HWWC:Week Four
Week Four
+ This week's subject for the HWWC was: The dead of a character! Eventually, it all has to end. A special option for you undead sorts; their turning can be used as a story instead.
Winners: Utamaga, Merrien, Madigan.
Utamaga
Utamaga that little goblin trickster. If only he used his powers for good instead of hilariousness, he’d still be alive today… He was alive today, but not no mo. As most days began for most people, this one started with his waking up. The little green man stretched his arms and gave a big smooch to little green woman he was next to, and she wrapped her arms around him and squished him close to her and kissed back right on the lips. Gradually her eyes opened and from her was a shriek so horrible it curdled milk and many folks instantly committed suicide upon hearing it, for fear of ever hearing something so horrid ever again. It was because of the cold sore that dominated his face, pulsating and sickening purple and red. “Oh sorry,” said he in a voice similar to a man who‘s balls had been compacted to nothingness, “I forgot to tell you about my condition. But you still love me right?”
She was about to slap him, but restrained at the last second, preserving her hands moderate level of soiledness. Her wails echoed across the land as she vanished from Utamaga’s love shack. Many more young people died in that moment. He spoke to his imp who was shivering and shuddering from the utter calamity that just befell him. “What a ROYAL pain in the ass was she eh Snitch?” He waited for no response before beginning again. “Time to get up! Pranks won’t pull themselves,” But then he considered the minor and frequent travesties of chance that occurred on every given day, “Not good ones at least.”
He stood off his bed, scratched his ass, and pulled a red robe over his head, hiding his nudity, and another curse was cleansed from the land. “Ready to start the day!” With a nonchalant bonk from his little scepter-walking stick, his cold sore vanished, perhaps the only time such a one ever would.
When next we meet Utamaga, he’s in the streets of Kregus, him and Snitch, his blue imp slave, indebted to him through mysterious means lost to time. Unfortunate it was for him to be so, the most available target of any cruel joke, and thus most frequent victim. “Oh my gosh!” Says Utamaga, with very much exaggerated enthusiasm and fear, “What’s that on your loincloth!?”
But Snitch would have none of it, not falling for such a simple trick and his voice shattered ear drums as well. “That’s a good one marsa,” says he without looking down, “But you can’t fool me with such a simple trick!” But if only he could be fooled, for a scorpion large enough to warrant wet pants was clung there and at the moment of his ending his sentence, it stung him in the face, the face which hence anaphylactically blew up in redness and chokingness.
Utamaga laughed for about a week before he could manage to edge out a word in utter concern for his dear friend, “What (haha)… what’s the matter? Did it sting you? Are you (hahahahahahaha) are you gonna be ok?” But Snitch could not answer nor do anything besides die slowly. Unfortunately Snitch could not be so blessed, and Utamaga waved his scepter over his head, whacked him with it, and suddenly he was cured of all plague and ailment. Besides the one that bound him to the goblin.
“Thank you marsa, you saved my life,” said Snitch ironically. He wasn’t dumb, but he knew the score already. No hope being angry, it amused him even more.
In moments, they arrived at the tavern in Kregus to a party of rowdy goblin patrons. Immediately, Utamaga donned a serious countenance, one expected of a high ranking shaman, and sat at the bar, ordering nothing to drink, merely having a secret word with Snitch, to which the blue imp replied, “Ohh marsa…I really don’t want to do that. Must I do that? Everyone will be so angry with me…” Utamaga nodded unfortunately, and Snitch sighed and wore the happiest face he could create at the time and under the circumstances. Then he lept up and grabbed hold of a cruddy ceiling hanging chandelier and shouted above the collective roar of the patrons, “Hey everyone, my wife finally divorced me! Next round of drinks on meeeeeee!” The tavern exploded in cheers as Snitch surfed the crowd.
