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Speaking of... inspiration, I'm still offering five points for anyone who completes all five prompts in any given week. You have until I tally up the entries, which will happen Sunday night, some time after midnight EST.

The point is to write. I reserve the right to ignore entries that seem to have missed the point. That said, writing is messy. I absolutely welcome shitty first draft material, and you're likely to see some from me.

Ready? Week ten starts now!

Flower

The forest to the north of Rag Hill was haunted.  Everybody knew it was haunted, and had been since the Great Crusades of a hundred years ago when the knights wiped out the elves that had lived here before.  Rag Hill itself was named for the amount of rag pickings from the great battles in the area.  Of course that was ages ago.  The Rag Hill of today was a boring little farming town in the middle of nowhere. 

That was why Yerfed was willing to wander further and further afield over the years, despite his mother's frequent hectoring and complaints. He knew the forest was haunted, but he had never seen anything scarier than a black bear in his random wanderings.  But today he found something new.

In a small bowl valley roughly four hours walk north of Rag HIll through the wooded rolling hills, Yerfed saw a massive oak tree easily sixty feet or more across.  It stood easily a couple hundred feet high.  The outside of tree was festooned with planked walkways that seemed to grow from the trunk of the tree like carefully curated branches.  These walkways formed rough levels connecting deep boles in the trunk with each other.  Wooden rungs formed ladders between the various levels and down to the ground between the massive roots.  What appeared to be some kind of wooden doors were nestled deeply between them in the trunk  Similarly gigantic wild grasses and flowers filled the small valley. 

As Yerfed carefully began his descent down into the valley he paused as what he thought were the sounds of soft whispers.  He heard nothing more than the wind in the branches of the trees and the head-tall grasses slightly below him still.   He could tell that he still had a few hours until sunset. Perhaps if he jogged he might be able to make it to the tree and back out again before it got fully dark.  He was pretty confident that he could make his way back home in the dark, he just didn't want to have to try to make his way back through the tall tall grasses and wildflowers without the sun as a wayfinder.  It would be like getting lost in the cornfields back near town.

He began to pick his way through the grasses and flowers.  Each flower stalk that he touched seemed to trigger a shower of sticky pollen down on him like a yellow snow.  With each granule of pollen that stuck to him the whispering voices grew louder.  

Soon he could clearly hear the cries of what he could only assume where elven voices amidst the stirring stalks of grass and flower.  What they were saying, he had no idea, but he could read the vitriol that was clear even in the unknown tongue.  Like a building wall this weight of ancient hatred built brick by spiteful brick, slowing each of his steps.  He panted, straining against this inexplicable impediment. He looked up and up, above the grasses to the planked walkways around the great tree.  Like faint clouds or smoke, wispy figures seemed to move along those still so distant routes.  The cries of the voices in the grasses grew thunderous and finally Yefred cried out in pain and frustration, dropping to his knees.

He began to crawl back, following the clear path of broken and downtrodden grasses that he had made coming in.  Slowly, slowly, the voices in the grasses began to fade as he crawled, then walked, and finally jogged out of the valley of the tree. The sunset fully as he crested the hill around the valley, and he could see the smokey figures of the ancient elven ghosts moving through their final garden.  It would take some time, but he would return here with help, if only to discover the secrets the ghosts must be protecting.

Flowers are frivolous fancy things
As useless as perfume and diamond rings
Roses wilt, roses die
Most women love them... why?
In them I find no purpose- nothing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6MLzS5cRVts

Blocked on my school device?? What were you trying to expose me to????

3/28/23

Dust

If there was one thing I knew, after three days on the road, it was that I was tired of breathing the human's dust. Sure, that was how I was tailing it. It was a necessary evil. But I was tired of the scarf wrapped around my face, tired of making camp and longing for a bath, tired of brushing myself off instead, and curling up in blankets that were as grungy as I was. Tired of waking myself up coughing, before setting off again.

The human was on gnark-back, of course. Human feet, even human boots, didn't stir the dust like cloven gnark hooves.

The dust, and the tedium, are just part of my job. But I'd never tailed a human before. I'm not speciest, but you have to be wary of carnivores, right? Sorry, "omnivores." Sentients who evolved eating whatever they could, and no worries if that happened to be another sentient. And half of them couldn't even bear young, they just injected their DNA into perfectly good eggs and let the egg-bearer do all the gestating--

--okay, I try not to be speciest.

Anyway, the one I was tailing was the gestating sort anyway. Rumor has it that they were less violent than the other kind. I was still on edge... but it blindsided me.

