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SF's "Write Your Butt Off" II - Return of Writer's Block


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SF's Write Your Butt Off! II Votals  

11 members have voted

  1. 1. Which submission will you vote for?

    • "The Heart of Dedication"
      0
    • "The Strength Within"
      5
    • "Simply a Hunter"
      0
    • "One More Time"
      3
    • "Perfected"
      2
    • "No One Is Iredeemable"
      0
    • "Going Forward"
      1

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  • Poll closed on 03/09/2019 at 10:00 PM

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4 hours ago, Dragoncat said:

I was under the impression Shadow Tactician was Chloey's fic? Soul Weaver is helping?

Ana has a co author too but he's not on SF.

Yeah ST is one of my works.  Soul just so happens to be a collaborator on the latest chapters.

3 hours ago, SoulWeaver said:

Oh lol, I forgot I haven't updated the Gaiden Thread since I started it. Yeah, I mentioned in the Feedback Thread potentially having an idea for Fort Steiger around Chapter 21 or so, Chloey said throw it together and let her see, and stuff happened. I'm unfortunately substantially less dedicated about it than she is, though, which has contributed to her slowing down her updates, sorry about that for anyone here who reads it. I think I started actually being involved around Chapter 32 if memory serves, though there's bits and pieces in some of the intervening Chapters that I contributed to a little. If she's down for it we can add you to the chat we've used for a while and you can pull up my stuff since they're all in Docs right now and it'd take me a while to transfer them all over. Alternatively I can just send you the links myself, I don't recall if Chloey has anything that would be spoilery linked there right now.

The start of the next ST which is minor spoiler territory but I'm okay with it as long as people don't mind.

 

Also beware spoilers:

Spoiler

It was @SoulWeaver a concept of Caleb metting his mother again iirc.  Could work and one I wanted to see lol.

 

Edited by TheSilentChloey
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1 hour ago, TheSilentChloey said:

Also beware spoilers:

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It was @SoulWeaver a concept of Caleb metting his mother again iirc.  Could work and one I wanted to see lol.

 

OH that. I'll see what I can do, I think I am going to throw something together for this, and I had an idea hit me in like the last ten minutes for something unrelated, so I'll do what I can...and yes, I will also get working on the other ST stuff too.

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4 minutes ago, SoulWeaver said:

OH that. I'll see what I can do, I think I am going to throw something together for this, and I had an idea hit me in like the last ten minutes for something unrelated, so I'll do what I can...and yes, I will also get working on the other ST stuff too.

Lol I can wait for it.  It's not like we haven't had to wait for stuff :XD: though I think I'd need to have some fun with that later.

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Welp, two days of procrastination later and I guess I won't have my thing finished by the end of tonight, so don't wait for me I guess. I'll post it anyways once I get it done in case someone wants to critique, but in the meantime I need to get working on the other idea that hit. I'll also be out of town this next week, so it'll be a bit before you guys hear from me again(though yes I will get some editing done for ST).

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Okay...so I totally dropped the ball on round 2 of this even though I had kind of a funny idea involving Miriel and Laurent hardcore trolling people at a bar in the name of science. Was it actually funny? The world may never know. My poor laptop ended up dying a horrible death, and I had to get a new one which came in last week. 

I finally got my butt in gear and managed a kind of last minute submission for the current round. So if folks don't mind my squeezing in a little late...here's mine:

Title: Orchids for Arrow
Word Count: 4407
Fandom: Original

Spoiler

Roses seemed to be the answer to both Life’s great celebrations and terrible tragedies. Any lover with half a brain brought their significant other red roses, definitely not yellow ones. But Cam had also seen friends and family bring single roses of all different colors to place on top of a casket shortly before they lowered it into the ground. As a child, he’d liked the poetic aspect of the gesture: one last bit of earthly beauty before the body rotted in the earth for the rest of eternity. But now he was old enough to realize that the roses rotted too. Everything rotted.

 

Now it just felt stupid to throw more dying things at something that was already dead.

 

He narrowed his eyes at the delicate potted plant tucked away partially in his coat to protect it from the crisp autumn air. Despite his best attempts, its fat pink petals still seemed to shiver with each gentle breeze that cut through him. With his luck, it’d die before he got it anywhere.

 

“Just like everything else in this blasted town…” he hissed, readjusting the pot again. As a woman tugging along a string of children tried to pass him, his elbow knocked into her side, knocking a few heads of cabbage from her bag. The smallest boy started to scream.

 

Eyes narrowed into thin slits, the woman cleared her throat, but Cam shrugged and kicked the cabbages in her direction. “Not my fault the birth control didn’t work, Denise.”

 

The oldest of the children had started to reach down for the cabbage, but his mother yanked him back to start a hasty retreat across the street, barking at her children to hurry up. Cam rolled the cabbage around with his foot for a moment, wrestling with the idea of taking it before kicking it off to the side.

 

A dull, familiar ache returned to the back of his skull. “Damned kids…”

 

His father had told him he wasn’t allowed to start feeling “old” until he was at least 30 or his sister married, and considering Lou’s natural tendency to repel all potential mates within the perimeters of their podunk town, he would have to wait at least another 5 years to earn the right to feel tired and worn out despite the fact that he had found several strands of silver hidden amongst the white blonde meticulously tugged back into a bun.

 

“It’s your imagination, boy,” his father always said. “Just wait until everyone you know is married or dead.”

 

“Well...we’re off to a pretty good start,” he muttered under his breath, drawing the gaze of a few passersby. He coughed, perhaps a bit too loudly, into the sleeve of his duster and retreated off to the side of the narrow street underneath the awning of the mostly deserted general store. Prying eyes followed him for a moment, but he dismissed them with a sly grin.

 

The dull throbbing in the back of his throat only reminded himself that the pounding in his head was getting worse and worse by the second. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and tried to will it to stop, but even with the crisp night air trying to penetrate the tightly knit fibers of his wool coat, he could feel sweat starting to drip down the small of his back. “You’ve been doing so good, Cam…” he muttered, turning up the collar of his jacket to hide the movement of his lips. “You can do it.”

 

Minutes passed, and he gave up on Time’s ability to cure his pathetic ailments after the “tink” of the bell disturbed by the general door’s opening sent rivets of pain straight through his skull and down his spine. Limping into an alley, he juggled the small potted plant into his right hand, and reached into his back pocket to retrieve a small lighter cast in silver and a cigarette which he balanced in his mouth.

 

His fingers, numb from the cold, welcomed the warmth that emanated from the small rune clumsily etched into the silver. Lou had said it was ugly, but it could get the job done. Just like him. He held his thumb over the mark for a moment before fire erupted from a second rune etched into the top of the device. He held the flame to his cigarette, and artificial relief washed over him the moment he could finally  inhale a long drag of smoke. The pain didn’t quite subside, but he welcomed the numbness.

 

As he finished one cigarette and lit a second, familiar heavy footsteps drew his gaze upward long enough to spy a portly man about his age, lumbering in his direction. He rolled his eyes before tucking his plant back into the safety of his coat. Probably sensing Cam’s desire to flee, the man picked up his pace and stopped a few paces in front of him, blocking the alleyway entrance and breathing heavily through his nose.

 

“Evening, Billy,” Cam grumbled through the corner of his mouth, without looking up. “Something wrong?”

 

After coughing violently in Cam’s direction, the knight rocked back on his heels, snapping his fingers a few times to try and force the taller man to look at him. “I want to see your eyes, Camille.”

 

“You really ought to buy me dinner before you start making demands like that.”

 

“You wanna spend another night in jail?”

 

It took most of his willpower not to bite his cigarette in half as he tipped his chin up just enough for the knight to get a good look at the bags under his eyes. Without warning, Billy grabbed his chin and forced it downward, grunting with importance each time he shifted the angle of Cam’s face.

 

“Baby’s almost due, huh? Your grandmother said it was a girl,” Cam started when the knight’s nose was just inches from his own.

 

Satisfied, though somewhat disappointed, with his findings, Billy released Cam and fingered the cuffs hanging from his belt. “Uri Peterson said some idiot broke his nose at the bar last night. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” He stepped back as Cam blew another puff of smoke in his general direction.

