Tuesday 10 May 2022

Destiny's doorstep

Only 160 words today, short, sharp, and succinct. Like last Tuesday's snippet, this brief is the intro to a longer-running story I've had running in the background for 2+ years.

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   Carp is unconscious upon his dragon. Eldeth, on the ground, alive although barely, speaks with her mount Otaaryliakkarnos, who has assumed the human form of Elisia momentarily to aid the cleric of Bahamut.

    Now, if ever was a time for you to gather as a party, devise ways to overcome the challenge, and play to your strengths.

    Mounted combat may not be the way to go about achieving this, or maybe it is; Moby and his mount did just take down one of the enemy dragons.


    Two days have passed, and the ceremony to raise Tiamat can’t be long away. The game shadows real life tonight, Wednesday night, and Thursday night. Literally, like three nights.


    The only problem, though, is will the party survive to see it. Do Dragons flee anymore? Or have they joined the battle to fight to the death, or are they simply trying to soften you up.


    What will happen? Will you die at destiny’s doorstep? 


Monday 9 May 2022

You are what you write

  'Look at this guy!' Harry elbowed Rob, nodding towards the fellow walking out the front of parliament house.

Surrounded by the Supreme court on one side, parliament house across the road, and many specialists swarmed around Sydney Hospital. Having just ducked out of the office, they ordered a coffee and took a seat at their usual table. It was a table that allowed them to watch all the goings-on from the high street.

It was a great place. You'd get protests and marches on parliament. High fa looting barristers in their wigs and gown, followed by the odd villain or two that you see spread over your screen on the evening news.

Today though, Harry, a writer at heart, was affixed on the fellow wearing a billboard front and back that read 'You are what you eat on one side, the flip side, 'As it is with what you write.'

Looking in the direction, Rob scanned the area momentarily, trying to spy what was Mitchell pointing out, lawyer, villain, or otherwise. Landing his eye on and reading the billboard, 'What do you think that means?'

'Spooky, isn't it.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, you know I write for a bit of a hobby. You know, get, keep work out of my head.'

'Yeah'

'Well, I've written two bits I'm none too proud of. The first one was about a bike race I was doing once. Actually, the truth is it was a ride, nothing more. I wrote a race report for want of a better word. Narrative observations about the person I was racing, unfair, and all for many reasons.  

Namely, they didn't know they were in a race, and also they were new to riding.'

'So?'

'Well then, there was another piece. I was at a funeral for a friend's mum. Late in the day, you know, after the service and burial, this fellow turns up at the wake. Huge guy wearing nothing but shorts, a singlet, and thongs. I didn't recognise him at first, then did after a while.  

I wrote an observational piece on him, nothing wrong or otherwise, simply a piece of writing. He'd come from a person, tall and robust in the past to the poor fellow who looked particularly unwell.

He passed away a year later.'

'So?'

'Well,' Harry paused.

'I think there's something in that 'You are what you write.' Look at me, multiple pushbike accidents later, a few bad life decisions, and look at me. I've become that fellow in the singlet.'

'Rubbish!'

'No, I have. Seriously, I wish I could unwrite it, unwrite anything like that. Never write an observation on the life or performance of another. I'm going to stick with Science fiction and fantasy now. Surely that will be safe.'

'You reckon? You looked about you lately. We're living science fiction today.'

'So.' Harry looked at his friend, still thinking about the realisation he'd just come to.

'Well, don't go writing anything drastic about science fiction cause with what you've just said, it'll bloody well come true.'

Sunday 8 May 2022

As slow as molasses in January

         ‘What did you just say, Tom?’

        ‘As slow as Molasses in January’

        ‘What? Do you have any idea what you’re rabbiting on about?’

        The three of them, Tom, Dinga, and Bluey, had been sitting at the front bar of the Beachfront hotel, watching the world go by. It was a beautiful day as they always are in Darwin. It was even better in that it was the Dry season. They’d been sitting under the shade of an umbrella enjoying their beers and reveling in the storytelling that only three old codgers could. 

        ‘Mate, do you even know what Molasses is?’

        ‘Seriously, Blue, how runny would that shit be here in January?’

        ‘Okay, hold a tic. Tom’

        ‘Yeah’

        ‘So. You’re trying to tell us that your four ‘b four was stuck in mud so thick it was running as slow as Molasses in January’

        ‘Yup, that’s what I’m saying.’

        ‘Shit, Molasses in January would be like driving through a puddle of water. It would run off your car like water, or maybe not like water, like hot cooking oil.’

‘So what turn of phrase would you use?’ the stuff was so thick and clingy it filled the wheel arches, filled them so much I couldn’t steer the bloody thing.’

‘Umm, like.’

‘Well?’

‘All right, how about freshly poured tar hardening in the snowies in winter.’

‘Nup, nothing like it. This mud was black, thick stuff.’

‘So how’d you drive into it anyway? Any moron would know better than to drive into something like that.’

‘That’s the thing, this stuff had been undisturbed for so long that leaves and branches had fallen on it, making it look like solid ground. Shit, it even had some plants growing out of it.’

