AWKWARD ZOMBIE

Yay, I've been redirected to this thread.
This the only fan fiction I'll ever do, mostly because I hate the word grouping 'fan fiction.' And probably the only serious one I'll do.


Drakes, Dwarves, and a Master Sheepman
In a hobbit's mind, Kalto Took was not a respectable halfling, but hey - not many Tooks were. At his young age of twenty three, he was immature, excitable, and energetic. Like many Tooks, Kalto would go on an adventure now and then, but since he was so young he couldn't go past the forest, and he needed a guide. But today wasn't an ordinary adventure-through-the-woods day; it was time for a real journey.(Unfortunately, he will have to wait a few days.)

Telling his parents brought them worry and dismay. "No, you can't go that far north! The drakes will gobble you up, son." They told him. Now, even a Took would have enough sense in him to know this, but Kalto didn't care. This only made him very curious about what lay past the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo, Frodo, Gandalf, and some others had sailed to the Undying Lands due east many years before, leaving the dwarves of Eribor no one to visit in the Shire. Kalto could certainly befriend them, and they could slay some dragons with him too! The young little Took couldn't be swayed by any of his kin's common sense. He had none!(Well, maybe some).

He was to leave in under a week's time.

...

I won't tell you what day he left, but he did. It was so sudden, he packed in the night, grabbed a nicely sized recurve bow, and went out the door at noon with only a "I'll bring some souvenirs." His eldest sister stared at the door for a moment or two, and shook her head.
"He'll come running home with tears in eyes asking for someone to help him read his map."
Kalto's mother reprimanded her, "Have a little faith in your little brother. He's got two decades of getting lost in the woods to make him strong."
"You'd think he'd realize how dangerous it is past the Shire during those years." That girl, oddly enough for a Took, was more respectable and less queer than her family. Even during a more peaceful time where it was easier to be a little odd since many other hobbits were too busy sleep-and-eating to notice.

Our friend Kalto was riding a nice fluffy sheep pulling a wagon of food and supplies. He smiled. "This is going to be fun." he whispered to his self. Then Kalto realized he was alone in the woods. Well, he had a nameless sheep mottled with brown and grey to converse with, but he didn't realize it. He was alone in the woods. It doesn't matter if he whispers or yells. It doesn't matter if he kicks a tree or strangle his sheep, even. He had freedom to do whatever he wanted, within reason, of course. That was more than enough for him.

CHAPTER FOUR: Whispers in the Dark


Come on, now. Wake up. Hello? Can you hear me? See me? Ah, that’s better.

A shifting figure was suspended in the darkness. Incomplete shapes and lines to imply the form of the whispering being. They were soft, round pieces, with a soft green life.

“What happened?”

I believe that would be death number twelve. You really should be more careful, you know. The longest you’ve managed to live so far was only about fifty years. You had barely gone gray as the pirate queen.

“Pirate queen? What?”

The figure shifted and swirled, the markings around its closed eyes curling and its face becoming slightly more angular.

Ah, yes. One of your greater accomplishments. You remember our bargain, yes? I make sure you live long enough to get my treasure back from the fiend who stole it from us.

Unfortunately, the rather breakable state of your mortal mind means that I have to restrain myself in how much information I relay to you. I’ve found that it is unwise to let a human remember their own death too much. And to be honest, hearing about your anguish at remembering the life before is, at best, tedious for me, and at worst, entirely distracting and detrimental for you. So instead, we get to play a lovely game of questions!

“What happened to my brother? We were both in the treasure room, and that’s the last thing that I remember.”

That’s not quite true, my dear, silent, little song mage. You do remember something else.

“I remember…red-stained silver. My voice had been cut out so that I couldn’t use magic. And I remember being angry. Very, very angry. And then you were there to…make an agreement.”

The figure’s color slipped into a darker shade. A shape that almost resembled a mouth appeared.

Yes. An agreement. As you lay dying, you asked for assistance from me, the god who you had double-crossed when you used my gift in your attempt to steal my treasures. You wanted vengeance. There were some things that happened in between your entrance to my chambers and our agreement, like how you got to your sorry state, but those aren’t really important right now.

Also, I’m still rather miffed at you, so as an added challenge to the game, I’m going to withhold that information. Plus, it is rather fun to watch you start from nothing every time, just to see how you progress.

“To see how I progress?”

The figure turned to a dark black-red and all of its angles turned sharp and rigid. The mouth became more visible and entirely defined, splitting into a spiky grin.

You don’t always turn out the same. Sometimes you’re more interesting than others.
And by interesting, of course, I mean more like me.

“And who are you, exactly?”

Really? Honestly, how hard did that idiot crack your skull? Even if your memory is lacking without my interference, I should think it’s obvious.

