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Topics - Jonas

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16
Writer's Guild / Unnamed Preview: It Involves FOXES!
« on: March 01, 2012, 10:46:18 PM »
I awoke curled on a sunny patch of grass. A pond lay a few meters away. The water rippled lightly as leaves fell from surrounding trees rustling in the breeze. Scents of rich soil and healthy wood wafted through the air. It was a still, peaceful place. I have no idea how I got here. 

My confusion was tempered by the calmness of my surroundings.  There was, however, something off about this environment. The colours were... wrong somehow. Too bright and unnaturally deep. The blue sky was reminiscent of watercolours and the trees in the distance looked almost illustrated. A cool drink would help clear my head. I approached the pond and—what the?

A startled, inhuman yelp echoed through the clearing. I stumbled backwards and fell over. An orange tail tipped in white fell across my vision but I barely registered it.  I was too focused on the hands that had tried to cup water. They were paws; padded, clawed, and black-furred. It was only after standing back up that I realized I was on four legs. A single conclusion offered itself, but I had to be sure. Tentative steps brought me to the pond’s edge. I leaned forward and looked at my reflection. A fox stared back.

In the story of Actaeon, Artemis turned a hunter into a stag as punishment for seeing her bathing. Divine wrath made as much sense as anything else right now, but I didn’t remember seeing anything godlike today. Come to think of it, what did I remember? I had gone to the library to check out a book of Viking poems and—

*scrick*

My ears swivelled to catch a twig snapping to my left. I spun around and had a fleeting glimpse of something red vanishing into the brush.

“Hey! Wait!” I called out as I gave chase.

17
Writer's Guild / Props and Paints
« on: November 12, 2011, 03:21:47 PM »
A Halloween commission from Traxer. His request was for "A last-minute mask to have raccoonish side effects". This ended up waaaay longer than I initially thought it would, but it was fun to write :D

18
Writer's Guild / Bouyancy
« on: October 19, 2011, 04:54:35 PM »
5$ Halloween comission for Radioactive Toast. If anyone is interested in taking advantage of my halloween sale, please see this FA journal: http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/2771349/

====

Buoyancy

Even though the city of Reynburg was filled with foxes, Toast still stood out as he walked down the street. He had a certain bounce to his step that could shake pavement. He had a silly grin that could make anything seem ridiculous. Oh, and he was also a red Celtic dragon. That part probably made him stand out more than the rest. Toast waved to a pair of fennecs as he crossed the street. They waved back, too used to his presence in the neighbourhood to be curious.

His destination was a small house, tan and light brown, at the end of the road. Toast approached the door and knocked a quick ditty. The door swung open. Toast looked down. He had expected to see his little jackal buddy, Medik, standing in the doorframe. What he didn’t expect was the pirate hat. Or the stuffed parrot. Or the dramatic overcoat and eyepatch. Or the fact that Medik’s armband was marked with a Jolly Roger instead of the usual red cross.

“Avast!” The little cartoon jackal yapped. “What scurvy knave seeks to board me ship?” He paused and grinned. “Also, hiya Toast! You’re here early!”

Toast blinked. “Early for what?”

“For my Halloween pool party, silly! Don’t tell me you forgot, bro! I sent out the invitations a week ago!”

“Through the mail?”

“Of course!”

“I, ah, haven’t had a mailbox for two weeks now. It got... broken.”

Medik tilted his head. “Eh?”

“There was a... firework... accident.” If it were possible, the scales on Toast’s cheek got even redder.

Medik frowned for a moment before bubbling up again. “That’s okay, matey! You’re here now after all!”

After a quick hug, Medik led Toast around to the back yard. A large snack table was set out next to a barbeque. Jack-o-lantern streamers adorned the deck chairs and fence. Toast paused as he looked at the pool.

“This wasn’t here the last time I was over.”

“’course not. I just dug it.”

“Yourself?”

“Yarrr!” Medik bounced happily. “Toons work fast!”

Toast nodded. It made enough sense. “When does this party start? I’ll need to run home and grab a costume.”

“Nah, you won’t need to do that, bro.” Medik yapped as he pulled a crate of pool toys from beneath the deck. He began rummaging. “It should be in here somewhere. No, those are water wings. No, that’s a dartboard.” He tossed out a rubber duck. “Well this is in the wrong bin altogether. Oh, here it is!”

It was Toast’s turn to tilt his head. The object that Medik was presenting so triumphantly was a small valve like the kind used to keep air inside beach balls. “Umm, how is that a costume?”

“Well the party theme is ‘water’ after all.” Medik said matter-of-factly. “Makes the most sense for a pool party.”

Before Toast could respond, Medik hopped over to him and planted the valve on the middle of his belly.

“What’re you—?”

The little jackal took a deep breath that only a cartoon could muster and blew into the valve. Toast started to feel dizzy as an ‘airy’ sensation began to fill him. It wasn’t unpleasant per se, but it was very different. A sensation much like that of a sleeping limb began to run across his body as the airy feeling grew. At the same time, Toast began to feel much more energetic. He felt less tired, more alert, more...bouncy?
   
Toast blinked. Or tried to. His eyes weren’t moving the way they were supposed to. There was a very audible *squeak* as he craned his neck down. Toast’s attention was drawn not to the grinning pirate-jackal, but to his own belly. The valve was firmly secured on his belly, which now shone with a uniform, red sheen. His feet were clawless, rounded balls and so were his hands. There was one very unique explanation for this.

“I’m... a pool toy?” Toast asked. His voice (and the accompanying squeaks) were less of shock and more of curiosity. This was different, but far from the wackiest thing he and Medik had done together.

Medik nodded. “Yup yup! Now you don’t need to go get a costume! How’s it feel?”

A breeze made Toast rock back and forth on his balloon-feet. “I may need some help stabilizing!” He squeaked.

Medik tailwagged as he helped his buddy stop swaying. “Hehe, you need to get in the water, bro! Oh, but first—” he pulled out a second pirate hat and hopped up to place it on Toast’s head. “There! Now you’re officially my first mate!”

“Aye Aye capta—ack!” Toast squeaked in alarm as he was suddenly picked up. Medik hoisted the now-much-lighter dragon and hurled him into the pool. After a brief face dip underwater (in which he found that his painted eyes had marvellous clarity) Toast bobbed up to the surface. Toast could feel the water lapping lazily along his entire body. It was soothing and very relaxing.

Toast rolled onto his front and let the water hold his limbs out. “I could get used to this.”

“Great!” Medik yapped. “’cause I’ll need you to perform your first duty as my first-mate!”

“Duty?”
Medik yapped again and leapt onto Toast. There was a *whmph* and a *squeak* and Toast took another brief face dip underwater as Medik landed on his back. “Well, every pirate crew needs a ship, right? How else can we loot and plunder?”

Toast giggled. “Ready to set sail captain!”

“Yarrr! Onwards!” Medik exclaimed as he brandished an imaginary sword. They had at least three hours before the party started, and they intended to make the most of it.
Jonas Belford, 2011

19
Writer's Guild / Halloween Sale!
« on: September 30, 2011, 01:36:08 PM »
October is upon us, and that means Halloween season. A time of werewolves, non-sparkly vampires, and various other creatures of the night. It's also a time full of costumes, candy, and (most importantly) stories! For all of October, I am offering a special sale of short stories. For just 5$ you can have a story about any of the following:

*Costumes: of the hard-to-find, handmade, or "unusually realistic variety" :D

*Trick-or-Treat!: Candy-fueled misadventure? Pranks succeeded or gone awry?

*A Night in the Haunted [Blank]: Insert your favourite location!

*Anything else sufficiently Halloween-themed :)

Anyone interested should drop me a note or FurAffinity or a poke when I'm in the CF Chatroom  {:)

20
Writer's Guild / The Spinner
« on: August 07, 2011, 12:02:43 PM »
The Spinner
=========

To say this story began a long time ago is an understatement. To say it began far, far away would be wrong. This story begins before any real sense of time, and before and semblance of place. It begins with a lonely old spinner who, one day, decided to try weaving something more than an occasional pair of mittens.

