Down Time

 I need to apologize for the lack of stories here.  The impact of the pandemic and a toxic work environment squashed any creative impulses I may have had.  There is a concerted endeavor to get these creative juices flowing again.  Keep your eyes open for new stories to begin appearing soon.

Solo Adventuring

 I have had a standing appointment nearly every Wednesday for almost 2 years now.  It is with a group of adventurers travelling a world in order to save it from those that wish to destroy the innocent and bring forth evil.  When people come together to play D&D, anything is possible.

We recently came to the end of a story arc the DM had composed for us.  Without access to his notes, I like to believe we loosely followed his plan and veered away from it only when it was most inconvenient to do so.

During a brief interlude, I thought about my character and what he might do after beating the big boss and before taking on any more challenges.  In his younger days Cordon Lindenbrook had seen his mother killed by hobgoblin forces.  He was unable to help her so he retreated into the shadows physically and emotionally.  So now he returns to a land controlled by his enemies to complete a chore he gave himself.

Before leaving the embattled capitol city of Springhill, he wandered around town until he found a small craftsman that could make a fancier version of his nation's ancient artifact. Cordon describes the belt as he wants it made instead of showing the Belt of Strength to the shopkeeper. He asks for a few additions to the design to draw a wandering eye more quickly. The edge will have silver thread wrapped around it. The buckle will have a circuit of gold thread surrounding it. Instead of an onyx, Cordon commissions a hunk of obsidian to be embedded in the material.

Cordon travels back to the village where he and his mother lived. He uses happy memories to hide the dread he feels. The last time he was here was the night his mother was slain by the hobgoblins. All that is left is demolished forests and destroyed homes covered in weeds. Deep in his former homeland, Cordon is aware of the presence of those watching him. This is no longer a Halfling nation. It is now a wasteland that belongs to the hobgoblin tribes. Cordon isn't sure exactly why he isn't being harassed by the interlopers, but he likes to think his confidence and sure stride is the source of their reluctance.

Upon reaching the outskirts of his former home village, Cordon finds the place he piled some of the larger stones from the bed of a nearby stream. He had run to escape the advance hobgoblin forces after his mother was killed but before they finished torturing her body. Her screams still echo in his mind to this day, more than 30 years after it happened.

Cordon had piled the stones as a marker of where he wished he had been able to bury his mother's remains. A clear spot where the babbling of the stream can be heard and is lightly shaded by leaves high in the trees. He kneels before them and closes his eyes. Over the sighs of the wind weaving through the foliage overhead and the soft twittering of birds in the distance, Cordon imagines hearing her laugh one more time. Before the tears forming in the corner of his eye can become large enough to fall, Cordon places his pack on the ground and extracts a simple box and a shovel. He uses the shovel to dig a hole slightly wider than the box and about two feet deeper than the box is tall.

Cordon picks up the box, his pack, and the shovel, and steps over to a nearby tree. He sits down and catches his breath for a moment. Two apples and a stale slice of bread find their way out of the pack and into the hungry worker. Once Cordon is relaxed, and aware of every set of eyes watching him, he opens the box to reveal it is empty. From his pack, the Halfling pulls out a belt that looks like it has been drawn directly from legends and tales instead of a worn traveler's pack.

With more reverence than an item from a common shop should be given, Cordon carefully folds the belt. The light flickering through the leaves above flashes off the threads of gold and silver embedded in the belt's material. As Cordon lifts the folded belt into the box, the light seems to be completely absorbed by the black stone on top of the folded fabric. The entire forest seems to hold its breath as the belt is lowered into the box and the lid is replaced.

Like a cleric taking an offering to an altar, Cordon carries the box to the hole he had dug. He lowers the box into the ground and uses his hands to shove the dirt over the hole. He carefully spreads the loosened soil around to disguise the former hole. Careful placement of some foliage from nearby camouflages the signs of his work.

The sun gets closer to the horizon and Cordon steps into the growing shadows of the forest. He knows the hidden figures that had been watching him are now more interested in what he has left behind. This is exactly what he had hoped for.

