January Vignette

[Christoph]

Prompt

The new year brings new adventures. Write the first scene of a new story starring your characters. Hook the reader by introducing a conflict and foreshadowing events to come.


Vignette Deadline

January 31st, 2021 through 11:59 PM EST.


Rules

1. One submission per character.

2. All entries must be completed before the deadline, including any edits.

3. The judging moderator may post an entry, but is not eligible for the 1st or 2nd place rewards.

4. On-topic vignettes only.

5. Your player-character must feature prominently, though the events need not be “canonical.”

6. All qualifying participants receive EXP, with 1st and 2nd place receiving GP as well.

7. Entries are assessed by the following merits:

• Use of Topic
• Creativity – story and character
• Prose – mechanics and style

[Preston]

“Let tha’ new guy get it.”

Those were not the words that Preston wanted to hear, at all. The young merchant saw a dozen eyes turn to him at once, expectation lingering heavy in the air. He sheepishly chuckled, quietly, as his bright blue eyes flit back and forth to his traveling companions. Up until that exact moment the dwarves had been as carefree as the human was, but the tone had become much more somber. Preston licked his lips nervously and nodded.

After a week of travel the small group had found their way back to the dwarves’ home, in the Windlancer Mountain range on the Northern part of Scara Brae. Preston, a young merchant from a family of merchants in Radasanth, had become somewhat of a traveling salesman, procurer of goods and wares, as well as an adventurer. The small island nation was a great place to build a profitable base from which to expand, and he had met many interesting characters since arriving. The dwarven troop was amongst the latest to take him in and show him a new way of doing business - hands on.

“Are you sure about that? I don’t know that it is the best idea…” he half suggested, half pleaded. Radur’s grin was almost sinister in the low light of the rocky tunnel, the light of the lanterns casting his features in a dull orange glow. “Oh, come on. Why should I do it?”

Radur crossed his meaty arms at his chest, the tip of his thick black beard just touching them as he took a wide stance. Preston had been impressed with his overall strength on the travels, able to lift and carry far more than he would have thought. Likewise, his party of family members had all shown their aptitude for strength and drink alike. It was Radur’s jovial nature and keen sense of trade that had made him most amenable though. But, just inside the caves of their mountain home, Preston was seeing a different side of the man and his team.

“Ya wanna learn, don’cha?” He responded with a grunt. “Ya wanna get tha ore from these hills, yer gonna have ta earn it.”

The other dwarves weighed in with hushed cheers and nods of agreement. Preston closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and nodded. He wanted the ore contract more than anything, as he had already found a good smithy who could work masterpieces. The raw materials were required though to do so, and Radur had those aplenty.

“Well, what do I have to do?”

The dwarf unfolded his arms and beckoned the young man forward. Preston made his way to the head of the group with the leader and leaned down to be level with him. “You have to move carefully, because if you aren’t careful…” his words drifted off as he shook his head and clicked his tongue. “‘Ere take these.”

Preston took a pair of long, thin tongs. They were similar to the kind that he had seen blacksmiths use, but far more delicate despite the thick layer of soot and grime on them. He nodded and waited for the next instructions. “Then ya carefully, gently, reach in and pluck it out.”

Easier said than done. He thought as he looked over the lip of the rock down into a small, narrow channel running the length of the passage walls. At first he had thought them to be drainage lines, or something similar, but the thought was ignored as ludicrous. Instead, he had found the real purpose. Carefully, he ever so slowly reached with the tongs and with a feathers touch pinched them down.

“Oh, it’s so gross!” Preston called out as the tongs secured his prize. At the end of them was a seven inch long, gray worm-like creature. It was as wide as the dwarf’s arm, and ridged with what looked like a chitinous shell with small spikes. One of the strangest creatures he had ever seen, Preston quickly tried to discern what to do next. He could not tell which side was the front and which was the back, but knew immediately it was not happy.

The thick grub started to inflate and deflate, as if attempting to intimidate a predator. Preston moved quickly to lift it so he could secure it safely.

The grub reacted further by remaining inflated and pushing against the tongs. As it did so, streaks of deep blue began to pulse along its surface like lightning flashes.

“Move, move,” Preston said as he tried to stumble back to where he had started in line. Back to the container he needed to put the creature in. The dwarves laughed as they darted out of the way. “Open it!”

One of Radur’s brothers, Nildar, quickly tossed the top off the deep wicker basket and jumped out of the way. Preston reached the lip of the basket just as the grub reached its final response to predation - spewing a sticky mess of fosforescent goo onto the young man that had one of the most disgusting smells he had ever experienced. It was a mix of a mid-day summer in lower Radasanth when there had been no rain to clean the filth from the streets, old fish innards at the docks that hadn’t been cleaned in a week, and a bag of manure.

Less than gingerly, Preston dropped the grub into the basket and in turn the tongs to the ground. Behind him, the dwarves were roaring with laughter, back to their old selves again. Feigning anger, he turned around with his arms in the air, avoiding the gunk on his shirt and pretending not to breathe. “Thanks for that.”