With little more than a needle, thread, and a curious notion, this spinner wove the first tree. But it seemed strange on its own, and so the spinner wove the first forest. Such an impressive sight only made the nothing around it more obvious and bland, which made the spinner ponder on what to fill it with. The spinner wove a sky above and earth below, and then wove water among the lands to help this strange garden grow. Satisfied, but still seeing the world as incomplete, the spinner wove animals to live among these new places. Beasts and birds and fish were placed among the land, sky, and sea, and the spinner was pleased to have such new companions.

As this world grew and flourished, the spinner decided to finish this magnificent tapestry. As a final creation, the spinner wove a creature that could encompass all things. A creature that could swim and walk, and who could learn to fly; a creature given curiosity of the world and the capacity to explore it in its fullest. The spinner wove man, and so finished the tapestry of life.

Although younger than the rest of the world, man quickly grew to find a place within it. Man knew that trees were strong, and so used them to build shelter. Man knew that land was fertile, and so planted crops for food. Man knew that beasts and birds had gifts they lacked, and so studied and tamed the wild to learn. The spinner saw this and was impressed with how far man had come in such a short time. The spinner decided to approach man and help them learn the secrets of the world.

Man recognized the spinner at once, for their earliest story spoke of the one who had woven the threads of life. Gracious for the world they lived in, and honoured by their creator�s presence, man could only bring itself to ask the spinner a single question. They wished to know why life, in all its glories and pleasures, had to end. The spinner answered the question as plainly as it was asked. The threads of life ended because they were trimmed by the hand that had woven them.

Terrified by this knowledge, man grew to despise the spinner as a feared bringer of death. The spinner was cursed each time a crop failed, and vile oaths were uttered whenever sickness claimed a loved one. The beasts, birds and fish began to see the spinner as a source of evil as well. The spinner tried to speak with those who proclaimed the vilest words, but was met with closed minds and unflinching hate. Soon, the spinner could no longer take such scorn, and eventually retreated.

When the spinner left, the world rejoiced. Bliss ruled for a time, as all creatures thought they could live forever. Man thrilled as their loved ones shrugged off illness and injury. Fish, bird, and beast laughed as neither the fiercest storm nor most vicious predator could claim them. Such joys were not to last. What none of the creatures realized, and which they had been unwilling to hear, was that the spinner did not cut life out of malice or sport. Threads were trimmed only when they became frayed and damaged, unable to sustain themselves. Death was a needed part of life, but the world feared it too much to listen.

Without the spinner, the world began to decay. The old grew too weak to hold their own bodies, and the sick and injured were left crippled and in agony. Without death, none could hunt or harvest, and soon creatures of earth, sky, and sea were left suffering unending pains of hunger. Without the trimming and recycling of threads, no new life could arise either. The world was immortal, but stagnant. All creatures cried out for the spinner, but their pleas were unreturned. Unable to call their creator back, it was decided that a party should be sent to find the spinner and make a case in person. Man, who knew most about the world, was selected for this task. Of man, the four healthiest were chosen, for only they could properly focus on the task at hand. With the blessings of every species, the group set out to find the spinner.

It was an arduous task. Away from the domains of civilization, the land had grown cracked and overrun with decayed but unending growths. Gnarled trees spiralled beyond the clouds and thick briars choked the ground. This did not stop the travellers. They pushed through the briars even as thorns cut their skin, and they tread onwards as their bodies weakened from the blocked sun. The knowledge of man helped the group navigate this broken world, but among neither highest peak nor deepest cave could they find the spinner. It was not until every inch of the stagnant land, sea, and sky was crossed did the four realize that the spinner was not merely hiding, but had left the world altogether. Still they persevered. The men had travelled the world, and so they had learned where it could be escaped. It was here at the End of the World, the last remaining pocket of nothing, did the four find the spinner.

The four collapsed at the spinner�s feet as the first traveller delivered the apologies of every man, the second traveller pleaded the sorrows of every beast, the third traveller offered the regrets of every bird, and the fourth begged the forgiveness of every fish. Uncountable years passed as the four told the sorrowful words of all creation, and the spinner remained silent throughout it all. When at last the four had finished, did the spinner finally speak. The creatures of the world could be forgiven, the spinner said, but far too much damage had been done for the spinner alone to fix. Threads could not be restored and healed. For the world to continue, all current life would end.

The four had travelled the world and seen lands throttled in unending vines, waters thick with rotting sludge and skies shrivelling with meager gusts. They had seen men crippled, beasts withering, birds flightless, and fish decrepit. The four men loved their world, but accepted that its time had long since come. They pledged themselves to the spinner in whatever way they could, vowing themselves in body and soul to renew the world.

The spinner thanked the men and unwove their forms. From the threads of the fourth man was a mighty leviathan woven; a serpent that circled the world�s seas and who could swallow any fish that swam. From the remnants of the third man was a great roc woven; a swift flier with talons that could catch any bird that flew. From the pieces of the second man was a ferocious predator woven; a cunning wolf that could hunt any beast that ran. From the shreds of the first man was an unyielding shadow woven; a reaper that could collect man from wherever his ingenuity took him.

These four were sent out to restore death to the world�s creatures. Sorrow filled the four as they slew, but they knew it was the only choice. When at last the work was done, the four returned to the spinner. They were thanked for their work, and informed that the threads would be recycled into new life. It would take time, but the creatures and lands of the world would grow back and flourish as the natural order returned. However, the spinner added, the nature of creatures would not change, and they would always fear death. While the spinner could forgive the creatures for their hate, the pain it had caused would never be forgotten and would not be endured again. Due to this, it would be left to the four to trim the loose threads of the creatures of the world while the spinner would care for the land, which had never spurned death. Such would be the way of the world. Such would be the way of life.

Jonas Belford, 2011

21
Writer's Guild / The Man in the Warehouse
« on: July 30, 2011, 01:53:33 PM »
Part 1:

Sennel Wright had a fairly predictable schedule on the weekends. At nine in the morning he would take the number 62 bus down to  Forest Line Road—appropriately named for the large wood nearby—and then walk seven blocks to an inconspicuous warehouse owned by the Darling Home Company. He stayed in the warehouse until six in the afternoon. For the duration of Sennel’s nine hour workday, he packed various “sample kits”: packages of various appliances and cutlery that the weekday employees would ship out to what he had been assured was a vast number of sales representatives to help them set up demonstrations.  As the only employee on site during the weekends, Sennel had a great deal of time to himself. Sometimes he put on the radio. Other times he listened to audiobooks. Today, however, the radio was on the fritz and Sennel had no new audiobooks to listen to. This was convenient, for had Sennel been otherwise occupied he might have completely missed hearing telltale sounds of a man falling through the roof.

“The hell?” Sennel asked as he navigated the maze of shipping crates to the source of the yelps, yips crashes, and cracks. There, sprawled on top of the remains of a crate of bath towels, lay a surprisingly uninjured individual. The man did not appear to have suffered more than a few scrapes to his hands and his clothes—tweedy and worn as they were—weren’t ripped or torn in the slightest. Looking up, Sennel could see the gaping hole through which he had fallen.

“Urg...” the man groaned as he pulled himself up. “Not the best way out but I suppose it worked.” He paused upon seeing Sennel. “Oh, hullo! Sorry about the abrupt entry; not intentional if that makes anything better. Hope you were spared from a fright. My name is Flynn, by the way. Have you seen my fox?”

Sennel, who was unaccustomed to strange men falling through roofs and asking for foxes, had no idea how to respond. The man—Flynn, apparently—took this silence as a request for more information.

“About the size of a breadbox? Orange fur, black paws, wearing a collar, answers to the name of Coby?” He asked Sennel as if this was something he should already know. Sennel was spared from responding by a sudden rustling from the pile of towels from which out popped an extremely ruffled fox.

“Oh! There you are!” Flynn exclaimed happily. He scooped up the animal and turned back to Sennel. “So, yes, this is Coby. He would greet you himself, I am sure, but there is an obvious language barrier.”
   
Sennel, having finally found his ability to speak, took the moment to ask what had suddenly become his most pressing question. “Why is your fox wearing glasses?”

“Eh?” Flynn blinked and looked down. “Oh! I was wondering where those went!” he chirped. Once properly bespectacled he added, “Alrighty then! I have Coby, I have my glasses, and my ley-inductor is lying melted somewhere in the middle of the woods. Time to take my leave. Nice meeting you, Sennel, hope you have a nice day.”
   
