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Written by Lucianowrites in portal Fantasy

Jonathan Marshall: Spirit Magic User

Ramora is a planet that has vague similarities with Earth. It has life. It has humans. Those humans have technology not massively unlike the humanity of Earth but limited to technology available just centuries ago to the mankind of Earth's "15th century" in their modern calendar. It also has massive differences: this world is governed by laws of magic, it has kingdoms and governments led by inhuman magical beings, what occurs to the dead is known and death isn't the end for beings born in and raised in Ramora. In Ramora the living who've perished often become spirits whose strength is tied to the memories the living have about them, with special exceptions belonging to those who've been summoned by spirit magic users and those who inhabit rare spaces where the dead are capable of becoming self-sufficient. Thus a kingdom with solid records will often incorporate the dead into daily life, and the dead are often influential beings whose influence continues to be felt for decades or even centuries after they perish. 

[Jonathan Marshall] [Species: Human] [Gender: Male] [Equipment: Basic Body Armor, Light Sword, Transforming Shoes] [Class: Spirit Magic User] [Titles: Spirit Last's Hope, Savior Of The Forgotten, Spirit Magic User] [Affiliation: The Forgotten Kingdom] [Abilities: Spirit Magic (Class: S, Rank: 1), Infusion Of Authority (Class: B, Rank: 1), True Sight (Class: C, Rank: 1) Superior Automatic Translation (Class: S+, Rank:1)] 

These brackets were the very first thing Jonathan Marshall saw upon opening his eyes for the first time in the world of Ramora. Upon figuring out how to shuffle through these brackets he saw what surrounded him instead of what was just in his mind: a stone room lit by a few dimly burning torches. Inside of this room was a small bed, on which he must have been laying at one point although he now stood up having mysteriously been woken up and starting to move prior to his consciousness returning unbeknownst to him. This room also contained a large wooden door which Jonathan figured would move him in a direction which would lead to more information if he was brave enough to open it. He thought about his situation, aware that he must be lacking a tremendous amount of information which severely impeded his ability to make informed decisions but he understood that it wasn't likely that sitting in this room or even standing in it for an extended period of time would give him the information he needed to make informed decisions and understand his situation. So he made a decision which he hoped he wouldn't regret: he began to walk towards the door. 

The door was bulky but it was also surprisingly light once Jonathan reached it and he very easily moved it out of the way. To say that this shocked the (dead) individuals patiently waiting for the door to open would be an understatement. The Golden King, Jonathan Marshall's summoner, had been waiting for the door to open but didn't think it'd happen immediately. "So the new king opens the door immediately. Impressive." Said the Golden King, the king of the ghosts stuck in The Forgotten Kingdom. "Welcome Jonathan. Allow me to welcome you to your new home and to your new kingdom, should you choose to accept it." Said the Golden King, an intimidating and ghostly figure who just made a rather outrageous offer.

A/N: Welcome to Ramora, Jonathan. Jonathan Marshall is a human politician from Earth who has been summoned to a new world, by a ghost king intent on remaking his once grand kingdom from when he was alive in the distant past. How will our decisive protagonist respond? You'll have to wait to see! 

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Written by Lucianowrites in portal Fantasy
Jonathan Marshall: Spirit Magic User
Ramora is a planet that has vague similarities with Earth. It has life. It has humans. Those humans have technology not massively unlike the humanity of Earth but limited to technology available just centuries ago to the mankind of Earth's "15th century" in their modern calendar. It also has massive differences: this world is governed by laws of magic, it has kingdoms and governments led by inhuman magical beings, what occurs to the dead is known and death isn't the end for beings born in and raised in Ramora. In Ramora the living who've perished often become spirits whose strength is tied to the memories the living have about them, with special exceptions belonging to those who've been summoned by spirit magic users and those who inhabit rare spaces where the dead are capable of becoming self-sufficient. Thus a kingdom with solid records will often incorporate the dead into daily life, and the dead are often influential beings whose influence continues to be felt for decades or even centuries after they perish. 