"All right, Tentacles, put 'em up-- all of them."

The voice came from my right. My eyestalks swiveled to see a human aiming some sort of weapon at me, baring its teeth in an expression I have been told is not supposed to be hostile.

"Up," it repeated, and made a brisk upwards gesture with the weapon. I raised my appendages.

Well, if it killed me, at least I could hope for an afterlife with less dust.

The soft yellow pollen stuck to Yerfed's clothes even as he moved as quickly as he could through the forest.  This sticky elven dust did more than the young explorer was aware of.  While it was obnoxious and gave him a faint glow as he moved through among the trees, it also allowed a contingent of elven ghosts to track and follow him away from their final stronghold.  These figures of mist and smoke moved among the branches of the forest, watching Yerfed's route.

It was nearly midnight when the human finally made it back to the dusty little town of Rag Hill with his unperceived retinue.  He went inside the little hovel that he shared with his mother.  While the ghosts of the elves were unable to range too far from the magical dusting of flower spores that provided their anchor back to their home. They did have enough flexibility to slip into the nearest homes to the Yerfed's bed, surveying the sleeping forms there.  

On the roof of Yerfed's hovel the ancient elven ghosts gathered and discussed in voices of  memory and still air.  They plotted and planned through the night, their ghostly tongues making no sounds living ears could hear.  As the sun rose and the people of Rag Hill began to awaken, the faint figures of the spirits faded even further into tranparency vanishing fully from sight.  Beneath them Yerfed turned in his sleep, his dreams showing him visions of great elven treasures and magic, while nightmares for him and his people waited invisibily above.

From dust we came, to dust we'll return
All will forget the lessons we've learned
The soil will devour
Every moment, each hour
After death comes for us each in turn

Thief

Neri puttered about his hut, talking to himself as usual.  The old druid was a well-known figure in the surrounding communities and many sought him out regularly for advice on crops to grow or rotate or midwifery. This despite his non-human appearance.  No one really knew what race Neri was, as no had every seen anything like him in this area.  Neri himself tended to downplay it, explaining that he had forgotten much of his early life including what race he was and that he had not seen another member of his species in decades.  His gray skin and oddly folded and ridged muscles made it impossible for anyone to mistake him for human, but his wisdom and selfless advice worked to disarm the reservations of the farmers and others that lived out here at the edge of the empire when he first arrived.  Now, he's been here longer than the majority of people still around to seek out his advice.

He's certainly been there for as long as Yerfed could remember, and his mother had often told him the story of how Neri was able to make a tincture that saved his life from a terrible fever when he was a baby.  This was the reason that Yerfed sought out the learned druid to ask about the valley of the tree.

"Come in, Yerfed of Rag Hill, don't linger at the door." Neri called out before Yerfed had even knocked on the door. 

The young man ducked his head as he came through the low door. "Good morning, sir," he said, his tone reserved and reverent. "I have something weird I wanted to talk to you about."

The druid turned from the large cauldron he was stirring over the fire.  The boney ridge above his eye shifted, a somewhat subtle movement that Yerfed took as a indication of surprise. "And what is that?" Neri asked.

Yerfed started, "Well, I've been wandering the woods north of Rag Hill for..."  His words faltered as Neri reached forward and pinched a small yellow fluff from his shoulders.

Neri met Yerfed's mud brown eyes with his own shimmering silver ones and said, "Go on."  He reached up and picked off another tuft of pollen.

"Well," Yerfed continued, his eyes following Neri's hands as the druid continued to pluck at him, "I was out exploring yesterday and I found a new place. Well, an old place really.  The biggest oak I've ever seen, honest."

"Really?" Neri asked, pausing his pollen plucking for just a moment.

"Yeah," Yerfed said nodding urgently, "and grown all around with giant grasses and flowers." 

Neri dumped the picked pollen into a small pestle and began grinding it up.  "And did you steal anything from there?" he asked bluntly, no emotions coloring his words.

Yerfed looked suprised and exclaimed, "I'm no thief!"

Neri made a placating motion with his hand and said, "Many find no crime in stealing from the dead, particularly those of another race and time.  I was just asking."  He poured the ground pollen into a small wooden bowl and pulled down a small bottle of some unlabeled violet fluid, mixing a few drops into the powder.

"Well, anyways.  I found it and was trying to push through to the tree itself but I started hearing voices yelling things and eventually I couldn't move through the grass anymore. Like I hit a wall or something, but there wasn't nothing there."

