Magical Dangers

Abaddon Among the People - A drabble

I had some spare time at work and a word processor opened in front of me. A fun idea of a character that was once a harbinger of doom gets put on hiatus so the creator can get back to creating. But what happens when they don’t want to come back?

Enjoy.

~~~~~

"You're Grounded!" The eternal being bellowed.

"What!?" The destroyer of worlds cried back. Then, in a flash of light, the world opened around him. His glorious wings vanished and he fell. Passing through the several layers of reality, each plummet robbing him of his home and place among his kind. It its place grew a painful resentment. 

Then, he landed. He glared back at the bubbling rips in existence from whence he came. As the rends stitched themselves back together, he cried up into the void, “You’ll pay for this!” 

And then, silence. He would be forced to live among the mortal people. Creatures he once only saw at the tip of his lance. He would be forced to wallow alongside them.

That is, until they are called upon once more.

~~~~~~

"Let's get your wings back." Said the emissary of the eternal being. It floated in the middle of the living room and pulsed with eerie blue light.

"Actually," Don said, "I kind of like it here."

"What?” The being’s body bubbled and hissed as impossible energies coursed over what passed for its skin. The lights in the apartment started to flicker and shine in strange ways, like the bulbs were in pain.

"Hey, easy easy, you're gonna blow the whole grid." Don said, putting his hands on what passed for the being's shoulders. "Do you want some tea? I was just heating up a pot."

"How-" It began, before a finger pressed to what passed for its lips. Don gave a  pleading look before hooking a thumb to the bedroom door.

"She's trying to get some sleep."

The emissary's eyes twisted in an unnatural and disturbing way, the pupils weaving between each eye. When they settled, it began again.

"How can you turn down the call of the Eternal?" It said. Though hushed, the voice of the emissary was still heavy with purpose.

He shrugged, "I guess it just isn't as important anymore." 

What passed for the emissary's mouth dropped open.

The tea kettle began to hiss. "One second," Don said and hustled off to the kitchen to grab the kettle. When he got there, the emissary was standing next to the refrigerator. Its glowing body illuminated everything in a swirling mix of blue and white light. He didn't turn to face the impossible being as he poured out some of the hot water into a pair of cups.

"Was that a yes or no to the tea?" He said.

"You are making a mistake." It said, its voice dipped into that quivering pool of impossible where it sounded close and far at the same time, a booming whisper. The kind that makes your heart wait its turn. A mortal being would probably drop to their knees in terror and repent their sins.

Don set the kettle down and tipped his head to the side. "Yeah, probably too late for black tea. Too much caffeine." He poured out the cups and walked right past the emissary to the cupboard. "How about some chamomile lavender?"

"PESTIFER MUNDI ABADDON," the emissary said. “I CALL UPON YOU.”

Its voice was like a forgotten song. It was old and dripping with power. For Don, it ached with memories. A surge hit him and an old itch prickled his skin, centering on seven very particular points on his back. He grabbed the edge of the counter top to keep himself upright. His jaw clenched as a warm, pleasing, dangerous power kindled in his arms. The counter top began to crack.

"How feeble," He thought, looking at the splinters spreading from his flexed fingers. "A flick of my wrist and this whole wall would crumble. No, the whole building." A smile creeped over his face. His muscles burned, burdened with power, on the edge of a sudden push that would bring forth ruin.

"REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE," The emissary said.

"Who I am," Don said, his own voice was becoming dangerous and hot with feral potential. In truth, he never forgot. The memories of a lifetime long lost all gripped at his heart and mind every day. And every day he had placed them in their dark box. Things were different now.

"Who I am, is not who I was." He said. His bones, his body, ached in protest. But it wouldn't be the first time.

"YOU ARE A TOOL FOR THE ETERNAL AND YOU HAVE BEEN SUMMONED." The emissary said. Its body shimmered brighter, eyes burning with literal fire. Wisps of white smoke drifted towards the ceiling.

"Shove it, glowstick," He said, turning to face the floating voice of eternity. He put his finger right into its burning face, "You want to destroy this world so bad you can do it your damn self!"

What passed for the emissary's face curled into a horrible look of satisfaction. "So be it."

It was gone in the next moment.

Don was left in the kitchen alone. In the sudden darkness, he had the chance to ruminate on his choice of words. The gears whirred in his head as he flipped through the pages of his memories. Back, back, back. He finally reached that dark box in his mind. Whispers crept to his mind. Whispers of the end times, and getting permission, and a prophesied fool who would welcome the end of the world.

"Fuck," Don said.

