You are a knight and your duty is to serve, no matter who - or what - that is.
"Colonel, is she finally asleep?" another solider whispered, leaning to her ear. Unflinching Justice paused and rested the large sword she'd been cleaning in her lap. She turned her head and leaned to peer through the darkness into the room. The simple bed, far too simple for the stature of the occupant, was piled with blankets. Still, she could see the slow and gentle rise and fall of deep breaths from her charge. Before she turned back to the questioning soldier, she stared just a little longer, committing the image to memory. The image of peace and comfort made her shoulders relax for what felt like the first time in weeks.
Unflinching Justice turned back, slowly, to face the officer. A nod was her only response, not daring to make additional noise and disturb the Queen. For good measure, she shot a warning look at the officer when he made it back to his seat on the other side of the door. He sent back a sheepish glance in reply before returning to his watch of the west side of the hall. She glanced around before looking back down to the weapon in her lap. The once stained red blade now gleamed in the low light. A few turns showed her it was clean, ready for another day. And another. And another.
When she considered how long this war had lasted so far and how long it would probably continue, her heart clenched in her chest. Unflinching Justice brushed her long braid back behind her and a hand down her face. A deep breath settled her in her seat. She put the sword back in its sheath before turning back to look at the sleeping figure again. The battle hardened knight held her eyes open against the darkness and desire to blink, afraid that looking away for even a moment would make the figure, secure and fast asleep, disappear.
Everything in the circle had fallen silent. They dared not look away from the figure in the center. The creatures around them seemed to take the hint, quieting down and stilling, waiting. Finally, the robed figure standing over the prone man raised their head. The moment was approaching. The tension in the area was a steel wire ready to snap while they all balanced upon it. The center figure took long, languid strides to the edge of the circle and slipped between two of the waiting people. The rich, velvety cloak dragged on the floor and gave them the illusion of floating. It wouldn't surprise him if they actually were, though.
Blood is Mine held his breath as he listened to the near-unintelligible rustle of the ground as the leader slunk around the circle. They worked so hard to get to this moment. His arms ached all the way down to his calloused hands, covered in scars and blood. It all came down to one choice. One Chosen. The footsteps got closer to him. And closer. And closer. He felt like he was hallucinating when the leader paused behind him.
He strangled back the gasp he wanted to let out as the leader placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. Blood is Mine watched at the corner of his eye as they reached another hand over his opposite shoulder, revealing an arm covered in runes and fingers stained through dark magic. The leader began chanting and he felt a tingle alight within him and travel from the hand on his shoulder to his heart and mind. The tingle simmered into an itch, and he felt the structure of his jaw change. Fangs stretched painfully from his existing teeth. His eyes changed, the dark no longer a problem for him. He smelled the blood, stronger now, on all of them, but especially on the figure in the center.
"Go," the leader whispered, "Their blood is yours." The leader flicked their outstretched arm and the runes began to glow. The prone man, like a puppet, lurched up to his feet. He hung there, like an offering. "Go."
Dice rolls
[20] = 20 1d20:
[
20
]
= 20
Last edited by lilacfishie on Sat Nov 25, 2023 9:30 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 371
The stage lights were as blinding as miniature suns, and the spring lock suit was as oppressive and suffocating as a casket, but rather than being distressed, Will was in his element. His average body felt like a hermit crab pried from its shell, exposed and vulnerable to harm. On stage, he was something else, someone else, and it strummed on the most primal chords of his psyche like a lyre.
He'd never really imagined himself as a performer when he was young; he'd instead aspired to create and invent, to do something that changed the world, whether it was running a business or coming up with something that no one else had seen before and redefining the rules they all lived by. Acting had never even crossed his mind; his father had stamped out any confidence in him very early, and it had been incredibly slow to return.
i
But here he was, doing something he had found that he loved. It didn't matter that his audience was children; they believed, they were inspired, and they hung on his every gesture.
He knew they would love the yellow rabbit on the stage and trust it utterly. He was magical in their eyes as he juggled and performed, a robot come to life, a character straight out of fiction. As they got older, there would be less and less magic in their life, but right now, he was the magic; he was the magician.
