January 2017 Vignette

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Base your vignette entry on a well known idiom. For example, "to steal someone's thunder" - for inspiration check out the wikipedia list of idioms here. Thanks to Gum for coming up with this fun prompt! Due to popular demand this vignette will run through February as well.

[Jethro]

Due to an idiotic chain of events Jethro had found himself getting ready to fight a duel. The previous day he was ran into by a young man with a rapier. Jethro apologized even though it wasn't his fault but the haughty young man persisted in his arrogance and soon challenged Jethro to a duel.

So there he was the next day in the fog of the morning being told the rules of this duel. Most of the time he was going in and out as his eyes glossed over. The rules were simple, there was to be no interference from outsiders, the weapons must be comparable such as no guns against swords and finally magic was to not to be used.

Eventually the proctor finished droning on and on and on and on and the fight was finally ready to begin. On the eighth chime of a near by clock the fight began. Jethro exploded forward thrusting his spear directly at the young mans face pushing him to his back foot.

The young man parried and directed Jethro's weapon into the dirt but his stomach was forcibly compressed by Jethro's foot. The young man backed off to catch his breath while Jethro pressed his advantage by swing the capped end of his boar spear at the young man's head. The metal cap connected with the young man's teeth several rattling through the dirt.

As the young man started crawling back to his feet Jethro shouted "You JACKASS! Get up, you would have kept your teeth if you would have just apologized."

The young man staggered back to his feet and lunged at Jethro with his rapier. Jethro stepped away from the wild attack and gave the young man a swift kick to his posterior sending the young man careening back into the unforgiving ground. Jethro stepped on the young mans shoulder and ground the heel of his boot into it "You are an absolute idiot dueling someone you don't even know over an accident you caused. Get up."

The young man struggled back up to his feet and charged Jethro only for his stomach to meet the capped end of an offending spear. The young man had the wind knocked out of him.

The witnesses began to call out "End it all ready! You're humiliating him!"

Jethro ignored the cries and continued "How stupid can one person be! Get up you dummy!"


Broken teeth.
Busted nose.
Cracked ribs.
Wounded pride.

"Dummy!"
"Jack ass!"
"Idiot"
"Ass hole"
"LOSER!"

It was a bad for such a man to be left alive after losing such a duel for when insult was added to injury.

[FennWenn]

Note to damn self, I pondered slowly, staring aghast into the mossy puddle at the edge of the alley. Don’t steal from old hobo men anymore. They aren't as they seem.

And neither, at the moment, was I.

The face that peered back at me through rippling water was one of a downy white kitten with big green eyes and black speckles. My whiskers twitched in shock. I poked at the puddle with one paw, in awe of how it didn't crack and freeze over under my touch. Actually, it felt kind of tingly and weird on my bare paw pads. I didn't really like it. Was this… was this what “being cold” was supposed to feel like? Freaky.

It seemed that I was now a common housecat. How the fuck did this happen?

Well, I stole a pouch from this creepy old hobo guy; tattered and patchy longcoat, jutting yellow teeth, and a blue felt hat that didn't quite contain every white shock of hair. A rather unbecoming look, to be frank. The pouch looked like a wallet, and it stuck out so blatantly from his coat pocket, practically begging me to liberate it. So I plucked it up and went on my way. I was a little grossed out when I opened the pouch to see how much money it held, because all I found inside was this crusty white powder. A suspicious substance, to be sure.

A few minutes later, the hobo dude pops up behind me and starts ranting about his “magic powder”, which I hastily handed back to him because I didn't really have any use for possible hallucinogens. How did he find me? I have as little a clue as you do. The guy was fucking magic.

During his ranting and raving he called me a cat burglar - an entirely different breed of thief from me - and said this; “If you shall cower and steal like a stray, for a day a stray you shall be!” Next thing I knew, he muttered an incantation and throws some powder on me before I could run for the hills. Apparently that magic powder had actually been magical, because one burst of light and excruciating transformation later, I was a very confused cat poking at a puddle. “Cat burglar” was now a more accurate descriptor for me. When that I thought about it, I could probably get away with rolling around all cute and begging food from soppy-hearted passerby… My ears perked up at the notion; I was perpetually hungry. Maybe getting turned into a cat for a day was a good thing.

