The challenge - to use the words Kickstarter, Romance and Irradiated. It took some time to come up a way to use them all, but here we go. “Hi Gareth – thanks for joining us on our podcast today.”
“No problem Stuart. I’ve been listening to ‘What’s New?’ for years, so it’s a real honour to be here today.” “Great stuff, Gareth. So, first – as you’ll know, we ask all of our guests this – how did you get into gaming in the first place?” “Well, Stuart – I’ve been a gamer for many, many years. I first started back in high school, where somebody brought a copy of Dungeons and Dragons in. We were all mesmerised by it – the options of what we could do, the pictures of the monsters – it was fantastic! And since then, I’ve been gaming. In fact, I’m still with the same group that started together back then.” “Really? The same group over the last 20 years? From high school?” “Absolutely – we got into gaming together, and we’ve stuck together. Some of us went off to university, but the gaming there wasn’t the same, so we came back together again.” “Great – and what games do you like to play?” “Well, as I say, we started with D&D, and that’s what we enjoy most. We’ve been through the editions, but we always go back to 3.5. We tried others that are based on D&D – you know which ones I mean – but none of them quite scratched the itch the same way. So we dabble with other games, but we always come back. It’s been our great love, and our romance is still strong.” “What about outside roleplaying? Do you do boardgames, or card games?” “Yeah – we do some board and card games. We like cooperative ones mainly.” “Cool. Cool. So, we’ve invited you along to talk to us because you have a Kickstarter running at the moment. Would you like to talk about that at all?” “I’d love to Stuart. It’s a roleplaying game written by myself and my gaming group. Whilst we love D&D, we sometimes want to try something a little different – like science-fiction, or superheroes. So, we’ve written the game we wanted to play. The Kickstarter is to get the money for production and art and stuff – the game is already written, so there’s no risk to backers.” “It’s a science-fiction D&D?” “Yeah – with superheroes. You see, in our setting – we call it Taltalla – the world was mostly destroyed by nuclear war. Some cities have been cleaned up, but a lot of the world is still quite irradiated, and monsters come out of those. Our heroes, usually superheroes, which is why they can still use magic and stuff, go out into the irradiated parts, kill the monsters and take their stuff back to their own cities where it can be used.” “So, it’s a setting?” “Yeah – but with new rules too. We’ve got guns and bombs and things. We’ve removed any restrictions on multiclassing, so you can truly create the character you want, who can do anything you want. Obviously, we have vehicles too, like planes and helicopters, for those heroes that can’t fly.” “I see. Anything else changed?” “Well, we’ve taken away a lot of the classes, as I said, and made a lot of the abilities into feats that you can buy when you’ve multiclassed the right way. So we don’t have paladin, for example – if you build a fighter/cleric, you can then buy feats that let you get the bits of paladin that you want. We’ve simplified and streamlined it that way.” “Are you sure? A huge list of feats that used to be class features doesn’t sound simpler to me.” “It is. Really. When you actually use it, it’s much easier than balancing all the classes against each other.” “OK – anything else.” “We’ve added new races. Now you can be a mutant or various types of aliens, as well as the usual standbys.” “And what about the future? Assuming Taltalla, or ‘Crusader’s Call’ as the full game is called, goes well – what’s next? Is there a pipeline?” “We have some setting books planned, which detail different parts of the world. A bestiary of new monsters. And some adventures. Those are all stretch goals for the Kickstarter campaign. After that, we’re also playtesting a board game set in Taltalla that one of my friends has written – that’s really cool. And one of my other friends has written a novel set there.” “So, sounds like you’re all really leaning into it.” “That we are.” “What about some of the criticisms the game has received so far? Some of the comments on Kickstarter haven’t been very complementary. Some people are calling your game a fantasy heartbreaker.” “Well, I think that’s a bit harsh, and the label can’t really apply. I mean, the game isn’t fantasy – it’s post-apocalyptic science fiction with mutants, superheroes and aliens!” “Well indeed. Thank you for joining us, Gareth, but that’s all we have time for. We all wish you the very best of luck with the Kickstarter, and the rest of the line.”
