Creative Corner

@Chrisondra

:o! I loved the descriptions and emotions in this. The bitter sacrifice, the burning anger, the rebellion of Edith and the relief of everyone else. The ending was a twist that I didn't expect! Overall amazing job!

@egwu

I'm dying and I blame you for it. thrust omg There's a feeling of resignation I get from it that the shorter length only seems to emphasizes but also an almost ambiguous ending. Did he die? Was he saved? WHO KNOWS. All in all I enjoyed it!

@humanityxpeople

Oof poor Aurora D: Being sacrificed before she was ready, and then being forgotten despite all the work she put in. It does make me wonder the story behind this community that has so many regular sacrifices and why she was take early. A couple of typoes that I noticed (or maybe I'm wrong lol wut is grammar) but another good one!

@lessthan3

A chilling piece! There's a horror written throughout it that I enjoyed and a solid amount of world building done in such a short piece. Evan as a character confused me just a little bit in that I'm not sure if he truly loved her or not with his lack of fear for others. Appreciate the IW reference if that beginning is what I think it was tho XD

@Dragonartist24

Yeah def not in the running without the words :p sorry about that! I'm concerned about the amount of blood she lost, and perhaps I would suggest giving the girl a name next time? Names help connect and relate a character to the reader! I find hard, personally, to care about a girl, when there are more specific characters I could root for. Personalization goes a long way!

@MyPilot

Ooooh I like that it's from the wickerman's POV! The simpler vocabulary reflects the intelligence of the wickerman. A rather creative take on the prompt and I loved the way you used fingernails. I wanted him to be able to survive! Which made the sacrifice at the end all the more potent.

Winner: MyPilot
Runner up: Chrisondra

Awesome job y'all!

Prompt: Resistance
Words: Abundance, crow, day, lovely, night, priest, rely, remember, tired, wind
Deadline: The 22nd, 23:59/rollover

@MyPilot

“Your Majesty, they are here.”

Heir’Sass lifted his head, the wind catching locks of his dark mane and tossing them back over his shoulders. The sky was a lovely shade of azure, rays of sunlight slicing through the trees to splotch the jungle undergrowth. Crows could be heard in the distance, their caws heralding the coming of death as they invited each other to the imminent feast.

It was not a good day to die.

The monarch looked to the messenger, dismissing him with a quiet nod before he scanned his people. They were scared, but determined to defend their homeland and livelihood from the invading elves. Most of all, however, they were tired and worn. The past week had been spent fighting and dismantling the preliminary elven assaults. They had been harried both day and night, and though more elves had fallen than his own people, Heir’Sass could see the misery etched into each and every scaled face as they prepared for the final battle. They were out-numbered at least ten to one.

“Your Majesty. Should I ready the line?”

Heir’Sass looked to his loyal general and gave a brief nod. “But I will be the front line.”

“Your Majesty?” the general asked, one dark eyebrow raising. “We cannot protect you on the front line.”

“I do not need protection, General,” Heir’Sass said, his voice edged with steel. “I must, however, try and put an end to this before our people are lost.”

The general fell silent, and the monarch scanned his people again, his lips drawing into a thin, lightly scaled line. “Look at them, General. We won’t even last until sunset if something is not done. I will try and parlay with King Arhana first.”

The general’s shadowed expression betrayed his pessimism, but he could find no words that would sway the king. He was right, their people were doomed but for a miracle.

Without waiting for confirmation, King Heir’Sass slithered forward on thick black coils accented in iridescent greens and blue scales. His serpentine body rose up into an elven torso that was shielded by a breastplate of the finest arcanium. Thin and lightweight, the arcanium shifted and weaved with its owner’s fluid movements, but gave him far better protection than any other metal could offer.

The general prayed it would be enough as his eyes followed the thin golden crown that marked his liege until it disappeared amidst the warriors.

An abundance of wildflowers bloomed in the wake of the afternoon sun as King Heir’Sass watched the elves ride their steads into the wide meadow. At the head of the force, a young elf bore the banner of Evercall, red and silver against the dark greens of the jungle behind them. The world hushed. Even the crows stopped their anxious cries.

