Well, I'm going to try my hand at making a writing prompt thread. :) Never done one of these before so I apologize if I do anything incorrectly.
There are most likely not going to be prizes for writing, other than the satisfaction of actually writing something.
Everyone is free to join.
Each week, there'll be three prompts available. One will be an idea, one will be a picture, and the last will be a random quote or even a word/phrase I made up to base your writing off of. Please don't get too off-topic, though I understand the interpretations will be very different :)
Prompt #1: An assassin gets hired to kill a man who doesn't exist.
Prompt #2: A thief attempts to steal a mask
Prompt #3: "I told you to run."
Gimme the second!
EDIT: Nevermind. Why'd you edit out the bottom parrt of you're post?
PM cleared it up.
2 PROMPTS IN ONE BITCHESSSS:
"I gotta be honest, here..." Said Kilroy, "I have no idea what you're going for here."
"What do you mean?" asked Desmodica Ravenblade. She tried flaunting her cleavage a little harder. Usually that got agents to be less skeptical of her talents.
"Well, I mean, you claim to be a 'rogue'. Don't know what the fuck a 'rogue' is. Rogue is an adjective. What do you do?"
"I delve through the shadows and swashbuckle with the corrupt of society! I steal from the rich and give to the poor, slitting the throats of the truly despicable aristocrats that would exploit the innocent!" Desmodica said, very matter-of-factly.
"You... Okay, I get it, Fighter-thief, then?"
"No! I rebel! I scoff at the black heart of society! I am a Rogue!"
"Alright, alright... Look, all the high-paying jobs I have on file require a very particular skillset," Kilroy said, "I think you're just gonna have to keep killing rats for now."
"How am I supposed to pay my rent killing rats!?"
"Honestly, that's not my problem. Find a really desperate village, I guess. Maybe sell some of those shiny dinkly things on your corset? They look like they could go for a lot."
"My Kunai Knives!? You're mad! They're a highly tactical asset to my arsenal!"
"Those are knives?"
"Of course they are! They're throwing daggers!"
"...Their handles hardly go across one finger, how do you throw them!?"
"I flick them, silly. Between my thumb and forefinger!"
Given the amount of little white marks on her fingertips, Kilroy felt inclined to believe her.
"Huh, alright, uh... How about that cape? Looks pretty fancy."
"Oh, I never! Sell the cape of Count Corgisham!? It's absolutely pivotal to my arsenal!"
"What does it do?"
"It hides my identity!"
"Doesn't it get caught on things?"
"No! It's a cape!"
"Doesn't that collar mess with your view when you look over your shoulder?"
"I'm a master of stealth! Why would I need to check over my shoulder if I'm the one breaking into the dungeon?"
Kilroy stopped to rub his temples, "Is your mask enchanted at all?"
"No." Worriedly, she shifted in her chair, hoping her tightly bound cleavage would jiggle at some point and dispell her agent's skepticism.
"So it pretty much covers just your mouth? Leaves openings for everything else..."
"Nuh-uh! It covers the tip of my nose!"
"What about that corset? Must be hell on your body to wear, and it's all detailed and shit. Surely you could sell that and buy yourself some proper equipment..."
Desmodica Ravenblade breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently this agent just had a very dry sense of humor. "Ah, I get it. You're very funny, Mr. Kilroy!"
"The Cleaving Cuirass of Chestballia is among the most powerful armors in the realm! Surely you were kidding?"
"What!? WHAT DOES IT PROTECT YOU FROM!? FUCKING LOOK AT IT! It's skintight, it's definitely not that much thicker than your gloves, it's all a bunch of little pieces strapped together! And your shoulderpads! What the hell are those going to protect you from!? It's made of this little shell of leather, it might deflect some stuff but any significant blunt force is going to get through all the same. Hell, the guy who came here before you was a peasant! A peasant armed only with a fucking SHOVEL! And he was glad to kill rats! Pleased as fucking peaches killing rats! He asked for 5 contracts at once! And he just started, and he could still cut you in half 5 different ways as long as you're wearing that fucking circus outfit!"
