Um, YEAH!! I mean, tea with a dragon? After that Rescue? This has a slight whimsy to it that’s not quite Monty Pythonesque, but not not Monty.

Awaiting your next installment like my paycheck.

That’s great you found a way for writing to help!

That’s actually kind of sweet, plus the genie gets to be free!

AWWW. I loved this, so sweet!! 🥺

Cheers. I love your mind. I hope you keep writing to your hearts content.

Mostly just realizing that I liked taking it seriously. I didn’t initially write all too much, but a couple things came together. In 9th grade, my history class had us write essays, and I realized I liked it. Around the same time, I was introduced to DND, and after around a year of just being a player, I started DMing my own friend group. Eventually, I got bored of worldbuilding just one setting, and started writing on my own. I also got recommended r/writingprompts on here, which def helped. Essentially, I just sorta got into writing because of a couple random factors all at the right time. Started taking it more seriously over time, and here I am now.

3/3

Harris stood in the door looking like a kicked puppy for a full five seconds before he stepped in, eased the door closed and took a seat.

“Right pocket Rocky.”

Rocky fished out a listening device then glared at Harris. Harris held up a recording device in answer, overtly clicked it off and ejected the tape.

“How long?” Rocky grunted.

“Few months. The scumbag that hung himself using a block of ice.”

“Where did I slip?” Rosie said it like she was thanking him for a gift.

“You didn’t. It was in Rocky’s eyes that day and a few times since. He was worried. It was always the jobs so tight that they were destined for the cold room. Person doing them knew too much though. Almost like an inside job. Your turn to talk Rosie. I know Rocky wasn’t feeding you.”

Rosie grimaced, “I figured out how to pull one way. Sorry.”

If it hurt, Rocky didn’t show it.

“What now?” Rosie pointed at the tape.

Harris broke it in two. “Insurance I don’t think I want anymore. I.. I don’t hate what you’re doing. It kills me to admit it, but I don’t. Twenty years and this city keeps getting worse. But this thing, it’s gonna catch up, we need to get ahead of it.”

Rocky sniffed, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we go after a big fish. Someone… untouchable.”

“Shayla. How?”

“It’s impossible to plant clues on the scene after the fact, right? But. What if they were planted during. Subtlety.”

Rocky whispered, “Fabricating evidence?”

“Truth laced lies, Rocky. It’s not the justice I want, but it’s what we can get. Right Rosie. That’s what you’ve been doing. Getting what you can get.”

Rosie nodded.

Rocky nodded too, albeit slower. “Let’s bring down a mountain.”

Absolutely not. You cannot steal what is freely given. Take them and use them fellow DM :)

“Knew it.” Said the archaeologist, smirking. Holding a glowing lamp in one hand and the genie’s previous home in another.

“Well well well, I trust you know the gist”

“I know the gist,” replied the archaeologist, “and I want some advice.”

The genie’s face didn’t glow at all in the lamp-lit cave they were standing in, but it was clear the surprise was etched on his blue, transparent face.

“Some… advice?” The genie raised his eyebrow and the archaeologist sighed.

“Yeah, advice. I’m sure you have some wise pieces of advice” He tried to pat the genie on his shoulder, though his hand passed through his body. The genie looked as uncomfortable as the archaeologist was embarrassed.

“Okay, listen up mr…” The genie looked him up and down, judging him.

“Just call me Tim.” Tim flashed a bright smile but it didn’t hide his tired eyes.

“My first piece of advice for you Tim, don’t wish for momentary things. And don’t wish for arbitrary things either like ‘happiness’ or else I’m free to bend the rules as much as the word ‘happiness’ allows me to.” Tim listened intently as the blue genie floated around the cave, passionate about making various different expressions with his hands.

“Wish for the permanent things. The irreplaceable and the otherwise completely unattainable if it wasn’t for me, like wishing for you to be an undeniable genius in one specific thing” To this, Tim’s face lit up, a lightbulb suddenly turning on inside his mind.

“Would you,” Tim redirected his gaze towards the tight walls of the cave “Would you tell me if my following wishes are ‘wise’?”

“Will do.” The genie smiled. “What will your first wish be?”