“You are…Witajiri?”

Very good. If I had physical claws, I’d applaud you sarcastically.

Witajiri darted about, its black red form shocking the dark.

“But, the old gods have been long forgotten…”

Do not appear stupider than you are, little girl. Where else do you think you would have gotten your gift? Just because we are forgotten does not mean that we are silenced. The same, however, cannot be said of you. As punishment for your treachery (whether you thought I could see it or not), I’ve done nothing to prevent the wound that silences you, song mage.

“So I made a bargain with the god of wealth and song, to stay alive long enough to carry us both to our revenge. You for your treasure, and I for the murderer of my brother and myself.”

Indeed.

“What happened to him? My brother, I mean. How did he die?”

According to my game, I cannot tell you that.

“And who is the monster that killed us?”

Greed. Greed is the monster that tried to kill you. Witajiri slithered about, fading back to its softer form. But I cannot tell you the name of the man who raised his blade against you. Against the rules, you know. You already have quite the hint just knowing that it’s a man.

“You won’t even let me know who it is that I am bound to kill? Don’t you want your treasure back? What if I am unable to enact my revenge?”

Witajiri laughed and drew closer. He will still be there when the time comes, and I am not lacking time. Come to think of it, neither are you, thanks to our little game. Twelve deaths over the course of several generations have illustrated that rather nicely.

Now, my silent little song mage, you asked me who I am. But the god of wealth and song asks you:

Who do you intend to be, Firyali?

Some lore poem thing about the men in my storyworldthing gained the ability to use magic. In the beginning it tells
what happened after Derak, my equivalent of the devil, ripped out Bjoraan's heart(which made the living mortal and dying).


The Akniir were running with haste
Before her work went to waste
In the land of yore, during times before
When darkness burned like hell

But then the she shielded the dying
and her blanket comforted the crying
In Ildei's sorrow came the morrow
Her children were cursed with mortality

Defeated by the hated
On his throne he waited
To him they race, to feel his embrace
In the great hall where the dead reside

But the divine her lent their power
Before the unfortunate shower
A shield the made, In the sky it laid
A veil to combat the night

But alas, the guard shattered
Leaving the sky tattered
Almost with shame, the men became
able to use divine powers

I am interested in this thread
I might post something someday

It is not a mask I wear, but a mold. Remove a mask and the lie is revealed. I wear a mold in the hopes that one day it will be broken, and the same shape will remain beneath, but made of sterner stuff.

Entered a contest where the parameters were ,MG voice or lower, 600 words or less, and had to include a skeleton key. Just finished editing and it clocks in at 597 words, not counting the title.

Title: Sentinel

Nice job on getting in a few thousand words in just a few days, Madican. I can't write 300 in a day...

Thanks, but I'm nowhere near done. Goal is to finish this whole thing by the end of the month.

Can you really call that writing if you can't do three hundred words

that's, like, two small paragraphs

I'm not a writer, though.

I would say that I'm actually more impressed with the ability to keep a complete story under a thousand words. I always have a hard time keeping focused on the one thing so that I don't expand out into twenty pages.

It's a thing

Please Keep Feeding Us

"Please keep feeding us,” says the Representative. I give him a small piece of bread and he divides it among his ten colleagues. “Thank you.” These are the only phrases he has ever spoken to me. Him and his colleagues are each three inches tall and they have taken to living in my kitchen. They have built six tents in which they sleep. They disappear when I have company over. I am not sure where they came from nor why they have chosen to stay with me over anyone else.

The Representative is the only one who speaks to me. He is the only one I have ever heard say anything. The others are completely silent at all times, even their footsteps are without any kind of noise. They spend their days collecting dust and trash. They use the dust to build a small fire and the trash to make tools. I have turned off my smoke alarm for them. To pass the time they sit around the fire, and do nothing but look at each other.

The Representative approaches me when I come home from work. He points to two of his colleagues, something is in one of their arms. It is an infant, they are now parents. “Please keep feeding us.” I give him twelve frozen peas, one extra than I would have given him previously. “Thank you.” He hands out the peas and gives up his own so the new family can have an extra one. I smile.

Within a week the infant is a grown man. He gathers dust and trash just like the rest of them and helps keep the tents in good condition. He does not sit around the fire when not working like everyone else. He explores my apartment, carefully studying everything he finds. He is especially curious about me, and I will often put him in my hand and walk him through the apartment.

“Please keep feeding us.” Another baby is born. I need to go grocery shopping tomorrow, but I give the representative what I can. “Thank you.” She grows up just as fast as the other infant, and he begins to spend most of his time with her and not me. The Representative and all of his colleagues stand around them, the fire blazing brighter than ever before. They stand in silence for a few minutes and then begin to dance and make merry. They all help to build a new tent, and at the end of the night the new couple enter it. There are now seven tents in my kitchen. The next morning the couple comes out of the tent. They are holding an infant. “Please keep feeding us.” “Thank you.”

