The Argument of Magic

"So what's it like?"

"What, magic?" The mage replied, smiling at his brother.

"Yeh." The younger one prompted. He wiped the soot from his hands on the blacksmith's apron he wore before scratching at his short beard.

"Hmm." The mage stroked his chin, and pulled his hood back.  He was young, for a wizard, and his full head of black hair was a source of some jealousy among his peers. Which caused him no end of confusion, considering they were wizards and could change their hair into, I don't know, snakes or something if they wanted.  How hard could black hair be? "Well... you know when you're having an argument?"

"Shasson, I have a wife. Yes, I am familiar with arguments." He said wryly. Shasson smiled back, and continued.

"Ok, well, when you're arguing with someone about something with which you have absolute certainty, when you're filled with the conviction of the righteous... and they suddenly come to understand you're right and shift their opinion to support you? That's what magic is like."

"Huh."

"Except you're arguing with the laws of gods and nature and physics, and you might not be right after all but you've still managed to convince everything that exists that there should be fire right here, in the palm of my hand... whether it's true or not." Shasson continued, conjuring a small orb of flame in his palm.

"Huh." The blacksmith repeated. Shasson grinned proudly at his magical prowess. His brother stared at him, unimpressed.

"I was expecting something a little more... fantastic.  Oh well. That's nice Shasson. Chicken for dinner tonight." And he turned back to his work, crafting a new set of horse shoes.

Shasson fumed behind him, lifting the flame up as though to throw it... before extinguishing it and heading in to the house, muttering about conjuring chickens of doom.

Not So Bad A Thing

It is not so bad a thing, the flames. The pain is great, but not unimaginable.  And better to face the pain of the fire than the pain of loss, of losing her.

Does that make me a coward? To force her to take the harder path, to live without one's heart for the rest of her days, while I get to pass through the veil seeing her face through the shimmering heat?

Perhaps. The decision is long since made now.

I cannot feel the heat anymore.  Or rather, I have chosen not to feel it, I suppose.  My mind can take only so much. Thank you, mind.  The world crawls past at a glacial rate while I burn, unfeeling.

There is the disengage console.  I key in the compartment vent sequence ponderously with shrinking fingers.  The heat is replaced by dragging thunder, and I am blown out into space. The Dark Man wraps his fingers around mine, and then around the rest of me, and I have done it for her.

It is not so bad a thing.

Vicar and the Corp

Can’t sleep.  Had too much coffee already.  So tired.  Gotta keep the eyes open.  Don’t these assholes ever go home?

Vicar yawned, and rubbed at his exhausted face.  He’d been crammed into a supply closet for the last twenty-three hours, staring at a set of augmented reality windows. They were patched into the security feed of the office he and his crew were waiting to raid.  His job, for the moment, was to keep an eye on the drones working away in the office, and tell his crew when the floor was empty so they could infiltrate.  He’d slipped in shortly before quitting time yesterday, expecting the place to clear out quickly.  Instead, he was stuck waiting while a bunch of corporate wage-slaves worked their assess off all night for a corp that would kick them to the curb the moment they stopped being useful.  Gross.

He yawned again, and slumped his face in his hand.  One eye he kept open, watching the screens.  The floor was starting to clear out again, people grabbing their coats and bags.  

After another hour, there were only a few stragglers remaining.  Two drones having a chat in a cubicle, and one asshat hunched over a terminal.  Don’t you have lives? Vicar stared out at these last peons, squeezing the sides of his head and trying desperately to kill them with his mind.  That wouldn’t help, they’re supposed to ghost this mission.  No witnesses, no bodies, or no pay.  
But damn, would it make him feel better.  

The Chatty Twins grab their coats and head towards the elevator.  Yes!  Go!  Get yourselves something to drink.  Get drunk!  Get alcohol poisoning and die, you corprate stooge bastards!  Don’t come back.  Vicar stretches his neck out and leans back, resting his head against the wall.  Maybe I’m being too harsh.  

