Travel worn and dusty knee high lace up boots over sturdy olive drab ripstop cargo pants. A loose black rough linen pullover shirt with 3/4 sleeves and a mandarin collar, over a synthetic gray tee shirt. A beaten brown leather satchel hangs crossbody from a mended strap. Several corded and metal bracelets, and a heavy tarnished silver necklace.

Cargo pants, leather jacket, sneakers, and goggles.

Sgt. Handar was speeding toward a colossal metallic ring in the middle of the void. To the average intergalactic citizen, it would have appeared to be another waste of tax credits. The warp ring cost billions to make and only went to a galaxy with one inhabited planet. They were the newest addition to the Intergalactic Federation of United Planets and the council wanted them to feel welcome, thus gifting them a faster way to travel to core worlds. 

As Sgt. Handar got closer, he noticed the problem was much bigger than dispatch relayed. There was a single man fighter ship smashed into one of the security stations. Debris floated around the crash site and there were already two security officers on scene shooting at a fleeing human in a grungy green spacesuit. The human ran along a catwalk and leaped over a barrier to hide.

"What in the Gazorbo are they doing?" Sgt. Handar said, reaching for his radio. "IFPD officer to security at Warp Station Earth, what is your status?"

"We have one human male resisting arrest. Requesting backup," one security officer responded.

Sgt. Handar pulled down the scanner screen in front of his face. He could see his blue skin and ruby red eyes reflecting back at him for a moment before the scanner turned on and locked onto the human. The readout came back:

Name: Connor Wilkins

Sex: Male   Origin: Earth

Weapons: None

Contraband: Acidic content found

Previous Contact: None

"Strange…" Sgt. Handar paused for a moment to ponder why a smuggler didn't have any weapons before chiming in on the radio again. "Hold your fire. He's unarmed. Be advised, suspect has acidic content on his person."

The laser blasts stopped flashing over the human's head and the security officers on the ground rushed his position. Sgt. Handar didn't sit back and enjoy the show, donning his helmet and clicking a button on his seat for the front glass to open up. His fighter had slowed down, but still approached the catwalk at running speed before stopping abruptly at the railing, flinging Sgt. Handar out into the void.

His timing was so impeccable, he didn't hit his head on the opening glass and activated his grav-boots just as he cleared the railing. There was a slight stumble, but didn't break his stride as he walked to the security officers. Both wore white uniforms and based on their lemon shaped helmets, he pegged them for Ninlins. Ninlins were not known for their restraint and it is reflected in their treatment of their suspect. One security officer was tazing Connor in the back with his baton, while he kneeled on his shoulder. Neither noticed the suspect clawing at his helmet.

Sgt. Handar acted immediately, ripping a strip of orange roll adhesive on his belt. "Move aside! Can't you see he has a helmet breach?"

The security officer with the baton stopped shocking the man and backed away, indifferent about what happened next. The other moved aside so Sgt. Handar could apply the adhesive over the helmet. The suspect stopped resisting and took deep labored breaths after narrowly escaping certain death. Connor looked up at him with fear that more punishment was in store for him. 

"Mr. Wilkins, I am Sgt. Handar with the IFPD. Can you tell me why you were running from security?"

"They were shooting at me."

"Before that, sir."

"I'm telling you. It was unprovoked. I crashed my ship into the warp and once I was able to get out, they tried to kill me."

Sgt. Handar offered him a hand up. "You don't see how crashing into a tower makes you look like the aggressor here?"

"I said it was an accident. My ship wasn't slowing down fast enough."

"Don't believe him. He tried to kill us," the security officer with the baton said. 

"I am telling you, I didn't."

Sgt. Handar wanted to believe Connor, but it wouldn't be the first time a smuggler had a smooth tongue and a convincing story. He needed to dig deeper to uncover the truth. 

"Alright, Mr. Wilkins. Can you tell me why you came to the warp station today?"

"I was going to visit my niece who is working on Fremlin. She was going to give me a new ship that didn't act up all the time."

"What were you going to give her in return?"

"I was going to give her my fighter…but now…" Connor looked over his shoulder at the heap of junk still embedded into the station.

"Did you have any other business on Fremlin?"

"Nope. Just family. Why do you ask?"

"Just trying to figure out why you are trying to smuggle acid through the warp," Sgt. Handar said, waiting for Connor's expression to change. It was a gotcha moment for him, but not for the human.

"Acid? I don't have any acid."

"Stop trying to lie. My scan picked up a caustic substance on you."

Connor patted down his gear and gave him a twirl. "I don't have any acid on me. Where would it be?"

"Inside you. We get space mules all the time in other sectors."