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This time, the challenge was to use T-rex, Seduce and Abyssal... I resisted the urge to go to a dark place... The house loomed before me, barely visible in the moonless night and the rain, but it was there. Each time the lightning flashed I had to remind myself that it was only an old house, that there wasn’t really anything to worry about in there. Of course, I couldn’t help but then remember that I was lying to myself. Either way though, I had to go inside. I had a job to do.
This assignment had come from the very top, and addressed to me, Agent Bradley Cartwright. I had a long and stories history with the agency, but even I couldn’t ignore something like this, or pass it off to a junior. If it had come to me, then the chances were that it was too dangerous for a junior. Sadly, they hadn’t told me anything about what was going on here, so my preparations had been difficult. I walked up to the door and pushed, finding it open. The lights were all off inside, so I illuminated my small handheld torch – no need for unnecessary magic. The agency guidelines were full of advice like that – avoid the use of magic unless absolutely necessary, for it will seduce you and you’ll find it harder and harder to avoid it’s use. However, I could tell as soon as I entered that magic had been used here and on an ongoing basis. The smell was strong, though only to one with my trained sensitivity to it. It was heavy in the air – I would guess that the first spell had been cast a couple of months ago. There was iron in the air, and a scent of sulphur – blood magic, with an abyssal source. At least I knew now that I could expect demons. I moved through the house, trying to be quiet. My torch would mark me out instantly if I were seen, but I held it low and hoped I could still remain undetected. The house was nice – a huge TV fastened to a wall in a living room, with several very expensive looking pieces of artwork hanging near it. The surfaces were covered in pottery and other ornamentation, and I was sure I recognised some of them from ancient texts on magic. The kitchen was large, filled with very modern and very fancy appliances. The smell was getting stronger and, looking through the kitchen, I found a door, presumably to a basement. The smell was strongest there – whatever was behind this door was, almost certainly, where the magic had been taking place. I hadn’t seen or heard any people yet, so I tried the door. It opened easily and silently. I went through, being careful to close it behind me. I had my identification with me showing that I had permission to be here, but that wouldn’t help if the people that discovered me were the magicians. I found the stairs and moved down. There was light coming from below, reddish in tint, and so I turned off my torch. I could hear chanting – the actual magic was taking place right now! Perhaps drawing on the energy in the storm, though that might make whatever they were doing even more dangerous. I started to move quicker – he chanting was quiet, but the tone and the rhythm suggested a summoning was taking place. I reached the bottom and saw that I had been right. Two people were writhing in passion together inside a magic circle. The energy in the room was high, and I could see their demon manifesting in the other circle. I sighed to myself. There is never a good time to arrest people, but this would rank amongst the worst. I stepped out, holding out my identification. “Stop what you’re doing,” I said, keeping a straight face. “You’re under arrest for violations of the Licensing of Arcane Activities Act of 1952. Please do not resist.” They either didn’t hear me, or chose to ignore me – honestly, I wasn’t sure which it was. They were certainly preoccupied with what they were doing. I pulled out some anti-arcanic powder and started to throw it around the room. It would dampen the magic energy, slow down the summoning and, hopefully, get them to notice me. As I started, there was a rumble of thunder at the same time as a flash of lightning. The storm was right overhead. There was an explosion of energy from both magical circles, my dust incinerated instantly, and the demon appeared. The two people on the floor, having now followed my instruction to cease their activity, looked at me and grinned. The demon started to approach. It was big, a good eight feet or so tall, and was covered in rippling muscles. As it started to prowl towards me, I could see that it had vicious claws and a hungry look. I couldn’t help but wonder why they had been summoning this thing in the first place, as they couldn’t have been expecting me. I backed away, back to the staircase and moved up. If I was going to face this thing, I wanted to do it without the two magicians able to support it. I pulled my phone from my pocket as I went, speed-dialling the agency to request backup of my own. No signal – looked like the storm was having more of an effect than I’d realised. I was on my own. I couldn’t just leave the house – otherwise this thing would rampage after me. I had to keep it contained. I also didn’t want the magicians to make an escape whilst I dealt with it. I returned to the kitchen and checked