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Took a whack at some writing streams at the last possible moment for Halloween! Ended up knocking out two request stories and here they be!
For:
march-dragon
Title: Happy Fowloween
Feathery hands stuffed into his leather jacket's pockets, Noir drank deep of the crisp autumn air. Crumpled and frost caked leaves noisily crunched beneath his broad talons as he listlessly roamed the labyrinthian side streets of suburbia. As he passed by house after house the woodpecker couldn't help but let slip a pitiful sigh at the sad sights that greeted him. Plain pumpkins adorned nearly every stoop while Jack-o-lanterns, not even remotely threatening visages carved into their rinds, sat beside them. Streamers and plastic spider webs coiled around the street lights that lined the poorly maintained roads. Inflatable mascots, lit up from within, pocked a number of front yards.The spirit of Halloween, commercialized and bastardized beyond all recognition, had taken hold.
Trick-or-treaters, chaperoned and carefully guided, filtered past Noir as they methodically hit up one house after another. Each and every one of them clad in soulless and unspired costumes bought on the cheap and certain to be thrown away and forgotten by the following morning. The woodpecker's heart sank at the sight of any and all sense of mischief, of uncertainty, of fright being sanitized and scrubbed clean. Everything was so tame, so sterile, so routine, so... so... so boring!
“What's the point of this anyway?” Noir wistfully thought to himself as he watched people parade past. “This is just... a routine at this point.” He counted off his grievances on his feathery fingers one by one. “Year after year you buy the pumpkins. The costumes. The decorations. The cloying amounts of candy. All because you're expected to. Because you're trained to. Tch. Where's the fear? Where's the fun!?” Chin tucked against his chest the bitter bird sighed. As he lazily moseyed down a poorly lit side streeet, his cheeks puffed out, Noir kicked at a number of pumpkins that had already been tossed to the curb. He allowed himself a smile, here and there, as the rinds buckled out and exploded off of his ankles and talons. With every crash, every smash, his feet filled out thicker and broader as did the rest of him. Paved potholes buckled and split under his slowly burgeoning weight as the woodpecker casually inched up and out with every kick.
The street lights, infrequent and spaced out as they were, began to flicker with Noir's every footfall. Taking notice, the sizeable woodpecker stroked at his chin as he came to a halt before a no through road. A thought occurred to him. His mohawked head flit side to side and, to his delight, he realized there was a lull in Trick-or-Treaters. Cheeks pressed up against his eyes, his beak curled up into a devilish grin, Noir thundered down the dead end.
BRZZZZZZZZT
Talons buried against its base, corroded metal and live wires lashing against his thick soles, the wood pecker swiftly brought a street light crashing down. The crackle of sparks briefly illuminated the visibly swelling bird's form before all went dark. Raucous crashes, brief and violent, pierced the once placid autumn air. A flash of light accompanied each and, for an instant, one could spy the silhouette of a mohawked and monstrous bird. Growing progressively larger with every sighting until he eclipsed, if not exceeded, the felled street lights themselves in size.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
A bitter wind whistled past the no through road as yet another cavalcade of Trick-or-treaters trudged past. Their chaperones, for the first time all evening, paused as they stared down the lightless depths of the side street. Leaves tumbled out towards them from the darkness as towering oaks and maples creaked overhead. Their jagged branches, if barely illuminated by the clouded moon overhead, creaked ominously.
With some trepidation... the chaperones, slaves as they were to their routine, ventured forth. The Trick-or-treaters, barely able to see their own hands in front of them, nervously yet excitedly whispered among themselves as they dutifully followed. Not a one of them paid any mind to the pair of suspicious street lights they passed by in short succession. Nor the fact that both of them were made of denim.
Standing still as he could, silently smirking at the fact that the spider webs and streamers wrapped around his legs proved to be completely unnecessary, Noir thrummed his massive toes.