A shadow fell around the sunlit entrance of the drippy, dank alley.

I glanced up from the little pool, dreading the idea that the warlock hobo was back to do something awful to me again. Who was actually standing there was more relieving. She was also ten times scarier. My dark-furred direwolf buddy flicked up her ears alertly and gave me a hard stare, licking her chops all the while. There was no sight of blood on her; a sign that her hunting break outside the city had gone poorly. Where she had been expecting to meet back up with her friend, she instead was greeted by a rolly-polly kitten, and she was not pleased.

Oh fuck. Daugi ate little fluffballs like me for breakfast.

Instinctive that wasn't entirely mine took over. I let out a deep and threatening hiss which gave a jolt to me and Daugi both, sending us each skittering back a few feet, her claws clicking on the stones of the street. Of course. The one time I have some decent vocal cords, and all I could do was make animal noises. With a keen predator looming over me, the only viable option was to run. I turned ninety degrees and leapt awkwardly away on four paws only to smack nose-first into a musty wooden crate. Flamboyant swears bounced around my brain like the myriad of colors that shot through my vision.

Pain! I frantically shook my head back and forth, as if that would dispel the throbbing in my nose. My muzzle? Fuck, anatomy. Dashing to the side only caused me to bump into one of Daugi’s muscular legs and tumble back head-over heels. Do cats have heels? Let’s say they have heels! When I peered up, the wolf’s snarling face was pretty much all I could see. Open jaw, narrow eyes, ready to lunge for the kill. I held up a measly claw - as if a kitty scratch could harm Daugi! - and waited for her to strike. She stopped just short, ivory teeth poised above my trembling head.

Her eyes widened and she snuffled at my forehead. Familiarity brightened her gaze and relief relaxed mine. A slobbery pink tongue slid from her maw, and she began greeting me with her usual overly enthusiastic saliva bath.

So you recognize me after all? I thought, my ears still flat to my head as I reached up to bop her nose with my paw. Her slobber was making my fur spike up and clump together in annoying ways. Your nose is a blessing, you dumb dog- hey, wait, what’re you doing? Suddenly, her teeth found the scruff of my neck, and I was lifted up off of the ground. Ignoring a squeaky mewl from me, and some squirming, she placed me on her back.

What?

I carefully peered over the edge of her furry back, reaching out into the empty air with one paw, trying to figure out how to leap down. In return, Daugi snarled at me and and smacked me over the head with a flick of her fluffy tail.

I flinched and tried again. Daugi gave me a short, scolding bark and twitched her shoulder blade, nudging me back into the hollow between her neck and back.

Another ridiculous mew of protest squeaked out of me as she picked up her feet and waltzed out of the alley. We trotted off through the bustling crowds of the afternoon. Most people we met either pointed at me and laughed, or gave Daugi a wide berth as she came by. So, not too different from business as usual.

Now I was too tiny to resist her (not that I had been big enough to before), and unable to issue the touch and hand-gesture based commands I could as a humanoid, the dumb dog could do whatever she pleased with me. And if what she pleased to do was fuss over me like I was her adoptive pup, then that was what was going to happen. I sighed and resigned myself to a day of being “protected”. Daugi was taking a short path out of town, probably to do some hunting for the both of us.

I should just sleep the rest of this curse off, I thought, Daugi’s rocking strides spiraling me into a state of incredible tiredness. Pale sunlight, filtered through clouds and warm on my fur, didn't help matters. It’ll wear off by tomorrow, I hope. He said “for a day.” Probably. But that could be dealt with later - maybe Vincent would know a fix... Curled up warmly in Daugi’s fur, I opened my tiny pink mouth in a wide yawn and dropped off into a deep, dreamy slumber.

After all this stress, I was glad to end this day with a worry-free catnap.

[Lady Scarlet]

The gentle crash and hiss of waves on a pebbly beach accompanied by the shrill, piercing call of seagulls filtered through the open window of a small room. The room in question was just big enough for a double bed, a dresser, and a washstand. Bright morning sunshine filled the room with a rosy glow, but the man sitting on the side of the bed failed to notice all these signs of dawn.