The weight of the metal frame hardly seemed to touch him; he felt invincible in this suit, even with the oppressive smell of sweat in his nostrils and the itchy fur against his skin. His body would grow accustomed to this shell in time, he thought. He felt more natural in the suit than he ever did otherwise. He was here, alive and felt immortal.
"Is everyone ready for a song?" he asked, smiling and was met by enthusiastic cheers from his audience.
"Let's ask Fredbear to join in!" he said, turning to the other performer on the stage with him and smiling with a love he could hardly contain.
A circus performer, a dancer, an actor; on stage, you are the master of your soul, and you are sharing it with the world.
A wizard grants you any magical ability or superpower that you want with no downside.
High Times has always wished she could turn into a frog. With her new medical power, she connects to the world in unforeseen ways. She is one with the frogs.
Dice rolls
[19] = 19 1d20:
[
19
]
= 19
Last edited by Owlsomniac on Sat Nov 25, 2023 9:00 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 49
A woodworker, a carpenter, a potter; you use your hands to create things and you are building yourself a home, whatever that means.
A gardener by trade, she's decided to take her business to the next level by offering hand made pottery to go with every purchase. The combination of beautiful, unique, roses and gorgeous handmade art is a killer combination. Pretty soon, she's able to save enough to purchase her first home - a tiny house on a huge plot of land she turns into a garden and wildlife sanctuary.
Dice rolls
[2] = 2 1d20:
[
2
]
= 2
Last edited by Owlsomniac on Sat Nov 25, 2023 9:03 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 96
As an assassin, you're used to being trained to get rid of your targets. But you also kind of want a vacation.
He's heard South America is nice this time of year, and there are lots of exotic arachnids native to the region. He's always been curious about keeping spiders.
Username: SkylerKarashi Prompt response: One of your childhood toys has come alive!
Rain Bone yawned as he curled up for the night. He curled himself around a what looked like a few twigs and twine jumbled up to look like a stick horse toy. He watched his toy through slow blinks. One of his last blinks, he swore he saw it begin to move. His eyes shot open when he felt it move against his side. Questions ran through his brain, but a soft shhh went through his head and he felt comfort from the stick toy, feeling warmth coming from what he could only compare to motherly warmth as he dozed into slumber.
Username: Skyler Karashi Prompt response: You are the chosen one! The chosen one of what?
Seriously...? This is so stupid... Rain Bone sat in the forest, being "crowned" king of the mice! Apparently one of his markings was a marking of the chosen hero of mice! What even is a hero of mice anyways...? Ugh... Regardless of what he thought, he stood proud while four little mice crawled up his back and assembled a crown around his horns, the others on the ground cheering while they did so.
Username: SkylerKarashi Prompt response: The planet is collapsing in on itself and you have to get off of it. But where do you go?
Rain Bone felt panic in his his soul, but he knew he needed to keep a level head. Did he know where he was going? absolutely not, but he was going somewhere. His soul told him to head to the biggest tree in the forest, so that's where he was going. Hopefully... the tree had some answers in store for him.
A letter arrives in the mail one day with news of someone you lost. What does it say?
Returning to that post-apocalyptic future I used earlier...
Life in the wasteland was often nasty, brutish, and short- and Strange Creature, formerly of the Fiends and now an enterprising entrepreneur with her own... enterprise providing protection services from fearsome beasts, had experienced her share of loss. Her parents were long lost to her, having been picked off or left or something years back. Maybe one of the fledgling governments, maybe another raider tribe, maybe a different fearsome beast. She didn't have any siblings she knew about, although given how the Fiends were... she probably had some half-siblings floating around somewhere. And she'd lost pets before, mostly to animals that had become her other pets. The point was, she didn't have a lot of people in her life, and she kinda liked it that way. After all, her protection racket wouldn't work if people knew who she was. And her deathclaw companion was pretty good company- that and the mostly-not-busted radio she carried with her was pretty much all she needed.
She was napping under an old, decaying billboard that had collapsed, making a shady spot that with a still-decent view of the road. She knew her deathclaw would be off hunting, but wouldn't stray too far- so she wasn't too worried. But it was still alarming when somebody showed up and roused her, because this person was clearly insane.