[Jonathan Marshall] [Species: Human] [Gender: Male] [Equipment: Basic Body Armor, Light Sword, Transforming Shoes] [Class: Spirit Magic User] [Titles: Spirit Last's Hope, Savior Of The Forgotten, Spirit Magic User] [Affiliation: The Forgotten Kingdom] [Abilities: Spirit Magic (Class: S, Rank: 1), Infusion Of Authority (Class: B, Rank: 1), True Sight (Class: C, Rank: 1) Superior Automatic Translation (Class: S+, Rank:1)] 

These brackets were the very first thing Jonathan Marshall saw upon opening his eyes for the first time in the world of Ramora. Upon figuring out how to shuffle through these brackets he saw what surrounded him instead of what was just in his mind: a stone room lit by a few dimly burning torches. Inside of this room was a small bed, on which he must have been laying at one point although he now stood up having mysteriously been woken up and starting to move prior to his consciousness returning unbeknownst to him. This room also contained a large wooden door which Jonathan figured would move him in a direction which would lead to more information if he was brave enough to open it. He thought about his situation, aware that he must be lacking a tremendous amount of information which severely impeded his ability to make informed decisions but he understood that it wasn't likely that sitting in this room or even standing in it for an extended period of time would give him the information he needed to make informed decisions and understand his situation. So he made a decision which he hoped he wouldn't regret: he began to walk towards the door. 

The door was bulky but it was also surprisingly light once Jonathan reached it and he very easily moved it out of the way. To say that this shocked the (dead) individuals patiently waiting for the door to open would be an understatement. The Golden King, Jonathan Marshall's summoner, had been waiting for the door to open but didn't think it'd happen immediately. "So the new king opens the door immediately. Impressive." Said the Golden King, the king of the ghosts stuck in The Forgotten Kingdom. "Welcome Jonathan. Allow me to welcome you to your new home and to your new kingdom, should you choose to accept it." Said the Golden King, an intimidating and ghostly figure who just made a rather outrageous offer.

A/N: Welcome to Ramora, Jonathan. Jonathan Marshall is a human politician from Earth who has been summoned to a new world, by a ghost king intent on remaking his once grand kingdom from when he was alive in the distant past. How will our decisive protagonist respond? You'll have to wait to see! 
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How did your date with a mythological creature go last night?
Written by JadeRain in portal Fantasy

Mr. Ouroboros

I agreed to meet Ouroboros at a neutral location. When I arrived at the restaurant, he had already ordered, and was biting into his own tail. I tried to make small talk, but he didn't seem too interested. I left him sitting at the table, but I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even notice I was gone. He was so full of himself!

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How did your date with a mythological creature go last night?
Written by JadeRain in portal Fantasy
Mr. Ouroboros
I agreed to meet Ouroboros at a neutral location. When I arrived at the restaurant, he had already ordered, and was biting into his own tail. I tried to make small talk, but he didn't seem too interested. I left him sitting at the table, but I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even notice I was gone. He was so full of himself!
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Written by SelfTitled in portal Fantasy

The Quest for Excalibur: Chapter Four: The Best Friend

Arya met Leon Adams in the woods outside of Unnamed when she was eight and he was nine. Back then, Arya’s hair was so long it fell to the backs of her knees in a messy french braid that swung wildly when she ran. Arya didn’t live far away from a forest surrounding the city back then and she would always take the wooden sword her father made her in there, escaping into the trees. She would pretend to be Vapor Karstaag, the greatest swordswoman alive, chopping her sword through branches and bushes, screaming war cries at the top of her lungs.

One day, she wandered farther from her home into the deep woods. She stumbled across a two-story, private home in the heart of the trees. The house looked like it has been untouched for years, but it carried a certain life about it that Arya didn’t understand for a very long time. There was a little boy around her age with his own, wood-plank sword, yelling and swinging furiously at the air.

Arya was mesmerized. She had never seen anyone so good with a sword. His technique was near-perfection. His shouts were merciless. The feral anger in his eyes was awesome.

(Of course, at the time, Arya would think that an angry little boy spewing random curses while hacking a slab of woods around like a madman was something to gawk at. She was only eight after all.)