Connor put his hands up, realizing what the scan picked up. "Woah woah woah. Wait. Do you mean stomach acid?"

"Is that where you put it? In your stomach?"

"No. Stomach acid is normal in humans. We all have it."

Sgt. Handar pulled out his handcuffs. "Turn around, Mr. Wilkins. You are under arrest."

"For what?"

"Smuggling acid and lying to a police officer. If you are going to be out in the void, you need to follow our laws."

"I'm not smuggling acid. Every human has it to digest solid food."

"Now I have officially heard everything. Next you're going to tell me you eat solid food."

"Um…Sergeant?" one of the security officers said timidly. 

Sgt. Handar turned to him. "Yes?"

"They actually do eat solid food. A small flightless bird is a delicacy down there. I think they call them chickens."

The other security officer slapped his compatriot on the back of the helmet. "No you dumb dumb, they are called penguins. Humans eat them by the tons."

Sgt. Handar looked back at the human who just nodded along. His lack of knowledge on humans was showing. That's what I get for not studying the local inhabitants before deployment.

Before he could place the cuffs on Connor, dispatch chimed in.

"Dispatch to Unit 177. Station three received a distress signal of ship malfunction before crashing into station two. Video has been verified and sent to your helmet. What is your status?"

Sgt. Handar saw the footage show up on his helmet along with flight data. There was a malfunction on the boosters. It was a miracle the ship slowed down at all, let alone caused no casualties. Connor was telling the truth. He sighed in defeat, realizing the best charge against Connor would never stand up in court. 

"It is 10-2. Will update after I wrap up here," he responded and then addressed the human. "You are free to go, Mr. Wilkins. You will need to file a claim of accident with the station officers here. Do you have anyone to come and pick you up?"

"You are just letting him go? After what he did!" both security officers said in unison.

"Station three confirmed it was an accident. He hasn't committed any crimes, seeing as stomach acid, I assume, is exempt from the controlled substance transport statute given their biology."

The security officers didn't argue and escorted Connor back to the station. Sgt. Handar took a moment to absorb the picturesque disaster before him. Debris floated above the three, obscuring the damaged station with a new addition smashed into it. He chuckled to himself and shook his head.

"At least I'm not the cleanup crew."

r/WritingsByLanz 

rags for the shirt, a loincloth in place of pants, a clean name-brand hoodie on top, and mismatching footwear

Clean, well pressed white long sleeved shirt, lightly loose collar with a lightly loose emerald green tie, sleeves rolled to the elvow

Waist coat, single breasted, light grey with pinstripes.

Denim skirt, knee level, with a brown knotted belt that has a sliver buckle.

Shin high brown boots with engraving and patina

(This is the outift of my very, very first character. Have fun!!)

White and red, floofed-out striped pants. Large, neon-green exaggerated shirt with too-wide buttons and red suspenders flopping behind as the person walks. White clown shoes. A lapel with a bright red orchid within. And finally, a katana at their waist, the assassin's final tool.

-Are you wearing that to the costume party?

Said Demeter, a goblin disguised to look like a unicorn, in front of her was Cathil, another goblin with a t-shirt that featured a nuclear weapon and the moto "I like killing my own people"

-What?

He retorted.

-Is my human costume!

Demeter almost laughed, but gave a grin that she tried to quickly hide instead.

-This is why we never get invited to parties Cathil, this is really offensive...

The Goblin crossed his hands and rolled his eyes before pointing at Demeter with mischievous intent.

-It's only offensive if it isn't true!

Demeter was not exactly amused by that, but gave Cathil the point... everyone in the party loved their customs, except for that one elf that was like... 0.3% human and always had to get his nose into anything that was human-related and act offended.

Altho the many humans at the party shut him off, which was a refreshing change... what a fun night that was.

A T-shirt dotted with pink flamingos, overalls, big stompy Doc Martens… beneath a combat vest and a bandolier of bullets, wielding a massive gatling gun.

White T-shirt with bomb logo on it, wine red lens sunglasses with black trim, blue jeans and red sneakers.

A whisper in the shadows, a few steps were heard across the museum's floor, the first guard rapidly approached the scene with his flashlight at hand, you must be mindful that this was no ordinary museum, for it guarded the only one of its kind, a rose diamond worth a value so high one would not be able to write it in a napkin...

That's why this robbery wasn't being conducted by anyone, one of the most experienced and feared thieves in the whole world, she was agile enough to break the line of sight... and so she did...

When she arrived at the podium in which the diamond was being shown, there was no light but the many flashlights of the guards, and that's when she did it...

