A special Halloween edition for you all :)
Out of Character:
Vignette closes 26th November 2016.
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A special Halloween edition for you all :)
Out of Character:
Vignette closes 26th November 2016.
((Warning; here be dead guys, blood, and eyesquick. It mutated as I wrote, so I hope it's still close enough to the initial premise! Um, sorry if it’s a little long, also.
Oh! And if anyone has feedback, that'd be lovely too!))
A half-empty town. A short stay. The sun was getting lower in the sky, bathing the houses and bracken a deep red. Fenn strode down the twilit streets and between creaking buildings, merely passing through on his way to other places. Always moving, never resting, untethered from the world at large, like a drifting spirit.
Children raced through the half-acre yards in half-feral packs, climbing back fences and low-branched trees as hide-and-seek gave way to tag in the failing light. Quiet as a shadow, Fenn crept through the gaggles of youngsters. A few paid attention to him - his uncanny eyes, the frost dappling his cheeks, a boldness that came from experience rather than innocence. Perhaps they sensed his age. Those that noticed stared for a moment before going hesitantly back to their play. A fight over a game of marbles broke out, and in the confusion, the Fae compulsively picked up several of the shiny orbs and stashed them in his bag as he passed by.
He felt a little bad about it afterward. Sometimes, when he tried to play with groups of children, they would reject him in cruel ways, knowing he wasn’t quite one of them. This group was surprisingly nonchalant about letting him near their revelry. There were stranger things in these isolated towns than passing faerie creatures, he supposed.
There was a Man not so Wise,
Who fell into a Brier Bush,
And scratched out both his Eyes.
When he saw his Eyes were gone,
And blood dripped from the Sockets,
He took the Eyes of another Man
And put them in his Pockets!
In all his life, Fenn had never heard that particular song before. The dark dirty came from two girls skipping rope to the tune. A gap-toothed boy ran up to them gleefully. “I betcha won't go into the brambles!” he taunted, smirking as he gestured to a thick patch of briar on the crumbling, abandoned part of town.
“Amnes! That's what you bet Cynthia, and she went in, and it’s been days now, and she's not back,” one of the girls snapped back, not missing a beat in her rope skipping. Her brown curls bounced to the beat of the song, which her friend was still humming under her breath.
“Exactly,” Amnes crowed. “Someone should go in and look for her.” Fenn crept closer to the argument, watching with a certain curiosity.
“We’re not supposed to be there,” the brown-haired girl replied. She stopped skipping and glared back at him. “Cynthia wasn’t supposed to be there. My mum says wanderers don’t come back from the brier either. I'm not going.”
The boy crossed his arms smugly. “You're just scared.”
“Am not!” she shouted back, brandishing her rope at him.
“Are too!” They glared at each other hotly for a moment, before looking back into the dark of the abandoned side of the town. The sun was fast sinking over the rooftops, and dark had crept into the corners of the brambles and weeds. Even Amnes’ braggadocio faltered in the face of the encroaching night. “D’aw, you’re no fun. Go cry to your mum about how scary the dark is,” he muttered with resentment.
“You’re the scared one, not me.” The girl finished the conversation with a frustrated noise and flounced off, her friend following after. Fenn stood by as the rest of the children trickled back to their houses, bit by bit. The only one who didn't leave was Amnes, who finally noticed the Fae. “Hey. You're not from here. Are you an elf?”
Fenn shrugged in reply, not sure how effectively communicate his Fae nature. Either way, Amnes didn’t seem too bothered by it; the boy sighed anxiously and glanced about as if he was making sure that no-one was listening. “Alright then. Be coy if you want. Can I bother you about something?”
This was curious. Fenn quirked an eyebrow, a wordless enquiry for more detail.
“See, my friend Cynth went into the brambles there. I made a stupid bet and she followed through,” Amnes admitted with shame, hanging his head limply. “She hasn't been back for a week, and no-one feels brave enough to step in after her. You’ve traveled a lot, right? Seen crazy things, I reckon? Maybe you can hold your own in the brier.”
Was that it? Fenn slumped and stalled in front of the bramble with uncertainty. Something about the thicket seemed off, and he couldn't fathom why. Still… A new experience, Fenn reminded himself as he steeled his nerves, is always worth checking out. He nodded back at Amnes with all the confidence he could muster.
