"If you don't mind," you say, "I'd like to join your quest."
"You wish to seek revenge against the Wickerwidge?" Boss Off asks.
"It sounds like fun, to be honest," you say.
"Revenge is not supposed to be fun," Toke Atoka says. "It is a serious endeavor."
"That may be," you say, "but you guys haven't seen what my life has been like lately. Ever since my parents came down with the Fiery Plague, none of our neighbors will come anywhere near us."
"You are not contagious, are you?" Toke asks.
"Not that I know of." And that's true; when Doc Smithwick diagnosed Mom and Dad all those weeks ago, he said nothing about you and your sister.
"I have never heard of the Fiery Plague until this evening," Toke continues, "but I do not think I would ever want to contract it."
"What are the symptoms?" Boss Off asks.
"Bursting into flames," you say. "That's why my parents need to keep themselves covered in asbestos blankets, to keep from burning down the house."
You notice both Woodland Robots inching a little bit away from you.
"That sounds horrible!" Toke Atoka says.
"The doctor said not everybody who gets sick catches on fire," you say. "And at any rate, I doubt that either of you have anything to worry about."
Boss Off looks at you from across the campfire as he adds more sticks from Toke's pile. "And why is that?"
"Because you are robots! Everybody knows that metal doesn't burn."
"But we do have combustible components," Toke Atoka says.
"Not to mention lubricants in our joints made from birch bark oil," Boss Off adds.
"The campfire doesn't seem to be bothering you, though," you point out.
"We cannot live in fear of everything!" Toke says. "Besides, we would not be very good Woodland Robots if we did not enjoy a good wood fire every now and then."
It's a logic you're not prepared to dispute.
"So, as you were saying, young human," Boss Off says. "You wish to seek revenge against the Wickerwidge with us?"
"If you don't mind having me."
"You certainly have a just cause," Toke Atoka says. "But as we said earlier, he is a nasty, nasty creature. Our quest is sure to be dangerous."
You get the sense he is trying to talk you out of coming. "Just how dangerous?" you ask.
"Enough to give you bad dreams," Toke says.
"If you live long enough to have them," Boss Off adds.
"Well maybe if he brought the Fiery Plague to my family, he'll know how to cure it."
"Perhaps," Toke says, "but do not expect him to give up his secrets easily."
"As far as I am concerned," Boss Off says, "you may come with us. But we will be leaving early in the morning."
"That's fine with me," you say. "But there is one slight little problem: I'm going to need something to eat first."
This is what I was able to get down in 20 minutes. This is from the storygame I'm currently writing, so basically I just set a timer and typed away. The scene occurs somewhat late in one of the branches, so the characters/setting were introduced previously. Basically, Boss Off and Toke Atoka are robotic Indians sitting around a campfire.
491 words total, for anyone who's interested in the count.
This is what I'm working on:
Basically, a child's fantasy: "You" and your sister are bored out of your minds, because your parents are quarantined with something called the Fiery Plague and now none of your neighbors will even let you leave your front yard. So instead you slip out the back, where there is a long stretch of woods, and there you meet a variety of beings, none of which you ever knew existed. All of them have a beef with a fellow named the Wickerwidge. The story is intended to be everything "Eyes" wasn't: short, light, and branchy. Whereas "Eyes" finished at 50k words and 7 endings, "Wickerwidge" is currently sitting at 21k words and 9 endings (so far)... and none of the pages will be more than a 1000 words long.
I do have ideas for other stories cooking in the back of my brain, including Ureste #2 and Orion #3, both of which may appear this year. The "succubus" story, however, has been a challenge, structurally speaking. My original effort last summer hit one brick wall after another, and so I moved onto "Woban." I had much more success in December-January, getting it up to 46k words. I had one good branch going, but I was drawing a blank on the where the others should go.
The good news is that I have been getting ideas recently, so after "Wickerwidge" I will probably switch back to "Saints." But be warned: for anyone who thought "Eyes" was wordy, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Some individual pages top 6000 words, and the whole thing will be at least the length of a novella. I'm not expecting it to be a wild hit, but I am very pleased with several of the scenes I've written and I am eager to see it through to completion. But structurally it will be very different from my other stories, with only one narrative path. Instead of a "Cave of Time" format it will be delayed branching (a.k.a. branch and bottleneck). The problem has been in maintaining continuity, as well as keeping some of the branches from spinning off into wild directions.