“I wish to get out of this cave.” He answered, unhesitatingly.

“What?”

“The passage kind of collapsed. By mistake. I’ve been looking for your lamp for a while, don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t found it”

“Living the real Aladdin role, I see?” The genie let out a hearty laugh but Tim clearly didn’t find it as funny. He snapped his fingers and with a brief moment of vertigo, they both found themselves outside the cave, in the barren, moonlit desert. “First wish done, it was a wise one.” He passed a wink to Tim, who was now sitting on the desert sands, clutching both lamps.

“Thank you,” he sighed “Now, I wish to possess incredible writing talent and skill. I want to be able to write, to weave the words into a cohesive story. To understand the ins and outs of every word I type.” Glancing up at the moon before continuing “and to say good riddance to this job.” He muttered this last part under his breath, the genie almost couldn’t hear it.

The genie looked impressed, his chest puffed with a look of pride on his eyes. Not proud of himself, but of Tim. “Very wise one.” He snapped his fingers, “you’ll feel a headache at first but it will subside, try not to think of writing anything for now.”

The instant he snapped, Tim took a sharp inhale from his teeth, cradling his bursting head with his arms and dropping both the gas lamp and the genie’s lamp.

“Careful with that,” the genie said, “you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Tim groaned.

“Good to hear, now for your last wish.” The genie felt something he felt many times before: the dread of being back in his lonely lamp waiting for the moment he was found again. Disappointment that he wasn’t going to be seeing where the man that stood in front of him was going, and if he were to make a personal wish, he’d wish for this man to succeed. Tim’s face looked different now, lost in thought. Every mark of his exhausted face highlighted in the moonlight.

“I wish for,” he hesitated, looking to the moon again as if looking for guidance. “I wish for a friend.” His eyes looked everywhere but the genie. “I know. I know it’s naïve and childish and—“

“It’s not.” The genie interrupted with his most-serious voice yet.

“Look, I just really,” Tim paused, “I really want a friend. A loyal friend, one that’s willing to be my proofreader. A fun one that doesn’t make me feel like every second spent with them is punishment. One that doesn’t, well, doesn’t hate me. A brother of sorts, one that allows me to just… be” he lifted up his glasses to wipe the tears welling up in his eyes.

“That’s your wish?” His voice was airy now, The genie hadn’t felt this way before, he hadn’t felt this found.

“That’s my wish.” Tim replied with faux certainty. “Is… is it wise—?”

“Yes, Tim. Yes, it’s the wisest one yet.” The genie giggled with the most joy he’d felt in millennia. And he snapped his fingers for the last time. His blue transparent body now glowing in a white so bright it outshone the moon, transforming into a friend.

“How would you take me as a friend, Tim? I promise I’ll be fun.” He smirked, awkwardly.

Tim grinned, all the new possibilities he can think of now coursing through his veins.

“Of course I would.” He answered with more confidence than he’d ever felt in his lifetime. “I suppose we’ll need a new name for you now?” Tim patted him on his shoulder, and it didn’t go through him this time.

“Yes. I suppose we will.”

This whole thing is amazingly written and has fleshed out characters. I love it, sounds like a bards tale. Might I steal some of the ideas and use them in a d&d game?

Thank you so much for the inspiration! This is a blast! I'm still posting as more of the story bubbles up :)

HAHA Thank you! I'm just having a blast!

The Maesters compound was quite large. I was thankful that Hogan hadn't left the human somewhere too far away. I was exhausted from the days work and not thrilled at loosing precious hours of sleep on some fool errands. In my mind, I was fooling myself over and over again.

Maybe drunk Hogan thought he saw a Brand? It was dark and foggy out, I know full well he doesn't walk with a lantern at night. It's all a figment of his imagination! What Drogon would ever let a human out of its reach? Nor, there hadn't been any Drogons near this part of the Dyad Empire. Centuries had passed since the last!

"Right?" I said out loud, which startled Hogan.

"Wut, Yoan?" The poor Horken looked at me, tusks nubbed with age. His leather gray face contorted in confusion. For a Horken, he wasn't by any standard handsome. Compared to the more elegant Dyads like myself at least.