“Good,” the boy said with immense relief. “I was afraid you'd say no. Bring back Cynthia, okay? Shouldn’t be too hard to spot her; she wears yellow ribbons. And if something starts creeping up on you, get out.”
Creeping upon him? Fenn cocked his head curiously, wishing for clarification, but Amnes was already running back to his house. He sighed and turned to the uninviting thickets of thorns. It sounded dangerous. And yet, that made it all the more inviting to the nosy Fae. Who knew what secrets laid within? He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, smiled, and stepped into the prickles, leaving the last golden ray of sunlight behind him.
To his annoyance, the thicket stretched a long ways into the abandoned housing. There were unexpected twists and turns, and the bramble seemed to only have one way clear enough for someone to squeeze through. It took quite a few minutes for him to pick his way past it all. Minding his clothes in all the thorns was near impossible, and he gained a few tears for his trouble.
When Fenn ripped his way out of the thorns, he found himself in the abandoned side of the town. It was much like the other side; rough buildings, plots of land normally set aside for gardens, and quiet roads.
Yet, there were a few key differences. The whole area was overrun by lush, thriving plant life. Weeds and ivy curled over the cracked cobblestones and spilled into the houses with impudence. It was twilight in the empty streets, which confused Fenn - it had pretty much been night before he had entered the brier, hadn't it? Here, there was no sun, no stars, no moon. Even so, the sky was lit with a mysterious rusty glow. It was as if he had stepped into a new dimension entirely.
A hot wind blew through, one that carried a rank smell. Fenn wrinkled his nose and wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself, trying to make sense of it all.
It was tempting to head back the way he came, but Fenn had a girl to find. Taking a deep breath and gathering his courage, he took a little brass whistle from the front pocket of his bag and began plodding his way over the grassy streets. As he went along, he blew into the whistle. It made a shrill, ear-splitting noise. That was the closest he could come to calling out for Cynthia.
No matter how hard he blew, there was no reply. He would never be certain as to just how long he plodded along, whistling as loudly as he could. Hours, minutes, even days could pass in the filtered twilight and he might never know. In a place such as this, there was no way to track the time. The only way he knew it passed was by how he became more tired as he went on; his eyelids felt heavy, his legs grew weary, and he was starting to run out of breath.
Though he sometimes swore he saw flickers of movement in the houses around - scratching noises accompanied it, like some animal scampering to and fro - no-one heeded his calls. Hopelessness washed over Fenn as he peered from street to street. Why was this side of town so big? It was uncannily endless and frustrating.
He briefly went through all the turns he had taken in his head - his navigational abilities were a relief to have in such a labyrinthine place. Just one more corner, he promised himself. If there was nothing there, he would turn back and let Amnes know that he found nothing.
Except, that as soon as Fenn rounded the next bend, he stumbled over something in the middle of the road and landed face-first into the grass. Ow. Fenn's lip curled in annoyance as he hoisted himself to his feet and turned to stare at what he had tripped over. Then, his breath caught in his throat.
A corpse laid in the grass, partially covered by creeping tendrils of ivy. It was practically skin and bones, a dead elf with worms poking from torn eye sockets. The meaty, festering stench made Fenn extremely queasy. A few other corpses were strewn about the little clearing in various states of decay.
There was a very fresh body but a couple of steps away. She was a little girl with braids held together by yellow ribbons. Or, they had been; one ribbon lay on the ground nearby, ripped out of her head along with a few blonde streaks of hair. With shaking hands, Fenn picked it up and pocketed it. This was what remained of Cynthia, he supposed. Bile rose in his throat. Whatever had happened to her here had been violent, and recent. Her eyes were gouged out, just like the elven corpse.
Morbidly, haltingly, Fenn wondered what color they had been.
Fenn forced himself a few steps back from the bodies, clamping his hands over his mouth as he backed into a building. Frightened tears stung at the corners of his eyes and spilled over to freeze to his cheeks. His breath came in harsh gasps. It isn't safe here, what the fuck is this? I'm not safe, I'm not safe. He turned on his heels and staggered away from the brutal scene, willing his jelly legs to get him the hell away from this place as fast as they could.