 

“Uri Peterson… Uri Peterson… He’s not the bloke that keeps trying to slip nasty little things into Dawson’s drinks, is he?”

 

Cam could see the gears turning in the young knight’s head, the wrinkles in his brow growing heavier by the second with the weight of the accusation. “I don’t want to see you at the bar tonight.”

 

“Thanks, Mother, but I don’t drink on work nights..”

 

Had Billy not been so wide, he might’ve been able to brush past him and head on his way, but the knight’s girth was just enough to keep him walled into the alley. He blew out a long stream of smoke that forced the knight back a few more steps.

 

“Last I checked, your home was in the other direction.” He looped his fingers into his trousers to tug them up, challenging the authority of Cam’s smoke. “ And what’s that?” He gestured to the lump under his coat.

 

“If it were any of your business, you’d be the first to know.”

 

The knight cleared his throat which prompted Cam to roll his eyes which in turn prompted the knight to clear his throat even louder than before.

 

“I heard you the first time.”

 

“Camille.”

 

“It’s a damn orchid!” He lifted his coat just enough to offer the knight a quick glance. “Happy?”

 

The man rubbed at the stubble on his chins and grinned from ear to ear. “You trying to make a move on Arrow’s girl?”

 

“It’s for Arrow, bastard.” He flicked the ash from his cigarette at the knight’s feet. “If you absolutely gotta know, I’m going to the temple.”

 

The knight’s smile disappeared as he slowly stepped to the side, allowing Cam just enough room to sidle through. “Fair enough, but I don’t want to see you out past 8:00 tonight.”

 

“And I don’t want to see you or anyone else trying to slide their hand up Dawson Sinclair’s shirt. I hear about it again, and I make sure my next night in jail is well worth it this time. Got it?”

 

The knight licked his chapped lips, cheeks suddenly flushed a brilliant red. “Last I checked, she wasn’t your girl. You keep throwing threats like that around, I might have to bring it to the mayor’s attention.”

 

“I’m quaking.”

 

“I mean it, Camille. You keep screwing around, and I’ll make sure you end up like Kurt. All it takes is one letter, and you’re off to war.”

 

Good night, Billy.” Taking long strides, he put as much distance as he could between himself and the knight. His hands were starting to sweat this time, knuckles aching for the crunch of bone underneath them. After his cigarette had finally disintegrated into nothing but ash, the anger had passed, only to fade into a longing for more artificial warmth. Such a vicious circle.

 

The silly little ornamental plant in his arms suddenly felt like a sack of rocks. “It’ll be healthy for you to visit him,” Lou had said. “Even soulless creatures need closure.”

 

Plants weren’t closure. They were a pretty way of masking hurt, an offering of beautiful death to mask the ugly death. The world didn’t need anymore rot, and he was still going to feel numbly angry or sad no matter what he did.

 

The temple sat in the town square, built from smooth gray stone except for the turquoise door cracked partially open. In the fading evening light, he could see a few candles still lit through the windows. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stalked towards it, keeping his head low to avoid making eye contact with the groups whispering by the few vendors left trying to earn some coin. Once he had slipped behind the wooden door, he felt brave enough to let out a breath that still tasted vaguely of tar.

 

The priests had been burning incense all day, leaving the air thick and hot with the scent of cinnamon and bergamot. He slipped out of his shoes and left them by the door, ignoring the delicate silk slippers left for guests, before creeping towards the small altar set up at the back of the main chamber. Even from across the room, he could see dozens of bouquets left across the stone table. Red roses tied with black ribbons...white lilies drooping over drawings left by children...As much as he wanted to hate the display, he couldn’t. Perhaps a few folks had brought offerings just to seem like good people, but he couldn’t tell the difference between the genuine and ingenuine gifts. Plant still nestled in the crook of his arm, he reached down to pick up a wrinkled sheet of parchment scrawled with messy lines that couldn’t contain the colors used to bring the image to life.

 

It could have been a troll depicted, judging by the size of the creature against the trees scribbled around him. The artist had drawn the figure with a tiny head engulfed with a mass of red hair, a grin bigger than his face, and hulking arms cradling an armful of cats. “Looks about right…”

 

“You’re...not supposed-”

 

Cam slammed the paper down against the table so a few vases swayed and stepped back defensively, looking around before he spotted a figure hunched over in the corner. “Kurt?”

 

“...touch those.” The young man on the ground brought his knees up to his chest, spilling dozens of shriveled flower petals onto the floor around him. It seemed to take his mind half a minute to process the mess before he started to pick each one up one by one and place it back into his tunic.

 

Cam watched him with a discerning eye as he worked. Sometimes he grasped at air until he caught a petal by chance. More than once he had to stop to rub at his gray eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with shadows. If anyone had earned the right to feel old before 30, it was Kurt.

 

“You been here all day?” he finally ventured to ask once most of the petals had been picked up.

 

“Maybe...what time is it?” He didn’t bother looking up. His eyes were too busy watching the last petal sitting beside as if he was waiting for it to run away. His fingers hovered over it, trembling. He reached for it and missed once...twice...three times...

 

“Probably time for you to go home.” He set his orchid on the corner of the stone altar and knelt down to get a better look at the guy. Aside from some old burns on his hands and forearms and one that had scarred over under his eye, he didn’t seem different.  After the crude buzz he’d been given, his thick black curls had finally started to return. Perhaps his robes were a little too wrinkled and his lips a bit too thin, but that was part of aging. But even when Life took a bite out of him and spit him back out, he managed to maintain an innocent, boyish glow about him. “Pure,” his sister called it. “Need some help?”

 

Kurt lifted his eyes long enough to regard Cam with some confusion before slumping back down in the corner so more petals sprinkled from his lap. “I’ve gotta’ stay and...keep it clean…”

 

“The altar? Looks clean to me.” He reached down to pick up the fallen petals before Kurt could spend another 5 minutes collecting them himself. “I’ll walk ya’ home. Your old man’s probably missing you.” He reached for his wrist in an attempt to tug him up, but Kurt resisted with more strength than he expected him to have. “You can pick up dead flowers tomorrow, Kurt.”

 

“I-I can’t…” He tore his arm away and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes with the heels of his hands until tears started to stream down his cheeks. “I...I think I’m drunk…”

 

“Huh.” Cam stepped back, hands in his pockets as he watched the young man sob. “Didn’t take you for a drinker…”

 

“...I...I drank half...the the bottle of ritual wine…” He gagged on one of his sobs and had to hold a fist to his mouth.

 

“Ahh...” Cam could feel the corners of his mouth wanting to curl upwards, but he had to remind himself that there was a time and place for everything. He settled down onto one of the ornate cushions lining the floor of the room. “Didn’t take you for a thief either.”

 

“I just...I just want to sleep… I thought...I thought taking care of him...might...might help… And then...and then maybe the wine might...”

 

“Hate to break it to you, but that ‘wine’s’ about 10% fruit juice and 90% water. You’re not feeling booze...just guilt.”

 

“...I had hoped I was dreaming..”

 

“This whole town is kind of one big nightmare, so I guess in a sense you are.  If you really want to sleep, one good swing knocked out Uri Peterson for a few hours last night. He just woke up with a crooked nose.” He popped each one of his fingers on by one. “I’d be happy to provide you with a similar solution for your insomnia.”

 

Kurt’s attention had shifted from Cam to the delicate flower perched precariously on the edge of the altar. He doubted he even heard his offer.  “That’s pretty… You brought it for him? Wait.” He balled his fists together and knocked them against his skull “...that’s a stupid question…” He exhaled slowly through his nose and started to rub at his eyes again. “I’m sure he would have liked it…”

 

“Fun fact, Arrow used to send me flowers during the romance festival when we were kids. Thought I looked left out ‘cause everyone had paired off, at least temporarily, at that point.”

 

“That sounds like something he’d do…”

 

“Well, I was so pissed, because I’m sure you can imagine the rumors that spread, that I told him if he did it again, I’d make him eat it.”

 

“...that sounds like something you’d do.”

 

“Bastard brought me chocolates next time.”