“Wait!” Sennel shouted louder than he intended as he moved to block Flynn from exiting the row of crates. “You can’t just...fall through the roof and leave just like that!”

“Why? Is the front door locked?”

“No but—”

“Well, then Coby and I could very easily fall through your roof and leave ‘just like that’. In fact, an unlocked door means that we should do so as quickly as possible.”

Sennel was losing patience. “Listen,” he hissed, “putting aside how you got onto the roof and whatever it is you were doing up there, my boss is going to come in on Monday and ask about that hole in the ceiling. So start talking before I call the police.”

Coby—who had been surprisingly quiet until now—climbed out of Flynn’s arms and began yipping.

“Not now,” Flynn muttered. Addressing Sennel with a sigh he said, “Very well. If you must know, I was working on a bit of... let us say ‘pest control’, when things got bit pear-shaped and I lost my ley-inductor. I needed to make a quick escape and underestimated how well it could climb.”

“’You underestimated how well ‘it’ could climb?”  Sennel repeated. “What would ‘it’ be, exactly?”

“Well I could explain but that really would just raise more questions and in order to give a satisfactory explanation I would have to spend several hours and utilize numerous diagrams so that—ow! What is it?” Flynn interjected as Coby suddenly headbutted his leg. He raised an eyebrow in response to something over Sennel’s shoulder and began talking more quickly. “Ah, I see. Now, Sennel, I can try to give the Cole Notes if you would like but the best thing at this instant is if you could move a bit over here...”

He grabbed Sennel’s arm and slid him about a foot to the left. “Now then, to answer your question—”

*WHOOSH*

A sudden roaring sound and blast of heat were the only warnings Sennel received before a blast of flame struck where he had been standing moments ago. Whirling to face where the fire had shot from, he was greeted with what should have been an impossible sight. Perched atop a shipping container of oven mitts was a monstrous hound. Its skin was a searing red and stretched tightly around a muzzle filled with teeth so large they should not have been able to fit inside. A sinewy tail lashed behind the creature, tipped with a single, pitch-black claw.

“—this would be the ‘it’ I was referring to. I hope you understand my need to escape using your rooftop.” Flynn finished, mildly.

22
Writer's Guild / The Attack
« on: July 23, 2011, 10:16:53 AM »
Silliness!

=====

A flash of movement. A blur of grey. These were the only warnings the fox received before the wolf struck. Air was forced from the little fox’s lungs as the predator’s grip tightened like a vice. Unable to resist, the fox was trapped as the wolf lowered its muzzle and opened a mouth lined with razor-sharp fangs. Fate would not be kind, for from the wolf’s maw came a sound that could freeze blood.

“Eeeee!!”  The wolf squealed happily. “So cuuuute!”

The fox gagged and gasped for air as the wolf hugged tighter. Incapable to escape or to even yip in protest, the fox was left to the wolf’s mercy.  Even if, by some miracle, the fox could escape, there would always be another ready to strike at him. Such was the way of nature’s cruel and unending cycle.

23
Writer's Guild / Nuzlocke Journal
« on: July 22, 2011, 10:59:10 PM »
I've begun a Nuzlocke Challenge run of Pokemon Pearl. This hard-mode ruleset specifies that I must start a new game and play using the following restrictions:

1. If a Pokemon faints, it is considered 'dead' and you release it. No exceptions.
2. You can only catch the very first pokemon that appears in each area. If it faints/runs, there are no second-chance catches.
3. You must nickname the pokemon so that you are more attached to them.
4. No repels.

I will be keeping a journal of this experience, and I hope you enjoy it.

=======

July 21st,

Lewis dragged me out to the lake today. He had seen some TV special about a rare Red Gyarados and wanted to try and find a rare Pokémon at Verity Lake.  At the lakefront, we saw this old guy and a girl leaving. They passed by without registering us much, though I heard the guy say something about Sandgem town. Lewis saw a suitcase by the water that he said they must have left behind. It was in a patch of tall grass though. I was hesitant to go in—that’s where wild Pokémon are after all—but Lewis talked me into it. Funny how often that happens.

Second I step into the grass there was a loud cry and I was knocked over by a swooping Starly. Lewis got hit, I think, but he could have been yelling out of fear too. In the chaos one of us must have knocked into the briefcase because the next thing I knew it was open and I was staring at three Poke Balls. I grabbed the first one I saw and hurled it at the nearest Starly. Not only was this ineffective, but the ball burst open—there was a Pokémon inside it! It was a...green thing with a pretty big head. I had never seen a Pokémon like it before, but I didn’t hesitate and started calling out commands like I’d seen trainers do on TV. Believe it or not, it worked! Me and the green thing fought off the Starly!  Well... me, the green thing, and Lewis. He had apparently grabbed a Poke Ball too. I didn’t know what his Pokémon was, either. It looked kind of like a Mankey, but I don’t think Mankey had fire tails.

Once out of the tall grass, Lewis said we had to go to Sandgem town and return the Pokémon. I didn’t want to, but he had a point. These were someone else’s Pokémon, and I couldn’t just claim one for my own. Anyway, turns out that the old guy is some professor named Rowan and that girl—Dawn—was his niece. They were researchers, evidently, not trainers. He identified the Pokémon I had taken as a Turtwig, and the one Lewis had as a Chimchar. Rowan was about to take them back, but I guess he saw something that made him change his mind, because he said we could keep them! Even better, he gave the both of us these neat gadgets called Pokedexes. Lewis and I are supposed to help fill them out by catching new Pokémon and raising them. In other words, we just became trainers! A quick run to Twinleaf Town got Mom’s permission and some new running shoes, but soon me and William (my new Turtwig!) were off! Adventure awaits!

July 22nd,

...I had a close call. Too close. I spotted another trainer on Route 202 and challenged him without thinking. The Starly this guy used was nothing like what I had seen at the Lake. It moved faster and struck harder. Was this the result of a trainer’s bond? I didn’t know. I just tried to do what had worked at the lake. William did his best—I know he did—but he barely made it through. If that last attack hadn’t missed...I can’t bear to think about it. We won, but at a big cost. William was slashed up fierce and his shell even had a crack in it. I ran back to Sandgem as fast as I could. The nurses at the Pokémon Centre fixed him up like new, but it was still a big scare. When I look at William’s eyes, I can’t help but feel guilty for the pain I caused him. I have to do better. For both of us.

24
Writer's Guild / Fangs in the Night
« on: June 26, 2011, 01:59:26 PM »
Written for ipequey and based on this picture: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/5774482/

Enjoy!

====

The night air rippled along Ripcurl’s fur as he walked the last block, eyes peeled for the house mentioned in his friend Ipequey’s directions. For most people, having a friend call them up late at night to rave about a new pool and urge them to immediately check it out would seem odd. Ripurl knew better, though. He was well aware that Ipequey, the living pool toy that he was, didn’t need to sleep, so time of day meant less to him than it did for the furred-and-blooded Ripurl. As a raccoon, Rip was fine operating at night, and he personally loved the water, so if this pool was as good as Ip had gushed on the phone, he was more than willing to ignore the vinyl wolf’s oversight.

Having found the building in question—gray walls, red roof, wooden fence—Ripcurl walked around to the side gate specified in the directions. It was locked.
   
“Ipequey? Mind letting me in?” He called out. No response. As a consummate surfer, Ripcurl possessed the relaxed attitude stereotypical of his calling, so the lack of reply made him more confused than annoyed.

“Ippy?” He tried again. “It’s Rip. Can you pop the gate? You can’t call me out here and not even let me see the pool!”

The silence persisted. Ripcurl’s footpaw tapped on the ground as he twisted his shark-tooth necklace while considering what to do. On the one paw, there was a large “NO TRESSPASSING” sign nearby. On the other, he didn’t have anything better to do. Ripcurl’s ponytail bobbed and swayed as he clambered over the fence.

Dropping down on the other side, Ripcurl immediately saw what had made Ipequey so excited about this pool. First off, it was big—always a plus. As the night breeze, tinted with water, wafted around his muzzle, he couldn’t help but smile. Ripcurl’s years as a connoisseur of many different pools had honed his senses for their quality. The raccoon’s whiskers quivered happily as they discerned only the lightest touch of chlorine—just enough to keep things sanitary without causing irritation or staining. From beneath the surface, lamps illuminated pristine waters clear of any dirt, leaves, or stray fur. Smile widening, Ripcurl shrugged off his Hawaiian shirt as he approached the poolside; a quick dip before heading off.