The mixture in bowl began to bubble and smoke.  Neri leaned his head in and inhaled the smoke, coughing slightly.  He looked to the ceiling, his eyes closed but moving behind the lids.  "Well," he began contemplatively, "There was something there.  Most likely many things.  You know the rumors of those woods being haunted."

Yerfed nodded quietly. 

"Well, I would guess that it was the ghosts of the elves that used to live in that forest that were keeping you from the tree.  I also think it likely that thanks to the pollen that you 'stole' from the field around the tree, you brought those same ghosts home with you," Neri continued, "This is problematic as these ghosts are old and angry at human interlopers.  Being ghosts there is little to be done to reason with them, although I will do what I can.  If not, you may have granted them access to Rag Hill which puts the entire town at risk.  Return home.  I will follow shortly.  We will then work out a plan."

As Yerfed left the druid's hovel, Neri was already gathering up a bag full of materials that he may need.  He had never had to settle a forest of ghosts before, and hoped that it wasn't something well beyond his capabilities.

Truth be told, he's a rebel
He plays by his own rules
It isn't like he lacks morals
Even I know he cries
For the people from whom he steals lives

Teacup

Neri gathered his supplies, quietly reciting the poem his mentor had taught him decades and decades ago for spirit work.

"First, a bundle of sage to smudge and clear,
The air of any lingering spirits, hold it dear,
Then a quartz wand to channel the light,
And to amplify the energy and get it right.

A feather to fan the smoke away,
A bowl of salt, circled, to keep evil at bay,
Trusty dagger for protection and power,
And a chalice of purest water to cleanse the bower.

But amidst all these tools for the fight,
A teacup should be  packed, just right,
For the wisest know the power of tea,
To soothe and calm even the most surly spirit tree.

So with your bag of supplies and trusty cup,
The druid ventured forth to exorcise and disrupt,
The dark forces lurking within the wood,
And bring back the balance of all that's good."

He finised the poem and slung the bag over his shoulder.  Heading out of the hovel there was no sign of Yerfed, but Neri knew the route to Rag Hill well and was soon on his way to find out the intentions of the now stirred up ancient ghosts.

"Cleaning up, ma'am," she says. "It was empty, so I thought--" She stops. She's still looking at me though. Better eye contact than the last mouse of a would-be apprentice, at least.

"That teacup is older than I am, girl. Set it down, and do not touch it again. Also, I am not, nor have I ever been, a 'ma'am.' You may address me as 'Witch.'"

She sets it down, carefully, then straightens. Not a sloucher, either. I let the pause lengthen, to see if she intends to speak. And then she does.

"I'm not a girl, either, Witch." And something in the jut of her-- their jaw tells me they aren't just pointing out that they are, technically, an adult.

My face is making a shape I'd nearly forgotten about. A grin. At my age? I must look quite the fool.

I don't give a damn. I like this not-a-girl.

Maybe they'll even inherit the teacup, someday.

comic

This comic makes me worried for your mental state.

I've made worse

Hope

Neri's pace was slow, far slower than the youthful Yerfed. It was not due to infirmity, but the simple fact that every few steps Neri would spot some interesting plant or creature or some-such that warranted a few minutes consideration and observation.  The sun was low on the horizon as Neri walked into town.  He could feel that there was something off about the town, some kind of ominous spiritual cloud that hung over the town.

Yerfed must have been waiting for him, as the young man and a few of the townsfolk came out of the tavern to meet the druid.  "I told you he was coming," Yerfed said.

Neri nodded and smiled at the townsfolk. "Yes, yes," he said, "I hope to be useful."

Yerfed asked, "What is your plan?"

"I will have to determine the extent of the problem.  You came to me quickly by your report, so hopeful things can be resolved quickly as well."  Neri began digging through his bag, preparing to face a night of ghosts.

I hope that all of you that post in these threads know you're faggots.

But not me, of course.

Yes, obnoxiously productive faggots all around.

Productive at what? 

Writing output?

Sucking cock? Got it.

I can see that being your exclusive skill at least.

I prefer to consider it an executive skill.  With talent such as yourself around, I wouldn't be so bold as to call for exclusivity.

That's an elaborate way of going about saying a "no u" that only a true faggot could come up with.

I would say go for the exclusivity.

I'll settle for the faggoty exclusivity of being the only person to have responded to all of the thread's prompts this week.  Unless you care to try to rob me of that?

Careful I'm headed for that grand accomplishment :P

Confagulations to you!

I could rob you of a lot more than just that.

Yep thanks

another comic

I really like this one.

Thanks

I feel attacked

Done.  Thanks for the fun challenge.  Are you going to do another?