Tag / fantasy

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 20: Not Quite A Glow-Up

Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. Today’s story is a 369er, 3 separate but related stories, each using only 69 words.

Solar Ivybell’s phone pinged with the news that she’d been waiting to receive for 33 years: Eris’s Comet to Make Earth Fly-By September 8. Solar had been 16 when it last came to Earth, carrying Eridians that had fed on Earthlings’ memories and implanted false ones. Thankfully, Solar had discovered the magical power to hurl them back into space, as long as she had her beloved, equally magical friends.

Angel Moonwater and Lotus Fallenbloom hadn’t talked to Solar in years. Not since Solar had made a drunken maid of honor speech at their wedding, made the day all about her, and used her sacred magic to literally shine on the dance floor. “Do we really need to team up with her?” Lotus groaned. “Eridians are bad, but she’s a sparkly disaster. I’d almost prefer the Eridians invade instead.”

Angel and Lotus found an Eridian scout before the main force arrived. Angel interrupted its declaration of revenge. “We’re not going to hurt you. Instead, we have a request.” The Eridian snapped its pincers, curious. “Can you eat the memories from our wedding and implant a new one? Something happy.” The Eridian obliged. When Solar texted them about the impeding invasion, they happily reunited to kick some alien butt.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 18: The Queen and the Seal Lord, Pt. 3

Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. This is the final part of “The Queen and the Seal Lord” which was really only supposed to be one story but I got carried away. I also know that the description of Raghnall should have come sooner in the story, but between the first story and this one I decided that selkies have dad bod and I needed to include it.

Part 1
Part 2

Raghnall ducked his head under the waves. He was still trapped in human for, his knees weak, stomach roiling. He trembled, but that had nothing to do with the ocean’s chill. His seal coat was moving further inland, carried by someone with intent to do him harm. And he was forced to rely on Queen Gráinne — the same queen that just slapped him for insubordination — to return it.

A small pod of Raghnall’s trusted companions encircled him. Two were in seal form, swimming around him. The third stood on two legs, holding a net and trident and standing alert.

Réalta should have been among them. Her death was too recent to inspire grief in the selkie pod, only anger. If Raghnall survived this, he would see Réalta’s killers flayed.

Raghnall poked his head out from the water and breathed out a sigh. The shaking in his slightly webbed fingers stopped. Gráinne had his seal coat, and she was bringing it to him.

As soon as the queen arrived on the shore, her mount dark with sweat, she ran towards the sea. The selkies let her pass. Wordlessly, Gráinne held the seal coat out to Raghnall.

He donned it quickly, human feet becoming fins once more. He barked once, then dove into the ocean. The pod followed him.

A week later, Gráinne received a request for an audience. “He’s here now, my queen,” the courier said, almost apologetically. Few would be so bold to just assume the queen had the time or inclination to meet with them.

“Is he dressed?” Gráinne asked.

The courier’s pale cheeks turned pink. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Send him in.”

As a seal, Raghnall was svelte and strong; as a man, the extra blubber from his seal form settled on his limbs and torso. His whiskers had become a Van Dyke mustache and beard, which Gráinne felt rather suited him. He wore black trousers that had been patched multiple times, an open-breasted red shirt that popped against his gray skin, and a long, dark coat. At the collar was a with an embossed elk antler, marking him as a privateer.

“Hardly a suitable wardrobe to meet the queen in, but at least you have one this time,” Gráinne remarked. She stood up from her writing desk to greet him.

Raghnall bowed at the waist. “Was that a joke, Your Majesty?”

“They’ve been known to happen,” Gráinne replied once he’d straightened.

“I’m afraid at our last meeting I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I bring you thanks from Réalta’s family for returning her coat to them.” Raghnall reached into his pocket and produced two pink studs, shined to a polish: coral earrings. “They asked me to give you these.”

“Thank you.” Gráinne gingerly took the earrings from his hand. Most selkies owned few things, but loved what they had fiercely. “Please tell her family I will treasure them.” She replaced her carved bone earrings with the coral. “From what I knew of her, Réalta was clever and strong.”

“I couldn’t have asked for a better first mate.” Raghnall cleared his throat to keep tears from his voice. “I’d like to apologize to you as well, Ma’am.”