*clatter*

The noise came from a large storehouse next to the pool. Ripcurl spun towards it. “Ip?

Again, no response. Bemused, Rip entered the storehouse. “I can see why you got excited about the pool.” He called out, voice echoing amongst stacks of pool noodles and beach balls. “I’m also sure it’s safe to say that whatever prank you’re trying for isn’t gonna work.”

There was a rustle from the pile of noodles. Rip gave a chittering chuckle as he grabbed one of the foam tubes and pulled. “Gotcha, Ippy! Now let’s go have a swim before I use you as a floater!”

A rumbling growl filled the storehouse as the pile fell away and a large figure rose up. Ripcurl had barely enough time to register fierce red eyes, the white of long claws, and a gleam of hungering fangs before the growl erupted into a ferocious roar. Sufficiently terrified, Ripcurl fled.

The beast pursued the raccoon through the storehouse. Noodles, water wings, life preservers, and more were sent flying as Rip rounded the makeshift isles, with each obstacle either bouncing harmlessly of the chasing creature or being swatted aside. Although he had a strong surfer’s build, Rip’s fitness was not offering much help. His strength lay in the upper body and balance, not running.  Of course, Ripcurl was not actively aware of this fact. His currently level of thinking as he ran for his life would be best articulated as, “ohmygoditsgonnaeatmegottastayaheadohpleaseohpleasedontletiteatmeeeee!”

The moment he spotted an opening towards the door, Rip charged and burst back out to the poolside. He sprinted for the gate and wrenched at the handle. An unyielding rattle reminded him too late that the way out was locked. His fur stood on end as he felt the presence of the beast draw near. Cornered, he could do nothing to stop the beast as it lunged, teeth bared in snarling hunger.

*CHOMP*

....

....

Eh?

Ripcurl opened his eyes. He wasn’t dead. But that made no sense. Not that he was complaining, but the beast had been about to tear into him. Noticing an odd pressure on his leg made Rip look down. He was promptly met with the sight of the beast—now identifiable as a monstrous wolf—with its jaws clamped around his leg. A startled chitter and some choice expletives later, Rip registered that the wolf wasn’t doing any harm. The thing’s teeth weren’t even sharp. They were dull and squishy and actually felt a bit...rubbery?

“Hey,” Rip said as he shook the wolf off his leg. “Lemme get a look at you.”

Apparently sated by its ineffectual gnawing, the wolf reared up. Under the light of the full moon, Rip instantly saw what he was looking for. Exaggerated, rounded paws, smooth furless skin, apparently painted-on features, and a telltale valve where a bellybutton would be. Ripcurl had been running for his life from an inflatable werewolf. A blue and white inflatable werewolf, just like...

“Ipequey?”

The werewolf tilted its head, producing a squeak in the process. There was no mistaking it now—Rip could recognize his friend’s sound anywhere.

“Blast, Ippy, it is you!” Rip laughed as he grabbed the werewolf into a hug. He grinned as the cool, sleek vinyl pressed against his fur. Were-Ipequey, lacking his full faculties, was seemingly unsure what was going on. He could understand that the squishy hug was meant as a friendly gesture, though. Rip found himself on the receiving end of a big, rubbery facelick.

“Hah!” Rip chittered, “So, from fierce monster to oversized, inflatable puppy, huh?”

Ipequey barked happily and wagged his tail; each producing a flurry of squeaks. Ripcurl smiled.

“White I’ willing to wait until you’re back to your normal self for an explanation, Ippy, I think you owe me something for this little scare.”

Ip gave a cautious, squeaky growl. Rip grimed. “You’re too big right now to make a good surfboard, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

His eyes gleamed mischievously.

25
Writer's Guild / In the Maiden's Name
« on: May 23, 2011, 02:19:04 PM »
Written for kickahaota, who initially requested a story that used the same setting as Four in the Morning. After some hurdles, it was worked out that I would use 'the Dreaming' instead. The Dreaming is a fae world that I've been kicking around for a while, and one that will probably appear in some of my later stories as well. So in addition to a fun little story about trickster's being tricked, consider In the Maiden's Name to be a small preview of things to come.

If you would like to order a comission or propose a trade, please see the following FA journal entry: http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/2272756/

26
Writer's Guild / Four in the Morning
« on: May 02, 2011, 09:13:04 AM »
Part of a trade with Shyanne; his end can be seen here: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/5674205

Enjoy!

==Four in the Morning==

Shaun awoke to an orange sky alight in the afternoon sun. This would not normally be a problem had his last memory not been of a windowless supply room in the basement of Collegial University. Considering that at least two floors separated him from being outside, Shaun was clearly missing a few steps. He considered the possibility that his water bottle had been spiked as part of Dr. Kershaw’s pranks and began to think of how the feat might have been accomplished when his thoughts were interrupted by a white fuzzy object interjecting itself into his field of view. Once his eyes adjusted, Shaun realized that the object was the head of a rabbit. A rather large rabbit. That was staring at him.

“Hullo!” The rabbit chittered happily. “I was wondering when you’d wake up! You all right?”

An ordinary person, upon being asked if they were all right by a woodland creature, would consider themselves the victim of temporary insanity or drug overdose. Shaun, however, was not an ordinary person. He was a trained scientist, and as a trained scientist he could trust his intellect when it told him that such vivid rabbit imagery would not be possible without prolonged mental illness and that any drugs capable of inducing such visions would also leave him with a pounding headache. Once Shaun finished deciding that the talking animal was not a figment of his mind, he proceeded to administer proper scientific testing. Scientific test number one: poke it.

“H-hey! That tickles!” The rabbit giggled as Shaun prodded its belly. The fur was quite soft, the skin was rather warm, and the body possessed appropriate levels of squishiness for an organic creature.

“You are... real then?” Shaun asked rhetorically as he ceased his poking. As he pulled himself off the grass and stood up, he realized that the rabbit was both large and surprisingly human-shaped. Roughly four feet in height, it held proportions that made it much more anthropomorphic than the other rabbits Shaun had seen over the course of his life.

“Of course I’m real!” Snickered the rabbit. “And before you ask, everyone else here is real too.”

“Everyone...else?”

The rabbit gestured behind Shaun. The scientist turned and saw what, at first glance, was an ordinary playground. After a few moments, he registered that the playground equipment looked to be designed in a manner that suggested either a drunken architect, or local children with very odd disabilities. Then Shaun noticed that those children he saw playing, and the parents watching nearby, were far hairier than regular biology would allow. Plus, there were quite a large number of tails swishing about. The park appeared to be filled solely with animal-people. In all, Shaun counted eleven separate species that were present—twelve if the one wolf family enjoying a picnic had naturally curly fur or were just the subjects of an unwise fashion trend.

Shaun turned back to the rabbit, which was looking at him expectantly.

“It appears,” Shaun began, “that either Dr. Kershaw has gotten much more elaborate, or that something extremely odd has happened to me.”

The rabbit rocked back and forth on his feetpaws. “So which is it?”

“Likely the latter,” Shaun mustered as much of an authoritative air as he could. “Dr. Kershaw doesn’t have the attention span for something like this.”
“Excellent!” The rabbit proclaimed and he bounced happily. “I have to say, you’ve gotten it much faster than the others—most think we’re hallucinations or robots or—“ here the rabbit switched to a heavy Southern accent “’Gosh-darned communists trying to screw with me!’ Most of you have to finish before accepting we’re real.”

Shaun blinked. “Err... perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

“Oh, of course! But first, names! I’m Benden Harrow.”

“Shaun Shyler.”

The scientist extended a hand. As he and Benden shook, Shaun thought he saw a brown stain on his hand. Before he could examine it better, Benden had begun to walk away, calling out, “Excellent! Now let’s find somewhere in the shade to sit and I’ll give you the story.”

Shaun followed. As he and Benden drew closer to the playground, Shaun tried to get a look at the other animal-people. A few of the children had noticed him, but few stopped to stare as it made them easy prey in whatever game they were playing. Shaun wagered it was tag or some variant of it. More of the parents had noticed him, and several leaned in to each other and muttered. Some sets of ears swivelled in his direction, but most were focused on watching the kids.

