Translucent Mushroom Circle (Story Prompts - every Sunday)

[Azazeal849]

As you step into the circle, the translucent mushrooms light up, one after the other. Each detaches a mote of fire that dances round you, almost bright enough to blind. When you blink, you find yourself standing in a dark forest - washed clean of colour by the night, though the bright hunter’s moon paints the topside of every leaf and branch with pale silver. In front of you is a clearing in the pine trees, and in the centre of that clearing stands a tall slab of rock, with a silver mirror embedded in its smooth face. There is just enough light for you to see your own face, reflected back.

“Welcome.”

You turn to see a willowy figure step out from behind a tree that should be too slender to hide behind. She crosses the clearing with unhurried steps, her feet leaving no prints in the sodden pine needles, her steps making no sound. Her black cloak falls around her like a shadow, its cowl hooding her head, though a tail of blonde hair falls out of it, across one shoulder. You see a red gemstone at her throat, an elaborate rose tattoo curling across her forehead. Her face is that of a young woman, though as she passes in front of the mirror you catch something in the reflection - something paler, something gaunter.

“Go ahead,” the eerie woman prompts you, extending a hand back towards the mirror. “Take a look. Amuse me.”

As you step forward, you see the reflection of your face begin to shimmer and run like oil. The colours run together, flowing into looping, cursive script.

This story begins with a letter.

* * * * *

The fae creature’s mirror has gifted you with a writing prompt. Dare you take up her challenge?

Spoiler: Rules 

• Please create a short story either beginning with or inspired by the quote prompt
• Entries should be between 100 and 1000 words
• One post per member for each prompt
• Entries will be judged by the staff at the end of each week, and the winner announced alongside the next prompt
• Of course, all RPA rules apply

Entries will be linked below, and the week’s winner will be announced along with the next prompt every Sunday at approximately 4pm GMT

Spoiler: Week 1 - “This story begins with a letter.” 

ArtisticVicu

Spoiler: Week 2 - “Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.” 

ArtisticVicu

Spoiler: Week 3 - “It’s official. I'm literally the worst.” 

ArtisticVicu

Spoiler: Week 4 - “Now all you have to do is tell them.” 

Entries here

[ArtisticVicu]

Spoiler: Week 1 - "This story begins with a letter." 

This story begins with a letter.

Now, mind you, the letter itself is inconsequential. It is nothing more than the catalyst for everything else that follows; however, had the letter not been written for a purpose that it would inevitably never fill, our story wouldn’t exist. The people that were meant to meet would never meet and the entire plot of our story would cease to exist.

Fortunate for us, the letter is written and handed to the young soul tasked with carrying it to the recipient. Our young soul - a boy of no more than 14 years named Nick - took the letter and did very well in making sure it remained undamaged and unread. Unfortunately, young Nick is not destined to become a hero on this journey, nor is he destined to see his task completed. Barely days into his journey, the caravan he had joined was ambushed and his life was brought to a swift end. The letter, safely tucked into the lining of his bag, went unnoticed in among the rest of the other looted belongings.

The lush fields Nick had known so well gave way to burning sand. The bag the letter resided in had been emptied of anything important but one of the ambushers - a man in his prime of unknown years named Doran - had kept it for it had been a new bag when Nick had started his short journey. Though Doran didn’t put it to use, he tucked it in among his own belongings until he made it home. At this point, the letter was four months into its journey and had nary a chance of ever reaching the hands of the intended recipient.

The recipient of the bag, however, was Doran’s youngest niece, Jenna. Having just entered her seventh year of life, Jenna had been thrilled with the gift, happily giving her uncle a tight hug before rushing off to the bedroom she shared with her five older siblings. With the swiftness of a determined child, she quickly filled the bag with the small collection of treasures she had gathered over the years - a collection she had stashed beneath a loose stone in the floor under the bedding. It was a child’s collection so don’t fret too terribly about what exactly she deemed worthy of hiding; none of it was any more substantial than the letter still hidden in the lining of her new bag.

Besides, that collection would change as our young Jenna aged. It would go from interesting stones and straw dolls to scarce supplies and the occasional pilfered food from merchant carts in the short eight months that followed. During the ninth month, Jenna would lose the bag as she raced through the city attempting to avoid being killed by invaders. Whether Jenna lived or died is for another time. Instead, the bag is once again rifled through and tossed aside where it would remain for two weeks before the soul we have been waiting for finally stumbled across it.