Despite how comfortable the bed looked, it remained nearly as pristine as when he entered the room. Only the wrinkles from him sitting on the edge marred its appearance. He had spent all night in a stupor, unable to bring himself to actually climb into bed. His thoughts and emotions had been in too much turmoil to allow him to sleep anyway. He looked up at the sound of the doorknob turning.

“Where were you last night?”

The question was simple and he already knew the answer, but he wanted to give his lover the chance to be truthful.

“Out and about,” the red-haired beauty shrugged as she closed the door behind her and locked the latch. She balanced on one foot and removed the boot from the other, then repeated the process for the other boot. Smiling, she approached the man sitting on the bed. She straddled his lap and caressed his face. “What did you do last night, Ivan?”

He pushed her away and stood to his feet. “I know where you were and what you were doing, Scarlet.”

She stepped back for a moment, then tried again. “Whatever you think I was doing, you’re wrong. I had business to attend to, that’s all.” She reached up once more to caress his face, trying to calm him.

“Scarlet, enough!” He took her by the hands and held them firmly in his, “Do you even wonder how I knew about your plans to make me blue? There’s some other guy that you knew before, but baby, you know I love you more. Gotta say I was surprised when I found out yesterday night. I thought you were different, that you’d be loyal.”

At the last statement her green eyes flashed in anger, “Loyal? Did you think I was yours exclusively? When did we agree to that?” She pulled her hands out of his and went over to the window to gaze out to sea.

A man ain’t supposed to cry, he reminded himself, but he couldn’t hold the tears inside. He sighed and walked up behind her, “Losing you would end my life. That’s how much you mean to me.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him, “You could have told me yourself, Scarlet. Instead, I heard it through the grapevine that not much longer would you be mine.”

She looked up at him, “People say to believe half of what you see and none of what you hear. Have I given you cause to doubt me? Why would you even listen to rumors if you love me so much?”

He sighed and returned her gaze, “I can’t help being confused. If it’s true, please, just tell me, dear. Do you plan to let me go for the other guy? I’m about to lose my mind over this. I need to know for sure.”

In answer, Scarlet raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him fully. “That’s not a promise to stay, Ivan, but you need to stop listening to the grapevine.”

He looked at her in doubt for a moment longer, then scooped her up in his arms and kissed her while carrying her to the bed. They had a whole night to catch up on.


((Note: there are numerous lines from the song “I Heard it Through the Grapevine” as performed by Marvin Gaye used or referenced in this story. Virtual cookies for whoever can tell me how many I used, just catch me in chat or something. Extra virtual cookies if you don't have to look up the lyrics to answer how many I used.))

[Fez_The_Kid]

She looked at him steadily from above cracked spectacles, only her aged face visible in the candle half-light. “Please wait a moment, sir,” the old woman rasped.

Waiting. More waiting.

He was sick of it.

The metal, ornate screen that separated him from the clerk seemed more for looks than protection. Of course, he had to leave his weapons at the entrance, but then again that was far from decent preventive measures. At least, to Azaranth, it seemed so. A common pickpocket may find it less a pushover, however, for most cannot break through this metal sheet like the monster-hunter could.

A sneer stealing at his lips, the monster-hunter turned and gave the empty square-shaped behind him a glance.

Behind two stairsteps made of gleaming granite, slick marble paved the floor, fringed with elaborate, emerald-green frames. Ornate sculptures of some old scholar flanked the copper-painted door that was the entrance, and a few plain benches filled out the empty space before the walls. Alas, there was no occupant there to keep Azaranth company.

“You may take a seat as I process your request, sir,” the clerk nodded. She was acutely occupied with an endless array of folders. Azaranth frowned, irked by the discourtesy. The elderly these days...Oh, for the gods’ sake, it’s not that hard to find my name. Everyone and their mother seems to have been named Azaranth. Damn you, Lind.

Leaning down into a side drawer, the woman managed, “I won’t take long.”

“Please, take your time,” he said in the tone of ‘hurry the damn up’ before turning and making for one of the benches. He set his head against the wall. Ah, I’m going to kill Marlowe when I see him. Putting off my payment for one damned year... I’ll teach him not to keep monster-hunters waiting. If only to save him from what others would do to him if they were in my shoes.