The notion of Raghnall apologizing for anything was so unexpected, Gráinne had to clap her hand over her mouth to stifle a burst of laughter. “Raghnall. You’ve sunk my ships. Raided my shores. I nearly hanged you once.”

Raghnall rubbed at his throat. “‘Nearly’ is the operative word.”

“And never once did you apologize for piracy. So what did you do that was so egregious to warrant one now?”

Raghnall looked away from her, and Gráinne realized that he was trying to hide his embarrassment. Until now, she wasn’t sure he’d even been capable of that particular emotion. “You retrieved my coat without hesitation, even after I blatantly disrespected you. Once I had it back, I did not even thank you.”

Gráinne shrugged a shoulder. “You’ve disrespected me for years. I wasn’t going to let you die out of spite.”

“Except for all the times you actually did try to kill me.”

“That’s different.” Gráinne actually smiled. Her royal duties kept her on land now, but Gráinne remembered her days fostered at sea as some of the best of her life. “The one time I did manage to arrest you—”

“And nearly hang me,” Raghnall added, unhelpfully.

“I decided to keep you instead.”

The seal lord blinked his inky eyes several times. “What am I supposed make of that?”

Gráinne thought a moment. “That our discussion about Hy-Brasil and your kin crossing the barrier is not finished, I suppose. And that at our next meeting, I expect you clothed.”

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 14: The Queen and The Seal Lord, Pt. 2



Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. This part 2 for The Queen and the Seal Lord. I really thought that part 2 would be the end of it, but this is at 999 words already, and I want to give this story a proper conclusion. Which means that there will be a part 3 at some point. Whoops.

Gráinne felt it only a moment after Raghnall heard it. Intruders on a navy ship. She was on her feet at once, cutting through the peace ties on her sword with a letter-opener from her desk. “Raghnall, see to your crew. And for fuck’s sake, get some trousers on.”

Raghnall had checked his weapons with his Réalta, his first mate, as was protocol. He dashed toward the cabin door, Gráinne just footsteps behind. The selkie froze mid-stride and let out a noise somewhere between a yelp and a gasp. He staggered where he stood, then gripped the wall for support. “Someone has my coat.”

Not just someone. A selkie and his seal coat parted at great risk. There were few he would have given it to willingly. Raghnall’s sudden weakness — his stooped posture, knees trembling — came from someone with ill-intent handling his coat.

“Stay here,” Gráinne demanded and shouldered past him. Just past the door to the captain’s quarters, Gráinne saw Réalta dead. The deep puncture wound at the base of her skull told Gráinne that the seal maiden had no chance to fight back. Whoever had done this had chosen stealth, not brute force.

Gráinne spun at the sound of uneven steps behind her, but it was only Raghnall, who by now had availed himself of a spare cloak, which was tied around his waist. His already ashen skin was growing lighter and lighter. “Is Réalta…”

“I’m sorry.” And Gráinne was. For all her differences with Raghnall, she had always liked his first mate.

“They’re taking the coat inland,” Raghnall said. His voice did not hold the rich timbre that Gráinne liked, one of waves lapping at the shore. He collected his weapons from Réalta, a trident and net, and short club that he normally wore on a belt. “If they bury it—”

“I know.” Disgust filled Gráinne. It was one of the unspoken laws of Fae war. Stealing a selkie’s coat was an unforgivable act. If it were to be buried under a black oak tree overnight, Raghnall would die. “Stay here,” she said again.

Raghnall bared his teeth. “It’s my coat.”

“And you’re in no shape to go after it,” Gráinne snapped back. “Stay in the water. It’ll help. I’ll be back before nightfall.” Before Raghnall could object, she threw herself overboard. Docked in the harbor, the ship wasn’t in deep water. Gráinne moved through it was ease, as though she were walking on dry land. When she reached the shore, she placed her bare palms on the ground, closed her eyes, and felt.

The land was part of her, and she was part of it. It couldn’t tell her who had stolen Raghnall’s coat, but she could feel the wrongness of someone, speeding away from the harbor. She sensed the person’s direction, and the vile tang of retribution they carried with them. This creature was moving at full speed, but not fast enough to avoid being overtaken by Gráinne.