He opens his left eye, and stares angrily at baldy.  Last one, asshole.  Go home.  Go hooooooome.  Gooooooooooo hooooooooome.  I’m sure you have a perfectly acceptable corp approved hovel, with some nice soycaf and ramen waiting for you. Go, go you glorious bastard, go home and eat.  

Sigh.

Vicar waits.

He pulls a pair of energy bars from his vest, and for the hundredth time this day debates the qualities of vanilla versus those of peanut butter.  Sigh.  Fuck it.  Peanut butter. He puts the vanilla back, and tears into the peanut butter bar.  Damn that’s tasty.

Shit!  Baldie got up!  Vicar lurched forward, putting his face almost against the intangible AR screen.  Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeave.  Leaveleaveleaveleave.  

Baldie shuffled some papers, and grabbed his coat.  Yes!  Finally!  Aaaaahahahahahaha! Baldie starts shuffling towards the elevators, and Vicar gleefully starts punching up his crew’s contact in the matrix.  Almost go time.  Vicar watches as the wageslave slides his coat on, and shuffles his pages into what he can only hope is the right order.  The guy’s so intent on whatever he’s got on there.  Reading paper like a chump.  Who uses paper?  Corps that have the nuyen to spare, I guess.  Oh, hell no…

Baldie stops in his tracks.  He shuffles a page into a different order, and then turns to the supply closet.  No no no no nonononono.  Go home.  Do it at home.  You don’t need supplies.  You need to sleep.  We both need to sleep.  Damnit you stupid…

Vicar slips the strap off his Ares Predator, and thumbs the safety off.  Damnit, a whole day wasted.  Not even getting paid.  Stupid rules.  Stupid Mr. Johnson.  Stupid bald corp drone.  He levels the pistol at the door, and shuts off his AR windows.  

Baldie opens the door to the closet and flicks on the light without looking.  He’s got his face buried in his papers.  A tortured, confused look on his face.  Vicar’s pistol tracks the guy’s face unerringly.  Baldie’s free hand reaches up, and starts flopping around on the shelf, searching while he reads.  Jesus, what’s this guy’s problem?  His hand passes back and forth over pens, reams of paper, datajacks, you name it.  What does he want?  

Vicar’s face twists with incredulity.  Does this guy seriously not see me?  What the hell?

The drone keeps reading, nodding his head while he scowls.  He re-straightens the sheets of paper, and continues to read.  It dawns on Vicar.

“Stapler?” He asks, grabbing the red swingline stapler on the bottom shelf and handing it to Baldie, his Predator never twitching away from the guy’s head.

“Mmm.” the drone grunts in reply, taking the stapler without looking up.  He staples his papers, places the stapler on the shelf, and shuts off the light as he leaves the closet.

Vicar, alone in the darkness, stares with disbelief at the shut door.  The elevator dings, and he hears Baldie get on and disappear into the night.  

Un-fuckin’-real.

Vicar’s comlink chirps.  It’s Behir.  

“Hey Bee… place is finally empty.  Let’s do this, I want to get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

More Descriptions

The Immemorial Stone

What is trapped in here is more than an insect, more than a hard-shelled beast... it is time that is trapped inside the stone. Break it, and you might not be so pleased with the world you find... the world that was trapped inside the stone.

Ngaro People

The Forgetting

We forget the age of cages.  We forget the Great Trials, because to remember them is to bring forth great pain.  They say those who do not remember their history are doomed to repeat it... but this was an evil that could not be repeated.

Forget what you saw on the wall.







Ilshen, City Of Stars

It glitters, even in daytime. The sun itself is envious of its vibrant beauty. But it is in the shadows cast by the bright lights of prosperity, that the real work of the city is done.

Old Habits

Knuckles on the left hand crack and pop, flooding his hand with that wonderful stress relief.  Right hand still won’t crack.  Hasn’t since the incident.  Black Flag grumbles, and scowls at his inconvenient fingers.  