Using the skills he had developed during his recent adventures, Cordon vanishes into the undergrowth. Blended in with the darkness, he watches the area around the piled rocks carefully. An arrow is knocked and he is ready to draw the bow's string in less than a heartbeat if anything moves towards the box he buried.

The sun finally sets and the area grows completely dark. Unable to see anything in the darkness, Cordon stealthily backs away and begins his return journey to Springhill. When he feels like he is safe from any pending attacks, Cordon opens up his cloak. His hand brushes the onyx stone on the belt he wears as he checks the placement of the ancient dagger clipped to the belt.

Cordon knows he will never have a home or family as most people know it. On the other hand, he did have some fun adventures with some recent companions. More chances to kill hobgoblins and gain a little coin will always be welcome. While Cordon has vowed to never become emotionally attached to anyone again, he is aware of the value of his companions and their skills. There is an old adage about new friends, old friends, silver, and gold. Cordon can't remember the exact wording but wants to experience more of the world and collect as much of each of them as he can.

I will admit, some of the details of this story will only be known to the Darling Brothers Entertainment Extravaganza and Friends.  Still, I am hoping this is the first of many tales of their adventures, either alone or together.

Who is among us?

 The game Among Us has blown up recently.  It is a simple game with a deceiver mechanic.  The devs recently announced some lore for the game.  Apparently the impostor in the game is a parasitic shapeshifting invader.  With that in mind, here is a little tale from the view of one of the crewmates.

 

 

Personal Log, Employee #24601

File Code Number 8675309  

For distribution to next of kin only, not for corporate use.

Reviewed by Legal and approved for release.

Just another personal log from another cog in the interstellar corporate machine. Personally, this cog is getting kind of tired of being a part of this particular machine. Sure, the glamour of traveling to other planets and collecting samples and data for later research seemed very attractive. Once you do it though, the grunt work takes a lot of the shine out of it and you just see the dirt and broken machines. You would think a company that could afford to build ships capable of traveling other planets wouldn't let everything be built by the lowest bidder.  They even went cheap on our spacesuits.  Would adding arms instead of forcing is to stretch our the suit itself to perform tasks be that much of an effort?

If I have to reconnect one more set of wires I will snap someone's neck.  It's not just the wires either. I swear we had at least three alerts regarding a reactor meltdown on The Skeld during the return trip from our last mission. To a degree, I can understand needing to destroy meteorites in our path. But there might be fewer of those around if we weren't constantly drifting off course. The navigation computers would pick up a ton of drift every five minutes that we then had to re-calibrate and plot a new course.

I made the mistake of thinking things would be better when we got back to Mira HQ. I don't know why. Just as many broken wires there to fix and a reactor just as wonky. The company is so cheap they can't even install an automatic sprinkler system for the plants in the greenhouse. We have to get a watering can from storage and water them ourselves. A multibillion dollar corporation that reaches other planets and they can't even afford sprinklers. If not sprinklers, at least lights that don't go out every few minutes. Or an air filter that doesn't get clogged by simple leaves. Or a computer network that doesn't require me to walk from room to room downloading data and uploading it again.

The decontamination, at least, works consistently. And that is a bonus as often as we have to traverse it on the way to the lab. There is a fantastic view of the clouds while we sort samples from expeditions and reassemble harmonic crystals. Signs of real research being done at last.

Real research, like what I finally got to do when we reached Polus at last. Not a particularly exciting planet, just likes to shake us all up now and again. Nothing a little rerouting of a ground sensor can't fix. Appropriate for a planetary research base, there are two decontamination rooms to protect the samples we collect while they are being packed up. Can't forget all the temperature sensors to log data from. Such drastic differences between the air over the lava pit and off the cliff edge on the other side of the base.

Damnit, time to refuel the dropship engines again. Even with all this research happe.....glurp. Glooble. Herkar shlep.

Hungry. Must eat. Must spread. Must be more of us.......

END OF LOG.

Fun Words

A friend posted a picture on Facebook one day that featured a list of fun words to say.  I shared the picture on my own Facebook page with a promise to write a story featuring all the words.

For some reason, a court scene came to mind for this particular list of words.