They were wearing some kind of uniform, and it looked of ancient manufacture. The fabric was rotting in places, patched both over and under in various shades of denim... and even the patches were of dubious age and provenience. A peaked cap sat atop their head, and a tin badge was pinned to it. The badge was painted with the worst approximation of a bird she'd ever seen. They carried a leather satchel and wore strangely shiny black shoes. Black like a giant radscorpion shell, which... huh, maybe they were.
"I have a letter here for you," they said, grinning. "Take it. It's important." They pulled a sealed envelope from their bag and proffered it to her, presenting it as though it was the crown jewels or like, some non-irradiated medical supplies.
Strange Creature stared at him, goat skull helmet askew. "What."
"A letter! For you! To be delivered to this address, to the occupant herein. It's important."
"What."
"A letter! Please, take it. It's important."
"Who- what- why- how would anybody send me a letter? How would they know where to find me, and how would they know I didn't have my de- I mean, that it was safe to approach? Who are you, and why would they trust you with it?"
The stranger straightened up, popping a stitch in their oft-repaired uniform. “Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail shall keep the postmen from their appointed rounds."
"What? What does that even mean? What is sleet? You came through rain to give me this? Where? Who is this from?"
"I can't say- I didn't open it. That's a federal offense, and I swore an oath. Perhaps it's from someone who loves you? Your mother, or father perhaps?"
"My parents are dead, pal. Probably."
The postperson gleamed. "And there you have it! Probably! I'm sure this is from one of them, and definitely not a 200 year old piece of junk mail that miraculously survived nuclear armageddon!"
Strange Creature really wished her deathclaw would come back. "If I take it, will you leave me alone?" She reached out for the letter, and the smiling stranger handed it to her, then walked away whistling something jaunty. She sank back under the lean-to of the fallen billboard, turning the envelope over and over in her hands. What if, as improbably as it seemed, it was a letter from her parents. What if they really were alive, having fled the Fiends themselves- or had been taken prisoner, or something? What if this letter was the only way she could know for sure? As improbable as it was, she opened it. She scanned the page of text, going over it again and again, until she finally had to say something.
You teach because you love it, because you want to share your knowledge of something you're passionate about. What is it?
As students trickled in, the lizard wizard sat atop her desk, robe sleeves clipped up and hair thrown up messily under hat. She peered out at her class, the first she'd ever taught. A recent graduate of the mage's college herself, she'd matriculated up the ranks and into tertiary studies, and at some point, they'd accidentally hired her. Odd, but not unexpected- this college, with its nooks and crannies and horribly adventurous students, was just the sort of place to stumble into a teaching job. But her real luck came in what she got to teach. Nobody had a class with a name as cool as hers, and she waved as the students found their seats.
"Good morning, everyone! Welcome to Dragons. Everybody seated? Good. Now, I had your syllabi delivered earlier, but just in case you haven't read it, this is a practicum in understanding the fundamentals of dealing with dragons, searching for dragons, calling on dragons, and even talking with dragons. In this classroom, you will be able to explore what it means to understand a dragon, and how to remain safe around them. There's no textbook in the world that can help you with this. The only way you can study dragons and actually get anything out of it... is to study dragons."
With that, she bent down and removed a strange creature from its carrying case. It was about three feet long, with a stout neck, strong claws, a thick tail, and wings springing from its back. It was mottled in color, with beige, black, and brown dapples covering its entire body. The little dragon's eyes were bright, and a long forked tongue flicked in and out. It nestled into the lizard wizard's arms, snuggling contentedly.
"Observe- dragons do do that tongue thing. Class, this is your first dragon." Strange Creature gazed down at the beast in her arms with love.
The small dragon stared out at the class, and instinctively they moved back. They'd heard of dragons, of course- they knew their supposed destructive natures, heard of their foul tempers. Strange Creature chuckled. "What, you thought I'd introduce you to one of the big ones right away? That's lesson one. Not all dragons are the same. The big ones of legend, the ones that are so rare- they're not what the vast majority of dragons are like." She stroked the creature. "This is an Argentinian Flamejowl, and this one's an adult female. The males get a bit bigger, about five feet long and thirty-five pounds maximum. They store a flammable secretion- kind of an oil, like sebum in mammals- in the pouches in their jowls, hence the name. It's also a quick way to tell the boys from the girls, since the males' cheeks are so much bigger. They use their flame for territorial spats- they're scavengers moreso than hunters, and very curious. This one's my baby- I've had her for years, and she's never flamed at a student, not once. Now, let's not bother with any of the theory or factual aspects of this class today. Instead, let's get in a tactile experience."