 

Something like a smile passed through Kurt’s eyes. He hugged his knees tightly, ignoring the petals falling onto the floor around him. With a loud thud, he knocked his head back against the wall a few times. “Everyone blames me.”

 

“That you came home and he didn’t?”

 

“People don’t look at me when they pass by. But it’s worse when they do look… I’ve spent hours sitting over a forge working with my father in the middle of summer. I know heat, but that judgment...that I’m here...and he’s not… It’s like someone’s driving a hot coal through me just centimeters at a time. I can’t even...jerk away from the pain.”

 

“War sucks. Mages and healers got the short end of the stick. Arrow had decided to go long before Varenza ratted you out to the military. So if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his. I’m no strategic genius, but I’m pretty sure the war effort didn’t need another minster spouting out proverbs and blessings to boost morale.”

 

“They didn’t need more mages either… Just fodder.”

 

“Then blame Varenza, the king, the gods... It’s bigger than you Kurt.

 

“Don’t you think I could’ve helped him?”

 

“Maybe? I wasn’t there. For all I know you could’ve ended up dead. And then I would’ve had to buy two of those stupid flowers.” He reached into back pocket and pulled out another cigarette, ignoring Kurt’s wide-eyed gaze as he lit it. “Point is...this war is dumb. Arrow’s dumb for thinking he could do some good. You’re dumb for thinking this is your fault. This town is dumb for blaming you. And I’m dumb...for smoking these blasted things after I made it a whole week without ‘em.” He blew out a long stream of smoke and rested his head in his hand. “But Arrow really was a whole new breed of stupid, wasn’t he?”

 

“Y-You shouldn’t s-smoke in the-”

 

“You remember that camp our parents always shipped us off to during the summer? Practice some archery, go swimming, build character...blah blah blah…”

 

“If...if Sister Charice sees-”

 

“Some geezer thought it was a good idea to send me and Arrow out on a hike. I wasn’t a ‘team player.’ I ‘scared’ the other kids… Somehow hiking up a mountain with Arrow was going to magically fix that. But let me tell you...it wasn’t a character-building mission. It was a punishment. He didn’t stop talking the entire time.  His sister, his career, his future, his girlfriend, how much the gods love us, why we should respect nature… When he started talking about how he was saving his first kiss for something special,  I grabbed his face, stuck my tongue in his mouth for a few seconds while he flailed about like I was trying to suck out his soul, and earned myself 30 minutes of the purest silence ever graced to mankind once the deed was done.

“We made it to the top of the mountain. And then he started to cry. You know… I tried to laugh at him. He was the kind of person we wrote nasty things about on dumpsters. Too much fake sunshine. Too much lording over humanity like a saint. But he stood up there and cried and apologized for talking too much or offending me or acting insensitive...and I felt like...well frankly, I felt like how you look right now. Didn’t say anything though.”

 

Kurt stiffened a bit, pulling his tunic up over his nose to shield his lungs from the cloud of smoke. “Camille, please…”  

 

Cam spit out a curse that made the other man blush and crushed the cigarette in his hand. “I never apologized. He never ratted me out. We just didn’t talk about it...but I guess he told his girlfriend something because she left him for… I dunno’... Probably someone ‘untainted.’ But you and I both know there isn’t such a thing. Dawson’s worked her way into just about every eligible bedroom… Even back then she had quite the tally…”

 

He could feel the ash burning into his palm. Maybe he should have been worried about the pain, but...at least it was something.

 

“She’s not...taking this very well,” Kurt muttered. “I tried to visit her to apologize, but...she threw-”

 

“-that stupid ornamental bear?”

 

“How-”

 

“Gave it to her for her birthday years ago. Knew it was a bad idea the moment I handed it off. Sturdy, heavy, unassuming… When we broke up, that’s the first thing she reached for. Cracked two of my ribs. I heard she broke Uri Peterson’s hand with it. Kinda touching to know she keeps it around.”

 

He felt a phantom ache in his side and put some pressure on it until it subsided. “Arrow and I always took bets about which one of his bones she’d break with it. He just never gave her a reason to mess him up.”

 

“He gave her a ring, you know…”

“Oh, he gave her a lot more than that…”

 

Cam waved off Kurt’s inquisitive gaze tapping his bare foot against the weathered floor to fill the chamber with some sort of sound.

 

“You know...even after our hike, Arrow still sat with me during meals. He didn’t talk quite as much, but he’d ask me questions. Was everything all right at home? Did I play any sports? How were my siblings doing? There aren’t a lot of people like that…”

 

“...Stupid ones?”

 

“No. We’ve got plenty of those. And Arrow was definitely one of ‘em. But no…  Not a lot of people ask me about home. They like to talk about it, speculate even; don’t you think I can’t hear them. But for someone to just ask about your life and want an honest answer….”

 

When he’d started his story, there had been a point, but he couldn’t remember what that was now, and the more he remembered, the older he felt. “Normal people have this fight or flight instinct that tells them to take their hand off of the hot stove. But Arrow could sit there having a nice conversation with the stove while burnt to a crisp… So it’s his fault he’s probably not coming back.”

 

So stupid… He threw the half-finished cigarette on the ground and stomped on it with his bare foot.

 

“...you think he might? C-Come back?” Kurt asked, his voice small and pinched. He shifted his position, crawling towards Cam until he could scoop up the still smoldering cigarette and its ashes into his hand. He wiped up what was left with the corner of his tunic.

 

“Maybe… Until someone ships a body home, there’s no telling. I like to think he hit his head on something just hard enough to rattle a few memories and knock some sense into him. Some foreign girl would find him, nurse him back to health, and have twelve of his babies.”

 

“I’ve...I’ve thought about going back,” Kurt admitted. He dropped the cigarette into his lap along with the flower petals and curled up into a comfortable position again. After a moment, he started to scoop up the trash and hide it in his pockets of his robes. “To look for him I mean. But the more I think about it...I don’t want to go for him. I want to go so that maybe...I don’t come back....”

 

Cam’s brow furrowed in thought. He ran his thumb over the tiny scorch mark now etched into his palm and tried to think of something meaningful and deep or comforting. He couldn’t remember a single one of the temple texts his mother had beat into him or any of the cheesy hunting metaphors his uncles liked to toss around. He stood up, throwing his cushion down next to the shadow of a man before grabbing his plant from the altar and joining him.

 

“I’ve changed my mind. This is for you.”

 

“B-But but...but Arrow-”

 

“He ain’t gonna water it. And Lou said these things are high maintenance. So you’re gonna take care of it, ‘cause if it dies, I’m gonna make you eat it. Stupid thing cost me a pretty penny. If Arrow makes it home, you can give it to him then. Got it?”

 

For a moment, Cam thought he was just going to drop it, judging by how his hands trembled as he turned the pot in his hand. He set it down and stroked one of the petals with a knuckle. “It’s very pretty…”

 

“Pretty flower for a pretty priest.” Cam offered the young man a cheeky grin, tugging at one of the more rebellious newborn curls on his head. “Your hair had better grow back soon. Lou won’t stop whining about it. You know you’re half the reason she even bothers coming to the temple.”

 

That time he got a smile out of him. It didn’t last long, but it was there and semi-genuine as he picked up the plant once more and held it against his chest. “She’s a good kid.” He edged closer to the taller man so their shoulders touched, and almost all at once, the priest’s fragile body sapped the warmth from Cam’s. Both shivered, waiting in silence for one or the other to fill the emptiness of the room with a sigh or laughter or sobs, but this time, the silence wasn’t quite so suffocating.

 

Once Cam had had his fill, he pushed himself off the floor, using Kurt’s bony shoulder as leverage before sticking his hand out to him. Kurt reached out, fingers twitching back in retreat right before he made contact, but Cam caught him by the wrist and tugged him to his feet with one tug.

 

“I’m gonna get you home.”

 

“I-I’m not-”

 

He jabbed a finger into the top of his head, forcing it to look down at the flower. “Needs water.”

 

“Oh…” He pulled the pot into his chest again and nodded. “Okay…”

 

“Attaboy.” He drummed his fingers across the young man’s head and ushered him towards the door with a firm hand on his back. “Er...ah...speaking of home...how’re things?”

