Fictional worlds with fictional characters
are ya ready to read a story that has no life lesson, is really vague, and makes you say “what the f-” before the policy on swearing kicks in? no?i don’t care, my universe is meaningless. imagine the sensation of small critters running around in your arteries. imagine them biting down on your veins, feasting on your flesh from the inside. then read whatever i’ve written, and be thankful small animals aren’t currently trying to kill you. unless they are, in which case you have my sympathies.
Aurelius Maximus Tyson
The Start Of An Adventure
By AMT
The two men stumbled into town. Unique as it was, the town, which was located seven stones southwest of the Great Wastes, did welcome travelers which in itself was a rarity for the region. The people of the area were of superstitious stock, and as they were close to the Wastes quite naturally feared for their children.. But the two travelers seemed to be too dangerous to refuse, due to one’s Profession and the other’s religion. After all, a priest of the Somber Lord was always welcome in any town, lest their god might turn his attentions to those who wronged him. And the other? Well, one flash of the college’s insignia showed the guards they were dealing with a practitioner of the arts, and no-one wanted to cross a mage. So the two were allowed into the town, where they quietly went about their business. While the young priest went to the chapel, as was the custom, the sage serenely made his way to the small library the town kept. As he walked the villagers quietly observed him. He seemed to be at least seventy years of age, and was probably even older, as magic has a way of keeping one well preserved. With silver hair and lime green eyes, pale skin and weathered face, it was clear he was from far north. No one in the town wanted to ask how he got past the Wastes. After all, everyone knew the Lord of Dust sent demons out into the world, and with the sage’s imperious nature, he could be one. And it would explain why he’d be with a priest of THAT god. After all, it’s the Somber Lord they were talking about here.
But the tittering of the townsfolk did not stop the man from entering the library. As he entered, he gracefully lifted off his hat and said the customary greetings, as was proper. He meandered over to the forbidden section, where all the dangerous books were kept. The staff did not stop him. After all, it was rude to interrupt a mage, and few of their kind took impoliteness very well. The man walked deeper into the forbidden section, and picked up a single tome. Made of red leather, the cover was battered, and the title was too faded to read. The clasps were made of solid silver. The man slowly got up to check out the book. slowly,as people of his age do, with barely shaking hand, he drew out his license. The lady at checkout checked it and with a few looks, confirmed his Identity, and as he quietly made his exit, let out a sigh of relief. Everyone knew what an angry mage could do, and it was good fortune that very few left the cities and came to the outlying villages.
At around the same time the priest left the chapel, and the crowds quickly let him through. Despite looking rather young, his sallow skin and the dark rings around his eyes made him look older and frailer than he actually was. The vestments he wore were marked with the sigil of the Somber Lord, and no one wanted to be close to a follower of his. The Death God, though respected, was not loved by anyone, and the same sentiment was applied to his clerics as well. The two travellers reunited, and began to whisper to each other as they began to walk to the town gates. It appeared that the two men’s visit of the town would be very brief, something that the villagers took as both a surprise and a blessing.
“I found it,” the old Sage muttered as he clutched the old book he obtained.”It was right where I said it was. The way to end that menace once and for all… once we find the other relics.”.The Cleric glanced at the book. Though it seemed average, the crimson cover and silver clasps marked it as what they were searching for. He chuckled.
“ ‘Sealed in silver, Bound in Blood’. A fitting description for the Crimson Grimoire,” the priest said in a rasping voice. “But there is more for us to find.” The Sage nodded.
“Indeed. The Grimoire was always the easiest to find. I’m simply hoping the rest are in such humble locations.” The sage grinned as the pair passed through the gates, and the guards, happy that the travelers had left so quickly, sighed in relief.
Two hundred and seven stones to the northeast, in the Ruined halls of the Great Palace, the Lord of Dust was watching. A flicker of unease passed through him before being quickly replaced by his usual sense of calm. After all, they had only found the book. The rest were safe. He had seen to that himself. But it was better to take care of the problem now, rather than wait for the two to stumble upon another. He clapped his skeletal hands and shouted in a language not heard by human ears for a millenia. The shadows in the room detached themselves from the walls and pooled in the center of the great hall. The Lord of Dust Spoke again in that old, Dead language, And the shadows obeyed. Let them go on their Worthless quest. Their demise was inevitable.