Benden sat down on his haunches in a patch of shaded grass. Shaun joined him, leaning against the tree as he did so.

“You said I could have the whole story?”

Benden nodded. “That I did. This,” he gestured around him, “is our world. We call it Gaia. It has a sun and a moon and by all accounts is just as geographically varied as your Earth. One thing we do not have, though, is humans. However, every now and then, one of you just shows up. No real explanation for it—just *pop* and then you’re here. The locations seem random and there doesn’t appear any real rhyme or reason for it; a few years back there was a news report about a human who appeared in the mayor’s bathtub if you can believe it! Anyway, it isn’t very common and I think the official statistic is at about five humans every two years.”

Shaun nodded, pushing back his sleeve and absently scratching at his hand as he took in this information. “Right. So there are other humans here, then?”

“Umm...” Benden twisted one of his ears nervously. “Not exactly. See, I’m not really sure why it happens...but every human who’s come here doesn’t actually stay that way...”

“Eh?”

“Maybe you should just look down.”

Shaun obliged and found himself scratching a hand that most definitely did not have brown fur when he had sat down. But it had fur now, and his nails had become more claw-like as well. The fur travelled up his arm until it turned bright orange a little ways past the wrist. Looking down his shirt, Shaun saw that the fur extended all the way to his chest, where it became white around his belly. His torso looked strange too, but that part didn’t seem as important to the question now pressing on Shaun’s mind.

“I’m...I’m turning into...”

“One of us.” Benden finished with a shrug. “It happens to every human who’s come here. Once it starts it doesn’t take more than half an hour to finish. By the colour of your fur, I’m guessing you’re becoming a fox.”

“There’s no way to stop it?”

“None that anyone has found; and there isn’t a way back to your Earth either, in case you were wondering. Every human who’s come here stays here.”

“I’m...not sure how I feel about that.” Shaun said as he pulled off his shoes and socks. His feet were covered in brown fur like his hands, but they had become much more paw-like in shape. “At least it doesn’t hurt.” He mused as he felt behind him to find a budding tail. Some of the nearby parents had begun to look in their direction again, but Shaun found that less concerning than his changing body. “What happens to the humans who come here after they change?”

Benden stroked his chin. “Oh, different things. Some get taken in by some generous citizens, others have some useful talent that gets them a quick job, and some just freak out and hurt someone so they get arrested. If you like, you can stay with me and my wife until you sort yourself out here. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Shaun smiled. “That is very kind of you, I would be grateful to do so.”

“It’s no problem, really.” Benden said as he got up and began to lead Shaun away from the playground. “Dory and I always wanted kids but it hasn’t really worked out. As a result, we tend to let the odd person stay over more than most folks. Gotta try and fill the need, you know?”

Shaun nodded, unsure of what a proper response would be. He found it surprisingly easy to walk on his new legs, and the grass felt very cool and refreshing against his paws.

“I have to say,” Benden chittered, “you’re taking all this much better than I imagined. I’d always figured that if I met a fresh human I’d have to chase him halfway across town as he fled in terror!”

Shaun scratched the back of his neck, noting that the fur had already made it that far. “I find that understanding a situation is better than immediately reacting to it. Panic doesn’t work well for a scientist.”

“Oh, you’re a scientist?”

“Well, I was, I suppose. I specialized in temporal diffusion theory.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It was simpler than a lot of the mainstream stuff, actually. It’s based around the idea that time sort of ‘split’ due to the force of the Big Bang—the explosion we think created the universe—and that the resonance between our universe and the other timelines is responsible for various phenomena.’

Benden whistled—an impressive sound, coming from a rabbit. “And you were an expert, huh? Must have been a bigshot.”

“Not really.” Shaun admitted. His ears—now peaked, furry, and at the top of his head, bent in mild embarrassment. “Most other scientists didn’t take it seriously. I spent my academic career being the tail-end of a great many jokes. That reminds me—” Shaun looked behind himself and found the once-stubby tail had grown out to what he imagined was a proper bushy length. He wagged it experimentally.

“Heh, you might finish before we even get to my house.” Benden chuckled as he led the increasingly foxier Shaun down a sidewalk. “You’ve even got a nice muzzle coming in!”

Shaun rubbed his extending face, careful to avoid poking his blackening nose with a claw. The fur had not yet made it to his face, which meant that he must have looked very odd indeed.

Despite Benden’s prediction, Shaun did not in fact finish changing before reaching the rabbit’s home. Although his muzzle had finished coming out and he had lost about a foot in height, Shaun’s face was still missing fur and his torso continued to feel odd under his now-baggy shirt.

“Welp, here’s my home!” Benden proclaimed proudly upon reaching a house at the corner of the street. It looked like any other home from Earth, Shaun thought, albeit with a lower roof. Benden knocked on the door and rocked back and forth on his feet as he waited. Shaun had assumed that Benden’s wife would be a fellow rabbit. He was therefore somewhat surprised to find a dowdy-looking kangaroo-woman answer the door.

“Hullo, Dory!” Benden chimed. “Guess who I met today?”

As if to answer the question, Shaun’s lower body suddenly thrust backwards, tearing his clothes in the process. It was as if an extra pair of legs had forcibly unfolded from his body, making Shaun some form of fox-based centaur. There was probably a more appropriate word for what he now was, but he didn’t know what it could be.

Dory mused for a moment. “I’m going to say... a human who was suddenly transported to Gaia and that has just finished turning into a foxtaur?”

Benden made a binging noise. “Yuppers! I said he could stay with us until he gets settled, that ok?”

“No, not at all, I’m happy to help.” Dory stepped aside and let her husband in. Shaun followed hesitantly, unsure of how well he could walk on four digitigrade legs. As it turned out, he could do so surprisingly easily.

“I have to say, a ‘taur isn’t the most common change for a human.” Dory said conversationally as she led Shaun into a living room. “Never heard of one becoming anything other than a regular ‘anthro’, as past humans have put it.”

“Umm... yea... if you say so...” Shaun replied awkwardly. He had some difficulty figuring out the proper way to sit with his new body, but eventually managed to attain a comfortable position on the carpet. “Only thing is, I’m not sure I’m done changing.”

Benden and Dory both looked at him with interest.

“Well, it’s just that my shirt feels looser than when I came in...”

Dory’s ears twitched. “Say that again, please.”

“Eh? Oh, well, it’s just that my shirt feels looser than when I came in.”

The kangaroo glanced at her husband. “Your voice is getting higher, too. I think you’re right.”

“Well, I’ve already become a...foxtaur, you said? Well, I’ve already become one of those, so I guess there isn’t much else I could change into.” Shaun joked. He attempted a gesture for emphasis but became caught in what was now his embarrassingly-oversized jacket and shirt.  In the struggle to get free, he managed to fall over and become entangled in the clothes. Oddly, it seemed that the clothes became looser as the seconds ticked on. Dory and Benden came off their chairs to help Shaun untangle. When the kangaroo and rabbit managed to extricate their new guest, the result was surprisingly.

“Oh my.” Said Dory.

“Welp, I guess you were right about further changes.” Chimed Benden.

Shaun was still an orange foxtaur, but his size had been noticeably reduced over the past minute. Now roughly half the height of those around him, Shaun saw his reflection in a polished cabinet next to the couch. Even with a coat of fur, Shaun could tell that his body had lost much of the build that came from age. His face was rounder, and his proportions overall were less refined.

“I’m a kid?” Shaun asked out-loud. His higher-pitched voice, complete with a fox-like, yipping accent, answered the question.

“A kit, if you want to get technical.” Benden corrected. “Or possibly a cub. I’m not exactly an expert on fox terminology.”

“Whatever the term, you’re certainly cute!” chirped Dory.

Shaun felt his ears warm at the compliment. He ran a hand idly through his fur as he contemplated his new body. A kid foxtaur...it seemed so silly, but there it was, staring back from the cabinet reflection. Shaun yawned as he considered how strangely normal it felt to be this way.

“Heh, tired are you?” Benden chuckled. “Can’t say I blame you—been a big day hasn’t it? Maybe you should get some sleep and we can worry about what’s next in the morning.”

Shaun glanced at the clock. “But it’s only eight!”

