Story Three, Chapter Two

"Bah! You smell only the roasting pigs from the kitchen. How long in the moonshine have you stood?" Lucian smirked, "Or perhaps you merely found the presence all these handsome merchants flustering." His mocking laughter was lost quickly in the din of the crowd. Audric, however, began to pale.
"No, Lucian. I- I think that..." He began to sway unsteadily.
"What? The Lady Audric is falling faint. Someone fetch the smelling salts!" Lucian's hands flailed with his mocking, and wine sloshed from his chalice onto his pricey rug. His voice, too, began to reach excessive exaggeration, and the guests began to quiet and watch the scene unfold.Audric's hand, which had been reaching to his slanderer's shoulder to steady himself, now became a warning.
"Lucian. You're not acting as one of your elevation should. If Father were still alive, he'd-"
"He'd what? Produce another bastard with some whore? Or would he be curled in a corner, sharing his secrets with a drink?" Lucian's eyes blazed, daring Audric to deny his claims. Honorable though he was, Audric was too honest to lie about his father's vices or his origin. He looked round at the crowd, which suddenly found the far side of the room fascinating. Taking a breath, he whispered firmly.
"You disgrace his memory when you speak so, may God give him rest."
"All the rest the damned deserve." Lucian spat.
"Lucian!" Audric was shocked. He had grown used to the abuse, but to speak of their father so was simply outrageous.
"May he burn in Hell forevermore." Audric was struck dumb by this new blasphemy. Lucian watched with a sinful joy as his half-brother struggled to collect himself. His mouth gaped llike a trout's, and his nostrils flared with a heavy breath. Suddenly, though, he stopped moving entirely. His eyes grew wide, and his face seemed gaunt and haggard.
"I... need some air." Audric turned and hurried towards the large window at the back of the room. Lucian almost decided to follow him, but chose instead to find a new victim. As he scanned the room, the faintest scent brushed past him.
"Smoke?" Lucian stood for a moment, then shook his head and strode into the crowd.

Story Three, Chapter One

"But you see, that's it exactly. My negotiations with the bandits leave only my caravans protected, driving up prices as the others encounter... difficulties." Lucian smirked as he drew his chalice to his lips. The cool wine splashed at his mouth, but he did not drink, choosing instead to keep his wits and simply inhale the dizzying aroma.
"But Lucian, a man of your wealth could afford to clear the roads. You don't need the profit, and you'd save the lives of good men. Men with families and children. You could-"
"Audric, I am a businessman, and as such I've little time for a fool's sentimentality. If not for our relation as bloodkin, I would have you removed. As forcefully as possible." Lucian's eyes flashed as he spoke.
"But Lucian, you-"
"Every time you open your mouth, you injure yourself more against me. I can hardly suffer your silence. Why then must you constantly endeavour to remind me that you are sadly not dumb?" His brow furrowed as it always did when his temper prepared to burst. His left hand had crumpled into a fist in the pocket of his bejeweled robe, and his right raised the wine again. Audric, mouth wisely closed, breathed deeply and found reason enough to try his half-brother's patience.
"Lucian, do- do you smell that?"
"I smell naught but the finest wine in the land, commingled with your odor of spoilt meat."
"No, Lucian, it smells like..." Audric inhaled again.
"Out with it!"
"Smoke."

Story Three, Prologue

The dying flames clawed futilely upwards at the charred skeleton of the hall. Pools of ornate colored glass grayed with ash slowly cooled. Within the wreckage, the smog slowly drifted upwards to blot the sun. As it cleared, the smoldering remains of silken robes cast a hellish light over blackened bones. Talon-like hands were coated with the half-solid remains of champagne goblets, shining brilliantly in the fire glow.

Viewed from the north, the scene would be placed nearly artistically through a large picture window, somehow untouched by the horrific conflagration.

The Third Tale

To build a world, one needs materials. You must supply these to me. I demand the following tribute:

1. Three adjectives
2. An adverb
3. A noun
4. Your mother's maiden name's third letter's ROT13 equivalent
5. A number
   

Story Two, Chapter Five

As was custom, the Chosen slipped away from her village under the shroud of night, taking with her all her possessions. These were left in the Burning Pits to be destroyed, and no trace was to be left.

As was tradition, when her family awoke to find her gone, they made no mention of her, and ate their morning meal in silence, waiting patiently for the days orders to be relayed to them.

