on her throat, not quite hard enough to break the skin. She lifted her chin to get away from it. 
“Now, you stay there. You move and I start carving.” Conor threatened. He started backing up, tugging Cassidy with him. She moved slowly, careful not to press against the knife. He backed up into the hallway. Dead end. Right. 
He reached to his left and opened a door. It was Cassidy’s bedroom. He moved inside, pulling Cassidy with him. 
“Wait! Let her go! You said you wouldn’t hurt her!” Uncle called down the hall. She could hear him moving towards them. Conor stepped back into the hall, still holding her against his body.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay there?” He mused. 
Suddenly, the blade pushed harder against Cassidy’s throat. She wined and she felt it cut the skin. A trickle of blood emerged.
“No!” Her uncle cried.
“Just keep quiet and stay there. I will kill her if you don’t listen. She is coming with me. I won’t hurt her and will release her once I am a good ways away. I need to make sure you won’t follow me. Now. Back. Up. I won’t tell you again.” Uncle looked frantically at him before backing up slowly once again.
Conor had moved the blade away from her cut, but it still throbbed and she could feel the blood running down her neck. It wasn’t a deep cut. Just the skin. She would be okay. As long as Conor didn’t try it again. 
They moved back into the room and Conor slammed the door. He released her and bolted the doorjam. He moved her dresser in front of the frame for good measure before moving to the window and breaking it open. 
Cassidy way sitting on the ground massaging her throat gently. She didn’t know what to think. She looked up at Conor, frightened. In a moment he picked her up and literally jumped out the window. They were on the second floor at least 40 feet in the air, but apparently Conor didn’t care. 
She screamed as they fell. Cold air whipped her hair into her face, catching in her mouth. It seemed like forever before they reached the ground.
Conor landed on his back, using his body as a cushion for her fall. Cassidy was aching, but Conor stood up quickly and picked her up. He began sprinting towards the dark forest the engulfed the estate. He didn’t stop running when the got to the trees. He carried her for miles. All Cassidy could do was hang onto his for dear life. His path twisted and turned so that he would be impossible to track down. 
After what seemed like an hour of running, Conor finally stopped. He set her down and kneeled to look her in the eye. She flinched away from him.
“I am so sorry Cass. I had to. He wasn’t going to let us go if he didn’t think I was serious. I didn’t want to hurt you but it was the only way.” 
Cassidy looked away. 
He gave her a halfhearted smile. “You didn’t really think I’d kill you did you?” He asked quietly.
Cassidy met his eyes. She couldn’t lie to him. She nodded slowly.
“Oh, Cassidy” He said quietly, engulfing her in a hug. “But, I suppose it’s probably a good thing. If you believed it, he believed it.” He pulled back and looked her in the eye. “I am so sorry that had to happen. I suppose I was pretty scary, huh?” Cassidy finally let the tears slip down her cheek. She closed her eyes and nodded before burying her face in his shoulder.
“I’m so, so sorry…” He whispered. “I’ll never let anything like that happen to you again. I will never hurt you.” He began to pet her hair, soothing her. “Are you going to be okay?” He whispered in her ear. 
Cassidy noded. “I’m okay.” She mumbled into his chest. She pulled away and wiped the tears from her eyes. She sat down on the ground behind her. Conor followed suit. 
“So...what now?” Cassidy whispered. Her throat was still tight from crying, but she had to move on. She had never been one to cry. She didn’t like it. 
“I’m not sure.” Conor replied. “Here, let me see that.” He said, gently pulling her chin up so he could see the cut on the neck. He looked at it with regret. “So sorry…” He whispered again. He inspected the cut to make sure it wasn’t bleeding any longer. It had stopped a while ago, but the dried blood was still there and there was nothing to wash it off with. 
Cassidy pulled his hand away. She changed the subject. “Where did you come from. Before my uncle..”
“I lived in a village miles and miles away from here. My parents had been werewolves I guess. They sent me away when someone caught onto their secret. The people I lived with never figured it out. One night I woke up to the cottage on fire. Next thing I knew I woke up in that cage….”
“That’s...terrible.” Cassidy whispered. 
“It’s okay. I never really fit in anyway.” He smirked. “No one really liked me.”
Cassidy stared at him. “Me neither. Well...I’m not so sure. I never really get to leave the house. I get all my training and learning at home. I only get to go out when Martha has to shop and uncle isn’t home to watch me. They never trusted me…”
Conor smiled. “Probably because of me. They didn’t want you to find me.”
“Nah, you’ve only been here a few months. This has been happening my whole life.”
He paused, searching her eyes. “But there was someone there before me.” Conor said carefully. “I wasn’t the first.”
Cassidy stared at him. “What do you mean?” She asked.
“When I got there, I knew I wasn’t the first. He had been doing this a long time. Besides, I didn’t need that. I could smell it.”
“You what?” Cassidy asked.
“Smell. I have an acute sense of smell. Like a dog.” He laughed for a moment then grew somber again. “I could still pick up the scent of the one who was there before me. I assumed that whoever the last one was had just gotten too old. There isn’t really any way to experiment on a fully grown werewolf. They are extremely strong, but fragile at the same time. They would break out of that cage, no problem. There’s no way to control them. But also, the silver has a greater effect. I assumed your uncle killed the one before me.” Conor started picking at a leaf, tearing the edges off a little bit at a time.
Cassidy looked away, sorry she asked. She picked up a leaf too, prying the veins from the green. “Well...where did you come from?” She asked him. “Maybe we could still go back…”
“No. There’s nothing left for me there. Besides, that’s the first place your uncle will look.” He stared out into the trees. “We have to get away. Far away.” He sat up straighter. “Wait. You say this man is your uncle?”
“Yes?”
“So what about your parents?” He asked.
Cassidy sighed. “My mother’s dead and my father was drafted in the war. That’s why I was sent here. To get away from the war.”
“Hmm…” Conor grunted. “Well, I guess we can figure it out later. We’re not going anywhere fast.” He laid down. Cassidy did the same. They looked up together, watching the leaves of the trees sway and rustle under the gentle breeze. It was getting kinda cold out. It was mid summer, but the nights were still a bit chilly. It was getting close to sundown. 
“Should we get a shelter or something?” Cassidy asked. She had never slept anywhere but in the house, in a bed. She didn’t know how to live outside of walls.
Conor smirked at her. “Nah. It doesn’t get too cold. There’s nothing to shelter us from. Except animals, maybe, and I can take care of them.” 
Cassidy shuddered. “What kinds of animals?” She asked quietly. She had heard about the lions and bears. Bobcats and tigers. She didn’t like the idea of them prowling around while she slept. 
Conor chuckled again, apparently amused by her fear. “Wolves.” He mused. “Big issue for a lot of people, but not while you’re with me. If anything else comes, I can make it go away.” He rolled on his side and propped up on his elbow to face her. “I promise I won’t let anything hurt you.” He said honestly.
Cassidy smiled. “Thank you.” She said quietly.
Conor layed back down and they went back to watching the sun set through the canopy of leaves. 
“Conor?” She asked after a few minutes.
“Yeah?”
“I think if I knew you before all this, I still would have been your friend.”
She could hear his smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You know something, Cassie?” He asked. She turned her head to face him.
“What?”
“Your uncle’s right. I am growing rather fond of you.”
Cassidy smiled. “So does this mean we’re friends?”
“I think so.” Conor replied.
There were were a few moments of silence before Cassidy answered. “I’ve never had a friend before.” She said quietly.
“Me neither”
“I think I like it.”
“Me too.” Conor replied. 
Together, they watched the treetops. The night was setting in, darkening the atmosphere of the forest. When the sun had fully set, Cassidy snuggled up to him for warmth. Just before they drifted to sleep Cassidy whispered. 
“Conor?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t leave me.”
“Never.” He replied.
______________________________________________________________
Not necessarily part of the story:
The next morning, Cassidy woke up to rays of sunlight splashed across her face. She shifted, feeling Conor’s body beside her. For a moment, she panicked, not remembering the day before. When she realized it was Conor beside her, she smiled. He was her friend. Her first friend. She felt almost giddy. She stood up slowly so that she didn’t wake him and looked around. 
Birds bobbed and weaved everywhere around her, singing songs to one another. It was beautiful. Cassidy smiled and wandered around to watch the birds from a better angle. They were in all different colors and sizes singing different songs to one another as they busily flew about.
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tenshichan1013 · 3 years
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frozen adventures ice and magic 7 of 24
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professorbcampbell · 3 years
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Seeds of Change || Solo
Timing: March 28th, 2021
Location: The Common
Tagging: @professorbcampbell
Description: Ben decides to see what the Spring Festival has to offer beyond the garden variety flowers and hedges. He finds something rather unique.
When Ben had first caught sight of the spring festival during his run-in—he smirked to himself at that little joke—with Irene, he had initially brushed it off as nothing more than something his mother would probably enjoy. Prize rose judging, people attempting to chop down bushes and call it art, that sort of silly thing. But, he’d chosen to venture deeper into the depths of the festival on the weekend. He couldn’t remember the last time they had a spring festival of this… botanical in nature. And he had an impeccable memory. Ben had always made a point of being involved in the periphery of as many social gatherings and events as he could, keeping an eye out for whatever wandering soul might happen upon him.
Hands stuck in the pockets of his neatly pressed trousers, Ben meandered through the stalls. Tulips, gardenias, orchids—there was no rhyme or reason to the types of flowers that were sprouting up from the stalls. But, he wasn’t looking for flowers.
No, he was interested in something… worthy of his Lord. His monthly ritual was fast approaching and it had been quite some time since he’d gifted his Lord with something beyond the usual offerings of blood and bone. Strolling along the grass, Ben spotted a man smoking away at a pipe—a disgusting habit—at a stand with some rather… unusual wares. The stall was shrouded in dark cloth hangings, with chests tucked away in the back. Meanwhile, the front of the stand was lined with sturdy, barred wooden boxes that held… watermelons? Normally, such a stand wouldn’t have interested him at all, but there was something drawing him in, something seemed to be pulling him towards it.
As he made his way towards the stall, he stared first at the strange fruit on display. All of them seemed to be rustling with an energy Ben was most familiar with. Intent. Dark intent. Looking down at the boxes, Ben noticed there was a strange gap in the watermelon rind, as though they’d already been sliced into. But, as he peered closer, he could see the ruby red flesh was darkened with a glossy sheen that Ben had seen so many times before. Blood.
“Interesting product you have there.” He said to the man, offering a smile. “Do you sell other items?”
The man regarded him for a moment, puffs of smoke coming from his mouth as he stared at Ben from behind bored, dark eyes. “Nothing you’d be interested in.” The man said gruffly. “I don’t think you’d even want one of these. They’re a bit more trouble than they’re worth. Well. They are for some.”
Irritation bubbled in Ben at the implication, but he let out a laugh, “Ah, appearances can be deceiving. I’m more than familiar with things like this.”
“You’re in over your head. Go look at some tulips, pretty boy. Get some flowers for your lady.” The man said, grasping the end of his pipe to point the stem dismissively at Ben. As he did so, Ben could see a hint of silver flashing between his teeth—oh, how very interesting. He was familiar with the stories, had spent so many hours listening to his parents and his grandparents, passing along the stories that their parents and grandparents had told about the creatures that lived in this town. He had heard about the men with silver tongues, with smoke billowing from their noses. Never seen one, not as far as he could tell. But here was one, right in front of him.
Ben knew he had to make the right impression.
With a rueful shake of his head, Ben glanced down at the strange watermelons again. “I’d really love to get a better look at these.” He said and his fingers went for the wooden clasps of the box. The man behind the stand let out a strangled swear and reached out to slap his hands away. Immediately, Ben grasped the man’s hand tightly in his own. The man tried to squirm away, but the moment he did, Ben could feel the ancient signet ring he wore on his left-hand press against the vendor’s flesh. It was an old heirloom, passed from father to son for generations, and he had always worn it with pride. The dark, heavy metal was worn and looked distinctly shabby in comparison to the well-kept suits he favored, but it was a piece of Campbell tradition. A piece of history and ancient power. A gift, granted to them directly by an acolyte of their Lord, hundreds of years ago.
And that power, it was with him today. The smell of charring flesh filled the air between them as the man tried to wrench his hand free, but Ben’s hands were a vice grip around him. He could feel the man’s skin sizzling against him, knew that a deep, burning “C” was being branded into his palm. Leaning forward, Ben held the man’s gaze and said in a pleasant, warm voice. “Now. Vampiric watermelons are a bit banal, don’t you think? I’m looking for something unique,” a worthy offering to his Lord, something that he could gift him at the coming ritual, “Something worthy of a higher power. What can you offer me?”