THOOOM
Gasps wafted up from the crowd as a cacophony of booms crashed down beside them in the darkness. Hearts pounding out of their chests and blood rushing to their ears they huddled together. Noir held his breath and let a suffocating silence hang in the air. There was an art, a method to this, after all.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the Trick-or-treaters gathered themselves and laughed off the nerves. Against their better judgement they tentatively proceeded onward. As they hit up one house without incident, then another, the brief bout of terror was all but forgotten. Noir slowly lifted a massive foot, toes splayed, then stepped forth into the street with all his weight brought to bear upon it.
KRATHOOOOOOOOM
The asphalt rippled out from beneath him and nearly sent the crowd, having since filtered back out into the street, horizontal.
THOOOOM
Panicked cries rose from the Trick-or-treaters as a terrifying and towering something, its outline just barely visible among the gnarled tree branches advanced towards them.
THOOOOM
They scurried back to the end of the no through lane. Chaperones and children alike found themselves backing up against a massive and splintered fence with nowhere to run. They were trapped. Cornered.
THOOOOOOOOM
Noir's imposing form, scraping against the sky itself and blotting out the very moon, drew close. Closer and closer and closer still he came, the shrieks and cries unintelligble, as the bird reached out towards them. His cold and massive feathery fingers all but enveloped them when suddenly...
“...Boo!” he thunderously chirped with his fingers splayed out. Brows half cocked, Noir couldn't help but smile as the shrieks of fear turned to delight. He waved his hands playfully at the Trick-or-treaters, playing coy when they asked who he was dressed as, while the chaperones fanned themselves and tried to resuscitate those among them who had passed out from fright. Resting his hands againt his knees, Noir grunted when he rose to a stand. “Can't have treats without some tricks, am I right?” the woodpecker said with a smirk as he admonished the impressionable young ones. Rolling his shoulders, the towering bird knocking free some tree branches as he did so, Noir bid them a fond farewell.
As Noir lumbered out of the dead end street, his heaving footfalls splitting the roads with every swing of his step, he shuddered in delight as he effortlessly surged up and out. Car alarms blared with every scrunch of his digits. Street lights shattered if not popped out of place from where they were bolted into the sidewalks. Hands shoved back into his pockets, his thick feet filling entire streets as subdivision homes barely scraped up at his ankles, Noir drank deeply of the brisk autumn air once more.
“Tis the season for screamin'!” he playfully boasted as he resumed playfully terrorizing suburbia.
For:
t-bone
Title: Emma Enchanted
Hands clasped behind her, scaled fingers interlocked with one another, Emma quietly tread down a long forgotten path. With every swing of her legs, every dainty footfall, the crinkled leaves that lined the way courteously fluttered aside for her. Faint wisps of magic trailed from their dried and pointed forms as they dared not risk breaking the shroud of silence that blanketed the forest.
“Hum...” Head cocked to the side, Emma's emerald eyes drifted up towards the skeletal canopy. A handful of stray and long dead leaves clung to the uppermost branches. Beyond them lay the sun, shrouded in cloud, and struggling to make itself known. “As fine an evening as any for mischief making,” she thought to herself as she thumbed at a crimson feathered cheek.
Hallow's Eve was a wondrous time of year, after all, when the boundaries between worlds waned and her powers made themselves manifest with little to no effort. A smile crept up along her beak at the thought of those delightful little hamlets and villages she simply couldn't resist imposing herself upon. A snap of her fingers here, a glare there, or even just a flick of her bobbed hair... it was intoxicatingly easy to bring even the most errant and unconscious of her whims to fruition.