The students stared at her, timid and maybe confused. She smiled at them. "That means you need to come up here and pet her. Get to know her, and let her get to know you. She knows people, loves them. The end goal of this class is you learning to love her, and I have every confidence that by the end of this course, you'll feel just as strongly as I do."
You are a knight and your duty is to serve, no matter who - or what - that is.
Half Truth was a knight, and she didn't want to be one. Not at first. She was an unimportant daughter of an important house, and she was born to be a bartering chip. She was a promise, nothing more, and promises must be kept and fulfilled. The original plan had been to marry her off, or pledge her to the church, or do whatever it was you did with extraneous daughters. She'd been shipped to some backwater fen to eventually marry the son of the lord of a mold-ridden keep, and when she'd arrived, the drudgery nearly killed her. She spent her days sparring, for her betrothed was a dreary milquetoast of a man, and hardly interested in what she had to offer. She wasn't interested in him, either, and knew their eventual union would be entirely political. She almost looked forward to the fallout from their affairs, just because it would be interesting- but she despaired of ever finding meaning.
But then the keep had fallen, and she'd been taken as a different kind of promise. The White Rose emblem had risen over the castle, and the commander of their army had seen something in her. Maybe it was a spark in her eyes, or the spirit of rebellion- but whatever it was, he didn't take her for ransom or as a political prisoner. He took her as a trainee- and in the corps of the White Rose, she learned to channel her spirit. She learned strength, she learned discipline, and she learned tactics. She was young, oh so young, far too young to be anybody's wife when the White Rose took her in- and as she grew from maiden to maven, she even learned to accept that the White Rose, who she'd been told was the Enemy, really were no different than any of the other royal houses. The difference is that they respected her. She fought with duty, but with no particular passion- until she saw the Queen.
She was beautiful, and a little sad, and had the most wonderful laugh the young knight had ever heard. She was delicate, her porcelain skin almost translucent. For the first time in Half Truth's life, she understood what it was to choose what you fought for. She knew she was just a knight, and the Queen was, well, the Queen. But that didn't matter, because she would fight for her. She would die for her. She would live for her, and as she stood on the precipice, her horse pawing the ground, she realized one of those two choices would come to bear today. Looking down on the battlefield, she wheeled her steed around, the two of them moving as one. If she died today, it would be a good death. A death for honor. A death for duty. A death for love.
Or perhaps she would live. Perhaps she would win the day for her Queen, her love, her duty. Perhaps she could go home at the end, home to the court of the White Rose. She was a knight, and her duty was to serve, no matter who - or what - that is. But there was no rule that said you couldn't take joy in that duty, and if she fought for the Queen of the Roses... well, that in itself was joy enough.
This is your kingdom. This is what you protect. This is what you would sacrifice your life for.
Queen Starla Collett stood atop a hill overlooking her candy kingdom. With a crown made of golden gumballs and a heart as big as a candy whale, she taught her subjects the importance of kindness and working together to make their magical land the sweetest place it could be. Even when the Tooth Protectors invaded, causing chaos in the cotton candy forests, Queen Starla didn't back down, she led the negotiations even when her life was at risk.
As Ash typed away on his keyboard, he accidentally dropped his tea on the brown and white Pound Puppy toy he was holding. Before he could even clean up the mess, it suddenly came alive. Startled, Ash dropped the toy. Spot's oval eyes blinked with concern as it tipped its head from side to side, letting out a soft woof sound. When Ash reached out his hand, Spot bumped it with his nose and licked it. Ash then glanced at the tea container and read, "STEPPED IN MAGIC." How is this possible?
You teach because you love it, because you want to share your knowledge of something you're passionate about. What is it?
Mary puts on her brown-colored apron with green polka dots and gets the baking ingredients ready. Today, she's teaching a chocolate class. With the ingredients gathered and the molds set out, she's excited to show others how to make her mint leaf chocolates.