The man let out a halting, stuttering, “L-Lots. Lots to offer. Just—just let me go.” He pleaded. Ben tilted his head with a growing smile, not releasing the man’s hand.
“Oh? But I thought I was in over my head,” He squeezed tighter, driving the ring deeper into the burning flesh. Blood was beginning to drip through their interlocked hands, sizzling as it made contact with the metal around his finger. “I thought I was just a pretty boy. You’d really give something like that to me?”
“Yes.” The man choked out as Ben gripped his hand. He could feel the center of the ring begin to burn and sear its way towards the bone of his hand. “Yes, anything, anything you want. Just let me go, let me go!”
Triumphant, Ben released the man’s hand and pulled back to look at the stand with a thoughtful expression. Meanwhile, the vendor was swearing, tears running down his face as he wrapped his charred and bleeding hand in the hem of his shirt. Ben paid no mind, eyes too busy greedily taking in the items before him. Boxes filled with unknown contents, bottles with strange, glowing liquids, bones strung up into mysterious charms, feathers with a luster he’d never seen before—so much to choose from. So much, too much.
“You know,” Ben said, voice light and conversational, “I’d hardly call myself an expert on things of this nature. I’m sure you’d agree. No, you sir, are far wiser than I.” He said with a toothy smile before leaning forward, the blood slicked surface of his ring glinting in the light. The man recoiled visibly, backing away into one of the stacked boxes kept behind him.
“I want your most valuable item.” Ben said. The vendor’s face paled and, for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to protest. But, even as the thought crossed his face, Ben watched with interest as the man doubled over, as though stricken by a wave of pain. Was it because of the power of the ring? Was it compelling him to obedience? Or was it something else? Ben didn’t know, but he watched with growing fascination as the man jerkily turned around.
His movements were stiff and halting as he pulled a strange, curving key that seemed to be made of… woven twigs? No, Ben realized as the man fumbled to push it into the latch of a dark, oaken chest. It was a single piece of wood that had been grown into the shape of a skeleton key, dark green leaves sprouting from the handle.
With some difficulty, the man extricated a small velvet pouch from the box and tossed it across the stand at Ben. He caught it easily, undoing the draw strings with growing curiosity. What could be in it? Some kind of magical elixir? An ancient treasure, with incredible power? He emptied the contents into the palm of his hand and blinked. Seeds. Three plain, dusty looking seeds sat in his hand.
“This? This is the best you have?” He said in disbelief, shaking his head as he dropped the seeds back into the bag. He tucked the little pouch into the pocket of his jacket, resting above his heart. The man stared at him with spiteful eyes.
“Get away from me and away from my stall.” The man spat, “I’ve done as I said, and you’ll not get another word out of me.”
With a self-satisfied shrug, Ben wiped his bloody hand clean on the cloth banner of the stand before backing away. He wasn’t sure what he’d been given, but if that… creature considered it his most valuable possession, it would be more than satisfactory to gift to Lord Hrvsht’ooooor. Ben could see it now—he could see himself dressed in his robes, the scent of fresh blood in the crisp midnight air, surrounded by the others of his order. He could picture himself, drinking deeply from the dark chalice that sat at their altar, presenting his humble offerings to his Lord. And his Lord, He would be pleased. He would know of the power of these seeds, know that his servant had proved himself.
He would reward him, finally grant Ben everything he’d ever wanted—
A stumbling man careened into Ben, wrenching him from his pleasant daydream. The man—at least a foot shorter than him—did his best to right himself, grasping onto Ben’s suit with a filthy, dirt covered hand.
“Sorry, sorry.” The man giggled, steadying himself before offering an almost drunken head bobble.
“Get off me,” Ben said with disgust, yanking his arm away from the man’s grasp. He’d already lost his suits to horned rats, he was not interested in having another one ruined by filth. “Get out of here.”
“Already gone!” The man sang as he darted away, stumbling into the crowd of people.
With an irritated frown, Ben made his way through the Common towards the parking lot. He’d had rather enough of this little festival. It was high time he returned home and prepare for the coming ritual. He had an offering to prepare, invitations to send out, he needed to get wine—probably a cheese platter for the celebration after. As he mulled over these details, his hands went to the pocket of his jacket for his car keys. His fingers closed around his key ring but…
Swearing, Ben patted his jacket furiously. It was all in vain, the pouch had disappeared. It was nowhere to be found. The seeds, that were rightfully his, they had been stolen. It must have been that disgusting little man, the one who’d fallen into him. How had he not noticed? How had he not felt it? How could he have just let them be taken like that?
As Ben continued to search his pockets with increasing desperation, a sinking feeling of realization filled the pit of his stomach. Of course. Of course.
The man had stolen his wallet, too.
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pridepoisoned-a · 3 years
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As the interviewer finally leaves her office, Eris leans back in her chair and sighs with exhilaration--her first real breath in an hour. The smiling mask--comprised of a practiced demure demeanor and pleasant disposition--finally slips off of her face. Her amethyst gaze hardens, sharpens...and in the privacy of her office, the former Galactic Commander is all business once again.
Eris reaches down to unlock the bottom drawer of her desk, a cramped space stuffed with confidential documents. She had hastily stowed them there before the nosy reporter’s arrival, and now--as the researcher spreads folders and formula-packed documents across the oaken desktop--she can’t help but grimace to herself.
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Public perception continues to be a vitally-important metric for Devon...but still, what a pointless puff piece. Ugh.
Her focus returns to the current, secretive project at hand: finding effective ways to extract meaningful amounts of bioenergy from sturdy, seemingly impervious Rock, Ground, and Steel Pokemon. Fortunately for Eris, Devon’s timing was impeccable as always...the company had recently provided her with a parcel containing various capsules: wild Pokemon captured from Granite Cave and even the mysterious Meteor Falls. Eris reminds herself to take the box of PokeBalls (hidden away in another locked drawer) down to the labs later. It’s almost time to run tests and retrieve new, elusive data... 
As if spurred on by this tempting thought (and by the general need to make up for lost time), Eris quickly adjusts her glasses and starts to jot down the last of her preliminary notes with reinvigorated purpose.
There’s important work to be done, after all. She can’t bring herself to wait around much longer...
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Trinkets, 34: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.
An eccentric plum coloured hat decorated with a silver buckle and a long egret feather that droops over the bearer's eyes.
An unremarkable gray stone covered in myriad tiny pink growths, ranging in shape from rough textured flowers to near-perfect spheres. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as rhodochrosite.
A blank envelope containing a single jigsaw puzzle piece and a  note that reads “You have two months to find the rest of this puzzle. If you do not, the entire population in this forsaken area will die.”
A centaur hair pictorial prayer rug.
A small harp with little vines for strings and a oaken body with stray leaves. It appears to be alive, requiring water and light to sustain itself. Its leaves change with the seasons and it blooms in the spring. If broken or damaged, it will slowly but surely repair itself.
An accordion made brown suede of with bronze keys.
A tiny hourglass no larger than a man's pinkie finger filled with phosphorescent sand that emits a faint Random Coloured glow in the dark. It takes one hour for the sand to pass from the top end to the bottom.
A shiny leather doublets trimmed with seal fur and belted with checkered woollen sashes.
A single stick of chalk carved with swirls and twists across the powdery stone.
A finely crafted leather backpack that seems to have been handmade from excellent materials by a master’s needle and knife. The style is simple, but durable and effective.
—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.
—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.
An eccentric plum coloured hat decorated with a silver buckle and a long egret feather that droops over the bearer's eyes.
An unremarkable gray stone covered in myriad tiny pink growths, ranging in shape from rough textured flowers to near-perfect spheres. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as rhodochrosite.
A blank envelope containing a single jigsaw puzzle piece and a  note that reads “You have two months to find the rest of this puzzle. If you do not, the entire population in this forsaken area will die.”
A centaur hair pictorial prayer rug.
A small harp with little vines for strings and a oaken body with stray leaves. It appears to be alive, requiring water and light to sustain itself. Its leaves change with the seasons and it blooms in the spring. If broken or damaged, it will slowly but surely repair itself.
An accordion made brown suede of with bronze keys.
A tiny hourglass no larger than a man's pinkie finger filled with phosphorescent sand that emits a faint Random Coloured glow in the dark. It takes one hour for the sand to pass from the top end to the bottom.
A shiny leather doublets trimmed with seal fur and belted with checkered woollen sashes.
A single stick of chalk carved with swirls and twists across the powdery stone.
A finely crafted leather backpack that seems to have been handmade from excellent materials by a master’s needle and knife. The style is simple, but durable and effective.
A small, flat slab of dark stone that, nondescript though it is, gives off an unmistakable eeriness.
A torc fashioned from a coiled length of interlocking chains, constructed of two unknown metals. Black and white, they swirl around each other like yin and yang, darkness and light.
An armoured gorget consisting of a metal throat-shield and a series of overlapping metal plates that encircle the neck. The entire device is connected to a belt made of leather. When worn, the battle gorget protects the wearer from physical strangulation and bites to the neck such as the case if they were hung by a noose or attacked by a vampire.
A clear crystal the size of a child’s fist, covered in eldritch runes. The gem flickers with a weak glow in various coloured hues depending on who its being held by.
A heavy iron bell inscribed with distorted musical symbols that releases an incredibly cacophonous noise when rung.
A magnificent goblet formed from a basalt-like stone permeated with veins of violet crystal.
A hauntingly terrifying mask that appears to have be fashioned from leather, metal and nightmares.
A druid’s staff fashioned by woodland spirits. The shaft is carved from sturdy oak and bound in vines. The head piece of the staff is a slightly oversized rose bud which blooms whenever its wielder casts a spell whose power stems from natural magic.
A peacock-feather quill that always writes smoothly and never needs to be filled with ink.
A large oil painting of some otherworldly sea, where creatures who are octopoid from the neck down but with human heads float in bliss.
A piece of torn red cloth bearing a royal insignia.
A leather bandolier that can be worn over one shoulder and runs diagonally across the chest and back. It has small loops or pouches for holding eight objects the size of a flask or small dagger. The bearer can easily retrieve any of the items stored in it during combat without having to dig through their pack.
An obsidian icon of a forgotten deity.
A recorder carved from brilliant white ash.
A short necked, round bottom flask that could hold about a half-gallon of liquid. Clearly visible through the glass sides, though, is a city. When viewed extremely closely, such as under a magnifying glass, what appears to be tiny people walk through the streets, conducting their daily lives. No matter how the bottle is moved or tilted, those within don’t seem disturbed.
A leather military horse saddle, engraved with battle scenes of human knights slaying kobolds.
A damp beaver skin bagpipe.
A marble sculpture of an elven woman being swallowed by a large wave.
A twisted warhorn blasted into a dark ebony hue and wrapped in bands of bronze with draconic runes that glow with purple eldritch fire. The low moaning drone of the horn discomforts all who hear it.
A wooden armband, intricately carved with interweaving vines and snaking dragons’ heads,
A silver horseshoe with foreign writing etched on to the side of the shoe. Roughly translates to "Trailfire".
A high, conical mask, intricately decorated with dried corn kernels of different colours.
A war banner depicting a bone-white skeleton on a field of midnight blue.
A maple linen chest with false bottom holding a number of lewd porcelain figures.
An innocuous-looking, fist-sized piece of faceted glass. When placed upon a flat surface the object floats about three feet into the air, glowing and chiming softly.
A fist-sized orb that resembles the eye of a dragon and dangles from a heavy gold chain.
A simple quartz crystal with a series of emerald green and brown straws extending from within its central structure. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as tourmaline in quartz.
A colourful ball formed from silk ribbons that randomly unfurls in a multi-hued explosion of noise and whipping fabric, before suddenly reforming.
A small cut glass bottle has a hinged silver top emblazoned with a caduceus.
A bronze rattle with a set of small openings that allow you to see the glowing purple stone within it.
A lacquered wood-carved mouth instrument resembles a duck-hunter’s call, except for the red band along the mouthpiece and the hooked dragon’s claw wood-burned into its side. Blowing into the object causes it to sound like a drake's mating call, barely resistible to any draconic creature within earshot.  
An empty djinn lamp. There is a note attached on which are written the words: “It's out. It is coming for you.”
A pair of small ceramic vials stoppered with corks. The sigil of the local constabulary has been stamped into the sides.
A handful of small, silver and copper coins pressed with unfamiliar faces and strange lettering.
An empty, crumpled leather belt pouch with a large hole opened along the bottom seam and a snarling beast embossed on the side.
A set of thieves’ tools that includes a small file, a set of lock picks, a small mirror mounted on a metal handle, a set of narrow-bladed scissors, and a pair of pliers.
An egg-sized smooth white stone poorly carved on one side to resemble a grinning skull. The tiny eye sockets appear far deeper than should be possible on an item this size.
