view while laying on back at storytelling mushroom
There are many storytelling events on the grid, but I don’t get to make it to them as much as I’d like because the times don’t end up working out for me. On Wednesday afternoon, I logged on to host the Writers’ Meet at Milk Wood and was pleasantly surprised to hear from my friend Flower Rainforest.
She spends a lot of time at the Elven Forest and offered me a chance to come by and tell a few stories of my own, as well as talk about Virtual Writers. My thanks to her again for the opportunity, and here is the story the group helped me finish.
The Rising Fruit
Light beamed through the leaves, making yellow patches beside the stump Serenla sat against. There were not many such places in the woods on the edge of chaos. Moss covered the leaves of the trees there, making them hang far down to the ground. She could hear the sounds of the wine making festival off to her right. Penelope had filled a whole pond with nullified fruits in honor of the Fixer’s visit.
It was her hope the emissary of Urbessa would be able to stop the encroachment of the Great Dismal Swamp. Tricar would become another vassal of Morloch if nothing was done. The Fixer made the fruit in the pond safe enough to stomp and drink, but Serenla was not convinced he could take down the moss. His chaos could spread it farther.
A scream erupted from the gaggle of wine makers and Serenla stood up, the pages of shaved bark she’d been studying falling out of their green folder to the ground. She turned towards the pond, then began to run.
Purple was leaking out in all directions, a viscous substance that moved like lava. The small patches of moss around the water were consumed, floating to the surface like blemishes across piebald skin. As she came closer to her mentor, Serenla had to hop back and forth over fingers of molten fruit.
The pond and surrounds were a seething scene of confusion and madness. Creatures rose and fell in the un-wine, and trees laden with moss sparked to flames at its touch.
Serenla hopped and skipped over purple tentacles and half formed wings, trying to make it to Penelope and the Fixer. She felt some of the lava begin to crawl up her left leg, and stopped to push it off with her foot. A popping sound came soon after and she tripped over a limb, falling face first in front of Penelope.
Droplets fell against Serenla’s back and expanded, their new formed feet digging into her cloak. Penelope grabbed Serenla by the arm and hauled her to her feet. “Run, girl,” she said. “Don’t just stand there, get moving!”
Serenla staggered up the hill towards the outskirts of the village. She didn’t dare look back, but hoped and prayed her mentor was following behind her. She clutched at Penelope’s hand and tried to shake the forming creatures off, flicking a purple ferret’s head away from the side of her face with her free hand. The Fixer stayed behind, and Serenla could hear his fevered chanting as they dashed between the trees. Penelope pointed at the branches in their path and told them to sway.
A roar tore through the air, raising hairs on flushed skin. The sound grated hard against the hill and shook it under their running feet.
“Mother of chaos, twister of Fate. Grant your child the power to calm your blood, soothe your flesh. Make order from the seas of destruction, oh Goddess–”
Penelope staggered, but Serenla caught her and stopped her from falling, after a particularly large tremor shook the earth.
The Fixer’s chants broke off with a scream, and there were no more tremors for a moment, only the sound of crunching in the air
Penelope turns to Serenla with fevered eyes after her fall. “We have to face it. There’s nowhere to run.”
“But, Penelope–”
The witches turned around and planted their moccasin clad feet in the dirt of the woods. Serenla felt the power of the earth well up into her body, but did not know what spell an apprentice could use against such a beast.
The clouds broke open and something large drifted effortlessly in circles, spiraling downwards. Large white wings pushed huge volumes of air down, spraying dirt and dust in all directions. Penelope squinted up and rose her arms in joy. “The White Eagle of Archadeth!”
Serenla sighed in relief. Her lack of skill would not be tested this day.
The eight foot monster–formed of the purple juices of the fruits of chaos, distorted by the moss of Ekembre–looked up at its foe. Penelope dragged Serenla down to the ground as the White Eagle of Archdeth swooped in, beak forward, straight towards the mulberry beast’s eye.
“Here is the wrath of the Gods, apprentice.”
A screech pierced the dusty air and talons curled through dirt and creature alike, squeezing mud and tentacles into a red paste that dripped to the ground. Serenla wiped purple juice off her chin. “I am NEVER eating another fruit as long as I live,” she declared.
The witches backed away from the Archdeth as juice receded into the pond, and the White Eagle drank his fill, calming the chaos for one more day.
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