A small voice gasped from behind him. He spun around, arms raised defensively. He looked at the doorway where a young girl was huddled, peeking in. She had a yellow rain hat and rain jacket, just like when he first found her. The baseball bat was a new addition. Though, it did prove that she had been listening to his survival advice all along. Her hazel eyes were wide and fixed on him.

"You said a swear," She said, her shocked face turned to a chiding smile.

He dropped his hands and let out the breath he realized he had been holding. He walked to the drawer next to the sink and pulled out a small hard candy. It was a serious swear, so he grabbed a strawberry one. He walked over and knelt down in front of her. He held up the candy and said, "No telling, okay?" He smiled.

She set the bat down and grabbed the candy, stuffing it in her pocket. "Deal. Who was the floaty guy?"

Don had almost forgotten about it. Is this the mortal ability to bypass traumatic moments? He will have to be more careful in the future. Things were about to hit the biblical fan.

"The floaty guy," He began, "Was an old friend. Wants me to get back into my family's business. I turned him down and he took it pretty hard."

"Is that why he exploded?" She said, she fidgeted with her hair, fingers fumbling to make a loose braid.

"Pretty much," He said, once again taking advantage of the impressive ability children have to just go along with things. They can inquire forever about why rain falls but tell them your old friend, who is a floaty guy on fire, just exploded because of family issues and they just nod along. Which is what she was doing, nodding her head like it all made sense to her.

"Speaking of which," He said, "We need to go see Mother May."

Mother May would know what to do. Probably. Assuming she was lucid enough to still be coherent. It was still early in the night. If they could catch her before her second bottle of absinthe, they might stand a chance to get a question in before she goes into her "Trance".

"Ready to go," She said. She grabbed the backpack that was tucked behind the doorway and slipped if on. Then she picked up the bat and rested it on her shoulder like a big leaguer. 

“So it would seem,” He said, giving her a nod. “I’ll grab my stuff and we’ll get going.”

He hustled to his room and dug into the back of his closet. He grabbed his satchel and leather duster jacket. He dashed to the door, but his hand came up and caught the door frame. He hesitated at the door. He looked back at the closet. His fingertips drummed on the door frame.

"What's taking so long?" The girl called from the front room.

He let go of the door frame. "Nothing," He called back to her before leaving his room.

Seconds later, he came sprinting back, vaulting over his bed and diving into the closet. He pulled back with a small box in his hands. He let his fingers trace over the intricate and ancient writing on it. He stuffed it into his satchel.

"We'll be fine," He said, "But just in case." He got to his feet and hustled out of the room again. “We’ll be fine.”

. . .

Mother May was a withered husk of centuries of abuse. Most, if not all of it, had been chemical and self-inflicted. However, for all the hallucinogens she had ingested in one form or another, she was a spry woman, scuttling about her duties at the Pearly Gates hostel. After a day of hard shilling to the lost and misfortune, she would shuffle to the parlor in the back to engage in recreational fortune-telling and tarot reading. Surrounded by her favorite tinctures and exotic smoke, she would play cards against the gods and read what the future had in store. This night, she had barely settled down to turn over the first card when there came a knock, knock knocking upon her chamber door. She laid down the card "The Fool" and sighed.

"Come on in, Don," She barked at the door, "You know you're always welcome."

someone give him a grammy

Are fedoras really that bad?

YES YES THEY ARE

not to get too deep on main but did anyone else have such deeply rooted issues with their self worth for so long that they thought as a kid/teen that their only redeeming feature was being “low maintenance” and now as an adult you give yourself guilt pangs asking for any more than the barest minimum in virtually any relationship because asking for things might negate your only good quality which is just “doesn’t ask for things”

Day 3 of arting. This character has taken me to researching the "Surgeon Barbers" of old. The sharpest razor in town for the cleanest cuts.

I lost it at "-clear across the room."

Dwarf Fortress is wild

Fenster the Deviler - Business before pleasure

After reading the first Witcher book “The Last Wish” I was inspired to try writing in that style. Not three sentences in, it become a parody story. Grant me this rambling tale of the grumpy Deviler, Fenster.

...

The morning dew still clung to the undergrowth in the shaded parts of the forest. Among the soggy grasses and flowers, a figure turned against the midday sun peeking through the trees.

 "The sun should be illegal," The slothful figure muttered. Along a single sunbeam, a small pixie descended to the disgruntled man's side.

 "Good MORNING Fenster!" It barked in a voice not too unlike jingling bells. "We have a job today!"

 Fenster rolled up to a sitting position. His eyes were still closed in a gambit that clever wordplay could allow him to collapse back onto his soggy bedroll for the rest of the day.

 "Bingle," Fenster began with a patient voice, "I fear I have come down with a case of Vampirism and can no longer work in the daytime."