The same scratching noises he heard earlier came from a nearby house. Fenn jerked to look in the direction of them and kept running, leaving nothing to chance. Even as he ran, the sounds fled to another house up ahead, more vigorous this time.
Fenn skidded to a stop as something on all fours burst through the window of a house up ahead, scattering glass over the street with impunity. He cowered before it in terror, his knees ready to buckle beneath him on sight of the thing.
It was some sort of undead creature, with its skin hardened and preserved into some sort of ghastly leather. Its face was another kind of frightening entirely, all scratched and torn. Sticky blood oozed endlessly from gaping eye sockets and watered the grass at the creature’s feet. The thing cocked its head, ears twitching, listening to Fenn’s panicky hyperventilation.
Without a warning, it screeched and leapt for him. The boy ducked away. As it passed, the being clipped his shoulder with a slender claw and easily pinned him to the ground. Moving swiftly and surely, it snatched him by his hands and began to drag him away.
Fenn kicked and writhed, hitting the creature with all the force his little limbs could muster. It galloped stiffly onward, utterly unfettered by the blows and the splashes of frost blooming across its skin.
He was being taken back toward the other bodies, Fenn realized with dread. Probably to have his eyes ripped out and to bleed to death. Surely enough, they wound up in the clearing again within a few moments of bumpy dashing. The other corpses grinned into view, a slowly festering party that Fenn feared he would join uninvited.
The being stopped at the edge of the glade and shoved Fenn to his feet. It clutched him roughly by the shoulders, its rank breath washing over his face. With his hands free of the undead’s grip, Fennik thrust them into his bag, blindly rummaging around for something, anything that could help.
The undead quietly took his face between its gnarled hands. “Eyes,” it spoke, in a voice as dry as dust, tracing a claw over Fenn's clammy cheek. Shivers shot through his spine.
Among the other clutter in his bag, two glassy, cold orbs found their way into Fenn's hands. The marbles he had stolen! With quivering fingers, he grabbed them and foist them into the palm of the undead’s hand. Its breath rattled in surprise. “Eyes?” the thing repeated, spellbound, fumbling to snatch them from him. In its haste, it gashed Fenn’s cheeks with thorny fingernails. It excitedly shoved the orbs into its sockets.
As soon as it had taken its hands off of him, Fenn dashed away from the field, willing himself to be faster than that thing this time. A many breathless moments of scurrying and fleeing passed before it gave a great bellow and plunged into the streets after him. It knew that it had been tricked.
Fenn heard the scratching in the houses and ducked into the alleys behind them, careening against the stone walls and scraping the skin off of his arm. He knew which way the entrance was up ahead, beyond a few twists of the alley. But, the eyeless undead was already after him. As Fenn ran, he caught glimpses of the beast carefully listening for him, loping through the streets in hot pursuit.
The briers! Up ahead! Fenn felt as if he could laugh. He was so close to leaving. So, too, was the undead close, bellowing in rage but a house behind him. Fear struck Fenn’s heart.
He dove into a gap in the tangled mass and wriggled his way through the thickets, shredding his cloak in the process. Thorns dug and tore into his skin, drawing sappy black blood. The creature shook the thickets with hoarse bellowing and sweeps of its sharp claws. Fenn pleaded to whatever gods there might be that they wouldn't find his back...
Suddenly, the hedge ended, and Fenn was thrust out into the morning sunlight. There was naught but blue skies and wispy clouds above. He gasped, sucking in sharp breaths. The air smelled sweet and pure out here. He curled up and shuddered, relieved to see blue skies instead of red twilight. It seemed that time had passed during his stay in… whatever that place could be called.
“Hey, the weird kid’s back. I told you he’d make it!” Fenn heard Amnes yell excitedly. He closed his eyes to the crowd of children that had started to gather around him. Their chatter bled together and echoed over his head as he caught his breath.
“Ew, he's bleeding! Why’s it black?”
“Gross.”
"Should we get help?"
“Where’s Cynthia? Wasn't he supposed to bring her back?”
That question snapped him back to the present. In reply, Fenn merely pulled the tattered yellow ribbon from his bag. Amnes startled on seeing it. “Cynth?” he murmured, taking it from Fenn in disbelief.
It was lucky that Fenn had no words anyway, for he knew that neither hollow platitudes nor empty apologies would have consoled the boy. He had felt threefold what it was like to lose like that. A twang of empathy went through him as he watched Amnes shuffle away, stunned into heartbroken silence.