She whistled for her horse, a silver dappled courser, who trotted out to the queen. Gráinne mounted easily, not bothering to saddle the mare. They understood each other, in the same way that the sea offered her only passing resistance and the land told her the direction of her quarry. They raced across the sand, following the thief.

The tracks told Gráinne the thief was traveling on a wild boar. Fierce, nasty creatures that rarely tolerated riders. That narrowed the possibilities of her quarry down some: Fir Bolg, true Orc, or Fomorian. Gráinne’s parents had established an uneasy truce with the Fir Bolg some decades before, and Orcs had no use for stealth. Fomorians were sea raiders, and had never entered into a treaty with the crown.

Finally, Gráinne spotted the boar and its rider. Fomorian, just as she had feared. Gráinne spurred her mare forward. She wouldn’t cut off the Fomorian’s path if she had another option. Her mount had been trained for combat, but she didn’t want it going against the boar’s deadly tusks. Instead, she took the sling that she carried on her belt and loaded a stone into it. The first shot missed her target completely. The second bashed the Fomorian in the back of the head.

The Fomorian lurched forward with shock, then wheeled their boar around to face Gráinne. It was a misshapen humanoid, muscles bulging in strange places and limbs with extra joints. It held a pike in gray-green fingers. Thin, yellow hair covered not just its head, but its entire face. It wore a fur coat spotted with gray and brown; Gráinne instantly recognized it as seal skin. Not selkie, but the selkies considered the animals their cousins. Raghnall would’ve had the Fomorian’s head for that.

Under its arm was Raghnall’s coat.

No Fomorian could resist a challenge by the Tuatha Dé Danann, even a half-human one. It dug its spiked heels into the boar’s side, and charged.

Gráinne found herself wishing for her glaive. She shifted to dismount, but as soon as she did, her courser ran at the boar. Gráinne called out for the horse to retreat, but the mare refused. Instead, she kicked up her powerful back legs, knocking the Fomorian out of its rope saddle. Without its rider, the boar abruptly changed course. It was distracted for now, and Gráinne hoped it would give in to its fatigue soon.

She sprang from her mount, sword in hand, and ran at the unseated Fomorian. It jabbed at her with its pike. Gráinne ducked replied with a kick to its stomach, throwing it off balance. She whirled and smashed the hilt of her sword on the side of its head, stunning the foul thing. Then, she took its head. It was a kinder death than Raghnall had given it.

She took his seal coat and tied it around her waist for safe keeping. Her mare was still standing alert, watching the boar trot away. Gráinne mounted her horse, and turned seaward. “Hold on, Raghnall. I’m coming.”

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 12: Pact-Sworn

Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

Leif had tranced badly for two nights straight. His trance state was rarely pleasant, walking through memories that he’d rather forget. Sometimes he was fortunate enough to have what he suspected his non-elven companions referred to as “dreams” — peaceful moments that showed strange but beautiful things. Sometimes they even showed himself as he wished to be, not as he was.

For the past two nights, his trances had brought him back to Doerin Oloth, the Autumnal Equinox. The nightmare of Lolth invading his mind, leaving Her venom in his soul. A great honor. A blessing.

A curse.

When Leif had awoken with a gasp in the cellar of Trollskull Manner, far from the drow city Menzoberranzan, spiders were gathered around them. His wrists, his throat, clustered together on the spider brand on his neck. He didn’t dare brush them away.

On the third night, after another trance full of spiders and old rituals, the bundle appeared. It sat on the end of Leif’s cot, wrapped in a pouch of spider silk, an oversized egg sac.

The moment he touched it, the strands dissolved into darkness. Inside was a thin book, its cover woven with black silk.

Leif opened it. It was a list of spells that he had never used before, some he had never heard of. The instructions for each were precise.

They were all written in his own script.

“Nau,” Leif hissed in the drow language. He let the book drop from his hands. “Nau, nau, nau.“

She had seen him.

Lolth had so many clerics, warlocks, worshippers. Leif had thought that was enough to keep the Spider Queen’s many eyes away from him. If he lived a small life in Waterdeep, if he didn’t displease Her, if he stayed far away from anything resembling life in the Underdark…that should have been enough to make Her forget him.

But Lolth did not forget.

Leif hurled the book far from himself, trying not to retch or scream or crawl out from his skin. He wanted to do all three.