“Your honor, I swear to you on my honor as a member of The Bar, that the events before you are nothing more than a simple misunderstanding that grew out of control. My client is innocent of any shenanigans. He simply wanted a sandwich from the best deli in town on the freshest pumpernickel in three counties. Not an unreasonable request but a strong desire we have all had at one point or another in our lives.”

With the screech of wood on wood, the lawyers pulls his chair back and sits down next to his client. The judge's gaze moves between him and the team of lawyers seated at the opposing table. Seated on her bench, this adjudicator could not bring herself to believe that a simple kerfuffle would require such a strong show of corporate force against a single patron.

With a nod to the legal show of force, the judge says, “You may now call your first witness. This is a simple case. If we don't lollygag and keep the malarkey to a minimum, then we can be done by lunch, dinner at the latest.”

The gaggle of lawyers look at one another then turn to focus on the man wearing the simplest suit among them. He rises, adjusts his coat, and steps around the table to address the judge. He speaks in a soft voice that carries throughout the courtroom so that nobody has to strain to hear him.

“Thank you your honor. We would like to call to the stand the manager of the deli, a Ms. Clarence Johnson.”

A bailiff calls out the door and then holds it open as a woman in a blue pantsuit strides in. She confidently walks up to the witness stand, sits down, and swears to tell the truth without a single pause. Her motions and speech full of confidence and pride.

The lawyer addresses the witness, “Ms. Johnson, can you please tell us what lead to the brouhaha that brings us here today?”

Ms. Johnson's eyes travel around the people in the courtroom, appearing to get the feel for her audience before she speaks. She glares at the single lawyer and his client and begins her testimony. Her voice is commanding and sharp enough that more than one person in the back cringes at her words.

“Your honor, it was a typical day at my business. I operate a deli downtown that is well known for its flavored meats and fresh breads. On the day in question the guy at the table over there entered my establishment appearing completely discombobulated and disheveled. The cashier working the front counter thought he appeared unsavory and requested I handle him before he reached the counter. Not wanting to put my employee through a potentially traumatic experience, I willingly stepped forward.

“The guy stumbled up to the counter and began to spout some gibberish. I calmly asked him what he wanted to order. He started getting louder and more belligerent. I maintained my composure and became flabbergasted when he started cursing at me and using profanities that were not appropriate for the environment of my family establishment. My confusion continued when he lunged at me and grabbed my blouse.

“It was at that point that I called to one of my employees in the back and asked them to contact the police. I then turned back to the guy and suggested he skedaddle before the officers arrived. He became erratic and started wildly gesticulating. He then proceeded to yell and scream at everyone in the dining area and wildly stomping towards the door. One of his feet caught a chair attached to the floor and fell. Before anyone could reach out to assist him up, the guy reached out to a promotional sign to pull himself to his feet. The frame was unable to hold his weight and it toppled on top of him as he fell a second time. He then stood up and lifted the frame from the floor. The sign was completely cattywampus in the frame. The guy staggered out the door before the police arrived.”

The charming corporate lawyer leans against the wall surrounding the witness stand. He looks out at the judge, his fellow legal team, the opposition, and the audience.

“Ms. Johnson, is that the last you heard from the gentleman that created such a disturbance in the deli?”

The witness shakes her head, causing the managed curls at the end of her bob haircut to bounce.

“No, not at all. About 18 days later I received a phone call from a law firm informing me that the deli was being sued for the medical costs incurred by the guy during the incident.”

The comfortably arrogant corporate lawyer struts back to his table and asks one final question with his back to the witness, as though asking it to the room at large. “What would paying those bill mean to the deli?”

Ms. Johnson sniffled slightly and pulled a convenient tissue from her sleeve cuff to dab at her eye. “The immediate costs would impact my plans for an expansion and damage investments in the employee retirement fund. If there were future medical payments required, it could eventually mean the shutdown of the deli itself.”

Another screech of wood on wood as the leader of the legal team sits down. “That is all I have for this witness.”

The judge looks from one lawyer to the Ms. Johnson and then to the single lawyer with his client. “Do you wish to cross-examine this witness?”