A dozen brass keys in various sizes linked on a polished steel ring. One of the keys appears far too intricate for any mechanical lock you have ever encountered.
A polished dark wood box inlaid with silver tracery and lined with velvet, suitable for displaying a single piece of jewellery.
A small metal cube with dark glass on two opposing faces. Holding the box up to a light source causes it to project a colourful image of two men in orange robes, arguing over what appears to be a carefully flayed human skin.
A garish tabard made from simple red cloth, with gold-coloured trim that has frayed badly. The effect of the wear is such that the tabard’s edge appears to be fluffy; the strands of cheap gold fabric float like tentacles in the slightest breeze. The front of the tabard is dominated by a somewhat-successfully stitched image depicting a drop of blood. The back is adorned with a single letter “I” and has undergone the same transformation as the gold trim. Donning the tabard causes several wayward strands to drift upward into the bearer's face.
A doss lute carved from alder wood in a graceful, pear-shaped form. Abstract designs were inlaid in the wood in copper.
A mask of smoked glass cut into a half shell that obscures the bearer's features.
A golden, translucent bracelet made of a lightweight, silky material that resembles warm amber. In fact, small creatures can be seen trapped within. If watched closely, they seem to move.
A disguise kit consisting of cosmetics, hair dye and small props that allow the bearer to create disguise and change their physical appearance.
A coinpurse crafted from shimmering bronze-hued fabric that features humanoid teeth as part of its clasping mechanism. The incisors seem particularly pronounced.
A rough, milky white gem with a red crystal grown directly through one side and tinged with yellow discolorations. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as realgar.
A curious jade rod tipped with a glowing knob of crimson that shimmers with eldritch phosphorescence like a live thing.
A tiny finch made of overlapping metal plates. A gentle tug on its tail causes it to unfold into the shape of a small flower. Touching the centre of the flower causes it to reconfigure into the shape of a small lizard.
A tightly rolled vellum scroll, apparently blank on both sides, but with a deep blue shimmer as it catches the light.
A simple clay pin in the shape of a human face. Its eyes dart about and its mouth moves as though attempting to speak.
A small brown leather bag contains a double handful of black shale shards that ring like coins as it moves about.
A slate-grey box covered in tiny blinking lights. Along one edge is a panel which folds down to reveal a seemingly random assortment of letters and numbers on individual buttons opposite smooth black glass.
A padded trunk that contains a device to extend and display several small drawers when the trunk is opened. Beneath the display drawers are several additional removable padded drawers, all of which contain neatly sorted tiny decorative beads and wires.
A simple silver mirror that shows a perfect reflection delayed by several seconds.
A soft fur stole lined with black satin. Something solid has been sewn within the lining at one end.
A filthy, mummified monkey’s paw, curled into a fist and clutching what looks like an egg.
A tiny, polished wooden coffin. The lid is sealed with wax and the sound of tumbling glass shards can be heard as the box is moved.
A pair of excruciatingly detailed false glass eyes, in grey and green. While held or placed on a solid surface, they gradually turn to face each other.
Some garish crushed velvet pantaloons, monogrammed with the initials ‘AJW.’ So obviously out of fashion that they can only be antique.
An old, thick coin, dented but cleanly cast with bas reliefs. Some runes on the obverse; and on the reverse: the cruel-eyed face of a woman with spiral horns. The con has a scent of mildew and copper that rubs off when handled.
A small glass cube filled with a faintly luminescent blue fluid, with a small latch on one side securing the top. Something about the liquid suggests a degree of consciousness to its movements.
A leather drawstring pouch filled with a dozen perfectly spherical polished stones. The stones stick together as though magnetic, but come apart again with almost no effort.
A hard black leather case containing a flawless set of well-used professional kitchen knives, one nearly as long as your arm.
A coloured glass hemisphere made to resemble a distant galaxy seen on a clear dark night.
An odd red badge in the shape of a hunting bird’s head. The maker’s mark on the reverse appears strikingly similar to the local duke’s seal.
A folding leather wallet filled with strangely coloured bits of paper. Tucked within, you also find a small pewter badge showing the symbol of a great wyrm atop a castle wall, with the initials ‘GG’ on its reverse.
A shattered magenta stone with two dark green edges and that vaguely resembles sliced fruit. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as watermelon tourmaline.
A miniature castle constructed from a series of slick, modular blocks. Tiny, smiling figures man the parapets.
A well-polished brass oil lamp covered with intricate characters and a strange landscape in relief.
A brass and steel orrery, animated by clockwork and magic in real time. The spheres are nearly perfectly aligned.
A military chest with silver handles, three drawers, and iron-edged pigeon holes. The chest is covered in crossbow bolt holes.
A bronze candelabrum depicting angels being chased by stirges.
A crystal-beaded gossamer headpiece that sparkles with the slightest movement. The pattern of beads is that of an icon for a long-dead religion.
A clay pot with four faces; one a jackal, one a crocodile, the third a vulture, and the fourth a grinning hawk swallowing a human eye.
A large pot scarab filled with mummified human fingers.
A flat brass clockwork dial so richly studded with circles and hands and curious symbols that it looked like a cross scowly face.
A painted limestone incense burner set with a garnet.
A black basalt statuette of a lion wearing a gold crown and crushing slaves beneath its paws.
A leather wallet stamped with the design of a market stall, containing a full set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is a member of the merchants guild. The section containing the member's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.
A pouch filled with a dozen silver coins of great age, depicting forgotten gods and god-kings engaged in carnal acts.
A terracotta lamp with silver filigree work depicting lions killing escaping slaves.
A suspiciously clean wallet made from sewn mice and rats.
A scroll case made of sewn snakeskin and metal plates.
A fancy snuff box made from carved whale bone.
A set of flint and steel in an old calfskin wrap with the tail still attached held in a wool holdall.
A walnut, iron, and onyx pipe with a clay bowl depicting a swan.
A set of dice carved from white dragon bone. They will chill small quantities of liquid if placed inside a vessel of any kind. If rolled the dice will cover a small surface in a thin layer of ice.
An ornate linen headband with brass decorations.
A strange looking stone made of a material that looks like basalt, only with small insets of strange red, almost gleaming, material. It is slightly warm to the touch, and if one examines it very carefully or is very tactile to the touch, it seems to be almost pulsating.
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cozykhaos · 4 years
Text
A New Sun Part 12
Hello! Sorry this chapter is so short, I find the chapters where I have to copy scenes to take a lot longer and be much more exhausting to write. I’ll make up for it in the next part! Any who, enjoy! 
Also, do any of you think that the Wizard might be Abbie’s father? What are some fan theories that you agree with?
----
I watched as the green apple sized creature danced on top of my mail box, its little legs kicking back and forth in the worlds smallest Can-Can Dance. I hadn’t seen the little creature since the Egg Festival, sometimes I would hear it’s little chirp could never find where it came from. It leaned over and patted the top of my mail box.
“Aren’t you a little bossy thing?” I quirked an eyebrow at it as it continuously pat the top of the box.
I opened and my mouth dropped open. It was filled with letters, I hadn’t even thought about checking the mail since I came out here, figuring if anyone wanted to talk to me they would just show up. I riffled through the envelopes, curiously a couple of them were from Lewis. The last letter sent a tingle through my fingers, a small current running through the tips, up my arms and into my heart. It wasn’t unpleasant, it was a way of way of saying ‘hey, I’m here, I’m important. Look at me. Read me.’
Somewhere behind me Asher snuffled. The tiny creature noiselessly bounced in place. Eos Farm held its breath. I opened the letter. It breathed again.
My sources tell me you have been poking around inside the old Community Center.
Why don’t you pay me a visit?
My chambers are west of the forest lake, in the stone tower. I may have information concerning your…
‘rat problem’.
-M. Rasmodius, Wizard
I turned the letter over, blank. I looked at the small creature, who was starring up at me with glossy black eyes and a tiny smile.
The stone tower? I turned and looked in the direction of the tower, I could see the peak of the blue roof from my farm. As children we tried so many times to get inside that tower. All of us, Abigail, Sam, Sebastian, even Haley and Emily. We would stand out there, staring up at the stone structure, discussing ways to get inside. We could always hear movement on the other side of that thick wooden door. We tried climbing the side of it, to get to the top window. We would grow tired before long, the tower seeming to stretch on forever. Once Abbie fell, instead of plummeting to the ground, she gently floated to the grass below. After that we stopped trying to get inside. We would stand at the bottom of the hill and tell stories about what we thought was inside.
Sam said it was a pizza buffet.
I picked up the little being off the mail box and put it on my shoulder. It grabbed my curls and wrapped the tendrils around its little body. That would be a pain to brush out later.
I whistled for Asher and off we went towards the tower.
It was just as intimidating as I remembered. The thick oak door, the stones soaring into the sky, Rapunzel’s hair wouldn’t even make it to the ground. I told myself to be brave and I knocked.
“Come in!” A voice roared from the other side. I stared at the bare door, no door handle to be found.
“Uhhh how?” I asked. The tower seemed to sigh and the door opened on its own.
“Sassy fucking tower,” I muttered under my breath and entered the tower.
The room was basic but my brain couldn’t grasp what it was seeing. Everything seemed to be covered in a haze as if an illusion, from the basic oaken floors with the bubbling cauldron that reeked of spoiled eggs and rotting apples. The far right of the room stones took over the floor, white symbols painted on top and so many candles with too many different fragrances. Lavender, basil, sage, nutmeg, ginger. It was an assault on my senses and I felt feint. Ash whimpered next to me.
A man I had not seen made his way from around the symbol painted on the floor. “I am Rasmodius… Seeker of the Arcane Truths. Mediary between ethereal and physical Master of the Seven Elementals. Keeper of the Sacred Cha- You get the point” He had a voice that rose from the earth, it was hard and closed around each word at the end. It rooted me back to this place, back to this tower. I stared at the wizard he stared back but averted his dark gaze, familiar purple hair poked out from underneath his cowboy hat and covered his face in a handle bar mustache and goatee. I gawked.  
He approached me. “And you... Kit. The ones whose arrival I have long foreseen.” His eyes shifted to the circle next to him. “Here. I have something to show you.” With a flick of his wrist and a “BEHOLD” my little friend appeared in the circle. The little creature chirped inside the now glowing circle, lights danced from the edges and upwards. The creature chased them, dancing around the circle like it was a stage. “You’ve seen it before, haven’t you?”
I nodded. “I mean, it did tell me to check my mail.”
The wizard’s dark gaze landed on me. “We will get to that in a minute. They call themselves the ‘Junimos’. Mysterious spirits these ones. For some reason, they refuse to speak with me.” He flicked his rest again and my friend disappeared. I looked around but it was no where to be found.
“I don’t know why they have moved into the Community Center,” the wizard continued. “But you have no reason to fear them.”
I looked down at Ash who noticeably gulped, his tail tucked between his legs. I picked up the pup and cradled him close. Rasmodius looked at me with his head cocked to one side. “Inside the Community Center, there was a golden tablet in one of the rooms,” I said. “It had a language written on it that I’m not familiar with.” It seemed important to tell him.
“Most interesting, stay here. I’m going to go see for myself, I’ll return shortly.” With that he disappeared. I stared at the spot that the wizard was just standing in. I pursed my lips into a duck bill and waited. The door behind me open, I spun and stumbled backwards as the wizard entered.
“What the fuck!?” I yelled at, holding Ash closer to me, he growled at Rasmodius.
The wizard ignored my reaction. “I found the note. The language is obscure but I managed to decipher it: We, the Junimos, are happy to aid you. In return we ask for gifts of the Valley. If you are one with the forest then you will see the true nature of this scroll.” He walked to the cauldron staring into the green cloud that steamed from it. “’One with the forest’” He mused. “What could they mean?”
I glanced down at Ash who looked up at me. He wiggled in my arms and I sat him down. The wizard was stroking his goatee in silence, lost deep in thought. Rasmodius paused, his eyes wide as he said “AH HAH!” He pointed at me, I flinched, almost expecting to be struck by lighting, or turned into a frog. “COME HERE!”
I looked around, hoping to see someone else standing close enough that I could throw them in my path. Asher had army crawled away on his stomach and into a corner. Traitor.
Hesitantly I walked over to Rasmodius and in front of the cauldron.
“My cauldron is bubbling with ingredients of the forest.” He started.
The smell was much much worse this close to the pot. “Baby fern, moss grub, caramel top toadstool, can you smell it?”
I gagged.
“Here. Drink up. Let the essence of the forest permeate your body.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I looked at him.
“Drink up. Let the essence of the fores-”
“No no, I heard you.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“It wasn’t really a question.”
“It sounded like one.”