All were visibly enthralled besides Utamaga, who wiggled his staff between his toes, his hands nonchalantly on the bar. As the duo scurried out of the bar they heard such reports as: “This beer tastes funny.” and “I think it tastes better!” and “It tastes sort of familiar…” and “Wait a minute… This aint beer atoll! It’s…it’s…” “It’s Piss!” “WHere’s that imp! WHEEERRESSS that imp! I’ll throttle him, I’ll bite his head off!” and finally… “…I still think it tastes better…”
Utamaga and the Snitch vanished into anonymity outside the tavern and laughed, making it all the way back to his dilapidated wooden shack to laugh and watch the other laugh. It was convenient then that at this moment, a courier arrived to give Utamaga a piece of parchment, embedded and stamped with a seal. Not that he recognized it, but he understood the prestige of the style. It was an invitation from the goblin king to a ball, he learned upon opening it, and when Snitch read it for him. They wasted no time leaving or putting on nice clothes, as was most likely customary of every goblin ever. “About time my talents are recognized!” He says more to himself than anyone. But even still, Snitch has to restrain himself from voicing disagreement. Luckily he does.
They arrive to something little like what they expected. A crowd perched sitting in stands; bleachers sort of. Such that when the two enter it’s more like an arena than a ball. It’s unfortunate that they come to this understanding so late, because heavy wooden doors are closed and barred behind them. “Hello Utamaga,” A young pretty(ish) goblin calls out to him from beside the king. Perhaps they looked moderately similar, and perhaps it was because she was his daughter. What’s more she looked familiar. And that could be because Utamaga chased her away that morning.
“Hello,” says the stupidly fearless goblin, “…I can’t remember your name hahaha!” His fault was sincere and so was his laughter, and that angered the gobliness all the more, such that her green face nearly turned red with rage.
The goblin king was very obviously uncaring, but he enjoyed any excuse to execute and as such he echoed across the arena, deep for a goblin, but still hopelessly annoying and high pitched. “You are here on trial Utamaga. Your trial will consist of being pelted with whatever projectile are peers have brought with them, until dead. And should you be alive after all is thrown, you are to be set free.” While he was listening, Utamaga was suddenly chained to the ground, as was his imp, and his scepter torn from his grip by absurdly brutish looking goblins. Nearly as wide as they were tall and all muscle.
“Any last words?” Says the king to the shaman.
“Indeed I have a few. To begin with. Whatsyourname? Your butt is too big and your legs are too hairy. Furthermore I wonder if it ever occurred to you that having more teeth is preferable to none. Your breath’s gnarly and your breasts sag and yo-” Suddenly an axe split his head right in half down the middle like it was wood for a fire. Whatsyourname had thrown with such ferocity and anger that she didn’t even warrant a less than ultimately anticlimactic ending.
Or did it? Suddenly the imps bindings to Utamaga were severed upon his timely death, and his powers restored. With a sudden surge of energy, the imp’s wrist cuffs dissolved into rusted iron dust and he elevated, the sheer amount of power contained in his little body transcending such limitations as gravity. He was free! Awesome. He laughed and cried in joyous jubilant exhilaration, free from the torment of his captor. He flew over to the gobliness who was frightened and astounded and confused and kissed her hand. “Thank you so much for killing that wretched goblin! I’ll be forever in your debt! Wait! I mean! NOOOOOOO!” Apparently those were the magic words. Now he was that butt-face’s slave. Doomed to forever remember her name (whateveritwas) and compliment her butt and shave her legs and brush her tooth and lift her breasts. Perhaps it was Utamaga’s final prank.
