"I was never one for microtransactions," I muttered. "No, thanks."

That, as it turned out, was a mistake. See, I was born and raised a cheapskate; my parents were great, lovely people, but they were always thrifty. My clothes were more often from Goodwill than anywhere else, and if they had to shop at five different stores on the same shopping trip to get the cheapest prices, that is what they would do. Naturally, that behavior rubbed off onto their children. Even though I was definitely the most liberal with my spending - I had a frequent habit of online gaming - I never, ever purchased any subscription, and I never purchased any microtransactions. That was always a recipe for disaster.

I didn't know what the cost even was, but I was too quick to shut it down to even consider hearing out the strange popup. Not worth it, I thought. I was already dead. What harm could it possibly do?

The popup changed its letters immediately, responding to my refusal. Are you sure you do not want to purchase the subscription?

"I'm certain. I don't do recurring payments-"

Rejection noted. Assigning random post-demo beta limbo universe. If at any point you wish to purchase the Afterlife Expansion Package, simply vocalize your change of heart. Until then, have fun with the free-to-play content!

The popup changed one last time. Assigned beta limbo serial number is one-two-three-five-eight. Loading...

"Loading? This isn't some video game-"

Rendering complete. Prepare to be dropped in beta limbo.

I somehow felt the floor give out from under me, even though I distinctly felt the lack of a body. My physical form, however, was returned to me quickly. I found myself on the floor of a fortress, completely surrounded by people in plate armor wielding spears and shields. I groaned as I rose, and the people pointed their spears at me in lock-step. I wasn't sure if I could die again, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I put my hands in the air.

A person - this one easily two feet taller than the rest - pushed their way through the crowd and stared me down. Their plate was shined to the point that I could see my own reflection in it, but most of it was covered with a white tabard adorned with sigils of weapons. They spoke, and amazingly a woman's voice came out of the hulking figure. "A new transfer? What world are you from?"

"I- Well-" I stumbled over my words in shock.

"The name of your planet. Come on. No judgment here. Even if you're from Hectea we won't make fun of you. Death is the great equalizer, is it not?" she said. I think she would have been smirking if I could have seen her face.

"Earth," I supplied after another moment of stammering.

"Earth, huh? I haven't heard of a newcomer from that world in a long time. They're usually all crazy zealots who are more than willing to sell themselves into the Afterlife..." She took her helmet off, revealing an incredibly plain-looking woman with a terrible tan line around her eyes. "Well, it hardly matters. We're all here now. Come on. I'll show you around." She took two steps before shouting at everyone else, "Back to your posts, everyone! The fort won't defend itself."

The other knights filed away, all of them mumbling to themselves. "You'll have to forgive them all," the tall knight said. "They're excited for a newcomer. It's been a while since we've had a fresh face."

"I felt very welcomed when they all pointed spears at me," I replied sarcastically.

"It's a precaution. If you were an enemy, you would have burst into flame the moment they leveled their spears at you."

"An enemy? I'm not sure I understand-"

"Welcome to the club, newbie." She smiled at me. "All of us here don't really understand why we're here, or how this place exists. We just fight."

"Fight?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she led me up a flight of stairs on top of the fortress walls. On the horizon, a huge camp was assembled with hundreds, if not thousands, of tents pitched across an expanse I could not possibly have estimated the size of. Enough black smoke poured from the top of it that I almost thought the whole thing was on fire.

"All of us either couldn't accept the afterlife subscription right away or refused to," she said. "Oh, by the way, my name is Teresa. I'm in charge, but only because no one else wants to be. Anyway, what we do here is hold the fort. In front of us is an army that never stops, but it only attacks once every two weeks. Behind us is an entire country full of innocent people trying to live their lives. We're all that's stopping those guys from destroying it."

"Okay... And?" I asked, expecting more.

"And? What do you mean?"

"Why do you protect it?"

"Because that's what this world is, newbie. That is how things work here. The reborn fight the battle so that those still living through their demo have a chance to make their choice when they die. We cannot die twice." She pointed to the opposite side of the fortress. "Every single person back there hasn't even died once yet. That is what limbo is. Locked in a state between life and death. We are denied the peace of dying and the freedom of living. Our purpose is defined for us. Now, yours is as well. And that purpose is to fight."