He chose this bar booth because it’s bright enough that people can see it bears a truculent occupant, but dark enough that he maintains his anonymity.  He scans the dive, to ensure his choice of locale is having the desired effect.  The berth of empty tables in his vicinity indicates that it is, in fact.  He absently tries to crack his right knuckles again.  

Minutes pass.  He pulls up an augmented reality overlay to check the time.  Toof is late.  Black Flag rolls his eyes, and closes the window.  Typical.  He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes.  

When he opens them again, the world has become a psychedelic photo negative mockery of itself, the table a hazy blur and the patrons beacons of aura light all mingling and mixing with each other.  The astral plane used to really trip him out, he remembers.  Now it’s just another place among many.  Getting old sucks.  

Black Flag lets his perception pass outside of the dim bar, shimmering with young idiots blending souls and getting hammered.  He looks for that one signature he knows.  His sight phases right through the wall, seeing only the living as an impediment to his quest.  You know, as usual.  People, am I right?  There he is.  Down the street, casually strolling towards the meet.  Twenty minutes late, doesn’t even have the decency to hustle.  Jackass.  Black Flag sighs, and inhales his consciousness back into the physical world.  

A quick scan of the bar reassures him no one was watching his little astral foray.  Not that anyone here would care, but it’s always good to be careful.  An idea pops into his head, and he repositions to a different spot in his corner booth, directly across from the one chair still assigned to his table.  A smile plays across his mind, but doesn’t make it to his lips.  

Toof runs past the plate window outside, skids to a stop behind the door, and bursts through.  Black Flag’s face does all the talking for him.  ‘Really?’ it says, ‘Really?  You think I’m gonna believe that?’.  Toof spots him in the back of the bar, and heads over.

“Sorry I’m late, Beef.” He starts when he’s halfway there.  Black Flag sees the orc’s eyes quickly scan and dismiss each member of the crowd as a threat.  In the shadows, either old habits die hard or you do. “I came as fast as I could when I realized.”

Black Flag stretches his leg and kicks the solitary chair out for Toof in one smooth motion.  “No you didn’t.  You walked your lazy ass from the train stop and didn’t give a shit how long I’ve been here.”

Toof looks at the chair, raises an eyebrow and looks at Black flag.  “How long have you been waiting to pull the chair stunt?”

“Just thought of it while you were sauntering over.”

“I’m sure.” The orc sits, and smiles.  “So, how’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know.  Still hurts when it rains.” Black Flag wiggles his fingers.

“If that was true you’d have moved out of Seattle.  When are you going to let that one go?”

“I dunno.  When’s the rapture scheduled?”

The orc sighs heavily, and pushes his greying hair out of his face.  He leans forward, resting his heavy arms on the table.  The bulky muscles are cleverly hidden by the lines of his jacket.  Must have been expensive, you can barely see the armor plates sewn in.  Black Flag realizes he’s almost jealous.  Almost.  “Still paying off that condo?”

“Only until I die.”

“Well, I have a job that might be able to help with that.  One way or the other.” The orc grins, his one chipped tusk making for an incredibly lopsided smile.  

“Better not be the other…” Black flag smiled.  “It’s not wetwork, is it?”

“Mr Johnson says no, but his checkbook’s generous nature says probably.” Toof leans back in his chair, and waves the bar for a beverage.  “All I know so far is that one of the double A’s, Deccarde I think, found something artifact-ey in Old Canada. Mr. Johnson would prefer it if his company was the current owner of that particular artifact.”

“So major break in, theft of a possibly powerful artifact, heavy opposition, and probably more than a couple wage mages? At the very least?” Black Flag inquired.  

“Well yeah, but only if we’re very lucky.”

A pause hangs in the air.  The two men look at each other, faces betraying nothing.  The two runners have known each other for a decade.  Long enough to know not to play poker with each other.  Long enough to know this job will go sideways literally as soon as they agree to it.  Long enough to know that the only way they’ll survive is if they watch each other’s back.  Christ, Toof… what have you gotten me into?

“You know, I’d own the condo already if I hadn’t had to pay for this?” Black Flag raises his right arm again, smirking.  