Leon paused when hearing rustling in the bushes. Gritting his teeth, he spun around and pointed his “blade” defensively at the little girl staring at him with shock written all over her face. “Who dares disturb me?!” He bared with narrowed eyes before they settled on the admirable weapon in her hands. “A challenger?” He shrieked, outraged. “Come to try defeating me? Who are you?!”

Arya decided then and there that if she wanted to be the best, she was going to have to beat this guy. She brandished her sword courageously, glare set deep on her face. “I am Vapor Karstaag! The greatest swordswoman to ever live!”

“Karstaag, huh?” He scoffed, grip on the hilt of his sword tightening. “No one is better than me! I am the powerful Othello Axel! Wielder of the Demon Blade, Abel! And if I must destroy you to prove I am greater, I will.”

“So this is how it’s gonna be.” Arya stepped forth from the bushes, mighty took glinting in the sunlight. Her foe backed away some, reading her body language, ready to defend his honor to the very end. “A proper swordsman must bow before the final battle.” She made show of bowing deeply, arms outstretched and feet crossed, before falling back into an offensive stance. She held her sword high, the useless hand parallel, pretending that she had another sword to dual wield with just like the real Vapor Karstaag.

“Touché.” Leon spat, flipping the end of the sword toward the ground and pressing the enclosed fist to his chest, bowing, then righting himself once more. Leon mimicked the combat style of Othello Axel himself, his sword held loosely in his hand like a knife, ready to flop between the fingers for any slashes or jabs.

“May the better swordsman win,” Arya announced, shifting her weight forward to the balls of her feet. Leon mocked her actions, a cocky smirk playing at his lips.

“I am the better swordsman.” Sneering, the two children shouted their final cries and burst forward at each other, out for blood and victory.

The fight lasted a little over seven minutes. By the time they were done, Leon had a nasty black eye forming on his face, cuts on his arms and a bruised ego. Arya’s lip was busted, one of her wiggly teeth came out and her nose was bleeding. They sat on the ground together, backs pressed up while they sharpened their mighty blades with rocks.

“I think a tie is fair enough,” Leon said finally after minutes of heavy silence. “But I’m still the best.”

“You’re just jealous because I made you cry,” Arya taunted, turning around to face him. Leon’s cheeks flushed and he shoved her half-hearted, but hard enough to make her fall over. Arya glared at him and sat up, brushing off her sleeve. “Othello Axel isn’t even the best swordsman anyway,” she pointed out. “Terrance Adams is.”

Leon’s expression grew so dark that it scared Arya. “Terrance Adams is trash. My parents always talk about how great he is. I’m great. Not him. And I’ll prove it to the world. I swear I will.” When Arya didn’t respond, Leon’s momentary anger died down enough to see the fearful look on her face. His cheeks burst into blushing flames, worse than before. “I-I mean-- I’m sorry! I scared you! God, I’m so dumb…”

“I don’t think you’re dumb,” Arya admitted, wiping some blood from her nose with a sniff. “I think you’re super cool.”

Leon stared at her, astonished. “R-Really?” Arya grinned with a nod.

“Yeah. And you’re an awesome swordsman. You’ll definitely be just as good as Othello Axel-- even better, even!” Leon timidly smiled back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thanks,” he said sheepishly. “You’re really good, too. I think you’ll be better than Vapor Karstaag. I think you’ll be better than Vapor Karstaag one day. You just have to practice a lot more.”

“But I already practice everyday,” she whined, crestfallen. Leon laughed at her.

“Then you’re just gonna have to do it every night, too.” After thinking it over, Arya beamed at him, taking his hands in her own.

“You can train with me then! We can be partners! We can meet up everyday here and spar. And then when we get super good, we’ll see who really is the best. Deal?” Leon spat in his hand then held it out to Arya.

“Spit deal.” It was gross and she didn’t want to shake slobbery hands with him, but she thought of it as their first challenge for greatness. Determined to be the best there is, Arya snorted then spat hard in her hand, latching it with Leon’s in a firm shake.

“Spit deal.” Leon decided that he liked this girl.

“May the best swordsman win.” Arya smirked at him, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

“I am the best.” From that day on, she was hopelessly in love with him.