Author's Notes/Self-Critique:

Spoiler

I decided to interpret the prompt in kind of a...strange way I suppose. Still dunno if it was a good idea or not, but I suppose I'll find out! I figured as long as my character(s) had committed an immoral act, it was fine. The prompt didn't say anything about having to reflect on said immoral act or the plot of the story having to be based around it or even having to state exactly what the act was. So I went for a story with a couple of characters who've done some questionable things (some implied, others stated) dealing with a mostly unrelated problem. 

I'm pretty happy with how Camille turned out. He was pretty fun to write for the more I tweaked him. This town and the people in it are fairly new, and this is my first time writing anything for them. I have trouble writing "bad" characters, so I tried really hard to give him a few layers so he didn't feel like a generic bully. Even so, it's a challenge for me, especially in terms of speech. Kurt feels weak in comparison, so if I were to go back and work on this, I'd want to tweak him a bit more...just not too sure how yet.

I'm not as happy with my worldbuilding. It's a work in progress, and I still haven't quite figured out how I want this world to function. It's mostly fantasy for sure, but I recently decided I didn't want it to be exactly medieval fantasy...I want some modern elements. Since I'm still undecided, I left it mostly ambiguous and tried to make it not the main focus. Still...it's definitely weak. 

Overall, I think my writing style tends to be very..."thinky." (Yeah. That's a good smart word to use.) So I'm not entirely sure if it's fun to read or compelling at all. Short stories are especially difficult for me since I'm used to writing long plots, so I hope I managed to clearly convey the situation I wanted to. I also think I rely way too heavily on dialogue, so my descriptions suffer...but I also tend to like focusing more on thoughts and thought processes more than the color of someone's skin or eyes...

I haven't had someone read my writing in so long that I feel a lot more anxiety over posting this than I probably should. XD But I am glad that I finally got out of my writer's block rut and did something...even if it's not the thing I should be writing.

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Whether or not I enter this depends on whether or not I can stay in my room for more than an hour at a time.  It smells like paint in here, and I can't get it out.

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Alright; I threw something together at the last second.

Title: The Better Man

Word Count: 2,131 

Fandom: FE6/FE7
 

 

“Is this wise milord?” Sir Marcus had his doubts.

“We ride for Renn’s Wood come the morrow. The sellswords with us, and Sir Lowen too.” Lord Eliwood did not.

“We were to ride for Santaruz come the morrow. Lord Elbert’s life in danger every moment that we delay our search.”

“What would you have me do Marcus?” Eliwood asked of his sworn man.  

“This is not the first time a village is waylaid by bandits and it will not be the last. The Marquess’s safety is of upmost importance. Stay the course.”

“The villagers who came seeking our protection,” Eliwood had been moved by their pleas. Even supposing he had not his decision would have been the same. “Were you listening? Did you hear what those men are doing to them? The things they have seen?”

“I have heard them and seen worse. Sometimes, duty demands that we make—difficult—decisions. Decisions we do not like. Sometimes our choices are made for us and are not choices at all.” Marcus counseled.  “If you do this. If you take Pharae’s best men and set them to hunting brigands…”

“…then my father may truly die.” Eliwood already knew this. “While we dither. While we fend off lowly rapers and looters. I may lose him. House Pharae may lose everything.”

“You understand what is at stake. Give the order to march for Santaruz. Not everyone can be saved. There’s no shame in it.” Marcus counseled. “Milord. Due your duty.”

“We march for Renn’s Wood.” Eliwood spoke with finality. “There is shame in it. This choice has not been made for us; those people CAN be saved.”

“…Milord…”

“You speak of duty Marcus. Our duty may be to House Pharae, but House Pharae’s duty is to the realm. That is what my father believed. That is what he would say if he was here.” At fifteen years of age Eliwood spoke with wisdom beyond his years. “This foul conspiracy afoot—it may claim his life before we reach him. But it is a life he would lay down ten-times-over for those we are sworn to protect. Not because we are so sworn. Not for our own gains and losses. Not even because our duty demands it. But because they are people. Because they are wronged. And because ours is the power to set right those wrongs—we are as vile as any brigand if we do not wield it. Even if it damns me, I could not live with myself knowing I stood by and did nothing. Could you?”

Marcus said nothing and stood in quiet contemplation, uncharacteristically sullen and grim.

______________


…20 Years Earlier…

   “By Roland’s Blade; the boy can fight!” Lord Elben guffawed.  

Marcus, fifteen years of age, withdrew his lance from the pierced torso of a fresh kill. A squire by rank and untested in all but the lowliest of skirmishes, already there were whispers he was destined for greatness. In sparring he showed a raw talent with blade and spear that overwhelmed seasoned knights, and that the old drillmasters of Castle Pharae swore they had not seen for generations.  His first true deployment against the bandits of the borderlands had revealed a hardened heart and nerves of steel to match. He did not balk or hesitate or grow squeamish when expected to take a life, or when expected to put his own on the line. So impressive were his feats of battle mastery at so young an age that the Lord Elben had personally requested him for his retinue.

“Aye, lad. run the beggar’s through.” Elben, a man of no such talents, drank deep from his ever-present flask and loosened his belt strap. “Sooner we’re done with these sorry whore-sons, the sooner we get to have our fun.”      

Lord Elben was—by the most charitable of descriptions—a lecher, a boor, and an ill-tempered drunk. A lesser lord and distant cousin to the Lord Elbert, he had been elevated to the station of knight lord and granted command of his own squadron solely for his connection to the Great House of Pharae. His command was sloppy, his tactical mind nonexistent, and his temperament closer to the bandits he had been charged with hunting down than a shining knight.

But he was a full-blooded, pedigreed Lord of the League. And no knight of Pharae dared defy him. Pharae’s future must be a grim one indeed, Marcus had thought on more than one occasion, if it truly could not muster a better man to raise as a leader among men.  

“Its done.” Sir Garlan—a pragmatic, dispassionate fellow—reported in. “That’s the last we’ll be seeing of these ruffians. Lord Elbert will be pleased to hear of our success; let us make haste.”

“Bugger that! This is the good part.” Lord Elben had no use for courtly accolades. His was a thirst for more carnal rewards, as was that of his more craven companions. “Sedjel, Ambros, Kraus; With me. Garlan; you know your role. Take the squire and take watch.”

They were just outside a mountain village on the Bernese border; the squire Marcus and the dispassionate old knight. Just beyond the ramshackle fencing and sparsely traveled cobblestones and simple wooden lodgings of the village proper.  Well enough away from any major town or trade road that no regular patrols ever made their rounds to see how fared the locals.

Far enough away to turn their back on the hollering beyond the threshold.

Close enough to hear their companions laugh and the women cry and the wooden doors slam shut.

“What did he mean by have our fun.”  Marcus asked, disconcerted.

“You know bloody well what they meant.” If Sir Garlan was perturbed in the slightest by it, he showed no outward signs.

“…This is wrong…” Every instinct told him to act. To do what should be done. To stop this.  

“This is service.” Sir Garlan was unmoved.

His training told him not to step out of line. To follow his superiors. To listen and obey and serve. The sobs and the screams and pleas for help told him to remove his sword from his scabbard and cut down every man complicit in this atrocity.  “This is WRONG,” Marcus shouted, and his hand moved purposefully to the sheathed hilt of castle-forged steel.

“And what do you mean to do about it; cut down your liege-lord!? Fight his entire squad!?” Sir Garlan snapped at him.

Marcus briefly considered the practicality of it. There were four men. Five counting Garlan. He had seen them take the field. How they moved. How they fought. Where they would try to strike, and where they would leave their openings. Sedjel, Ambros, and Kraus were cravens cut from the same cloth as Elben and probably dead-drunk to boot. They had years and experience on him, but on their best day Marcus was the better man in armed combat. He was sure of it. Two-on-one in a sword-fight versus opponents of their caliber was entirely doable. One would go down immediately with the throw of a spear; that took care of the third. Elben himself was about as useful as nipples on a breastplate in a real fight. Garlan though—Garlan was a serious man with serious skills. He cared little enough that he might simply stand aside if Marcus moved in earnest, but if he stood firm, Marcus would have to first defeat him without taking injury before…

“I know what you’re thinking. Listen boy, and listen well.” Sir Garlan told it true. “When we reach the castle, Elben is going to recommend you for promotion to full knighthood. You’re the best damn fighter we’ve seen in years. You’ll make battle captain by twenty-one. Battalion commander by thirty. When its your battalion and your command, that’s your time. That’s where you’ll do the most good; make some changes at the top, savvy? Do it here today and I promise you this: you'll be a renegade for the rest of your days. You'll sell your sword to worse men than Elben to keep hourself alive. Some crooked, blue-blooded gimp with half your talent and none of your virtue will take the commander's seat. And you won't change a single goddamn thing.