“But nothing.” Dory tutted. “You’re a child now, remember? That means you have a child’s needs, and one of those happens to be an early bedtime.”

“Yes ma’am...” Shaun yielded. The thought of having to go to bed early was more frustrating than he had expected. There was a great deal more that could be done today, he grumbled to himself as Dory led him to a guest room on the ground floor. Despite his extra legs, it was simple enough to climb onto the bed, and just as simple to find a good way to lie down. As Dory tucked him in, Shaun was already drifting off and soon fell asleep.

His dreams were, to put it succinctly, odd. Memories of other scientists from Earth were interspersed with images of the playground Shaun had seen upon first arriving in this new world. Office doors blurred away into slides, and chalkboards grew swing sets as the images advanced. Beakers turned into balls, and lab benches rearranged themselves into forts. Visions of games continued to emerge and flow through the night, broken only by the eventual rays of morning sun.

Shaun rubbed his sleepy eyes upon waking. With a large yawn, he stretched both arms and all four legs before sliding off the bed and inspecting himself in the closet mirror. Shaun was still the foxtaur child he had gone to bed as, which was not very surprising all things considered. Struck by a sudden thought, Shaun opened his mouth wide and tried to get a look inside his muzzle. After confirming the existence of teeth, another idea came to him. Checking that no one was watching, Shaun stuck his tongue out at the mirror and pushed at the skin around his eyes.

“Bllllaaaaarg!” he intoned while making a silly face at the mirror. “I am the foxtaur monster! Blllaaaaarg!”

Shaun could only hold the face for a few more seconds before he burst out laughing. Such a childish game—but so very fun! Shaun giggled to himself as he stomped the floor with a front paw in the manner of a bull preparing to charge while he flexed his arms exaggeratingly. He wondered if his extra set of legs would be an asset while playing tag. These thoughts came as naturally to him as the movements of his body. While Shaun could feel that his forty-one years of accumulated knowledge was readily accessible, it was taking a backseat to thoughts of fun and games. He was a child now, he told himself, and so it was natural to have a child’s priorities. University degrees in advanced physics and chemistry were all well and good, but Shaun had a feeling that unless they could help him hit a baseball better, they weren’t going to come in handy in the immediate future. Being a kid again felt very refreshing.

Grinning to himself, Shaun made his way to the kitchen where he found Benden and Dory sitting at the table eating eggs and toast.

“Ah, you’re up then!” Benden exclaimed upon seeing his guest. “We thought you were still asleep.”

“I was, but then I woke up.” Shaun chimed with a yip. He took a seat opposite his hosts; thankful for the natural ease which he could manoeuvre his ‘taur body into the chair. “I don’t know if it was the good sleep, or just the fact that I’ve had some time, but I think I’m getting comfortable with being this way.” He added, motioning to his body.

Dory smiled and Benden’s ear twitched in what Shaun assumed was a happy expression. “That’s good, actually. Dory and I were discussing your situation actually.”

“Oh?” Shaun asked, distracted by the piece of toast Dory had just placed in front of him.

“Well, it’s just that although there are some systems in place to help arrived humans, none of them are set up for your rather unique change. Most of the humans that come here don’t get their age altered. I think there might have been one a decade back that gained a few years, but none who’ve regressed. This means that as far as the officials are concerned, you’re just another eight-year old foxtaur.”

The ominous news had to compete with the deliciously buttered toast for Shaun’s attention. When the news finally won, he said, “So what’ll happen to me?”

Dory tilted her head. “Well, there are a few options we can look in to, but, ah, there was one in particular we were hoping you’d consider.” She paused while Shaun finished his toast before continuing. “I think that my husband explained to you how we’ve always wanted a child.”

It was Shaun’s turn to tilt his head as he looked from Dory to Benden. “You... want to adopt me? As your own kid?”

“Only if you’re ok with it!” Benden interjected. “Otherwise we can help you research alternatives. I’m sure there’s some loophole or another we can use to get you into the normal programs for human arrivals.”

Shaun rubbed the back of his head, feeling along his peaked ears as he thought it over. “Well... you two have been nothing but kind to me since we’d met. And you /were/ right yesterday, when you sent me to bed. I haven’t been a kid for so long I’m not sure I can do this on my own.” He grinned, “Plus...aheh.... the chance to have a second—albeit furry—childhood does seem fun. So yea, I’m fine with that. I’ll be your kid.”

Dory clasped her hands together. “Oh how wonderful! Thank you!”

“Fantastic!” Benden gushed. “I can get the papers filled out this afternoon! Soon, you’ll be little Shaun Harrow! Fancy that!”

“Shaun...Harrow...” Shaun sounded it out. “Ah, seems like I should say goodbye to Shyler, then.”

“Or mix it in!” Benden encouraged. “A name is important, you know. Lets you remember where you came from. How about Shaunler? Shaunly? Shaunshy? Shyaun?”

“How about...Shyanne?”

“That works too! I mean, it’s not a straight-up mix but it certainly sounds nice.”

“This is so exciting!” Dory smiled as she got up. “We should have a proper celebratory breakfast. Who’s in the mood for pancakes? And then afterwards we can show you around the neighbourhood. There’s a lovely fruit bat boy who lives down the street—Cyrus, his name is—who I’m sure would love a playmate.” She raised a brow. “What’s so funny?”

The foxtaur was grinning even wider now. “Huh? Oh, I was just thinking about how odd this must look—a kangaroo, a rabbit, and a foxtaur. It sounds like the build-up to a bad joke.”

“Maybe on Earth.” Dory replied as she leaned in and kissed her new son on the forehead. “But here, we call it a happy family.”

Shyanne agreed. As the smell of fresh batter filled his nose, he thought that if his new mom’s pancakes were half as good as her toast, then things could only be looking up.

27
Writer's Guild / Account 24-C
« on: April 05, 2011, 10:02:14 PM »
[Ed. Note: for legibility purposes, the following is a rewrite of the best approximation of what the original document, retrieved from 420 Stetson Ave., Oshawa, contained. The original document may be requested from Professor Bell for research purposes only]


March 3rd, 2010

Bloody hell, the damn reports were actually serious. I saw one today! Was doing my route and I get to this house a little bit past the guard line. Door was open so I peek inside to see if everything’s all right. Last time that happened I interrupted a burglary, got praised in the papers and all. So I pop in and out from the kitchen comes this giant-ass puppy. Not sure the breed—may have just been generic. Had a brown patch over one eye though. Anyhow I didn’t really make the connection with the reports and figured it was one of them furries or something. So I get close asking if he was alright—he was moving a bit weird so I thought he was stuck in costume like Nel at Halloween. All of a sudden the guy just grabs me, just like that! Grabs me good and that’s when I felt it—he was too soft on the inside. Like a giant pillow or a stuffed toy. That’s when I remembered the reports. Freaked out and whacked him good with my mailbag before running off. I’m no fool though, I went straight to the line and told ‘em what happened. They’re extending the line now.

March 4th, 2010

Turns out I left my mailbag at the house from yesterday. Boss got upset but what’s he gonna do, make me sneak past a line of cops? People are a bit edgier now that the line’s grown. I think there was some sightings downtown too. Cop stopped by to question me about what I saw, said they were checking against other reports or whatnot. Told him good what happened and he left. May thinks we should leave town, just pack up and hide out at the cottage while all this blows over. Jack’s all for it but he’s just a kid looking for an excuse not to go to school. Said no to both of them regardless—even with what I saw I’m still half-expecting this to turn out as some big build up to an April Fool’s joke.

March 7th, 2010

May wouldn’t stop bugging me after the road closure so I went to the store to stock up on canned food and juice boxes. Wasn’t much left, owner said he got cleaned out yesterday. Said that people were fighting and tugging and this one guy got stabbed over a fight about who say the last box of Cheerios first. Honestly, panic like this causes more harm than the actual danger. There were still some boxes of soup left and a thing of water in the storeroom. Got charged through the noose for ‘em but at least it’ll keep May happy. Real tired after loading the boxes in and out of the car though, not normally an issue but right now it’s like my muscles are jelly. Nerves, I bet. Would make a note to drop in at the clinic, but what’re they going to do besides suggest a Valium?