 "Oh I see," Bingle said, "I just figured you wanted to get some money. Seeing as how you haven't had a job in almost a month."

 It was true, Fenster had hit a rough patch. The once noble profession of deviler, those who stand as pillars against the darkness, had diluted to that of thugs who will glare at drunks for chump change. He thought himself the last of the TRUE devilers, but with that dignity came an empty stomach and nights spent among the weeds. Still, to a deviler like Fenster, dignity was the last bedrock for which the fragments of his misspent life can build from.

 "We shall see," Fenster said, raising to his feet, "If this job is worthy of a deviler."

 The little sprite cheered and busied himself gathering the sparse belongings of Fenster. Packed into a satchel, Fenster made his way out of the woods and into the nearby town.

 ~~~~

 The little town of Globshire was a scenic place nestled between the Wobyjack mountains and the Fimblefank river. Due to the heavy snow melt every spring, the town would completely flood. The people of the town, instead of moving, created advanced plumbing systems that could help redistribute the sudden rush of water and allow the town to keep from being totally submerged. This innovation used metal pipes forged from the ore mined out of the Wobyjack mountains. Globshire was a marvel of human ingenuity, creativity, and work ethic.

Just downriver of Globshire was Dunk, and Dunk was an absolute hog hole that was designed so it could easily be rebuilt after the flush of water from Globshire would clear it out every year.

Fenster sloshed his way through the fresh runoff of the swollen river and into Dunk's hospitable charm. People in various forms of water-resistant clothing trudged through the fresh mud of their town, carrying building materials to repair and rebuild. Those who were unable to aid in the efforts sat tending to floating bonfires and preparing meals for when the workers needed a break.

Bingle sat perched on his shoulder like an exotic bird. "This place is nice." He said with a smile, "Everyone is so friendly."

 "That's probably because they don't want to mess with a guy in black leather with a sparkly whatever sitting on his shoulder. Deviler or no, the sight can be quite intimidating." Fenster allowed himself a wry smile.

"Over there," He pointed his tiny finger at a shack that was upright, but missing a great deal of one of its walls. "The person in there needs a deviler."

 "Or a carpenter." Fenster said. He then turned his head to look at Bingle, "I swear to the nine fires if this is a job about building or sawing, I am going to slap you."

 Bingle said nothing, however he did giggle. It was the sound of bells being shaken violently in a sack made of animal skin. Whimsical and chaotic and slightly threatening. The deviler walked on.

 The owner of the shack spotted Fenster first and hustled out of her shabby abode to meet him.

"Oh! You must be the deviler! The little blue bird was right! Prayers can come true."

Fenster managed a charitable smile and spoke quietly to his diminutive companion, "Blue bird? A little on the nose, don't you think?"

Bingle shrugged, "I am whatever the people want me to be."

 he woman rushed up to Fenster. "Oh merciful Deviler, whisperer to small blue birds and deliverer of justice, I am in need of your help." She bowed her head to him.

 "Whoa, steady on there," He said, lifting his hands defensively, "Let's not get carried away here. What's the job?"

 She lifted her head, "So humble, please come this way and we'll talk." She walked back to her home and opened the door for him. Fenster paid a small glance to the gaping opening just beside the door and shrugged. He stepped in through the door and gave her a small gesture of thanks.

 ~~~~~

 "I need Wobyjack scales." Valencia said. "I need them by next week."

 he deviler had barely time to sit at the large crate that functioned as a table before Valencia, the woman from before, please try to keep up, had made her demand. Fenster was no stranger to getting right to the point, but even he was shocked by the sudden drop of decorum. Bingle had hopped onto a shelf well out of reach of the juicy floor, and was fussing with some of the shiny finery.

 "Right, sorry, Wobyjack scales?" Fenster said. He fished in one of his jacket pockets for a notebook. It was labeled, 'Incredible Monsters and how to locate them: Abridged". He flipped to the back of the book and found the small entry for wobyjacks. They are dragonkin that live in mountain caves. Known for being incredibly territorial, walking into a wobyjack cave is akin to a declaration of war. Be careful of their fire breath, acid blood, and mythril scales. Danger rank, Captain.

 "Yes," Valencia said. "I need those scales to finish my inaugural headdress before next week or I shall be the laughing stock of Dunk. A mayoress without her headdress is likely to be butchered as soon as obeyed. Why, you hear talk of the previous mayoress, Clotina Valor, now she had a headdress that could turn heads. Did you know she had the head guard stand watch over her bathing at night? The Scandal! You believe me if she had a simple headdress with only a few jubjubber feathers she would have been drawn and quartered. Do you understand my meaning?"