But it wouldn’t remove the filth already in his soul.

It wasn’t unusual for Leif to be up earlier than the rest of the party. He needed half as much rest as they did, and sometimes refused to trance at all. What was unusual was that he’d ventured upstairs to the first floor of the pub they owned together. Leif tried to avoid the summer light as much as he could. The kettle was boiled, museli heating on the stove, and Leif was scrubbing his hands. For the sixth time.

It made no difference.

Yahg, always an early riser, was the first in the kitchen. The half-orc’s face was always hidden behind an iron mask, the mark of his order. Leif sometimes thought he should do the same, but thought it might draw more attention to him.

“You’re up early,” Yahg remarked.

“Yes.” Leif dried his hands on a dish towel. His fingertips had gone wrinkly.

“And dressed for winter.”

It was true. Leif had given into the summer heat and neglected his usual layers of clothing, at least in the tavern. Now he was back in the cloak, gloves, and scarf that he normally wore in public. “So I am.”

“Is something wrong?”

No one had ever sincerely asked him that question until two years ago, when Leif had first left the Underdark. He still didn’t know how to answer.

But he knew that Yahg would actually care about the answer, and try to fix it. Or offer him compassion and wisdom. And, worse, he would look at Leif through the narrow slots in his mask and actually see him.

“No,” Leif said after a too-long pause.

Yahg accepted the answer, and ladled out two bowls of museli. One for himself, and one for Leif. “Eat,” the monk instructed. “Everything’s a little easier on a full stomach.”

It’s DnD night, what do you want from me? Leif is my drow warlock PC, who really did not want to be a warlock. In-game, he got Pact of the Tome when he hit level 3, which he would’ve been incredibly freaked out about. But his party members are learning that Leif is kind of like a stray cat. Try to approach him and he’ll run; it’s best to let him come to you. I had originally planned a more hopeful ending, but it didn’t flow well, so you’re stuck with drow angst.

I have two other Leif stories! One from last year’s FFM, and one from this year’s.

FFM 1: Spider Whelp
FFM 6: “You’re the druid?”
by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 9: Speaking Ill of the Dead

Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. This is more of a companion piece to the mess that was FFM Day 3: Once There Were, but you don’t need to read it to understand it. In fact, I insist that you don’t. Hoping to get the second part of Gráinne and Raghnall’s story up tomorrow.

Samasita failed. You are allowed to be angry at her for that.

But do not forget how she tried.

She befriended Copper and Brass when unicorns were beginning to shy away from humans. We did not know it then, but they felt the magic that sustained them fading away. They were right to mistrust us. We didn’t hunt unicorns, we never meant to harm them. But we kept shaping the world to what we wanted, and couldn’t see how these primal beings could be hurt by that.

All the magic that was draining away fed the great beast. It was a creature of absence, sustaining itself from magic leaking in the gaps in the world.

Samasita saw what the rest of us did not. She saw a world-devourer, and she saw Copper and Brass suffering. Copper and Brass took her deep below the crust of the earth, and allowed her to reach into the mantle, and bring the world’s glow back to the surface. Only this could banish the great beast. She placed it in her lantern, then she and Copper and Brass rode towards the great beast.

But Copper and Brass were getting smaller. The closer they got to the great beast, the more they shrank. Samasita asked them to turn around. She pleaded. She begged. Each time, they refused.

By the time Samasita reached the maw of the great beast, Copper and Brass were only to her knees. But Samasita did not cower, nor did her friends. Lantern-keeper and unicorns ran into the beast’s maw.

The great beast did not melt away. It did not disperse back to the cracks and gaps of the world. It devoured Samasita, Copper, and Brass.

But it did not devour the lantern, and the golden treasure kept within.

The great beast stopped growing after that, and we have the lantern still to hold it at bay.

I am sorry, too, that unicorns are now found only in dew drops and motes floating in sunbeams. I am angry, too, how we still live in fear of darkness.

But Samasita was the only one among us who was brave enough to face the great beast, and we are still here because of her.

Mourn. Rage. Curse her name all that you need to.

Then, be grateful for all she has spared for you.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 8: The Queen and the Seal Lord

Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. I had to miss a few days due to real-life stuff, but I’m hoping to catch up! Gráinne and Raghnall are both characters in the novel I’m writing. She’s made a few appearances in last year’s FFM. I had intended for this story to be a bit more action-focused, but I enjoyed exploring more of the world and the politics of it. So it’s a two-parter now.