Toof leans back and smiles, relieved to know he won’t be on his own.  “Yeah, well… I’ll get the next one.  Buy one get one free.”  The waiter finally made it over with the drinks.  Toof pulled them off the tray, not willing to wait.  He slid one across the table to his friend.  It clanked noticeably against the chrome replacement aug Black Flag had in place of his right arm.  The two of them paused, looking at their drinks.  

“To Cork.” They both said at once, lifting their drinks.  Black Flag absentmindedly tried to crack his right knuckles again.  Toof kept drinking.  Chugging, really.  When he finally came up for air, the drink was gone.  Black Flag squinted, turned his head.  Any second…

Toof let out a thundering belch.  

“You are disgusting.”

“You, are boring.” Toof wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and suddenly remembered he was wearing his nice jacket.  He cursed and pulled out a napkin.  

Black Flag cracked his left knuckles loudly again, a rush of relief.  His right hand still vexed him.  Toof eyeballed him across the table.

“What?”

“You know they updated the firmware right?”

“So?  They’re always doing that. I only bother to upgrade before a run.  Keep the deckers out.” Black Flag shrugged.  “Too much trouble to keep on top of all the updates.”

“Yeah… but they patched in knuckle cracking.”

Flag’s glass hit the floor and shattered, spraying his expensive (better than real leather!) shoes with glass shards and shitty beer.

The Lover and The Thief

In the ur-times, before dragons, before Falcon learned to fly and before the Moon learned to dance, there was The Lover and there was The Thief.  They were not lonely, for there were many that shared the world with them, and The Lover loved them all.  Each in turn she gave her heart to, Fire and Hope and The Kiss of the Sky.  The Lover gave her heart freely and passionately, not just to the beautiful but to the Darkness too, to Rot and Death and even That Which Lies In The Deep Place felt the gentle caress of The Lover, and embraced her just as fiercely.  For the rest of time, a piece of The Lover would stay with each of them, and she would bear a sliver of their heart with her.

The Thief watched and laughed, for she saw what the others did not.  Love is blind, The Thief giggled to herself, and the blind are easy prey.  And so as the Lovers caroused and played at passion The Thief would dance invisible and silent, and she would take.

The day came when the Lover had given her heart to all save one.  In that same time, there was only one thing left that was not The Thief’s, one thing left to steal… the heart of The Lover.

The Thief stepped forth from the shadows, and The Lover embraced her like an old swain.

“Where have you been, Thief?  I have not seen you since the beginning.”

“I have been with you always, I never left your side. How could I, I who love deeper even than you.” She replied with a smile. And the two descended, and were raised.

And that is why we give our hearts away, even if it may cause us pain.  It’s why we steal a kiss, why we elope, absconding with our loves, and we covet the happiness of couples.  Because there is a piece of The Lover in everything, and The Lover lives in the heart of The Thief.

The Arakhenen Stone

"Is it righteous, friend, to stand upon the brink of oblivion and turn it down?" He asked, holding the stone above his head.  It glowed an eerie yellow, one that hurt not the eyes but the mind when gazed upon. "Is it wrong to deny the future its due?"

"Yes! Yes it is, you damned fool!" I replied, holding my shattered arm.  "You can't do this!  All of the people.. all of our friends!  Think, for one second!"

But I could see in his eyes that he would not.

"I have thought, Elegar.  I have thought too long and too deeply.  Mankind is a stitch in the weave of this world, and a crucial one.  But a stitch is not the cloth, and our time is come to an end.  We must step aside, for the world that is to come. We cannot stand in the way of the Weave, friend mine.  To do so would be arrogance."

And so he crushed the stone, and ended the world in the hope that what took its place would be better. In the instant before I was obliterated, I could do nothing but hope he wasn't entirely wrong.

Rollercoaster

Having just come off the rollercoaster, after winning the biggest kewpie doll he had ever seen, Jack wobbled forward with the assistance of his young daughter.