 "Sounds tough," Fenster said absent-mindedly, his eyes were still hovering over the word "Captain" in his book. He had never been one for numbers, but the preliminary calculations for his pay were pointing towards a hot bath and a hot meal by week's end. But something nagged at the edge of his mind. The part of his mind where he stashed nagging things, like bathing habits, birthdays, and the Deviler's Code.

He snapped the notebook shut, "You want me to slay a wobyjack for your outfit?"

"Not just any outfit," She said harshly, folding her arms across her substantial chest, "This is the official mayoral headdress and ONLY wobyjack scales will suffice." She slackened her arms, letting them fall to her sides. "I know it is short notice but you are my only hope, all the others whom I have asked have turned me down." Valencia said, she was dipping back into the sing-songy voice she had greeted him with, complete with a lilt and gesture of a fainting woman. "I am at wits end."

"I am not a tailor nor a tanner, I am a deviler." He said, "And I will not kill a beast like the wobyjack without a better reason." He moved to stand up, and that is when his stomach let out a most unflattering howl. The following silence was deafening.

"Will you give me a minute?" Fenster said. He gestured up at Bingle and the two went outside.

~~~~~

Fenster tapped his chin, looking pensively at the ground. Bingle hovered beside him, his sheer butterfly wings fluttering, which also sounded like bells.

"So," Bingle said at last, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm conflicted," Fenster said, stamping his foot on the ground, "Can't you see that? I'm tapping my chin, I'm looking down, clearly pensive. Read the air you damn pixie." He sighed. His stomach growled again.

Bingle smiled, "I don't need to read the air, it makes itself clear."

Fenster ran a hand through his hair, it swooped to the side and froze that way. "A hot bath and a hot meal," He said to himself, trying to convince that nagging part of him.

"And since it is a rush job, maybe a new sword too." Bingle said, his smile like sharp knife.

Fenster's eyebrows went up.

~~~~

"--And since it is a rush job," Fenster said, seated at the table again "I'm going to have to demand a little extra."

"But you'll take the job?" Valencia said, her eyes lighting up.

Fenster nodded, smiling to her. She clapped her hands over his and looked into his eyes, "Thank you, gracious deviler, oh savior, oh--"

"Fenster," He said, cutting her off, "Will do just fine, thanks."

She nodded, "Fenster, then. Good luck on your journey."

"About that," He said, tapping an empty pouch tied at his side, "Any chance for an advanced payment?"

"Absolutely not" She said warmly.

"Fair." He said.

~~~~~~~

The massive draconic beast heaved its breaths heavy and slow, small wafts of smoke pouring from its nostrils. Fenster sat behind a nearby rock in the Wobyjack's cave, waiting patiently. Bingle grimaced at the deviler with increasing irritation.

"What," he said in a very soft voice so as to keep the ring-ting-tingle of his voice to a bare minimum, "Are you waiting for?"

Fenster continued to dress his equipment. Vials of elixir for speedy recovery, herbs to heighten senses, throwing daggers laced with moonsilver, some mints, and his trusty claymore given to him by his teacher just before he died. It was as valuable as it was heavy and a pain in the ass to wield. But, to use it to slay the creatures of darkness that plague the land was his promise to his late teacher. Another integral part of the Deviler’s Code. So he would do so.

"I have the benefit of surprise," Fenster said softly, "I am going to use every advantage I got."

The duo had arrived at the mountain cave late at night. As such, the wobyjack slumbered peacefully. And so it follows that Fenster had found a decent hiding spot to prepare his strike. Satisfied with his tools, he began preparation.

He drank a vial of devilweed spirits, which would increase his blood flow and make him faster and stronger as well as increase his endurance. He applied nightfang chalk markings over his eyes to grant him shielded sight, so as not to be blinded or fooled by illusions. Eating a dried drungo tail would thicken and toughen his skin so the raking claws of the wobyjack would not immediately disembowel him. And finally, a few mints cause all of that makes his breath really nasty and that could be distracting.

Buffed to the teeth, he gripped his blade with both hands and looked over the edge of the rock at the sleeping wobyjack. He slowed his breathing to match the beast. "Here goes."

Fenster charged the beast and roared a spell to life. Runes on the claymore lit up the cavern as he leapt into the air. The massive arc of his swing aimed for the beast's neck. The wobyjack, as with most dragonkin, noticed the deviler the moment he came out from behind the rock. It reared its head back and avoided the strike. However, still groggy from waking up, its momentum caused it to flop onto its back. Fenster pressed the attack, the element of surprise was still fresh and powerful but would only last for a precious few more moments. The wobyjack howled and sprayed a blast of fire, flailing and swiping with a massive barbed tail. The bright fire failed to blind the deviler and he managed to just barely tuck his body into a roll to avoid having his brains sent splattering to the cavern walls. Years of training at the deviler institute as well as his time in the deviler acting troupe had given him the skill to deftly dodge and look good doing it. He rolled to his feet and continued his charge, raising the blade to point the tip at the wobyjack's exposed underbelly.

A wobyjack has dangerously sharp scales everywhere on its body except for its belly, which has thick and tough hide. No mere blade could hope to carve a meaningful strike. However, Fenster's teacher's claymore was no mere blade, and the magic that currently ripped through it was no mere magic. As Fenster neared the tender gut meat, the wobyjack lunged its head to snap its jaws around the deviler. There would be no dodging this attack, and there would be no advantageous second strike. It was now or never. He lifted the blade up, raising the glowing claymore high over his head. The wobyjack brought its jaws down around the deviler. But instead of snapping like a twig, Fenster remained whole.

The drungo tail indeed helped his flesh, but above that, the rank taste of a man who had not bathed for weeks assaulted the enhanced draconic senses of the wobyjack. It was only for a moment that the beast retched, but it was just enough. With his raised arms free of the wobyjack's jaws, Fenster shouted a battle cry and brought the blade down on the beast's neck. The magic embedded within the Vorpal Sword came to life and cleanly split the neck from the body. The dragonkin's head seized in a fit of rigor mortis before everything became stillness and silence.

Bingle flittered out from behind the rock, "You did it!" He chimed.

Fenster grumbled and tried to pry the jaws open, "Thanks. Man this is stuck tight."

After succumbing to the knowledge that it wasn't going to loosen any time soon, he dragged himself and the head back to his supply bag and grabbed a small elixir meant to grant strength enough to carry multiple times ones own weight.

