Day IV

Day VI

You felt stiff and sore. Well that would make sense. You've been dead for a while. You look up and there, in the collarbone is a name: Dennis. You looked over yourself. You were... whole? You had skin. You felt normal, aside from the stiffness.

Dennis silently offered you your cloak and staff, which you put on. You pooled your mana together. It felt smaller than it used to be. You pulled with all your might and felt an explosion of power which made you stumble back a step. You imbued Dennis with a bit more power and he visibly straightened.

Where you had laid was dug up and on a stone lying at the end it read, in several languages, as inscribed several times over, "Here lies The Death ringer, owner of a thousand souls. His rebirth will result in untold casualties."

You caressed Dennis skull and gave him a hug. It wasn't particularly soft, but it was comforting to hug someone familiar. When you finally stepped back, you ran your fingers along the engraved name.

"What happened to the others?" you asked.

"Those who didn't fall when you died were hacked to pieces or pulverized. I was the last one. It was the resurrection spell you cast upon me that is how we are as we are." You smiled.

"Thank you." You started walking toward the moon. It was a waxing gibbous. After a while, you noticed it had risen, so you were travelling east. You stopped and looked up. The stars were dazzling. Dennis stopped about a pace and a half behind you. You started walking again and didn't stop until you arrived at the first set of houses. You felt an absurd amount of corpses under the ground, the majority of them human.

You, a necromancer, were always fond of your skeleton minions. Even going as far as to make each one a personalized name tag. Then you were cut down by those blasted heroes, only to one day reopen your eyes and see an Elder Lich looming over you with a very faded name tag.

when whumper is untouchable

powerful. a king, a general, a noble. they have the world’s resources at their fingertips 

beloved. rich, connected, influential. adoring fans who will rip you to shreds if you say a word against them

superpowered. hyper-intelligent, massively destructive, or a mind controller. the game is just too easy for them

an unstoppable force. a giant, a dragon, a god. an army couldn’t stop them. what are you going to do?

when the odds are stacked against you and you know it won’t be over until one of you is dead

𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞

to waxe night, to grow towards night

A restaurant named You're Not Supposed To Be Here, where the whole point is that the vibes are unnerving. The lighting is weird, the whole place has a faint scent that's not a bad smell, but it's certainly not food smell and you can't quite identify what the hell it is. The music is weirdly janky and you can't quite tell what's wrong with it, the vocals aren't exactly garbled but sung in a language you swear you've never heard anywhere and couldn't name if you tried. Only hiring staff who have anxiety and they're 100% permitted to show how much your presence here stresses them out.

TW: Whump

CW: crying, blood, bruising

It was all behind him now. He was out. He was free. All he had to do was get to his friends and heal up. The bruises on his wrists bled a little, as he stumbled down the dark street. He roughly wiped away tears from his face, hardly able to stand. His very soul shook, the tremors spreading to his bones, his muscles, his tendons.

He leaned against a wall, lightheaded from exhaustion. He wasn't used to walking everywhere. Flying was just so much more convenient. But any qi usage would mean capture as Thomas would no doubt be scanning for any large qi use. In this pitiful state, it wouldn't even be a fight. All Dené could hope right now is that he almost died and got a boost after he healed up.

He fell to his knees and screamed. A gutteral scream that was borne from his heart. A scream, not of pain or anger, but of release. As did his tears, so too did his scream lift a weight from his shoulders. He shuddered before standing up. At least, trying to. His legs gave out and all he could do was kneel as rain began to fall. A calming, cleansing, light rain that romantics danced and proposed in. The moon played across the water dreamily, almost mocking Dené's predicament.

But as quickly as it had come, it was no longer. At least, not on his back. He looked up. It was a woman holding a rather large umbrella, one who looked quite established, that she was not one to be trifled with.

"Hi. Um, you look like you need some help."

"I just need to get to my friends and I'll be alright."

"Well based on the sound of your throat and your posture, I'd say you need a bit more than that, young man." Dené growled and lashed his tail before shoving himself upright and looking at the woman who happened to be considerably taller than him. "Well?" she questioned. She looked like Lady Dimitrescu, but felt more like a mother bear, perfectly willing to kill, but only as a means to protect.