“I was being facetious.”
The wizard stared at me unblinking, taking a cup he filled it with the goop from inside the cauldron and shoved it into my hands. I glanced down at the slim, something inside of it bulged like a frogs throat before popping.
“Drink.” The wizard ordered. I plugged my nose and took a deep gulp of the brew. It spilled out the side of the cup and down my chin onto my shirt. I set the cup down, it took a moment for the taste to assault my taste buds. Boiled mushrooms, hot mud, rotting leaves, algae and a feint hint of raw ginger. I heaved.
I hit the ground with a thunk.
Asher scrambled over to me.
Visions floated before my eyes.
Thick tree canopies, with leaves drifting down to the forest floor. The trees became thicker, growing into a lush forest, they swam before my eyes.
Then.
Darkness.
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tamsolo · 4 years
Text
Day 2: My True Love Gave To Me
@hansannafortheholidays 
Hansanna for the Holidays 2019: Day 2: My True Love Gave To Me
Summary: SFW. Post first film canon AU. Anna receives a mysterious package and embarks on a mission to uncover the sender’s identity.
***
It arrived a few days before Christmas.
A small parcel addressed to her wrapped in plain, brown paper, tied with what looked like string one would find aboard a ship. Something a sailor would use. No other hints of who it was from and where it had come from had been given. At least not until it was opened.
Which Anna, curiosity getting the better of her, did.
Beneath the brown paper was a plain, wooden box. Nothing fancy or decorative, the box meant only to deliver its contents—which she found were carefully wrapped in tissue paper and straw. She unwrapped until an object slipped loose from the paper, falling softly into her lap.
Anna picked it up gingerly. It was the most exquisite hair comb she’d ever seen. Delicately carved from some type of wood and painted with a fine scrollwork of rosemaling in the prettiest shade of blue, accented with tiny inlaid pearls that caught the light, giving it just a bit of dazzle. A very fine hair ornament indeed.
But who was it from? She hadn’t yet discovered. There had been no card, and Anna quickly put the comb down in her lap to search through the discarded tissue paper to find a slip of paper folded in half. A note.
‘I probably shouldn’t have, but the blue reminded me of your eyes.’
Anna frowned, the note and the hand it was written in just as mysterious as the gift itself. The author of the note and the giver of the gift remained unknown. A mystery. And Anna had never been one to leave a mystery alone. With a little bit of footwork, she was certain she could figure out the mystery sender’s identity.
She gathered up the contents, wrappings and all, and set off to find someone who would know something about any of what she’d received. The docks being the best place to start. Surely someone would recognize something in the collection of clues she’d been given.
But the docks proved to be a near dead end. No one recognized the comb to place where it had come from, but the first sailor she’d asked, identified the outer wrappings as something a sailor would definitely send, but when Anna proclaimed to narrowing the giver down to a sailor, the man laughed and told her ‘anyone on a ship at port away from home would send that kind of parcel. It held up well for travel.’
So, Anna left the docks, a little dismayed. But hope was not lost yet. She still had one place left to go. A place that dealt in rare and odd things just as easily as it dealt with the mundane. The ace up her sleeve.
Wandering Oaken’s Trading Post.
If anyone would be able to tell Anna where the gift had come from, it was most certainly Oaken. She set out immediately for his trading post in the mountains when his small shop stall in the market square was not present. Of course, he wouldn’t be in town so close to Christmas. He’d be at his home, the trading post, with his family.
It was a bit of trek, but it’d be worth it. She was sure of it.
Alas, when she arrived at Oaken’s, even he puzzled over the comb and could not give her a definite answer as to where it had come from. Disappointed that all her clues had amounted to nothing, Anna was about to leave for home, the mystery left unsolved.
However, Oaken bade her to wait just a moment, and then called for his husband, Darling. At least that was the only name Anna knew Oaken’s husband by. The two men only ever seemed to use pet names to the point that Anna was never introduced properly.
“Darling, would you come take a look at this when you’ve a moment?” Oaken called to the back room. There was an inaudible answer, and serval minutes later, Oaken’s husband emerged, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the comb.
“Why I haven’t seen one of these in ages!” Darling cried. “May I?”
Anna nodded as Darling took the comb from her, inspecting it in the light.
“Do you know where it’s from?” Anna asked eagerly, but Darling didn’t hear her, so preoccupied with the comb, now running his finger gently along the tines.
He gave a joyful cry that made both Anna and Oaken jump. “And it’s authentic too!”
“But where is it—”
“—Saltholmson Island,” he answered in a matter of fact tone. “Made from the very rare wood of the Hulder tree. It only grows on that island, you see, and the crown has put a sanction on it. Only so many are ever cut down every decade. This is a rare and fine gift indeed.”
The island sounded vaguely familiar to Anna, but not familiar enough that she knew anyone from there, or even where it was located on a map. The memory of it, some boring geography lesson of her youth. 
She still was not any closer to solving the mystery of the gift giver. Now made all the more infuriating knowing that the comb was a rare treasure and not something obtained lightly to give to just anyone. It was a gift meant for somebody special.
And somebody had thought her special enough to have it.
“I must ask, who gave you such a gift?” Darling inquired, motioning for her to sit so that he could place the comb properly in her hair.
“I don’t know,” Anna said. “There was no name. Though I think maybe a sailor?”
Darling fiddled with her hair, fitting the comb tight. He stepped back to admire the comb in her hair, Oaken joining him. “That makes sense, the Southern Isles Royal Navy is stationed on Saltholmson Island. Though to have access to such a gift, it wouldn’t be just a sailor.”
“Did…did you say the Southern Isles?” Anna asked weakly.
Darling laughed. “Of course, I did! Where do you think Saltholmson Island is?”
“I…I wasn’t sure exactly…”
“It’s the south most island that makes up the Southern Isles,” Darling informed her, grabbing a mirror off a shelf and handing it to her.
Anna had only ever met one man in person from the Southern Isles. One that knew exactly what she looked like, right down to the colour of her eyes.
‘I probably shouldn’t have, but the blue reminded me of your eyes.’
Hans.
Anna stared at her reflection in the handheld mirror, a hint of a smile forming. The comb did match her eyes.
Perfectly.
How would he have remembered such a thing after such a length of time?
Unless…
No… Not Hans. Never Hans.
Her little smile returned.
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theofficersacademy · 4 years
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The little oaken box still sits in its corner of the cathedral, a few months’ worth of dust coating it like snow. Rumors abound about the short-lived advice box–that it had been used as kindling for the Midsommar festival, that the Cardinal Beasts were created when an unwitting student opened the box and unleashed the terrible evil kept inside, even that it could predict the future and foretell the winner of the upcoming Battle of the Eagle and Lion.
The advice box is a font of evil, exposing the precious secrets and fears of the Officers Academy for all to gawk at and judge. 
The advice box is a force of good, gathering the empathetic hearts of Garreg Mach Monastery together to give advice to their anxious peers.
Regardless of opinion, everyone could agree on one thing: The advice box must return.
....
A familiar monk wipes down the table before placing down a fresh stack of paper and quills. He blows off the dust from the little oaken box, then pats it affectionately like an old friend. The box has been in disuse for quite some time, and no notes await him inside. The monk resolves to be its first query.
                                               There is 1 note.                        Would you like to read the note from the advice box?
Welcome to TOA’s Advice Box!
Let’s get this out of the way, we haven’t opened the Advice Box since September, and we’ve grown so much since then that there are a lot of people here looking at this and going, “What the hell, I didn’t know that this was here!” We hope that 2020 will be the year we open the box to questions more regularly, and we thank everyone who wanted the Advice Box to make a comeback!
While the Advice Box is open, characters may submit questions or scenarios, and/or respond to questions their peers are asking! The advice box will be open from January 17th to January 31st. We hope that you enjoy this mini-event!
It’s been a while, so here is a refresher on how the Advice box works. Even if you were here when the Advice Box was last open, please keep reading as we have made a few important changes to the rules.
Sending questions in:
Please follow the @toa-advicebox blog. This is where the advice box will work out of.
During the mini-event period, send in-character asks to this blog asking for advice on anything your character would like. In accordance with the tradition, all asks must be sent anonymously.
TOA’s Advice Box is based on the ingame Advice Box mechanic, so all submissions should be formatted as questions. This isn’t simply a rumor mill or meme generator, but that doesn’t mean that rumors can’t be made into questions.
Your question will be published here! Wait with bated breath to see if it gets answered.
Answering questions:
Please follow the @toa-advicebox blog. It will publish questions that are sent in anonymously.
Reblog the question you’d like your character to answer, rather than make a new text post.
Please tag all advice box answers with #toa advice box so others can easily find them.
If the sender of the question chooses, they may decide to reveal themselves however they would like: using the reply function to comment on your post, reblogging it with an acknowledgement, etc.
This mini-event is meant to serve as a fun, mysteriously anon way to interact with each other! You can choose to just send in questions, just answer questions, or both (though of course we have to receive questions in order for anyone to answer anything!).
Frequently Asked Questions
Is there a limit to how many questions I can send in or answer?
Nope! As long as the advice box is open, you can keep sending in questions. You can also continue to answer questions after the box closes, too, but there won’t be any more new ones coming in. Additionally, there’s no limit to how many answers a question can have. Just because someone else has answered it already doesn’t mean your character can’t offer their own opinion!
What should the answers be like?
However you want, as long as it’s in-character! You can do a drabble; you can do just a couple lines. It’s as intensive or laid-back as you want to make it. All you need to do is tag with #toa advice box
Do I have to reveal that I sent the question?
No, you don’t! You can remain anonymous forever if you’d like. But if you do want to show your face to your responder, feel free! The comment function is great for that, or you can reblog it.
What if I want to make it into a thread?
Feel free! If the answer so inspires you that you think a great interaction might come out of it, there’s nothing stopping you. Of course, it’s always good etiquette to run it by the other mun first.
Does this count towards anything, like monthly activity or skill points?
Yes, any answers you post will count towards monthly activity! However, at this time, there won’t be any rewards for participating in this mini-event.
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mini-james-bond · 5 years
Text
STORMBREAKER SCREENPLAY 2.0
written to cope with my utter disappointment with the movie
2. The Funeral
The next morning… the rain has finally stopped. The gutters are filled with muddy water and dead leaves, the sky is the same wet-grey as the pavement, it feels like the world has been encased in an enormous concrete box.
CUT TO…The RIDER HOUSEHOLD. We’re in a large, airy billiards room, tastefully furbished with dark mahogany, the perfect place for a sophisticated gentleman to retire. ALEX stands over a forgotten game of pool, cue in hand. He is in jeans and an old sweater, watching the rain slowly drip from the gutter…TAP...TAP…TAP… CUT TO…an OLD VICAR, with a kindly but vacant expression, stares expectantly at Alex. He has just asked ALEX a question.
VICAR: Well, Alex?
ALEX looks up at the OLD VICAR…
CUT TO…The living room, ALEX stands motionless before a wall of photos. The grandfather clock the corner shows it is 6:30am…TICK…TICK…TICK…
The photos chronicle ALEX’s childhood, most of which feature some sort of outdoor activity; rock-climbing, karate, BMX, the kid’s done it all, and on every continent of the world too. JACK appears in almost every one of them, starting from when he was as young as 5, looking more like an older sister than a housekeeper.
In comparison, there is only one picture which has both IAN and ALEX. It’s the smallest one by far and half-hidden behind a vase. It’s last year’s ski-trip, their faces mostly obscured by protective gear. ALEX grinning and exhilarated, IAN inscrutable…
JACK’S voice floats out of the kitchen. She is talking on the phone, the forced evenness of her voice betrays her agitation. ALEX hears the words VISA… MORE TIME…I HAVE A KID…HE NEEDS ME…
CUT TO…Lunchtime, A burger king, mostly empty save for a JACK and ALEX, picking at their meals in silence. JACK eats with one hand, and holds tightly onto ALEX’s with the other, her head is bowed, weighed down by sombre thoughts. ALEX looks up, his mouth opens as if to speak…but nothing comes out.
CUT TO… The OLD VICAR looks down expectantly, ALEX gives him a false, reassuring smile.
ALEX: Yes. I’m fine.
CUT TO…Evening, ALEX stands in his room, looking out of the upstairs window. He is dressed for the funeral, with an untied tie around his neck. A black hearse pulls up to the house and a non-descript man in a suit gets out…
CUT TO… An hour ago, ALEX stands before a heavy oaken door, it’s IAN’S OFFICE. A mysterious room befitting a mysterious man. He pictures his younger self, gazing up in wonder at this door, IAN turns, fixes him with a brief, piercing look, and the door is shut behind him.