“I will see your king!” Heir’Sass called to the elves as he slid forward a few feet through the tender grasses. “I wish to speak to him!”

The elves glanced to one another, but a pathway appeared amongst their ranks, and soon a brilliant stead of pure white came trotting into the open meadow, bearing a tall elf who carried himself with pride and grace.

“I will meet you in the middle of the meadow, King Garthis Arhana. We will each bring one man!”

The elven king tipped his head but then gave a single nod before motioning behind him. A younger lad, no older than a late adolescent, rode up to his side. King Heir’Sass relaxed, allowing a slight smile to cross his face as he motioned to his general. If the king was willing to risk someone so young, certainly he would truly be willing to talk. Optimism started to lighten the king’s heart as he slithered through the grasses, a soft hiss of movement to his left telling him his general was immediately behind. Still, he gripped his spear and absently tapped his armor, reassuring himself they were still there.

King Garthis dropped from his horse as he neared, and the young elf behind him followed suit. They strode forward to meet Heir’Sass and his general, a breeze wafting through the grasses between them. The king had his sword out, but the point was lowered, and Heir’Sass thought nothing of it. After all, it was only fair since he had his spear.

“Greetings, King Arhana,” Heir’Sass said, giving a respectful incline of his head.

As his eyes lowered in that brief instant, he saw the flash of metal. His mouth opened, his arm moved, but it was already too late. The blade, etched with a prayer to the elven goddess, slid through his armor as though it were nothing but leaves. Time slowed. He heard his general cry out, but the cry was cut short. A blowgun was at the young elf’s lips, his eyes lit with triumph. Heir’Sass felt his heartbeat falter, but still his soul was locked to his body. He should have been passing to the doorway of death. He should have been granting his last asai unto his people, his final gift.

His soul clawed and scraped, but his flesh caged him, anchored by the sacred metal that pierced his chest.

“The priest was right, Father. We have him.”

Heir’Sass’s vision went black, but he heard. He heard the thundering horse hooves as the elves advanced. He heard the panicked screams and war cries of his people behind him. He drew his final ragged breath, calling on his god, relying on the last tendril of strength his soul could muster. As he exhaled, he forced out a single word in a language the elves did not know. He felt the power of the word explode from him as his asai escaped. Elves shouted in confusion. No more did he hear his people preparing to die. It had worked. He had sent them all deep into the mountains, disoriented surely, but alive.

“Find them! Find them” the elven king roared. The cry echoed in the recesses of Heir’Sass’s dying body as the sword reeled in his soul and bound it within the steel.

He released his mortal flesh, praying only that his people would survive. That one day, he would be free, and the Sagai would still be alive and remember.

@Mypilot

The harsh call of the crows echoed through the ruined city. The sun hung low on the horizon, its tired light barely piercing through the heavy smoke that hung over the once-great citadel, so that the only way day could be distinguished from night was whether the acrid air was orange or black.

Alma stepped through the empty streets, freezing when she saw a shadowed figure on the corner. As a rare breath of wind shifted the smoke like a parting curtain, she let out a sigh of relief and ran to him.

"Rahel," she whispered. "al'Ashanon." May Asha look favorably upon you.

"Alma," he breathed in return. "Asha'ahal." The blessing of Asha to you. It was a response only a priest could give.

"Is there any word of the Masks' plans?" Alma asked Rahel, drawing her cloak around her and shivering as the unseasonable wind stirred up again. Somehow it did not lift the smoke, which seemed to have settled in, lending the permanent ashy pallor of bone to everything around. The city felt like death.

"If we are to rely on Marcus' word, then all those who have pledged are to gather and make a last stand against the devil-King tomorrow morn."

"Do you truly believe that aharA'ran is in him?" Alma asked, searching Rahel's face for asnwers.

Rahel looked down at her for a long time, then turned away.

"If she is, then we are doomed."

Alma gasped, but Rahel continued in a flat monotone.