I was inspired to write about my selkie character after reading AmehanaRainStarDrago’s story about her selkie character on deviantArt! Read it here: Interrupted Sleep

When Gráinne had been at sea, Marcaíocht Conán was the only pirate ship she couldn’t capture. After becoming queen, she had done the only thing she could to neutralize the ship and its selkie captain. In a blow to both her pride and her obstinacny, Captain Raghnall and his crew became privateers. Politically, it was a wise move. While the selkies fell under the purview of Gráinne’s crown, they had always held their own shores and culture apart from the rest of Tír na nÓg. The selkies were a nation within a nation, with Raghnall now serving as seal lord.

Personally, Gráinne thought that Raghnall had made it his life’s mission to vex her. And it was working.

It was difficult enough to find a neutral meeting ground for them. The castle put Gráinne at an advantage, and Raghnall refused to meet her there. The sea was Raghnall’s domain, and Gráinne refused to meet him there. Their compromise was a naval ship docked in one of the permanent harbors.

Raghnall, as usual, came to the meeting naked. He left his seal skin with his first mate, and refused to don humanoid clothing. Gráinne knew that he was hoping to prey on the prudishness of her human side. That tactic had never worked, and she was, frankly, tired of it.

Her brother’s suggestion that she go to the meeting naked to turn the tables on Raghnall had been soundly ignored.

The queen and seal lord sat in the captain’s quarters. “You’re not chilly?” Gráinne asked after the proper greetings had been exchanged.

“No.”

“There’s evidence to suggest otherwise.”

Raghnall remained nonplussed. “The bipedal body is hardly perfect. I’m sure you understand that well. To what do I owe the honor of this meeting?”

“I need to speak first to Captain Raghnall, then the seal lord.” Gráinne unrolled the most recent sea charts the navy had provided her. “The vortices in the northeast. You’ve gotten closer to them than any other ship has dared.”

“Better,” Raghnall said with a cocky tilt of his head. “I’ve swum among them.”

Despite his often infuriating nature, it was moments like this that assured Gráinne she had made the correct choice in making Raghnall a privateer. Any sailor with his audacity was a valuable asset, especially now. “And?”

He nodded once, saying the words that so many others were afraid to speak. “Hy-Brasil is returning. Not immediately, we both know that these things take time. But we have years. Maybe a decade; I doubt two.”

Gráinne realized she was clenching her fists. She forced herself to uncurl her fingers. Even among Fae, Hy-Brasil was legendary. It appeared and disappeared with seemingly no rhyme or reason, but it was well known that the island’s reappearance signaled great change, often for both the magical and mortal realms. “We have years to prepare, but prepare for what?” She said under her breath.

“If you figure it out, let me know,” Raghnall said. “Anything else for the captain?”

“What supplies do you need? Other than trousers.”

Raghnall’s thin mustache twitched with a smile. She wasn’t asking just about restocking food or repairing weapons. After news like this, the queen was letting Raghnall name his reward.

“There’s a very lovely figurehead on this ship. I believe it allows the ship to camouflage?” When Gráinne confirmed this, Raghnall nodded. “Something like that. It doesn’t need to be an octopus, though.”

“Octopus, squid, or cuttlefish are your choices,” Gráinne said, marking his request down. “It will take a few months to make.”

Raghnall considered his options for a moment. “Fine, cuttlefish.”

“And now, the seal lord.”

Raghnall bowed at the shoulders. “At your service, my queen.”

Gráinne rolled up her sea charts and crossed her arms, frowning. “Explain why there were four sightings of selkies in the Irish Sea last month.”

Raghnall rolled shoulders easily. “You know pups. Sometimes they cross the barrier unknowingly.”

“Pups do, yes, and I’ve always granted them leniency. I’m talking about adult selkies, fully in control of themselves and aware of the law.” Gráinne pressed her lips together tightly.

“Drink?” Raghnall suggested mildly. “We enjoy shore leave, same as you.”

“Shore leave that fuels the black market? Whenever selkies are spotted in the mortal realm, suddenly human goods are readily available.” Gráinne narrowed her eyes. “You know how much damage that kind of smuggling has brought here. End it.”