ALEX blinks away the image. His hand reaches for the doorknob, hesitates – out of old obedience to IAN- then his hand closes around the cold brass handle…
It’s locked.
CUT TO…The present, ALEX walks down the stairs, and runs into JACK going up. She is putting on a brave face.
JACK: There you are! We’re about to go -oh, look at your tie! You’d loose your head next, if it wasn’t screwed on!
She ties his tie and smooths back his hair, clicking her tongue all the while. They descend.
ALEX: (in a voice far too serious for his years) Jack… JACK: Yes, hun? ALEX: Don’t you find it…strange? JACK: (concerned) Find what strange? ALEX: The police…they said Ian wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, but you know how careful he is! He won’t even drive me around the corner without making me put mine on. JACK: (sighing) Yeah, I guess so. But accidents do happen Alex, even to the most careful of people. Why would the police lie to us?
At the bottom of the stairs stands the non-descript man. He smiles blandly and extends a hand.
CRAWLY: Crawly, from personnel. All of us at the Royal and General Bank are deeply shocked and saddened by this tragic accident.
CONT…inside the hearse, on their way to the funeral
JACK: (exasperated) –and I am at my wits end! Because we’ve already spoken to the lawyer, and he doesn’t know a thing!   ALEX: (also exasperated) What does it say in the will? CRAWLY: (in a reassuring manner) There’s no need to worry, everything will be taken care of by the bank.
They arrive at the cemetery, there are 30 or so people already there. ALEX: (whispers) Do you know any of these people? JACK: (whispers back) No, I think they’re all from the bank. Everyone is uniformly dressed in black suits, whereas ALEX and JACK just wore what ever formal clothes they had available, they stand close together, feeling quite out of place.
As the service starts, a black Rolls-Royce pulls up. A barely perceptible hush falls over the crowd. Two BODYGUARDS with grim faces climb out, followed by a man in a grey suit. CRAWLY taps ALEX on the shoulder. CRAWLY: That’s Mr. Blunt, he’s the chairman of the Royal and General bank. The bodyguards scanned the crowd, heads turning like radar dishes. ALEX has his eyes fixed on MR. BLUNT, he is unnerving to look at, his face is utterly lifeless, everything about him, from his skin to his hair, is grey. As if he has a sixth sense, BLUNT’S head turns, and ALEX quickly averts his gaze.
The service passed slowly for ALEX, who found no comfort in listening to a stranger drone on about the uncle he barely seemed to know. He found his mind wandering to the nearby park where some kids his age were playing footie. The cheerful vignette is sharply contrasted by the maudlin voice of the VICAR in his ears. Here he was, standing in the deep shadows of old trees, separated from the normal world by death, his own life had become so uncertain and grim.
VICAR: Above all, he was a great man, a patriotic man, and he will be dearly missed.
ALEX frowned. Odd choice of words, more fitting for a soldier than a banker…
VICAR: May he rest in peace, amen. EVERYONE: Amen. ALEX: (caught off guard) Amen.
The funeral ends and the crowd begins to disperse. ALEX wades through the sea of black, searching for JACK. He is not paying attention to where he is going, when he looks up, he sees BLUNT and BODYGUARDS standing before him. The crowd almost appears to have funnelled him... Alex is hesitant, but this may be his only chance to get some answers. He approaches. BLUNT is not tall, and appears even shorter when flanked by two powerfully build BODYGUARDS. But he has a powerful presence, and he stares ALEX down like he is a lab specimen. His voice is like dead leaves.
BLUNT: You must be Alex Rider. Your uncle often spoke of you. ALEX: (putting on the “innocent schoolboy” act) That’s odd. He’s never mentioned you, sir. BLUNT: (A muscle twitches in his jaw, he might have been annoyed, or amused.) Ian was a good man, and good at his job. He will be missed.   ALEX: What was he good at, my uncle? He doesn’t talk about his work, either.
CRAWLY steps INTO FRAME at that exact moment. What a coincidence. CRAWLY: (with subtle condescension) Your uncle was in charge of our over-seas branches, you must have known that, at least, Alex. ALEX: (He bristles, a hint of edge creeping into his voice.) I know he travelled a lot, he’s been all around the world, sometimes at the drop of a hat. And I know he was very careful, especially about things like seat-belts. BLUNT: (Impassively) Not careful enough, it seems. Behind BLUNT, the bodyguards raise their fingers to their earpieces in unison.
BLUNT: Well, this has been a pleasant chat. (He flicks the word away, like lint. Then he taps his chin thoughtfully.) Yes…I believe we will be seeing each other again very soon, Alex. Right on cue, the Rolls-Royce pulls up to the kerb, and BLUNT climbs in. As BODYGUARD #1 closes the door, the wind blows open his jacket, revealing a holstered pistol. He quickly covers it back up, but it is too late… ALEX’S eyes widen in surprise. BLUNT turns towards ALEX, something very close to an emotion slithers onto his face…Then the moment passes, and the car drives off. JACK appears behind ALEX, startling him. JACK: Alex, there you are! I’ve been looking all over-! Honey, what’s the matter? ALEX: Nothing. JACK: C’mon lets get out of here, cemeteries give me the creeps! ALEX: (muttering) Yeah, and a couple of creeps have turned up too… JACK: Don’t run off like that, I thought someone kidnapped you. ALEX: Seriously? JACK: I know, who would want such an ugly child? ALEX: Hey, people in glass houses-
They wave off CRAWLY and the car they arrived in, opting to walk home instead. CRAWLY opens his mouth to object, but decides against it.
CUT TO…The pair cross onto a familiar street, the journey has only taken them 15 minutes. ALEX has loosened his tie and JACK is walking barefoot, heels in hand.
They notice a strange VAN parked outside their house, on the side it says STRYKER AND SON, HOME MOVERS.
ALEX: Hey, I wonder what that’s doing there- The VAN drives off in a screech of tires. ALEX’S suspicious are roused. Small details only increase his suspicious. The doormat is slightly askew, letters on the table are now on the floor, the closed door is now ajar…Someone has been in the house. ALEX runs upstairs two at a time, ignoring JACK’S voice from the living room. CUT TO…He bursts into IAN’S STUDY, and wheels about the room in shock, chest heaving. Every single piece of furniture has been removed, desk, chairs, cabinets, everything. The room is completely empty. All that’s left are a few pale patches of dust. A watery beam of sunlight enters through the window. Motes of recently disturbed dust float around ALEX like snow. Where the light hits, they appear briefly to dance and twirl, only to disappear again…FADE TO BLACK END
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grand-malice · 5 years
Text
(Preview) Chapter 1
Inkwell Isle; an island bustling with many fine folk. From the expansive beds of blue skies, to the far reaches of hell, such an animated locale never lacked for excitement. Within this land of magic lived two eccentric boys, known for freeing the souls of its denizens through their heroic deeds and their own misfortunes. Little did they know, their trials were far from concluded. And for one other, their journey was soon to begin.
    “Aww, c'mon, Mugs. Can't we just sneak into-.”
    “For the last time, Cuphead, we're not breaking into Dr. Kahl's junkyard. Those security bots would cook us alive.”
     The Cup brothers trekked along the familiar, lush thicket, discussing their current predicament in the meantime. ‘twas not long until they came upon the verdant meadows, continuing along the path before them.
    “You know how long it took us to make that soap box car? I'm not letting all that go to waste just ‘cause the mad doctor decided to scrap it for his ‘research’", Cuphead ranted, gesturing with air quotes all the while. “Ummm, isn't that why he did it, though?”, inquired his brother. “Oh no, Mugman.”, answered Cuphead as he leaned towards him. “There's a reason he didn't show up at the celebration that day. Probably has some beef with us after what we happened to his giant robot.”
     “It was either that or have our own souls taken. Besides, we freed his soul as well.”
Cuphead turned to give his brother a questioning stare, leaving him in a stupor until finally, it hit him, “Oh wait, it was his robot's”.
     “Exactly. That guy would sacrifice whatever being it had just to save his own skin. He's a real rascal, that one.”
     “Yeah, I bet if we had our own, we'd be a whole lot nicer to him.”, Mugman remarked.
    As this exchange transpired, they came to approach a bridge raised atop a running stream, lined with all manner of rocky formations. They started across the oaken walkway, each step creaking it all the more.
    “Look, if all you're gonna do is listen to Elder Kettle and have our work be for nothing, go ahead. Me, I'm gonna get our car back!", Cuphead declared before marching forward, determination plastered on his face.
     Mugman sighed dejectedly, troubled by this reckless streak on display. “Fine, I'll join you. But only because I can't let you go on your own. Not after you got walloped by Ribby and Croaks.”
     “ Hmph, whatever you say, then”, muttered the red one, forming a furrowed brow.
     The two continued their course throughout the islet, until the very first die house came into view. Cuphead, still miffed at the “protective” presence of his brother, felt his hand boil with a radiating orange hue, a building tension rigged to explode. He quickly turned, took aim at the nearby clump of forest, and released a charge shot with all the rage he could muster. As it vanished through the thick leaves, he let out a relaxed sigh, but not without his brother's eyes on him. “Something wrong?”, inquired Mugman with a concerned look. “Nah”, was all Cuphead responded with. It was then they heard a nearby clank, seemingly from that same foliage. Both turned towards the noise, taken aback by its sudden emergence.
    “By golly, what was that?”, wondered Cuphead.
    “How should I know? Didn't sound like any tree I've heard.” Mugman then motioned for Cuphead to come along. “C'mon, let's see what it was.” He immediately objected. “Hey, what happened to taking back our kart?”
    “That can wait. For now, we need to check out what the noise was.” Cuphead simply rolled his eyes and followed suit.
   After a few moments of brushing aside any wayward shrubbery, they soon came upon a small clearing, previously unknown to either of them. As the two took continuous glances of this untouched glade, Cuphead was the first to spot a small hill erected at its center, where the sun's glow gleamed the brightest. Atop this miniature summit was a peculiar, oblong structure draped with tinges of greenery, effectively masking its true appearance. “Hey, Mug, look there. What is that?”, Cuphead pointing to the object in question. “Don't know. Could be anything.”
    “Well whatever it is, it's long past due for a trim.”, he japed.
    “Oh gosh, no. Job like that calls for the entire quartet”, chuckled Mugman as he stepped ever closer to this mysterious figure. His pace slowed as he began to make out finer features like its robust build as well as its box-like head. On its forefront was a mangled hatch, oddly captured in a square indent while enveloped by an alloy unlike the rest. After maintaining a fixed gaze upon the unkempt unit, he noticed an absence of vines on its midriff, a mark made in no small part by Cuphead's little "vent". Then, as if on cue, ”Hey, Mug. We gonna get going or what?”, yelled the excitable cup, snapping him out of his stare.
Please note this is not reflective of the final product and is subject to change.
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opinionated1 · 5 years
Text
‘Between the boughs’
Deep in the woods grew a grand old gnarled elm tree with countless boughs and a massive, forked trunk. It's twisted roots dug deeply into the subterranean soil. It's outstretched limbs reached all the way up to the very top of the forest canopy. This 'wise old man' had seen many extraordinary things during its sequestered lifetime. From disease, fire, famine; and the bloody carnage of untold human wars. Regardless, it held all of those arboreal secrets very close to the proverbial trunk. They were sacred, unspoken truths of the forest.
One of those secrets lie far below the soil under its deepest roots. A sizable wooden chest with iron corners and hinges was buried there many, many years earlier. The old elm tree tickled the lid from all sides with its curious roots. Daily it felt along the sealed edges of the box for an opening but there was none. Since the locked box predated the life of the tree, it could only guess what was stored within. A pirate's treasure, or perhaps a human body?Whatever it was, the wooden trunk was not revealing its secrets anytime soon. If the tree unwisely divulged its location, then humans would surely dig up the mystery box for answers. The 'old man' knew that would bring about its untimely end. Mum was the word on the buried chest hidden down below.
One day a woodsman came into the forest seeking lumber to make furniture from. With its massive boughs and trunk, the majestic elm tree looked like a perfect choice. The old man had to make a split second decision. Either he had to break the oath of forest silence and entice the woodsman with a deal, or his end was all but decided. It was the elm trees only option but it had to be executed perfectly.
As trees are not apt to speak to woodsmen of sober constitutions, the old elm had to break the ice very carefully. The sharpened axe was only moments away from shredding his wooden flesh and torso. "Mr. Woodsman. Allow me to introduce myself at this crucial moment in time. I'm the large stationary tree before you that your axe seems transfixed upon. Before you embark upon any hasty actions, I'd like to suggest an equitable trade of sorts between us. One that I'm sure you will see as profitable. Can we possibly broker a deal?"