A short while later the elderly accountant beckoned for him to approach. He did so, this time choosing to ignore the incivility. He peered through the screen, eagerly waiting for the good news.

“I’m afraid Mr. Marlowe hasn’t deposited any money for you, sir,” she revealed. Fucking great. “Would you be kind so as to write down your name and address so we can notify you when he does?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

A few hours later

“Open up, Marlowe.”

Azaranth knocked against the dull door hard, unmindful the rain that pattered down in endless droves. “I know you’re in there.” Soaking wet, the warrior snarled, “Don’t make me break this door. You’re indebted as it is.”

A noise emanated from behind the woodwork. There was a long pause, then came the edgy voice of Azaranth’s once-contractor. “Ah, welcome back, Azaranth. Good to see you visit again.”

“You know why I’m here, Marlowe,” he sneered. “I’m sick of you and your games. Open this door right now - unless you want a visit from the carpenter.”

“A visit from the carpenter? Why, am I indebted to him as well?”

There was a hint of sarcasm in the man’s voice, and Azaranth felt broiling blood beneath his skin. “I won’t tell you again,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I tremble in fear! Do you imbecile really think—

—Ack!”

Marlowe stumbled backward, the felled door missing him by a hairbreadth. The shadow forming on his face parted as he looked up, his new-found smirk twitching. “Oh. Hello, Azaranth.”

“Marlowe,” Azaranth acknowledged, his face akin to that of an owl. Marlowe crawled away in the hall connecting the entrance to the rest of his home. For some reason, the monster-hunter now couldn’t care less about the payment. He was going to scare him shitless. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh, well…” the man stuttered, visibly searching for something as he flicked his restless gaze from room to room. It seemed to hold on something in one, to which the man scrambled in haste, interestingly leaving the door ajar behind.

Azaranth paused. He couldn’t hear the man any longer, and when he strained his senses, all he could hear was the scurrying of vermin in the roof overhead. He edged forward again, stood before the door. The room inside was gloomy, and Marlowe had no doubt reached for some sort of weapon by now.

The Salvarian shrugged and stepped inside, pausing after his third step. He saw nothing but the pitch of darkness, as one heartbeat later a stick came swinging for his head. Azaranth ducked, heard it stagger and crash against the wall. A smirk playing on his lips, he fisted his hands and twisted, rose.

Marlowe stumbled back with a broken nose, blood spraying unseen in the darkness. He whimpered, restless as he squirmed underneath the imposing monster-hunter.

Azaranth leaned in and whispered, “Any last words?”

Marlowe held the stick close to his person. “No! You must be—”

The Salvarian tilted his head, felt a pop in his neck. Satisfied, he stepped toward the cornered, cowering excuse for a man.

Azaranth grinned. “Calling me an 'imbecile,' huh? It’s going to be a long night for you today, friend. Oh, and, before I forget—” he chuckled— “be sure to send Healer Foy my regards.”

[Les Misérables]

The pearl coasts of Serenti looked particularly peaceful by the pale light of the moon. The gently rippling waters of Corone's southern coast caught the silver rays and cascaded them across the beach where Phyr Sa'resh paced. The old dark elf had become accustomed to his evening strolls, and habitually enjoyed them at a leisurely rate. Tonight he marched to and fro, temperament visible on his face. His eyes darted, his pulse hastened, and sweat beaded on his brow.

He'd had a windfall.

A courier had arrived that afternoon with a sealed scroll and a fat pouch of gold. An old friend from his days in Underwood had passed on and left him a tidy sum. Phyr had hidden the pouch beneath his mattress and gone out for a drink to toast his friend's memory. After that, he didn't bloody know what to do, and it irked him. He managed the money of others for a living; he'd been hired on some months ago as the local baron's financial advisor. But suddenly he had a little gold in his hands, and he couldn't decide what to do with it

How unfortunate am I, the dark elf asked himself, that all I can think to do is go out for a drink when a pile of gold falls into my life. I wish I could live at that bloody tavern...

And then an idea occurred to him. Why not buy the bloody tavern?