A small voice piped up to Fenn's right. “It was brave of you to go in there. You didn’t have to. Are you alright?”
The curly-haired girl who Amnes had been arguing with the other night was by his side, looking down at him with awe. Fenn merely gave her a weary bow of his head. He was too tired, too shaken to posture and crow over this victory now. Forcing himself up, he limped through the crowd and away from the girl without a proper reply.
There was one thing he knew now. He was never ever coming back to this town ever again.
His footsteps echoed in the hallway, the smooth ker-thump, ker-thump patter of bare feet striking the brick and mortar beneath him. The mildew odor lingered with him through the endless basement, the damp air tacking his hairs to his chest as he moved.
Bitch is f*cking RELENTLESS.
It had been a night like many others. Beer, mead, whiskey, music, and lots of laughs and tall tales. Plenty of jokes and smiles consumed the pub as a cool summer night lingered long after the too-patient sun finally retired. An experienced womanizer, Storm had moved from lady to lady, intentionally skipping about before settling on his true target, a petite and athletic blonde with a sugary smile and perfect skin. Her emerald eyes seemed to hum in the firelit room, glowing with a magical energy that left him hypnotized.
The journey to his hotel room was a passing memory, dancing on air as the two kissed and touched the entire path. They rolled and romped and partied, his body entwining and joining hers in wild, uncensored and boundless sex. The electromancer was awakened less than an hour after their second frolic, the blonde now sporting jet-black hair and the deep-set black eyes of the devil herself. Her voice was tantric, a tongue he’d never heard anything near before.
“Ad mortem in vitam aeternam, influit per venas sanguine atro.”
Well, shit. Why are the best screws always so God-damned insane!?
His motion to blast her with a straightforward pulse of white energy was fruitless; his magical abilities rendered as useless as the manhood of an elder. A reflexive peek found him nude and bloodied; clearly the vixen had not waited for his awakening to begin this bizarre ritual.
“The hell!? Get off!!”
He pushed back at her, reaching up as she straddled his waist, a firm hand smashing her sternum between her small breasts and firing her back. He wasn’t a hulking beast of a man, but still nearly doubled the damsel in raw size. Crashing back over the edge of the bed, she instantly arose with fury and purpose.
“You fool! Your blood is promised to the Chosen! Your life is nothing, serve your greater purpose!” Her own body painted in thin streams of burgundy blood, she shrieked at him with a piercing, high-pitched banshee’s song.
He was physically knocked back by the volume and pitch, the shriek replaced with a high buzz sound which echoed through his brain. Her magic had sealed his own capabilities; now her scream had deafened him. Hands rising to his ears, he glared back at the femme fatale, her hands ablaze with fire and body blocking his clothes and blades. He backed to the door, bleeding and nude, incapable of producing the sweet magic which would end this nightmare.
When in doubt, get the F*CK OUT.
He fell backwards as though pushed over by a great invisible hand, a wave of heat exploding over him as she fired at the door. Wood yielded immediately, splintering in a broad spread which covered him in debris, some shards nestling with great discomfort into his arms, shoulders and chest. The heat was incredible, yet he dove through the orifice, rolling around the corner as the demoness shrieked again. She screamed something about demanding “sacrifice” for “the Chosen”, but the words were still echoes in a distant chamber, his hearing too damaged to discern.
And so Storm Veritas ran, helpless, nude, watching as incredulous hotel guests filled the peep holes to their own rooms with curious, terrified eyes. None would dare enter the basement floor hallway to investigate the noise. None would come to the aid of the naked, bloody scoundrel chased by a screeching siren. He moved without rhythm, his body rolling from wall to wall as he tried to scramble without coordination or full health.
That WHORE. With my blessings, she’d be fried crispy, skewered for the cook, or crushed in rings of iron. Now I can’t even f*cking run.
The effects were inexplicable; he’d never lost all of his powers. Like a child, he looked back as the witch walked with deliberation and effortless grace down the hallway, her feet almost failing to touch the floor. Her floating traipse would have been beautiful if it weren’t harrowing, her youthful figure betrayed by the eyes which stole all light from the world.