Passerbys that dared to ask her to watch her step? As if the cobblestoned roads were not built and maintained for she and she alone? Well, those unfortunate enough to opine would immediately find themselves concerned with their own as the shadow of her sole swallowed up their very sky. Her splayed toes always spared them... yet it was anyone's guess how attentive their now incomprehensible companions proved to be. Should someone swipe the last of those curious glazed pastries she so craved? From that bothersome baker she grudgingly spared all those years ago? You are what you eat, so they say, and the offending party would find themselves, without fail, molded and reshaped into the object of her desire. While Emma had restraint enough to not sample such, shameful as it was for her to admit, subpar confectionaries of her own creation... that rarely proved a problem for the transformed's unaware acquaintances. How many times now had her victims been devoured unaware by their significant others and fondest of friends? Too many to count at this point. Emma sighed contentedly as she twirled a finger through her hair and recalled those tricks and many more.
By this point the forest had opened up before her. The stripped bare trees tapered off as the leaf covered forest floor transitioned into spotty, then thick, carpets of wild grasses. Her home, assuming and uninviting, sat within the field at its center. “Best not keep them waiting,” Emma hummed to herself as her brows pressed down against her eyes. Grim determination filled her and, in response, waves of energy radiated out from her. The sea of cholorophyll and cellulose before her parted. Ripples of magic, tinged emerald much like her eyes, bobbed along the tops of the wild grasses that brushed against her thighs.
“I wonder how they'll introduce themselves this time?” Emma cooed. “I do hope they're timelier than last year's bunch.” Come sundown she assumed, if not all but counted on, some hardheaded fools to impose themselves upon her and flaunt their false bravado. To profess that they, and they alone, would finally be the ones to fell the dread witch that plagued them so. That they would free their homes of her tyranny and they would live free and without fear. That they would... they would... uhh... ummm. Emma's beak hung open as her mind drew a blank. She had honestly forgotten what else they tended to monologue on about after that. Over the years they frankly had started to blend together
What she could be bothered to remember was the names they had sought to brand her with. Demon. Witch. Monster. While meant to be unflattering... she wore them all with pride. Every time her name was whispered upon the wind, be it with fear or reverence, her spine shivered. Their offerings of profane prayers sustained her. Enabled her. Empowered her. Who was she to clear to air and deny them their fantasies and grandeurs of glories?
The emerald eyed witch's front door swung open with a slam. As Emma stood within its frame heated air rushed past her, her magic palpable and heavy upon it, the candles and lanterns lining the walls instantly flickered alight. Stepping forward, her bare feet met not cold stone but a lavish throw rug that hurled itself across the floor to catch her. She couldn't recall when, or who, she cursed and consigned to such a fate but she had yet to regret doing so. The same could be said for the curios that lined her wall.
Smirking, Emma's eyes traced over the trophies that lined her walls. Heroes, hailing from different villages and different times, filled them to the brim. There were the drab and routine, golden bracelets and chokers and rings, that bore witness to her first forays into magic. She regarded them with a humble shrug. After all, she only kept them around to serve as a reminder of where she started and how far she had come since then.
Onwards she advanced into her quaint home, the door politely shutting itself behind her, as she drank in the memories of Hallows Eves come and gone. Emma stifled a chuckle at a torn and tattered robe, much like the one she wore now, hanging upon an armor stand. She brushed a finger against the mannequin's cheek and planted a kiss on the shoulder of the robe that clung to her curves. One of the, if not the only, heroine to ever draw her blood. Fortunately, rather than kill her and be done with it Emma had had the foresight to transform her into the clothing she so rudely ruined. To this day, the fowl demon happily wore her.
Emma clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she recalled the year she transformed her would be nemeses into those pastries she so loved. “Gods what a disappointment they turned out to be,” she thought with a shudder. Live and learn, she supposed. Shaking her head, Emma meandered over to the centerpiece of her living room and sat herself down upon it. Reclining back into her humble throne, wiggling happily against the velvety cushion that was last year's entertainment, the dread monster steepled her fingers and waited. “Now what will I do with this year's crop...” she hummed to herself.
Hours later a party of armored silhouettes, illuminated by torchlight, set out from the latest village Emma had happened to haunt. Like clockwork they descended upon her lair and made their intentions, to put an end to her once and for all, known.
Per usual, they were never heard from again. Much like those that came before. And much like those that would futilely follow after them.