Within a fortnight Phyr had purchased the deed to his favorite watering hole, and hired a bartender, a half dozen attractive young servers, and a cook. He was sitting at the bar enjoying a glass of Alerian scotch when the cook barged out of the kitchen.

"If you expect me to prepare dinners all night," the cook blustered, "you'd best get me an assistant!"

Phyr considered the request; it did not seem unreasonable, so he hired another cook to help the first. Things ran smoothly until one particularly busy night when diners filled the tavern's tables. Food stopped flowing out of the kitchen, and so Phyr ducked in to see what the issue was.

"We need another pair of hands," the cook explained, "someone to plate meals while we work the fryers and flattops!"

The next day Phyr hired another assistant for his chef, but before long more complaints emanated from the kitchen. Frustrated, Phyr went out and hired a half dozen cooks to work the kitchen around the clock. They all piled into the fine-smelling room on their first night of training, and there was barely any space left to shift pans around. Eventually someone tripped, someone else stumbled, and the original chef ended up shoved into an open oven headfirst. Not wanting to face the repercussion, the remaining cooks incorporated him into the meat pies and kept food flowing.

"Where is my head chef?" Phyr asked as he peered into the room.

"In the pies, sir," one of the new hires replied, "it was an accident, honest!"

Phyr covered his eyes and shook his head.

"Clearly," he said, "there are too many cooks in this kitchen!"

[Jake Narmolanya]

"How could you have been so careless?" Anastacia Alliendra demanded. She clutched the front of her green dress in a ball in her lap, sitting upright in the room's window seat.

"How was I to know they'd have muskets?" Jake retorted, feeling his cheeks color. "How was I to know they'd aim at Gunner, or be able to bloody well shoot straight? It all happened so fast, Stacia." He pressed his palms to his temples and raked fingers through dirty blond hair. He paced back and forth on the rug that dominated the center of Stacia's room, feeling the thick fibers through his stockings.

A week earlier, Jake had gone to Alerar in search of a Crystal Sword, and he'd made the mistake of bringing his horse along. Gunner had died, somewhat ironically, when Jake was attacked by gun-toting bandits. The loss of his horse (and close friend) had been heart wrenching, and seemed punishment enough. Just the same, Jake's closest friend Stacia saw the need to berate him over the loss of his steed. In truth, he knew, she had loved Gunner as much as he did.

"Well why did you bring him with you in the first place?" Stacia demanded. The petite woman shook her head forcefully, cherry-streaked blonde hair swirling about.

Jake picked at a sleeve of his green sifan jacket. "I brought him everywhere Stash, you know that. Especially traveling to a new land for the first time, it just felt... right."

"Well clearly it wasn't right!" Stacia stormed. She stood up and stamped a stockinged foot. "What on Althanas were you thinking?"

"That I wanted to have my friend along with me!" Jake cried. He scratched at the leg of his brown trousers and shuffled his feet on the rug. "I never thought he would die, Stash!" Tears welled at the corners of Jake's eyes, and he sat on the cushion in the window seat. "I never would have taken him if I'd known this would happen. You don't know how much this hurts me. You can't know." He drew his knees into his chest and rested his chin on top of them.

"I'm sorry," Stacia relented. She sat beside Jake and put a slender arm around his slim shoulders. "I didn't mean to beat a dead horse."

[Ebivoulya]

The grass is always greener...

The land has always been the foothold for society in wild places, but even stubborn crops grew sparse so close to the cold breath of the mountain. Silent trees spoked with sunlit beams stretched past a peaceful waterfall, but closer to the forest's edge the raucous fauna re-surged. An urchin hobbled up the path bearing a basket of beaten vegetables, and the tall traveler in tan vest raised an arm to halt the lad. Despite his distrust, the boy finally leaned on his cane and answered some questions.

"Farmin' ain't so good, but the huntin' is, so you should be able to get a meal. The animals don't run far, sometimes they're just layin' there. If you want a place to stay, go talk to...uhh, Ms. Dheren, I think."