Now, something you must know about the soul that finds the bag this time. They are not quite like most other protagonists in these sort of stories. Usually the protagonist is a youth of 16 or 18 years pulled into the role of hero - be it willing or unknowingly - and, at this point, would be easily 20 or 21 years of age. No, this protagonist is a seasoned soldier by the name of Briar who has made it to 27 years through a lot of training and skill, and a dash of luck. He is not one looking for glory or was forced to take on the role of hero - no, that role was already filled by someone he counted as a dear friend and had promised to protect - yet he is the one who finds the letter in the failing lining of the bag. He had picked it up out of the far chance it would hold the secrets to what had happened to the empty and barren town he now stood in only to catch sight of the letter as he moved to toss it back where he had found it.

The seal had long since melted, staining the letter and envelope with a blotchy patch of color. The paper itself was soft from wear and yet the envelope had done well to protect the letter within. The letter fell apart at the creases despite the care he had taken when unfolding it but the strokes of ink were still legible enough to read. The information it contained was well and outdated but it was the fragment of information they had been missing. With quick words and even quicker orders, Briar and company started for the city young Nick never returned to.

It wasn’t the quickest of journeys, nor the most direct in route. The company Briar led found trouble nearly as frequently as trouble found it. Thankfully the majority of the encounters would do little harm to the company but it easily doubled the length of the journey. By the time the company set foot over the threshold where the letter had been written, the letter’s journey came to an end, returning two years after it had been sent away. The sender, a young woman now of 24 years named Cynthia, was surprised both at its return and the bearer of it, for Briar bore the crest of the King the letter had been intended for.

A King who died at the hand of his own brother. A brother who would blame Cynthia’s kingdom for the ‘assassination’ and started the war that would raid Jenna’s home and force Briar to take up arms alongside the King’s son doing everything he could to keep the Prince out of harms way until he found the letter warning the King he grieved for about the threat that was his very own brother.

A letter that would have arrived barely two hours too late had young Nick not been killed.

[Azazeal849]

Thank you @ArtisticVicu! We can always count on you when the writing prompts roll out.

* * * * * *

The strange woman listens quietly, without interrupting. Beneath the shadow of her hood you can see that her eyes are yellow as a cat's - intense, focused. And then her lips twitch, just slightly, into the suggestion of a smile.

“Interesting.” she whispers. “The butterfly wings of fate, changing everything, and at the same time perhaps changing nothing. Please, continue.”

You see the words within the mirror begin to slide and shift, darting away as you focus on each as if no longer wanting to be read. But soon enough they begin to coalesce once again, reconfiguring into new words. You fancy that you can hear them whispering in your ear, though perhaps that is just the night wind sifting through the pines.

Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.

[ArtisticVicu]

Spoiler: Week 2 - “Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.” 

“Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear,” Tyler repeated, exaggerating the spooky tone the carnival fortune teller had used when saying the line and even went as far as to add a nasally, warbling sound to it as he danced his fingers in Mark’s face.

Mark, for his part, shoved the other away, rolling his eyes. “Knock it off, Tyler. She’s just doing her job.”

“Yeah,” Sam commented to the other two in the group, “being a scam.”

Josh and Peter snickered. Tyler didn’t seem to notice or was already too far into his thought to be able to derail. “Yeah, by trying to be overly spooky. The space was already spooky enough. She didn’t have to fake the rest of it so hard.”

The trio behind him took precedence first as their comments got progressively less innocently ignorant compared to Tyler’s. Mark rounded on the three and crossed his arms, using his bulk to his advantage to be intimidating; it was only mildly effective since they were nearly as large as he was. “If you don’t stop with those comments, I will tell Coach.”

Sam rolled his eyes as Peter glared at him. Josh was the one to counter with a smile still on his face, “Come on, man. We’re only joshing around. You know we don’t mean anything by it.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “Racism isn’t ‘joshing around’ and you three know that.”

“Come on, Mark,” Sam tried, his grin a bit too sharp. “It’s just some good fun. No need to ruin the fun for all of us over a few words.”

“A few words,” he parroted, the words dead on his tongue. “A few words that will inevitably lead to actions on the field, not to mention off.” He dropped his arms, relaxing his form. “I don’t care if you’re just having some fun. That kind of fun is dangerous and you know it. And if certain ears heard it, could cause a bit of hassle on the field and I would rather not have to see about you getting kicked off the team because of it.”