Without a sound, the solo lawyer stands up and adjusts his jacket. “Yes your honor, I do have some questions for this witness.”

He walks to the middle of the courtroom and stands with his hands cross in front of his waist. He turns his head slightly to look directly at Ms. Johnson. His eyes focusing into hers as he speaks. “You talked about the deli being your business, the employees being your employees, your plans for expansion. Do you own the Riverside Deli where this incident took place?”

From the opposing table one of the junior lawyers calls out. “Objection! The ownership of the deli has no relevance to this matter. It has no bearing on the circumstances of this case.”

The judge looks at the lawyer standing in the middle of the room before her. Without waiting for a question the lawyer responds. “The question has bearing on the validity of the witness's character and the accuracy of her statements about my client and the events that occurred.”

The judge nods, “I will give you some latitude but you must make it relevant quickly. Ms. Johnson, please answer the question.”

Ms. Johnson's voice is still strong but some of the confidence is gone from her tone. “ I don't own the deli, but I do manage it on behalf of the Miltons. In order to do my job effectively I have to consider every part of that business as mine. Every dollar in and out as though it comes from my personal wallet. Every employee is a member of my own family. That is how I manage the deli in order to make it the best possible business it can be.”

The lawyer stands still as he ponders the answer to his question. After a handful of heartbeats he asks another. “Did you plan on leaving court today feeling like you have bamboozled everyone here?”

Ms. Johnson blinks and all self confidence leaves her face. “I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

“Any manager that invests themselves that much into operating a business owned by someone else would have to be a total nincompoop to not be aware of security cameras and their recordings.”

“When the police arrived we tried to look at the security footage. Something had corrupted the data and the video files were unrecoverable.”

The lawyer uncrosses his hands and places them behind his back. “Yes, the original security surveillance system did seem to have some odd occasions of corrupted data. That is why the owners, George and Liza Milton, installed a new wireless surveillance system they could monitor and record from anywhere, including their home. The same home they were sitting in when they happened to hear their beloved deli mentioned on the police scanner they have in the living room.”

The lawyer raises his hand and signals to one of the bailiffs. A large screen is rolled in with a DVD player and other electronic devices hooked up. The single lawyer pulls a flash drive out of his pocket and inserts it into a port on the DVD player. “Your honor, I would like to enter the following video recording into evidence.”

The judge nods and the lawyer presses the buttons required to play the surveillance recording. Multiple views from multiple cameras appear on the screen. Overhead angles of the deli's cashier stations, dining room, kitchen area, and manager's office. The unmistakable figure of Ms. Johnson can be seen sitting in the manager's office doing something on her smartphone. There are a few people in the dining room with all three people placing orders and others lined up behind them. The lawyer pauses the video and addresses the judge.

“This is mere seconds before my client enters the establishment. Please keep in mind the testimony that Ms. Johnson just gave regarding the actions of my client and her responses.”

All color and confidence flows from the witness's face as the video restarts and everyone on the screen unfreezes. A single figure, dressed differently than he is in the courtroom but recognizable, enters the deli and walks towards the cashier. He calmly and quietly steps in line behind a woman with a bulbous bouffant and a child standing next to her. The mother was paying more attention to her phone than the child.

The child can be seen looking up at its inattentive mother, then to the cashiers busy assisting other customers, and finally at the man now standing at the end of the line. The child glances to check his mother's view one more time. In one fluid motion the child balls up a fist, turns, and lands a blow in the patiently waiting man's groin.

A cashier had looked up just as the blow is landed and the man doubles over. The child just giggles as the man moans. His breath is rough as he tries to get the attention of the mother who just brushes his hand away from her sleeve. The cashier asks the customer she had been helping and steps away from the register. She can be seen moving in and out of multiple camera views hurrying to the manager's office.

“Ms. Johnson, there has been an incident. You need to come up front immediately.”

A deep sigh can be heard as the manager's shoulders rise and fall sharply. Without pausing in what she was doing on her phone, Ms. Johnson can be heard on the recording. Her voice containing none of the peace and friendliness

“Seriously? Do I have to do everything? Can't you peons handle the simplest of problems? Must I do all the thinking and fixing of your little pissant problems?”