The Tale Of Little Jimmy
Little Jimmy had just finished his generic brand orange soda while hanging out with his friends, Bodacious Barry and Sideways Steve, when the topic was brought up. Bodacious Barry said “Hey, guys! I’m going camping in the giant desert south of town this weekend. Wanna come along?” Sideways Steve thought for a moment, then agreed. Little Jimmy, not wanting to be left out on this friendly bonding experience, said yes as well. Bodacious Barry agreed to pick up Sideways Barry and Little Jimmy on Friday in his totally not creepy at all white windowless van. Little Jimmy nodded his head in agreement and went home. When He told his mother about the trip, she reminded him to bring supplies. “People who have no water or food and are in a barren wasteland tend to die.” she said. Little Jimmy agreed wholeheartedly and began to pack.
When Friday came around Bodacious Barry parked by Little Jimmy’s house in his completely stalker free white windowless van. At that moment, Little Jimmy realized that he had F***ed up. He had forgotten to pack food, water, a compass, his cellphone, his heart meds, his pet walrus, his immortal soul, his lifejacket, his spleen, and extra clothes. Not wanting to make his pals wait for him, he decided to leave without gathering his stuff. They picked up Sideways Steve on the way, then drove into the desert. On the way, they laughed, made jokes, drank generic-brand orange soda, and realized that life was meaningless.
Eventually they hit the desert and began to drive off-road, as Bodacious Barry knew a shortcut. Halfway to the campsite, the van broke down. Not wanting to die of heatstroke, they decided to go the rest of the journey on foot. This was a mistake, as they did not realize that Bodacious Barry had his phone, and they were still in range of the nearest tower. Not realizing they were perfectly capable of calling for help, they wandered onward. This is when disaster struck. Both Bodacious Barry and Sideways Steve fell into a pit of Rabid Sand-Beavers and were mauled to death. Little Jimmy was alone. He cried and cried at the loss of his friends, and then continued onwards. His one hope of survival was dependant on finding someone to help. The only people for miles were at the campgrounds. Unfortunately, Little Jimmy had forgotten his map as well. With nothing to navigate with, he was lost. In a giant desert. In july.
Now, you might be thinking Little jimmy was screwed. He had no food, no water, no way to navigate, and was lacking a vital organ, if so, then you are absolutely right. Little jimmy’s body was never found. The official statement was that he either died of dehydration, starvation, internal bleeding, heatstroke, or his failing heart. The people of the town, however, think that he died of loneliness, missing his pet walrus. But hear Little Jimmy’s tale, And remember: always be prepared when going into somewhere dangerous, or you might die a horrible death.
THE END
CURRENTLY WORKIN’ ON THIS THING (TITLE PENDING)
By AMT
Chapter one:
Darrel woke up on the floor for the eighth morning that week. As he slowly rose from his prone position, he silently thanked the lack of light. Darrel was not a handsome man by anyone’s account. Heavily tanned and muscled with light brown hair and of relatively average height, he looked as if he was carved of wood. After walking into his mouldering bathroom, Darrel turned on his shower. A cold trickle of water sputtered into life as the plumbing system barely managed to provide enough liquid for an adequate shower. After looking around his mess of an apartment and wading through the piles of dirty clothes and magazines to gather his essentials, Darrel ate a quick meal. The Grainmeale was stale and tasteless, typical for a BriteTaste product, but it would sustain him for the time being. Darrel looked at his surroundings as he chewed and sighed. His life was a shithole, and he knew it. He had known it for years, but it was finally catching up with him. Finishing up his gruel, Darrel put on some of his more suitable clothes, brushed his teeth with Britepaste, put on his tattered NewLeather boots, and left his room for the lobby.
As Darrel walked down the six flights of stairs (the elevators were too expensive for the landlord) he thought about the colony he lived on. It had about six or seven more years before the harvest ended, and the planet’s core would be harvested. Then he’d have to find a new backwater to drown his sorrows in. he stopped for a couple of seconds to listen in on an argument about rent on the third floor before he made it to the lobby. He looked around the decrepit place.The grey fastcrete floors and walls may have been cheap, but it was reliable. Most of the colony was built of the stuff, after all. The furnishings were dull and factory-produced, and the air stank of lethargy and regret. Darrel swore as he remembered his rent was due later in the month, and he didn’t have the funds to pay it. Of course, that was the same for most of the population. Most colonists didn’t have a job, after all, and the few who did were constantly at risk of losing it. After all, there were always 20 or 30 other walkers who could do the same job for less pay. But Darrel had a different method of employment.Though He also relied on the corporations for his bread, they were far less satisfied with his existence. After all, pirates were only tolerated in the backwater sectors, and even then only if they were a mixture of lucky, successful, and brutal. On the upside, Darrel was all of these things. Of course, after the last job went south he and his crew hadn’t gotten any news, and had been forced to lay low. It had been a couple of months, and bounty hunters were still after his head.As he walked across the lobby, Darrel saw the landlord. It was easy to tell him apart from the tenants, as he was the only one who looked well-fed and wealthy in the building. Rotten bastard. Lucky enough to be born wealthy, but too stupid to do anything with it but get drunk and party. Eventually, Darrel snapped out of his thoughts, and went to find His partner. The door to the entrance groaned as he opened it, the cheap synthwood barely holding on to its form.