The three before him exploded at that. Shouting seemed to come from all sides as the trio raged against him but he didn’t budge. Tyler, ever the mediator, tried to get in, tried to separate everyone and calm things down, but Josh shoved at him and spat a slur and Mark punched Josh in the face. He would have loved to have said that it was out of a blind rage, that he had lost coherent thought after that point, but he was very aware of making the decision to pull back his fist and connect it with Josh’s jaw. It would be the only punch he threw as Sam and Peter lunged at him in rage. Both caught him around the middle and pinned his back to the ground before they started wailing on him. Josh eventually joined in but the added fists were barely noticed. Mark protected his face and braced against the ones aimed at his gut but let the rest fall where they may.

It could have been seconds as easily as it could have been minuted before the rest of the team was swarming over them, pulling the trio off two to a person. Sam was the most vocal about being restrained but no one paid him any heed. Tyler slipped into the chaos to be the first to haul Mark to his feet but didn’t get a chance to say anything as Coach Briers got to the center of the chaos and folded his arms.

Silence fell immediately. Where Mark had failed, Coach Briers had perfected and the entire team settled under his command. Only Sam, John, and Peter cowered under it.

“Make your way to the bus,” Coach Briers said, his voice an ever steady calm. “We’ll discuss this there.”

The team piled into the bus and sat down in their designated seats. Coach Briers climbed in, closed the door, and turned the air on before he addressed the team. His eyes locked first with Mark and then with Peter, Sam, and John. “There better be a reason why a tussle looked like a full on brawl.” There was a cacophony of shouts that lasted all of two seconds before the trio cowered under a seething glare. He let out a heavy sigh. “You three are really starting to disappoint me. I thought I had taught you boys better than this.”

“Sorry, Coach,” was meekly chorused back.

Coach Briers looked to Mark. “What was the fight about?”

Mark shrugged. “I punched Josh in the face for calling Tyler a slur.”

The team members seated around Josh immediately rounded on him and started berating Josh, equal parts flabbergasted and offended.

“My turn to speak,” Coach Briers announced into the bus and silence fell immediately. Coach Briers focused back on Mark. “Was there more?”

Mark felt Peter glaring at the back of his head but he ignored it. “We had seen the fortune teller and they were making racial jokes.” He shrugged again. “I told them to stop or I’d tell you, and insinuating they would be kicked off the team because of harassment irked them so they started yelling at me. When Tyler tried to intervene as he’s prone to do, Josh shoved him and spat the slur. I responded in kind.”

Coach Briers nodded and focused on Tyler. “Anything you want to add or counter?”

“No, Coach,” Tyler said.

“Peter, Sam, Josh, you’re suspended for two weeks.”

The only ones to react were the three suspended. The rest of the team knew it was a fair punishment, though those who were friends with the three thought it was a touch too lenient. Though the trio certainly weren’t the only ones to make racist remarks, most everyone else was and had been willing to learn and change, to move beyond that dangerous fear and experience the expansive world beyond.

[Azazeal849]

@ArtisticVicu slays it again! Thank you for participating

* * * * * *

The ethereal woman listens as you recount the story of not-so-harmless team banter, but looks around sharply as you recite Tyler's line about trying to be overly spooky. She rounds on the mirror embedded in the rock.

"Are you mocking me?" she demands sharply of the silent, silver glass.

The mirror, of course, gives no reply. The fae woman maintains her composure for the rest of your tale, but you can see the agitation in the way her feet shift, the way her long fingers clench and unclench. She meets the conclusion of your story with a curt, distracted nod, before shooting another venomous glance at the mirror.

"If you're mocking me, I will end you." she tells it, before shaking her head and combing her hair back into place with her fingers. "Excuse me. Please carry on."

Behind her the mirror swirls with mist and delivers its third phrase: It's official. I'm literally the worst.

(It's definitely mocking her)

[ArtisticVicu]

Spoiler: Week 3 - “It’s official. I'm literally the worst.” 

It’s official. I'm literally the worst.

And I hate it. Justified or not, there should never be a reason to destroy a village even if we are in full out war. Yet here I am standing close enough to roast food on the coals left behind of a village I had personally set the torch to. The ground was still hot enough to burn bare skin, patches of coals were still white hot, and the slightest breeze was bolstering what few flames still remained on the minuscule amount of fuel left. The air was acrid despite nothing really burning anymore and every breath burned my lungs and throat.