As per regulations, the guards met her as she ascended the steps of the Temple, and walked silently beside her. They escorted her through the sanctuary to her chambers. She entered, and they remained outside her door, waiting for orders.

As the Ritual demanded, the Chosen removed all her clothing and placed it in the incinerator, donning instead the garments befitting her new position, which lay on the bed. As she lifted the Robe of the Servant and reverently slipped it over herself, a note fell from a sleeve. The Chosen lifted the note and obeyed the instructions, taking a small, bullet-like object from the bedside table, and placing it in her right ear.

As he had a thousand times before, the man in the shadows spoke.

"Welcome, Speaker."

As every Speaker had before her, the girl gasped, and asked hesitantly,

"God?"

Deep in his darkness, the man smiled.

Story Two, Chapter Four

The speaker felt the small vibration in his ear before he heard the instruction. As soon as the message stopped, he turned, and began to walk briskly down the corridor. As he walked, the hallway began to slant downwards and turn slightly. The fluorescent lights guided him down the spiral for many long minutes. Finally, the hall straightened. A red carpet stretched above the previously barren floor to an etched stone doorway. Cameras clustered on the ceiling like bats, watching everything. The Sspeaker stopped for a moment, awed. Though the entryway was not particularly grand, that which it guarded held such meaning the speaker couldn't do anything but stare for a time. His ear vibrated again, and the message was relayed as before. Remembering himself, the speaker took a breath, and walked to the door. He raised a hand to knock as he had been told.

In the silence of the shadows, the scream was clear. The man in the shadows was again pleased. Not only was the speaker removed, completely erasing the existence of the previous guards, but his defenses still worked well. His hands cracked as he flexed them, and began to type anew.

Story Two, Chapter Three

Deep in the darkness, a small faint screen began to flicker. The man in the shadows' fingers stopped for a second as he turned to it. He raised a hand and pointed a long, withered finger to it. It came forward, resting in the air just beyond the mans hooked nose, glowing faintly. It displayed two words.

REGULATIONS FULFILLED

An imperceptible change came over the man's face. A slight tightening and lifting at the edge of his lips. His smile was little different from the grimace of most men, but it mattered not to one in his position. He turned away, and the screen returned to its position. He stretched out his fingers, and began to type again into the air. The speaker was not yet finished.

Story Two, Chapter Two

The guards assembled in the Hall of High Honors. At the front of the room was a simple stage, free of decoration but for a small podium. A speaker stood behind it, and when the room quieted he spoke. "Congratulations. You made it. Forty years ago, you made an oath to maintain the balance by protecting the inner sanctum of this tower. You succeeded. Through you valor, your bravery, and your loyalty," He made a point of singling out a particular guard with each word, "you fulfilled and exceeded every promise you made. You are the elite, the greatest of the greats, and for that, we thank you." He paused as applause and cheers issued from the normally stoic guards. When silence at last returned, the speaker resumed. "However, it's against regulations to allow egress from the compound." A yellowish smoke began to issue from the vents. "Once more, congratulations. Farewell." A transparent pane rose from the floor, separating the speaker from the gasses. A few guards dashed for the doors, while some sat dazedly. As the first guard reached for the handle, she stopped. Suddenly inhaling sharply, she dropped to the floor and writhed erratically. The others soon succumbed, and the floor was a mass of bodies. Within minutes, their undulations ceased, and the air system cleared the room of any remaining fog. The pane lowered, and the speaker walked into the crowd. The guards' eyes followed him, though they could do nothing to move. The speaker drew a dagger from his sleeve, and methodically plunged it into the throat of the nearest guard. Her slowed heart could barely shift her blood, and rather than a spray, the liquid oozed out from her. The speaker moved about the room, and did the same to all the guards. He wiped his dagger clean on the last's uniform, and strode out the door behind the stage.

Regulations had been fulfilled.

Story Two, Chapter One

Light was nearly absent. If one were to spend hours in the silence, a faint sound might reach their ears. A sound much like the wings of a hawk, whispering as it descends on a helpless mouse. If, then, one would advance, and ascend a spiraling staircase to a platform on a dais, a tall thin figure might come into view. Obscured by the oppressive darkness, his features would be indiscernible from his clothing, except for his fingers which would twitch before him. And if one were to stay in this room for years, then the screens would become visible. Glowing a faint green, they could be seen past the man, towering hundreds of feet high in clusters composed of scores. One would need to become one with the darkness to see this far past it. Not that anyone could survive to reach the room.