Nine years later, Arya was barging into Leon’s room, a wide grin on her face. “Leon! Guess what I--” She stopped in her tracks when he threw a blanket on his bed over his bottom half, face flushed and scandalous. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Can’t you knock?” He grunted, sighing at the lack of relief. Arya shook her head, using her scarf to hide the blush on her face.

“Sorry. Just-- um. I can leave. If you, like, cold shower and such.”

“No, no, no!” He said that all too quickly before shrinking down in the pillows on his bed and puffing some hair out of his face. “What I mean is you can stay. I’ll be fine. Wanna sit?” Arya raised an eyebrow. “Bed’s perfectly clean, I swear.” Reluctantly, the younger of the two tip-toed over the random knives and swords tossed haphazardly across the floor before sitting next to him. She was so short that she barely touched the ground, which irked her, so she crawled onto the queen-sized bed, criss-crossing her legs. “So, what did you suddenly come over for?”

“Am I not wanted?” She asked curtly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You know what I meant,” he chuckled, leaning back against his hands. Arya resisted to urge to stare at his loose t-shirt sliding down from one of his broad shoulders. He was so strong now, after all of the years sword fighting and demon hunting. He could probably lift her with no problem. What would it feel like if he just laid her down on the red and roughly tore her--

“Arya.” She snapped out of her thoughts. For the Gods’ sake, get it together, she chided herself, bringing her scarf up to her nose now. Leon looked unamused. “What were you just thinking about?”

“What were you thinking about when I walked in on you?” Leon’s cheeks darkened a little, but he scoffed to cover it up.

“Pretty blonde.” Arya wasn’t blonde, so she definitely did not feel pretty at that moment. She hoped that he couldn’t hear another piece of her heart shatter. Who could blame him though? Arya had her body-temperature issues, so she always wore three of four layers of winter clothes. Her female cousins told her that she had an amazing body, but no one had ever seen her exposed. She was seventeen now and she had never dated. And, obviously, her life-time crush and best friend had no idea what her feelings were. She could count on staying single forever then.

“Well, anyway,” she redirected, clearing her throat. “I’m going to find Excalibur tomorrow.” Leon blinked.

“You watched that video, didn’t you?”

“It’s not fake!” She argued, fists clenching. “I talked to Fenrir and Sköll and they said that the sword is real. And I got a ticket into that forest from Low Key. It’s all real. So I’m going.”

“I never said it wasn’t real, Arya,” he countered, surprised at how defensive she was. “And I’m not here to stop you. I’m your friend. I support any decision you make wholeheartedly.”

But?” The young man frowned at her.

But, I don’t know if you should go alone. You saw what happened to those mages. It’s not safe.”

“I won’t be alone,” she reminded him. “I have my pack.”

“Which is good, but who says they’ll save you from every danger in that forest? You don’t know what’s there, Arya. I’d hate for you to get hurt.” Her heart fluttered and she hated it.

“Then…” She brightened at an idea and took his hands, leaning in some, despite the fact that he was just having private time. “Then you come with me! We can find the sword together and it can be our’s.” Leon smiled at the idea and almost nodded. Almost. The more something that Arya knew nothing of came crashing down on him, the more his face and shoulders fell.

“I… can’t. I’m sorry. I’d really love to go to Elsinore and hunt with you, but there’s just a lot going on right now and…”

“‘A lot going on?’” Arya couldn’t believe this. “What exactly can be more important than Excalibur?” Leon averted his eyes, quiet. “Leon? What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s none of your concern.” His voice was cold as ice. Arya shrank back, hurt plastered across her face. Leon winced and reached out. “Arya, I--”

“I should go.” Leon pursed his lips, hand dropping in his lap. He watched her slide down from his bed, step over the boobytraps on the floor, then head to the door.

“Arya. Wait.”” She hesitated. Just for a second. Just for him. “Stay safe.” Slowly, she nodded and left wordlessly. Leon groaned into his hands, slumping deep into the mattress. Beside him, his phone vibrated. He checked it.

Meet us at the park tomorrow morning. We have a surprise that we think you’ll like. Leon frowned at the screen and shut the device off. What he was doing, it was worth it. He would be the best, just like he promised Arya. Eventually, she’ll understand.

