Starting to flag a little bit this week of Inktober, but let’s go Week Three.
Previous Inktober Weeks:
Ragged
Miranda, the Psychopomp, travelled across dimensions with her ragged wolf-like companion. They helped the living at the end of their lives. Easing any pain and taking their consciousness back into space and time.
Blunder
The Great Flood started with a blunder. The Bear King stumbled upon the Goddess of Hot Springs bathing in her sacred waters.
The blunder became a misdeed. He abducted her and locked her in a mountain.
So she flooded the world to free herself, drowning most living creatures in the process. It’s said when flooding happens today another has looked upon her without her permission.
– Venerable Myo, Tales from Anjoq
Ornate
Of course, the halls often were cold in the dark Palace of Anjoq. But Mari’s aunt never went without her imported feathered coats, her woolen dress, her many jewels. She made sure the servants kept a fire blazing wherever she was likely to go that day, even if just for her.
Deal
“God, however do you deal with galling weather? These darned woolen tights are not doing the trick. No matter, I’ve signed the deal we agreed on,” he whipped the paper out and it spiraled towards the floor.
“So, where is the girl?”
– Peacock Prince
Artic
“…The Goddess of Sound felt like she could finally rest there under the billowing black clouds and white polar landscape. Snowy hills reflected their whiteness into the sky. Stars twinkled, dipping in and out of dark whorls.
No howling here, no yelling, no drunken men’s angry stomps, no cats yowling in pain, no march of the heavy boots of war, no keening following a shrouded corpse, no loud bells ringing in batches of eleven, no screaming of babes and agonizing births, no coughing from sickness, no gossip, no putrid words hinting at dark desires from yellowed teeth, no growling dogs, no trees falling and the death cry of birds.
Here it was quiet. Almost completely quiet. Only the wind in the frozen glacial valley whispered their secrets to dry stones jutting out of the frozen rivulets like spears. The softly falling snow claimed all sound, claiming echoes for its own. Claiming her for its own.”
– Venerable Myo, Tales from Anjoq
Rivals
He didn’t know they were rivals at all until she pushed him off the cliff.
“God, what ugly boots she has,” were his last thoughts before his head hit a jagged rock.
Blast
Some of the monstrous birds that roam near the edges of the Snake Plains were more dangerous than others.