~~~~

Fenster dragged the cart, carrying a massive payload, through the draining streets of Dunk. He arrived at the shack from before, the wall had been repaired. The woman rushed out as she did before. She was wearing a tight-fitting dress with a deep slit cut to show her ample bosom, but still hint at modesty. She bounded up to him.

"And hast thou slain the wobyjack?" She cried, hands clasped together and eyes alight with joy. “Come, come inside,” She waved her hand to beckon him inside.

Within the shack, Fenster seated himself once more at the crate, Bingle sat upon the shelf. Upon the crate, Valencia set a small pouch before the deviler.

“Here you go, as promised. Thank you so much for your hard work.” She said.

“And the extra, for the rush job?” He said, smiling.

Valencia leaned forward onto her elbows, the cut in the dress revealing the lack of undergarments. “Perhaps we can make an arrangement?”

Fenster felt his eyes dip, but he knew that women were wily creatures. Full of cunning and breasts. He would not be so easily stoked, though the fire burning in him was most assuredly lust. That or the acid blood from the wobyjack had leaked into his armor at some point. With all his might, Fenster relied on his most formidable weapon, his charm.

“Now now,” He said, wagging a finger and smiling, “Business before pleasure.”

She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes before walking back to the shelf and grabbing a second pouch. She turned and tossed it to him. Fenster managed to catch it with one hand, looking mighty impressed with himself.

“There,” She said flatly, “We are finished here.”

“Pleasure doing business,” He said, “Now then, how about the business of pleasure?”

She smiled at him. A smile that wasn’t really a smile. More like a raging fire of irritation and barely masked wrath. Valencia said, “You smell like dragon blood and three week old shit.”