“You think you were so CHARMING, Storm Veritas. A man of magic, untouchable, rich, and so popular. A fool, squandering abilities handed to you by the Chosen. He has taken back power before, and elected yours as the next to go. Fear not; you may finally be a part of something.”
Her words popped in and out; he couldn’t make out the entirety of it but heard it through the fading buzz of his ears. She closed on him, hapless at the end of the cellar hallway, the dim lights disappearing as she float-walked at him. The lights continued to fade as she approached, the blaze upon her fingertips growing stronger by contrast. The scent of mold was gone now, he smelled only blood and then smoke.
The lights then disappeared into eternity.
Blood, and then smoke.
"Hide all you want - Anubis, I will find you."
A couple of footfalls resounded in empty alleyways, moccasined feet thumping flagstones strewn with rubbish and other mangled detritus. Each muddy alley was flanked by shaky walls that were the foundations of weathered buildings climbing into the starless night sky. Other than few scarce oil lamps, darkness commanded each and every corner of this penurious district called home by none other than tramps and urchins. Moonlight somewhat assisted in traversing usual slippery passages, the originator - a bold, pale-colored orb - silently peering through the rust-colored clouds overhead.
Peering, and like a judging eye watching over the callous chase that transpired below. In the dead of night, bells before dawn, the pursuer had been the one pursued, and the now-pursued the pursuer. Dashing like mice unseen in the gloom, one fled with his life, the other chasing in pursuit of it. A scene that spewed naught but irony, one that nonetheless would mark the latent doom of a certain monster-hunter by trade.
"It is your time to know fear."
Heart pounding like a spiked cudgel in his chest, Anubis came upon the mouth of a gloomy alleyway. More beggars undoubtedly dwelled ahead. All in eternal wait of comfort in any shape or form come to embrace them in its arms. If only they knew that following him in his immediate wake, and in turn, arriving to meet them, was the cold snare of death. If only he could warn them - save them. But no, he could hardly save himself, his still-bleeding stab wound agonizingly serving him as a reminder. His gauntleted hand was pressed tightly against it in attempt to prevent both his blood and shame from abandoning his person— And with them both my life.
In his frantic passage, Anubis spared a glance at dust-caked, confused faces. Innocent faces.
That would be greeted by the monstrosity in his wake only heartbeats later.
The terror that would very soon assault their hearts and mar their faces filled him with feelings so strange and so… unfamiliar. He had ever been the one chasing, driven by the sole motivation to kill. And in this instance, he had done so, for a time. But he had only been fooled, by himself or by the one who chased him he knew not, and now he found himself driven by the motivation to flee.
He did not know whether to feel shame, or grief.
"Why do you run, little mouse?" whispered the voice of Chalice Steros.
The byproduct of a man exposed to situations that would ruin the sanity of even the most durable warrior. The epitome of brutal strength and fighting genius. Wielding only dagger and claw, the infamous serial killer had easily shrugged off every obstacle in his path. Guards, children or even monsters. It mattered not. All those lives taken, only to find Anubis - revenge the only motivator. A thought that had since gnawed on the monster hunter's mind, which he knew could, if he allowed it to, soon see him descend down the bottomless chasm of madness.
Anubis had tried all that was in his power to hold Steros back, to no prevail, for even a battalion could not put him down. They were the one put down. They hadn't even got the chance to draw their weapons. Indeed, what ensued when he descended upon them was not murder, but slaughter.
Anubis suddenly found himself at a mortared cul de sac, swore, and eyed the vicinity for another means. A small doorway to his left, the door ajar. He nudged the woodwork, ignoring the screech that left its rusty hinges. Finding himself in a vacant room, Anubis snapped his fingers as an orb of white light surfaced above him, illuminating the dust-caked floorboards and walls. A door. He dashed towards it, but something barred it from the other side. Cursing, the Salvarian half-spun and ran towards the room's only window, the glass crazed with fractures. He tested it with a slight push. He then drew his sword and drove the pommel through the sheet, shattering it in a sluice of shards.
Distant screams faintly breached the room, each suddenly cut off with equally faint gurgles.
Another delay, another misstep, and he would be met with the same fate. He climbed through the window, secured his grip then spared a glance down. He gauged that the fall would sprain both ankles. Either that, or face a miserable death, hapless idiot.
He dropped off.