For:
march-dragonTitle: Happy Fowloween
Feathery hands stuffed into his leather jacket's pockets, Noir drank deep of the crisp autumn air. Crumpled and frost caked leaves noisily crunched beneath his broad talons as he listlessly roamed the labyrinthian side streets of suburbia. As he passed by house after house the woodpecker couldn't help but let slip a pitiful sigh at the sad sights that greeted him. Plain pumpkins adorned nearly every stoop while Jack-o-lanterns, not even remotely threatening visages carved into their rinds, sat beside them. Streamers and plastic spider webs coiled around the street lights that lined the poorly maintained roads. Inflatable mascots, lit up from within, pocked a number of front yards.The spirit of Halloween, commercialized and bastardized beyond all recognition, had taken hold.
Trick-or-treaters, chaperoned and carefully guided, filtered past Noir as they methodically hit up one house after another. Each and every one of them clad in soulless and unspired costumes bought on the cheap and certain to be thrown away and forgotten by the following morning. The woodpecker's heart sank at the sight of any and all sense of mischief, of uncertainty, of fright being sanitized and scrubbed clean. Everything was so tame, so sterile, so routine, so... so... so boring!
“What's the point of this anyway?” Noir wistfully thought to himself as he watched people parade past. “This is just... a routine at this point.” He counted off his grievances on his feathery fingers one by one. “Year after year you buy the pumpkins. The costumes. The decorations. The cloying amounts of candy. All because you're expected to. Because you're trained to. Tch. Where's the fear? Where's the fun!?” Chin tucked against his chest the bitter bird sighed. As he lazily moseyed down a poorly lit side streeet, his cheeks puffed out, Noir kicked at a number of pumpkins that had already been tossed to the curb. He allowed himself a smile, here and there, as the rinds buckled out and exploded off of his ankles and talons. With every crash, every smash, his feet filled out thicker and broader as did the rest of him. Paved potholes buckled and split under his slowly burgeoning weight as the woodpecker casually inched up and out with every kick.
The street lights, infrequent and spaced out as they were, began to flicker with Noir's every footfall. Taking notice, the sizeable woodpecker stroked at his chin as he came to a halt before a no through road. A thought occurred to him. His mohawked head flit side to side and, to his delight, he realized there was a lull in Trick-or-Treaters. Cheeks pressed up against his eyes, his beak curled up into a devilish grin, Noir thundered down the dead end.
BRZZZZZZZZT
Talons buried against its base, corroded metal and live wires lashing against his thick soles, the wood pecker swiftly brought a street light crashing down. The crackle of sparks briefly illuminated the visibly swelling bird's form before all went dark. Raucous crashes, brief and violent, pierced the once placid autumn air. A flash of light accompanied each and, for an instant, one could spy the silhouette of a mohawked and monstrous bird. Growing progressively larger with every sighting until he eclipsed, if not exceeded, the felled street lights themselves in size.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
A bitter wind whistled past the no through road as yet another cavalcade of Trick-or-treaters trudged past. Their chaperones, for the first time all evening, paused as they stared down the lightless depths of the side street. Leaves tumbled out towards them from the darkness as towering oaks and maples creaked overhead. Their jagged branches, if barely illuminated by the clouded moon overhead, creaked ominously.
With some trepidation... the chaperones, slaves as they were to their routine, ventured forth. The Trick-or-treaters, barely able to see their own hands in front of them, nervously yet excitedly whispered among themselves as they dutifully followed. Not a one of them paid any mind to the pair of suspicious street lights they passed by in short succession. Nor the fact that both of them were made of denim.
Standing still as he could, silently smirking at the fact that the spider webs and streamers wrapped around his legs proved to be completely unnecessary, Noir thrummed his massive toes.
