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Next prompt is on Friday.

 

Rules:

1. Pick one of the prompts and write about it for no more than 20 minutes. You can write for longer if you want, but only words written during the 20 minutes count towards your total, so mark where you ran out of time.

2. You will be graded on wordcount and overall coherence. You will not be graded on quality, so write as fast as you can while still producing something that makes sense and would be salvageable with cleanup. It doesn't have to have an ending or form a complete story, but it should at least read like an excerpt from a longer work.

3. When you're done, post your wordcount. Posting your story is optional. We understand it will be terrible.

4. You may go back and work on previous days if you missed them.

5. You may write fanfiction if your heart desires.

 

Prompt #1: Someone is possessed by a demon or other malicious spirit.

Prompt #2: A witchy-looking guy squeezing blood from a chicken

 

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1020

Alton squeezed the “chicken” a little more, watching the fluids drip into the vial. He did not really understand why the master kept soaking these chicken-shaped sponges with ink. The master claimed that it would make the ink “better,” but Alton figured he just did it to make more work for Alton – as if he didn’t already have enough work being the apprentice mage.

He paused for a moment and considered his title of “apprentice.” It sure sounded good. And last year when he had first applied for the position, he really had some big dreams. He thought he could apprentice for a few months and then he’d really break out and head out on his own. He’d open a magic shop and he would sell potions, scrolls and spells enough to make him piles of money. He thought he could open a mail-order version of his magic shop, too, to increase sales. Heck, after just a couple years he was sure to have enough money to retire to the south of France somewhere.

He shook his head and looked around the room. Instead of retiring to the south of France, it had taken almost a year and he was… well… nowhere. He watched the black cat walk across the floor as he wiped his hands on his pants. He was low man on the totem pole, that’s for sure. He was lower than a janitor these days. Every crap job that the master wanted done was piled on him. He leaned back in the rocking chair and closed his eyes. Oh, he could still dream, the master couldn’t take that away from him. He could still dream about the magic shop, and maybe one day he would get there. But now he had to decide about the more immediate future.

The deal with the master had been for one year. He was to be an apprentice, and like most apprenticeships, the master paid for his room and board and he was required to work for the master. As part of the deal, he had hoped that he would learn something about magic. And to be fair, he guessed that he had learned a lot about the cleaning up magic and obtaining rare ingredients. He just hadn’t learned much about actually using those ingredients in a way that made magic. He wanted to learn spells. He wanted to learn how to become invisible.

At that, he opened his eyes with a start and looked back at the hook. There it was, right on the back of the chair. It was a hood of invisibility. He knew it worked, he had used it a number of times before, sneaking around the town. He knew that he could walk around and look in anyone’s window and they couldn’t see him. He also realized that while the hood ensured that he was invisible, it didn’t cover his tracks or sounds – people could hear him when he wore it. He picked up the hood and looked it over. He thought he had time to take a walk through town, especially over by that cute… wait, he had to focus! The master could see him when he wore it. Why was that? He turned it over in his hands and wondered, not for the first time, how the darn thing worked. What was the spell that made it work? And why wasn’t he allowed to learn these spells?

Next week his official promised year of apprenticeship would be up. Then he would have to decide what to do. He was allowed to request another year of apprenticeship, but he really wasn’t looking forward to another year of cleaning up after the master. Then again, what else was he going to do? He had heard that there was an apprenticeship available at the tanner’s, but that was real work. He really wanted to be a magician and sit around and do magic without actually putting out any real effort. He wondered if the master would be open to demands. He could tell the master that he would only continue as an apprentice if the master taught him one spell. That’s all, just one. He didn’t care if the master kept saying he wasn’t ready, he was ready, and he knew it. Of course, if he made that demand, the master might just tell him to take a hike. There were plenty of others who would love to gain the title of apprentice to the master, mainly because they didn’t really know how much crap they had to put up with if they were apprentice!

Alton stood up out of his chair and looked out the window at the fading light. He causally brushed away the spider web in the window as he sighed and he didn’t even see the glare the spider gave him. He picked up the vial of ink and placed it on the shelf in the proper position according to the master. He finally made a decision – he would just ask the master if it was time yet; time for him to learn a simple spell. And if the master said no, he would ask when he would be ready. It was a situation that had played out dozens of times in the past few months. Alton knew the answer would once again be, “I’ll tell you when you are ready,” but there was a tiny glimmer of hope that this would finally be the time that the master would say that he was ready. And if he wasn’t? Well, he supposed there were worse jobs than cleaning up after the master. He had really smelled some bad smells from that tanner.

Alton headed out of the room and almost tripped over the cat. He dodged and grabbed the wall to keep from falling. He learned last year what would happen if he kicked that darn cat, and his ankle still hurt sometimes when he remembered it. He smiled at the cat and reached for the broom, ready to sweep the stone floor yet again in preparation of the return of the master.

Yay, writing!

708

Sergeant Galadriel swung his chainsword, cutting through flesh and metal. A Thunderhawk flew ahead, it's main cannons blasting at the Heldrakes sweeping over head.

"Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!" a cultist screamed, charging him and swinging a massive sword. 

Galadriel swung his chainsword, cutting through the cultist's blade and straight into his chest. Galadriel charged forward, hacking apart cultists with his whirring death machine. He felt a bolt of psychic energy slam into his chest, knocking him to the ground. Galadriel lept up, snarling, running his gauntlet over his burnt armor. The Sorcerer to his right laughed, his eyes filled with malice as crimson dripped from his orifices, no doubt the result of the extensive psychic strain.

"Praise the Dark Gods!" he cried, before his voice twisted to one of pure malice and hate. "Yes, yes! I can feel it all!"