"Whoof... too intense for me, tyke!" He said, hamming up his dizziness. The fairground coaster was tiny, small enough to pack up and put in a truck after all.  But the little girl had loved every second.  Which was a relief to Jack, considering it cost five bucks, each, to get on the thing.

"Can we go again daddy!?" She was jumping back and forth behind him, pushing him back upright as he wobble-walked forward.

"Are you kidding me?  I barely survived that once!  Your dear old dad isn't as young as he used to be, tyke." He smiled at his daughter. Something to distract her would be perfect now. "How about popcorn?"

"Popcorn!" She shouted and was off like a shot to the vendor booths.  Thank god.

When he caught up with her, he scowled at the signs. Popcorn: Five dollars for a small.  Sigh. Oh well, at least he could eat it without being cramped in a tiny little car. He put the kewpie doll on the ground next to his bouncing child. "Take care of Mister Fluffers for a minute would you?" She nodded enthusiastically.

He paid for their snack, and the two of them maneuvered their way to a bench to people watch.  Mister Fluffers sat beside them on the ground.

Cassie rapidly munched through her popcorn, creating a cloud of popcorn shrapnel all about her.  The birds will be happy later, thought Jack.  He smiled at his daughter.

They laughed at the clowns that came tumbling through, causing no end of trouble.  The looked on in awe at the obviously very wealthy cowboy, a concept that confused Cassie to no end.  There were so many people here at the fair, it must be the biggest one in the town's history.

A young kid walked up to the popcorn booth, waving off the attendants.  He was wearing a backpack slung over one shoulder, and had a trucker cap on pulled low.  He shuffled back and forth around the stand.  Jack smiled.  Probably waiting for his date to show up.  Oh, those were the days. Those were the days that sucked.  He put his arm around his daughter as she attacked her popcorn like a hungry beast.  He looked back up, and the kid was gone.  Maybe next time, champ.

But Jack's eye caught on the kid's bag, leaning against the popcorn stand. Huh.  Jack scanned the crowd, and found the trucker cap making it's way toward the exit.

"Stay put for a second honey, I'll be right back.  Keep an eye on Mister Fluffers huh?" Cassie looked him straight in the eye with an entirely serious face, and gave him a stiff salute. Jack smiled and headed for the bag.

"Hey kid!" He shouted in the direction of the rapidly dissapearing hat.  "You forgot your bag!" He hustled over, and picked it up.  It was surprisingly heavy for a little bag. What was this kid bringing on his date?

Jack took off after the kid, working his way through the crowd, all while trying to keep one eye on Cassie. "Hey kid!  You in the hat!" About a half-dozen people turned to look at Jack.  He shook his head, searching for the boy.  Before long he found himself at the centre of a sea of people, none of which were the rejected kid.  Jack shrugged and headed back to Cassie.

Mister Fluffers' face was covered in popcorn, and Cassie's bag was empty.

"He got real hungry Dad." She said, beaming. "But it's okay, I tooked care of it."

Jack smiled. "Good stuff, kiddo." He popped the bag on to the bench.  Maybe the kid put his address on the tag. Do people still do that?  Maybe they don't.  Kids are weird now, after all.  Kids are really weird.  Man... I don't want to know what this kid has in his backpack... it's probably like... math books, and meth, and... dungeons and dragons books... Jack shuddered.

He pulled the top open and looked inside the bag.

The kid wasn't nervous about his date.

The kid was nervous about the bomb in his backpack.

Wild Heart - Bleachers

I stand, staring over the railing of a bridge at downtown.  My city.

I was born here, and I will die here.  Not in that hyperbolic, 'I'm never leaving this place' yuppie kind of way.  I'd love to leave. There's so much I haven't seen yet. So much to do.  What's it like to live in the country? Does it suck? I bet it sucks. No pizza delivery. No chinese food, full stop.

Yeah it probably sucks.

Sounds like heaven.

I take a deep breath, and survey the dancing lights of my city.  It's dying.  It has become stagnant, and stale. Rigid and unchanging, the streets are not the labyrinth I grew up in. Everything has been remade in the image of structure.  It's perfect.