The dark-haired man thanked the boy and they parted ways, but the lad stopped uncertain at the fork before choosing a path. The traveler soon walked into a small village surrounded by tough earth and paltry crops. Most of the townsfolk were on the western horizon with teams of mules all fighting to tear up a great big stump. The wooden home the wanderer was directed to sat in notable disrepair, but the woman within was a motherly sort. She agreed to lodging and food for a few chores done. The dusty afternoon was filled with replaced nails, cleaned nooks, and other minor tasks. It was late in the day when the young man heard a commotion, and dropped down from the roof with a few extra tiles. He walked down the dusty street and toward a group of villagers gathered around an argument. It was about the expansion of the farms, and centered around the waterfall he had passed on his way down the mountain.

"They only redirected it to flood the mine," a stocky younger man was saying. "There's no reason we can't use it now." A lot of nods followed this, but a middle-aged man with a wooden cane was shaking his head. He started droning on about upsetting the creatures that lived there, but the only heads to nod were as aged as his. Most of the older villagers stood propped on sticks and canes, and their eyes wandered inattentive. They were ignored, and politely shuffled away by their family when the argument died down. The traveler returned to the Dheren house, and the smell of stew was already wafting. As they ate, she told him that it had been going on for days, but they wouldn't decide until they finished pulling stumps from the western field; he had only seen the one.

After dinner the young man went for a walk to escape the wandering hands of the older woman, and soon he was headed to the waterfall. A kid hobbled back from one branch of the fork as the traveler approached, and took the other with an embarrassed hunch; he was carrying a basket. As the long-haired wanderer walked, the air grew quiet and still but for the soft roar of water down weathered rocks. The moon peeked through the canopy, and fell upon a tree frog. The creature was perched on a large spruce right at the foot of the basin, and it watched the young man as he stepped up to peer into the water.

"Would you stop them?"

Sharp eyes revealed only dark forest, and silent night. The frog moved, and when he looked at it the question repeated, in a soft and feminine voice. His confused gaze was met by a calm nod from the frog; instinct was the only thing that kept him from jumping back as from a ghost. When the traveler asked if she meant to stop them from diverting the waterfall basin, the frog nodded again. The skeptical lad responded with a simple "Why?" The tree-bound toad returned with a vague warning that the men of the village had all been sickly before they flooded the mine. The moonlight sank quite far beneath the rippling surface; no telling if anything was still down there, but it was hard to argue with a talking frog.

"I will try."

When the tall traveler looked back the creature was gone. He sat beneath the tree thinking for a while, and soon dozed off. When dawn broke through the canopy, his blue eyes fluttered open. The frog was nowhere to be seen near the quiet pool, so he dusted off his tan pants and trotted back toward the village. The birds finally started chirping once he neared the fields, and men were already toiling at the same stump. There were no others, and it looked like they would get it out today. Ms. Dheren was all a-flutter when he returned, but after a meager breakfast of leftover stew he was back to work. When the crowd gathered again he waited near the back. People were clearly in favor of funneling the water down for irrigation. A momentary doubt entered the wanderer's mind, whether he had the right to potentially alter their decision, their livelihood, based on the words of a frog. To be safe, he decided to be as impartial as he could, and if they went with it, then it would be their choice.

"The river folk lay fat with barley all year round," the young speaker was finishing, "They don't even know its value in sweat and toil. Once the irrigation system is finished, we will eat like lords!" A cheer rose, and some of the cane-wielding elderly confusedly joined in. After the commotion died down, the traveler finally piped up. With a cough to grab attention, he told them that he had heard a tale of sickness before the mine was flooded, and that uncovering it could lead to a relapse. A few of the elders eyed him suspiciously, and one asked who had told him that. He responded with a vague story of talking with someone who lived near the waterfall, but the younger ones immediately returned with cries that those near the fall just wanted the water for themselves.

The outsider got only sharp glances after that. As the sun set on a cleared western field, the wanderer walked back to the Dheren place. He tried to get some sleep after the meal, but laid so long thinking about the waterfall that he didn't wake until mid-afternoon. As he headed out the door, Ms. Dheren stopped him, and urged him to wait until dark. She feared some of the younger men would grow violent if he interfered. He relented, and finished up some yard-work as the hours stretched long. The whole time he thought of the frog's warning, and wondered if he should've tried harder to convince the villagers.