Raghnall’s nose twitched — a hint of irritation. “Are you responsible for the actions of all your people?”

“I am responsible for keeping them safe.” She jabbed her finger down hard on the table. “End it.”

Raghnall leaned forward, lips curling upward to reveal inhumanly sharp teeth. “The selkies are not subject to your barrier laws, gestalt.”

She struck him with the back of her hand. The word was not an insult, only a reminder of Gráinne’s mixed heritage. She would not have it used against her. “The selkies are subject to Tír na nÓg, and I speak for Tír na nÓg. You may not like it, but you know it’s true. End it.”

A low growl rose in Raghnall’s throat. He held a slightly webbed hand to his cheek where he had been struck. “As my queen—” he stopped mid-sentence, liquid dark eyes growing wider. “Someone’s on board. Someone who’s not supposed to be.”

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 7: Turning of the Year

Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of sthe story.

Olive leaned back in the divan, fanning herself. “I hate this time of year.”

Her consort, Septimus, wiped his glistening face with a cloth and glanced over to his axehandle hound that was panting in the shade. “So does Tort.” At the sound of his name, the dog whined and wagged its stubby tail. “It helps to think of summer as a time of plenty.”

Olive shaded her eyes with a hand and glared at the sun for a second, just long enough for it to blind her. “It doesn’t look any closer than it does in winter. Why is it so beastly hot?”

“It’s not the sun, my light. Scholars no longer believe that the sun moves across the sky, but is, in fact, fixed in place.” Septimus had no fear of reprisal from Olive for correcting her. One of the benefits of being her consort was that she paid his consortia fees. Women were not allowed to attend consortia, and she eagerly drank up any knowledge that he had to share. The arrangement worked for both of them.

“Truly?” Olive’s thin eyebrows met in a point. “But we see it move every day.”

“Yes, but it does not go nearer or farther. It keeps a steady distance.”

“Not far enough,” Olive replied, and resumed fanning herself. “If the sun does not move closer to us, then why are summer and winter so terrible?”

“The current theory is phoenixes,” Septimus informed her.

“Phoenixes,” Olive repeated.

“Yes, hatching in spring, at their full power in summer, wilting in autumn and becoming ash in winter. The heat given off by a mature, healthy phoenix is incredible.”

Olive frowned. “Phoenixes don’t have such short lifespans. And they often shelter their eggs in deep caves, where the elements cannot disturb them. Their hatching cycle wouldn’t have anything to do with spring.”

“Actually, my sweet, it’s been found that most phoenixes prefer to lay their eggs at the roots of trees,” Septimus told her. “That they lay their eggs in caves is a common myth-conception.”

Another challenge day! Element 1: Write “Challenge me!” in the comments.

Element 2: Challenge other people by replying to their comment with a misconception they must feature in their story. This misconception can be fictional or a real-life misconception (if you challenge with a real-life one, including a source for why it’s a misconception would be appreciated).

Element 3: Choose one or more of the misconceptions you got and write a story using them.

I used Damon L. Wake’s misconception: Seasons are caused by Earth moving closer to and farther from the Sun.

I was a little disappointed to learn that magpies don’t steal shiny things, though. 😦

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 6: “You’re the druid?”


Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. Leif is another DnD character of mine, though this is more like a potential epilogue to his story than anything in our game right now. There’s a strong possibility of more Leif stories this month.

Four heavy steps on the tavern floor above him told Leif it was time to emerge from the cellar. Tabbie, the brusque human cleric, couldn’t be bothered to go down the stairs to get him. This was how she let him know someone was here to see the druid.

Leif put down his pruning shears with a sigh. It was a bright, sunny afternoon — too early in the day for him to be bothered. Five years in Waterdeep made the drow change his trance schedule, but he still disliked the sun. The plants in the narrow window were the same way. They preferred low light, and the window let in only a scant amount of sunlight for a few hours a day.

A small clink came from behind him, the sound of a short sword shifting in its sheath. Leif recognized it as an inquisitive sound. “Not yet, Bloodless,” he said, and went upstairs.

Tabbie was behind the bar, counting out the previous night’s profit. “There he is.”