“Ma'am, a child has assaulted another customer. I can see what me may want if you would rather get some ice.”

Ms. Johnson can be seen putting her phone down in frustration on her desk and standing up aggressively. “You get the ice. I can't allow you to give away the whole place because of one little love tap. Get the ice and don't screw it up.”

Ms. Johnson can be seen moving through the camera views as she marches to the front of the deli. She can be seen moving through the door that separates the employee area from the section customers are free to roam in. She takes one look at the man still catching his breath and standing in a stooped posture. Her voice is full of contempt and arrogance as she speaks.

“What has happened here?”

The man's speech is breathy and full of pain. “That child punched me. Hit me in the family jewels. I just had a vasectomy and that region is very tender.”

On the recording the attacked man can be seen pointing to the inattentive mother and assaultive child. Ms. Johnson looks in the indicated direction. She practically runs to the mother that still hasn't looked away from her phone. Everyone in the courtroom is shocked as Ms. Johnson gives the mentally absent mother a hug. The people on the screen freeze again as the lawyer once again pauses the playback.

“Ms. Johnson, would you please inform the court who that woman is to you?”

The witness stammers for a second before replying in a quivering voice. “She, she is my sister.”

“Then the child that injured my client would be?”

“My niece.”

The lawyer winks at his client and smiles. “With that cleared up, why don't we let the recording continue?”

Motion returns to the screen once again. Ms. Johnson's excited voice comes over the speakers. “Sister, what brings you to my restaurant today? And how is little Julie this week? Growing like a weed still I see.”

The mother, without looking up from her phone, replies, “Hey there sister. I was doing some shopping when Julian wanted some lunch and we thought you could give us something from your little place here.”

A giggle bubbles from the direction of the young attacker. Ms. Johnson looks down as the little girl giggles again and points in the direction of the her human punching bag. The cashier had returned with a bag of ice that the man was holding gently against his groin. A tiny voice happily says, “That man is silly.”

Ms. Johnson pats her niece on the head affectionately. “And what did the silly man do?”

More giggles. “He made a funny sound when I hit him. He acted like the people in the silly videos.”

The child's mother finally looks down at her offspring. “Dearie, you know you aren't supposed to do things like that.”

Ms. Johnson takes in the whole scene. With a huff she puts her hands on her hips. “Don't worry about it. I'll handle him. Maybe a free side or something will fix him up.”

The lawyer freezes the screen one final time. He nods to the bailiff who rolls the monitor out of the courtroom. “Now Ms. Johnson, I say again, did you plan on leaving here feeling like you bamboozled all of us?”

Thank you for giving this little impulse write a read.  Please let me know what you think here on the blog or at my Facebook page.

Delivery

Life has been hectic lately.  Basically, this is a quick and dirty story about a sword that has been in my head for a long time.  It also mentions the legend of Orion.  The legend isn't accurate, but I like to think it's a good one.

I never thought my hobby and job would come together so completely. Who would have thought working for a small package handling service and a passion for ancient weapons would come together in one fantastic event?

I work for a small company that handles packages that can't be trusted to the major corporations. It's a small market and our customers are few, but very loyal. The boss likes to call us “Logistics and transportation specialists.” Really, we are just delivery boys and girls for the rich and elite. It is not unusual for me to have ancient paintings, some fancy device for the kitchen nobody really needs, and a case of first edition novels in the van while I cruise down one interstate or another. There are some days I spend my entire shift waiting around the office/warehouse for something to transport. Since I get paid the same either way, it doesn't matter to me if I actually have to work or not.

When I'm not on the road, I spend my free time sifting through legends and old tales looking for descriptions of weapons. I have a sketchbook full of notes and drawings of swords, bows, staves, hammers, and anything else that could be wielded. I don't bother with average weapons carried by every-day soldiers. Just specific items featured in legends or used by legendary heroes. I have three different variations of the flute used by the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Excalibur takes up nearly the back half of the book due to the varying accounts of its description, some more reliable than others.