As he stepped outside the crumbling building, darrel shivered. #E6-41-9 was a cold planet, constantly snowing, and perpetually dark, lit only by the cheap streetlamps that constantly failed. Perfect for the scum of humanity, Darrel thought with a sarcastic grin on his scarred face. As he strode past the praying dreamers chanting on the pathside, he looked around. His apartment was within walking distance to the center of the colony, which in itself was about the size of a small city. With 270,000 people, it was one of the smaller ones. But then again, the smaller ones were always up for harvest. Darrel started his long walk to the marketplace, (which was at the center of the colony next to the hall), and cursed the damned system. He knew the gates needed fuel, and only something as powerful as the core of a planet would do, but moving every other year as either the law or the harvest caught up with him was getting old. In his head, he tried to figure out how he ended up freezing his ass off in a piece of rubble in E6. Granted, this wasn’t the longest he’d laid low, but this time he’d really pissed off the council. trying to steal the statue of their founder was not a good idea. The bounty on his head was more than he could make in a year, even if he did a raid a month. But luckily, the Cosmos was to big for the council to search, even if they only focused on the 13 sectors they controlled. Of course, that’s all they could search. The King’s Reach and The Imperium were not fond of incursions into their territory. Finally, Darrel stopped. He had reached Market. Unlike the rest of the city, the market was alive. Venders shouted constantly, “a silver brooch all the way from capitol!”, “ the freshest ingredients from #41-2” “magno-shields, guaranteed ta block a railblast” , and the like. People from all over the colony shopped here, and the criminals were no exception. Smugglers, pirates, Hit-men, Con men, and even some of the braver drug-dealers shopped here. Darrel even saw a man of disreputable sources selling flicker. He spat on the ground. Most criminals were fine and good, but candlemen were the true scum of the underworld. They peddled Flicker. The stuff was made on #12-3, and well known for the best high in the sector. Of course, an overdose would cause the body fat of the user to ignite, making a human candle, hence the name. But Darrel had bigger fish to fry than a bastard selling shit to kids. Not that it was his business anyways, seeing as the stuff was infamous enough as is.the kid’s fault for taking an obviously dangerous stim. Darrel walked around for a while, examined a handful of beads (glass from our own #41-5, the vendor said), and browsed the stalls. He even bought a new magnerifle.
Darrel wondered how the place managed to stay open. With 70% of the colonists being unemployed, the dreamers not included. After all, they chose not to be employed, ‘cause of their stupid god. ‘Earn not the wages of man’ they said. course, most of them were homeless and inebriated most of the time. When he was done looking around, Darrel weaved across the chaos of the market quickly to the “used antiques” stall, and found his partner. Knives was short, cute as a button, knew seven ways to kill a man with a toothbrush, and was one of the few people in the universe who could stand Darrel for more than five minutes. With black hair tied into a ponytail, she saw darrel and walked over to him smiling.
“Darrel! ‘owarya? I knew ya’d be ‘round ‘ere soon! We’s gotta job ta do!” she shouted at him over the marketplace in her distinctive B-9 sector accent. Darrel groaned. When Knives was in a good mood, it meant whatever was coming was dangerous.
“What is it? Better pay well. That last job….” darrel didn’t need to finish his sentence before Knives winced. Both of them knew the consequences of the last job had lost them two friends and put a warrant out on the five survivors. Making things worse, they had lost trust, something rather important to a person whose whole job is to steal for the rich.
“ i know doll. That last wan… dat was a baaad time. But this one’s-” she started before darrel butted in.
“How much knives? Worth it?”
“…Yah. hundred-eight odds or 607 monahks. Winnas’ choyce.” she stated.
Darrel whistled. 108 odds could pay the rent for 3 years. Granted, the monarchs were worthless, as they didn’t live in the king’s reach. But still…
“Hundred eight? What sorta crazy-ass scheme did you get yourself into?” darrel asked. No one job could ever pay 108 odds without being more dangerous than a rabid fern tiger.
Knives smiled widely and said:
“we’s gonna kill a princess.”