Understandably the woodsman was startled by the break in human-tree communication and etiquette. In all his years of felling trees for lumber, not one had ever spoke up or protested. Suspecting that a lurking prankster was playing a joke on him, he looked back and forth nervously. After a thorough search of the nearby woods, he was able to confirm that he was really absent of human companionship. The woodsman grinned in amused disbelief. The old elm was really talking to him! It had no face to make eye contact with and no ears to address. He wasn't even sure he was awake but he knew he was definitely alone in the woods. He decided to reply back to the gentlemanly request.
"In all my years as a lumberjack, I've never witnessed a talking elm. You'll pardon me if I appear to be caught off guard by this revelation! So, go ahead and tell me of this deal you mentioned. I assume you'd like me to keep walking through the forest until I locate another tree to make furniture from?"
The great old elm was relieved. The woodsman seemed like a reasonable man and might actually be open to a bargain to spare his bark. Now that their awkward introduction was out of they way, they could talk business. The old tree began to lay out his proposition.
"Its true that I would very much like to avoid the point of your axe but in the spirit of a bargain, both parties should get something out of the deal for it to be agreeable. If I can get you to agree to spare my life, I have something to offer you in return. Naturally, the only thing to hold two individuals to any agreement is their word. I can't stop you from chopping me down, but if you offer your word as a gentleman that you will spare me, I will reveal a financial incentive for you to do so. What do you say?"
The woodsman was intrigued. His vocation was full of back-breaking hard work with very little monetary reward. If the old elm had a mystical means of paying a self-ransom or monetary reward, it would be far more agreeable than all the work it would take to make a table or curio cabinet. While he was interested, he was very skeptical if the tree could offer anything of interest. In all fairness, it was his first negotiation with a plant.
"Before I agree to anything, I'd like some idea of what you are offering. I'm not sure the two of us have any common ground on what we value."; The woodsman replied.
"Very well. You are wise to inquire about the specific details of my proposal. If you would spare my life, I will give to you a massive oaken strongbox and you may keep all of it's secret contents."
"Strongbox? Filled with pirate treasure, jewels, Spanish doubloons, or what?"; The woodsman inquired with considerable interest."
"Aye. That's the rub."; The elm tree explained with a hint of mystery. "As I do not possess any hands, I can't open it myself but your species isn't in the habit of burying empty boxes, are they? One thing is for sure, I have no use for it and you'll never locate it without my help. I only ask for your word that you spare me of your deadly tool. As soon as you give your word, the box and all within is yours. That's the deal. Sound agreeable to you, kind sir?"
The woodsman reflected on the tantalizing details for just a moment before readily agreeing to the unusual pact. He envisioned a steamer trunk stuffed to the brim with golden coins. Visions of untold riches danced in his greedy head. All of his long days of hard labor were over. Suddenly the ground began to shake and rumble. The woodsman stepped back in nervous fear.
"Relax."; Reassured the massive elm tree. "Your prize is deep in the Earth beneath my roots. I must reach deep and retrieve it for you. I have to shift the soil back and forth to work it to the surface."
The woodsman rubbed his hands together in restless anticipation. "So it's very heavy then?"; He asked excitedly.
"Oh yes, it's very heavy!"; The elm tree remarked. "I have to shift more dirt under it so that it can raise up. Eventually I'll be able to wrestle it to the top so you can have it. In the meantime, please move over beside my trunk. I need to pull some loose ground underneath you to fill up the void I am making over here."
The woodsman dutifully did as he was told; standing between two giant limbs. Suddenly the top of the mysterious trunk broke the surface. The man shook with excitement. He was so preoccupied with watching it being unearthed that he failed to notice the massive limbs wrap around his torso. Slowly the old elm crush the woodsman to death as he gazed upon the newly unearthed chest. His fatal mistake was trusting the old tree. There's just no honor among threatened elms.
With a heave, the elm tore off the rusty padlock and cast open the old lid. The woodsman would have been disappointed. It was completely empty (but now it's not). Slowly the massive lockbox sank beneath the shifting soil to reside in its previous location. It probably wouldn't stay there forever. There was always the risk of more woodsmen.
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soraavalon · 2 years
Conversation
DM: *sees what Tark's gift is* Oh no. Okay, so Tark you kind of pick up the smaller gifts. It's probably from one of the kids of the one the people and you're like, 'Oh that's cute' and unwrap the basic paper wrapping and inside you find a light oaken wand, it's a little singed at the tip and looks repaired with glue and bright yellow fuzzy yarn.
Marigold (OOC): Aww.
Tark: *squeals in delight*
DM: You are not entirely sure what is stored within it...
Tark: It was repaired with glue and bright fuzzy yarn?
DM: Fuzzy yellow yarn.
Tark: Yellow yarn, alright.
DM: And I will send it in the chat real quick. *inserts card for Mysterious Broken Want from The Catalogue of Slightly Magical Merchandise*
Tark: Aww, I love it.
DM: 'Cause we are in the catalogue.
Eudora (OOC): I love that it's from the catalogue.
DM: I had to.
Tark: Can I... I'll like sit down so everyone can get their gifts, but can I try it?
DM: Yeah, one second. *counts to the next gift*
Moriarty (OOC): You're gonna cast fucking Fireball and kill everyone.
DM: You (Eudora) open up this little tiny box and inside is a round patch bearing the emblem of a gold lightning bolt on a white circle. *posts the Flashy Decal card*
Eudora (OOC): Ooh.
DM: I literally had Noël send me just the entirety of what she's got.
Tark (OOC): I love it.
Eudora (OOC): Rad, Eudora will never be stealthy again
DM: Oh, I love this. This is delightful. Marigold, you open a box and inside there is an egg beater.
Marigold: Well...
DM: Yep.
Tark (OOC): I love it.
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Text
There Will Come Soft Rains
Ray Bradbury (1950)
In the living room the voice-clock sang, Tick-tock, seven o'clock, time to get up, time to get up, seven o 'clock! as if it were afraid that nobody would. The morning house lay empty. The clock ticked on, repeating and repeating its sounds into the emptiness. Seven-nine, breakfast time, seven-nine!
In the kitchen the breakfast stove gave a hissing sigh and ejected from its warm interior eight pieces of perfectly browned toast, eight eggs sunny side up, sixteen slices of bacon, two coffees, and two cool glasses of milk.
"Today is August 4, 2026," said a second voice from the kitchen ceiling, "in the city of Allendale, California." It repeated the date three times for memory's sake. "Today is Mr. Featherstone's birthday. Today is the anniversary of Tilita's marriage. Insurance is payable, as are the water, gas, and light bills."
Somewhere in the walls, relays clicked, memory tapes glided under electric eyes.
Eight-one, tick-tock, eight-one o'clock, off to school, off to work, run, run, eight-one! But no doors slammed, no carpets took the soft tread of rubber heels. It was raining outside. The weather box on the front door sang quietly: "Rain, rain, go away; umbrellas, raincoats for today..." And the rain tapped on the empty house, echoing.
Outside, the garage chimed and lifted its door to reveal the waiting car. After a long wait the door swung down again.
At eight-thirty the eggs were shrivelled and the toast was like stone. An aluminium wedge scraped them into the sink, where hot water whirled them down a metal throat which digested and flushed them away to the distant sea. The dirty dishes were dropped into a hot washer and emerged twinkling dry.
Nine-fifteen, sang the clock, time to clean.
Out of warrens in the wall, tiny robot mice darted. The rooms were a crawl with the small cleaning animals, all rubber and metal. They thudded against chairs, whirling their moustached runners, kneading the rug nap, sucking gently at hidden dust. Then, like mysterious invaders, they popped into their burrows. Their pink electric eyes faded. The house was clean.
Ten o'clock. The sun came out from behind the rain. The house stood alone in a city of rubble and ashes. This was the one house left standing. At night the ruined city gave off a radioactive glow which could be seen for miles.
Ten-fifteen. The garden sprinklers whirled up in golden founts, filling the soft morning air with scatterings of brightness. The water pelted window panes, running down the charred west side where the house had been burned, evenly free of its white paint. The entire west face of the house was black, save for five places. Here the silhouette in paint of a man mowing a lawn. Here, as in a photograph, a woman bent to pick flowers. Still farther over, their images burned on wood in one titanic instant, a small boy, hands flung into the air; higher up, the image of a thrown ball, and opposite him a girl, hands raised to catch a ball which never came down.
The five spots of paint - the man, the woman, the children, the ball - remained. The rest was a thin charcoaled layer.
The gentle sprinkler rain filled the garden with falling light.
Until this day, how well the house had kept its peace. How carefully it had inquired, "Who goes there? What's the password?" and, getting no answer from lonely foxes and whining cats, it had shut up its windows and drawn shades in an old-maidenly preoccupation with self-protection which bordered on a mechanical paranoia.
It quivered at each sound, the house did. If a sparrow brushed a window, the shade snapped up. The bird, startled, flew off! No, not even a bird must touch the house!
Twelve noon.
A dog whined, shivering, on the front porch.
The front door recognized the dog voice and opened. The dog, once huge and fleshy, but now gone to bone and covered with sores, moved in and through the house, tracking mud. Behind it whirred angry mice, angry at having to pick up mud, angry at inconvenience.
For not a leaf fragment blew under the door but what the wall panels flipped open and the copper scrap rats flashed swiftly out. The offending dust, hair, or paper, seized in miniature steel jaws, was raced back to the burrows. There, down tubes which fed into the cellar, it was dropped into the sighing vent of an incinerator which sat like evil Baal in a dark corner.
The dog ran upstairs, hysterically yelping to each door, at last realizing, as the house realized, that only silence was here.
It sniffed the air and scratched the kitchen door. Behind the door, the stove was making pancakes which filled the house with a rich baked odour and the scent of maple syrup.
The dog frothed at the mouth, lying at the door, sniffing, its eyes turned to fire. It ran wildly in circles, biting at its tail, spun in a frenzy, and died. It lay in the parlor for an hour.
Two o'clock, sang a voice.
Delicately sensing decay at last, the regiments of mice hummed out as softly as blown gray leaves in an electrical wind.
Two-fifteen.
The dog was gone.
In the cellar, the incinerator glowed suddenly and a whirl of sparks leaped up the chimney.
Two thirty-five.
Bridge tables sprouted from patio walls. Playing cards fluttered onto pads in a shower of pips. Martinis manifested on an oaken bench with egg-salad sandwiches. Music played.
But the tables were silent and the cards untouched.
At four o'clock the tables folded like great butterflies back through the paneled walls .
Four-thirty.
The nursery walls glowed.
Animals took shape: yellow giraffes, blue lions, pink antelopes, lilac panthers cavorting in crystal substance. The walls were glass. They looked out upon color and fantasy. Hidden films clocked through well-oiled sprockets, and the walls lived. The nursery floor was woven to resemble a crisp, cereal meadow. Over this ran aluminum roaches and iron crickets, and in the hot still air butterflies of delicate red tissue wavered among the sharp aroma of animal spoors! There was the sound like a great matted yellow hive of bees within a dark bellows, the lazy bumble of a purring lion. And there was the patter of okapi feet and the murmur of a fresh jungle rain, like other hoofs, falling upon the summer-starched grass. Now the walls dissolved into distances of parched grass, mile on mile, and warm endless sky. The animals drew away into thorn brakes and water holes. It was the children's hour.
Five o'clock. The bath filled with clear hot water.
Six, seven, eight o'clock. The dinner dishes manipulated like magic tricks, and in the study a click. In the metal stand opposite the hearth where a fire now blazed up warmly, a cigar popped out, half an inch of soft gray ash on it, smoking, waiting.
Nine o'clock. The beds warmed their hidden circuits, for nights were cool here.
Nine-five. A voice spoke from the study ceiling: "Mrs. McClellan, which poem would you like this evening?" The house was silent.
The voice said at last, "Since you express no preference, I shall select a poem at random." Quiet music rose to back the voice. "Sara Teasdale. As I recall, your favourite...
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone."
The fire burned on the stone hearth and the cigar fell away into a mound of quiet ash on its tray. The empty chairs faced each other between the silent walls, and the music played.
At ten o'clock the house began to die.
The wind blew. A falling tree bough crashed through the kitchen window. Cleaning solvent, bottled, shattered over the stove. The room was ablaze in an instant!
"Fire!" screamed a voice. The house lights flashed, water pumps shot water from the ceilings. But the solvent spread on the linoleum, licking, eating, under the kitchen door, while the voices took it up in chorus: "Fire, fire, fire!"
The house tried to save itself. Doors sprang tightly shut, but the windows were broken by the heat and the wind blew and sucked upon the fire.
The house gave ground as the fire in ten billion angry sparks moved with flaming ease from room to room and then up the stairs. While scurrying water rats squeaked from the walls, pistolled their water, and ran for more. And the wall sprays let down showers of mechanical rain.