"I... am not sure how to respond to that," I said, perplexed.

"You don't need to respond. When the time comes, all you have to do..." she stepped toward me, and for the first time I realized the sky above us was a dark, crimson red. Her eyes changed from a dull brown to a terrifying scarlet. "...Is kill."

Thanks for telling me! And thank YOU for writing this

what's a waffle house?

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What colour of the sky is your favourite

Like specifically

r/benignexistence

Am thinking about the same thing. Two princesses that supposedly got kidnapped? Surely they are dating or elope together.

Oh, is your name Errol? Errol’s such a nice name and I wonder why there aren’t more Errols in the world. Love the story. Thank you.

I've got a follow-up brewing, for sure. I'm definitely glad I stumbled into this sub, cuz it has really been scratching the itch of flexing my world-building brain. And I might do this in audio, cuz I'm really liking this concept

As I lay in the warm sand of the Mojave, sheltering in the shadow of a rock outcropping, I heard someone call my name.

"Are you...Larry?" a woman's voice asked, hesitantly.

I didn't open my eyes. I hoped she'd go away.

My name's Polaris Moon, but everyone I don't hate calls me Larry. On paper, though, I'm just nobody, the son of two other nobodies who -- as you might have guessed from my name -- were basically attending Burning Man year round.

"I...was told you could help me." she pressed.

Sighing heavily, I opened one eye to regard my visitor. The young woman standing over me looked tired, sunburnt, and desperate. Desperate enough to hike up a steep desert trail to find me.

"Who told you about me?" I demanded.

She hesitated, and then licked her lips. "Star. She said you could help me. She said you're--"

"A druid?" I asked, grimacing.

Well, she wasn't wrong. I am a druid, though not by choice. I was born into it.

See, my mom and dad -- or, as they preferred I call them, Star and Banjo -- were performing a psychedelic-clouded ritual they learned while backpacking through Europe, on the night they banged me into existence. Unlike the mountain of other New Age bullshit they were into, that one turned out to be real. Lucky me.

As a result of their meddling with powers they were too stoned to comprehend, I was born with a connection to the forces of nature, and as I grew, I found I was able to draw power from the Earth, talk to animals and primal beings -- you know the drill.

My visitor nodded. "Yeah. I, uh, I'm--"

"I didn't ask." I cut off, then rolled to my feet briskly. "What is it you want from me?"

Brusque I know, but that's just how I am. You might expect that my mystical conception and innate druidhood would have made me turn out a lot like my parents: all hemp bracelets and organic everything, and fully in love of with the idea of a simple, nature-centered life that they never actually managed to fully articulate, much less live out in their day to day lives. But I didn't turn out like that.

Because, unlike them, I actually understand Nature.

"Well," she began, hesitantly, "I-it's my family's ranch, it's--"

"Dying, okay." I finished for her, rolling my wrist impatiently. "Megadrought, years of work, family legacy being slowly buried by dust and bad credit, sure -- I hear it all the time. You want me to fix it for you, right? Make your land lush, green, and profitable?"

"Well, I mean, you...you're in tune with Mother Nature, right, so..."

I rolled my eyes.

"Whoever came up with that 'Mother Nature' bullshit must have had one hell of a shitty childhood." I muttered, as I pulled out a cigarette and fumbled it alight with my battered old Zippo. "And that's coming from me."

"What?" she said, sounding truly taken aback.

I drew in a long drag, and then exhaled it with a sigh.

"Look, maybe you had a mom who kissed you on the cheek, tucked you in, and wished you sweet dreams at night. But Nature? She's not like your mom. She's not even like my mom. You know, the blissful burnout in the trailer park who told you where to find me?"

"Then...what is she?" the woman asked, hesitantly.

I paused for a moment, considering.

"She's usually more like a mother kangaroo. See, a mama 'roo will casually toss her own baby to a dingo to slow it down while she gets away. She can always make another baby, right? Or sometimes, Nature's like one of those mother rabbits, who'll quite frequently just up and eat their babies if they feel threatened. Or if they hear a loud noise. Or get too cold. Or too hot. Or just because." I explained. "When she's at her very best, Nature is sort of like a mother panda. Pandas usually take more or less decent care of one of their babies, while quite happily letting the other one starve because they just can't be bothered to multitask."