THOOOM
Gasps wafted up from the crowd as a cacophony of booms crashed down beside them in the darkness. Hearts pounding out of their chests and blood rushing to their ears they huddled together. Noir held his breath and let a suffocating silence hang in the air. There was an art, a method to this, after all.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the Trick-or-treaters gathered themselves and laughed off the nerves. Against their better judgement they tentatively proceeded onward. As they hit up one house without incident, then another, the brief bout of terror was all but forgotten. Noir slowly lifted a massive foot, toes splayed, then stepped forth into the street with all his weight brought to bear upon it.
KRATHOOOOOOOOM
The asphalt rippled out from beneath him and nearly sent the crowd, having since filtered back out into the street, horizontal.
THOOOOM
Panicked cries rose from the Trick-or-treaters as a terrifying and towering something, its outline just barely visible among the gnarled tree branches advanced towards them.
THOOOOM
They scurried back to the end of the no through lane. Chaperones and children alike found themselves backing up against a massive and splintered fence with nowhere to run. They were trapped. Cornered.
THOOOOOOOOM
Noir's imposing form, scraping against the sky itself and blotting out the very moon, drew close. Closer and closer and closer still he came, the shrieks and cries unintelligble, as the bird reached out towards them. His cold and massive feathery fingers all but enveloped them when suddenly...
“...Boo!” he thunderously chirped with his fingers splayed out. Brows half cocked, Noir couldn't help but smile as the shrieks of fear turned to delight. He waved his hands playfully at the Trick-or-treaters, playing coy when they asked who he was dressed as, while the chaperones fanned themselves and tried to resuscitate those among them who had passed out from fright. Resting his hands againt his knees, Noir grunted when he rose to a stand. “Can't have treats without some tricks, am I right?” the woodpecker said with a smirk as he admonished the impressionable young ones. Rolling his shoulders, the towering bird knocking free some tree branches as he did so, Noir bid them a fond farewell.
As Noir lumbered out of the dead end street, his heaving footfalls splitting the roads with every swing of his step, he shuddered in delight as he effortlessly surged up and out. Car alarms blared with every scrunch of his digits. Street lights shattered if not popped out of place from where they were bolted into the sidewalks. Hands shoved back into his pockets, his thick feet filling entire streets as subdivision homes barely scraped up at his ankles, Noir drank deeply of the brisk autumn air once more.
“Tis the season for screamin'!” he playfully boasted as he resumed playfully terrorizing suburbia.
For:
t-boneTitle: Emma Enchanted
Hands clasped behind her, scaled fingers interlocked with one another, Emma quietly tread down a long forgotten path. With every swing of her legs, every dainty footfall, the crinkled leaves that lined the way courteously fluttered aside for her. Faint wisps of magic trailed from their dried and pointed forms as they dared not risk breaking the shroud of silence that blanketed the forest.
“Hum...” Head cocked to the side, Emma's emerald eyes drifted up towards the skeletal canopy. A handful of stray and long dead leaves clung to the uppermost branches. Beyond them lay the sun, shrouded in cloud, and struggling to make itself known. “As fine an evening as any for mischief making,” she thought to herself as she thumbed at a crimson feathered cheek.
Hallow's Eve was a wondrous time of year, after all, when the boundaries between worlds waned and her powers made themselves manifest with little to no effort. A smile crept up along her beak at the thought of those delightful little hamlets and villages she simply couldn't resist imposing herself upon. A snap of her fingers here, a glare there, or even just a flick of her bobbed hair... it was intoxicatingly easy to bring even the most errant and unconscious of her whims to fruition.
Passerbys that dared to ask her to watch her step? As if the cobblestoned roads were not built and maintained for she and she alone? Well, those unfortunate enough to opine would immediately find themselves concerned with their own as the shadow of her sole swallowed up their very sky. Her splayed toes always spared them... yet it was anyone's guess how attentive their now incomprehensible companions proved to be. Should someone swipe the last of those curious glazed pastries she so craved? From that bothersome baker she grudgingly spared all those years ago? You are what you eat, so they say, and the offending party would find themselves, without fail, molded and reshaped into the object of her desire. While Emma had restraint enough to not sample such, shameful as it was for her to admit, subpar confectionaries of her own creation... that rarely proved a problem for the transformed's unaware acquaintances. How many times now had her victims been devoured unaware by their significant others and fondest of friends? Too many to count at this point. Emma sighed contentedly as she twirled a finger through her hair and recalled those tricks and many more.