One legend, because it is so rarely told, is the one of the hunter, Orion. Many people know of the constellation of the Hunter. Almost nobody knows why he is there. In the ancient days, he was a hero that traveled from village to village. Orion defended them from monsters and bandits and showed the villagers how to hunt large prey for their meals. He would then leave the village with no reward or prize of any kind. While the details of his description and actions vary, one thing is constant between all the stories. His sword. Every legend from every village spoke of the same sword. Because of the way the blade “blossomed” at the tip and Orion's efficiency in ending combat with it, it was frequently called the Omega Rose.

I was called to the back warehouse to get a custom container and take it for a special delivery. The customer was paying extra to have the run made immediately instead of waiting for other items headed in the same direction. I walked into the warehouse and heard a very loud bang. Around a corner I see a new hire standing over a black case similar to a guitar case but longer laying on the ground. A narrow crack ran from one side of the case's top to the other. Because of the average value of the items we transport, any incident of damage to the outside of a package requires a call to the owner and an inspection of the contents for damages.

The customer had just left the office's parking lot so he was fine with turning around and coming back to inspect his package. He used a complicated key to unlock a retaining rod and opened the case. Nestled in custom cut padding was the finest and darkest blade I had ever seen. The metal was black with deeper black highlights weaving back and forth across the width. While the blade seemed to absorb all the light that struck it, the hilt and handle shined more than a spotlight. My eyes ran up and down the length of the blade a couple of times before my brain finally realized what I was seeing.

I glanced at the owner as he held the case open. My mouth was numb and dry as I tried to speak. “Is that... Could that really be...?”

Without looking away from his careful inspection of the sword, he replied. “Forged in a pit of Hell from a stone out of the heavens. Bane of every foe of the wielder. Not a weapon of mass destruction, but certainly a weapon massive death. Carried by Orion himself. It is indeed the Omega Rose.”

I blinked repeatedly as he spoke. A blade I had dreamed about numerous times was sitting in front of me. I was lightheaded and couldn't believe what was right there. “This has to be a replica. There's no way it could be the real thing.”

The owner only smiled. “If it's a replica, it's a very good one. I've had it my whole life. Had it weighed and the balance checked so I could make a practice sword that matched it. If I ever need to wield it again, I would be ready.”

I reached out towards the sword so I could prove to myself I wasn't imagining it. Before touching the smooth blade, I glanced at the owner and he simply nodded. The blade felt like nothing more than solid air. I slid my finger up and down the flat of the blade. I could feel the pressure of fingers on the metal, but there was no friction. I pulled my hand away and looked at my fingertips to make sure they were still real.

The owner slowly closed the case and replaced the retaining rod and lock. As everything clicked into place, I felt as though a bright part of my life was being shut away. “Everything looks fine. Honestly, the case is more to hide what the sword is than actually protect it. Anything that would damage that blade would probably leave massive piles of rubble behind anyway. Now, do I need to carry this to the truck or would you like to load it?”

“I....I'll take it for you. The destination should already be programmed into the truck's automatic GPS. Thank you for letting me carry this for you.” With that said, I grabbed the case by the handle and carried it to the loading door. Even though the blade of my dreams would be in a case a few feet behind me and not in my hands, this would still be the best three days of my life.

Are there any constellations you have wondered why they are the type of figures they are?

Technomancy

In many areas, high technology and magic use seem to be mutually exclusive.  The two contrast each other so much, rarely are the featured together.  There are some exceptions of course.  The Harry Dresden books by Jim Butcher is the first example to come to my mind.  However, this has magic as an underground ability that exists in the shadows of modern life.  In these books, technology fails to work around power magic.

What if this didn't have to be?  What if magic and technology could coexist?  Like any other tale of the modern world, this would include people trying to do wrong with their skills and abilities and others trying to find and stop the evildoers.

One of these days I will learn not to answer my phone when the caller ID tells me it is the local PD on the other end.  I have no problems with law enforcement and they don't have any problems with me.  It's the tremendous amount of work that always follows one of those calls and the torturous bureaucratic chain of hoops I have to leap through in order to get paid for that work.  I am grateful for the pay since my public service clients are just barely enough to cover my costs in a good month, but investigating and consulting for the Police is so much more involved than locating the occasional missing husband or lifting an ancient curse that may or may not have been placed on a household.