I breathed freely anyway well aware the physician was going to have my hide once I stepped out of the danger zone. Thankfully, I was the only fool to do so. My people moved about the destroyed village looking for bodies with masks properly attached to their faces. The few water attuned magic users were scattered among them, maintaining enough moisture on the surveyors to keep them from overheating. I could quell the heat myself but that felt wrong for some reason. Maybe I should quell the heat. Would make everyone’s lives better.

“My Liege,” came from behind me, muffled by a mask but unmistakable. I turned, finding my second in command standing tall and proud despite the injury I knew he had hidden under his uniform. Without my consent, the image of a blade passing between his ribs and the tear into his side he had sustained in a different instance came back to the forefront of my mind.

The desire to pick at him about resting nearly shoved the words past my tongue. It would be a futile to attempt again. We’d argued it enough.

He held my gaze as he continued. “It may be best if you let our people work without your stare. You’re unnerving them, especially when you refuse to wear a mask.”

An amused half smile pulled at my lips and I tipped my head in the same direction as the smile. “And my wearing a mask would be better?”

The full face mask hid a lot of his expression but I could make out his eyes enough to see the amusement in them even if I couldn’t see the twitch in his lips. “It would certainly sooth some of everyone’s nerves.”

I let my gaze drift back over the village, what amusement had drifted in gone by the time I looked away from him. “I’ll be fine. How’s the survey going?”

If he sighed, I didn’t hear it. “Well. We’ve located half of the expected bodies.” The pause that followed was telling but I didn’t look back. “So far there haven’t been signs of suffering.”

I closed my eyes against that. His tone was caring, soothing as if that fact alone would absolve me of the atrocities I had just committed. And he wanted to, too. I could hear it. I knew it. He was just that kind of man.

But wasn’t it simply blind faith? Wouldn’t it be worse if he truly believed this was all justified? That any death was justified.

I dropped my head into an awaiting palm, gritting my teeth against the memories on repeat in my head, the thoughts I couldn’t shake even after I had done the deed.

Nausea welled up hot and fast in my gut, in my throat, and my cheeks prickled from the intensity of it.

His arm was around the back of my ribs before I could even register he had moved. If he had been talking, I couldn’t process it through the roaring in my ears. He took my weight as if it was nothing, supporting a man of equal stature as if he himself had simply leaned against a wall. I pressed my forehead into his neck finding the contact wet and sticky with sweat. If it was my sweat or his, I couldn’t tell.

“If you don’t walk out of here right now, I’m carrying you out,” he growled in my ear.

For a moment, I was bewildered at the clarity of his words, only for that confusion to vanish as he moved my hand and shoved his mask onto my face. I recoiled from it, claustrophobia seizing me in the same moment the mask settled into place. I shoved at him with one hand and tried to yank the mask off with the other but my panic made me sloppy and he overpowered me easily. I could feel his arm against the back of my legs before the world moved on its own but it didn’t help anything. I was forced to just deal with the mask as I shoved my face into his neck again, throwing all of my attention into willing the nausea away.

He was gentle when he set me down on a cot and even gentler when he removed the mask. I sucked in air like I had been drowning, unashamed of the weakness I knew I had to be showing as I choked on a sob.

I hated it. Hated all of it. We shouldn’t have to be digging through the ashes looking for bodies. That village should have never been torched - a village that had been under my protection - and yet I had stood on the very ruins I had created. I had known those faces, had known quite a few names and the basic going-ons within. I had vowed to protect it when I had become ruler and now I am the reason it no longer exists.

His hands were on my face as his voice finally registered in my ears. My vision struggled to clear through the tears but I could make out the countless bodies around me. Quite a number were employed by me - soldiers and medics alike - but easily half were the remaining villagers.

They should despise me yet there is concern and compassion on their faces.

I’m truly the worst.

[Azazeal849]

Thank you @ArtisticVicu!

* * * * * *

The fae creature presses her palms together and inhales deeply.

"Survivor's guilt, the morality of war...all in one small tale." She lets the breath out. "I wonder if it's from the same world as the first one."

As she muses, she glances up at the moon, which is beginning to dip towards the western horizon. Already it is brushing the tops of the distant pine trees.

"Alas. Time, as ever, is short. Still, I think we may hear one more story before the end."

The mirror shifts and melts, revealing its final phrase.

Now all you have to do is them.