"There's no need to raise your voice, Mr. Kilroy. I understand the feminine form is offensive to some more puritanical men who confine themselves to the sexually oppressive norms of the noblemen, but that's no reason not to give me a better quest!"
"Sexually opp-... Desmodica, have you been to the walled cities before!? Have you seen the streetcorners? Have you even met a nobleman before!? The Puritan Order of Zaeltann left the kingdom for a fucking reason!"
"Let's get back to business, shall we?"
"There's no business to be had here! You'll take the giant rat contracts, or you'll upgrade your gear. One or the other!"
"You'll give me the same work your pros are getting," Desmodica growled, drawing the falchion-hybrid-thing at her side, "Or you'll meet your bloody end on the point of my dagger!"
"The fact that you think that thing's a dagger proves I have nothing to fear from you!"
Desmodica frowned. The agent could see the corners of her mouth drooping.
"Fine, if you won't listen to reason, then maybe you'll listen to reason!"
"I've been working your contracts the same time most of your high-level adventurers have been working, but I still don't get the same amount of pay!"
"Don't you try to pull this sexism shit on me! Y'know, some villages burn women at the stake for saying that kind of shit!"
"But it's true!"
"Look, Annabella the Archmagician gets paid thousands of coins a week for killing dragons. You kill giant rats contained in old wine cellars. Can't you see the disparity in this?"
"But you won't let me do the jobs Annabella does! I offend your sensibilities. You're blinded by your politics!"
"Listen, I've SEEN you work. YOU SNEAK UP ON GIANT RATS ONE AT A TIME AND KILL THEM BY ICEPICK-STABBING THEM WITH A SHORTSWORD! I don't care HOW fucking stealthy your MO is, if you can't clear out a basement of 3 dog-sized rats within an hour, WE'RE NOT SENDING YOU AFTER A DRAGON!"
"I see, I suppose I'll take my business elsewhere. Maybe to Mr. Malkrog next door."
Kilroy gritted his teeth. The Dark Lord always found out ways to make his servants useful to him... Even if it took some surgery and mind control here and there. He couldn't risk having that on his record the next time there was a necromancer invasion. He'd never work in this town again.
"Look, I have something on file, just for rogues..." Kilroy said, almost all tone going out of his voice, "But it's really important. The fate of the realm depends on it."
Desmodica smiled, she knew, after years of adventuring, the time had come. She was finally being given the attention she deserved! The all-important quest she was born for! It was the best 34th-birthday-present she could ask for!
"It's top secret. I can't even show you the contract because it'd throw the world into turmoil if word got out. Lots of corrupt lords higher up trying to keep this assignment from getting given to someone truly capable of the task... Can I trust you, Desmodica?"
"Yes! Yes you can!" Desmodica practically squealed with excitement.
"Are you sure? The general populace doesn't know about this great trouble in the realm, and all those rich enough to pay you have either been scared into silence, robbed, or bribed... The only thing I can surely offer you in return is fame and glory..."
"I'LL DO IT! GIVE ME THE QUEST!"
"Alright. Have you ever heard of the Barbarian named... Uh... Blarf... Dick-Fisted... The Angry Arm of... Boat...Grundle... Boatgrundle?"
"As a matter of fact," Desmodica said, leaning forward with interest, "I have not heard that name. Who is he?"
"Why, I fear to speak the name of Blarf Dick-Fisted, the Angry Arm of Boatgrundle!" Kilroy said. He was actually starting to have fun with this, "He's the most dangerous man around! He's manipulating the entire Aristocracy with, uh, a magic loincloth! And he's also a demon bound in human form, so no one has ever been able to kill him! He's going to overthrow the King himself if someone doesn't put an end to his top-secret reign of terror!"
"I'll do it!" Desmodica said without hesitation.