my phone again, hoping it had simply been the basement that had been blocking it – no such hope. I tapped an emergency app, knowing that it would send a message as soon as it could and looked for somewhere to go. There wasn’t much time, but I threw more powder over the back door, sealing it for a time so there couldn’t be an escape that way. I moved to the front of the house and did the same there, but the demon was on my tail, keeping pace easily with its long stride. I raced upstairs, that being the only place I could now go. I dove into a room, hoping to slow it for a moment whilst I prepared some defences. “Who are you?” The voice was that of a young girl, only a child as I had unwittingly hidden in her bedroom. I didn’t make any movement towards her but smiled. She’d turned on a bedside lamp, and I could see that she was only five or six years old. She was rubbing her eyes, clearly only recently woken. I couldn’t believe that they’d performed the ritual they had tonight, and all of the ones previously, with a child, presumably their own child, in the house! That was an issue for another day though. She didn’t look worried – just curious, so I risked a step towards her. “My name is Agent Cartwright,” I said quietly as I approached. “But my friends call me Bradley. Would you like to?” She nodded. “You’re an Agent? Does that mean you’re a spy?” “Sort of,” I replied. “I’m here to sort out a problem, and I didn’t know you were here. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” “That’s alright,” she said. I could see that her bed was covered in cuddly toys and an idea came to me. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Rebecca.” “Good to meet you Rebecca. Do you think that one of your toys could help us?” “They aren’t toys. They’re my friends.” “I’m sorry – perhaps one of your friends could help us?” She nodded. “Are any of them particularly good at keeping you safe from monsters and helping you to be brave.” She nodded again and reached under her covers, pulling out a cuddly pink and silver dinosaur. A t-rex. “This is Mr. Chomps,” she said quickly. “He keeps me safe from any monsters.” “He’ll be perfect,” I said, reaching to take Mr. Chomps from her. I started to perform my own ritual, chanting quietly. Rebecca was quiet, clearly fascinated by what was going on as I cast my spell over Mr. Chomps. Quickly, I drew the spirit from the toy and a spectral version of the dinosaur stood in my small circle. Rebecca looked delighted and clapped her hands in wonder. “Now,” I said, moving back to her door and opening it again. “This Mr. Chomps is going to come and help me.” I tossed the toy back to her. “This one will stay and keep you safe, as he always does.” I moved out with my new dinosaur buddy and found the demon at the end of the landing. Mr. Chomps, sensing the threat, moved immediately to the attack and the demon couldn’t do anything to it. The purity and innocence of its intentions, to keep the child safe, kept it safe from the demon’s attacks and I knew that I could leave this battle confident out the outcome. I moved past when I could and went to make the arrest. OK - as if some of the earlier words had been difficult to fit into a story, this one was a challenge to use Fish, Waddle and Terpsichorean. The people of the village had always known that she was special. She’d been borne at sea, her mother desperately trying to reach shore beforehand but, ultimately, failing. It was said that her father was the King of the Deeps, but legend varied on who he was. Some said a canny fisherman who had claimed a small island for himself. Some said that he was an ancient deity of the waters who brought about the storms and waves. Some used the title for the ancient albatross that could often be seen flying over the bay.
Her mother had died shortly after her birth – panicking that the King would come for her, given that she was borne at sea, rather than on land. That made her his, and one day he would come to claim her. She claimed that she could keep her daughter safe by giving herself to the sea, and so she did. Some nodded at her ancient wisdom, knowing the truth of her words. Some thought her crazy, possessed of a madness that made the whimsical seem true. And so, she was raised collectively by the village and, from an early age, they’d seen that she loved the sea. Some would encourage her to play in it, others tried to keep her away. They named her Muireann and she was as fair as the name would suggest and as she grew older and matured she only grew more beautiful. Many was the man, and woman, who courted her, but she would always say that her only love was the sea – there was no room for anybody else. From an early age, she loved to dance and the people of village found that when she did so, their fishing was more successful. To the sound and beat of her terpsichorean movements, the fish came closet to shore than they normally would. And the fishermen took advantage of this and encouraged her to dance on the beach whenever they would go to sea. She was always happy to dance for her love. Occasionally, the sea claimed a fisherman. It was a dangerous job. There was always the chance, in a storm, that you might go overboard and not come