Me thinks the poster does not understand titles cannot be edited.

How about a Soft-spoken Barbarian with a "Less is More" approach to raging?

That's not anough o.o this prompt has so much potential ! I can feel the world behind it even though you probably didn't think about it. I like it.

"Right over middle. Left over middle. Right over middle. Left over middle. There you go!"

There was nothing Amaree loved more than helping her darling daughter, Fibra, braid her dolls hair. Which made it fitting that she should be doing it today, as it was her birthday. Not that Amaree wanted to think about that. She was getting very old. At 25 years, she was already older than all of the other mothers in Fibra's class at school. She knew they all whispered behind her back, wondering if she was able to keep up with the 4 year old. She had to admit, it was hard at times, but every moment was absolutely worth it!

Her only regret was that she would more than likely not live to see Fibra get married herself. But, there was no turning back the clock. Fibra was her rainbow child, and nothing and no one could keep that from her.

At precisely 4pm she heard a sound at the door. "Hi, darling! Happy Birthday!" Shram was home! She ran straight into his arms. Ever since he had taken up that job at the historical records building, he could not always get home at a decent hour. 4 was late, but it would have to do.

He lifted Fibra into the air. "Amaree, you will not believe what I learned today at work!"

"Oh? What was it today? More information on those silly cars you like to study? Or maybe another antique spoon?"

"Hey! That spoon had DNA of an ancient human still on it. Fascinating, I tell you. Absolutely fascinating! But, no, today's is something really special! I couldn't bring it home, of course, but look at this picture.

Amaree shook her head. "It's a chunk of rock, Shram."

"Look closely! See those markings? They are writings from ancient humans. Here, I'll write them out here."

He slowly and carefully scribbled out something that, to Amaree, was just a bunch of scribbles "Elizabeth II 1926-2022."

"What does it mean?"

"Our language experts believe it was part of some kind of ancient tomb. There seems to be remnants of other names on it, but most of them have been destroyed. It was found at that old site in Fitserway. "

"Fisterway? who would have thought that much would show up in that swampy field?"

"I know right?! The crazy part? This person...her name translates to something like Elizabeth II...those things next to her name are the years she was alive. You won't believe this, but she lived for 96 years!"

Amaree shook her head. "Now, that is absolutely impossible! No one has ever lived for that long. Surely you must be mistaken. How can they be certain with something that old anyway? After all, we are talking ancient history!"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I just record. But they did a lot of research, and seem fairly certain. There are some theories, of course. Some people think that when they say 'years' back then, that it didn't mean the same thing as our 365 1/4 day year. Maybe half that long? Another theory is that this Elizabeth was actually 2 people, and that is how long they lived."

She nodded. "That makes more sense. What do you think?"

"I guess I don't see why someone couldn't have lived that long of a life back then. After all, it has been a few thousand years sense then. I am sure the atmosphere was different. Why not? It might just be romantic, but I like the idea of people living for so long!"

She shook her head. "Whatever makes you happy! Now, how about we get ready to celebrate for real! I may not be 96, but it is my birthday after all!"

How about this?: You're the Bard in a DnD style adventuring party, but instead of playing music to use your Bardic Talents, you have to perform stand up comedy.

Totally awesome! I love the way the dragon is having fun!

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[6666] Pearly Gates Lock: Incredible but flawed precision.

"Much as I suspected, I have been informed that all the time I spent filling my wife's beaver and playing with my 18-inch long Johnson resulted in my eternal damnation. Unfortunately but unsurprisingly, it seems that all of the gates of Hell are sealed with Master Locks, so after several eternities of crawling through lakes of fire and brimstone I have arrived at what appears to finally be a lock that seems to be worth my time.

This challenge lock has apparently been sent to me by an anonymous viewer known only by the name of Peter. Oddly enough, it arrived attached to a set of pearly gates, and there seems to be some indescribably glorious reward behind them, which I hope is chocolate since it has been countless lifetimes since I have been able to find any in the godforsaken wasteland I have been consigned to. I am unable to identify a brand on this particular lock, but whoever made this lock does not appear to have skimped on the materials, as the outer shell appears to be made out of gold.

I cannot tell exactly what materials the lock is made out of, but in many previous videos I have already covered in great detail the low-skill attacks that can be executed against such soft materials, so in the interest of avoiding unnecessary smiting I will refer you to those videos. In the meantime, this particular lock seems to be of curious workmanship, and as far as I can tell has been made with the utmost precision. I cannot identify the core, but nonetheless it does appear that it should be susceptible to the Covert Companion that me and the damned soul of BosnianBill were able to forge out of a smuggled demonic sword from the fires of Hell.