She dropped down to the floor of the room and made enough noise to call everyone's attention... then, she unbuttoned her dress before anyone had time to react... when the lights of the flashlights finally reached her, a dress underneath her coat, made of sparkling and dashing reflective materials blinded every single person in that room, excepting her...

By the time everyone recovered their eyesight, the diamond was gone... as so was the sparkling thieve...

A floor length leather coat, a couple sizes too big, is draped over exposed shoulders. Underneath, a blue sequined cocktail dress is accessorized with sparkling white jewelry and flats.

March 12, 2023

I’m thankful that I’m breathing

I’m thankful for the can of beans I found last night

I miss John, first and foremost. I miss him so much. I feel intense, heaving shame that I could not save him. I run through that day a million times, wanting so badly to replay it. I could save a few moments of time a million ways, and then I could have saved him.

Anyway, I need to go make the rounds soon.

Keep positive, Steve, until tomorrow.

March 13, 2023

I’m thankful to still be breathing

I’m thankful to have had one of John’s arms to bury; the manual labor was nice

Well, time to think of some words to say. Yesterday was the worst day of my life. I can’t do this without John. I need him. I need help. I need someone. I can’t keep writing to you, journal.

On top of that, a have a gnawing, intense itch on my back, which I can’t look at. I assume it is an allergic reaction or mild fungal infection, yet it is greatly affecting my mental faculties, or maybe I’m just going batshit alone.

I miss my John.

March 16, 2023

Sorry, journal. This is becoming to hard.

Words are hard to think of, to remember. I found a thesaurus but remembering spelling is hard.

Oh, almost forgot.

I’m thankful to be breath

I’m thankful to still have John with me.

John returned late last night, very apologetic for his hasty disappearance.

I’m going to go cuddle with him, now. He’s all I got really. He’s keeping the bed warm.

March 18, 2023

God, sorry. I keep missing daily entries.

My back constantly itches, I spent most of yesterday scratching it raw, until it trickled blood.

John seems to have left again. I can’t find him anymore. I hope he’s holed up somewhere safe; it’s cold outside.

Oh, also.

I’m thankful for my mom and dad for making mE

I’m thankful for Elvis. I miss music

Anyway, the itch is starting up again.

Until tomorrow

Steve

March 21, 2023

What’s going on

Happening

You know

Happening is a weird word

It means kind of like “going on now” or like “actively occurring”

But what really is happening?

What is actively occurring inside me?

Weird how that works

How happening is spelled

How it is made of so few letters and sounds

And yet what is ‘happening’ can encapsulate my entire life

And, so I ask myself, what is happening?

What am I doing?

What is going on?

I’m not sure, my friends.

I am thankful to be breathing

I am thankful for my mom

I am thankful for you, journal.

-Steve

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I'm now convinced that a straight buddy of mine is this alien. 😆

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[removed]

That was beautiful. I cried

"Who are you?"

"Who is anyone?"

"Are you dodging the question?"

"Who says I'm dodging the question?"

"Are you trying to annoy me?"

"What am I doing wrong?"

"By acting like everything is a question?"

"That sounded like a statement, or was it?"

"It was wavered at the end because I'm starting to question myself, what is going on?"

"Are you upset?"

"I'm confused, why won't you go away?"

"I just want to help you, don't you want to be helped?"

"Everyone wants to be helped, what are you doing to help me with."

"I'm don't know, why was I here again?"

Somewhere in strange lands, a place where the sun is the color violet and the moon is a shade of dusty rose, lies a door with a single keyhole. While the door itself is a simple wooden door with a simple wooden frame, the keyhole is not, for you see the keyhole accepts any key, and the keyhole will change its lock variant dependent on which key is intended to go in it.
The keyhole will become a warden lock when a skeleton key is presented, in the case of a modern-day key a pin tumbler lock will appear, the same will happen for car keys, safe keys, door knob hole keys, the lock will even accept pick locks as an option.

Many have come across this door throughout their travels within these strange lands, some could not understand how to work the door despite it being quite simple, some have worked the door but have decided to stay, and some have worked the door and have gone in with many of their fates being unknown.

The door's next user slowly approaches the door as he has been cautious of these lands since the very beginning, he does not have any recollection of how he got there or what he was doing before he arrived, and because of this, the young man has chosen to take everything around him with either a grain of salt or with the whole shaker.

Moments back he had arranged many mirrors and lenses of varying size so that a ray of light would make contact with a small hole revealing a small jewelry box, however instead of a sparkling necklace or shinning brooch what was instead given to the young man was a key ring complete with five separate keys.