"Alma, I am a priest. I was given remembrance. When the world was young and Asha's feet sprang the saplings of the Great Forest, after her tears at the death of Malachi salted the oceans, humanity was graced. Then, we could have fought a greater devilry, from the reaches of the gates or even beyond. Now, we are diminished."

Alma scowled. "I'm not a priest, but I know what the soldiers say: battles are won at the end, but lost before they are begun. There is no sword more dangerous than one's own mind. Rahel, I'd thought more of you."

"I will still be on the front lines, whether or not we may win the fight," Rahel said, with steel in his voice.

"There is no valor in fighting to a causeless death," Alma spat back, and turned on her heel, walking away and disappearing into the smoke.

*****

"al'Ashanon," the woman in the red dress spoke to the purple-cowled figure on her right.

"Asha'ahalala," Rahel returned Alma's greeting. All the blessings of Asha to you. "You wear the robes of a Grand Mage."

"Yes," Alma replied simply.

"Rahel looked down, smiling. "Then perhaps we have a chance against whatever devilry comes out of those caves after all."

Alma looked up, surprised. "atri'Asha?" Faith in Asha?

"Asha'ti." Asha is in you. "I have faith in you, Alma."

There was a heavy booming sound, and the ground shuddered. It kept shaking, as legions of unholy creatures rushed out of the caves and galloped and scampered and clawed their way across the ground between the armies. The source of the booming became apparent when the king himself strode out, horseless, his eyes glowing a mad shade of yellow. He let out a guttural roar, then the two sides met like fire and water, each causing the other to go up in an abundance of death.

"Rahel," Alma screamed over the tide of battle, as she felt yet another mage's life force twist away, corrupted into some thing too terrible to name. She froze when she saw him fighting toe to toe with the king, wearing a crown of sweat and dried blood.By now it was clear that the king was completely with aharA'ran, wielding powers that even the priests and priestesses with their divine grace could barely withstand. She saw Kaharana collapse, writhing, as her skin turned blue and she slowly bled out from the inside. Ja'ar fell shortly after as his armor melted, sinking into his skin. He screamed as the heat of the metal cooked him alive.

Alma felt the breath knocked out of her as something hit her and she tumbled to the ground. Her casting arm was pinned under her, and she scrabbled ineffectually for her sword, struggling under the weight of some half-rotted creature. It leered at her as she rolled and kicked and scratched.

Alma knew that she was going to die, but she was going to fight to the last second and give this creature hell.

Suddenly, the creature stopped and backed away, though the weight did not lift. Alma craned her neck to see the king holding Rahel up by the throat, his purple robes turning to the blue of the high priest.

"No," Alma whispered.

She felt out for the other mages, but they were all dead or turned. On the battlefield, only three humans remained: the General Ni'hira, Rahel, and herself. They, the final barrier between these creatures and humanity, had fallen.

They were not put in chains, but they nonetheless were compelled to march back to the city, where the citizens spilled unwillingly out into the streets, filling the market square and the tiers around it. Realtime images were conjured into the air so that all could see. The three were led to a platform in the middle.

"You will submit or you will perish," the king was saying. "If we are like to a plague, it is in such a way that we will obliterate those who stand against us. At this time, you may surrender."

There was no motion from the crowd.

"Very well, then," the kind said. "We shall do this by force."

Faintly, Alma felt the twisting of minds too young to be fully aware of their magehood, but old enough to be aware of their humanity. She bit back a cry, which would nevertheless have been drowned out by the growing screams of the now locked-in-place crowd. They were all being slaughtered. She had thought that the three of them would be made an example of, but it seemed destruction, not domination, was the king's goal.

A thick, heavy silence fell after some time.

"Well?" The king stood before them.

"I will never yield," General Ni'hira said, and spat.

She cried out as she was compressed, smaller and smaller until she was nothing more than a tiny stone in a puddle of blood.

"You were right," Alma sobbed, looking over to Rahel. "We never had a chance. All hope is lost. We are the last of humanity."

"Not all hope," Rahel said.

"What makes you think there is hope left?" the king snarled.