When dusk sank into deep purple, he finally bid farewell to his kind host. She insisted on handing him some coins, and his more pragmatic side accepted them with gratitude. The traveler felt the need to visit the waterfall one more time. As the path stretched and he neared the place, he noticed that all the chattering creatures of the night had fallen silent. There was already a ditch a few feet deep filled with water, and it crawled thirty paces out from the basin; they had done much in one day. The large tree that had housed the frog was freshly cut, still laying where it had fallen off to the side. They probably planned to pull the roots to widen the ditch. He stopped and sat on the stump, examining the many rocks covered in dark green moss that now lay exposed along the inner slope of the basin.

"After I saw it again, I remembered what they said about it."

The wanderer's head swiveled back to the spruce trunk, and perched on its sawed edge was the small frog. She still wouldn't leave that tree, but her soft voice continued. "Stone Carpet Moss, they called it. None of them could walk without canes by the time they flooded the mine. Many of them starved because too few could work the fields." He followed her eyes to the pool, and looked long at the moss covering those rocks; it was actually black. The mine must've been flooded long ago, though. "It can only release spores when the weather gets colder," she continued, "The water is already full of it, however. For years I watched the animals who drank it slowly begin to stumble and limp, before they finally laid down to starve, but I couldn't remember until I saw it." The tall traveler recalled the forgetful lad carrying a basket; the boy probably drank from here every day. He turned back to the tiny toad, and said "It causes memory loss, too. You're actually a spirit in the tree, aren't you?" She nodded, and he added "You've been absorbing it since the mine was flooded."

The young man thought about warning the villagers, but after his last attempt they probably wouldn't believe him, especially since the effects were so slow. It wasn't even the right season to produce spores. He thought of the stump, and looked back to the small frog. "What will you do?" he asked, and she responded with a sigh. "Once they pull up my roots, I will have to take physical form to survive," she said. "I will probably starve like the rest of them. Every time I've taken that form I can't even crawl without pain." Her voice quivered a little when she spoke of her fate; it seemed even spirits feared death. The weight of his indifference hung heavy on the traveler, and despite his usual policy of staying out of things, he wanted to mitigate it somehow. Selfish to save some small piece just for his own peace of mind, but there it was.

"Come with me."

It was a quiet stretch of night as the frog stared the man down, before she simply asked "Why?" It didn't take him long to return with "Because it's better than dying. It doesn't take much to feed a frog, and with enough time away from this place, you might even recover." She didn't respond immediately, but the wanderer felt the stump grow cold and dry below him, like it was aging years in seconds. When he looked back up to the frog, a hazy glow that he hadn't noticed before was starkly absent. She sat on the log in the dull green of any normal toad, and seemed at once much more real, and much more frail. A bare hand hovered close enough for her to climb onto it, and the dark-haired man pushed the flap of one vest pocket in so he could see into it once she was nestled within.

As he started walking the traveler said "My name is Nyadir, by the way." Her voice was much clearer, and more obviously in his head this time. "Mine is Lynelia...and thank you." He simply nodded, and headed south to the next village; it had to be better off than this one. It didn't take the villagers more than a month to finish diverting the mountain stream down to the fields, and by the time winter rolled around the storehouse was well stocked. The cold breath that blew down from the mountain brought more than snows that year, though. The villagers found patches of black moss covering the forest when winter melted away, but they thought little of it and praised their ingenuity when the crop that year was the biggest ever. It was the next thawing, when the moss had crept into the village, that they began to worry, but by that time not a single one of them could walk without a cane.

It wasn't long until spring fell silent at the foot of the mountain.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

This vignette is now closed for judging!

[Philomel]

Commentary:


Jethro:
There are unfortunately a few grammatical errors such as the “young mans face”, where it should have been “man’s”. Also there were punctuation missed out, such as a comma at the end of this clause before “young mans face pushing him,” so it becomes overall “… young man’s face, pushing him …” There are a few further times where you miss out the needed commas after clauses or before speech. It would help to revise these rules. Overall, though, it is written with some nice description and it is short and rather to the point, with a single scene played out to highlight the ‘insult to injury’. It seemed rather rushed at the beginning, with an explanation that could have been fleshed out a little more, but the story itself was told well. The last few paragraphs with the list of injuries and then insults work extremely well for your idiom and finish the scene off dramatically.