March 11th, 2010

Schools were closed today. Should’ve seen it coming after the post office shut down. May and some other PTA people are setting up a homeschooling ring to keep the kids occupied. As for me, I’ve been on the couch all day. Think that weakness turned into flu—frigging freezing unless I bundle up in five different quilts. Limbs feel weird too, not heavy but still weak, like how it feels when you can’t make a fist right after waking up but more so. At least I’m nice and snug.
Been having weird dreams too. They replay that night I got grabbed by the dog, but he doesn’t let go when I hit him. It feels real nice being held while I sleep, but I always wake with a start.

March 13th, 2010

Very glad I’m right handed. Woke up today and the lefty was plain weird. Fingers are stuck together so it looks like a mitten. Hehe, looks kinda silly actually. Got some neat fuzz too, reminds me of a carpet. May and Jack are getting more scared of all the reports coming out now—probably best not to show them. No good can come of panic. Not much to panic about to me, it just feels ticklish and floppy, but those two are pretty jittery.

March 15th, 2010

Guard’s moved the line for like the fifth time in three days. Cuts straight through May and Jack’s way home so they’re stuck at the PTA thing until the line changes. Haven’t left the couch in almost a week, but it’s not so bad. Haven’t really been hungry since I got ill and getting a glass of water doesn’t seem appealing. I feel so warm and cozy. Would rather just lie here and snuggle...

March 17th, 2010

Finally got off the couch. Feeling better now that chills have stopped. Nice and full despite not eating. Harder to write now. Both hands have mitten-thing. Managed to make due. Checked mirror and I don’t need shave. Have head like dog from way back. Even got the same silly grin. Wide and happy. Hehe...I feel happy. I want to be happy.

[date illegible]

Lonely. Cuddly and warm but no one to share with. May and Jack still out. Can’t wait for them to come home. Can’t wait to be warm and happy together.

[date illegible]

Mack not back
Mack not back
Not Mack came back
Not Mack sad not Mack need hug
Not Mack sad but hug make warm happy
Not Mack warm


[Ed. Note: May and Jack were among those retrieved by the southern evacuations. The two became separated during Camp 70 Incident.  May was confirmed to be among those who did not escape. Records indicate that Jack was placed with civilian convoy Q-1 for the next two years, at which point all indicators of his presence vanish. In keeping with the New Hope Policy, the last name of this journal’s author is redacted on all documents in order to protect Jack’s identity.]

28
The village of Esk is situated along the Sun Road. This small to mid-sized hamlet has been mostly unchanged since the fall of Nerath. It subsits primarily through farming and making trade with those who choose to take the longer Sun Road over the shorter—but more bandit-riddled—Moon Road. One of the more curious traditions in Esk is that every villager has at one point in their life taken up adventuring as pseudo rite of passage. These stints last anywhere from a week to a month before the villager returns, regales friends and family with stories, and then settles down. A side-effect of this tradition is that Esk’s inhabitants have a cordial respect for any adventurers who happen to pass through. While this does not translate into villagers going out of their way to offer help, it does mean that they offer a healthy respect to any adventurers who happen to pass through. This is where your story begins.

Benden Hathrow, a local farmer, has been suffering these past months. His chickens keep dying. On random days—but no more than once each week—he would find portions of his flock dead on the barn floor. There is no apparent physical cause and arcane interference has been both theorized and disproven. Fortunately, Benden has other livestock and crops to sell so the loss of chickens is not putting his livelihood at risk. However, in the past two weeks the number of losses has almost doubled, causing concern. Hathrow has circulated a call for help among nearby villages.

Perhaps you are a resident of Esk getting ready to go out on your own coming-of-age adventure. Maybe you are in need of quick money and were in one of the outlying villages when Hathrow’s plea reached your ears. You might owe Hathrow a favour. It might even be possible that you just didn’t have anything better to do. Whatever the cause, each of you has decided to help Benden Hathrow find and stop whatever is killing his chickens.

You are outside Benden’s barn, and the farmer has just finished relaying the basics of his situation (the second paragraph). Feel free to ask for details or look around. This will let you all get a feel for each other.

One last thing. For this encounter only, I am requiring all of you to type your posts in third-person. This is to help you all get used to each others’ names and appearances.

Now then, what do you do?

29
Writer's Guild / Search
« on: March 19, 2011, 11:37:58 AM »
My eyes flickered open to an onyx sky glittered with stars. A cold wind brushed my cheek.

"I must have fallen asleep.” I thought lazily. I chuckled softly to myself before turning my head to see if Anne was asleep as w—

There was no one else. I was alone on the blanket, surrounded by the remains of what had been an afternoon picnic. Fragments of what used to be a chocolate bar wrapper tumbled along lazily in the mild wind.  The lid of my thermos had fallen off and lay on the grass, several feet from its body. A napkin sat as a makeshift plate, weighed down by the remains of Anne’s chicken salad sandwich.

I got up at once. It was too dark to see much across the field, but if I squinted I could make out the blurry shape of the car along the roadside. She hadn’t gone home then. Turning to face the woods, I saw shadowed footprints leading into the trees. Ah, that explained it, Anne had decided to go exploring after I had dozed off. But... that must have been hours ago—why hadn’t she come back? I shivered in the night wind—whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter. She was cold and likely lost or injured. It would be easy enough to trace Anne’s steps.

The forest seemed to have other plans. The canopy blocked most of the moonlight and I was only a few feet in when the remaining slivers of illumination became useless for finding the tracks. I squinted and strained my eyes against the night to find the imprints of Anne’s shoes, but shadows obscured the ground. If it was this hard to see so close to an exit, it must be almost pitch-black further in. Anne was lost somewhere, trapped by nightfall and a veiled forest unable to find her way back. The keys to the car were in the picnic basket—I could go home and get a flashlight and a proper coat. I spun around but stopped after a single step. I found myself unwilling to leave. Even with the roads less filled at night, it would take at least two hours to drive home and back. I couldn’t leave her for that long, not when she needed me. But... if I didn’t go back, I could get just as lost as she was.

“So? Are you out or in?” said a tiny voice. I blinked and turned to my right.  Sitting on a tree branch and framed clearly against the darkness was a tiny man no taller than my hand was long. With peaked furry ears, a scruffy mane, and the ropey tail of an indistinct animal, I would have chalked the sight up to exhaustion or worry had I not just had a nap and a mind cleared by determination to find Anne.

“So? Are you out or in?” The man repeated, tilting his head quizzically at me. “I have to say, you’re taking a lot longer to make up your mind than that other one did.”

Other one...? Oh! “You’ve seen Anne!?” I asked eagerly. The question of the figure’s reality took a backseat to her safety.

The man shrugged. “I guess so, didn’t catch her name—why the interest?”

I took a step forward. “She might be lost and I have to find her.”
“Lost, eh?” The man frowned. “Yea, I guess she did get lost. Not sure I’d use that word now though. I guess ‘stuck’ would be the best way to put it, but even that might not be right depending on how you look at it...”

I gaped. This little... whatever... was going on to himself about semantics! “Look,” I said firmly and with a tinge of irritation, “do you know where Anne is?” He nodded; I gave a sigh of relief. “Good, can you take me to her?”

“No.”

I was taken aback by the bluntness of the reply. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

The man’s tail curled around until it rested in his lap. “This ‘Anne of yours wandered into fairy territory. Rules say I can’t knowingly show or guide you to any area fae claim as their own. That does not, however, mean I’m not allowed helping you.” He paused and looked up at me. “This is the part where you ask me what kind of help I can offer.”

I frowned. “This could also be the part where I trap you in my thermos unless you get to the point.”

“Oh fine,” The man pouted, “We’ll do it your way then. “Even if I’m not allowed to show you where to go, I’m still able to give you some things that will help you find your Anne. Eyes that can see in the dark for example.”

“Fine.” I said flatly. “Do that then.”

“You sure?” The sprite asked, getting to his feet. “I could be trying to trick you.”

“If you were then you wouldn’t be giving me a chance to change my mind.”

He shrugged. “Touché. Alrighty then, just hold still for a sec.”

 Without waiting for a response he hopped off his tree branch and perched on my nose. With flick of his tail as my only warning, he kicked me straight in both eyes before rebounding back to the branch.

“OW! The hell was that for!” I yelled, eyes watering.