Merrien
Merrien had finally gotten her ship built: a splendid Magicienne Class Frigate. It ought to have been dipped in gold for how happy she was at its completion. The bard and her ragtag crew, mostly rescued from the shipyard, had been sailing the seas for a few months with much success as a humble merchant crew, moving wares from Rynvale across the coast for a lovely fee. Everything Merrien had ever dreamed of had been coming to life before her eyes when the tempest struck…The bard was no stranger to storms, growing up on a ship required much experience with them, but even the most hardened sailor can be thrown asunder by the sheer forces of nature. As the currents and the winds thrash her beloved ship, Merrien barks out orders to her crew, “Oi, someone lower those two jibs before the wind rips them off their masts! And will no one go down to the bilge and see if we’re taking on water from all this listing? Everyone tie yourselves to something if you’re staying on deck. I want no men overboard!” Merrien herself is anchored to one of the smaller masts up by the capstan so that she can oversee everything going on. The boat indeed lists from one side to the other dangerously with each rock of the roiling waves. Everything is soaked to the core and the half-elf can hardly see more than a few feet in front of her face, but she can hear the howling wind and the shouts of her frazzled crew, some of them barely worth their salt. The storm was raging, but Merrien was growing more confident with each passing moment that her darling ‘Admiral Gallagher’ and her crew would weather this storm…No sooner had she thought this then the entirety of the ship shuddered and the woman was knocked to the deck by a thunderous crash. “What in the seven hells was that?” she asked a nearby crew member. “We’ve run aground…a reef. No one could see and we’ve been knocked off course by the hours Cap’n.” Merrien cursed loudly as the wood of the hull continued to creak as the ship was battered further against the coral and rocks. Merrien climbed to a bit of a height using one of the ship’s masts. “Alright mates, she’s gonna founder is my best guess. It’s not quite deep enough to sink fully, so we don’t have to worry about much suction. Grab onto something and jump whenever you see fit for yourself. I’ll be the last one off—I don’t take kindly to that whole ‘captain goes down with the ship nonsense’—especially when it’s not full even going down, eh gents?” she tries to jest lightly to keep everyone calm. If you can get yourself on a big piece of wood, do it. No sense being in the water more than necessary. There be sharks in the reefs…so take care not to cut yourselves. Mates…tis been an honor to sail with the lot of you. Now get off me ship.” She grins raggedly as she points out towards the ocean. Most of her crew heed her words and find their way into the sea on various sizes of flotsam. Some even carve out huge pieces of the ship’s hull with hatchets and engineer a rickety, but large floating raft for a group of five of them. Merrien herself is watching this chaos and her beloved ship that she’d spent countless days building and even more time bonding with and she merely sighs. “Ye’ve been a grand ship Admiral…couldn’t have asked for better…” she caresses the main mast one final time and after surveying the deck to be certain that none of her crew were aboard, Merrien casually wades into the water spilling over the fore of her deck. She grabs hold of a large drifting board and uses it as a kickboard to paddle around…
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After a few days at sea, Merrien cannot even hear her crew anymore…she hoped she’d not drifted too far after the last time she’d passed out…All quiet…Merrien had always hated the silence. She wished someone would at least groan; let her know she wasn’t alone. The salt water torments her with each swallow the girl makes with her parched throat. It was water…but she knew once she started to try and drink it she was done for. There was no land in sight, no ships paths that should ever cross this part of the ocean…The bard had held on for as long as she could, drifted as far as she could and her legs hadn’t the strength to propel her body anywhere. The girl makes one last desperate shout, which comes out as more of a hoarse whimper, “Anyone tha’s still out there…I’m sorry.” Even though she knew rationally that no one could hear her. She takes a few deep breaths and hums to herself a little tune she can vaguely remember her father singing to her as a little girl. Singing is out of the question, but she remembers the lyrics as if they’d been seared onto the walls of her memory. ~Of all the money that e'er I had/ I spent it in good company./ And all the harm e'er I've done/ Alas! it was to none but me./ And all I've done for want of wit/ To memory now I can't recall./ So fill to me the parting glass./ Good night and joy be with you all.~ Merrien braces herself with this song in her mind and after a few more deep breaths to relish the feel of oxygen…the girl’s head vanishes beneath the waves.
Madigan
Flames licked up, an ethereal dance of smooth, orange tongues curling up and charring everything they touched. The crackle and roar of ire-choked heat overwhelmed the entire land as the flames reached out over fallen trees, the movement slow but the embrace so passionate. It didn't take long for the fire to spread itself over the forest. The wildfire consumed everything in its path, turning everything into black, choking smoke and soot. The fire will rage for a long time and nothing will be done about it; it will run its course until it decides to finally die out.
Madigan sat beside him, their shoulders pressed flushly against each other as she leaned into him and stared up into his eyes.
He returns her gaze and smiles amiably as he raises his arm to place his hand affectionately against the nape of her neck. She tilts her head forward in response and he starts to give her a soft, relaxing massage. Her body relaxes so much that is starts to lean heavily against him, and he even starts to collapse under the weight. He softly chuckles but doesn't stop massaging her tenderly.
When he does pause, it's to caress the length of her back and to place his hand on her head to curiously wonder if she's fallen asleep. She looks up in that moment and stares at him with bright, moss green eyes, the light in them dancing with passionate love.
His stomach flutters suddenly, and he places his hand under her chin to lift her closer to his face. They lean into each other, her body pressing more and more into his as their eyes slowly close together. Just as their lips nearly touch for the first time, Madigan's entire being chars up and falls to dust on top of him.