"Humanity breathes its last, but someday you will too. Someday beyond all of us, Asha's light will rise again. That battle will always be won before it is begun. I see it in your eyes, hear it in the fear in the tenor of your voice. There is nothing permanent but Asha, and she is hope. Hope will always remain!"

His voice had swelled, but got suddenly quiet. "And we will continue to fight. You think you are annihilating us but you will never-"

He was cut off as he exploded, in a shower of red.

"Do you have anything to add?" the king panted, walking up so that they were nose to nose, and she was staring right into his crazed eyes.

You don't even know if this is going to work. Well, you're going to die either way, might as well try to make your death as meaningful as your life. But it still might not - try anyway.

She looked up, away, as she took a deep breath. Through a gap in the smoke, she could see a star. If she had been able to see the whole sky, she would have known it was Asha'ara, the Queen's Star.

"Yes," she said softly. "Beharu-asha'Nihan!" May I become the power of Asha!

The spell, normally forbidden to any but priests for the simple fact that it would destroy those who did not directly serve Asha, coursed through her. She screamed, feeling it obliterating her body, but grabbed on to the king in her last moments of awareness, and again looked up at the one visible star. It was a lovely last sight to see.

I resisted.

The priest stood over the bed, cross raised and babbling words of Latin that twisted around my insides and burned like the hot winds of hell. I tightened my grip on the girl, curling her fingers against the mattress, scrabbling for purchase even as my back bowed against the pain. I hissed, foam bubbling from the girl’s mouth and eyes rolling wildly. It was so hard to keep a hold of her. I was tired of fighting, but I didn’t want to go back there either. I didn’t want to be cast out into the night, the cold. I didn’t want to be dragged back into hell.

There was a time many days past when I had been a simple crow demon. I had been one of many – a murder of crows. We had haunted graveyards, picking out the weak and helpless, draining them, feeding on their fears and ill-intents. There had been an abundance of terror to feed on in the dark. It had been a wonderful existence. Lovely, even.

Then one of our murder had decided that the pickings were not enough. That being lesser demons was not good enough for us anymore. They had an original thought, and like the flock that we were – a single group mind that relied on one another to exist – we followed that one. We followed it to our doom. I struggled to keep possession of the girl’s body as the priest strove to exorcise me from her. I struggled, and I remembered how simple life had been, before I had been thrown out into the cold and forced to think for myself.

That lesser crow demon had sought to make us greater demons – ones capable of possession. It could be done, we proved it. But the humans learned quickly what we were and how to drive us out. I screamed now, as another round of pain sizzled through me, and I knew that I could hold on no longer. I poured from the girl’s mouth in a cloud of black smoke and flung myself into the air. I wouldn’t go back to hell, I wouldn’t. But I could feel its tendrils grasping at me, dragging me down.

I called out for my murder but they did not answer. How could they, when they were either already recalled to hell for our sins, or fighting for control of their own vessels? Graveyard pickings would not satisfy us anymore. How could they, when we had tasted power so great? There was no sweeter food than the humans supplied us at their terror of having a demon inside of them.

I laughed at what I had become, even as the fingers of hell wrapped around me and dragged me downwards.

I laughed, and still I resisted. I did not want to go home. Not yet. I wanted to fly once more.

Just one more time.

I fell.

@Mypilot

The town of Nharsa was famous for it's abundance: abundant food, abundant water, abundant peace and, when peace failed, abundant soldiers. It was small, idyllic, and lovely, a favored passing-through point for any traveler. Nothing was ever found lacking there, and often travelers were sorely tempted to stay there forever.

Such abundance was unnatural, however. Few of the ordinary citizens knew just how Nharsa had become a paradise, but they didn't care to know. Telling them would only incite fear, a riot through the streets. Still, some needed to remember, and that's where us priests come in. We're both leaders of religion and historians, loved by the people yet keeping secrets from them.

Centuries and centuries ago, Nharsa was not such a paradise. Its people toiled under the hot sun during the day in their fields and farmlands, grateful for even the smallest bit of wind, too exhausted to do much more than slump into their beds at night and fall asleep immediately. Too tired to even attempt to do more. Survival was a harsh, bitter thing back then.