"What's your point?" she said, crossing her arms.

"My point," I said, thrusting my hands into the pockets of my jeans. "Is that you need to know what you're dealing with. The forces you're calling on aren't nice. They're savage, mindless, and heartless. And more importantly, their help isn't free."

"I...I brought money." she said, fishing a roll of bills from her purse. "All I have."

I looked at the wad of cash. It seemed like it would let me sleep inside for a while, if nothing else. I can sleep rough better than most anyone, but I don't like it. All the fresh air and open sky is too much like being at work. So, I held out my hand.

"You'll help?" she said, hopefully.

I glared, and she quickly dropped the money into my hand. I pocketed it, then held up a warning finger. "The money's good, but there's one more part of my price."

She bit her lip, and looked me up and down. After a moment, she nodded, took a deep breath, and raised her slender hands to the buttons of her top, parting the top one with a nimble flick of her fingers.

"Not that." I said, hastily raising a hand to halt her. "Shit. I'm not that kind of asshole." I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the desert landscape. "You just have to watch me work."

She lowered her hands again, looking confused. "Why?"

I turned away from her, towards the desert landscape, and extended my hand. "So you'll know what my help really costs."

Then I reached out, seized the web of life in my hand, and pulled. I made some strands shorter, and some strands longer. Still others, I had to cut altogether. As I did so, the cacti and hardy desert brush withered and blackened across the sandy plains, as far as the eye could see. I had to take a lot from this place to give to my client's home, and the plant life here had little to spare. So I dug deeper.

The hard truth is that Nature isn't generous with her bounties. Everything that lives in her realm is living off something else's death and decay. It's been said before, but there's no such thing as a free lunch. The best you can do is make sure someone else is paying.

Desert creatures -- lizards, rabbits, and bugs of all kinds -- burst from their dens and burrows all around us, writhing in pain and screaming in a thousand tiny voices, as I ripped the life out of all of them. Using the young woman's connection to her home, I redirected that life into her dying patch of land miles away, and into the livestock her family raised there. Some might have called it horrific, or unnatural. Well, it might have been the former, but certainly not the latter. Something dies, and something else lives because of it. That's how Nature rolls.

When I finished, I was exhausted, and my client was gone. She'd evidently fled in the middle of my working, as my clients usually do. That was fine. I was pretty sure she got the point.

I started back down the trail myself after a few minutes, taking it at an easy pace -- I didn't want to run into the woman I'd just helped. No point in making things awkward.

I was looking forward to going into town, spending my money, and getting out of my head for a while. Most of all, I was looking forward to getting out of Nature.

pt. 2

“L-lots of things,” Gill replied. “We hear the wind, I think I heard some wolves and some badgers. I hear the claws of the rats,” Gill gulped and looked around him. “I heard birds … I hear you.” Frost began to spread across the tips of the grass, creeping from the druid toward the men.

“You hear the forest! You hear me! You hear yourselves!” Called the druid. “You seek the trail but in doing so are lost! I am the forest, as you are.” The frost crackled, a latticework of burning blades steadily embraced the men.

“Even in your cities of stone and timber boxes, you must remember from whence you came! The forest moulded your very forms, lengthened your arms, granted you digits, propped you upright so you might stand as tall and proud and firm as the oak!” A puddle ran from the men, melting the icy ground beneath them but for an instant.

A wordless plea burst from Clay, and he moved to his knees before the figure. “Please help us, we were wrong, should have respected your forest more.”

“You should have fear for the forest. You, forest-borne, you should have fear for yourselves.” The men nodded.

“We do, we do.” The druid nodded, the crevasses of his face softening. The cold wind quieted, and it seemed the animals were sleeping. The men sank back, shivering.

“I know you are lost, and the forest commands me to guide you home.” The words seemed to break over Gil and Clay like a wave of warmth. Their postures hung slack. “Have no more fear,” murmured the druid, who had drawn suddenly so near to the companions. “Have no more fear.”

They sat then, together, and it seemed there was naught left to say. Both of the children before the druid had seemed to draw inwards, towards themselves. A hint of warmth brushed the druid’s face, and he knew the forest was smiling.