“Ya held the wrong en’ t’wards yerself!”

[Celandine]

I cried when she died.

When I stood amongst the other mourners, my head cowed and bowed, slowly breathing in and out, each inhale a fresh new beginning and each exhale an exhausted sigh. Silence, befitting such a funeral, filled the cold stone annex of the temple, and no bells rang out to declare - for quiet was what was needed that day. Serene peace for all to know that she - my mother and the saviour of Radasanth - had passed to the next world.

In my hand was the tightly gripping pale fingers of my younger brother whom I did not know well. Aderyn she had called him, her second hope after the chaos I had wrought. But yet we were her two unique endeavours, her 'greatest achievements' as she had called us later in life. The faun and the human, who faded in comparison to her glory.

Squeezing Aderyn's hand back I let my eyes slip closed, blocking out the view of her pale and frigid form, lying upon the marble altar and adorned in flowers and foliage. Beautiful as the day she had begun her endeavours in a brothel not a stone's throw from where me and the other mourners stood. Perfect.

Serene.

A loss.

But it was where I truly began.

*Non canon*

[Ebivoulya]

Rated Aure for Torture.

For the third night they were tossing houses, and it was finally her turn. The man who filled her doorway stepped inside without a word, standing sharp in a deep red shirt and black pants. He was picking something out of his teeth. Two more men stalked off into the back of the house.

"Boil some water."

She quietly obliged. With a flash of flint the fire was lit, and Marel filled her favorite pot part-way with water. She had always been a good judge of character, but her skin crawled every time she looked at the massive man.

He gestured to the far side of the table, and she took a seat. The man stepped over to set a knife above the flames, then took the seat opposite her. The deep crimson sleeves of his shirt almost looked stained. A thump echoed from the back of the house, along with muffled shouts.

Marel got up, but the man's glare caught her mid-stride. He had the eyes of a corpse filled with quiet fury, the cold-fire of death. With a thud, she found herself sitting again. She was frozen, and the moment stretched until the house grew quiet.

"You know why I'm here."

"I-I don't." she replied.

"Have you seen a girl with dark hair, in a plain white robe?"

"No." She didn't hesitate. He studied her in silence.

Above the kitchen, watching from the attic, knelt a girl with long dark hair. She peered through a crack of light as the man continued his questions in a sharp baritone.

"Are you aware of what hiding her means for you and your family?"

The small girl trembled as the woman below denied everything.

"Mr. Claire believes this girl is dangerous. Do you question him?"

"Of course not! I-" She caught herself.

The tone of his voice was as flat as his expression, but his eyes burned like blue coals. She couldn't bring herself to give an innocent girl over to this man, even if it would anger Mr. Claire. He would understand; he had kept the mine running, kept the men working, for decades now.

Surely, there was some mistake. That poor child couldn't harm a flea any more than her late daughter. She wanted to explain, help settle this, but... those eyes. A chill ran up her spine, and she clamped her mouth shut.

"Your refusal to cooperate doesn't just endanger your family. This entire town will suffer if you don't help us find her."

The other men returned, dragging her husband behind them. He wobbled there with a gag in his mouth and blood on his face. One of the men left, and returned with a metal tub. Her poor Natar was shoved into it, his limbs tied to the bars along the side; except for his right arm. Without a word the large man in the red shirt stood, and grabbed her husband's free hand. He resisted no more than a child, and was dragged over to their kitchen counter. The crimson giant pulled a small pair of pliers from his belt; Marel spoke quickly.

"Please, we haven't-"

A muffled scream cut off her words, and her face paled when the man started tossing bloody fingernails to the floor. Her husband shook and jerked, but his quivering hand was quickly pruned. Natar's screams took on a higher pitch when the crimson giant began chopping up his fingers like carrots. The butcher of a man then plucked up the glowing knife he had set over the flames, and cauterized her husband's stump with a slow sizzle.

He flourished a pale green dagger next, and started slicing open the joints. Natar clutched his quivering stump to his chest. Lifting up the blood-soaked cutting board, the large man scraped the flayed fingers into the pot of warming water, and placed the plain knife back over the flame.

Returning to Natar, the crimson giant cut a flap of skin on the back of his arm. Her husband could only shudder and groan while the man gripped his arm and peeled the skin away. A deft blade slipped in and scooped out the thick slice of muscle, still bright red and dripping. He slapped the strip of flesh onto the glowing knife, and it began sizzling. The smell that filled the room made her gag.

Her husband's head drooped, and he was covered in sweat. His right arm kept slipping down his chest when he tried to cradle his stump. Tears filled her eyes, and she insisted again that they hadn't seen anyone, but the large man just flipped the meat and watched it cook. She looked around the room, but the only other person left stood in the doorway, staring out into the street.

"Don't lie to me again."

Marel jerked, her eyes trapped by the rotting glare of the butcher as he ate the cooked flesh of her husband. Even now, holding her life in his hands, he did not smile. When he stepped over to cut another strip from Natar, she looked away in shame. The smell of the meat brought bile to her throat, and her knuckles clenched white in her lap. After a while, the large man walked over to the table.

