His grim stance betrayed his feelings. He was a man who had seen many things and yet he needed a moment to steel himself. Most commanders would have moved on by now.
He had worked hard for his position. The men trusted him and relied on his sound decisions. He was making some hard decisions now.
When he looked up he saw the captain was still standing there. Waiting. Would he drop his duty now? Would he surrender?
He hadn’t seen the mutiny coming. Treason simply wasn’t a thought to him, he might be excused for not seeing it in others. Hindsight made it crystal. There was a lack of food, no sign of life and any trail they might have followed ran out weeks ago. Still headquarters had pushed them on. Find the spy or else. His face cracked into a rueful grin as he thought to himself this must be the ‘or else’.
Desperate times, but he hadn’t thought themselves desperate, not yet. He was sure they were close. He’d developed a sense for it over the years. His senses told him it didn’t matter now. He’d lost them. Headquarters had ordered them back a week ago. But he couldn’t stop now. How they found out he couldn’t guess. Well, he could, but that was irrelevant to the present moment.
The captain made a gesture and his crew moved in either side. The commander had run out of time. He steeled himself and grimaced as he let out a pulsewave to kill men he had admired and mentored. Nothing could stop his mission. He was too close now.
The man known simply as “The Doctor” leaned against the grime covered wall. Simple? Nothing about his life was simple now. Heaving himself from the wall, he dumped his bag on the kitchen table and went to pour a drink.
“Ow! Have some care…” The sound coming from the bag faded as it began rolling. The Doctor caught it just before it hit the ground. He stood dumbfounded for a moment.
“Well let me out, would you?” his mind was warning him something was off, but it seemed like a reasonable request. He managed to get the zipper halfway when the creature ran out of patience.
Out of the bag squeezed a small imp-like being. He was a whole two feet high, with hair covering his body. The coarse fur stuck out from his bright red coveralls in all directions. The scowl on his face was matched by the fragrance that rose from him.
“Now them…” the imp surveyed the cramped apartment. Books stacked in towers, racks overflowing with potions, breakfast still on the table. It took out a clipboard.
“Professionalism does not extend to home life.”
“Who are you?” Professionalism?
“Why were you in my bag?” The imp sighed.
“As I said before, I am Kindal, I am with the court of the woods, and I am here for your review.”
“Review?” The Doctor prided himself on forming a word. He did not know there would be check-ins when he accepted the job. Spend seven years as a doctor for those afflicted by fairy charms or viruses, receive immortality. It was a pretty straight forward contract, or so he thought at the time. Since then, he had been working from dawn to dusk. There were always new patients. He was not naive; he knew he was essentially a cleanup crew for the fae. But the pay was good.
“Yes, review. I have reports here that an unauthorized curse removal occurred three moons ago when it was full. Suspicion is now on you. Do you know how the parkwide curse was dismantled?”
“There were children there!” His words fell on cold ears.
“It was intended to be a royal message. You are also noted to preference the poor when conducting authorized healings. The rules were very clear. Anyone who can pay, in the order they arrive, do you understand?” The Doctor resisted the urge to kick it and nodded.
“Very good. Then I’ll leave you to your…home. Present yourself at the next moon to the woodland council to explain the aforesaid charge.” Kindal turned and strode to stand in front of the door. He coughed and waited. The Doctor let him out and locked the door. He wondered if he could outrun bounty hunters.
(Note: I am changing the title of these from Writer’s Exercises to Fiction, as they are not always inspired by the list found here.)
All trees begin life as no more than a seed. Buried deep in the ground, encased in a hard shell the small soul has much work to do. Awakening is not a process to be rushed. Each species of tree goes through a slightly different process, but all experience the push to grow. There is an urging to stretch the fibrous centers to crack the shell and head to the light. The soul inside is only too willing to give into this urge.
The seedling experiences a range of new sensations from the moment it’s seedling arms come forth. The tiny soul goes through a process in which it can only be reactionary. There are so many new sensations for it: light, heat, wind, mist, chill and rain. It is a sensory overload that can take some time to pass.