Not necessarily. Most fairy tales have their dark elements.
You know me, all about the cultural appropriation. I'm still getting hate mail from members of the Three-Eyed Pacific Islander Anti-Defamation League.
As for the Fiery Plague, my assumption is that social distancing would be enforced with garden hoses.
Yoren, the kindly cleric
In a far away place, in a city filled with plague and pestilence, there lived a cleric by the name of Yoren.
Many remember him as a kind man, quite unusual for one tasked with the destruction of the undead and aiding the monster hunters when they arrived.
Yoren travelled far from the city, going on rumors of a cure for an overwhelming illness taking hold in his portion of the city.
The rays of the sun beat upon the man as he walked through mud and swampy waters. Carrying around the large sword and shield he had become well known for in addition to his chainmail was not helping much.
Regardless, he carries on.
A frustrated grunt sounds out from near him. A man in creme colored coat and pants, a dark brown vest worn underneath. A brown mask worn over his mouth and nose compliments the dirty creme hat on his head.
"I told you we should have taken the pass, higher ground would jave gotten us there quicker."
"Take heart Duran, it will not take long." Yoren smiles at the hunter by his side.
"You're taking us on a detour aren't you?" Duran says, "we're after some undead, leave the cures and the remedies to the church."
Another voice speaks up from behind. "You forget, my friend. I am a friend of the church."
Father Bregan, slayer of monsters and friend of the church. An interesting combination indeed.
Beside him, last but not least. His twin sister Helen, the doctor. A black cloak adorns her shoulders, as well as the beak like plague mask.
She remains quiet, indifferent to either mission. Admittedly, the remedy is Yorens personal mission. His primary order is to take these hunters to a town infested with some rogue undead.
The cleric spots what appears to be a valley ahead, a thick fog envelopes it. The plants they would need are somewhere down there.
There are rumors of a tribe of barbarians in the area. Yoren speaks their tongue, and Duran even knows some.
A light rain begins to fall on the travelers as they start down the steep pass. Its true, they could have gotten to their destination quicker if they had taken higher ground.
Sometimes the journey itself is better than the destination anyways.
Yeah Im gonna continue this
The characters general story I had been mulling around in my head for a while but this quest he is on sprung into mind spontaneously.
Glad you liked it
Please do not read this. Please do not read this.
Once you begin reading he will know. I am being forced against my will to write all of this out. As much as I resist my fingers continue to type. Right now, I sit in the darkness of my room with only the screen of my computer in front of me giving off light. I fear to look away from the screen. I can hear him moving around the downstairs of my house. He has my scent and soon will be there for you once I am done with.
It will start off with scratching at the door at night. He'll test your mind and see how quickly you become fearful. I think that's what fuels him. The fear is almost like food to him. My steps are beginning to creak as he comes up. I fear I do not have enough time.
I'm sorry for submitting this. I'm sorry, but my fingers will not stop typing this out. Next is the tapping at the windows. It could happen at any moment. There is no order in which he performs them. It could go on for days or months. This all started for me four months ago when I read a message like this on another forum.
I can hear him outside of my door. I know this is how it ends for me and, I'm sorry, but how it will end for you too. I wish I knew how to stop it and I wish I was strong enough to just kill myself before I was able to log in. The door is slowly opening. It creaks as he opens it. I can hear his wheezing breathes come closer to me. His steps are slow and clumsy as he bumps into various items in my bedroom on his way over to greet me. There isn't much time left. I haven't moved away from staring at my monitor; my fingers typing everything I'm currently thinking. I hear something dripping from behind me. I can only imagine it as his jaw opening up to eat me. It must be his saliva dripping off of his tongue and into my hardwood floors. There's a small growl like a rabid animal about to pounce on it's wounded prey.
Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive m
Is this a creepypasta or some shit
Thank you for the feedback. Please don't go easy on it if you see something that looks wrong or incorrect. I love the brutal and honest feedback this community is known to provide. As I look back on it, yes the structure is relatively simple mainly because I wanted it to have the feel of everything that is being thought is being written down exactly. I didn't put anything fancy or anything because in this situation someone wouldn't want to paint a beautiful picture of what's happening big picture. Thanks again!