"Nothing, Hogan. Do we have much father to go? Where did you hide this human away?" The thumping Hogan huffed, and continued to walk. A few more moments passed, and we entered the side hall of the Maesters quarters. Closing the simple wooden door we entered, we stepped down and around into a damp, cramped basement.

"You brought the poor thing to the root cellar, Hogan? I know its a Human but even they like the light. I bet it's scared out of its wits!" My voice was starting to rattle, as we approached the door to the root cellar in question.

"'It's in here, Yoan. Lemme unlock the door. I got it trussed up nice so it won't bite. It was cold and weak, but still tried to get away. I bonked it a bit and drug it back here."

Hogan had unlocked the cellars door and pulled it open, stepping out of the way to let the sputtering torch light above the door in. I grabbed it and walked deeper in. The smell of damp earth and semi-rooting vegetables assaulted my nostrils. Then a unique, very musky smell began to come through, almost overpowering even.

I inched forward until a pale foot creeped out of the inky darkness. I stepped forward, and there in the corner lay a male human, tied at the hands and feet with a gag, glaring at me. On its chest, a shimmering brand, the skin around it pale white and scarred. The human began to try and get away from me, and I took a step back, startled.

I wasn't startled by the humans sudden movement no. Not at all, I could handle a weak, pitiful human. They bled such a crimson red, and made such strange things. No, a puny human did not rattle my brain or quicken my heartrate.

It was The Brand.

It was an Aethilic Sigil, a special Brand Drogons used only on very special things. Things they coveted most dearly, above even their own lives. Something so precious, death would be a pleasure to recover.

"Hogan, I am going to pas..." were the last words I uttered before the blackness took me.

Just posted!

Cecil was up with the sun. He couldn't help it, he was so excited. He gently lifted Petra's arm off his shoulders and retucked the blanket around her, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. She stirred softly and smiled in her sleep.

Grabbing a spare hammer and chisel from his bench, he set to work on the soft limestone in the field, out of earshot of his sleeping wife. He hadn't carved in ages, but soon his hands found the familiar rhythm as he thought about the past few strange days.

He had known Alder for years, and had been devastated at his capture. The risk to his friend had been immense and he'd been terrified that the war would heat up and the ransomers would resort to more crude methods. They'd received their shared of locks of hair, but he'd heard of towns getting whole hands in a box. He shuddered to even think of it.

Something had changed five or six years ago, gradually growing more and more violent, but they had finally quieted down. So what was bothering him?

Distracted, he missed and chipped the wrong part of his little limestone sculpture, and left a long gouge along the top. Damn. He shaved it smooth again and refocused on the task at hand.

When Petra found him in the yard, he was carving the third and last large piece of stone. "Oh! It's been years since you carved! Are those the castles Glassmaker visited?"

"Two of them are. This third one is further north. They say there's a new king there."

She saw the look of worry flash across his face.

"My rock, I've heard... rumors. Rumors of huge battles with many dead, and no winners."

They sat in silence for several minutes.

"I've heard a rumor too." Cecil looked up. Petra took a short breath. "The rumor said that dragons were in the battle. I'm worried about Glassmaker. I'm worried about our home."

"Me too."

She sat next to him on the ground, and laced her fingers into his. "We'll ask them about it at tea. Let's start our walk."

He packed the castles carefully in straw in a sack. Petra held out a piece of jerky from a pouch on her belt. Hand in hand they started towards the edge of the woods.

It's fucking fantastic. Stick with it, take it easy, enjoy the compliments. And thanks for the enjoyment 😊

It may sound like a negative motivator, but terrible stories are probably my biggest motivator. Lately, our media outlets seem intent on pushing out quantity over quality, so I aim to create stories that raise our standards.

En masse, I think our standards have decayed to some extent, where I also fell for entertainment shortcuts. Prior to my learning about storytelling, I’ve missed many of the flaws in our entertainment. It’s a lot like someone in a technical field watching a show about their field, where the creators didn’t do any research---think a nurse watching a drama involving nurses.