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Written by SelfTitled in portal Fantasy
The Quest for Excalibur: Chapter Four: The Best Friend
Arya met Leon Adams in the woods outside of Unnamed when she was eight and he was nine. Back then, Arya’s hair was so long it fell to the backs of her knees in a messy french braid that swung wildly when she ran. Arya didn’t live far away from a forest surrounding the city back then and she would always take the wooden sword her father made her in there, escaping into the trees. She would pretend to be Vapor Karstaag, the greatest swordswoman alive, chopping her sword through branches and bushes, screaming war cries at the top of her lungs.

One day, she wandered farther from her home into the deep woods. She stumbled across a two-story, private home in the heart of the trees. The house looked like it has been untouched for years, but it carried a certain life about it that Arya didn’t understand for a very long time. There was a little boy around her age with his own, wood-plank sword, yelling and swinging furiously at the air.

Arya was mesmerized. She had never seen anyone so good with a sword. His technique was near-perfection. His shouts were merciless. The feral anger in his eyes was awesome.
(Of course, at the time, Arya would think that an angry little boy spewing random curses while hacking a slab of woods around like a madman was something to gawk at. She was only eight after all.)

Leon paused when hearing rustling in the bushes. Gritting his teeth, he spun around and pointed his “blade” defensively at the little girl staring at him with shock written all over her face. “Who dares disturb me?!” He bared with narrowed eyes before they settled on the admirable weapon in her hands. “A challenger?” He shrieked, outraged. “Come to try defeating me? Who are you?!”

Arya decided then and there that if she wanted to be the best, she was going to have to beat this guy. She brandished her sword courageously, glare set deep on her face. “I am Vapor Karstaag! The greatest swordswoman to ever live!”

“Karstaag, huh?” He scoffed, grip on the hilt of his sword tightening. “No one is better than me! I am the powerful Othello Axel! Wielder of the Demon Blade, Abel! And if I must destroy you to prove I am greater, I will.”

“So this is how it’s gonna be.” Arya stepped forth from the bushes, mighty took glinting in the sunlight. Her foe backed away some, reading her body language, ready to defend his honor to the very end. “A proper swordsman must bow before the final battle.” She made show of bowing deeply, arms outstretched and feet crossed, before falling back into an offensive stance. She held her sword high, the useless hand parallel, pretending that she had another sword to dual wield with just like the real Vapor Karstaag.

“Touché.” Leon spat, flipping the end of the sword toward the ground and pressing the enclosed fist to his chest, bowing, then righting himself once more. Leon mimicked the combat style of Othello Axel himself, his sword held loosely in his hand like a knife, ready to flop between the fingers for any slashes or jabs.

“May the better swordsman win,” Arya announced, shifting her weight forward to the balls of her feet. Leon mocked her actions, a cocky smirk playing at his lips.

“I am the better swordsman.” Sneering, the two children shouted their final cries and burst forward at each other, out for blood and victory.

The fight lasted a little over seven minutes. By the time they were done, Leon had a nasty black eye forming on his face, cuts on his arms and a bruised ego. Arya’s lip was busted, one of her wiggly teeth came out and her nose was bleeding. They sat on the ground together, backs pressed up while they sharpened their mighty blades with rocks.

“I think a tie is fair enough,” Leon said finally after minutes of heavy silence. “But I’m still the best.”

“You’re just jealous because I made you cry,” Arya taunted, turning around to face him. Leon’s cheeks flushed and he shoved her half-hearted, but hard enough to make her fall over. Arya glared at him and sat up, brushing off her sleeve. “Othello Axel isn’t even the best swordsman anyway,” she pointed out. “Terrance Adams is.”

Leon’s expression grew so dark that it scared Arya. “Terrance Adams is trash. My parents always talk about how great he is. I’m great. Not him. And I’ll prove it to the world. I swear I will.” When Arya didn’t respond, Leon’s momentary anger died down enough to see the fearful look on her face. His cheeks burst into blushing flames, worse than before. “I-I mean-- I’m sorry! I scared you! God, I’m so dumb…”

“I don’t think you’re dumb,” Arya admitted, wiping some blood from her nose with a sniff. “I think you’re super cool.”

