This is outstanding. Wow. Blown away. Respect.

<3/3> The pen's one way transmitter had a short range, maybe 5 kilometers at best. If she was listening, she was close. If she was close, it was likely that she was watching us. And if she was watching us, then most of the officers on site were already dead.

"This is between us", I said to the pen. "Leave them out of this".

The pen declined to respond.

"I'm going to make up some excuse to leave. Follow me out, we can talk face to face-"

My monologue was interrupted by a soft whistle, followed by a loud CRACK. I dove to the ground, trying to use the bodies as cover. "SHOTS FIRED!" I shouted into my own radio. "ALL UNITS TAKE COVER!"

A cacophony of whistles and cracks erupted around me, with a chorus of screams and the thuds of falling bodies accompanying the performance. One by one, each officer at the scene changed roles from police officer to murder victim. I saw Harris on his stomach, crawling towards me with his service revolver in hand. It was useless against mum's rifle at this range, but its presence may have brought the agent some small sense of control of...

Harris' body jerked and stopped just as quickly, and settled back onto the ground. His lifeless hand still gripped the emotional support weapon.

The barrage of sniper fire ceased, which meant that all of my colleagues were dead. I tried to slowly crawl back to my car through the mud and puddles, but it was a futile effort. A boot stepped on my right hand, pinning me to the mud below.

"Your crimes end now" my mother growled. I chuckled.

"Do you think the Mob will give up just because I'm dead?"

"No," she said. "But I will."

CRACK

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses &#129302; >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

&#127381; New Here? &#9999; Writing Help? &#128226; News &#128172; Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

Three eggs. Always, for the last two thousand years of Thalasseia's history, there had been two. Two eggs to determine the luck of a kingdom. When hatched, for reasons unknown, the dragonets fought each other to the death - and, depending on the color of the victor, depended on the shape of Thalasseia's fortune for four seasons.

Red for prosperity and the promise of a gentle winter, blue that heralded a harsh winter, or some kind of disasterous event that risked the lives of many.

Indeed, the last time the blue won, a plague struck the kingdom, slaughtering a third of the population. That had been thirty years ago. Even now, they still suffered from its impact.

Scientists didn't know if the dragons caused the year, or if they simply informed Thalasseia of the kind of year to expect, like some kind of sick prophetic message in the form of a blood sacrifice. Certainly, the Blue Temple thought they were only omens. They came to warn the population. The Red Temple, however, believed they cursed the kingdom.

Now, the king and two Seers stood in front of the three eggs, nestled in silks and moss. One egg was smaller than the others.

"The third egg could be dangerous, sire," the Seer of the Red Temple said. "Perhaps we should remove it. Don't tell the public about it." He bowed before his king, and the king considered his words carefully.

"I don't feel comfortable interfering with the eggs, even if there is three. What say you, Blue Seer?"

The Seer of the Blue Temple clasped her hands together. Both she and the Red Seer were of royal blood, but had both forsaken the throne, removing themselves from the line of succession to instead become acolytes of their representative temples.

"I concur with the king. We must not interfere with the third egg. We do not know what it could mean. It would be foolish to clash with the Great Dragon's clutch."

"But this has never happened before," the Red Seer hissed. "What if it is two blues?"

"Then that would mean we can expect disaster." The Blue Seer scowled. "As you know, the blue informs us of our fortune, and prepares us for the worst -"

"The blue is a monster that curses us. We cannot risk it! I say we remove the third. Look at its size, anyway! It does not belong. It must be a runt!"

The king watched the two Seers bickering, but any decision was cut short by one of the eggs in front of them cracking.

Cracking a month earlier than expected. The Red Seer gasped. "No! It will smash the other eggs!"

The Blue Seer stared intently, crouching down for a better look. The king joined her. Fear wrought his heart. Indecision stopped him from making a move.

Gaps widened on the surface. Tap, tap, tap. A snout poked out. The shell cracked in two, and a tiny creature scrabbled out of the egg, shaking off a sticky membrane.

The king gasped. Not only was the dragon blue, but it was deformed. The wings were misshapen, glued to the body. One leg was just a stump, while the back legs were too big, too weird. And the eyes - an awful, milky white.

"Monster," whispered the Red Seer. "We must kill it."

"No!" The Blue Seer rushed towards the tiny dragonet. The dragonet, unlike the other dragons in two thousand years of history, didn't even attempt to crush the other eggs. Usually, they did. They hatched, and they sought to end their sibling. This one, however, crawled away from its shell, away from the two bigger eggs.

And it cried. Heart wrenching, sad, pathetic, all at once. The Blue Seer scooped it up and held it close. "You will not kill this dragonet. It hatched for a reason. It is... It is warning us in advance. We must listen."