“Fair,” Fenster said. He pocketed the pouches and left the shack.

~~~~

“What a CHARMER,” Bingle said, laughing. More bells, you know the drill. “I nearly busted out loud when you tried the ‘business of pleasure’ line. Did you come up with that all on your own?”

“Stuff it,” Fenster said. He checked over his salary with a greedy countenance before cackling to himself. “Perfect, just enough to make the trip.”

Bingle’s smile dropped from his face and was replaced with a look of concern. “No, we’re not going to Trance, are we?”

Fenster sneered, “You bet your pretty fairy wings we are going to Trance! I’m gonna get a hot bath, a hot meal and the best damn sword Vurgle the Forgemaster can whip out!”

Bingle groaned and Fenster laughed and the two of them made their way to Trance, the city of glitter and glamour. 

~End~

Tips for writing flawed but lovable characters.

Flawed characters are the ones we root for, cry over, and remember long after the story ends. But creating a character who’s both imperfect and likable can feel like a tightrope walk. 

1. Flaws That Stem From Their Strengths

When a character’s greatest strength is also their Achilles' heel, it creates depth.

Strength: Fiercely loyal.

Flaw: Blind to betrayal or willing to go to dangerous extremes for loved ones.

“She’d burn the whole world down to save her sister—even if it killed her.”

2. Let Their Flaws Cause Problems

Flaws should have consequences—messy, believable ones.

Flaw: Impatience.

Result: They rush into action, ruining carefully laid plans.

“I thought I could handle it myself,” he muttered, staring at the smoking wreckage. “Guess not.”

3. Show Self-Awareness—or Lack Thereof

Characters who know they’re flawed (but struggle to change) are relatable. Characters who don’t realize their flaws can create dramatic tension.

A self-aware flaw: “I know I talk too much. It’s just… silence makes me feel like I’m disappearing.” A blind spot: “What do you mean I always have to be right? I’m just better at solving problems than most people!”

4. Give Them Redeeming Traits

A mix of good and bad keeps characters balanced.

Flaw: They’re manipulative.

Redeeming Trait: They use it to protect vulnerable people.

“Yes, I lied to get him to trust me. But he would’ve died otherwise.”

Readers are more forgiving of flaws when they see the bigger picture.

5. Let Them Grow—But Slowly

Instant redemption feels cheap. Characters should stumble, fail, and backslide before they change.

Early in the story: “I don’t need anyone. I’ve got this.”

Midpoint: “Okay, fine. Maybe I could use some help. But don’t get used to it.”

End: “Thank you. For everything.”

The gradual arc makes their growth feel earned.

6. Make Them Relatable, Not Perfect

Readers connect with characters who feel human—messy emotions, bad decisions, and all.

A bad decision: Skipping their best friend’s wedding because they’re jealous of their happiness.

A messy emotion: Feeling guilty afterward but doubling down to justify their actions.

A vulnerable moment: Finally apologizing, unsure if they’ll be forgiven.

7. Use Humor as a Balancing Act

Humor softens even the most prickly characters.

Flaw: Cynicism.

Humorous side: Making snarky, self-deprecating remarks that reveal their softer side.

“Love? No thanks. I’m allergic to heartbreak—and flowers.”

8. Avoid Overdoing the Flaws

Too many flaws can make a character feel unlikable or overburdened.

Instead of: A character who’s selfish, cruel, cowardly, and rude.

Try: A character who’s selfish but occasionally shows surprising generosity.

“Don’t tell anyone I helped you. I have a reputation to maintain.”

9. Let Them Be Vulnerable

Vulnerability adds layers and makes flaws understandable.

Flaw: They’re cold and distant.

Vulnerability: They’ve been hurt before and are terrified of getting close to anyone again.

“It’s easier this way. If I don’t care about you, then you can’t leave me.”

10. Make Their Flaws Integral to the Plot

When flaws directly impact the story, they feel purposeful rather than tacked on.

Flaw: Their arrogance alienates the people they need.

Plot Impact: When their plan fails, they’re left scrambling because no one will help them.

Flawed but lovable characters are the backbone of compelling stories. They remind us that imperfection is human—and that growth is possible.

A little Urban Fantasy

I wish I could say this was born out of a long, well thought out concept of a wizard/shaman character trying to scrape by in the big city as a detective on a supernatural investigative team whilst dealing with the myriad of fantasy creatures sticking their nose into his personal life and causing all kinds of chaos around his town. But in reality, I just wanted a chance for a guy to nail a God in the junk. So, Enjoy.

~~~~~~

The night air was heavy with the musk of summer heat. Standing across the desolate park was Mr. Simmons, or so he went by. I had been tracing his movements for some time, trying to catch him slip up. I had my suspicions after watching him stand behind little Timmy at the festival a few weeks ago. An unremarkable man, Mr. Simmons looked like any other office worker. His dull suit and unoffensive presence made him blend well into the scenery of the urban setting. A little too well.

I had managed to get him out to the meeting when I mailed him some photos I took of him at the festival. I had to shop in some special details, marking in the note that I had a special lens attached. I figured he would just get antsy and cover his tracks, but here he is. Staring at me as if to set me on fire. For all I knew, he could do it.

I guess Gods can get nervous too.

Mr. Simmons reached into his jacket. I tensed my hand around the revolver at my side. A bullet to the gut probably wouldn’t do much to an omnipotent being, but its presence allowed me the bravado I needed to stare down celestial types. He produced an envelope and held it out in front of him, quirking an expectant eyebrow.  I followed suit. Without losing my grip on the pistol, a steady hand fished a roll of film from my pocket. I also held it up for the long-distance scrutiny of my business partner.

Now this is where the dance gets tricky. We show off the goods, hand it over to a confidant and they make the trade. If either side showed sign of unfavorable response, the deal is blown and we go our separate ways, usually the head goes one way and the body goes another. Seeing as my conversation piece was powered by gunpowder and his by the visceral might of eternity, I hedged my bets on taking a dive. As such, I play by as many rules to get by as I can. Stay cool, stay professional, stay alive. Blackmailing Gods is tricky business to say the least.