Leon stared at her, astonished. “R-Really?” Arya grinned with a nod.

“Yeah. And you’re an awesome swordsman. You’ll definitely be just as good as Othello Axel-- even better, even!” Leon timidly smiled back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thanks,” he said sheepishly. “You’re really good, too. I think you’ll be better than Vapor Karstaag. I think you’ll be better than Vapor Karstaag one day. You just have to practice a lot more.”

“But I already practice everyday,” she whined, crestfallen. Leon laughed at her.
“Then you’re just gonna have to do it every night, too.” After thinking it over, Arya beamed at him, taking his hands in her own.

“You can train with me then! We can be partners! We can meet up everyday here and spar. And then when we get super good, we’ll see who really is the best. Deal?” Leon spat in his hand then held it out to Arya.

“Spit deal.” It was gross and she didn’t want to shake slobbery hands with him, but she thought of it as their first challenge for greatness. Determined to be the best there is, Arya snorted then spat hard in her hand, latching it with Leon’s in a firm shake.

“Spit deal.” Leon decided that he liked this girl.

“May the best swordsman win.” Arya smirked at him, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

“I am the best.” From that day on, she was hopelessly in love with him.

Nine years later, Arya was barging into Leon’s room, a wide grin on her face. “Leon! Guess what I--” She stopped in her tracks when he threw a blanket on his bed over his bottom half, face flushed and scandalous. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Can’t you knock?” He grunted, sighing at the lack of relief. Arya shook her head, using her scarf to hide the blush on her face.

“Sorry. Just-- um. I can leave. If you, like, cold shower and such.”

“No, no, no!” He said that all too quickly before shrinking down in the pillows on his bed and puffing some hair out of his face. “What I mean is you can stay. I’ll be fine. Wanna sit?” Arya raised an eyebrow. “Bed’s perfectly clean, I swear.” Reluctantly, the younger of the two tip-toed over the random knives and swords tossed haphazardly across the floor before sitting next to him. She was so short that she barely touched the ground, which irked her, so she crawled onto the queen-sized bed, criss-crossing her legs. “So, what did you suddenly come over for?”

“Am I not wanted?” She asked curtly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You know what I meant,” he chuckled, leaning back against his hands. Arya resisted to urge to stare at his loose t-shirt sliding down from one of his broad shoulders. He was so strong now, after all of the years sword fighting and demon hunting. He could probably lift her with no problem. What would it feel like if he just laid her down on the red and roughly tore her--

“Arya.” She snapped out of her thoughts. For the Gods’ sake, get it together, she chided herself, bringing her scarf up to her nose now. Leon looked unamused. “What were you just thinking about?”

“What were you thinking about when I walked in on you?” Leon’s cheeks darkened a little, but he scoffed to cover it up.

“Pretty blonde.” Arya wasn’t blonde, so she definitely did not feel pretty at that moment. She hoped that he couldn’t hear another piece of her heart shatter. Who could blame him though? Arya had her body-temperature issues, so she always wore three of four layers of winter clothes. Her female cousins told her that she had an amazing body, but no one had ever seen her exposed. She was seventeen now and she had never dated. And, obviously, her life-time crush and best friend had no idea what her feelings were. She could count on staying single forever then.

“Well, anyway,” she redirected, clearing her throat. “I’m going to find Excalibur tomorrow.” Leon blinked.

“You watched that video, didn’t you?”

“It’s not fake!” She argued, fists clenching. “I talked to Fenrir and Sköll and they said that the sword is real. And I got a ticket into that forest from Low Key. It’s all real. So I’m going.”

“I never said it wasn’t real, Arya,” he countered, surprised at how defensive she was. “And I’m not here to stop you. I’m your friend. I support any decision you make wholeheartedly.”

But?” The young man frowned at her.

But, I don’t know if you should go alone. You saw what happened to those mages. It’s not safe.”

“I won’t be alone,” she reminded him. “I have my pack.”

“Which is good, but who says they’ll save you from every danger in that forest? You don’t know what’s there, Arya. I’d hate for you to get hurt.” Her heart fluttered and she hated it.