The period just after the growth of the “true leaves’ ‘ or when the tree obtains its first set of adult limbs is its first true danger phase. The number of troubles it may endure are endless. The tree may become covered in pests or worse still, a lunch for those pests. The tree is still tender and delicate and is a very tasty open for many creatures. In this stage of life, the tree learns about endurance.
Once the bark grows thick enough to be properly called a trunk, the tree is ready to be called a Sapling. Most trees feel this stage takes forever to be through. You can liken it to adolescence. This is a period of great learning for the tree, and the proceeding few decades will be spent in quiet observation and learning.
The next phase is arguably one of the most dangerous in the life of a tree. When they have grown and hardened enough to gain the attention of humans, they must be on guard. Humans use trees for many things. Their homes, furnishings, tools and more, all made with the corpse of a tree. This is also the phase of max reproduction, and all trees of any species begin serious efforts to further the forest and expand the land held by trees. Each generation spreads their seed, the saplings claiming more territory.
Occasionally humans, armed with their blades, weaken the ranks of the tree militia. They cut down the ones outside of the designated space, or the ones deemed of “good quality”. So, the trees are ever replacing their fallen brethren.
After a time, and no one except for the trees truly knows why, the tree leaves the militia. No one stops him, and he retains communication with his allies through their entwined roots in the soil. It is suspected that once one has spread as much as it is able, and learned as much knowledge as one tree can hold, it becomes an elder or a guardian. Certainly, some magnificent trees could be called nothing other than sentinels, their branches reaching so far, they must see everything. It is no wonder smaller trees hope to grow around them. The font of wisdom each tree represents would be a blessing to any student.
Then, after a century or two, at the end of its life the consciousness it has displayed for years will simply begin to fade. It is going to sleep, back in the earth. This is a relatively quick process, when compared to the other life stages. The kingdom of Mycelium knows when they are needed. They begin the breakdown with ease. The tree allows this breakdown, letting its memories seep through its roots to the soil below. The Mycelium people feed deeply, converting old wood into new ground.
Describe a process: write a description of a process in the manner of an instructor to a student.
While it is a time-consuming process, the hands-on part of the work is minimal. You will want your environment as dark as possible, preferably with no more light than the Alembic flame. While the process is not labour intensive, you do need to maintain a vigil. The spirits will try to escape if given the chance.
Place the Water housing the spirit in the alembic. The spirit’s essence is bound to the water until it reaches a simmer. The heat forces the spirit to break the bond to its habitat.
As the steam rises both the now spiritless water as well as the now angry spirit will come out together. You’ll need a deft hand and a gossamer net to catch the spirit. Once the spirit is in the net transfer it to a crystal jar large enough to hold it. The spirit can now be kept until needed.
How? Of all the weird, bizarre things that had plagued her life, this was going to be the most memorable. It wasn’t every day that a whole mountain vanished.
She was going to be blamed, she knew that. Most of the town wouldn’t understand why or what was really happening, but all would agree it was her fault.
The man did warn her after all. Mess with the hill tribes, they mess with you. But by moving? She knew they were powerful but not in her wildest dreams did she think they would pick up the whole mountain and go. Where they hell did they put it? Was it gone or just invisible. She sighed as she realized there was only one way to find out.
Mini Quest: A step by step plot that could be used as a side plot.
The gauntlet is more of a series of independent challenges than a true gauntlet. Very little of it involves physical danger, though the challengers rarely know that. The myths that have grown to surround this thing…but my apologies, you came here for facts. Well, the facts of the matter are that no one has successfully completed it in centuries.
The last person to undergo the gauntlet barely made it. The puzzles seem mysterious and are beautiful in their complexity. They also turn the immediate vicinity into a glorified escape room. The poor man did not notice the fence raising around him. There are plenty of bones still littering the area from failures who found themselves stuck.
But not him. He had a determination that wouldn’t quit. He ran from the area, straight into a troll. Trolls are not that complicated, though very few know how to handle them. I know not if the man knew what he was doing, or if he was simply lucky. He sat on the floor, in front of the troll. He must have known the troll would not attack first. Almost every other challenger attacks the beast. This has a 50/50 shot of succeeding. This man simply waited. More likely he waited for an answer, but I want to believe he was waiting for the sunrise. As amber light crept up the walls the troll solidified where it stood. The man strode around the stone to the next trial.