But too late. Somewhere, sighing, a pump shrugged to a stop. The quenching rain ceased. The reserve water supply which had filled baths and washed dishes for many quiet days was gone.
The fire crackled up the stairs. It fed upon Picassos and Matisses in the upper halls, like delicacies, baking off the oily flesh, tenderly crisping the canvases into black shavings. Now the fire lay in beds, stood in windows, changed the colors of drapes!
And then, reinforcements. From attic trapdoors, blind robot faces peered down with faucet mouths gushing green chemical.
The fire backed off, as even an elephant must at the sight of a dead snake.
Now there were twenty snakes whipping over the floor, killing the fire with a clear cold venom of green froth.
But the fire was clever. It had sent flame outside the house, up through the attic to the pumps there. An explosion! The attic brain which directed the pumps was shattered into bronze shrapnel on the beams.
The fire rushed back into every closet and felt of the clothes hung there.
The house shuddered, oak bone on bone, its bared skeleton cringing from the heat, its wire, its nerves revealed as if a surgeon had torn the skin off to let the red veins and capillaries quiver in the scalded air. Help, help! Fire! Run, run! Heat snapped mirrors like the first brittle winter ice. And the voices wailed. Fire, fire, run, run, like a tragic nursery rhyme, a dozen voices, high, low, like children dying in a forest, alone, alone. And the voices fading as the wires popped their sheathings like hot chestnuts. One, two, three, four, five voices died.
In the nursery the jungle burned. Blue lions roared, purple giraffes bounded off. The panthers ran in circles, changing color, and ten million animals, running before the fire, vanished off toward a distant steaming river.... Ten more voices died.
In the last instant under the fire avalanche, other choruses, oblivious, could be heard announcing the time, cutting the lawn by remote-control mower, or setting an umbrella frantically out and in, the slamming and opening front door, a thousand things happening, like a clock shop when each clock strikes the hour insanely before or after the other, a scene of maniac confusion, yet unity; singing, screaming, a few last cleaning mice darting bravely out to carry the horrid ashes away! And one voice, with sublime disregard for the situation, read poetry aloud in the fiery study, until all the film spools burned, until all the wires withered and the circuits cracked.
The fire burst the house and let it slam flat down, puffing out skirts of spark and smoke.
In the kitchen, an instant before the rain of fire and timber, the stove could be seen making breakfasts at a psychopathic rate, ten dozen eggs, six loaves of toast, twenty dozen bacon strips, which, eaten by fire, started the stove working again, hysterically hissing!
The crash. The attic smashing into kitchen and parlour. The parlour into cellar, cellar into sub-cellar. Deep freeze, armchair, film tapes, circuits, beds, and all like skeletons thrown in a cluttered mound deep under.
Smoke and silence. A great quantity of smoke.
Dawn showed faintly in the east. Among the ruins, one wall stood alone. Within the wall, a last voice said, over and over again and again, even as the sun rose to shine upon the heaped rubble and steam:
"Today is August 5, 2026, today is August 5, 2026, today is..."
0 notes
srda-sabre · 6 years
Text
The Dwarfs' Treasures
Dark and austere is the realm of dwarfs, damp and airless. It’s tunnels stretch far under the ground, deep into the mountains, an endless, murky labyrinth. Caverns open out from them here and there, echoing with the clangour of hammers, stinking of soot and scorched metal. Night and day are meaningless in this place, for the dwarfs take no rest from their work at the forges, their gnarled faces thickly crusted with endless years of smoke. The gloom is overwhelming, broken only by smithy fires and sparse flickers of gold.
An outsider descended into this realm, slipping easily along the low roofed passages like a shadow or a sigh of wind. Each time he reached a cavern, he slipped inside, pestering the dwarfs who inhabited it until they shook their heads angrily and forced him to retreat.
At last he entered a smaller chamber containing only a single smithy. When it’s two occupants saw him, they wiped their hands on grime-encrusted cloths and shuffled towarfs him.
“Help me!” the outsider entreated them. “For what reason should we do so?” the elder dwarf replied. “Because I’ll pay you well.” “What do you want?” “A head of hair spun from gold.” “Golden hair. That’s a tall order, who’s it for?” “Sif, a god’s wife.” “Which god is she married to?” “Thor. He’ll kill me if I return without it.” “Thor! If HE’s after you, there’s no escape. What’s your name? Why do you need it?”
The outsider fidgeted from one foot to the other. In the glimmering light of the smithy fire, his eyes darted about, his smirking face smooth as a snake.
“I’m Loki. I need it to replace all of Sif’s hair because I cut it off while she was asleep, and dumped it in a midden.”
The dwarfs nudged each other and turned away, murmuring. The younger one hissed over his shoulder, “That’s disgusting, why did you do it?”. “Mind your own business,” Loki snapped. “But I’ll pay you this whole bag of silver - if your skills are up to the task.”
The dwarfs bristled. “You’re not questioning our mastery, are you?” said the elder. “Don’t you realise? We are the renowned Ivaldi’s sons. We can make anything anyone desires and fashion it even better than their most extravagant fantasy. No one can rival our craftsmanship. Stand aside, Loki, while we get to work.”
Loki rooted himself to the floor of the rock chamber and waited. Ivaldi’s sons shut themselves away in their forge. Eventually they emerged bearing an enormous box, overflowing with a drift of finely wrought, golden strands. As they carried it towards Loki, the gold rippled gently, like seaweed under water.
Loki peered at it and slipped his long fingers through it’s mass, gasping at the silky texture. “It’s good, I’ll take it. Here’s the promised fee.”
The younger of Ivaldi’s sons snatched the bag of silver from him and tipped it onto the floor. The two dwarfs counted it carefully and conferred again. Then the elder said, “You’ve paid us generously, Loki. For the same price, we’re willing to throw in something else. Say what you want.”
Loki sniffed, scratched himself and shrugged. “You’ll be in trouble with the other gods for bringing Thor’s wife a treasure and nothing for the rest of them.” said the elder dwarf. “Who’s most likely to vent their anger on you?”. Loki considered, then said “Odin, he reckons his wisdom entitles him to even more tribute than Thor’s brawn.” “Then we’ll make something for him too.” said Ivaldi’s sons.
They went back into their workshop and hammered feverishly again. When they emerged, they brought out not one, but two treasures. The first was a superbly fashioned spear. It’s iron head was welded into swirling patterns like the branches of the world tree, Yggdrasil. It’s oaken shaft, inlayed with silver bands, was so long that even the tallest mortal man would have to crane his head to see it’s end.
“Give this to Odin, tell him it’s in honour of his dominion over battle.” the elder dwarf said. “It’s name is Gungnir. We guarantee it will never fail him or stop in it’s thrust.”. Loki took it then sneered at the younger dwarf. “And what’s that trinket you’re clutching?”
Into Loki’s outstretched hand, he dropped the perfect replica of a ship, no longer than a mortal’s finger, complete with miniature oars and sail. “Give this to Frey. Mortals are always heaping praise onto him, so no doubt he’ll feel entitled to a treasure too. It’s name is Skidbladnir, don’t be fooled by appearances, this is no model but a real ship, folded up for easy carrying. When Frey wants to go sailing, it will immediately transform to a full-sized vessel and it will always catch a fair wind.”.
Loki snatched up the three items, balancing them awkwardly in his arms. Then he turned his back on Ivaldi’s sons and staggered away with his load, into the gloomy passages.
However, he could not find a clear route out. He made steep descents, rounded convoluted corners, then climbed a flight of rough-hewn steps right up through the murky heart of the mountain. He saw no glimpse of daylight, only more chambers and caverns.
At last, he accosted another dwarf and asked directions. “I won’t tell you,” the dwarf replied, “until you’ve told me something first. What’s that you’re carrying?”. “The best handiwork in all the worlds.” said Loki. “Who says so?” demanded the dwarf. “Ivaldi’s sons.” replied Loki. “And who are you to believe them?” the dwarf inquired. “I live amongst the gods,” Loki answered, and he told the dwarf his name.
“Well Loki, you gods’ arse-licker,” said the dwarf, “My name’s Brokk and I can tell you unequivocally that Ivaldi’s sons are wrong. My brother and I can make far finer treasures than them.”. Loki raised his eyebrows scornfully, “Liar!” he exclaimed. “Insulting me are you?” cried Brokk. “I tell you what Loki, we’ll get to work straight away in our smithy. The gods themselves can judge us. And if they prefer our treasures over yours, my brother and I will have your head. There, that’s a formal wager, shake hands on it.”.
“I can’t.” said Loki. “My hands are full.”. “You’re not getting out of this so easily,” said Brokk, “whether you agree or not, the wager’s on.”. “I can’t be bothered to argue,” Loki replied, “but we agreed another deal, before you started drivelling on about unwanted wagers. I told you what I’m carrying, so you’ve got to reveal how I can get out of this loathsome mountain where you and your kind lurk like slugs.”.
Brokk laughed in his face and told him. Loki stumbled away, still holding his treasures. But as soon as he was out of sight, he put the treasures down, transformed into a horsefly then flew back into Brokk’s cavern and alighted himself on the lintel of the smithy.
Brokk had gone back inside to tell his brother, Eitri, about Loki and the wager. The two dwarfs discussed the situation at considerable length, rubbing their twisted hands together as their ideas grew. Finally, Eitri said, “Make a start on the hog, while I nip out to fetch some bits of metal.”. He pulled out a hunk of rawhide from a wooden chest, muttered some obscure words over it and tossed it into the furnace. Brokk got to work on the bellows. Eitri watched as the fire flared up, then scurried away down a low tunnel.
Loki buzzed down onto Brokk’s arm and bit him hard. Brokk swore, brushed away the fly and continued squeezing. Loki crawled down onto Brokk’s fingers where they gripped the bellows, and bit him several times more. Brokk didn’t react, but just carried on sweating over his work. Loki flew off and perched on the rough cavern wall.
As Eitri returned, Brokk pulled the forged rawhide from the furnace. At once, it sprang to life as a gigantic boar, covered snout-to-tail in gleaming golden bristles. “I name it Gullinborsti,” he said. “It can run across sky and sea faster than any horse, and it’s bristles will light up the night. It’s for Frey.”.
Eitri nodded approvingly and tossed a nugget of gold into the fire. Brokk set to work on the bellows again, while Eitri went out on another errand. As Brokk blew up his flames, twice as hard as before, Loki flew over and bit his neck - also twice as hard. Brokk ignored him and kept dilligently at his work. As soon as Eitri came back, Brokk pulled a second treasure from the furnace - a splendid golden ring. “Behold, Draupnir.” he said. “Every ninth night, it will spew out eight more gold rings, each one equally heavy. We’ll give it to Odin.”.
“Nice.” said Eitri. “Now try this.”. He threw a lump of iron into the flames, then sat down on his stool. Brokk got back to the bellows. Loki buzzed around the cavern, then settled on Brokk’s eyebrow. He crawled down onto one of the dwarf’s eyelids and bit them both viciously. Blood spurted and dripped into Brokk’s eyes, temporarily blinding him. “Keep blowing, brother.” Eitri urged. So Brokk worked on. At last he drew from the furnace a magnificent iron hammer head, polished as richly as silver, deeply carved with mysterious flowing designs, so heavy that he could scarcely carry it. He nailed it to a thick shaft of ash wood.
“I name this Mjolnir,” he said. “It will never fail to hit it’s target, and it can be thrown to any distance required, yet always return to it’s master’s hand. We’ll present it to Thor.”. The two dwarfs scooped up their handiwork, then hastened out, hard on the heels of Loki.
In Asgard, Odin had hauled Loki up before the gods’ assembly. He was accused of stealing Sif’s hair and thus desecrating her transcendent beauty. Loki neither feigned his innocence nor admitted his guilt. Instead, he laid the treasures made by Ivaldi’s sons before Odin’s feet. “Inside this box,” he said, “You will find my vindication for this deed. It contains far better hair than Sif lost, made of dwarfs’ gold. She’ll love it and so will Thor. I have a marvellous gift for you too, All-Father, and also one for Frey.”. Odin didn’t even glance at the treasures. He said “Any gift from you is bound to be treacherous, Loki; and one made by the dwarfs will be even worse.”.
Loki had no chance to argue, for at that moment there was great commotion as Brokk and Eitri burst in. They marched up to Odin and bowed deeply before him, laying their own treasures at his feet. Brokk said “Forgive us for intruding, my lord, but we have come to help you arrange the perfect penalty for this scoundrel. He has already accepted a wager…”. “I haven’t.” cried Loki, but no one heeded him. “…a wager,” Brokk continued, “for you gods to decide whether the gifts he’s brought are better or worse than ours. Since you have not yet looked at any of these offerings, please permit us to display all six before you without revealing which treasure comes from whom. Then let each god examine his gifts objectively and reach his own decision. If it is decided that any of Loki’s treasures exceeds all of ours, then he will be the winner and to honour that, you must spare him. However, if one of our pieces is chosen as the best, Loki has agreed to sacrifice his own head.”.