home again. Even if it was said that people drowned in calm seas when she danced – it was a price worth paying for the bounty she brought in. There was pause one day, the day that she turned twenty-one, when a penguin waddled out of the sea when she danced. Where had it come from? The climate was too warm for them around the village – it would have to have swum a remarkable distance! And then a second, and a third came ashore. People whispered that Muireann’s dancing had brought them and people believed it. They had always known that she was special. More and more creatures of the sea came from that day, those that could come onto land doing so to watch, the others clogging up the sea and making the fishing harder. She had to stop, the fishermen said – they couldn’t get to the fishing grounds for the walruses and seals that wanted to watch her. She had to stop, but she would not. She would not disappoint her love. As she grew older and kept dancing, the village started to empty. There was no fishing to be done any longer – the other creatures ate all of the fish and the fishermen couldn’t reach those that were left. The oldest stayed, those that believed. She kept dancing, and the creatures kept coming. One day, she was gone, as were the creatures. Her clothes were found on the beach, and a note was with them. She said that her love had called her, that the myriad creatures of the deeps had been the messenger, but it had taken her time to understand. She had gone, the note said, to dance for him beneath the waves. The people started to return, for the fishing was strong again. Even without her dancing, it seemed that the village that had been her home and had loved her was blessed. And, occasionally, around a fire an old fisherman would tell the tale of Muireann, princess of the sea. This time I was given the words Dame, Betrayed and Foggy. I knew she’d be trouble the moment she walked through my door but, like a damn fool, I thought that the trouble would be worth it. The dame was a real beauty, legs that seemed to take up most of her height and wearing a dress to show them off properly. She sauntered in, not bothering to knock, and sat on the edge of my desk.
Me? My name is Fitzgerald, Barney Fitzgerald, but everybody just calls me Fitz. And that’s what she did once she was perched. “Hi, Fitz,” she said. I looked her up and down, taking my time. No dame dresses that way, or acts that way, if she doesn’t want some kind of attention. Only looked mind – I might have been down on my luck, but I’m still a gentleman. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure, miss…” I replied, bringing all of my suaveness to bear. “Hutchinson.” Her reply was short but did it’s job. It told me her name, and also told me that she didn’t intend to tell me anything else. I doubted it was her real name. You simply can’t trust anybody these days. “You got some kind of problem, Miss Hutchinson, or are you simply here to add some much needed decoration to my office?” “I need your help, Fitz.” “You and every other lost soul who walks through that door, Miss Hutchinson. You probably noticed when you walked in that this is an office, not a church, so I’m going to need more information, and some payment.” “I’m afraid I can’t offer a retainer, Mr Fitz – my husband as betrayed me. I brought all of wealth to our marriage, and I thought he loved me. But he’s run away with every cent. I need you to track him down for me, so I can get my money back. Once you do that, I can repay you everything, Mr Fitz. Everything – and then some. You see if I can’t.” I walked over to the window and looked out at the foggy night. I didn’t want to look at her for this part of the conversation – looking at her made everything confusing. “Mrs Hutchinson,” I said once I was safely looking the other way. “You seem to be asking me to do a great deal of work for only a promise of payment if I succeed. It’s not the way I usually work.” I saw sure I saw something below me on the street, moving into my building, but her hand on my shoulder soon drew my attention away from that. “Mr Fitz, I’m a damsel in distress, and I need you to be my knight in armour. And once we find my rat of a husband, I’d be very grateful to you.” That was what I was afraid of. I took a deep breath, preparing to answer her. The smart answer was no. I was resolved. I was going to say it. I even opened my mouth, but the door burst open. A man was stood there with a gun, and he was pointing it at her back. Instinct took over, and I drew my own weapon and fired at him first. His bullet went wide, shattering an old lamp. Mine flew true, and he fell. “Alright, Mrs Hutchinson,” I said. “I’ll take your case.” Nobody tries to kill somebody in my office. The challenge here was to use the words Chiaroscuro, Evanesce and Lachrymose. Apparently I was almost given Nictitating, so I decided to treat that as a stretch goal. Gavin walked into the room and was immediately surprised by the darkness, the only light coming from the doorway behind him and from a small table lamp at the opposite end of the room. It illuminated little other than his wife, Caroline, and an old portrait that she appeared to be using the light to study. He walked over.