“When you venture inward, children, you come ever closer to the forest, to who you were meant to be.” Clay just nodded, looking downward at his hand melting a brand into the frosted grass. Or perhaps, melting into the frosted grass. Gill swallowed, then swallowed again, seeming to be about to speak.

“Yes, child?” The druid asked mildly.

Gill tried to answer, but all he could produce were guttural moans. The moons were in the eyes of the men again. Clay called Gills name in a stuttering gasp, staring wildly at the red streaks his fingers left behind on the bejewelled ground.

“It is only the berries’ blood, child, lay back and return to your home.” The druid knelt before the two, pushing them down by their chests with a strength his gaunt frame concealed. “It is a fair exchange,” the druid murmured when the men tried to resist him, clutching at their throats. Clay's fingers scurried about the blades of grass, fumbling toward his metal toys. The druid pinned his hand to the earth. “You took the berries, and the berries take you, and the forest welcomes its children home.” The sounds of rasps, of choking splutters, drafted a melody that mingled with the chirping crickets and the druid’s murmured prayer.

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

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The Druid (not historically accurate)

Small feet and claws clamoured through the undergrowth and roused a druid from its trance. He lifted his head, and pale eyes reflected winged silhouettes traversing a full and vibrant moon. His little grove had a rhythm, a song, as though the forest breathed through his frail form. When the forest held its breath, as it seemed to do now, the druid knew it was waiting for something. For an exchange. It was his place as a part of the forest to intercede with his own kind, when it was necessary. A solemn oath from a forgotten era. The druid held his breath alongside the forest and its children, the plants and animals that formed its whole.

There. Low tones and hurried words trickled through the now-silent underbrush, the trees working to guide the echoes to meet his little grove.

“Mm,” the druid agreed. “They are indeed lost. You may send them to me.”

The druid waited. Though his frail form was draped in white robes, he was near indiscernible among the other hues of the forest, shades of navy and green, all. Even the tangled beard beneath his chin bespoke a form of lichen or wiry fungus. As the human voices grew nearer, as their clumsy legs and feet trampled the limbs and ancient bones of his sylvan brothers, the forest seemed ever quieter and out of balance. A human cacophony met its match in the disquieting silence of the grove as two haggard travelers stumbled into his ferned dominion. They couldn’t have been old, he saw it in the plumpness of youth around their eyes. They were infants in the eyes of the druid, and younger still in the eyes of the forest.

“You told me we would have found the trail by now, Clay,” the shorter, more scantily clad of the travelers muttered. “The moon is halfway across the sky, now.” The other was not interested in listening to their companion, instead choosing to shake and smash a shiny, smooth contraption against the nearest tree. When the violence was done and Claymore had deserted his task, he moved to smashing a longer, circular gadget against a boulder. The other man watched piteously, shifting in anxiety, hardly ever daring a glance into the surrounding wood. A groan escaped him and he clutched his stomach, leaning against the boulder. The druid twitched a finger and a small breeze drifted low through the clearing, snaking among the weeds and grasses until it crept underneath the humans’ feet. It found its target, jostling a bunch of black berries peeking around the stone. “Thank God,” the man whispered, and grabbed a handful.

“What is it, Gill?” The one called Clay still stared in futile at his broken toys. The druid observed the two as they gorged on berries. No sacks, no supplies. No food, no water, and for some time. No anticipation that they should need for anything because humans never want to believe that they truly need anything. They want to believe that they know all that sustains them. No thought is given to what the forest thinks they need. They are used to being provided for by others of the human kind. They forgot what all the other kinds provide. The druid had heard tales of their markets; cart-fulls of food, but no trees nor bushes in sight. Haunches of pork, naked pheasants, but no animals to be found in their cities of stone, save for rats and those that eat them. They fight to keep the forest out and they take only what they want from it. They take none of the frigid cold, none of the thorns, none of the rot, the decay, the death. They want none of the grizzly, nor the skunk, nor the panther. They don’t want confusion, they don’t want to be lost. So, they make a trail. And along this trail, they allow to live only what they want for comfort. The prettiest of flowers, the juiciest and sweetest of berries. In their racket they quiet the forest, for they want none of the queer howls and grunts. Yet in their imposition of order on the world they are truly lost, just as Clay and Gill are.

“As they were,” the druid said.

The two humans finally ceased their racket, the whites of their eyes like little moons come to earth.