The half-elf sitting at the bar rose from her stool, looked over to Leif, opened her mouth to introduce herself…but what came out was, “you’re the druid?” She shifted back a half-step, then glanced over to Tabbie.

Tabbie nodded once, and went back to the coins.

Leif had stopped bothering to try to hide what he was some time ago. No hoods or floppy hats, just a pact-scarred man who had found another path. “If you’re looking for help with something fungal, better to wait until my friend Verdi gets back tomorrow. I’m best with plants and flying creatures. I don’t do anything with spiders.” He kept his voice flat and even.

“Do you know the rainbow wood tree in the North Ward? Its bark is losing color and flaking off,” the half-elf said.

“Root mites, likely,” Leif replied with a huff of annoyance. “I think one of the caravans brought them in accidentally. We’ll be fighting the infestation for years. Show me.”

The half-elf’s shoulders visibly relaxed at Leif’s speedy diagnosis. He really was the druid.

It always happened the same way. No matter the urgency — a horse with a broken leg, blight spreading through crops, a stampede of poisonous frogs — there was always the pause, then the question.

“You’re the druid?”

The answer was usually, “not if it’s spiders,” followed by “show me.”

Leif did what he was asked. Not out of fear or obedience, as he always had done to survive in the Underdark. Because he chose to. Because he cared for Waterdeep and its strange inhabitants. Because he loved plants.

For so many reasons, he became the druid.

Then one day, as the sun was setting and Leif was scolding a pair of rats for fighting, a halfling child ran up to him in the courtyard. His pudgy face lit up. “You’re the druid!”

Leif gave the rats a stern warning glance, then nodded at the child.

“Our nanny goat’s sick and—”

“Show me.”

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 4: Keys to Immortality

Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

“If you’d told me that we’d lose all the music in the world tonight, I would’ve pushed you under a car.” Andre waved his fingers, indicating for the panda to give him another cigarette. Xue never had a shortage of them. Andre didn’t know where she kept them. She wore no clothes, and didn’t have a pouch to hide them in.

Xue handed him a cigarette and lit another one for herself with surprisingly dexterous paws. “I tried to warn you, that this would make you blue. But you needed those pictures, you stupid mister. All because you said Green Lantern wouldn’t work.”

Andre’s eye twitched. “They were vintage Spider-Man comics. And you were a vintage lamp. You sure there’s no way I can revert you back to that?”

Xue breathed out a long puff of smoke. “No way, Andre. The spellbook’s broke, and that’s your fault. I hated being stuck in clay. Then you messed with the occult. You just had to hear that piano make noise.”

“You were the one who told me about the piano in the first place.” Andre took a drag, and crossed his arms. “‘Right over there, next to the haunted Playboys and sanctified Hummels. Can’t miss it,’ you said. “‘Immortality,’ you said. ‘All you need to do is play the right song.'”

Xue shrugged a shoulder. “Only you could master it. You knew the song in a tick. You have a musician’s heart and hands, you’re the best pianist in the land! But I did fucking warn you, bro.”

“You said I’d lose something I loved. I thought you meant my comic collection. Seemed like a small price to pay for immortality.” The cigarette had burned down to Andre’s fingertips. He let it. What use were his long fingers and perfect hands now?

Xue ground her own cigarette under a calloused paw and lit a new one. “Immortality costs the world. When you played, everything curled. You lost music for every boy and every girl. You’ve thrown your whole livelihood away, so what is left for you, for all of us?”

“Music is gone,” Andre said to himself. “Forever.”

“Don’t have a panic attack, it can come back. It won’t be easy, it won’t be short. And it will probably hurt. All you have to do is die.”

Andre stared at Xue. She blinked slowly.

Rain hissed on the road as cars drove past them. No songs on the radio. No one singing along. “So if I threw myself in front of one of these cars, would it…?”

Xue blew out another cloud of blue smoke, and didn’t say a word.

Today’s challenge was a three-parter, leading to a bizarre tale.

Element 1: Go look through our generators either via the Prompt Generators page or our itch.io profile (and please excuse the lack of cover images; we have yet to decide on a design for them). If you come across any issues, please let us know here or on the page of the troubled generator.