She started as she heard his approach and looked round at him with a smile. “What is it?” she asked as he navigated the dark room. “Nothing,” he replied. “I just wanted to check on you. It’s not like you to miss lunch.” “Have I?” She looked at her watch, incredulity on her face. “My word, you’re right. I suppose I got carried away.” He looked at the picture. It was old and had been very expensive. However, Caroline had studied the artist, Vangbaldi, for her PhD and so it had been an obvious present when he had come across it at auction. It showed a woman, in black and white like all of Vangbaldi’s work. She was seated, with hair that came to her shoulders. Even though it was all in shades of grey, he imagined her as being blonde. Her eyes twinkled, showing a life that had been lived many years ago, and a humour that the artist had captured perfectly. “I’m glad you like it,” he said. “Oh, I do,” she replied. “But it’s more than that. Look closely at her eyes.” He pulled her face towards his. “I’d rather look at yours.” He lowered his head to kiss her and then noticed the tears in the light of the table lamp. “You’re crying?” “Oh, I’m fine. It’s just the bright light sometimes makes me lachrymose, and you know how I love Vangbaldi’s work. But seriously – look at her.” He did as his wife bade him, not seeing whatever was so significant. “You’re going to have to help me.” She pointed at the portrait’s eyes. “Look – she has nictitating membranes on her eyes. They’re difficult to see, but the chiaroscuro makes it easier to see than it might be if the portrait was in colour.” “Nictitating membranes?” “Yes – thin extra eyelids, usually translucent which is why they’re hard to see. Without the exquisite shading that Vangbaldi uses, we wouldn’t be able to see it.” He looked closely and, if he squinted, he could make out something. He picked up the magnifying glass from the desk and used that, which made it clearer. It looked like she was right. “OK,” he said. “That’s odd, but why so interesting?” “Don’t you remember my thesis – you had to read it twice. In humans these are vestigial – they don’t work anymore - but Vangbaldi always painted true to life, other than the black and white. I’ve looked at dozens of his portraits in my work, and that has always been true. This is the only time I’ve ever seen anything like this.” Gavin cocked his head. “But, if humans don’t have these, how can he have painted true?” “That’s the question. Either he broke his usual habit for this one picture, or he found a woman with nictitating membranes. If it’s the latter, it means he found somebody who wasn’t completely human!” “You’re talking science fiction! Comic book stuff. Mutants?” She shook her head at him. “Vangbaldi always had an interest in the occult and his writings claimed that he thought that his art was a way to explore that. It’s never really made much sense, except for the way that art can be a way to explore anything. But what if he actually made contact with something else? We don’t know what happened to him at the end of his life – he just disappeared. Evanesced.” Gavin drew back a little and gave his wife a look to suggest that she might need a rest, but as he saw the portrait again over her shoulder he jumped back, banging the backs of his legs into a chair. He was sure that the woman had winked at him. With her nictitating membrane. The challenge here was a story using the words concertina, frosty and erupted. “It’s no good,” said Ragnar. “We’ll never find the right fit for the party.” He idly polished his large sword from behind the tavern table whilst they waited for the next hopeful adventurer to come over and speak to them. “Well, it’s hardly surprising, is it?” asked Celebror, rubbing his forehead with his hands. “There just aren’t as many people coming out the Guild of Thieves and wanting to adventure. It’s much more dangerous work than simple thievery, and there is less call for them as more and more magic is invented to cover for their loss. It’s a self-perpetuating problem. “Don’t forget as well,” said Astra, drawing circles in the spilled wine on the table as she spoke, “that we are recruiting for a white dragon hunt. By all the gods, that’s not a project for somebody just out of the guild, but all the good people are happy with their existing parties.” “Well, we need somebody,” said Ragnar. “Ever since Rascal died, we’ve been seriously below the bar.” “Perhaps we should have asked him what his real name was at some point,” offered Astra. “That might convince people that we actually care.” “He was a very private person,” replied Celebror. “It’s not like we never asked. It’s just that he always dallied over the answer. It was almost like he’d forgotten it himself!” “Shhh.” Astra nodded towards a young woman approaching the table. She was dressed very much for adventure and looked experienced. Her leather armour was clearly well cared for, but the marks of battle could easily be seen in it. A sword swung at her hip, with a small buckler on the opposite one. A backpack could be seen beneath her green cloak. Her face was largely hidden by the long brown