Marcus, the boy of fifteen, stood immobile in the throes of indecision.

“…or go ahead and do it…” Sir Garlan stood aside and stood down and looked away. “I see nothing.”

 Battle captain by twenty-one. Battalion commander by thirty. When its your battalion and your command—that’s your time. That’s where you’ll do the most good.

The words echoed in his head as he made his approach. Was that the right of it? Was he damning the very thing he sought to protect by casting aside his knighthood; by letting wicked, unworthy men rise through the ranks in his stead?

You’ll be a renegade the rest of your days. You’ll sell your sword to worse men then Elben to keep yourself alive. Some crooked, blue-blooded gimp with half your talent and none of your virtue will take that commander’s seat.”

What was one village? What was one corrupt noble? Compared to what  Marcus the Legendary Knight—veteran of 1,000 battles, tutor to heroes, inspiration to squires the realm over—could accomplish at the height of his influence? What did he truly mean to achieve today?

You won’t change a single goddamn thing.

“What is the meaning of this!?” Elben bellowed.

Scarcely aware of what he was doing, Marcus had half-heartedly wandered into his borrowed abode. His sword was drawn. His face was numb. He felt oddly disconnected; like he was looking at something that just wasn’t real.

Kill him, the voice of conscience whispered in his hear. Never again. Kill Elben. Kill Sedjel. Kill Ambros. Kill Kraus. Kill them so they can never do this ever again.    


“Did you hear me boy? I said what is the meaning of this!?”

He wanted to lunge. He wanted to drive his sword deep through the man’s gullet. We wanted to shout and swear and tell him what an abominable disgrace of a knight he was before he cut him to ribbons.

But his battle stance gave way to a submissive kneel, his sword pointed downward to ground in a gesture of fealty, and his mouth said only: “Milord. How may I serve you?”   

It was for the greater good, he would tell himself for years thereafter. Could he have honestly done anything differently? What then—what if he had?

He never would have come into the service of Lord Elbert.

He never would have become the most famed knight in all of Pharae.

He never would have had the Marquess’s ear.

He never would have purged the ranks of those who abused their knighthood to prey upon the people they were supposed to protect.

He never would have been made personal guard to Lord Eliwood.

He never would have saved his life time and time again against the rebels of Laus and the sellswords of Eubans and the assassins of the Black Fang.

He never would have seen the noblest lord who had ever lived ascend the Pharaen throne.

He never would have been beside Lord Roy in those horrible, opening days of the Great War.

He never would have turned back the might of Bern at the Rebellion in Ostia.

He was a fifteen year old boy under a Lord’s command against a veteran squad. He had no choice.

He had done nothing wrong. Everything he had done since…everything he had achieved…

 There was no choice, he had told himself. He would keep telling himself. If there had been a choice he had still chosen wisely. For the greater good.

…except he didn’t need Eliwood’s chidings to know that wasn’t true…

…that there had always been a choice…

…that on that day, in that moment, he could have changed something…

…that a better man than him would have acted where he did nothing…

…that it was not some noble purpose, but his own fear of reprisal and desire to climb the ranks that had stayed his hand…

…that he had failed a test of moral courage…

…that he was every bit as culpable for what he could have stopped as the men who did the deed themselves…

…that no amount of fame or achievements could erase that shame…
___________

“Even if it damns me, I could not live with myself knowing I stood by and did nothing. Could you?”

Marcus said nothing and stood in quiet contemplation, uncharacteristically sullen and grim.

“Marcus?”

“Milord…you…” The old knight’s voice cracked, and he knelt in humility. “Truly, it is an honor to serve you. You are…” The old memories came unbidden.  “Would that I had your clarity. You are a better man than me.”

Edited by Shoblongoo
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So we've got less than a day until voting begins, right? 

Is it required that we provide feedback for all of the stories before we vote? I know we definitely gotta read them all lol. Or is it only if the author wants feedback? I don't think anyone's said specifically whether they want it or not. I was planning to provide some whether it was required or not, but I thought I'd check since I missed the last few rounds.

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16 minutes ago, Rafiel's Aria said:

Is it required that we provide feedback for all of the stories before we vote? I know we definitely gotta read them all lol. Or is it only if the author wants feedback? I don't think anyone's said specifically whether they want it or not. I was planning to provide some whether it was required or not, but I thought I'd check since I missed the last few rounds.

Not required, no, but normally I do and I think it's fair.

I love feedback myself. Btw the second spoiler isn't required unless you played the source material. I now...realize it might be a bit confusing if you haven't, but I can't change it now. If you're confused by something please ask me.

Edited by Dragoncat
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Alright, I wanted to add more, but time caught up to me. So with that, I present (And no that isn't a typo, well it is but it's a typo that I made and loved so it became the title)

The Cursed of Youth

Word Count: 3068

Fandom: Fire Emblem Fates

Spoiler

The Cursed of Youth

As the sun began to set, turning the bright blue sky into a beautiful mixture of deep, yet vibrant tangerine, and subtle rose, Nyx stepped into the serene waters of a nearby pond. Finally, she thinks to herself, it’s been weeks since we camped out in an area with a good lake. She stares down at her reflection, same as always, youthful with marks meant to ward off curses covering her face. She hadn’t grown an inch in eighty years. Eighty long, lonely, and punishing years where she had isolated herself from society due to- her thoughts were interrupted by a rustle in the bushes.

Without even looking, she calmly called out to the person she knew was there, “Hello Prince Leo, here for another chat?”

Leo responded, “Well I certainly didn’t come to this water source for swimming. I want some details Nyx, I might be able to help you.”

Sighing, Nyx looks back at Leo, “I have studied every book, traveled all across this continent, and tried almost every method available to me, nothing has worked. Don’t waste your energy on a hopeless woman like myself, there are many others in a much direr need of help.”

Glancing at a tome he had brought, Leo said, “I would like to refute that claim, your burden is great, and as prince I would like to see fit that my people’s burdens are nonexistent. Besides, two heads are far superior to one, wouldn’t you say?”

Unable to find holes in his logic, Nyx began to emerge from the waters, and defeatedly replied “Very well, if it’s details you desire, then I shall gladly give them to you. If I might be permitted to ask something first, what is that tome you brought along?”

Looking in any direction that wasn’t the bare body of Nyx, Leo shuddered out a response. “W-well you see, this here tome, called Agvaldr, allows one to visualize memories, to allow for a more vivid picture of a story.”

The now fully-clothed Nyx snatched the tome out of Leo’s hands. “Interesting, these are quite rare and fragile, you would allow me to use such an expensive magic item like this?” Nyx inquired.

Regaining some of his composure, Leo asserts, “Of course, I would see to it that nothing less then the best would be used to solve this conundrum.”

Opening the Agvaldr, Nyx began to regale Leo with the tale of how her life got turned upside-down. “It all begins in the lush, green fields nearby the town of Macarath, where I was running along with my brothers and sisters.

I was the youngest of five. My mother died during child-birth, however by some miracle I lived. I was left to the care of my father, who I despised with all my heart, and my four siblings. The first-born was my brother, Erebus, a once famous sorcerer whose magical ability is comparable to yours Leo. He strived to be my father’s equal, looking up at that man as though he was a god. Following Erebus was my older sister Apate, an amazing fortune teller who could predict as far as your death. One time, I believe she even was called to predict the feats that the child who would eventually become King Garon would achieve. Next comes my brother Monos, who was the strongest of all of us, although his magic wasn’t very potent. He was a squire of a Nohrian general and was quickly rising up the ranks. Lastly was the one closest to my age, yet still three years my elder, it was my favorite sibling, Eris.