“All part of the magic.” The sprite countered with a slight chuckle in his voice. “Take a look.”

If only it were that easy. My vision was blurred as my eyes tried to recover from the kicks. I pressed them shut and rubbed before trying to blink and clear away the tears. When I was able to look round, I immediately noticed that everything was brighter. No, not brighter—more clear.

“I can...see in the dark?”

“Yuppers! Easy to do too! Just had to swap out your eyes for something more fit for the task.”

“Swap...my eyes?”

The little man shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted my help. If you’d rather be blind as a bat I can always swap your peepers back. Or give you actual bat eyes. Honestly it’s all up to you really since I don’t have any prefer—hey! Where’re you going?”

I left the man behind and entered the woods. It was easy to pick out Anne’s footprints against the soil with these new eyes. The darkness had not lifted, but I was more aware of it. The leaves I brushed aside were slightly lighter than the surrounding wood, and the wood was not as black as the forest floor. Each indent of Anne’s footprints cast differently than the surrounding soil. What had been an ebon veil had parted into a series of curtains. I could see each layer of shadow more distinctly, which in turn let me see better in the shroud of night. These insights were taken in without effort, occupying my brain while heart and mind constantly swept for the next print—all the while wondering what had drawn Anne so far into the woods.

I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. The trees overhead permitted nothing through but the barest thread of moonlight. With my drive for Anne occupying conscious thought, hours could easily hide as minutes. Through thickets and bushes I followed the prints; over logs and under fallen trees.
Eventually, a latent fear began to rise. Initially dismissed as a trick of the shadows in my unfamiliar eyes, it became clear that Anne’s footprints had begun to fade as I progressed. Solid marks framed against the night had become light stamps, and now I had come across a print that was too weak to finish. I scanned furiously but no further signs came. My wail flew through empty woods as I fell upon the lost trail. My hands pressed against the ground and begged the stone underneath to grant the same favour as the soil behind me. It, of course, refused.

“You’re hardly done.” Came a tiny voice. The man stepped into view as I raised my head.

“You said these eyes would let me find Anne.” I said coldly.

The man tutted, “I said they would /help/ you find her, which they did. You’re here, aren’t you?”

There was truth to this. “How far into the forest am I?”

“Anne went further.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“How can you not be?” He tapped a foot—an impatient gesture at odds with his current demeanour.

I gritted my teeth. “Because this isn’t like her. Anne wouldn’t run off without at least leaving a note. She isn’t the kind of person who’d let me worry.”

The man held me in a frank gaze. “You were asleep and she was bored. A quick look into the forest, not more than ten minutes. To be in and out before you woke.”

That sounded like something she would do. “But why would she go so far in? I was asleep for hours—Anne wouldn’t leave for that long.”

“She didn’t. Or, she didn’t think she did, rather. How to put this...” The man stroked his tail in musing. “Ah, I know! Tell me, how long has it been since our first meeting?”

I found myself unable to answer. I strained to find duration in my time following the footprints, but only vague landmarks came. When the tracks weaved around a tree or when I had to climb over a log. I had cut myself on a loose twig sticking out of some brush—but was that before or after the prints had started to fade? More confusing, my eyes were still sore from being kicked—if hours had passed then the pain would have faded.

“Exactly.” The man said, reading my expression. “Now, would you like some more help?”

I blinked, attention returning to reality. “Yes, but... better eyes won’t help me see what isn’t there.”

Without a word, the sprite leapt towards me. I shut my eyes but they weren’t his target. He grabbed my nose and pulled. I felt a...thrusting sensation...followed by a sudden awareness that my sinuses had cleared. Opening my eyes showed the addition of a narrow muzzle to my face; tipped with the cold, wet nose indicative of canines. I touched the nose experimentally.

“The nose knows what the eye can’t see.” Chimed the man in a sing-song voice.

I didn’t reply, instead choosing to probe the inside of my extended mouth with a lengthened tongue.

“Gotta tell you though,” the man said as he stretched. “You got one uuuugly face right now. I definitely chose function over fashion. Which reminds me...”

He extended a hand. Without considering the size difference, I extended my own to reciprocate. Instead of shaking, the sprite tapped the centre of my palm.

“Just a bit of extra help. You’ll see why soon enough.” He offered in response to my puzzled look. “You’d best get going, no? Anne still needs finding.”

Anne!  To my shame I had allowed her to fall from my forefront! I fell upon the ground and, on finding the final footprint, let the world flow through my nose. The forest exploded. The canopy unfurled into countless leaves, each tinged with its own variety of a singular, sour odour. Bark became a jagged totem and twigs, detritus, and grass formed scattered interludes overtop the deep fullness of the dirt below. There was something else, however; something an unexplored instinct knew was not of the woods. It was a supple scent; a scent that was mixed with fumes and steel of cities but held fast in a gentle repose. A scent with a faint hint of chicken. Anne.

I continued with Anne’s fair aroma guiding me like a bee. The forest tried to interpose—to make itself known against her soft scent, but I refused and only allowed it what I could value. As I doggedly obeyed the trail, I became both aware of and thankful for the sprite’s parting trade. Following Anne’s scent required me to be as close to the ground as I could. Reason dictated that pursuing on all fours would be the most efficient way to do this. The sprite had gifted me with leathery pads on the palms of my hands and—for I could feel them against my socks—the soles of my feet. The rough ground scattered with stones and twigs would have hampered my pursuit were it not for the protection these pads offered. As I removed my shoes to better access this boon, I found that mild structural changes had occurred to my feet and legs. Resuming my hunt, the purpose of this became welcome. Movement was far easier now; I could keep my muzzle to the ground and chase after the scent as well as any bloodhound.

The night had become tinged with the rising glow of the morning sun. As light-born colours seeped into the woods, I found the scenery to hold a strange cast. While my increased awareness of grey and shadows permitted certain detail, the colours around me were brightly stained in some portions and faded in others. Such information was taken in and then set aside; unimportant to my search for Anne. What mattered was that the soft flow of her scent, a constant for so long, had begun to steadily increase in strength. What mattered was that my paws spurred me onwards. What mattered was that—as uncaring soil gave way to the soft, cool, and welcoming grass of a field—my heart raced as I knew I was nearing Anne.

Morning light emerged at last, joining me as I entered the glade. The lush clearing smelled of fresh life and open wind. This formed an odd contrast with the forest, made all the more so by how I was still within it. This scent combined with the smell I had followed for so much uncounted time. They mingled, enriching each other and strengthening me. My tired muscles relaxed as I strode amongst the grass. A thicket ringed the edge of the clearing, a copse of bushes and shrubs arranged around large stones that spoke to me of shelter and safety. Anne was here.

I paused, and then rose up with some difficulty onto the two legs that had started me through the forest. Silently, I parted the thicket and peered through. Fast asleep and curled up, sheltered by the stones above, was a vixen. Anne’s auburn coat waved lightly in the faint morning breeze; the early wind wafted towards me the scent I had so loyally followed. I stepped back and once more found the sprite sitting on a branch. His appearance was shaded now, a false contrast from being as unaffected by the light of morning as it was from the dark of night.

“She entered land forbidden to humans and was caught.” The man said. There was a tired, but unemotional quality to the words. This was a delivery he had made many times before. “She is no better or worse off than she was, as much as that concept can matter to human sensibilities. No one else knows you’re here yet and the way back is far easier than the way forward. I can return what I traded from you.”

I looked at the sprite through fox eyes. “Why help me?”

“Because you would not stop wondering otherwise.”

I knew this to be true. Wondering and ‘what if’ are worse than definitive loss. If I left now, I would have the ability to move on. Anne was not in danger or need. But I was not her saviour.

I dropped back to all fours and passed through the thicket. Fur grew along my body. My ears rose and became pointed. A tail flowed to guide my balance. Clothes fell or were shrugged off as I shrank. Entering the den, I approached Anne and curled up next to her. With a light yip, I nuzzled her, gentle to avoid waking. She licked my nose before returning to sleep.

30
Role Play Theater / Dungeons and Dragons, take 2
« on: March 12, 2011, 07:18:31 PM »
Ok, I've worked out some of the kinks my last attempt at a forum DnD game had, so I'm looking to see if any fuzzies are interested in starting a forum-based Dungeons and Dragons game. We'll be using 4th edition.

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