I get out of my own head as I get near the address Detective Anderson had given me.  It was impossible to pull up to the front door of the building through the array of Police cars parked up and down the block and the yellow Crime Scene tape strung across the sidewalk.  Instead, I park in an alley around the corner.  Getting out, I activate the alarm and wave my hand to activate the magical wards.  Like the alarm, the wards wouldn't stop anyone from stealing my car, but would notify me and any other magic user in the area if someone tried.  In that case, other little tricks and spells I had in place would help me track the thief and teach them a little lesson at the same time.  The additions I made weren't exactly factory approved and would void any warranty and insurance policies, but I fee; better with them in place.  With the car protected, I nod and turn towards the street and start walking to the officers guarding the yellow tape as though it is the most precious material in the world.

The officer sees me coming and makes sure I am aware he sees me.  When I get within a few steps, he tries to puff up but doesn't seem any more impressive.  He puts a hand out to stop me in my tracks.  "You will have to find a way around.  This is a crime scene and nobody is allowed to enter."

This guy must be new to the Force.  It doesn't take long for me to become known to any officer on the job for more than six months.  With the types of cases I get called for, none of them forget me after we have met.  I keep my hands behind my back and move my fingers in a familiar yet complicated sequence.  A mote of light nearly invisible in the bright sun of the day appears and floats behind me.  A quick mental command sends it quickly far above my head and over the officer in front of me.  Quicker than he could blink, the mote of light is behind him and in the building, seeking out the target I had sent it after.

I stop and stand before the officer with my hands behind my back.  I don't puff up like he did, but I know I can easily take care of myself if the need arises.  There is no need to look more impressive with the energies I have at my command.  "I won't be looking for another way around.  As a matter of fact, I will be walking past that tape and entering the building behind you in just a minute or two."

The officer is torn between confusion and confidence in his position.  He knows he shouldn't let anyone pass, but the authority in my words has him unsure about my identity as just a passing civilian.  Before his mind can settle itself, Detective Anderson comes up behind him and puts a hand on the officer's shoulder.  Despite its gruffness, his voice calmed the officer and his authority cleared up any confusion.  "Let her pass.  She is with me.  Also, learn her face, she will not be delayed any time she shows up at a crime scene."

The officer raises the crime scene tape above his head and gestures me through with a quick "Yes, sir."  I poorly hide my smile as I nod at him after ducking under the tape and walking towards the front door with the chubby detective.

Anderson shakes his head as we walk side by side.  "I keep telling you that you need to get yourself an official license.  Then we could avoid moments like this every time some rookie is on duty."

I no longer try to hide my smile and let it stretch across my face.  "We've done this enough times, you know I won't ever get a government-issued badge as PD Mage.  It would cause too many issues with my side projects.  I also don't like the idea of someone remotely watching every little spell I cast.  Besides, that rookie will remember me more now than if I had just flashed some fancy piece of metal."

Anderson's voice loses all of the authority it had when speaking to the officer.  "I know all of that.  I just want to avoid the need for you to use that damn little wisp thing.  It creeps me out every time it buzzes in and whispers your name in my ear.  Give me the shivers every single time."

I chuckle as another officer opens the doors in front of us and Detective Anderson and I enter a large lobby.  "It's a sprite, not a wisp.  You wouldn't want me to summon a wisp and send it in your direction, trust me."

Anderson doesn't appear to be relieved by my clarification.  "They are all creepy critters to me.  You can give me a detailed lesson later.  Right now, we need to discuss why you are here."

I look away from Anderson and take in the lobby around us.  My first impression was that we were in the front room of a classic theater.  It took me a moment to realize we were in a bank instead.  Velvet ropes on gold plated stands for herding customers to the counter in the middle of the space where tellers would normally be waiting.  A number of desks sit behind a short wall to one side.  A hallway extends to unknown recesses opposite the enclosed desks.  A single door sits in the wall behind the teller counter directly across from the front doors.  Two officers, one to each side, stand watching over the door.