"Fine," Dené muttered and the lady called her chauffeur.

"And we'll need to do something about that... mane you have. At least make it look nice."

After the drive, she showed him to a bedroom and its bathroom. "I trust you know what to do from here." She got him a change of clothes, a cloth, and a towel.

When he looked in the (rather expansive) mirror, he saw someone he didn't recognize. Someone who was weak, helpless, ill-maintained. Not the former general of a military based on strength and order. He ran his fingers through the tangled mop that was his hair and came to an abrupt stop at a wad of knots. He started the shower, stripped, then stood under the hot water.

It was then that tears started to flow. Silent tears of helplessness, weakness, inferiority, and fear. Tears of despair, conflict, and emptiness. He cleaned himself then set to working out the knots, but he didn't quite have the patience, so got out of the shower, dried off, put on the clothes he was given, and went to find the woman.

But then, his nose caught the strong scent of food, the strongest of which was the smell of chicken noodle soup, with celery, carrots, onion, garlic, and basil. It was this smell which led him to a dining room where the woman sat, as if she was waiting for him. Now she wore a silk nightgown, making her look more like a rich MILF from some cheesy anime than an evil, centuries-old vampire dominatrix.

They ate, but before Lady Borea sent him to bed, she had him sit with her in front of the fireplace as she worked out the knots in his hair. Before she was done with the first one, he was asleep.

𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

a flying towards

Your parents listed Hades as your godfather as a joke, That would not be an issue if it were not for the 3-headed puppy delivered to your doorstep by Persephone and Hades themselves, planning to protect you from the Olympian’s shenanigans due to Zeus’ bulldickery

Guide to IPA Symbols

Vowels

æ ask bat glad ɑ: cot bomb caught paw ɛ bet fed ə about banana collide i very any thirty i: eat bead bee ɪ id bid pit ʊ foot should put u: boot two coo ʌ under putt bud ɚ merge bird further eɪ eight wade bay aɪ ice bite tie aʊ out gown plow oɪ oyster coil boy oʊ oat own zone blow ɑɚ car heart bizarre eɚ bare fair wear iɚ near deer mere pier oɚ boar port door shore uɚ boor tour insure ɒ British cot bomb ɔ: British caught paw port ə: British merge bird əʊ British oat own zone blow ɪə British near deer ɛə British bare fair ʊə British boor tour

Consonants

b baby labor cab d day kid ʤ just badger fudge ð then either bathe f foe tough buff g go dagger bag h hot ahead j yes vineyard k lacquer flock skin l law hollow l̟ pedal battle final m mat hemp hammer rim n new tent tenor run n̩ button satin kitten ŋ rung hang swinger p lapse top lip speed r rope arrive s sad mist kiss ʃ shoe mission slush t mat stick late tʰ toe attack ɾ later catty riddle tʃ batch nature tʃʰ choose chin achieve θ thin ether bath v vat never cave w wet software z zoo easy buzz ʒ vision azure beige

Other Symbols

' penmanship ˌ penmanship British indicates British pronunciation variant

Source

I just think people write out of obligation too often.

"How do I motivate myself to write through the boring part of my story?"

"How do I make this boring scene not boring?"

Don't write it.

Don't write boring things just because you think the structure of the story demands it. I promise it doesn't need to be there.

If your characters need to have gone shopping for a later part of the story to make sense you can just have a sentence about how they went shopping and move on.

You are not obligated to write the boring parts. No matter what those parts are.

You are not obligated to make the parts of your story that you're not excited to write interesting somehow.

You can just write the fun and interesting parts and gloss over and summarize boring things.

Your audience will thank you and you will thank yourself.

I imagine elves would think that humans are pretty masculine no matter their gender like the way we think elves look feminine and dainty no matter their gender.

So imagine an elf guy who assumes that humans like to be told how big and strong they are just cus they're usually more muscular than elves. He ends up flirting with a pretty feminine looking woman the same way you would a masculine man like,

"Oh wow~ Your so stroong~ "

He touches her arm, which is not at all muscular by human standards,

"Do you work out?"

And the woman's just like “...😐 Are u making fun of me?“

And the poor elf guy is trying to figure out where he went wrong 😭😭 He just thought all humans liked being complemented on their comparatively more masculine body types.😭