After approaching the strange door the young man pulled out the key ring and went to flip to a pin tumbler key, however for a brief moment, a skeleton key had nearly brushed up against the door lock, and for that instant, the lock went from pin tumbler to a warden lock and then back to pin tumbler.

Taken aback by this the young many took the key that was considered first on the key ring, turning the key and opening the door he is then greeted to stranger lands in which the sky looked as if though it would collapse and the grass was infested dark creatures with nothing but a body and glowing white eyes.

He would quickly and quietly shut the door not wanting their attention, His heart pounding so hard that he swear he could hear it bouncing off of the trees that surround him.
He had tried three more keys after that encounter with one location radiating terrible heat that almost cooked him the second he opened the door, the next location gave the impression of a desert wasteland that blew nearly a bucket of sand onto the ground in mere seconds.

The third location seemed to be on top of a mountain overlooking a beautiful city with clear skies and fresh almost sweet air, he would have almost gone in if it wasn't for the fact he could see that the inhabitants were cannibalistic monsters who were tearing a man to shreds they would have ripped him apart the moment he stepped out of the door.

After closing the door the young man would try the final key on the ring, after he turns the key and twists the knob the door immediately shoots in words pulling the young man through the door he soon starts to fall for nearly three and a half seconds before splashing into a pond at the bottom.

He soon looks up to see the door on the side of a wall 50 feet above the ground, after exiting the pond the young man lays down and decides that he has done enough exploring for one day and has decided to sleep before his heart gives in.

Read this in a stereotypical tough guy detective voice, it was very nice

Kneeling at the first step of the throne, the captain of her rangers made report, and the star set upon the brow of the queen dimmed in the twilight that spilled across the court.

Captain Teguin was old, made of birch and rawhide and grit. As she spoke, she unwound the braid that held her ash-white hair. "Yes," she said, "they move at breakneck speeds across flat land. Our lands are hilly, so this is not why we should fear them." Into the silence, the leather of her quiver creaked.

"Yes, their arrows fly faster even than sound. But they are louder than shouts, and ours are quieter than whispers. When they come to our wood, it is our arrows that shall triumph over theirs."

And now the old captain turned her face to the ground. "No, it is this that we must fear about our human foes: their magics always work."

Confusion played across the faces of the assembled magi, the druids of the Circle, the generals of the Host of War. The queen gazed down at the ranger with a troubled look. "Their art is reliable? This is truly what to fear from them?"

"Yes, my queen, it is." Teguin scraped the dust from her face. "I'll say it more strongly: their magics always work no matter who uses them."

And suddenly, one of the Priests of the Moon understood, and his jaw fell in horror. Teguin turned to him and nodded grimly.

"You see," she said, "this 'math' and these 'guns' are descriptions and tricks of pure dead matter. They portray and manipulate the raw and lifeless stuff of the earth and cause it to act uncharacteristically, but at its essence, it is as simple and natural as a rockslide. That is what their 'guns' are: a tiny wildfire causing a tiny avalanche to fall within a fragment of a fragment of a moment."

"Which means," she continued, sadness weighting her words, "that even the most foolish, most base, most inept or evil or misguided amongst them can uproot forests or crack mountains asunder. They have condensed the knowledge of ancients and put it into the hands of children, of beings who are children until their short lives end. Their 'bombs' can bring down whole castles, yet not one of them will live longer than the time it takes for a single hearth-tree to grow. They commune with no spirits, heed no gods, take favor from no eternal thing. All that they are is contained in their own heads, and thus power is the only hymn they can sing."

The Elf-Queen's face had fallen from sadness to shock, and from shock to despair. "What may we do, in the face of such monstrosity?" she begged.

"This, and this only," said Teguin, and she took up her bow. "We flee. I will lead us beyond the Green Doors and into the wilds of our ancestors, into that land that is not a land but a dream."

The queen looked at her in dismay. "You propose we lose ourselves in a maze of endless mists, filled with the elder magics that once preyed upon mortals."

"I do," said Teguin. "For against this foe there is no victory, They will always be too many, too cunning, and too impetuous to share a world with us for long."

"And what of that world?" asked the Chief Druid. "When we go, the Green Doors will close behind us, and all that renews the earth will fail."

"They will," said Teguin. "And thus this world will begin to wither. The humans will cut down the mother trees, not knowing what they do, and the vast web of life that sustains them will start to fray. I believe that in a mere ten generations of elves, they will destroy the very ground they walk upon, and then their starving ashes will join the rest."

The Chief Druid's eyes fell. "We condemn the earth to save ourselves," he said.