“I’ve agreed nothing.” Loki cried, but his protest was ignored.
Odin considered the matter carefully and accepted the dwarf’s plan. They said which two treasures were intended for Odin, which for Thor and which for Frey. However, they gave no clue as to which they crafted themselves and which were made by Ivaldi’s sons on behalf of Loki.
The three gods considered each item carefully, murmuring amongst themselves. At last, Odin said “It’s impossible to choose between this spear and the golden ring; for each is equally marvellous.”. Frey concured, saying “Likewise, this folding ship and the golden boar are both truly exceptional.”. So the casting vote fell to Thor.
He picked up the golden hair spun by Ivaldi’s sons, turned it slowly around and trickled it through his fingers. He nodded approvingly, then walked over to a dark corner where his wife, Sif, was sitting alone, concealed in an enormous shawl. Thor coaxed her out and gently unwrapped the shawl, to reveal that her head was completely shorn. He spread the golden hair tenderly over it. As soon as it touched her, the hair took root and came alive, falling in a dazzling cascade across her shoulders and flowing softly down her back. Sif put her hand up to stroke it, then tossed her head about, swinging the extraordinary locks this way and that. She flung her arms around her husband, her lovely face wreathed in smiles.
The whole assembly broke into applause and Loki let out a sigh of relief.
Now Thor picked up Mjolnir, the hammer that Brokk and Eitri made. He weighed it in his hands, then hurled it carelessly across the hall at the carving on a roof-post. The hammer hit the target square on. Everyone cheered. The hammer spun round - and flew straight back into Thor’s hand. The cheers grew louder. Thor turned it over in his hands, admiring it’s ornamentation.
“A very fine piece of handiwork” he said, “though not perfect, for the shaft is a bit short for a big fellow like me. A pity.”. He tugged at the ash wood handle in frustration, then shook it…..and at once, something amazing happened. The hammer extended to enormous size, twice as large as before, and the handle lengthened exactly in proportion. Thor grinned and tried shaking it again, this time the hammer shrank so small that it fit inside his clenched fist.
“An ingenious gift indeed,” said Thor, “I’m inclined to think it’s the best one. But what do you think All-Father?”. Odin replied “Each of the other gifts will be much appreciated by it’s owner. However, there is no doubt that EVERYONE in Asgard will be grateful for this extraordinary hammer. For the giants are threatening us, with each day and night that passes, their harrassment grows greater and worse. Now, this hammer will enable you to strike them down.”.
“You’re right, All-Father,” Thor said quietly, “With this weapon in my hand, I can swat giants like flies and be the saviour of all who need my protection. I agree with your judgement, the hammer is the greatest of all the gifts”.
Odin turned to Loki and asked “Speak, Loki. Is this hammer gifted by you?”. Loki snarled and said nothing. Brokk bowed before Odin. “My lord, Loki cannot deny that the hammer was made by me and my brother Eitri. And the forfeit that Loki agreed to pay for losing this wager was his own head.”. “There can be few in Asgard who will be sorry to see it cut from his body.” said Odin.
“Ha! But you’ll never catch me,” cried Loki, “for I’m wearing shoes with power to carry me away faster than the wind!”. Even as he spoke, he was rushing out and launching himself into the air. The gods stared after him in dismay. But Thor shook Mjolnir up to full size and flung it after Loki. It soared into the clouds and found it’s mark. It clubbed Loki across the head, swung round and returned to Thor’s waiting hands.
Thor pulled Loki free of the hammer and held him in an armlock. Brokk drew his knife and moved it towards the trickster’s throat. “Whoa!” sniggered Loki. “My head is the price of losing the wager, but not my neck.”.
Thor gave a roar of exasperation. “It’s impossible to behead him without cutting through his neck. So we can’t inflict this punishment without compromising our honour.”. Brokk said “True, but the head itself is ours and we can easily subdue it.”. He pulled an awl from his shirt and pierced a series of holes along Loki’s upper and lower lips. Then he drew out a leather thong and sewed the lips together, rendering the trickster speechless.
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Text
Trinkets, 10: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.
A vial of oil labelled “Tomonari’s anointment for long swords and other weapons of the distinguished nobleman.”
A vulture beak with string tied to it to make a mask
A walking cane with an iron ferule that strikes sparks on stone
A wanted poster that bears the face of one of the PC’s but has the name Clay Allison written as name of the outlaw. The bounty can be collected “Dead or Alive” and the reward is substantial.
A water-skin that sounds like it has something thicker than water in it.
A wedge of glass that shows the image of three strangely garbed children playing and one frightened child watching you
A weighted copper coin that, when flipped, always lands on its edge.
A white flower that always attracts bugs and never dies.
A white silk wedding veil
A white toga, neatly folded and immaculately clean, which smells strongly of damp musty earth and is reminiscent of a grave.
---Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.
---Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.
A vial of oil labelled “Tomonari’s anointment for long swords and other weapons of the distinguished nobleman.”
A vulture beak with string tied to it to make a mask
A walking cane with an iron ferule that strikes sparks on stone
A wanted poster that bears the face of one of the PC’s but has the name Clay Allison written as name of the outlaw. The bounty can be collected “Dead or Alive” and the reward is substantial.
A water-skin that sounds like it has something thicker than water in it.
A wedge of glass that shows the image of three strangely garbed children playing and one frightened child watching you
A weighted copper coin that, when flipped, always lands on its edge.
A white flower that always attracts bugs and never dies.
A white silk wedding veil
A white toga, neatly folded and immaculately clean, which smells strongly of damp musty earth and is reminiscent of a grave.
A wicker doll that wards off the bad dreams of children and adolescents.
A wig made from from someone executed by beheading
A wire sculpture of a flower that releases petals when you blow on it. The petals “grow” back eventually.
A wood carving of an owl, so lifelike the eyes might blink at any moment.
A woodcutter’s axe, the head of which shimmers like downwards-flowing water.
A wooden ball that cannot be burned, but freezing it turns it to vapor
A wooden birdhouse that randomly reproduces strange bird sounds.
A wooden box which contains twelve more boxes each progressively smaller. The final box is approximately two inches in diameter and contains a miniature stoppered vial. If opened the vial lets out an acrid smelling smoke and booming laughter is heard.
A wooden box with a switch on the outside. When the switch is flipped on, a flap in the box opens, a little arm comes out, and it pushes the switch back off, before disappearing.
A wooden case containing n ancient, slender spearhead that is decorated with whirls and whorls engraved into the metal. The artifact was carefully wrapped in silk cloth before being packed away.
A wooden coin that feels and sounds like metal
A wooden collar that, when worn, makes the bearer absolutely certain they can communicate with trees. The collar does not actually grant this power.
A wooden cup, divided in half lengthwise with a sheet of aluminum.
A wooden plate with a drawing of the Sunrise Home, the dwelling place of the Lord of Dawn.
A wooden prosthetic leg with a hidden compartment inside of it
A wooden scroll case full of maps of various dungeons. Several maps are unmarked, but none of them seem to match the local area.
A wooden staff which has a hard to find hollow compartment. Inside is found a scroll which entitles the owner to an inheritance to be collected in a well-known city.
A wooden stein carved with the likeness of an orcish barmaid
A wooden tube with a creature carved on it. Every few days, the creature moves into a different position.
A wooden whistle that imitates the roar of a T-Rex.
A woodsman hat made of animal skin. While worn it grants the user random useless knowledge focusing on plants, animals, weather, geography and nature. The information is only rarely accurate but the user cannot determine what’s true or not.
A worm made of rust in a small wooden box. It’s alive and feeds on small amount of metal.
A worn and bloody apron. One of it’s pockets holds a small knife, a whetstone and a small vial of salt.
A yellow ceramic plate in the shape of the sun
An acceptance letter to a school of magic
An ancient bronze coin from an ancient city that was destroyed by natural disaster
An ancient bronze coin minted by a long fallen empire. The face of the tyrant stamped on it looks exactly like one of the PC’s.
An ancient copper bell with a remarkably musical chime
An ancient map of a legendary library believed to have sunk into the desert.
An ancient world map that appears to show the entire land was green and fertile.
An ankle bracelet that sometimes eases muscle aches
An antler from an unknown creature that continues to slowly grow
An azure steel spring that takes a remarkable amount of effort to compress.
An bouquet of funerary flowers that always looks and smells fresh
An ebony statuette of a standing bear of exquisite workmanship. A small fairy ring of mushrooms cast in silver rests in the base
An ebony walking stick.
An egg-shaped stone that, when cracked open, squeals and then puts itself back together
An emerald green silk turban with a black border. One end is intended to hang loosely over the shoulder and has five long tassels alternately coloured green and white.
An empty black box from which issue faint calls of “Hello?”
An empty scabbard with an intricate design etched into the leather. With enough study, it may be interpreted as a map that purports to lead to the location of the matching sword.
An extremely vivid and detailed portrait of the PCs going about their day, that seems to have been painted within the last week.
An extremely wide brimmed wizard’s hat
An eyepatch that when worn, shows a faint golden glow around certain individuals at random.
An hourglass filled with Randomly Coloured glowing sand that falls faster than it should
An hourglass filled with Randomly Coloured glowing sand that falls slower than it should
An hourglass that always takes a different amount of time to empty, but never an hour.
An hourglass that has something golden hidden in the sands, but before the object is revealed, the device always turns itself over to hide the treasure beneath more pouring sand. Smashing the hourglass reveals only sand within.
An incense holder carved in the likeness of a silt horror
An incredibly soft pillow that sometimes cuts your hair while you sleep
An intricate feather made entirely out of a single piece of clear glass.
An invitation to a magician’s circle on a date that doesn’t quite make sense.
An invitation to a party that’s taking place a month from now. The party takes place in a nearby city and the invitation will admit the bearer and a plus one.
An ivory hair pin with a set of fluttering wings attached to it
An ivory pipe carved in the shape of a crocodile.
An oaken backscratcher set with four cabochon-cut rectangular jade pieces.
An obsidian icon of a forgotten deity
An octagonal dinner plate that fills with unknown writing whenever a creature speaks in its vicinity
An old abacus with strange characters carved onto each of the beads.
An old, worn smith’s hammer. Its head is always hot to the touch.
An ordinary looking hens egg that defies all efforts to crack it open or otherwise damage it.
An uncut black gemstone. Occasionally it makes the sound of a hammer striking an anvil.
Half of a snapped oak battle standard. “We will fight to the last” is written in dried blood on one side.
Seven small beads of sandstone on a string, all different colors.
The blade of an ancient sword. A mysterious coat of arms is carved into it.
The broken horn of an minotaur, strung on a leather cord.
The broken horn of an ogre mage, strung on a leather cord.
The deed to a crumbling old manor house.
The fang of a white wyrm engraved with the name of a lost tribal chief.
The gold-coloured fleece of an unknown species of mountain animal.
The head of a pickaxe that was used in a lost gold mine, with names carved in Dwarvish runes along the sides.
The hilt of a dagger that was used to assassinate a king. Its onxy pommel glows ominously on nights with a full moon.
The pickled tentacle of a mind flayer.
The preserved fanged skull of a vampire, any blood spilt on the skull is absorbed into it.
The preserved finger of a hill giant
The preserved head of a mummy.
The preserved skull of a raven.
The silver badge of a powerful and secretive organization, with writing etched on the back that defames that group.
The skeletal hand with six fingers and a thumb. It a slight but constant aroma of brimstone.
The skeleton of a small bird with hands where its wings should be.
The stuffed and preserved remains of a large bat.
Three knuckle-bones that have been carved into dice.
Three small crystal vials of what appear to be red blood. The vials are marked with druidic signs for son, beast-man and bird.
Three stones linked together by a sturdy piece of rope, the stones are engraved with the words for ‘beginning’, ‘middle’ and ‘end.’
Two kitten whiskers pressed and sealed between two glass plates.
Wrapped in a gold handkerchief is a red bamboo finger puzzle patterned with white stars. Suspended in the middle of the puzzle is a small, fluffy feather.  
A crumpled piece of parchment with an inked grid. It can be written on and then erased if crumpled again. 1974 charges remain
A crystal cube with light trapped inside. Once per day it can be squeezed, causing it to shine as bright as a torch for one round.
A leather headdress that turns the bearer’s eyes completely black when worn
A pair of obnoxious dragon tooth cuff links.
An antique wooden box engraved with a forest scene.
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