Eris was basically the one who cared for me. I could always be found at Eris’s side, I tried to follow everything exactly as she did. I walked the same, tried to talk the same, although my vocabulary was not as advanced as it now it. I even tried to grow out my blonde hair to be a similar length, but that was a losing battle.

As a young child, I had showed no magical aptitude, which led to my father largely ignoring me. Despite that, I was as happy as a clam. We would spend hours out on those fields, my siblings and I. As everyone grew older, the days that we ventured onto the fields occurred less and less, but one day all my siblings were home, and they suggested that we mess around, ‘for old times sake’, as Erebus put it. That day, we played all manner of things, but many involved magic. Me, having no perceived talent in the act, merely watched my siblings show off to one another their skills.

After a while, Apate suggested we play hide and seek, and despite it getting to be very dark out, my siblings all agreed. I didn’t want to, as at this point I hadn’t learned any magic spells, much less a light based one. But since everyone else wanted to, I was forced to go along.

So, with Eris pushing me along, we found a very good hiding spot among some trees. There I begged her to teach me some magic, and after a few minutes my persistence paid off. Eris pulled out a small, cheap tome that had a weak fire spell, so weak that it never even left the palm of your hand and shouldn’t have the power to burn anything. After telling me the chant I need to recite, she gave me the book. I slowly mumbled the words, and a small flicker of light was seen before being swiftly snuffed out.

‘Louder’ Eris said, ‘You can’t just whisper a chant, say it with pride, confidence, and skill.’

I nodded, and, perhaps taking her advice a little too literally, proceeded to shout out the incantation with my hand raised high. Suddenly, a small ball of fire erupted into my palm.

I was beaming with excitement, and Eris was so happy for me. Little did I know that would be the last time I would ever be happy, as the ball of fire continued to grow. At first, not by much, a few centimeters at best, but soon it eclipsed a height of at least 35 feet. Panicked, I threw the massive fireball away, and right at Eris. Her screams still haunt me to this day.

Erebus ran up, yelling ‘What in the name of Anankos is that? Monos, give me a hand, we need to put this out before the village catches on fire.’ My brothers worked tirelessly to calm the fire, which they succeeded in doing.

All that was left of Eris, was ash.

Following that, incident, Erebus shunned me, which I at first perceived as fine, as I still had my other siblings. Except the rest of my family stayed away from me, Apate out of fear, and Monos due to the busy nature of his military position. However, my father, whose name I never truly learned, but I heard many others call him Chaos, took a new interest in me.

To make my magic more potent and controlled, he locked me in my room, forcing me to read and practice all day. And at the end of those days, we had magic reports, where if I had not learned or improved enough, well, let’s just say that what my father did to me back then wasn’t pretty.

Seven years later, when I had turned twelve, I was the most powerful magic-user in the entire family. Tired of my father’s abuse, and the neglect of my siblings I turned on the family that had shunned me. In one of the books I had read, I had discovered an advanced curse that had the ability to steal magical energy from a person, there was also another page but that was mainly just information on performing the spell, so I didn’t actually bother to read that, for what relevant information could be in there? How foolish I was, blinded by revenge and a desire to feel the love that I hadn’t felt in over 7 years. If only I had read the extra information, I would know what terrible things I was about to subject myself to.

One night, when all of my siblings had convened back at the house, and Father wasn’t out on some magic based trip, I hexed my lock open, and went to the center of the house. I began to cast the curse, and all was going well at first.

The power, the sensation of pure unbridled magical energy flowing into your body, it was addicting. Without thinking, I amped up the power of the curse. What I had intended as a small bit of revenge that I would quickly remedy spun out of control faster than I could anticipate. But that feeling, the force, I couldn’t stop, it was so empowering. I would be the greatest magic user on the whole continent.

I felt my family fighting back, trying to keep their powers, to stay alive. So, I put more and more effort into that spell.

First one to give up was Monos, his was the weakest and easiest to take.

Then came Apate, who although was very adept in fortune telling, wasn’t skilled in the art of magical dueling.

Erebus and Father both survived for the same length of time, which mattered not to myself at the time, addicted to the power. I suppose, in hindsight, it’s poetic in a sense.

The exact area my curse had encompassed when I passed out due to the strain the energy had put on my body, I will never know and would prefer to keep it that way. When I woke, after brushing aside my black hair, yes, black hair, I looked across the landscape.

As far as my eye could see the city was in some state of disrepair. Many houses, destroyed, bodies lined the streets, the sky had a purple tint. And all the power I had siphoned, gone. Or at least I thought so.

As you know very well, Prince Leo, whenever a major curse is cast, there is some blowback upon the user. I thought it odd that I hadn’t experienced such a blowback, but my ignorance led me to think I was such a great sorcerer that the only thing that changed was my hair turning jet-black.

I ran away, heading from village to village, living there for a few months, and then leaving. Over that time, about two years I’d say, I never aged a day.

At first, I didn’t notice it, but as the days turned to weeks, which turned to months, my body’s lack of change despite the fact I was at peak puberty age disturbed me. I waited a bit, moved to another village, but still nothing.

No growth, no advancement, nothing. Not even my hair had dared to grow a centimeter in that timeframe.

At the end of that two-year period of village hoping, I went to a village with a local man able to read magical signatures. After I built up the courage to ask him to look into mine, I was met with a response that was not favorable in my eyes.

‘The magic within you is strong, yet corrupted’ the apothecary said. ‘I haven’t seen such a curse of that magnitude in my life, I’ve nary heard of it. What happened to you child?’

I made up an elaborate lie about a cruel witch who tormented my family, and who had killed them all and used their power to curse me. The old man, bless his heart, believed my story word for word.

‘I can’t do much to help you, but there are some things I can do’

He drew odd symbols on my face, the ones you see now, and ingrained them with a basic magical herb.

‘These symbols should hopefully have some helping effect, allowing you to grow in some manner.’

To his credit, the old man was correct, something did begin to grow, my hair. My black hair, which I had cut short, so I wouldn’t be reminded of that day.

The fact that something was changing gave me hope, and with that hope, I thought to set out and cure this curse once and for all. So, I said farewell to that old man, and promptly got lost.”

“You? Get lost?” Leo said in a sarcastic tone, “I couldn’t fathom that occurring.”

“Oh, quiet you” Nyx shot back “We’re getting to the part where I show you that there’s no helping me.”

“Then feel free to continue whenever you want.” Leo said, laying back on the soft green grass.

“Anyways, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted” Nyx said with fake malice, “I got lost, went to look for a forest shrine that supposedly had curse repelling waters, took a wrong turn past some tree, and ended up by a Bandit Camp.

I was going to just sneak by, go on completely unnoticed, except one of those filthy barbarians caught me. You understand how those vermin are, they see a small girl, they just must have their way with her.

So here I was, grabbed by this disgusting excuse for a man, being dragged into the camp.

The stench of that place, it was so utterly revolting. Their tents looked as though they hadn’t been cleaned in years, and the men smelled the same. A crudely put up fence was the only thing blocking me from escape.

But I couldn’t escape, not yet anyways. I was still being manhandled, or women-handled I suppose, by that brute.

He took me into one of the bigger tents, threw me on a bed of hide and wool, and began to undress me. Despite not having used magic in two years, I still instantly knew what to do, while logically deducing the situation. 

Fire would be far too damaging, so a quick flash of thunder, much more controlled since we were in the dense woods, both blinded and took out the man trying to rape me. It also alerted those other heathens to my position, but a few more fools to shock wasn’t particularly hard.

With that, experience, behind me, I set off to find the shrine.

Weeks pass, and I’m nearly on the point of starvation, subsisting off a few berries a day. It is in this state that I found the temple.

A great wooden hall built into the side of a mountain, masked by dark oak trees and a thick brush of plant-life. Climbing up the cracked stone steps, I gaze at the massive arch before the shrine, covered in moss and rough, with the look of very old bark.

Once I scaled the stairs, I come to a massive set of oak doors, with a sturdiness of steel, and the shine of a freshly washed plate, as long as that plate wasn’t dropped by Felicia. I tried to push the doors open, but to no avail. In desperation, I decided to burn down the doors.”