"It's disgusting!" The Red Seer trembled with fury. "An abomination! Your Temple was always in the wrong, trying to sympathize and worship the blue dragons. King!" The Red Seer turned his fierce gaze on the king, who still hadn't moved from his spot. "This is it. We must oust the Blue Temple from our kingdom. Their ideas poison us. They side with the monster!"

The king listened. "I..."

What to do?

...

One week later, the Blue Temple was ransacked, and burned. Dozens of acolytes dead. The king passed a decree condemning the Blue Temple.

They didn't find the deformed blue dragon in their ransacking, however, or the Blue Seer, imprisoning any supporters without trial. Often arresting the innocent in the process. Executing some of the more outspoken.

Two months later, all trace of the Blue Temple was gone. The two main dragon eggs, however, had never hatched. Rumblings of discontent swept through Thalasseia. One month overdue. What did it mean if the eggs never hatched?

One month later, thousands of blue supporters were in prison, with thousands more executed. The Red Temple whispered in the king's ear. They made new laws. Better laws, they said. For a better future. For the prosperity of all. Along with a handsome reward for the missing Blue Seer, who they said plotted to harm their great kingdom, and a cash stipend for successfully reporting a Blue supporter to the newly formed Red Inquisitor squad.

Neighbors reported on neighbors for the reward money. The kingdom butchered itself in hatred. Drowned in the blood of its civilians, in suspicion and anger as it killed the best of its population, the brightest, the kindest.

The Blue Seer watched the destruction of her once great kingdom, and wept.

Colombia? Venezuela? Armenia? Romania? Ecuador?

How dare you make me cry

How about "Restaurant to another world"?

Uncertainty.

That's been the air over the kingdom over the year so far.

It started in November of last year. The first week of November is a week-long festival where we don red and give offerings to The Winner in hopes of the red dragon winning the battle as we wait for the eggs to be laid. There have always been two. The two eggs are laid over the course of two days. One egg per day. The two dragons that hatch from the eggs are always both female, and the next November, the one who won the battle always lays two eggs and continues the cycle. The first egg laid usually contains the winning dragon. When the first egg comes out, we rub it for good luck.

The first clue that this year would not be like the others was that the first egg came on a Tuesday, not a Wednesday like it usually does. Nobody really panicked yet. We just found it odd.

The concern began that Thursday. Usually with the first egg being laid on a Wednesday, the second would come on a Thursday, but due to the first one being a day early, so was the second one. The second egg was laid on Wednesday. Thursday morning, however, it was discovered that last year's winner had not only laid a third egg, but the mighty blue dragon had actually died. That wasn't supposed to happen until after the battle. We would have to come together as a village and find a way to incubate all three eggs ourselves.

So, we built three small sheds just big enough to fit one egg and six humans each. From the first week of November until the last day of December, every able-bodied adult in the kingdom - including the monarchy - took shifts in the sheds, vigorously and constantly rubbing the eggs to keep them warm.

Then, on the evening of December 31st, as per usual all eggs simultaneously hatched. Everyone was focused on the third egg.

At the stroke of midnight, out popped all three baby dragons. The red one's scales resembled rubies. The blue one's scales resembled sapphires, and the green one had scales like emeralds. All of them glistened in the light of the full moon.

Nobody was sure what to make of the green dragon. The blue one, as per usual, was already behaving aggressively, nipping at the face of her neighbouring sister and trying to blow fire at us only for a bit of smoke and a few simple sparks to come out like a dying fireplace. The red one dodged the attacks of the blue one, but seemed incredibly docile. These were the usual temperaments of these dragons. The green one, sat contently and serenely in the nest we'd transferred the eggs back to when they first began to hatch. It seemed to be observing us.

Thaddeus, the Royal Dragonkeeper, walked up to the red dragon and examined it. "Red. Female." He announced.

He walked up to the blue dragon and did the same before declaring "Blue. Female."

Then the green one. His eyebrows knitted together in slight confusion. "Green... Male." He announced, likewise causing the confusion of the crowd.

Because their mother had passed away and could not provide food for the babies, that meant Thaddeus and volunteers had to feed them.

It was hard to provide for three baby dragons. They grow rapidly. Of course, it may have been better if not for the famine. Blue dragon years are hard, but the previous year's winner brought with her a famine the likes of which the kingdom had never seen. People were starving to death. We'd even briefly considered eating the third dragon egg before it was pointed out that we weren't sure which egg contained the red dragon and it would be foolish to risk killing it.