“What was that?” Gill’s voice was hardly a whisper. Clay didn’t respond, and the two hazarded a glance at the surrounding forest and scanned the clearing. Their eyes passed over the druid as though he wasn't there, tucked between bramble and brush.

“What do you hear,” Clay whispered back. Gill shrugged, and the two sat together in the darkness in the centre of the clearing, lost and afraid. No longer. A smile crept over the druid’s mouth as he beheld the two travellers’ first forest trance. A cold sharp wind filtered through the undergrowth at the druid’s back, erecting fine hairs along a pronounced spine. It was time. The druid finally drew his breath.

“What do you hear?” A voice like cracking thunder emanated from everywhere, from nowhere, ensnaring, enrapturing, penetrating the bodies of the two huddled men. Rodents scurried over the ferned wall, birds flapped their wings and shrieked. The druid rose slowly over the clearing, rising first to his knees, as if in a mockery of prayer, and then to his feet. Upwards and upwards he rose over them, feet upon feet, no man should be so large, so thin. But still he rose. His bare feet and twisted nails lifted gently off of the forest floor, and up, and up. He stopped in the centre of a vortex of leaves and twigs and dirt. He tipped his head slowly backwards, the dirty white robe slipping to reveal a grin like the gash of a dark, wet ravine. And the druid rejoiced in the symphony, the crooning of wolves, the snarls of unknown creatures, and the cries of men.

“What! Do! You! Hear!” The humans wept beneath him.

“Please,” cried one of the men. “What do you want? What do you want?”

“Do you know what I am, children?” The men panted, and found each others’ hands. They were silent again, holding their breaths, until Gill was moved to speak.

“Y-you’re a druid! Right? A druid, a keeper of the wood?” At once, the rodents stopped their maddening scramble, the birds nested. The soles of the druid’s feet met earth again.

“Y-you are, aren’t you!” Gill turned to his companion, panting. “Clay, you remember, right? In school? In the Forgotten Days, the druids defended the wood, remember?” Clay nodded. “They were a boon for the peoples of the forest.”

They both turned back to the gaunt figure in the centre of the clearing, their abject fear driving them toward solace in the dream of a hope. The moon rose above the druid's head, and in this light, the druid seemed as much a saint as anything the men had ever seen. Birds flitted to his shoulders, rats and ferrets scurried over his feet, snakes weaved and wound beneath his robes.

“What do you want from us,” Clay whimpered, voice breaking.

“I want,” said the druid in his booming voice, “to know what you hear.”

(ctd)

What is the best thing about someone who is shy?

[deleted]

Ooh, I like the dark ending!

I would adore a follow-up! This reads so candidly that I would completely believe this were a real audio log!

You're killing me rn HAHAHAHA

This was nice, a lovely ending.

Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it! :-)

[deleted]

After all these years, of finding nothing but scraps and hints of what came before, we were on the cusp of something big, I knew it down to my whiskers.

It had been a long time coming. For the first few years of my career, many of my theories met with derision. Yes everyone knew of the cataclysm that melted much of the old world before we evolved, and the artifacts we did find were either melted masses of hydrocarbon based polymers, or mostly corroded bits of iron and other oxides. It was the underwater expedition with the rudder tails in 1376 where we found the first proof of earlier life. The statue, round eared, four fingered, strangely proportioned but obviously one of the races that arose after the days of fire and ash.It stood there under the mud of what had once been a peninsula before the seas rose, left hand on it’s hip, right hand raised upwards, though broken off just past the wrist. Ther looked to have been another figure standing next to it, but all that was left was a few hand spans of leg and one foot covering.

To be honest, I had regretted the finding of that artifact at the time. The Scholars deemed it a religious artifact of the pre melt races, and proof that the peoples had existed before the cataclysm that destroyed the world of this mysterious ‘ickey Mou’, and the controversy it generated overwhelmed the scientific knowledge we could learn. We had been blocked from further excavation due to court challenges.

Fortunately the fame had also increased my funding. My muzzle was starting to turn grey by the time we had a decent lead, but this time, we’re keeping things quiet until we knew what we had. And what we had was something big. Further west from the first site, across the Green Sea. I knew, when the diggers had broken through the slagged metal and found a tunnel, with straight walls that this could be something-”

“Seeker Dawnwood?”