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Leo inquisited. “You went to a holy site, and thought it would be good to defame it.”

“Leo, how about you try walking for miles, with basically no direction, while starving, and still have the mental capacity to comprehend the situation that you’re in.” Nyx spat back.

“I’d rather not” Leo replied, “Now let’s finish this up, it’s beginning to get dark, and this tome creates a great amount of light alerting our position.”

“I’m nearly done” Nyx responded. “So, after burning down the doors, I looked inside, and I saw a small, marble fountain. In glee, I dove into this fountain, where I heard a voice.

‘Oh foolish child’, it said, ‘you dare vandalize my temple, destroy the things guarding it, and still hope for redemption. Oh ho ho ho, how absurd. No, you must be punished for what you have done. I could’ve removed your curse, however, instead I will insure that it last forever, and that you be forced to watch as everyone you know and love dies before your eyes.’

I tried to apologize, but that didn’t work, so I cockily said that I would simply never get to know anyone, and live my life alone.

‘A pleasant thought, but I can tell by your nature that you wouldn’t last 100 years before coming back to civilization, and falling for another.’

With those words, I blacked out, as I was submerged into the water. When I woke, I was dry, outside of the temple, with a single apple by my side. I took another path, up into the mountains, where I found an abandoned house by a small orchard. I lived there for a long time.”

“But you changed your mind recently, as I can currently tell.” Leo said.

“Obviously, since I’m telling you this.” Nyx responded. “That damned tree spirit was right, as much as I hate to admit it. Now all the friends I’m making here, I’ll watch them all grow old, have offspring, and then die, leaving only me to wallow alone.”

“NO NYX” Leo cries out, “I refuse to let that happen.”

“Prince Leo” Nyx replies, stunned, “Why are you so passionate about this, I shouldn’t be that high of a concern for you.”

“But it is Nyx” Leo shouts as he slams his hand into a nearby tree, “it matters to me, YOU matter to me.”

Still in a state of shock, Nyx can barely utter “Are, are you saying that you love me.”

“Yes Nyx, I am, and no Anankos-damned spirit is going to get in the way. I will rid you of this curse, I swear it to you today.” Leo passionately says.

“Well, if there’s no way of convincing you otherwise, then telling you that I am mutual in your feeling would be the best option.” Nyx says, trying to regain her composure.

“I can’t believe that actually worked” Leo whispered to himself. “Anyways” he declares, “I think it’s high time that we head back to camp, don’t you, dear?” Leo sticks out his hand, offering to hold Nyx’s.

Putting her hand in his, Nyx jokingly responds with “Don’t call me dear, that’s my line”. The pair walks off into the sunset, hopeful, and happier than ever.

Notes/Self critiques

Spoiler

I admit, I kinda lost steam on the idea near the end. I've had most of the story done for a while, but i just couldn't really compel myself to finish it. I'm also a sucker for happy endings, so I had to add one in. I probably should've done less retconning, since basically all of Leo and Nyx supports, along with some details in her backstory were changed in some manner. I'm still glad I did this, break out of my comfort zone and write a sadder story, but I probably wouldn't find myself doing this in the future.

 

Edited by DarthR0xas
Correcting the format of mine to make it slightly more readable.
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The Ethical Issues of the Contemporary Emblem

  • Word Count: 2,291
  • Fandom: "Pan-Emblem Future"
Spoiler

There was a philosopher by the name of Cambyses who lived during the early Age of New Hopes. It was in this age that that continents discovered each other and rediscovered their lost secrets, leading to a technological revolution the likes of which none of them had seen before. With new advances in technology came new uses of magic- each enhanced the function of the other, and together the world's brilliant minds forged a new, safer, and more luxurious world.

Yet this new era was not without new challenges. It was Cambyses who foresaw many of them- Cambyses, who was regarded by the great minds of the Age of New Hopes as the greatest of them, unparalleled in wisdom, and yet who issued many warnings which were ignored.

In one of his more obscure works, To Be Human, Cambyses discussed at length what distinguished man from beast- and what separated man into human, manakete, and various other enchanted subspecies. Beyond those traits physically evident, he discussed at length how these differences forged distinct subcultures and societies, with each race forming rules and traditions suited to their unique aspects, and how these conflicting natures made divisions among them which could not be bridged over...

***

It was a small room. The walls were unpainted brick. It was dimly lit by a musty flame, floating in an old lantern which hung from the ceiling. Two folding chairs and folding table stood underneath. They were grey, plastic- cheap.

Two men sat across from each other. Closer to the door was Cromwell. Opposite was Laius.

"I haven't done anything illegal," said Laius, slumping smugly in his chair. "You'll have to release me."

"I know," Cromwell replied, upright and reservedly postured, but with a cold-blooded judgement beaming from his sunken eyes. "Illegal or not, I'm not letting you go without a few words about your conduct."

"Seems like an abuse of power to me," said Laius impatiently.
"The fact that you haven't been thrown into prison for life is an abuse of protections," Cromwell snapped. "Those rights are to protect decent people- not people like you."
"You can't even charge me with a crime-"
"There's more to decency than following the laws. What you did to Nai is wrong. More than that-"

"How can love be wrong?" Laius barked in a passion unnervingly earnest.

"You've made a pretty good demonstration," Cromwell answered disdainfully.

Laius furrowed his brow and shifted his weight from the chair to the table. "The bond between Nai and I is as legitimate as the love between any two humans or any two manaketes," he declared. "Certainly you've felt something like-"
"Don't compare me to your sick fantasy," Cromwell shot.
"Explain to me, then, what's so wrong about us?"
"I can't even believe you need to ask."
"So what, you can't?"

Cromwell narrowed his eyes. "Nai is just a girl. She's basically twelve. The two of you grew up in the same house- you're practically siblings. Do you not get what that means? How is this okay with you?"

"Ugh, these old arguments?" Laius scorned. "Manaketes age more slowly than humans. Nai is much older than me- older than the laws you're supposed to be upholding, and certainly old enough to consent to a relationship. Also, neither of us are related- we don't have any biological parents in common. We're not even cousins. Therefore-" Laius leaned back, smirking, "both your points are wrong."
"Cheap excuses."
"They're valid reasons.
"No they aren't."
"Nai and I are both old enough to give our consent- we're not hurting anyone."
"I don't think you can reasonably say you'd accept her 'consent,' but that you wouldn't accept the consent of someone who wasn't actually a manakete. I have no doubt in my mind that, because of whatever twisted thing exists in your head to make you think this is okay, you're hurting her, and it's only a matter of time before, directly or not, you hurt someone else."
Laius sat in appalled shock. "How...dare-"

"Listen," interrupted Cromwell. "I want to ask you a question and I want you to really think about your answer. Does it really matter to you if Nai is actually a thousand years old, or if she's not really related to you? I want you to tell me, right now, what difference it would make to you if it suddenly turned out she was just some pointy-eared human born twelve years ago. What difference would it make to you if it was discovered that your father had some affair those twelve years ago and that resulted in her. Would that deter you from your relationship at all?"

"Why would you even need to ask that?" Laius scoffed.
"Because I know the answer is no, and I want you to admit that," said Cromwell. "I want you to admit that you're making excuses and abusing technicalities to justify your depravity, which has gotten someone who isn't mentally prepared for it pregnant."

Constable and culprit locked hateful glares. "It'd make all the difference in the world-" Laius spat.
"How so?" Cromwell immediately pressed.

There was pause. Laius broke it.

"You know what? I've had enough. You let me go now, or I'll be filing a complaint with the magistrate."
"Hah," was Cromwell's wooden response. "Like he'll care about a creep like you."

***

Laius walked out of that police station with no charge. He returned home to Nai.

A very solemn Cromwell requested the station's staff specialist warp him to a diner a few blocks away- the New Nohr. There was a friend of his- a university man by the name of Richard, whom he promised to meet for lunch that day. It was the first time in some time the two had their schedules cleared at the same lunch-appropriate time on a Tuesday, and Richard was quite fond of that particular diner's Tuesday lunch special.