Galadriel charged forward again. The sorcerer blasted a shot of energy which Galadriel only barely managed to block with his sword, which exploded. Galadriel charged forward as the chain slammed into him, grabbing the sorcerer and squeezing his throat tightly.

"For the Emperor!" Galadriel roared, his voice being answered by the proud sons of the Emperor still fighting around him.

"I..." the sorcerer gasped, struggling for breath, before another voice boomed out. "Yes, kill! Break! Crush him, hound of the Emperor. Feel his life give... you are a more fitting host."

As Galadriel broke the neck of the foolish sorcerer, he felt his soul be attacked by a beast of Chaos, malice, desire, corruption and death. Galadriel paused, shuddering in fear as he wondered for a brief second whether he was strong enough to survive this. Was his faith being tested, or being broken?

"You won't succeed today, little one. Accept the gift of Chaos. You're mine either way," the voice laughed. 

Galadriel spasmed. He roared, before feeling like the air was sucked from his lungs. He grasped at his helmet, tearing it loose. He took a deep breath of air, feeling like his lungs were on fire. He felt the daemon find a crack in his immaterial defenses, as his body flooded with pain and dark, heretical emotions.

"No!" he gasped.

He felt his body begin to twist and mutate as the daemon took his mind. His arm quickly mutated into a bone sword, his eyes merging as his mouth filled with sharp, carniverous teeth.

"Yes! You are mine, foolish dog!" the daemon roared, through Galadriel's lips.

The new hybrid of the Emperor's chosen and the corrupted, cursed mutant son of the Dark Gods charged forward, catching a Guardsman's head and tearing it clean off. It lept forward with insane speed, catching an Imperial biker and flinging him off her bike and through the air, smashing into the burning hulk of a tank. It roared, slashing it's claw to open up the throat of another Guardsman trying to charge.

"Galadriel!" a voice cried, as an Assault Marine smashed into the daemon.

The assault marine swung his chainsword, attempting to slice into it's mutated, corrupt flesh, but Galadriel raised his bolt pistol, firing into the marine's jet pack himself. The pair smashed into the side of a house with enough force to crack brick. They collapsed to the ground, but the power of the Warp surged into the daemon, causing him to leap into the air and grab the assault marine. It swung its fist with such force he cracked through the helmet, breaking through and crushing the marine's head. It looked skyward, screeching.

"Galadriel!" a voice cried.

The daemon turned, staring at its... Galadriel's former battle brother, and close friend, Samson. Samson looked at him with mixed pity and disgust, raising his heavy bolter.

"May the Emperor purify your soul!" he muttered.

Galadriel charged forward, knocking the bolter out of the way. He stared at his battle brother, smiling with a maleovelent grin.

"Brother... please. Let me give you the Emperor's peace," his brother begged.

Galadriel stopped, as Samson slowly drew his pistol and aimed at Galadrie's mutated head. Galadriel fought the daemon in his mind, struggling to keep from striking. This was his brother. His friend. He was trying to put him out of the misery. They had known each other since boot camp.

Galadriel drove his claw through Samson's chest, tearing through both his hearts as the corruption finally took Galadriel's soul.

Samson had always shown him up. He had always been better, forcing Galadriel from his perch as squad champion. He had been a useless dog of the Emperor, the Emperor who had kidnapped him as a child, forced him to fight and kill, and had broken his soul and made him a slave. 

"We're going to rule this galaxy, together, understood?" Galadriel snarled aloud.

Galadriel stood, watching the Forces of Chaos triumph over the crushed dogs of the Imperium.

"Deal," his newfound ally, his NEW battle-brother answered.

427 words: I wrote in my storygame because I'm a lazy bastard.

I promised I'd do something last time, but then didn't because of having to pack for the trip, doing other things and forgetting. Then I was away for 3 days, and now it's Friday. A bit late, but here's mine. 420 words and it's terrible and I'm ashamed of it:

The battle went well and the girl was allmost defeated. She should have been dead by now, but she kept going, without any care for the pain, her movements robotic, eyes unfocused. I saw many of them so far, all possessed by them, who called themselves the perfect race. I just called them demons, for that was what they were. They wispered in the ears of their victoms, promissed them fortune, welth, everything they wanted. They used them for their gain till they got bored, then they possessed them completely, leaving only shells to be played with.
They attacked without humans even knowing, one night was all it took to force everyone to do their own wars. There are only a fiew of us left, who, for one reason or another didn't become one of them.
My hand pressed on the trigger again. The shot missed. My hands were trembling, I couldn't focus. I had a feeling that something was coming, something much stronger from the normal demons, something that I couldn't fight off. Run, I had to run!
So I did, with the girl chasing quickly after me, even though there were several bullets in her legs. I ran faster and faster, my life depended on it. I had to get to the others, then I would be safe.
I was stopped by imposible pain in my head, as if it was ripped apart in million peaces. I fell on my knees, breathing hard, wimpering in pain. No, I have to fight, to run, can't stop! I tried to move. Why couldn't I move? I tried again, and again, I couldn't do anything, couldn't feel my arms, my legs. Then my arms raised and my hands clapped. I didn't do that!
"I wouldn't try struggling if I were you," said a voice in my head, slightly amused. A demon. I tried to fight, somehow, anyway, I had to. This couldn't be, I was one of the gifted ones, what was going on!
"Gifted? That's how you humans call it? All your gifts have limits, sometimes all that is needed is someone just slightly stronger. You think you're strong, don't you? You're change your mind soon enough," the deep voice said, finishing it with a laugh. A laugh that I heard a lot after that and can still hear it now, echoing in my brain. A slave, just like the rest. Everyone lost eventually. We were blinded; blinded by our power, thinking that we couldn't be beaten. But we were.