“Then…” She brightened at an idea and took his hands, leaning in some, despite the fact that he was just having private time. “Then you come with me! We can find the sword together and it can be our’s.” Leon smiled at the idea and almost nodded. Almost. The more something that Arya knew nothing of came crashing down on him, the more his face and shoulders fell.

“I… can’t. I’m sorry. I’d really love to go to Elsinore and hunt with you, but there’s just a lot going on right now and…”

“‘A lot going on?’” Arya couldn’t believe this. “What exactly can be more important than Excalibur?” Leon averted his eyes, quiet. “Leon? What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s none of your concern.” His voice was cold as ice. Arya shrank back, hurt plastered across her face. Leon winced and reached out. “Arya, I--”

“I should go.” Leon pursed his lips, hand dropping in his lap. He watched her slide down from his bed, step over the boobytraps on the floor, then head to the door.

“Arya. Wait.”” She hesitated. Just for a second. Just for him. “Stay safe.” Slowly, she nodded and left wordlessly. Leon groaned into his hands, slumping deep into the mattress. Beside him, his phone vibrated. He checked it.

Meet us at the park tomorrow morning. We have a surprise that we think you’ll like. Leon frowned at the screen and shut the device off. What he was doing, it was worth it. He would be the best, just like he promised Arya. Eventually, she’ll understand.

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Written by SelfTitled in portal Fantasy

The Quest for Excalibur: Chapter Three: The Trickster

Summoning Norse Gods usually made Arya nauseous for the simple fact that she loathed them with every fiber in her body. They were arrogant, selfish, vulgar Gods whose only relevance was to fuel the power of their last worshipers. The Iero family-- Arya’s family. And with each generation, the first born child would be picked by that year’s chosen deity to serve as their Champion. Although the Champion would have stronger magical power than the rest of the family, they were subject to constant ridicule, humiliation and harassment by the rest of the Gods sitting atop Asgard.

Arya Iero was the filthy, virgin Champion of Odin. Every second she spent alive, the most bloodlust she grew towards the Norse. One day, she’d figure out a plan to strike them down and keep her magic. But not today.

Lucas (or Low Key, formerly Loki) was the only Norse deity Arya liked. For one thing, he was the outsider among them. The bastard Frost Giant. The adopted nuisance. He would never be like the rest of his cruel, perverted family, which he was more than fine with. They were an embarrassment to him. For another thing, he allied himself with the New Gods that arose and replaced the Greeks, Romans, Norse, Egyptians and Hindi. So he technically wasn’t qualified as Norse anymore, something Arya admired. Finally, there were those few unfortunate events that Lucas never spared to bring up during one of his “Anti-Asgard” tirades.

“Because when you get fucked by a horse, you get fucked.” Arya kept the imagery to a minimum and took a sip from the glass of... some liquor Lucas offered to her, trying not to gag. “And that ain’t even the worst of it. Giving birth-- holy shit, dude. It felt like my poor vag tore to shreds. I am completely serious here. For the Gods’ sake, Arya, because I like you, never get knocked up. It will be the worst decision you’ve ever made.”

“Right,” she agreed, awkward, clearing her throat. “So, um, how’s Wren?” She wanted nothing more than to move on from the subject. Lucas’s sour attitude instantly brightened at the mention of his former apprentice.

“Oh, she’s been great! I just talked to her not too long ago. Totally has the goddess thing down now. Took her long enough. I started mentorin’ her, like, twenty years ago.”

“Uhuh.” Arya thought that the lounge that every supernatural creature went to, The Wishing Well, was a neutral place for them to talk business. She totally forgot about Lucas’s short attention span. He was pretty much everywhere at once; buying drinks, making it rain, talking circles around her… Arya’s eyes met with Eran’s, the vampire who tended the bar during the day and who was also leader of the Dracula Clan. He looked more than amused. Arya scowled and flipped him off. Unfortunately, Lucas noticed and grinned from ear-to-ear at her.