I put down my pen and closed my journal, turning to look at the young Digger who was in charge of the excavation crews. Her long claws were still coated in soil, and her black and white striped fur on her face was coated by some noxious liquid “Good heavens!” I cried, “Jena, are you injured?”

She waved off my concerns. “It’s merely some sort of lubrication fluid, the scrutinizers have determined it’s harmless, a petroleum product that was used in the door mechanism”

“Wait-DOOR?” My ringed tail poofed in excitement as I followed the digger from the base camp. She led me through the tunnel to the metal wall where they had been probing. Sure enough, just past the cleared portion was a seam in the metal, and from a hole hit by an errant tool, the fluid leaked from a ruptured hose.

“By the Gods.” I muttered..

“What should we do?” the Digger chieftess asked. “The council-”

I raised my paw “the council will hem and haw until we have all become owl food” I replied. “We keep this quiet for the moment, can you get this open?”

It took more digging to get the door clear, with the fluid removed however and enough prying, it eventually began to budge.

“Why is the door so big?” one of the diggers asked. I wondered that myself, the idol we discovered before was a bit taller than one of the people, but not by much. This however…twice, three times its size. As the door slid whisker by whisker I had an even bigger question. “Why is there light coming from inside?”

That caused work to halt, and many of the crew backed away, ears back. A few of them made holy signs in fear, but this is what I had waited my whole life for. I felt someone beside me and noticed Jena was there. She flashed me a toothy grin “who goes first?”

I was somewhere between awe stuck and giddy. I shook my head “make sure the air in there is safe first, then we go together.”

After a few moments of testing, we stepped in. The lights were from some panels in the ceiling, far over our heads. There was writing on the wall of the corridor, I knew what the script said, we had some translations from the stones that were left by the ones before. What the words meant however.. “Nasa? Cy-ro, genics?”

“What does that mean, Seeker?”

“I have no clue.” I admitted. One should never be afraid to admit they did not know everything. I peered at the numbers on buttons on a door up ahead.

“There are numbers..but there are too many of them.” I thought. A team from Forestbrook had found the remains of a hand covering a few years back, but there were more fingers on it than any of the people. With excitement I pushed at the door panel, almost falling backwards in surprise as it actually opened.

We stepped into the room, there were cylinders on racks, about a dozen of them. Most of them were dark, but there were two that still had lights on them. I held my lamp up as I approached, there was a layer of grime and frost covering the glass on the cylinder. I had to climb up in order to see, and one of the diggers handed me up a cloth.

With a trembling paw, I wiped at the grime. It took a moment, but I could see through the glass at last. I gasped when I saw what was inside.

“What is it?” Jena asked from below.

It took me a moment to find my breath. “It’s a person…large one, female I think. Odd, no fur except for the top of her head.”

“What kind of person?” someone asked.”

I shook my head. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Everyone, be sure not to touch anything, we need to get a-oh no…”

I could see him falling before I even finished my sentence. Harln was only on the expedition because his uncle paid for the grant. I groaned as he fell from the shelf he had been attempting to climb to, the lapin bouncing off one of the lighted panels next to the tube with a thud.

Before I could rip his fuzzy tail off, there was a sound from the wall behind us. The door we came in from sealed shut with a loud ‘thoom’, and there was a voice speaking from somewhere above, though we couldn’t understand the words. I knew we were in trouble.

“AUTOMATED MESSAGE, TEST FACILITY 23, CRYOSTASIS THAW INITIATING. ERROR, LIFE SIGNS NEGATIVE IN CAPSULE 1, 3, 4,6 AND 8. EMERGENCY, CONTACTING MEDICAL ASSISTANCE”

In a college history class, I failed to catch that my free MS Word clone spell check had rendered "protestants" as prostates, and Nazi Socialist Party as "Nazi Vocalist Party". The professor somehow missed that the Mexican-Vietnam war should have been Mexican American War on a test.

Edit: Sideous was smarter than Darth Plagueus the wise.. 🤣

Hell yeah!

The most beautiful thing about the human race is...

That humans tend to race from race to race.

Being a racist? Nothing cool about that.

Being a racer? Bringing light into the darkness like a tracer bullet?

Seems lovely to me.

Heh, it was a rabbit!