For this particular lock I'm going to use my 0.0032" thick turner with bottom of the keyway tension and a hook for single-pin picking, as this particular lock does not appear to be susceptible to the wave rake. I am also expecting to see many security pins in this lock.

Nothing on 1, 2 is binding, click out of 3, nothing on 4 or 5, 6 is binding, so let's go back. Click out of 1, nothing on 2, 3 seems to be in a false set and seems to be a spool pin. Getting some counterrotation on 4... And a nice click. Still nothing on 5, but 6 seems to be set. Going back to 3... And we got this open.

Okay folks, it may be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter Heaven, but it seems that for only $90 plus shipping and handling on covertinstruments.com you too may be able to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. Unfortunately I am unable to disassemble this lock as it seems to have somehow been designed without the use of any fasteners, and also because I am in a bit of a hurry, as there appear to be several demonic hordes following me. That said, in spite of the inexcusably poor security in Hell, I still cannot recommend escaping eternal damnation as a means to enter into Heaven.

In any case, that's all I have for you this eternity, if you do have any comments, please pray them down below, and as always, thanks for watching, have a nice day."

The text starts from the last word in the prompt.

The girl walks over to the dragon. "Ah, you must be the sacrifice the village sent. Are you perhaps the fairest among them, meant to be displayed in my lair? Or perhaps their best scholar, meant to discuss philosophy with me?"

''Euh! Actually I am the dragon slayer they sent to trick you and kill you. But, we can talk philosophy if you want.'' She Said with uncharacteristic confidence for a human.

An amused smile tugged at her thin colored lips as she took of the sword sheath hanging at her side and put it down on the ground.

A surprising action in the present circumstances. So the dragon watched her in silence.

She held her hands open in a peaceful gesture and walked very slowly, toward the large dark animal.

She advanced deeper in the cave, despite the growing darkness. The sound of her footsteps reverberated on the rough walls of the cavern, and her breath caught in her throat.

''Scaredy lion cub!" He caught himself thinking. He usually liked the mountain lion cubs, who ventured in his cavern sometimes. ''But she had nothing similar to them. She is a treacherous human.''

The dragon watched her in silence. He didn't move an inch. He wanted to know how far she could go, how far her courage would take her.

Would she dare act against him in his own lair, after her confession?

That was an interesting question for Azimir: the spirit of the Mont Haven Stairs.

So, he Watched her tentative steps with a mixture of the usual hate he reserved for humans, and a pinch of amusement.

He could have turned her into ashes in a blink of an eye, but her ungraded confident smile suggested that she wasn't an ordinary insolent naked ape on two legs.

The girl, who was barely a woman, came up close and regarded him with an air of wonder and awe.

He appreciated the fact that, despite her racing heart, she didn't flinch when she had a closer look.

Azimir's copper scales glistened in the thin thread of light that invaded the darkness of his dwelling. His skin looked like thousands of little yellow blades, sharp and unyielding.

The mighty thousand years old dragon looked impressive and utterly terrifying and he knew it.

That however, didn't seem to bother the little lady warrior too much. She reached out her hand to his muzzle.

''What in the name of Methuselah is she doing?'' he thought.

On instinct he retracted his neck and got the sharp pointy little scales of his noise away from her fingers.

He didn't want to be touched by a filthy human, he told himself.

Her eyes showed a pained expression.

''She didn't get hurt'' he thought ''So why does she look hurt?'' "Huh, complicated bugs." He concluded inwardly.

To prevent himself from thinking about her any further, he spoke.

'' and what changed your mind?" He said. His voice rumbled like thunder in the closed space. He expected her to shudder in fear and run for her life. Instead she stood annoyingly steady and fearless. '' you spoke! '' she said immediately, as if it was obvious. ''I came here to slay a mindless, heartless, blood thirsty and rampage seeking creature. Instead I find a calm, self composed and speaking dragon. And that was the opposite of what I was told all my life. ''and how is it different from your teachings , young one?" He asked before he could stop himself.

''If you speak then you are endowed with reason and if you can reason, then you can be reasoned with.''

'' So, unless you plan on making me your supper today, wise dragon, I see no need for a weapon.''