Fire exploded in his feet as he met the ground, temporarily bringing him to his knees, gloved hands preventing him from collapsing headlong. Drawing ragged breath, Anubis raised his head to survey the vicinity. A haphazard file of erect slab stones, each one engraved with words. Headstones. Names. A cemetery. Groaning, Anubis pulled himself to his feet. He felt mild warmth trickle down his undershirt and looked down, eyes widening. The wound was frighteningly deep, the blood abundant in its escape. A fitting place for an end, Merka would agree.
"Surprise, surprise."
Anubis froze.
Then turned. He knew whom he would see at that change of direction. Of direction, and of mentality— You won't tire, will you? Fine. Enough killing tonight. We end this right now. A motionless figure eyed him from the window frame, face hiden in the simple, bone-white cloth mask that, should Anubis survive this, would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Clad in black, Steros tilted his head after a long pause, and spoke. "Where do you think you're going, 'monster hunter?'"
The voice sounded real this time, coming out muffled through that spectral gauze of paperthin cloth. "Steros. Where am I going?" Anubis cautiously stepped back, daring not break his gaze. "Who knows. We can settle this, Steros. We don't have to fight."
"You needn't tell me twice, brother." A short pause, before the figure stirred, was suddenly climbing down. Much heavier than Anubis's person, yet somehow much more agile in his maneuvers. The man landed, unscathed and not so much as troubled by the fall. "But who is to answer for what I've suffered, if not you?"
"Definitely not all those people you killed. Besides, I know places," Anubis said. "There are people who can fix you. Monks."
The man tilted his head as if in consideration, then a moment later, "You really believe that hogwash?"
"It's true. I've seen it with my own eyes."
"And you want me to trust you, after all you've done?" the man growled, clearly growing impatient.
"No," Anubis responded. "Only believe."
Steros's gaze shifted slightly downward, as if fixing his sight on the Salvarian's boots. There was a long pause, then the mask returned to face Anubis, who could discern a slight headshake. "I have made my decision."
"I understand," Anubis muttered.
Dagger and claw slithered out of a lacquer-black sleeves, one held in place by a glove of the same color and the other by a mechanism he could never understand. Clothes that concealed the ever-scarred reality that would pave the way to this very scene, the same reality of which he - Anubis - had been the cause.
He could now hear the serial killer's hoarse breath sifting to and fro as the mask lay there, feet from his own face. Only one of them would leave this place alive. It was the hard, bruised truth - even if the monster hunter could not accept it. Steros had, after all, come for revenge. Or was it redemption?
"From this day," Steros said, "kiss you and your wretched group of hunters goodbye. The Ah'kant are no more."
Anubis bared his teeth in a weak grin. "Me? Maybe. But them? No, they'll get to you before you could realize. Regardless," his grin vanished, "forgive me, Steros, for what I've done - and for what I am about to do."
This vignette is now closed for judgment. Thanks for participating!
Hello!
For this vignette, Storm Veritas wrote the commentary for both Fenn and Fez, as a part of his judging training. With that being said, he had no part in the actual judging, or the assigning of rewards. I read all three entries, wrote feedback for Storm, and judged the pieces by my own standards. As this is a change from the norm, I felt it important to note here.
A note from Storm: Before I start, this was really tough! The two entries I judged were both well written, and stylistically WILDLY different. I’d encourage you to both peek at the other’s entry since they were both very good entries that are well worth your time.
FennWenn
This post was basically a short horror story, fairly well wrapped and crafted. The poem was a lovely touch to help set the mood, even if it didn’t flow off the tongue perfectly when I read it back to myself. There was also one significant typo which stuck in my teeth like a popcorn shell – were you describing a “briar” as in “briar patch” or some provincial “brier” (which I’m not familiar with)? Either way would be okay, but you can’t have both. I know, I’m being picky; this was a well edited post with very little for me to complain about.
In such a short post, you did a terrific job of setting the stage, writing a captivating, multifaceted setting, and developing a legitimate fear of the mysterious beast through the inter-dimensional rift. If there was anything here to second-guess, it would be the tone of some of the kids – they pivoted from very childish banter to much more sophisticated tone quickly. This helped you push the plot forward effectively, but didn’t really help me figure out much about these odd neighborhood kids.