"I'm guessing someone robbed the bank and you want me to help you figure out how."

"The how is fairly easy to figure out.  The bank's cameras caught the whole thing.  What we need your help with is the who."

"If the cameras caught everything, why do you even need my help at all."

"It's because of what the cameras saw that we need your help.  Just three figures walking through the lobby full of customers and past the open door to the vault.  There two of them stand and wait while the third one walks through the vault door."

"I'm still confused as to why you need me.  Cameras see the figures and a lobby full of people?  What is the mystery here?"

"On the cameras the figures are nothing more than white blurs.  Almost like walking blobs of static.  None of the customers or employees saw anyone at all.  None of them could give any kind of description because they couldn't see anyone at all."

"So your perps used an invisibility spell or artifact.  The people here would be unable to see them and the visual distortion would be projected to the camera system.  Only a practiced Viewer here at the time would be able to see them.  Well, what about when they opened the vault door?  Did they leave any fingerprints or DNA or anything?"

Anderson waves the officers away as he opens the door to the vault room.  "That's just it, the suspect didn't open the vault door.  He or she walked THROUGH it while it was still closed and opened it for their accomplices from the inside.  This despite a mild electrical current being run through it and layers of wards on each side."

You take a good look at the oversized round metal door and skim over the protective runes engraved on it.  "That does complicate things a bit.  I understand now why you called me."

What would you do if you could control both magic and technology?  Would you do good or evil?  Would you help people or keep your abilities to yourself?

The Heat is On

It is hot.  Working in the heat and humidity has been draining me much more than usual.  I'm not using the usual summer weather as an excuse for being lazy and late with my post, but I have been exhausted lately.

With all of that in mind, here is a story I wrote with the prompt of, "A battle between some of your world's mages and their armies."

Flags flutter from the tops of tall poles. Tents line each side of a field. A field that was once covered in beautiful flowers. Now it is full of craters and stains. The grass is trampled and contains marks where bodies have been dragged away. As the sun rises over the camps, a single figure stands before the largest tent on each side.

The figures begin chanting in an ancient language. While their tones are similar, the words themselves are different. They gesture and move their arms in similar yet varying fashions. The chanted words begin to shape alter reality. Air shimmers and shifts. Wispy clouds overhead start building and becoming looming storms. The ground itself moves underfoot as tremendous powers are flexed and released.

The ground in one camp rises more and more. Small bumps become mounds. The mounds form new, unnatural shapes. Arms develop and muddy bases split into legs. The humanoid piles of solid and grass begin to line up in ranks between their camp and the field. Branches and twigs gather themselves into piles. The piles become laid out in skeletal shapes. Smaller pieces of wood form hands and fingers. They grip wooden bows that form themselves in the palms of the developing archers.

The magic being wielded on the other side has a different effect. Instead of rising up, here the ground splits open. Skeletal hands of true bone reach out of the chasms and grasp the ground above. With a grip as strong as Death itself, the multitude of hands grab the dirt and pull. Arms of bone begin to emerge from the holes. The arms are followed by torsos and heads as skeletal warriors of every type and size emerge ready to do battle. Some have swords strapped to their thin waists. Others have bows slung over their bare shoulder blades. A few are dragging studded clubs on the ground as they lurch towards battle.

Silence echoes across the land as the wizards each complete their summoning spells. Two unnatural armies face each other. The minions of each side advance towards the field. The commanding wizards stand and watch. Looks of concentration on their respective faces. Eyes darting from inhuman soldier to soldier. Slow advances become rushing charges as each army fills the field of battle.

Suddenly, the one sound that could bring the entire conflict to a halt booms across the entire realm.

"Sam, honey. It's time for dinner. Come inside and clean up."

A child stands up, multiple figurines and toys at their feet. "But Mom, I just started having fun."

"Dinner time is now. You need to clean up and wash your hands. If there is some light left, you can play more after you eat."

Now I will go back to a bit of a project I hope to have ready for my next post, maybe.