"Eat it" he said, and a strip of browned meat slapped onto the table still sizzling. "Or the pieces start coming off of you."

The words took a moment to sink in, but when she looked up aghast her blood froze. His wide eyes swirled with eddies of crimson, blown across on the breeze. Surely Natar would understand. They had to protect that little girl. She wouldn't let him have her little girl!

With tears and a gag she wolfed it down as quick as she could. Keeping it down was another challenge. She couldn't bring herself to watch anymore. He had to understand. After a moment, however, the crimson giant walked over to the man in the doorway, and repeated himself once before raising his voice.

"I said is it still here?"

The noble-looking fellow jumped and backed away.

"It's still here." he said, pulling out a brooch with an orange gem.

The butcher stared at the nobleman, who tried his best to ignore it. Several seconds passed before the large man leaned in close, and spoke so quietly Marel could barely hear.

"I told you to watch."

The soft burbling of boiling water rose from the kitchen. With a pale face and a shaky nod, the smaller man accepted the order. Only then did the crimson giant return. He slapped Natar, but her husband stared at the ceiling.
.
"The drug finally kicked in." he said, his corpse-fire eyes settling on her.

Marel trembled, all pretense worn to dust under that withering gaze. The sound of boiling water filled the kitchen.

"Men are on their way to search this house. She will be found. You can still spare your husband."

"Please let him go; we know nothing!"

She couldn't keep her voice from breaking, and the tears came again. He had to understand. She couldn't do it.

The butcher sighed, a cold breath on the back of her neck, eyes searing from across the table.

"I told you not to lie to me."

With two fingers the crimson giant parted the lids of her husband's left eye, the tip of his pale green dagger hovering close. Natar's eye stayed perfectly still as the fine blade slid across his pupil, though a low keening welled in his throat. The large man produced a small funnel with a fine tip, and then pressed in on either side of her husband's eye.

The slit in the pupil spread open as the eyeball deformed, and Natar started gagging as the tiny funnel slid into his eye. With one hand the butcher held it in place, while he reached over and took the pot of boiling water from the stove. He lifted up the finger broth carefully. Her husband started breathing faster, and faster, as it tilted toward the funnel.

Boiling water poured into Natar's eye, and the funnel quickly withdrew. The eyeball quivered and swelled, steam bursting out of the slit in his pupil with a hiss. Even with the drug, her husband started shaking in the tub, belting out a long, low scream from behind his gag. The large man put the pot back on the stove and sat down, mindful of the broad blade at his waist.

"You have to be careful not to use too much water."

The crimson giant spoke casually now.

"Just enough to let the steam do the cooking."

Natar shook in his tub, his eyeball bloating outward as the steam slowed.

"Leaving it in while it boils lets the blood evaporate several times."

Vomit began dripping from Natar's gag, his scream cut off by coughing and choking.

"The residue has an excellent texture, and adds a bitter note."

Bile came to her throat, and she finally realized what that smell was; it was the smell of hot glue. With a cough and a gasp, the muffled scream of her husband returned. It was weaker now, and ragged raw.

After many moments filled with nothing but the quiet keening of her husband, the butcher leaned down with his knife again. The blade slipped in and popped out the bloated eyeball. With a long slow stretch he pulled, until it snapped free. Natar's scream hit its crescendo, then died off into groans. He cut the cord dangling from the eye.

Without waiting for it to cool, the butcher popped her husband's swollen eyeball into his mouth. A slow chew raised his eyebrows, then his eyes drooped as he soaked in the flavor. The soft laugh that crawled out of him nestled in Marel's ear. It was then that he finally smiled, chewing his last and swallowing it down. One more moment absorbed, and then the glaze disappeared from the large man's eyes as he set them on her. Blood-stained teeth broke through the smile, a sharp grin gouged beneath two searing embers.

"Where is the girl?"

She couldn't, not her little girl! No ma-... no matter what. She didn't answer, and the grin sloughed off.

She blinked at the broad sword in his hand, before he swung it down and split the table into splinters.

"She's not under the table!" he roared. "Is she in the basement?"

The crimson giant stabbed between the floorboards, pinning her with a wild look.

"Maybe she's in the attic!" he yelled, stabbing up between the boards.

After a few moments of heavy breathing the large man was suddenly calm again. The water still burbled on the stove.

"How have they all been so resilient?" he pondered aloud.

He swung his blade down behind him, leaving a drop of blood on the floor. The butcher addressed the man in the doorway.

"Bring the drug, mage." he said, those eyes sliding down that corpse's face and latching onto her.

"Looks like I'm still hungry."

Marel started shaking, unable to stop the tears. She couldn't...


Invisible to the eye, a vine of black thorns sprouted from the back of Marel's head. Up through the boards and into the attic it rose, where it became the long, dark hair of the girl in white. Many, many vines branched off through the walls and out into the town, piercing nearly every building. They gathered now, circling the house in a silent crowd, called to protect their mother.