‘Right, how about like driving through chocolate pudding. That’s it. The mud was so thick it was like driving through chocolate pudding.’

‘MMM, pudding with cream?’

‘Yeah, pudding with cream.’

‘Dinga mans not a camel. It’s your shout.’

Yeah, yeah. You two are talking as much shite like the stuff Tom was stuck in.’ Dinga got up and walked from the table.       

            


Jelex Sprint (Day 7 - unfinished and uploaded late due to camping)

             Jelex stood, sword drawn, pointing to the ground as she leant against the tree panting. Quickly glancing down, Felicity lay unconscious in an improvised hammock slung over her shoulder. 

Jelex was thankful that Felicity was unconscious. Her left wing was bent unnaturally due to the blow she took from the Ogre's mace. Seriously, Felicity, I wish you had not done that. You're a fairy, not a fighter.

        A snap of a branch and guttural cursing from behind reminds Jelex that she is not in the clear yet. Taking a deep breath, staggering forward in what now constitutes running, it's all she can manage after hours of fleeing the Ogres.

        They'd have to tire soon. There was no telling how much longer she could keep up this pace. Sheathing her sword, not needing it anymore as the Forest in front of her had started to thin out. 

No longer were the Letcher vines grasping at her clothes, putting insurmountable walls of the intertwined and meshed vine in front of her.

        The Forest was turning to something more familiar, which felt almost homely, as homely as a darkened pine forest can be. The trees, decades-old, stood one to two meters apart, the canopy of thick pine above matched by a floor of brown needles below.

        Veering to her right, Jelex jogged on. The going was much more comfortable now. Hopefully, the ogres would miss the diversion and continue on. Slowing into a brisk walk, stopping and looking behind her, she could see her footprints pronounced in the earth as divots of broken pine needles. This would not do.

        Jelex Continued forward, knowing that her footprints would be apparent to even the dumbest of Ogres, Ogres not known for their tracking prowess. Slowing, keeping herself composed, concentrating on her footfall, working to leave fewer divots for those who followed.

After several minutes of walking in this manner, Jelex cautiously veered to the right again. Walking on for several meters before doubling back the way she had come, running parallel to the path she had left for those following.                             

        Jelex quickly ducked behind an old Pine tree, its trunk so vast it quickly hid her from sight. Guttural voices burst from the Forest to her right. Three oversized hulking dark silhouettes stopped facing each other, arguing. Poking her head around, she spotted them.

'This way, Gurgle, there, see the footprints'

        'No, Dorkus, she's been running this way for hours. Why would she change direction?'

        It was the two Ogres, Gurgle and Dorkus, arguing. Their arms flailing, insults flying. A third Ogre stood silently, his large spiked mace, the mace that had hit Felicity, resting on his shoulder. That truly worried Jelex, as he was Krackus, the Ogre chief.

        Krackus was dangerous. He had risen to the rank of chief through sheer brute force and cunning. Jelex knew of his reputation and was serious if he was on the hunt. He was not going to give up easily, he would hunt her to the ends of the world, and she could only hope that her ruse ahead would give them some time. 

If only Felicity was conscious, they could fly out of here together. Krackus would not be able to track them. That was not the case, though, so she would simply rely on her bushcraft and cunning. Lowering herself to the ground and resting her back on the tree, as long as those two kept arguing, she would know where they were. There was no use risking movement just now.

After several minutes of the argument escalating and nearing blows between Gurgle and Dorkus. Krackus boomed. 'Enough! We go the way Dorkus points.'

All conversation stopped. Jelex listened as their heavy footfalls moved away, following her track. 

Not waiting, knowing they would not look behind, Jelex rose. Checked on her patient and headed north again, crossing where the ogres had been arguing moments ago. 

Her destination was set in her mind. She needed to go to the one place that would be able to help Felicity. She would find the FairyOak. She did not know how; that was a problem for later. Now she had to lose these Ogres.

'Thwack! Thunk!' The head of a double-bladed battle ax suddenly appears immediately before Jelex.  Wedging itself into the tree before her, at face level.  

'Crunch!' blinding searing pain.

She was staggering backward, putting her hands to her face, the pain-causing her eyes to water. Reflectively, ducking low, springing forward beneath the stuck ax head into a roll.

The rattle of her brain subsided enough to realise the dumb Ogres or, more likely, Krackus had deceived her. He was onto her. The sound of her running towards her, towards his ax.  

Panicked, she sprinted forward blindly, the tears in her blurring her way ahead.

Through the blur, the pain a


Friday 6 May 2022

Acrostic Prose

Today's writing prompt was to produce acrostic prose of something you come across in your everyday life.  I was packing for a bush camp, filling my porta potty for the first time, and thought, why not.

 

Pooping in public

Or private, which would you rather

Royalty, you are not

Though this does not mean

All you’re left with is the public scene


Private pooping is all for you.

Others will stare at you

The envy in their eyes as you sit upon

The throne of repute hidden within your en-suit (sic)

Inside you’ll delight all out of sight