[ArtisticVicu]

Spoiler: Week 4 - “Now all you have to do is tell them.” 

“Now all you have to do is tell them.”

She huffed a laugh, an amused half smile pulling at her lips. “Oh. Is that all?” she asked, the words amused and a touch sarcastic. “Easier said than done, Plythe.”

Plythe shrugged, clearly unbothered. “If you don’t, them finding out however they do is only going to make this worse.”

She rolled her eyes and returned the cigarette to her lips. “As if telling them is going to be any better.”

“Vera-”

She waved them off, stopping whatever else Plythe might have tried to convince her. “Save your breath. It’s not going to change my mind on this and you know it.”

She couldn’t see them out of the corner of her eye since she was at the rail and they weren’t - the fact that Plythe was even on the balcony spoke of how strongly they felt about this; they were terrified of heights - but she could clearly picture Plythe’s mustache and pointed beard twitching in a way that reminded her of how a cat’s tail would flick in agitation. It was quite adorable and she smirked into her hand, tempted to glance back just to see it. Plythe would use that against her, though, so she settled for catching the next time it happened instead.

Plythe let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. It is your choice, after all.”

She let out a lung full of smoke as the door opened and closed behind Plythe. Even if she refused to admit it out loud to Plythe or herself, Plythe was right. She could not risk someone else telling the others her little secret. She needed to be able to control the information they did learn about it. Even Plythe only knew a fraction of any of it. If they knew all of it, she was fairly certain they wouldn’t have been so adamant about her sharing with the others. She pulled another lungful of smoke in. Hell, Plythe would have probably killed her already had they found out the full story. She certainly wasn’t going to put it past them; she had seen them gut enough people to know Plythe wouldn’t hesitate, at least.

She let out the breath, watching the smoke curl skyward in the still air. Despite being so high, the balcony she was on was well protected in the cliff side the castle had been built into. Mountainside? It was certainly sheer enough to be counted a cliff on that side, at least.

The door opened again but the footfall was of heavy boots she knew the sound of even better than Plythe’s soft soled shoes. She didn’t bother glancing back at him and went about sucking in another lung full of smoke.

“Plythe sent me out here to talk to you,” he said in lieu of a greeting, leaning on the railing beside her.

She hummed an acknowledgment as she let the smoke go slowly. She brought the cigarette to her lips again. He was watching her. She could make out his face enough at the edge of her vision to be very aware of that fact. She continued to pretend it didn’t bother her.

Seconds slowly stretched into minutes but she wasn’t about to break the silence. Just because Plythe had sent him out didn’t mean she was just going to spill everything to him. He seemed unbothered by the silence as his gaze fell away after the first thirty seconds and didn’t break it until at least five minutes had passed. Or maybe it was three. She dug the butt of her cigarette into the glass dish she was using as an ash tray.

Normally she would have lit a second one but his presence was still oddly calming despite Plythe’s interference.

A few more minutes went by without much change. She was about to settle in for the long haul when his demeanor started to change. It wasn’t an abrupt change. It was almost like something had drawn his attention, a curious thought that drifted into a curious frown as he tried to piece together what it was he was looking at. She glanced at him to confirm that was what she was getting from him before she started looking in the same direction, curious herself to see what had drawn his attention.

Ice and adrenaline filled her veins and she couldn’t help the sharp intake of air at the sight of them. She took a step back from the railing but it wasn’t to run. He bristled as she used that new stance as a springboard to throw herself into his side. His arm wrapped around her, pinning her in place, as he threw his other out and shouted a shield spell.

The fireball slammed against the shield as they hit the floor.

“Damn it,” she spat as she extracted herself from him and scrambled for the door.

He was hot on her heels as the shield spell took another two consecutive blasts. His chest bumped against her back as she was slowed by the door but his feet never tangled with hers and they made it through at a sprint. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her towards what she assumed was the rest of the company. Sure enough, with the halls filled with the noise of the warning horns, he led her right to the room where everyone was at, including their gracious hosts.

“We’ve got company!” he bellowed into the expansive room.

“How many?” their main host asked.

“We saw three,” she said, barely stopping before the edge of the map table could bruise her thighs. “Here, from this direction,” she said as she stabbed the map with her finger.

“How did they find us?” one of their company asked.

She didn’t dare look at Plythe as she met their main host’s gaze. Her chest burned but it wasn’t from running. “They’re here because of me.” She hated that any of them had to know this. “I’m the last Myronthean.”