Something that I’ve been criticized of that I’d suggest is trying to limit the use of passive pronouns. I know in writing Storm I’ve found myself caught in the loop of “he did this, he did that” – every time you write “he”, you waste an opportunity to deliver a critical detail about Fae that could be really useful in a short story like this. Again, it’s minutiae, but there isn’t much here to really attack. I loved your story and found the pacing, action, and setting beautiful.
A note from Ray: Fenn, this was an exceptionally well-written vignette. Considering it is your first since joining the site, I want to applaud your strong start. Please keep writing these, as this was a delight to read.
Storm Veritas
Storm, your post was a fantastic, exhilarating ride. Often, writers opt to ease into their story, relying on passive language to build up to the action. While this may work in a longer story, it is detrimental in a short piece, like a vignette. You, on the other hand, opened with a bang. Immediately, I sat up and took notice. Why was is running? Why does he have bare feet? Though what you had was excellent, you might have even piqued my curiosity more by referencing his full nudity here. That sounds a bit crude, I know, but the scene would have been ten times more bizarre had that been noted.
Your description in general was very well-done. It showed a reader a scene, without being too wordy, or flowery. There was everything that was needed, and nothing that wasn’t. I also really appreciated the way that you handled the flashback-like pieces in the fourth and fifth paragraphs. Similar to your description, they painted a picture without bogging the reader down with unnecessary facts. I am normally hesitant of this approach in vignettes, as too much time is often wasted on recalling the past, but you figured out a nice balance. As a personal preference, I would have preferred a paragraph break between the descriptions of the sex and the realities of his waking. It was jarring, and the fact that one flowed right into the other caused me to re-read. Perhaps that was a stylistic choice, but it did cause some clarity issues. I also felt that the internal monologue here was not as effective as I have seen in the past. It did not reveal any new information, as it was already pretty clear what was going through Storm’s mind (I suppose you can blame that on your knack for description). In my opinion, the sudden shift to Storm’s cuss-filled thoughts detracted from what you had written, and cheapened the paragraph that followed. What you had certainly worked, but I do think you might have done without the second string of thoughts.
Overall, the story was a delightful interpretation of the prompt. I always love it when I anticipate a specific story, but I get something else entirely. It also had a great dose of humor, a nod back to some 80’s slashers. Well done!
Fez the Kid
A completely different post, but a very well executed story. In this short story, you drop the reader into what feels like the penultimate chapter of what must be a captivating story. I finished the story and was sad that I couldn’t scroll further to read more. Give me more, please!
Your character’s motivation is intentionally unclear; we don’t know much coming in about either Anubis or Steros. An awful lot of time is devoted to building a great sense of dread in Anubis, and clearly painting the picture of everything around you. There isn’t a very good balance across senses; perhaps less time devoted to visual in exchange for some smell or more tactile sensations would be a bit more immersive.
Your grammar has clearly improved since you started writing here, and this post is a sold step forward. Nice job! There are a few points where the grammar bug comes back to bite you here. The sentence below is an example where a re-read may have caught the error:
“But he had only been fooled, by himself or by the one who chased him he knew not, and now he found himself driven by the motivation to flee.”
The clause in the middle here really interferes with the continuous thought of what is going on. Starting the sentence with “but” is also controversial and generally frowned upon. Perhaps rewording that sentence to “Whether he or his pursuer fooled him was irrelevant. He had been fooled, and now found himself driven by the motivation to flee.”
I don’t know the Anubis character well, so I don’t know if his internal monologue calling himself a “hapless idiot” was out of character or not, but it seemed a little odd to me, and possibly unnecessary given the urgency of getting away. In general, I’d suggest a full paragraph break any time you switch from narrative perspective to internal monologue, to keep the voice consistent and avoid confusion. These are small, easy changes, but served as slight blemishes in a very tight competition.
The story was compelling, and the work overall clean. Well done!
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First place goes to FennWenn.
Second place goes to Storm Veritas.
Honorable mention goes to Fez the Kid.
Truly, this was a very close vignette to judge. You all did a fantastic job. Thank you for the pleasure of reading your work.
FennWenn receives 2 AP, 200 EXP and 200 GP.
Storm receives 1 AP, 1200 EXP and 150 GP.
Fez receives 1 AP, 250 EXP.
Congratulations!
All rewards have been added!