A series of connected rooms, each with a different savage animal lurking within. These ones require a bit more strength to get through. The savagery of the animal heightens the further you go. They are not, however, wild. They can be tamed, which is of course the key to the trial. Can you tame five types of savage? Most think you are meant to kill them all but that is too crude for a gauntlet of this style. He knew though. He was so gentle with all of them, and patient. They took to following him as he passed each one. By the end of this phase, he had a group of the most savage animals of all time following him as his personal entourage.
The last room is the hardest. No physical strength is needed, but you might break mentally. In the center of a room is a well pond. From this pond comes a being that is a copy of you. Your facade, your voice, mannerisms and wit, copied in exact detail. You see, your final challenge is to convince yourself to hand over the key. The man struggled here. Your doppelganger will test your conviction and path. It will make you question your motives, even outright argue with you. Its sole goal is to make you give up. But he didn’t give up. First, he waited for sunrise, but a doppelganger is not a troll. Then he set his new furry friends on it, but they simply wouldn’t attack him, even when it wasn’t him. Frustrated, he did what very few challengers have ever done. Not everyone has the gumption to kill themselves. Homicide is a very different to suicide, it generally undoes people to have that definition blurred.
Kill it, however, he did. He stopped talking after that point. The experience had definitely taken more of a toll that he had prepared for. But he had won. Armed with the key, he let himself and his animal entourage into the ritual chamber.
Describe a place: Describe a location through any character’s eye.
The place was idyllic. Every aspect seemed perfectly placed. The roses were at the peak of their bloom, the grass was so lush and vibrant. Even the stepping stones looked beautiful. She drew in a deep breath and followed the stones.
It was hard to believe this place could house a secret so dark. The sunlight glinted off the creek. As she passed a giant gumtree, birds in hues she had never seen before took flight. The Seelie court called them Warblers and were just as likely to eat them as they were to make them pets. She felt very much like a pet herself some days.
Not that she truly minded. No more rent, no more bills, not even parking tickets plagued her life now. She was financially free, which is the only freedom she had. She hurried up the path to the nursery. She could hear at least one grumbling and the royals would get upset if more than a few cried at once. She had always wanted children; did it matter if they were stolen?
Not to her breasts at least. Since arriving at this paradise she had not stopped lactating. She told herself she was useful here. Useful livestock. Only fractionally better than the useful clerk she had been. She ate regularly these days.
As the sun began to set, the deep violet of evening rolling in, she asked herself if she was truly happy. The answer was no of course. No amount of beauty changed her prisoner status. Day in, day out would be the same forever. Feed the babies, water the garden, report to the head maid, eat, sleep. That was to be her life forever.
Or so she thought. As she rounded the last bend a figure appeared in the doorway. He was massively tall and wide yet held one of the babies so gently you would accuse him of being a father himself. Until you saw his eyes.
Its actually really simple. Its getting the materials that’s hard. A lot of people say its only rich folks who know how to make the doors, but that’s not true. You just gotta have less morals about how you obtain it.
Though its common now, no substitutions. All (and I mean all) of the problems folk have with the doors are from swapping required items. If you can’t find a way to get the right stuff, you got no business opening doors.
Go to a spot bleeding energy. You know what I mean. Where you stick your hand and you got no idea what day it is anymore. Lay out the blanket and smear the past onto a tree. If the paste doesn’t stick, you have picked the wrong tree. You really only have enough, if you followed the recipe, to mess this up twice.
Once the paste has begun to sizzle a bit stick your finger into it and name the trod you want to connect to. I told you it was simple. Its so easy almost everyone is off guard when they enter the trods.
I won’t go into what you’ll experience there. If you are heading in I guess you know what to expect. All else I’ll say is to make damn sure you close the door behind you. Too many folks have made permanent tears in the realms by forgetting to close their door. Its a two way gate you know. Anything that comes through your door is your responsibility.
C.M. Wellsmore 