And so it dies.  It has no life anymore.  The uncertainty of being, the joy of discovery have drained from it, and it has become like a desert of structure.  Even the oasis' are drying up, the bohemian neighbourhoods, the university dorms, the wrong sides of the tracks... all gone to order.  It has spread through this city like a nightmare passed from person to person.  And so it will perish.

I step on to the railing of the bridge.  I don't look down.  I know what will happen.  I lean, and gravity takes me in her embrace as I tumble.

I land after a dozen feet on the roof of a moving train.  My knees hurt from the impact, the jarring suddenness crackling through me like an electric shock.  The pain brings clarity as the speed of the train picks up and the wind whips through my hair.

I stand up fully, morosely looking to see the goal of my metal steed.  Third Line Station.  I check my watch. Exactly on time.

Sigh.

Perhaps they are right.  Perhaps it is the right thing to do.  To die. And live forever in the city.

I will do this thing.

I ride my magic carpet to its destination.  When it comes to a stop, I roll off its back to the shock of the passengers.  They feel something, for the first time in too long. One pulls out his phone to take a picture.  I smile, and thank her.

I walk to The House.  I do not knock.

"I am ready." I announce to the darkness once I am inside.  A light breaks in the back of the room, a line the height of a man that spreads into a growing rectangle of impossibly bright white.

I hesitate at the edge of the doorway.  A hand rests on my shoulder, broad and strong.  It is the hand of my father.  I do not turn to look at him.

"Would that it could be me."

"Why can't it be, father?"

"I am too old, son.  Mine was tamed, by your mother." I can see the loving smile on his face without turning to look at him.  Warmth fills my soul.  I will do this thing for him. I will do it for them.

"It was a blessing while it lasted."

"So you were. Go son, and give the city what it starves for."

And I am happy to. I step forth into the chamber of light, and when I turn, there is only light. The dark doorway is gone. I am alone in white.  There is only one feature in the infinity of the room I have entered.  Ahead, a pedestal of white, and on it my task.

A greying, steadily beating heart rests on the dias.  It is old, ancient maybe.  The heart of the city.  I pick it up, and examine it. I can feel it trying to bring order to my hand as I hold it.  I am sorry heart, but we are anathema.  I drop it to the ground.

Now, I must give the city what it needs.  I take a deep breath, and reach into the deep places of my chest.  My fingers close around my gift, and I tear it out. Tears of happiness mingle on my chin as I place my legacy on the pedestal and it beats strong and proud.  I collapse to the floor, smiling. My city will survive, will thrive.  The uncertainty, the thrill of the metropolis will flood back.

With the beating of a wild heart.

A Day At The Pet Store

"So you want to adopt a cat?" The shop owner queried pleasantly.

"Yes, I've acquired some pests in the basement that I'm having a hard time getting rid of. And I'd really love a nice, cuddly pet to snuggle when I'm on the couch. It seems like the perfect solution." Jillian replied, smiling at the wall of glass fronted cages beside the salesman.

"Well, if you want a good mouser, Jet here is perfect. He's a little older, but full of love."  He said, opening up the container.  Jet the cat yawned deeply, and slowly uncurled as he heard the door open.

"Oh, no, I don't have mice." Jillian interrupted. "But he does look like such a sweetie!"

"Oh, my apologies.  Rats?"

"No."

"Uhh... insects?"

"Oh goodness no, thank god!" Jillian laughed and waved her hand. "No, no, nothing like that.  I have a terrible infestation of the ancient dead, long since cursed by the waking death.  Turned back from the door of the afterlife, and forced to wander the living world a phantasm until the Gods themselves sunder their spirit."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well... then you probably want Puddin' here... she's only just a kitten but her eyes are copper, so her gaze should pierce those pesky spirits like a spear. Plus she's just so snuggly!" He said, pulling a tiny orange kitten out of a different compartment and handing it to Jillian.  It purred deeply, only opening its copper eyes to survey its new owner for an instant.