Element 2: Pick at minimum three (3) generators other than the yearly prompt generators (2009-2025 and 2026), David Bowie Song Randomiser or 2675 Things Mr. Welch Can No Longer Do During An RPG Generator. Grab one (1) prompt from each of your chosen generators. Bonus points if you pick the first prompt you generate from them.

Element 3: Use each prompt you got in today’s story. You may combine them with prompts from excluded generators if you wish to use them as well. Make sure to tell which generators you got which prompts from!

I did not do this properly and chose sections of prompts from various generators.

From the adventure generator:

MacGuffin: Mystical piano that’s said to grant whoever can play the right song immortality. Nobody has succeeded.
– by bookcrusher

Character mashup generator:

Character 1: A chain-smoking panda who speaks only in limericks but doesn’t know how rhymes work.

Character 2: An internationally acclaimed concert pianist who wants pictures! Pictures of Spiderman!

– by DamonWakes

And a generator which shall not be named because I can’t remember which one it was:

Opening line: If you’d told me that we’d lose all the music in the world tonight, I would’ve pushed you under a car.

– by WindySilver

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 3: Once, there were…

Any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. I do not consent to this work being summarized or fed to generative AI, and anyone who does so is a big dweeb.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

Once, there were unicorns.

Well, I say “once,” but that implies that unicorns are no longer around. But that’s not entirely accurate. They didn’t get hunted to extinction or go to another plane of existence. They’re still here. They’ve just gotten smaller. You might see them sometimes, in dew drops and in the dust that floats in sunbeams. But that’s just the way these kinds of stories begin.

Once, there were full-sized unicorns of every variety you could imagine. Unicorns that were shy, unicorns that were bold, unicorns that brought sunlight wherever they stepped and unicorns with fiery manes and even fierier tempers.

That’s why they became small, you know. Each came into being with their own talents, their own way to shape the world. They couldn’t help who they were. They didn’t want to change. But more and more, humans demanded that they change. Not out loud, of course. No, everyone loved the unicorns. No one wanted them to disappear.

One of the humans when there were full-sized unicorns was an inventor. She loved to work with copper and brass.

I know what you’re thinking. The unicorns must have hated her. Fae creatures hate metal. But that wasn’t true, either. There were unicorns of copper and brass who loved her dearly, and helped her with her work. She loved them back.

Her copper and brass friends let her ride on their backs and took her to the foundaries of the earth, where molten rock and iron glowed. With their protection, the inventor scooped the golden mantle into her bare hands, and they rode back up to the surface.

I know you’re looking up the melting points of copper and brass now. Probably Google’s crappy AI is telling you that copper and brass would melt even in the upper mantle. Stop using AI. I can give you misinformation, and I’m beautiful.

Back on the surface, the inventor did not use that golden bit of mantle to create. Instead, she kept it in a lantern, to forever warm and light the way.

Incidentally, did you know that if you type “-ai” after your Google search, you’re less likely to see AI results? Not always, though, because Google is a beast that devours the world.

And in the time of unicorns, there was another beast that threatened to devour the world.

Wait. The time of unicorns is technically still now. But you know what I’m getting at.

This is why the inventor and her friends made the lantern. The beast could not withstand the light from the pulsing heart of the Earth. They rode forward, pushing back the dark, chasing the beast back to its holes. But the unicorns were getting smaller.

Not as small as they are now, mind. And it wasn’t just brass and copper, it was all of them. But this isn’t a story about the unicorns getting smaller. It was just something that was happening at the same time.

Where was I? Yes. The inventor was chasing the beast. She held her lantern aloft. But she had to navigate through a changing world, one that was changing away from what the unicorns needed.

Okay, I know I’m rambling. You’ve known me all your life, you know I go on tangents. This is just the way I tell stories. And if I’m telling a story about something as ancient as unicorns, there’s going to be a few tangents. Don’t you give me that look. You asked about the lantern, now you’re getting the answer.

Yes, I know, you’re on an epic quest. Yes, I know you have a time limit. But if you don’t have the patience to hear the whole story, then you’re not getting the whole story. So you don’t get to know how our family got the lantern. Nope. I’m outtie. See ya.

When I’m feeling stuck as a writer, it helps to go back to my writing roots. However, when I’m feeling stuck and sleep-deprived, the narrator just quits. I think I want to tell the “real” version of this story later this month, but for now, this is what you get.