I tell the Representative that I am going to be out of town for a week. He does not say anything but I can tell that he understands me. I set out a whole loaf of bread and a fresh bag of peas by the tents and hope they do not spoil. As I leave, the Representative and all of his old and new colleagues bow.

It feels bizarre to be away from them. I only have to feed myself and I miss their form of company. To watch them grow and learn and build is something truly marvelous. I come home two days early.

There are twenty tents in my kitchen. The bread and peas are completely gone, and tents are made from the bags they came in. The work of the Representative and his colleagues take up my entire kitchen floor, making it difficult to walk through. When the Representative sees me, he raises his arms in a silent cheer and the rest do the same. He comes closer and points to where I had set down the bread and peas five days earlier. There is nothing there anymore. “Please keep feeding us.” I decide it will be easier from now on if I set out food for all of them instead of having the Representative divide what I give him. I put a plate of salad on the floor. “Thank you.”

They have begun to colonize other parts of my apartment. The adventurous one I have taken to calling the Firstborn sets out with his wife, child and three other families and creates a camp in my living room. Another group of families headed by a colleague I have never seen before start living in my laundry room. They never travel to my bedroom as the door to it is always closed. “Please keep feeding us,” says the Representative, pointing in towards the new colonies. Leftovers sit in my living room and laundry room. “Thank you.”

Another colony is set up in the bathroom. They do not leave when I am in there. There are now forty tents in the kitchen, twenty five in the living room, twenty three in the laundry room and nine in the bathroom. The smell of rotting food and smoke begins to penetrate the whole house. I have lost fifteen pounds because I cannot afford enough food for all of us. I purchase a cherry tomato plant, a mint plant and a bell pepper plant and put them all by a window. I approach the Representative and tell him that him and his colleagues may harvest and take care of these plants to feed themselves as I no longer can. He shakes his head. “Please keep feeding us.” I tell him he doesn't understand. “Please keep feeding us.” I yell at him to stop. “Please keep feeding us.” I lock myself in the bedroom. I come out only to go to work. I come home to see them building a ladder, though I do not linger long outside of the bedroom. I go to work again, making sure to close the door. I come home to find it ajar. On the other side of the door is a note in the handwriting of what looks like a small child. It says “Please keep feeding us.” I crumple it up and throw it away. I lock my bedroom door and go to sleep.

I wake up. My finger is missing. On the door is a note that says “Thank you.”

I haven't found my path yet, but following odd treasure maps written in others' blood and feces is probably a bad compensation mechanism.

I feel the need to write a novel. Here's an snippet.

Dragon In the Dark

Anékke unsheathed her sword and readied for combat. Her legs were shaking with a fear of what lies behind the stones, but her face had a prevalent anger and determination. She breathed heavily, anticipating the worst.

A large, slow rumble echoes about the rocky walls. The sound of claw and talon scratching amongst stone and metal ores rang. A thump. Then Another.

Anékke gripped the handle of her sword tighter. Anticipation formed as sweat on her brow. It was the shadow that loomed on the stones around the bend that widened her eyes. Large claws landed forwards. They were as thick as half her leg was long, and at their peak, reached her knees.

She gulped.

Emerging from whence those claws came was a snout. Scaly, sharp, and dull and dark. Within the nose was a burning flame. Anékke could see the glow from its nostrils. Then, the beast's full head emerged around the cave. His eyes were of a burning amber and dark slitted. Two curved horns rose from the back of his brow, and where the jaw meets the skull, two smaller horns.

The monster was immense. If it opened its terrible maw, it could swallow scores of men at a time. The unthinkable happened next:
"Why... are you here?" It spoke, without attacking her. The girl gasped.
"I-I-I have come! I have come to have your head!" she replied.
"So you wish to kill me and take my head as a prize? K'zekan muf'erir. Yes, very amusing mortal. he said in return.
"No, no no no!" Anékke said in rage, "I am here to enact vengeance upon ye demon of fire!" She tried mustering as much of her recently diminished courage to converse with him.

Poor girl, she underestimated the size of the dragon. This was no ordinary drake, but a great wyrm. To make things worse, he was a lieutenant of the A'rani A'derak himself! The demon lieutenant, if he so should choose, acted to kill Anékke, she would surely perish.

He spoke again, "You come to avenge fallen kin? Or are thee angered of my possible burning of your homes into ash?"

What an unjust biology our creator has thrust upon us, on me. My mind decays, my will dissolves and yet I live.