Of late, I’ve learned a lot about the gaps in my writing capabilities, and I’m working to fill those in. Every time I see a poorly told or developed story, it spurns me onward. I don’t intend to reinvent the writing wheel. I just want to write and present stories worth a reader’s time, while raising the average value of the stories that flood our current media outlets.

Plan to write any more?

My pleasure! Glad you enjoyed, and thanks for teeing that up!

Why I started writing is actually rather interesting. I have some bad anxiety and a tendency to really 'get in my own head' in a bad way when I get bored or otherwise let my mind wander aimlessly. As a result, I started using writing short stories here as a way to calm myself down when I started getting into one of those moods.

I don't know if I quite count as 'taking writing more seriously' at this point - I have been working on a book for the past month, but it's really for my own sake rather than any expectation that it will ever get to the point of being suitable for publication, traditional or otherwise. But I've shared it with a few friends and the reception has generally been positive so, who's to say. Right at about the 60k mark and just getting to the end of the first arc of the story, so plenty more to write over the coming months.

Hahaha! Dude in this case! I hope you're enjoying it as much as i'm enjoying writing it :)

That’s awesome NaNoWriMo was able to do that for you! Good luck with the agent!

Cecil paced for hours. Where were they? The ceremony should've been long done by now. He glanced nervously at the setting sun, scanning the horizon with all his might for a hint of the dragon.

Glassmaker thudded to a landing, rolling forward awkwardly and collapsing in a massive heap of guttering flame a few hundred paces from the castle. "GLASSMAKER! WHA---" Cecil was already sprinting when the sound of howls of indignation reached his ears.

"DON'T TICKLE ME UNDER THE WING WHILE I'M LANDING! I might've squished a cottage!" Alder lept deftly from the heap, while a strange woman Cecil didn't know rolled on the ground, totally doubled over with laughter, tears streaming down her face. As she stood up, still chuckling, he saw her flick something away from her eye and slowly regain her composure.

"Ah if it isn't Cecil the Brave and the lovely Petra!" Alder strode towards them as Petra snorted back laughter.

"I don't think you're living that one down any time soon, dear."

"Allow me to introduce Euphemia Gregoria! Friend, colleague, and fellow tea guest!"

As she walked forward to shake their hands, Cecil noticed what looked like icicles hanging from her eyelashes. She quickly brushed them away. "Cold at altitude up there!"

Alder clapped her on the shoulder warmly. "Well, let's find some lodging. Glassmaker, tomorrow as the sun crests the treeline, edge of the woods? I'll bring the water and leaves, you bring the heat!" The dragon gave an approving poof of flame and hove into the air.

"Oh! Alder, what shall I bring to tea tomorrow?"

"You bring yourself Cecil, and Petra too of course!"

"We would nevershow up to such a grand invitation empty handed!" Petra's face furrowed into a worried frown.

Euphemia looked pensive for a moment, and then spoke with firm conviction. "Bring some limestone scrap if you can get it. It's basically dragon biscuits. It'll help his tooth come back in too."

"Like... the rock?"

"Exactly!"

Cecil led them back through the gates and on a grand tour of the village, with Petra pointing out all the important places. They took a brief detour to the mason to pick up several pounds of limestone scrap. They arrived at a small inn near the center of town. "This is where we part ways! See you midmorning!" Alder waved cheerfully, and Cecil watched his moustache bob away through the doors, Euphemia trailing behind floofing her long hair out of its ponytail.

"Cecil?" "Hmm?" "I never noticed it before, but Alder's breath. It's some spice I've never smelled before."

"Mmm. Yeah, come to think of it."

"Euphemia's smelled of mint."

"Mmm."

"Glassmaker's smelled of the same as Alder's."

"What, are you worried they had tea without us?" He bumped her gently with his hip.

She giggled softly and threaded her fingers between his. "No silly. I want to ask them how they did it! We've been using sage, but I want minty breath!"

He stopped at a stall nearby to buy a small bundle of mint. Petra used her free hand to work open the coin purse while he held it out. Why stop holding hands when we can work together?

They chewed their mint leaves, ambling on a leisurely stroll to their little cottage.

Dude/gender-neutral form of dude wrote a flippin' novel in the space of a few messages

Thank you! I'll try writing a next part!