Nevertheless, the dragons were all provided for and Winter turned to Spring. By this point, the three dragons were adolescent and had to be kept separated. It was almost time for the battle and they were all beginning to lash out at each other.

Then, finally, came the first day of April. Time for the battle.

The dragons were all released, and took to the sky, breathing fire and trying to take out their opponents.

The blue dragon swooped in from the side and bit out a large piece of her sister's neck. Silver blood rained from the sky as the red dragon fell into the forest.

Panic ensued! The red dragon had fallen.

The battle raged on only for about another 10 minutes before the blue dragon, too, had been killed.

The winner was green. There was a great sense of foreboding. What would happen now? He was male. He couldn't even lay eggs.

Strangely enough, as the green dragon landed, a tear fell from his eye. Almost as if he were grieving his sisters. The mournful victor was lead back to his nest by Thaddeus to have his injuries treated.

Then, we began to notice something odd. Where the dragon's tear had fallen, an apple tree began to grow over the course of a few days.

In the months after the fight, crops finally began to grow! Our livestock began to produce more young! We were all so hungry and now everyone seemed to have a surplus of food.

When the harvest came and everyone in the kingdom had enough food, everyone gave offerings of fruits, vegetables, meats, cheeses, and bread to The Winner.

Now it's December, and while he can't lay eggs, he is in excellent health. Thaddeus says the green dragon is likely to be around for a very long time.

Almost as if he brings with him eternal prosperity for the kingdom.

Emperor Leto II in a nutshell

Wiliam looked at his friends, all injured and tired. They were sucked into this battle when they were travelling through the land. The mimic monster Carlos, their necromancer, picked up in a dungeon, helped their dad, supplying him with death magic they seemed to share. Wil's older brother, a warrior with a rare blood magic blessed by yet another god, was coated head to toe with the chrimson. His little brother had to stay back. And he wasn't supposed to be here either. Their cleric was back at camp with other healers.

"Wil, what are you doing here?!" His brother yelled, and he just looked at him with blank eyes.

"I am ending this useless fight." He said, his voice slowly shifting into magic as he grabbed his guitar from his back. The first few accords started pulling attention from the soldiers, heads turning towards him. From the edge of his vision, he saw Carl collapse, white hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. Wiliam saw his brother and the mimic rush to the necromancer's side, fretting over him. The undead slowly falls apart and joins the millions of corpses under the ground.

Wiliam can't afford to look away now. He opened his mouth and started singing. He felt magic sheep into his words, spreading through the field painted in red.

Many think Bard magic only makes one more charismatic. Many think it's weak.

Many know it's dangerous.

A bard's magic is similar to the call of a siren. It creeps into one's soul and plants its roots deep into it, grabbing and never letting go, only when the caster wants it to.

Bard magic is difficult, and you have to be gifted with a naturally good hearing. You have to be open to music.

He felt the invisible strings tugging on hundreds of thousands of souls. He cut the ones connecting to his friends. They should never fall under a Bard's siren call.

A call for death and murder. The enemies lined up before the necromancer, killing themselves one by one. Panic evident in their eyes, but they can't resist. Carl slowly gains energy back, along with his adopted. They feed from death because the goddess blessed them. His brother's eyes dialate, as the blood, fresh and red, slowly moves towards him, swirling and existing in a manner that is not normal. It glows, as the last bits of manig is sucked out of it, fueling his brother.

The tables turned as the enemy army slowly, one by one disappeared, Wiliam's voice slicing through the silent air.

A murder of crows wach them from the trees, waiting for the feast.

Alduin returns

I think that old man Mr. Henderson might know a thing or two about how to deal with this, so not too bad of an idea.

Bug great rant!

Sorry. For the starter, who is "he" in the last paragraph? Harris or Rocky?

Okay 🙂👍

It was a good story.

Someone even before could try to not get them/one (or two) to die

I was thinking green (purple would work (or yellow) for other stuff though but yah when purple mentioned didn't really think so either) please tag me with next parts

It heralds an apocalypse! Fortune be in our favor though as only one needs to die. The other two out of instinct form an alliance. Good and bad luck over the end times. Lo, but he was merely the herald. With blood spilled war breaks out, blue promising life and power through battle. Ted promising prosperity and advancement through domination.

A lone historian researches further and discovers the yellow could have functioned as guardian over man should it have survived, but alas, we are doomed, unless…. It is another three egg year…. The earth rumbles and the volcanos churn. It is up to the historian now to ensure victory for the newest yellow.

-excerpt from The Third Egg by Leone Thearman a.k.a. That weirdo who was disgraced by the court for his fan fictions and poor taxidermy skills. Pfffft Purple.

Or two blue vs one red.