"Good. Now you must go, find his whereabouts and go! Don't come back until Blarf is dead! It's dangerous to continue consulting now that I've said his name! Their dark wizards will be watching me!"
"DON'T WORRY, MR. KILROY! I'LL SAVE US ALL!" She shouted, dashing out of the office.
Mr. Kilroy chuckled to himself. Hopefully none of the barbarian tribes were actually ridiculous enough to name their kid Blarf, let alone any of the other-shit he mentioned...
"Next?" He asked into his Crystal Pager.
A scrawny, half-naked teenager with wild, fiery hair arrived. Two swords strapped crosswise to his back, (With purple and red sharkskin handles to match his eyes, of course.) and surface scars all over his otherwise unimpressive frame. Oh goody goody goo.
EDIT: That went to tangents I didn't expect. I don't actually have an opinion on the women-wage thing because it's so case-by-case that I can't pass judgement on it. This is not a political piece, everything in this story extends only to the universe of this story. I'm only making fun of high-fantasy artwork. Don't debate me with political shit because I can't and won't defend it either way.
Damn...This was really good!
Edit: Sorry I posted here, now you won't be able to edit your prompt.
Drake was not a man for games, and the man who stood before him was clearly trying to take him for a fool. He had taken his very valuable time with this nonsense, and it was time for him to pay.
"Well, Mr. Drake. Is it a deal?" The man in the suit asked once more.
"Do I look like an idiot?" Drake asked, standing up while fingering his pocket pistol.
"Of course you don't. We're both intelligent men, and I have brought before you a simple proposition. I will pay you five times the regular fare and extend the usual deadline by two weeks."
"Usually I don't like to waste bullets, but I hate even more to waste time." Drake said, drawing his pistol and shooting the suited man three times in the forehead.
"Well there's no need to be rude. I suggest that you take the offer." The suited man replied, standing up to meet Drake's bewildered eye, while blood began to stream from the gaping hole in between his eyes. "And let's make it a little more interesting. If you fail, like I'm sure you will, you'll owe me your life."
"I- I- can't kill d- death." Drake stammered.
"Well you better find a way." The suited man said, cackling and turning to a mist.
Drake stood in the now empty room with the choice to either complete an impossible task in four weeks or accept a grave fate.
Drake spent the first week talking to those who had stared death in the face, but refused to give in to his icy hands.
"How can one kill death?" He asked, desperately hoping to find solace in their words.
"I have seen him on the day that he came for me. He gave me a chance to come back and live my life. Life can only have meaning when thrust onto a short stage. Without death, life would be pointless and there would be no opportunity to grow. I have escaped death's grasp for one more day, but I know that he will come back for me on another."
The next week he went to those who faced death every day, but who still stood to tell their tales.
"How can I kill death?" He asked once more, hoping that some one might have an answer
"I see death every day as I walk across the rope. He lingers waiting for me to mess up, but I never do. The only way that you can experience the extremes of life is to let him stand right next to you. Alas, death can never be vanquished only tempered."
The next week he visited those who talked to those who had been overcome by death
"How can I kill death?" He asked nearly as a whisper, knowing his time was running out.
"I have talked to those who have been delivered to death's domain. Many of them have fought hard against him, but none have ever escaped his grasp. Death comes for all one day and will never be overcome."
On the fourth week, Drake heard two knocks on his door. His hands quivered as they unlocked the latch, and turned the handle, letting in a man with a bullet wound right in between the eyes.
"Well Drake, it seems that you have failed at your quest, just like I had anticipated." He shrieked, with a huge smile spread across his face.
"Not so fast," said Drake. "I have already killed death."
"That is quite impossible, because I am death."
"Well then, I can say with positivity that you do not exist."
"How can you say that I do not exist, when you have seen those who have met me?"
"I live right now, so death can not possibly exist, but if I am dead then I do not exist and neither does death. Death is dead, because he does not exist."
The man in the suit screamed, and disappeared into his mist and five times the usual pay.