FennWenn:
You write a fun, quirky story that encompasses jokes on both ‘cat burgler’ and ‘things not being as they seem’ very well. Being transformed into an actual cat is rather poetically done and you add description through the story to emphasise this. The story is unclear at points and did need some reading back over, but had very lovely highlights such as choosing to use ‘cat-nap’ at the very end. It could have done slightly with richer description, with the use perhaps of more linguistic techniques, but it ended and began well in a similar tone with a great structure in terms of paragraphing.

Lady Scarlet:
From the outset, having your idiom as a title helped to mark out precisely and clearly what you were writing about. You use some beautiful language in this, starting out with a pleasant description and going on to use poetic-sounding words. It is a short but pointant story, and using the lyrics from the song, and then adding the comment to help make it clear that you did make the idiom all the more used and strengthen your post. What was put into this post was just enough to make all that was needed known, known, and though perhaps it was unclear at points, this is likely down to trying to ease the lyrics into the formed story. The paragraphing was done well, but one or two more commas could have helped to break up some of the tension – but overall an excellent piece.

Fez The Kid:
Having your idiom as a title helps the reader to understand from the outset to what you mean to write about. Overall your story was well written and begun and ended well. There are some great pieces of descriptive writing such as, ‘irked by the discourtesy.’ The act of being annoyed at a delay shows well in your word choice, (for instance ‘irked’) and the reactions of your character as he goes to get what is due. There is not really any mechanical issues, apart from perhaps the need for a full stop at the end of ‘a few hours later’ and the paragraphing was steady. The pacing did speed up as the tension rose, but did so rather abruptly and could have been done with longer, then shorter sentences. Overall clarity was not much of an issue and it was a good length.

Les Miserables:
The story is short and sweet, and has an apt rising to the punchline. It reads rather like an epical joke, which connects to the idea of the idiom theme. Though it was hard at first to figure out the idiom in use, but the story itself was well written and clear, and the length was decent and the set-up for the final scene is well written. The initial descriptive piece was poetic, but lost some of its power in the middle, and there were several grammatical errors, in not capitalising the first letter in a set of speech marks. Aside from this it is a great, amusing story with good description.

Jake Narmolanya:
With the shortest story your post stands out, that connects to a larger story within Althanas (the Crystal Sword quests). It is clear and precise with a single scene and enough description in it to let the reader know the story well. The change of Stacia’s actions is a little rushed and abrupt, going from ‘stamped a foot’ to ‘relented’ with no description of her between, and perhaps could have included a recognition of her expression changing or similar. The description is well done, though can definitely be expanded upon, so encouragement here to do so in your next piece. The idiom is well used as the final line, and had a good lead up to it, and overall the piece was an enjoyable read.

Ebivoulya:
With one of the larger pieces in this vignette you start out very clearly stating your intent with the idiom ‘grass is always greener on the other side’ even linked in to your heading. The overall clarity of the piece fits with the idiom well because of setting (farm) but is marred a little by the heavy paragraphing. These could be broken up, with the speech sections alone themselves as an option. Mechanically, it was kept well, though perhaps could have done with more commas, i.e. between the adjectives in ‘great big stump’ and also before speaking in ‘asked "Why?"’. There is a little confusion also as to what the creature was on the spruce mentioned, and it took some re-reading to realise this was the frog. The theme is carried on well through, using language and description to continue it, the farmers wary of the travelling stranger and so on. Your use of the idiom was more poetical and less obvious than the other offerings for this vignette – but this worked well in your favour. The setting was wonderful and the story meaningful. Despite the fact there was a talking frog, there was a sincerity in your piece and you avoided the more classical humorous tone when dealing with idioms, which was really well done.

First place goes to Lady Scarlet.
Second place to Ebivoulya.

Congratulations!

Rewards!

Jethro receives: 150 EXP and 1 AP
FennWenn receives: 250 EXP and 1 AP
Lady Scarlet receives: 300 EXP and 200 GP and 2 AP
Fez The Kid receives: 300 EXP and 1 AP
Les Miserables receives: 250 EXP and 1 AP
Jake receives: 300 EXP and 1 AP
Ebivoulya receives: 480 EXP and 150 GP and 1 AP