Awesome. It's a little rough at first, but it it gets better around chapter 2 or 3.

Will do

[removed]

Thanks. I'll admit, I'm a sucker for changeling stories, so I really enjoyed the prompt.

Oh, oh man. I F'N love this. This is some kind of John Wick meets Constintine level of potential badassary. This urban fantasy is creepy and exciting in all the best ways. Take my glorious upvote!

Great they’re the color of my country’s flag

Hello! You must be Mister Archibald? Yes, very well, thank you. Please, do come in.

Oh, that? That's a portrait of Sir John of Engelheim. Yes, painted that one myself, first year of college. There's some flaws to it, of course, but one must keep their first painting around, if only to see how they've improved. Tea?

Ah, I see you've noticed the Dorchester. Really does draw the eye, doesnt it? One of the strangest commissions I ever had, to tell you the truth.

Oh, nothing fancy. We'll, if you want to hear it, it's a short story, I guess -- no, no, don't get up, I'll grab the sugar. Be forgetting my own head next.

So, the Dorchester. Well. About fifteen years ago, on a dark and stormy night --

What do you mean, 'that's cliche'? It's what happened. It was just past nine on a night filled with thunderstorms, can't get much truer than that. If I may continue?

Well I was sitting in my studio, working on a commission for the Queen, when someone pounded on the front door. No, this was so late, my housekeeper was gone for the night, so I had to go see who it was.

To tell the truth, I was a bit startled to see a bedraggled man, maybe tall as my shoulders, standing on the doorstep but it was a bit wet out. Fellow was young, but didn't seem too bad, 'cept for the pale skin, o'course. Happens around here a lot, people going pale 'cause of the storms all through autumn and winter.

No, this was in late spring, not unusual to see someone pale right up into summer, just depends on their job. Anyway , this poor wretch was soaked through from the rain and he looked a bit manic, to tell you the truth. Teeth chattering, eyes wide, all that. Asked if he could come in, he had a business proposition for me.

Well, at that point, I hadn't become the well-known portraiteer of the rich and famous. I didn't recognise the man, but I knew he was of good breeding -- you could see it in his eyes.

So we came in, and he sat me down and demanded I paint his portrait. Desperate he was, claimed he hadn't seen his own face in more than a century. Well, that caught me a bit off guard, o'course, but the way he was talking, I knew I'd be paid well for the service.

He was a spoiled thing, yeah, no doubt about it. But he offered me a full purse, couldn't have said no, even if I wanted to -- which I didn't. Something told me it would be a fair foolish thing to do.

So anyway, I look him over, and he says he's not crazy, he just needs to see his own face. Now, me, I don't think that's all that weird, Lord in Heaven knows we get some weird people coming in here, but I did find his aversion to Mrs Aldersleigh's famous foccaccias a little on the nose.

Oh, no, famous for her garlic and cheese foccaccias, no doubt about that. I'm sure I could find you one, Mrs Aldersleigh made some before she went off to visit her mother, poor woman, got the long illness, they don't know if she'll survive the week.

What? Oh, yes, the Donchester. Well, the man -- more a boy, to be honest -- was happy to sit still, weirdly still, for a few hours so I could get most of the blocking done. I told him he could come back next week for the first viewing, and he agreed, but after that...

Hmm? Oh, nothing. No, I don't remember much except waking up with a sore neck and a sense of managing to avoid the worse of it, but I couldn't work out what 'it' was.

The man -- boy -- sitter returned a week or so later, took one look at the canvas and burst onto tears. I don't know what he expected to see, but apparently my painting was not it. He screamed at the image, ran for the window and hurled himself out.

We never found the body, but there were a lot of animals in the forest that night, I realised through my broken window. I don't really see what haunted the man so, but then, I'm more than happy to paint people the way they want to see themselves, not as they were. I just didn't do it for that one, what with my commission jumping out a window before he could pay me.

No, I never got the man's name, nor payment. So I keep the Donchester to remind me to be wary of conmen seeking to swindle.

My memory? Well, now and then I forget something, wake up with the window open and so on, but that's just old age. I am seventy-seven, you know.

Good Lord in Heaven, is that the time? Sorry, Mr Archibald, I do have to move you along, I have an appointment to keep. No, nothing serious, just a spot of blood donation. No, it's fine, leave them there, I'll have the housekeeper deal with it.

Thank you so much for coming out to check on me, Mr Archibald. Nice to know there's still some decent kids out there.

I think I'll skip walking you out, my legs aren't what they use to be. No, thank you for coming.

Oh, and if you could let the young man outside into the house on your way out, that would be great. Thank you. Good day, sir.