"The earth was condemned once the humans learned that they could make caravans to cross the deserts by promising wealth that did not yet exist," said Teguin. "Their histories are clear: the great engine that drives them is the eternal promise of more and better in the future. They are unwilling to give what they have to one another, and so may only be bribed to share with promises of even greater wealth yet to come. They leverage the future against the past, and so, like ivy on a tree, they will grow until they suck all the air from the world and choke to death the very wood that holds them aloft."

"Come, then," said the queen, and as she rose, the war-host rose with her. "Our time in these woods has ended. We will go through the gates into the wilds of the Dream, together with our spirits and our gods and our eternal friends, and leave these humans to their self-made ends."

And so it happened that Teguin was the last hand upon the Green Doors, once all the host of elven-kind had passed into the dream-lands, where things and their opposites are one. It may have been that, once the doors closed and their sylvan light extinguished, some few humans felt the spark of the untamed wilds finally gutter and die. But, untutored children that they were, they knew not what it meant and simply wandered onward into the garden of their neverending, ever-growing desires.

r/EntelecheianLogbook

In the quiet village of Dunwick, nestled in the arms of the ancient forest, there was a legend whispered amongst its inhabitants. The tale was spun from a gossamer thread, delicate as the trembling edge of a dream. It spoke of a door, a hidden portal guarded by shadows and shrouded in mystery. A door with a solitary keyhole, that opened regardless of the key used. Yet, what lay beyond was a secret known only to the key that dared to unlock it.

Many believed that the door was a gateway to the land of the Fae, a realm of danger and beauty in equal measure. Parents warned their children to stay away, lest they be lured into the hidden world of magic and enchantment. Yet in the hearts of the young and the old, the allure of the Everkey Door persisted, a flickering flame that could not be snuffed out. The warnings were repeated, and the legend continued to weave its spell upon the village.

It was amidst this tapestry of myth and caution that young Isabella grew up. A curious and spirited girl, with hair as dark as midnight and eyes that sparkled with mischief, Isabella was captivated by the legend. While her friends played with dolls and chased butterflies, she would sit under the great oak tree in the village square, dreaming of the world that lay beyond the fabled door. She imagined it as a place where the Fae danced in moonlit glades, and the air was thick with the scent of lilacs and secrets.

The days turned to years, and Isabella grew into a young woman. Her fascination with the Everkey Door never waned. The tales of the Fae whispered to her like a siren's song, and she knew that she could no longer resist the pull of the legend. One night, under the watchful gaze of a crescent moon, she gathered her courage and a small collection of keys she had amassed over the years. With a heart full of hope and trepidation, she ventured deep into the forest in search of the mythical door.

The journey was long, and the forest seemed to shift and change around her, as if the trees themselves sought to keep the door hidden. But Isabella pressed on, guided by an inner voice that seemed to know the way.

At last, she came upon the door - a weathered and ancient thing, with a single keyhole that gleamed like a promise.

Her heart thundered in her chest, but Isabella knew that she had come too far to turn back now. She selected a key from her collection, a small, unassuming thing of iron, adorned with a delicate pattern of flowers. She took a deep breath and, with a trembling hand, inserted the key into the keyhole.

The door opened with a sigh, revealing a world that shimmered with the ethereal beauty of the Fae. The air hummed with ancient magic, and the forest that lay beyond the door seemed to beckon her, inviting her to explore its hidden depths. Isabella, entranced by the enchanting vision before her, stepped through the doorway, her heart pounding with excitement and apprehension.

As she crossed the threshold, her hand still gripping her key, she felt an invisible force violently tug at the key, pulling it from her grasp. The key, once a symbol of promise, now seemed to be a warning of the dangers lurking within.

Isabella's instincts screamed at her that something was wrong, but before she could process her surroundings, she heard the door creak behind her. Panic seized her heart as she realized the door was closing, and she spun around, reaching out in a desperate attempt to stop it.

It was too late. The door closed with a soft click, and Isabella disappeared, leaving her fate unknown within the strange world beyond. That sound was the only trace she left, a fleeting goodbye to the life she knew.

Back in the village of Dunwick, time marched on, and Isabella's fate faded from a devastating truth to an overheard rumor, and finally, to lore and fable shared in furtive whispers amongst children.

One such, a young girl, curious and spirited, with hair as dark as midnight and eyes that sparkled with mischief, found herself drawn to the tale. While she sat under a great oak tree, fingers tracing the delicate flower pattern of her newest prize, her imagination danced with the idea of the hidden world beyond, a realm of secrets and enchantment waiting to be discovered.

And in the forest, the door kept its secrets, known only to those who dared turn a key.

He opens it in .000234 seconds with a plastic hammer and there is literal christian heaven on the other side

Nice, thanks for writing

Maybe it's whatever they awoke in the void?