''Spoken like a true gentleman of old.'' He thought. But he guarded himself from answering. Instead, his curiosity took the best of him. And he asked another question. '' and what reason does a beautiful young lady have to dress like a man and carry a weapon to the dragon's lair. Pray tell me.''

He spoke softly, as if he let her choose not to answer, if she wished to. Her eyes widened and color accentuated her rosy cheeks.

'' What now?" He thought as a sigh escaped his old lungs. She seemed to catch the wordless question.

''Did you just call me beautiful?"

'' Is that a bad thing? It wasn't a lie, if that is what you're asking. Dragons don't lie.'' He said simply.

'' her confusion increased.'' and her hand flew to her mouth. '' Did her brain finally catch up with her precarious situation?'' The wondered. But then, she laughed a loud crystalline laughter, sounding like a child. And it was his turn to be confused. He watched her in silence, struggling to catch her breath and align her words together.

''So you understand beauty and you know the difference between truth and lies? And you like philosophy?"

''and you SPEAK" ?? She exclaimed again, as if she couldn't believe what she was saying. '' What do you know." She exclaimed.

Azimir didn't know whether to feel flattered or annoyed by her incredulous tone.

He should feel neither, he figured. Shouldn't be feeling anything toward this human whom the other humans sent to kill him.

He shouldn't be conversing with her, and most importantly, he shouldn't be enjoying it. She is human for crying out loud! And he isn't.

He wanted to scare her. He needed to get her to be afraid of him. She needed to understand her place, and the danger she put herself in. She shouldn't be speaking to him and laughing with him. She shouldn't be looking at him as though he was something beautiful. She shouldn't even be inclined to touch him.

He could not allow her to break his defenses and change his mind about the human race.

She shouldn't be looking at him so expectantly. He has nothing to offer her Nothing but a long lasting hatred for her murderous race. She shouldn't have to pay for the crimes of her kind, though. She shouldn't trust him like that. His heart was too rigid and too burned to feel compassion for her.

He wanted to scream at her. To tell her to come to her senses. To tell her a run away instead of sitting cross-legged in the monsters lair, so close to the big bad dragon.

For the memory of his mate who had been savagely slain in her lair, five hundred years ago,

He mustn't forget He mustn't forgive

He mustn't allow himself to soften He mustn't let his heart get attached to a mortal stranger. A total stranger whom he didn't even know the name of.

If for some wretched reason he couldn't exert his revenge on her. If he cannot even imagine hurting her. Then he will fly away and nurse his bleeding heart and his broken pride.

He was about to spread his wing, To push her away without a warning and startle her young naïve mind to the cruel reality of the world.

Then she spoke.

'' my name is Elthia'' "What is yours?"

So he changed his mind.

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He also needs to relock it and pick it again to show it wasn't a fluke, and then ideally gut the lock to show us its inner workings.

#IUnderstoodThatReference

Honestly any core of religion has been warped over the years by priests saying "Do what God says, or else!" and the Rapture was the end-all-beat-all of threats.

If there is a God out there, I believe they're a benevolent one.

"It's a cook book! It's a cook book!!"

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And, my third career was going so well

I sat down at my desk and sipped from my latte. Extra cinnamon! The coffee stand lady is always so nice to me. I was looking forward to my work day, another long set of short meetings to continue contract signings. My last employer and coworkers would scoff and poke fun, no doubt, at the drudgery of this sort of office work. I wondered how many of those madmen even knew of my youth as a barrister, before past indiscretions led to our travels near and far together. The simple fact was that our prior way of life was now obsolete. After the realms of imagination and creation merged, well, changes had to be made.

Many of us were concerned whether we could coexist, but it turned out that the Creators believed in many things that sound statistically unlikely when you say them out loud. All we had to do was assimilate. Follow their rules and laws. And, this fragile truce was working, because it went both ways. For example, my ongoing case load offered legally binding documents, but in exchange for money, a rather valuable thing in both cultures. Given my own history, I tended to get assigned the especially animated clients. The more complicated their history, the better.

You see, the “intellectual property” jargon from my new colleagues was not nuanced enough anymore. If your archetype is in the Creator’s public domain, yet you are still actively published in any form, are you due royalties on the use of your likeness? Many on both sides agreed that should be true early on, thankfully. I sipped from my paper cup again, counting in my head the bump in residuals due in my next deposit, based on my current employer’s recent 70th anniversary disc re-release this very month. I took a moment to reminisce about my first appearance in the pantheon.