And then, so the tales are written, a young man arrived in the town, dressed in a shabby replica of noblemen's clothing--it had to be a replica, for what true nobleman would be so ill-dressed? The tales comment of the crow perched on his shoulder, of his piercing red-gold eyes, of how, if one were to see his shadow out of the corner of their eye, he had horns and wings.

Quite quickly the young man slipped into acting like an ordinary citizen of Nharsa. If one ignored the crows flapping about, or did not look directly in his eyes, or took care to only look at his shadow head-on, one could almost forget he hadn't suddenly just appeared one day. From what the tales say, most people did exactly that, and--somehow--even invented reasons why he had no family, why he had been gone for so long. He was charming and ambitious, and eventually the town grew to rely upon him.

He resisted the slog the people went through daily, telling them all there was a better way. A better life. Most adults simply shrugged off his eloquent speeches, for they had wished for the same once upon a time, and it had never come to fruition. But the youth, well, they still had hope. They wanted to believe in the man's words.

Months after his arrival, he opened up a portal to another world. We don't know what exactly came through--the tales are hazy on this--but it was powerful enough to alter the magic of the land. In exchange for a promise yet to be made good on, the being would give the people of Nharsa whatever they wished for.

And so it became a paradise, at least for the unknowing. The cost of this abundance is still lurking, a heavy burden on the shoulders of us priests.Year by year, we try to subtly encourage the people to do more for themselves, instead of relying on Nharsa's blessing/curse to provide for them. We try to lessen the impact, in hopes that it will lessen the cost. But resisting against the majority, I fear, is a near-impossible feat. What else can we do, though?

@Chrisondra – I don’t know why but the name Heir’Sass had me going “this is gonna be good” cause like. No one has a name like that and isn’t cool as hell. Also WOW WHAT AN ARSEHOLE. Friggen elves. I’m seething. Listen, I love Heir’Sass. He deserved better. Why must you make me feel things, C? Why must you make me want novels of this stuff?

@lessthan3 – This is like?? Idk how can you just spring a whole culture from nothing, but I am so amazed. This is Pilot fuel right here, and I demand more. This feels like a slice of a beautiful, expansive story that I really want to read. The last para LITERALLY gave me chills.

@Egwu – You made me sad for a demon. H u h. I really liked the last few lines. I could almost hear them in my head, all dramatic and final. I feel like I could picture a tv show about this or smthn, about all those demons just tryna get by. Poor things.

@Skyeset – oml I love the idea of these priests just. tryna do their best against whatever that man is. A whole town bewitched? But not even by magic, just by greed. 10/10, love the human condition

The winner for this round, after much debate between me myself and I, is lessthan3 cause I don’t often shiver over prompt replies and frankly I wasn’t ready. Runner-up is Chrisondra for once again writing something that I want a book of. If I make you lot win will it grant me that sweet, sweet content? Probably not, but it’s nice to dream. The take away to all this is you guys need to feed me books and tv shows.

@Mypilot Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it!

New prompt: 1) Despite being the good guys, despite a desperate last stand, despite having the power of hope on their side, the good guys still lose. Irreversibly.

Words: despair, unbroken, flower, resolve, star, battle, toxin, people, final, victory

Deadline: Sunday, August 26th @ 23:59 (rollover)

@SamIamLuvDov @humanityxpeople @Annalynn @SolusPrime379 @Lightshadow101 @demonslayr62 @Chrisondra @Mypilot @lessthan3 @PixieKnight3264 @coyearth @SocialBookWorm @Kiradog234 @Skyeset @AloneTogether @frostt @misericordieuse @favvn @Restless @Auraelia @Reiyn @After @Moonwater @Mochaccino @SariStar @Dragonartist24

@Sillywinter

May I be removed from the pinglist please? I tried to do it myself, but it says that the google docs is in the owner's trash.

@Moonwater

I have removed you. We made a new self-editting pinglist as we are likely to lose Sillywinter's.

:)