hair that hung down both her back and in front of her, but she walked confidently. “Gentlemen. My lady.” She bowed floridly when she reached the table. “I believe that I am the answer to your prayers.” Ragnar looked her up and down, making no pretence of doing anything other than evaluating her. He finished his inspection at her sword. “Can you use that?” She shrugged. “Enough. My main weapon is my music.” Ragnar visibly sighed and Celebror kicked him under the table. “My apologies,” the wizard said. “Our friend here hasn’t had the greatest of experiences with bards in the past. May I ask your name?” She raised her hand. “It’s Jaena, and no apology necessary. I’m aware that some other of my profession have been known to be unreliable. However, I am different and would like to join you in order to show how different we can be. Our music can create magic outside of the skill of anybody else, and I want to show how a bard can be an indispensable part of an adventuring party.” “Excuse me,” said Astra, “but you don’t seem to have an instrument. Are you a singer?” Jaena nodded. “Yes, but primarily I use this.” She opened the bag on her back and pulled out a concertina. “Lutes are so last decade.” Ragnar’s head made an audible thump when it hit the table. A few days later, they stood outside of a great chamber, having already navigated the cave system leading to it. Many a monster had fallen to their blades, and Jaena was proving her worth. She fought alongside Ragnar on the front line, her voice ringing out throughout, never tiring, and keeping their spirits up. Even Ragnar had laughed at some of the jokes and witticisms that she threw into the seemingly improvised lyrics. Now, however, was the moment of truth. Beyond this opening lay the dragon that was the object of their quest.
The ground as they entered, along with the cave walls, was frosty. Celebror, proving his earlier point about thieves and magic, had made himself invisible to scout out the chamber, and seen that the dragon was asleep. They prepared for battle, Astra calling down the blessings of the gods and Celebror casting various incantations to bring them myriad benefits for the battle. Ragnar stretched and started to swing his sword, whilst Jaena pulled out her concertina and ensured it was properly tuned. “Now you pull that out?” Ragnar asked. Jaena nodded to him. “Yes – I’ve been saving it for now.” Ragnar shook his head, clearly still unconvinced of the true benefits of music in battle. “Everybody ready?” he asked, taking his sword into both hands and marching to take the front position. Astra stood next to him, hefting her own staff and nodded. Soon Celebror and Jaena did the same. It was time. They ran in, Ragnar giving a battle cry which was enough to awaken the beast. However, it was still groggy and unable to bring its terrible, frosty breath to bear before they could reach it. It’s teeth and claws flashed as Ragnar moved his sword swiftly, deflecting and taking his chance to strike whenever he could. Astra circled around the beast, avoiding its wings and tail, making her own attacks when she could. Celebror stood back, chanting and letting loose incantation after incantation as energy flew from his wand to strike the great white beast. Jaena waited at the back, singing her usual encouragement, but not yet playing her instrument. The beast swung round, managing to strike Ragnar with one mighty set of claws, whilst batting Astra away with its tail. Taking the opportunity of the distance created, it took to the air, flapping its wings and creating enough of a gust to keep the adventurers from getting close. Ragnar dropped his sword and pulled his bow from his back, whilst Astra turned her attention to prayer, sending holy blasts of power to strike the dragon whilst it flew. It pulled back its head, and they could all see that it was going to breath. And that was when Jaena finally acted. Just as the icy cold erupted from the dragon’s maw, she pressed down on her concertina and sound to match the dragon’s roars filled the cavern. Her words changed, becoming angry rather than jovial, and the enormous sound of her instrument hammered into the flying beast, melting its icy breath as it moved, slamming into its head. Momentarily dazed, it fell to the ground, and the adventurers fell upon it, swinging weapons and, before it could recover, it was dead. They stepped back, catching their breath. As Astra began to call upon the gods to heal their wounds, Ragnar and Celebror looked at Jaena as she carefully put the concertina away. “What?” she asked, feigning surprise at their reaction. “How did you do that?” asked Celebror. “As I said, music can create magic far greater than any other when applied properly.” Ragnar grunted. “Well, Forestbrook is safe now, and I guess you’ve passed your probation and are in the party.” He looked at the others for a moment before he continued. “I still think singing and music making in battle is silly though.” |
Flash FictionSome shorter fiction, usually based on some kind of challenge. Archives
October 2021
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