By this point the forest had opened up before her. The stripped bare trees tapered off as the leaf covered forest floor transitioned into spotty, then thick, carpets of wild grasses. Her home, assuming and uninviting, sat within the field at its center. “Best not keep them waiting,” Emma hummed to herself as her brows pressed down against her eyes. Grim determination filled her and, in response, waves of energy radiated out from her. The sea of cholorophyll and cellulose before her parted. Ripples of magic, tinged emerald much like her eyes, bobbed along the tops of the wild grasses that brushed against her thighs.
“I wonder how they'll introduce themselves this time?” Emma cooed. “I do hope they're timelier than last year's bunch.” Come sundown she assumed, if not all but counted on, some hardheaded fools to impose themselves upon her and flaunt their false bravado. To profess that they, and they alone, would finally be the ones to fell the dread witch that plagued them so. That they would free their homes of her tyranny and they would live free and without fear. That they would... they would... uhh... ummm. Emma's beak hung open as her mind drew a blank. She had honestly forgotten what else they tended to monologue on about after that. Over the years they frankly had started to blend together
What she could be bothered to remember was the names they had sought to brand her with. Demon. Witch. Monster. While meant to be unflattering... she wore them all with pride. Every time her name was whispered upon the wind, be it with fear or reverence, her spine shivered. Their offerings of profane prayers sustained her. Enabled her. Empowered her. Who was she to clear to air and deny them their fantasies and grandeurs of glories?
The emerald eyed witch's front door swung open with a slam. As Emma stood within its frame heated air rushed past her, her magic palpable and heavy upon it, the candles and lanterns lining the walls instantly flickered alight. Stepping forward, her bare feet met not cold stone but a lavish throw rug that hurled itself across the floor to catch her. She couldn't recall when, or who, she cursed and consigned to such a fate but she had yet to regret doing so. The same could be said for the curios that lined her wall.
Smirking, Emma's eyes traced over the trophies that lined her walls. Heroes, hailing from different villages and different times, filled them to the brim. There were the drab and routine, golden bracelets and chokers and rings, that bore witness to her first forays into magic. She regarded them with a humble shrug. After all, she only kept them around to serve as a reminder of where she started and how far she had come since then.
Onwards she advanced into her quaint home, the door politely shutting itself behind her, as she drank in the memories of Hallows Eves come and gone. Emma stifled a chuckle at a torn and tattered robe, much like the one she wore now, hanging upon an armor stand. She brushed a finger against the mannequin's cheek and planted a kiss on the shoulder of the robe that clung to her curves. One of the, if not the only, heroine to ever draw her blood. Fortunately, rather than kill her and be done with it Emma had had the foresight to transform her into the clothing she so rudely ruined. To this day, the fowl demon happily wore her.
Emma clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she recalled the year she transformed her would be nemeses into those pastries she so loved. “Gods what a disappointment they turned out to be,” she thought with a shudder. Live and learn, she supposed. Shaking her head, Emma meandered over to the centerpiece of her living room and sat herself down upon it. Reclining back into her humble throne, wiggling happily against the velvety cushion that was last year's entertainment, the dread monster steepled her fingers and waited. “Now what will I do with this year's crop...” she hummed to herself.
Hours later a party of armored silhouettes, illuminated by torchlight, set out from the latest village Emma had happened to haunt. Like clockwork they descended upon her lair and made their intentions, to put an end to her once and for all, known.
Per usual, they were never heard from again. Much like those that came before. And much like those that would futilely follow after them.
Category Story / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 120 x 106px
File Size 85.6 kB
Comments