I hand the cartridge to my confidant beside me, a little sprite I have lovingly deemed “Fetch”. The Fey can be chaotic at times, but with the right incentive they can be a boon for simple tasks. Such as, “give to the big scary guy and nab the goods. Then comes energy drinks.”

The diminutive fellow hefts the cartridge in his arms and sets his wings in motion. Across the park, Mr. Simmons does the same. His choice of companion is best described as a pile of compost. Various bits of plant detritus, leaves and twigs, jutting out at odd angles and mashed together with a pair of flowers at the top as a form of eyes I guess. It managed to balance the envelope on its head and shamble its way over to me.

I had been milling the thought for a while, ‘why would a land god use a blob of mulch as a companion and not some kind of cute woodland creature?’ I narrowed my eyes at the undulating creature. As it approached, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I glanced over to Fetch, he was almost to Simmons. I decided to make a small diversion. Tilting my head back, I let out a loud sneeze. Everyone on the scene froze for a moment as I reached for a handkerchief. I wiped my nose and glanced over at Fetch, who had been looking at me over his shoulder. He whipped around, letting the canister fall from his grip. It clattered on the ground.

“Ah, come on Fetch!” I called to him, “Be professional, like we practiced.”

Yelling at my companion gave me an opening to steal a glance at the vegetative familiar. The envelope had toppled from its head when I bellowed my sneeze. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the mess snatch the envelope with a bony hand protruding from within the pile of leaves. I made a sound, something between a hiccup and a shriek. Whatever it was, it was obvious enough to alert the land god to my epiphany. Er, correction. That was no land god. I was attempting to blackmail a being of decay, of rot and death. Standing across from me wearing a rather irritated expression was a Plague God.

Remember that part about “separate ways”? Well, things were going to go very “separate” for me in short order unless quick thinking could save my bacon. When in doubt, fall back on the classics.

“AAAAAAHHHH!” I shouted and ran like a maniac. This clued Fetch in to do his most favorite trick. A mystical light-speed hokey-pokey that filled the area with enough razzle and dazzle to out glitz Vegas. The diversion must have gotten to the very angry being of unlife as I managed to make the few steps necessary to pounce on the envelope. A well placed back-hand toppled the camouflaged corpse into a rotten pile of bones. I sprang to my feet as the glitter faded from the air, the little guy can only boogie so long. I let loose a string of colorful language. Or I tried, I got to kiss the dirt before finishing “Shi-“ and had a powerful and ancient being digging its all-powerful boot into my back.

“Did you really think you could best me, Mortal?” It said with a voice like searing acid. I felt a deep chill fill my body. A cold that threatened to stop my heart before I could blink. But, it is in our most dour moments, that glory can be found and indomitable wit can be harnessed. I dug my numb hand into my pocket and work what I assumed were my fingers around my revolver.

“Did—you think, I wouldn’t…gun!” I pulled the trigger and felt a hot sting in my foot.

Some ideas are better than others. The deity howled in laughter, stepping off me and drawing a long, gnarly looking scimitar. Raising it high over his head and looming over me.

“Such are the machinations of a fool.”

I flipped to my back, “Me? A fool?” I pulled my bloody foot in front of me. “Maybe, but I ain’t the one staring down a Gate, am I?” With my one-liner properly dispatched, I gave Simmons my best crippled nut-shot.

The look of surprise on his face was priceless. Horror, disgust, rage and maybe a tinge of acceptance, though that might just be the hubris talking. The portal I had unlocked via bullet to the foot swallowed the powerful being in a wondrous display of magic and light. There were magical words floating in the air, vortex-y looking structures crafted from aether and a really sci-fi “vwoosh”-ing sound. After the fireworks display, the dust settled and the park returned to a quiet and serene place. I even had a moment to enjoy the adrenaline before the shrill sound of police sirens permeated the night. My signal to get moving.

I whistled for Fetch and I hobbled my way back to the car. My faithful driver waiting patiently, smoking a thick cigar. As I approached, he pulled the door open for me and I threw myself inside, Fetch staying close by. We pulled away from the park and disappeared into the night, literally. It’s handy to know a few gnome mechanics.

“Just as planned?” Piped up my driver, the cigar clenched between his teeth.

I winced as the adrenaline gave way to the throbbing pain aching my whole body. I managed to pretty up the expression with a rugged and manly smirk. I reached down and tugged the envelope free from the hole in my foot.

“All in a day’s work.”

He gave a sideways glance and shuddered, “You Gates are so weird.”