***

Richard leaned against the outside of the New Nohr, flipping through a book, when a dreary form appeared a meter away. "Ah, Cromwell!" The scholar stood straight, shut The Pheraen Occupation of Begnion, and turned gladly to his friend. "Uh...are you alright?"
"I'm fine," muttered Cromwell, walking past Richard towards the entrance. He stopped a few feet past. "Coming in?"
"Oh, of course," Richard nodded, and the two entered.

Richard found them a booth by the window, and wordless they sat down.
Cromwell looked out at the small crowds on the street, his eyes darted back and forth, and suddenly snapped towards the table.
The scholarly man pulled at his sagely robes, scanning the various nooks and crannies of the ceiling until the waitress arrived.

Richard ordered his special. Cromwell glanced over for less than a second, then tersely said he'd have nothing. Richard had expected to at least be excited by his upcoming meal, but even this eagerness was muted. A present and tangible disdain had followed Cromwell from the station and suppressed all pleasures around it.

"Well, she seemed nice, didn't she?" Richard asked.
"I suppose," Cromwell said to his lap.
"...oh, no, no, I didn't mean like- never mind."

Silence again fell over them, but soon became too overbearing for Richard. "You're not hungry?" 
"Not really," Cromwell answered. "I don't like Nohrian food that much anyway."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine."
"You seem like something's on your mind."
"It's nothing."
"Seems like a something to me."

Richard's sandwich arrived.

Cromwell pulled his elbows onto the table and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. You've wanted that sandwich for a month- enjoy it. Don't let it bother you."
"Come on, Cromwell," Richard pleaded, "I could have bought myself this sandwich a week ago. I came here today to talk to a friend. What's wrong?"

Cromwell sighed, then muttered something to an empty place mat.
"What?"
"Laius walked, Ricky," Cromwell explained in a low drum. "That disgusting freak did so much wrong and nothing illegal."

Richard nodded a very slow, understanding nod. "I'm sure that...must be hard for you."
"Very. People with those sorts of urges ought to be in a cage."

Richard poked at his sandwich with a fork. "Well," he began, "he certainly shouldn't act on those urges. But, I don't know if we should judge him for having them- urges aren't something you can help."
"I can't help that I want to put a knife through Laius's throat either." Cromwell raised his head. "Do you judge me for that?"
"Not unless you do it, no."
"Bullcrap."

Cromwell slumped back in his seat. Silence loomed over the two for a moment. Richard moved his fork to the potato salad- if he wasn't going to eat, he might as well remove the eggs from the potato salad. He despised eggs. "You know, Cambyses said that manaketes and humans shouldn't intermix because of the massive age gaps which would necessarily exist in any of their relationships."
"Smart man," said Cromwell.
"Indeed..." Richard scrapped a bit of egg off his fork. "If you'll allow me to play devil's advocate for a moment," he began, speaking very slowly, carefully watching to see how Cromwell might respond. The latter raised his head dully. "What about a relationship between a human and a manakete physically of the same age? Cambyses disagreed with it, but found it slightly more tolerable- there's a very interesting chapter in To Be Human about interspecies, er, escorts-"
"I don't know about that," Cromwell muttered to the side.
"Well, imagine, then, that I have a girlfriend who's a manakete, physically my age. Healthy physical deterrence wouldn't exist in this case- why wouldn't it be a preferable situation?"

"True, true," Cromwell replied, straightening up some- for him, that was relaxing. "It's still unhealthy though, mentally especially. That manakete will be thousands of years older than you- that age gap would have to present you two with some difficulty. I would say, in this case, that she'd be taking advantage of you. I can't imagine how the two of you would be able to relate with such a gigantic gap in personal experiences- you'd be like a child to her."
"But I'm not a child," Richard protested.
"Compared to her, though? Don't we look at old men with girlfriends in their twenties funny, because we know there's something wrong with that relationship?" Cromwell asked.
"True," Richard conceded.
"Now, it is preferable in terms of the physical attraction, but still wrong. What about when you're ninety and barely alive, and she looks the same?"
"I'd argue I'd be taking advantage of her in that case," Richard countered. "I'd be having a trophy that doesn't rust. It would be much like the old man with the young girlfriend. Only, instead of being widowed for dozens of years, she'd be widowed for thousands. Not to mention what that might do, psychologically, to any children we had."
"I suppose you're both exploiting each other, then," Cromwell conceded.
"Isn't that what relationships are all built on?" Richard joked.
"Bah- years of study haven't done you any good, Ricky, if that's the way you look at the world."

Richard shrugged, and finally feeling comfortable enough to do so, took a bite of his sandwich.

"Though now I'm thinking," Cromwell resumed, "that she'd still be the one taking advantage of you, because she's probably leave you for someone who was more on her level, not crippled and senile because of age. Honestly, who would blame her?"

Richard swallowed. "You almost sound like an apologist for Laius at this point," he chuckled. "In eighty years, at least."
"Goodness no-" Cromwell exclaimed, a little more warily. "Nai acts like a child, looks like a child- I don't think Laius is a victim in any capacity here. You can't not question what else he's willing to do if he's willing to do that."
"I won't argue with that. But, that necessarily means that a manakete can have a mental capacity which aligns with their physical body but not their true age," Richard began. "So, in certain rare circumstances, if even for a brief window in their lives, there would be a time where it would be acceptable for a human and a manakete to be romantically involved."

Cromwell rolled his eyes. "Rare and brief being the keywords here. If it's possible, then it's so rare and specific that it might as well not be. Really, Ricky-" Cromwell leaned over the table, glancing briefly at his friend's sandwich. "What's the point in being able to argue so acutely about ethics if you aren't reaching the conclusions we intuitively know are correct? There's got to be something wrong with your approach at that point."

Richard rolled his eyes in return. "Alright, first of all, order yourself something. I doubt you've eaten anything all day."
"I wouldn't want to bother the waitress."
"I'm ordering another special to take home before we leave. Order some food when I do."
"Fine."
"Good. Secondly, I don't think our intuitions are wrong- I just think we haven't reached that conclusion because we haven't fully explored the issue. The intermediate steps might seem uncomfortable, but I trust that the conclusions will be..." Richard searched ferociously for the right word, one precise and academic. "Good," he said finally. "Honestly, I think you're being a little defensive about the issue. I can't understand why, necessarily, which is to say that I can't sympathize, but I can logically understand why. I know you've been in a relationship like this."

Cromwell let out a heavy sigh. One hand gripped a stone in his pocket- an old keepsake of sorts. "Maybe you're right," he admitted. "Maybe I do have a bit of a personal attachment to the issue," he said, dragging a finger along his pointed ear. "I guess we've all made mistakes..."

 

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5 minutes ago, Shoblongoo said:

Yeah--I got some reading to do 

Same here. I shall try to give feedback for all of them, but with this many, some may get more feedback than others.

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Yeah, given my current progress, I don't think I can push a story out in a few hours. Damnit, and I thought I could do it this round. Oh well, I got next round. Might as well read all of these entries!

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Well good thing I’ve read most of them already but damn there are a lot of them here welp time to start reading 

Edit: so I’ve read them all pretty good stuff all around.

Edited by Otts486
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I'll wait until they're all added to the OP for convenience. 

EDIT - Just read Otts', and I read Ana's before too. Feedback will come when voting starts.

Edited by Dragoncat
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3 hours ago, Dragoncat said:

Holy crap this is a buttload of entries!

That's why I read each one as they get posted. So I don't get stuck with a lot of reading to do in the case that there are a lot of entries. :P

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Just now, Anacybele said:

That's why I read each one as they get posted. So I don't get stuck with a lot of reading to do in the case that there are a lot of entries. :P

Yeah I should have done that lol.

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3 minutes ago, Dragoncat said:

Yeah I should have done that lol.

Well, now you know for next time!

On another note, I'm not sure mine can win either. It's probably a little bland due to not having any real action. But I knew Jerec was the most fitting character I had for the prompt, so I did what I could. I just hope it's not terrible. lol

Edited by Anacybele
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Sorry for the wait! I updated the first post with the countdown for our voting phase and included everyone's prompts into it. I also took the liberty of giving everyone an entire week to vote, rather than 5 days, due to the amount of prompts we have.

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