The Second Tale

Since the concept of a semi-interactive Tale was utterly rejected, I offer a different sort of interactivity. Give me something for the next tale. Adjective lists, places, themes, etc. The best options will join into the second Tale, which should last until April, barring incident.

Story One, Chapter Ten

I am an abomination. My lanky form walks past ever-burning fields, and mountains of trash loom above me. Atop these mountains howl terrible Beasts, and rats scurry from them. A burning raindrop falls from the vortex above, and washes a streak through the blood on my face. My destination is my small shack, humming with electricity and containing the last dying patch of beauty on its wall. As the storms of death begin again, I shut my door to the world. Lightning flashes, and the ground's diamond dust glistens in tiny whirlwinds. Then the rains fall, and the world is obscured. Forever.

Story One, Chapter Nine

My hair hangs down to my shoulders, ragged and blowing. It hangs into my face. I don't wish to know what I've become, and have long since destroyed every reflecting surface I could find. The particles still litter the ground beneath me, catching the flame's glare and reflecting it into my eyes. The shards fail to pierce my feet. They deprive me of the pain I thirst for to show I still live. That I am still human.

I don't think I am.

Story One, Chapter Eight

When I outstretch my hand, I recoil instinctively. It is a black and twisted thing. Like the world. Like my heart. Thin as a rope, yet long as it ever was, it reaches out. The skin is dry and tight, blackened with death, but hard as diamond. For a palm, it flattens at the end, though I cannot close it. From here sprout five fingers, each horribly long. They have four joints, except for the thumb which has two. From them grow claws, inches long, that nothing can remove. They cut and destroy all they touch. When I stand, my arms nearly reach past my knees.

Story One, Chapter Seven

Every day I wake, and every day I regret it. When I rise from the cold floor, I ache. There is no door, and I exit without pause. Then I search. Sometimes I find a rat, cold and shivering, with far too many limbs, but not a single functioning one. A piteous creature with patches of fur gone, writhing in pain. Emaciated yet bloated by starvation. Breakfast. Every day I tear off a head, and every day the blood pours into my mouth and runs down my face.

Story One, Chapter Six

I don't know what I am. I was human. I remember the past. I remember joy. Infrequently. The recollections are brief, and wake a thirst I didn't know was there. They pass, and I am the worse for their coming. I am left cold, and thirsting. A thirst that cannot be quenched.

Story One, Chapter Five

It is twilight. It has always been twilight. It will always be twilight. There is no breaking of day. There is no falling of night. The Burning Fields glow endlessly, the flames reflecting from the vortex above down to the scarred earth. The ashes rain constantly down, and coat everything. Everything is a black brush of ink against a pulsing, sickly background. Occasionally, the world is illuminated by lightning stirring above. The air becomes charged and a roar sounds forth. Then everything returns to silent twilight.

Story One, Chapter Four

There is a picture on the wall. It shows a boat on a lake. Before the boats all sank. Before the lakes all dried. Every day it is obscured by accumulating smog. Every day it is cleaned. Yet some things can never be removed. A darkness oozes forth from the corners of the painting, and every day the lake shines less brilliantly; the sails show more wear. When they are no more, hope will die.

Story One, Chapter Three

There are things in the walls; within the foundations of the hovel. They scurry about in the night, and gnaw throughout the day. Despite their abundance, they are never revealed. Perhaps they are smaller relatives of the Beasts that prowl. Perhaps they are simply rats, living in what shelter they can find; feasting on their own weak and old. Perhaps they are malevolent, waiting for a chance to come and devour all that remains alive on this god-forsaken rock.

Story One, Chapter Two

They smell of ozone. It emanates from them, as does the humming. Every so often, when the humming grows, it can almost overpower the pungent smog that flows from the Burning Fields.When the wires give off a puff of smoke, it rises and soon joins the ominous rotating mass above. We pray it never rains. It happened last month, and even the putrid air could not conceal the stench of death.

Story One, Chapter One

The wires hum. Endlessly. Every moment of the day. Every second of the night. The droning wears on the brain. There was no start. There is no end. They hum. And hum. And hum.