We continued in silence. It gave me time to wonder. A plague god had no place waltzing into the festival. How the heck did he sneak in? I looked over the envelope and resolved to bring it up with Marshal back at the office. But that could wait.

“Danny,” I said, “Take me to 42nd and Vice. I got a date with a gal.”

“Can I ride shotgun?”

I shook my head, “Got a Plague God riding shotgun right now, but if you are into that kind of thing…”

He pounded the palm of his hand on the steering wheel. “Dammit, I never get to—“ He paused and let the cigar drop from his mouth. “Plague God!?”

I snatched the cigar before it landed on the seats and popped it back into his mouth. “Never fret, my friend.” I smiled, “I got a plan.”

He took a drag on the tobacco and let out a thick sigh, “I need to find a new line of work.”

Work Drabbles - Space Arm!

Made off of a random idea, which is like most of them. A tale of a space 

...

"And so your first thought was to stick your arm into it?" Dr. Fel'o said, running the DNA scanner over the officer's glossy black arm.

"To be fair," Officer Dent said, "It was just my finger and it sort of crawled up from there."

The medbay of the intersteller ship had been quarantined due to Officer Dent's malady. The scanner beeped and an image was brought up on the monitor on the other side of Dent's bed.

"It crawled up?" Fel'o said walked around to inspect the monitor.

"Yeah, you know like the way frost covers a window when it gets cold out?" Dent said gesturing with his left hand. His right arm remained motionless.

The doctored made a non-commital sound, looking over the diagnosis. "Well, it might be a parasite. Or a fungus." He stroked his chin. "Does it hurt at all?"

Dent shook his head. "It tingles once in a while but it doesn't hurt." He looked down at his arm, "What's the verdict doc?"

Fel'o ran his finger across some intricate readout data and sighed, "As a surprise to no one, I'm sure, we have no data on this." He tapped a few components to start up a new file, "I would like to take a sample."

Dent cleared his throat, "You gonna," he hesitated at the word, "Amputate?"

"I am tempted. Seems like the simple solution." Said the doctor, picking up a handheld tool with a long blade. "But I would rather we didn't do that." He set the tool down, "This is usually the part where the hapless scientist gets eaten by the parasite monster trying to protect its host."

Dent frowned at his arm, "It seems harmless enough. Juda accidentally slammed it in the airlock and it didn't eat anyone."

Fel'o turned sharply, "Slammed it in the airlock? Like," He smacked his fist against his arm, "Bam."

Dent nodded and made the same motion, smacking his fist against the arm. It continued to be glossy.

The doctor looked back at the data readouts. "Then maybe." He stepped away from the monitor and paced around a little. "Okay, let's try something else." He walked to his desk and grabbed a smooth, silver ball. He clicked a few buttons on it and it started to hum. He clicked again and the humming stopped.

"We are going to see if vibrations do anything interesting." Fel'o put the ball into Dent's hand. When he let go, the ball fell to the floor.

"Sorry, the hand can be finicky." Dent shrugged.

Fel'o picked up the ball, "But you said you can still move your arm."

"It jerks around sometimes. Like, when Juda went to slap me for getting my arm stuck, it just sprung up." Dent said, poking his arm with his other hand.

"I see," said the doctor. He held the ball over Dent's hand, "Okay, this time I'll have you catch the ball."

Dent sighed, "I dunno if I'll catch it, but I'll try."

Fel'o nodded and just as he dropped the ball, he screamed. A sharp, quick scream that made Dent tense. His hand clenched around the ball as it fell.

"There we go," Fel'o said. "I better note that it responds to reflex stimuli." He walked back to the desk and scribbled his notes.

Dent relaxed his shoulders but tried to focus on keeping his fist flexed around the ball. The hand remained clenched. Fel'o came back wearing a heavy lead protector and a plexipolymer mask. "Alright, let's try some medical science." He tapped a button on a remote and the silver ball began to hum again. Dent screwed up his face and shivered.

"Now that is a strange sensation." He said.

"Does it hurt?" Fel'o asked.

Dent shook his head, "Not really. More tingles. But less of a 'bam' and more of a wave. Like, ocean wave stuff." He said.

Fel'o nodded and observed the arm. It was still glossy but there were ripples spreading across the surface. Then, the ripples began to bubble and small spines were rumbling up from the surface. Little mountain peaks pinpricked across the arm and rose upward.

"Remarkable, it's like a non-nutonian liquid." Fel'o said, shaking his head. "Incredible."

"I think so too, but it is also kind of unnerving." Dent said. "Since, you know, it is my arm."

"Oh right. Let's end here for now." Fel'o clicked his remote and the ball stopped humming. He returned to his desk to scan the mountain of data.