I pulled up the morning’s calendar, and was glad that I had swallowed my coffee first. I read the first name again, and hoped there was no smoke coming from my ears. I dialed my assistant, a young Creator. “Brant, is my schedule correct this morning?”

“Yes. I double checked already, believe me.”

“But, but, but, this is still only my first year on this team! Clearly, the board of directors would want a more seasoned contract negotiator in that room.”

“You should see the roster for the third floor meetings scheduled after midnight.”

I tugged at my collar. My necktie felt like it was tightening. “Okay… Do mice eat bagels? We have a half hour. Be a dear, Brant, and pick up a cheese plate from the deli across the street.”

“Sure. They have a few favorites of mine.” Brant meant well, but was more of a consumer at heart.

I read as much background as I could about this case, but it hardly mattered. The CEO himself had left a note in this file to simply offer the standard contract. It was a ridiculous opening move that would surely be rejected outright and trigger larger litigation. Ah, there we are. I was the scapegoat.

I cleaned my half-moon spectacles in the hallway on my way down the hall, verbally greeting Murdock in passing. I felt slightly better, knowing someone of his caliber was on our side. I took a deep breath and opened the conference room door.

The client was standing at the table of catering we offered to all who joined us here. He selected an aged cheddar and popped the cube in his mouth. The client chewed slowly with a thoughtful expression. “Eh!” he exclaimed, wiped his gloves together, then sat down next to his lawyer.

I placed the standard contract in front of the lawyer and sat at the other end of the table. I hoped I wasn’t sweating too badly, but tried to smile and said, “Good morning! It is a pleasure to meet you! Are there any questions?”

The client nodded to his lawyer, folded his arms, and looked off into the middle distance, as if the window blinds were not closed.

The lawyer, a red fox in a more expensive suit than mine, placed his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. The fox sighed and pushed the contract away. “This is an insult. We were expecting entirely different treatment in the house that He built, especially given your own prior working relationship with my client, Mister –? Sorry, you and I have definitely not met before.”

“No, no, I am the one that should apologize, and I do so profusely. Perhaps you confuse me with my counterpart who worked in the video game industry? He retired to Palm Springs.” I drummed my fingers on the table nervously.

The client calmly reached down and placed an old-fashioned lunch box on the conference room table. It was not one of the bright plastic ones that you could find everywhere with his face on it, but the more iconic plain black metal rectangular box, with a rounded top and single handle.

The fox said, “Ordinarily, I would say this was a waste of time for us all, but we have another reason to be in this building today.” The client wordlessly reached over and undid the clasp on the lunch box.

I gave up and pulled a handkerchief from my pocket. “Oh?” I swiped my brow quickly.

The client turned down the top of the lunchbox and looked inside, speaking for the first time today. “You have to understand, Mister Smee, it is nothing personal. But, make no mistake.” He lifted out a pointed hat made of blue felt, white crescent moon and stars glittering in the fluorescent lighting of the conference room. The hat fit remarkably well on his head, nestled between his big ears. “This is a hostile takeover. Haha!”

It's also been posted before https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ykmxzd/wp_after_the_christian_rapture_happened_to/

Plus there's another with the same theme, just different wording

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Counterspell is the name of the spell referenced. It's one word.

Maybe in English, but they’re speaking Common, which is *very clearly* a different language, and not at all the same.

A classic knight slays the dragon and rewarded by the king story. All from the horses point of view of course.

The harmonious beeps of my alarm clock rang out over the thoughtful silence of the beautiful, early morning. I eagerly rolled around and slammed the snooze button. Another new, wonderful day! The calendar on my bedside table had today’s date circled, which meant an extra exciting day! I laughed. (Well, actually, all of the days were circled, but, well, that means MORE EXCITEMENT EVERY DAY, am I right?) I skipped down the stairs two by two, slid into the kitchen, and began belting a happy song at the top of my voice while hearing the oil dance and flicker across the pan (mm, that bacon smell!). The TV blared with news on joyful, endorphin-inducing topics. The perfect day. (Well, this was every day, but that means every day is the perfect day.) I hopped in my black Toyota Sienna 2011 and danced to happy songs on the radio (almost running a red light while doing it, but at least it was still orange when I reached the intersection). Arriving at my workplace, I got out of my car, still belting happy songs at max volume. The perfect day.

(Note: From an objective perspective, no. He got out of bed, cooked bacon for breakfast, and drove to work. No music was playing. His TV was off. He didn’t have a bedside table, let alone a calendar or an alarm clock. He lived in a gray apartment with trash lining the floor.)