“Oh, I think I see what’s goin’ on here. Who knew you were into Eran? Although he’s such a dreamy, sparkling, mysterious vampire,” he cooed playfully, ruffling Arya’s hair when her face pinkened. “But I should mention that he’s centuries older than you, kiddo.... And he don’t sparkle.”

The Champion groaned, throwing her head back in frustration. “Lucas, look. I need your help with something and I’ve been trying to talk to you about it for the last two hours, but you haven’t listened to me at all. So can you just--”

“You want my blessing so you can go find Excalibur.” Arya stared dumbstruck at him for several minutes. Lucas just sat down on the chaise across from her, smirking.

“H-How did you know…?”

“Because let’s be honest, girly. You never call me just to mingle. It’s either you want something or the kids wanna visit their old man… slash madre. Plus, I saw the video of those kids getting mauled. The reason I didn’t say nothin’ about it earlier is cuz I was waiting on you to be assertive. Take charge. I like being dominated sometimes.” He winked playfully at her, making her eye twitch.

“You’re insufferable.”

“The best annoyance there is,” he laughed, suddenly sitting next to her with his arm draped over her shoulders. “But of course I’ll give you my blessing. I’m not a cunt like the rest of the Norse after all. I’m just your standard, everyday bag of dicks.” Arya shook her head with a lazy smile.

“Thanks,” she said, brushing some hair out of her face.

“No problemo.” Opening up his hand, he held a silver-studded earring that looked nothing like the one he was already wearing. “That’s your ticket to King Arthur’s burial ground. Here.” Fingering her hair behind her left ear, he latched the stud in place for her. “There ya go. Don’t lose it. And especially don’t take it out once you’re in there. If it’s not on at all times, you’ll get stuck in there for eternity. And that would be absolute shit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Arya turned to him with a quirked eyebrow. “I’m assuming you want payment now?”

“Payment, huh? I didn’t really think that far…” He scratched under his chin, lost in thought. “But I guess there’s one thing.” He met her eyes seriously, a firm frown on his face. Arya had never seen him look like that before. “I’m sure you know that if you do succeed in pulling out Excalibur, you own a God Killer. Only a complete idiot wouldn’t know what you’d do next. Lucky for you, my family’s full of complete idiots. But I’m not.” He lowered his voice to point Arya barely heard him over the booming music. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you all these years. Leave me off your list.”

“You were never on my list to begin with,” Arya said, just as serious. “I like you. I wouldn’t betray a friend like that.” It didn’t take much for Lucas to beam with a loud awww! that disturbed some nearby strippers. He threw his arms around her neck, hugging her tightly and nuzzling his cheek against her’s.

“You like me! You really, really like me!” Arya fought off the embarrassed groan bubbling in her mouth. This already felt like a long trip…

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The Quest for Excalibur: Chapter Three: The Trickster
Summoning Norse Gods usually made Arya nauseous for the simple fact that she loathed them with every fiber in her body. They were arrogant, selfish, vulgar Gods whose only relevance was to fuel the power of their last worshipers. The Iero family-- Arya’s family. And with each generation, the first born child would be picked by that year’s chosen deity to serve as their Champion. Although the Champion would have stronger magical power than the rest of the family, they were subject to constant ridicule, humiliation and harassment by the rest of the Gods sitting atop Asgard.

Arya Iero was the filthy, virgin Champion of Odin. Every second she spent alive, the most bloodlust she grew towards the Norse. One day, she’d figure out a plan to strike them down and keep her magic. But not today.

Lucas (or Low Key, formerly Loki) was the only Norse deity Arya liked. For one thing, he was the outsider among them. The bastard Frost Giant. The adopted nuisance. He would never be like the rest of his cruel, perverted family, which he was more than fine with. They were an embarrassment to him. For another thing, he allied himself with the New Gods that arose and replaced the Greeks, Romans, Norse, Egyptians and Hindi. So he technically wasn’t qualified as Norse anymore, something Arya admired. Finally, there were those few unfortunate events that Lucas never spared to bring up during one of his “Anti-Asgard” tirades.

“Because when you get fucked by a horse, you get fucked.” Arya kept the imagery to a minimum and took a sip from the glass of... some liquor Lucas offered to her, trying not to gag. “And that ain’t even the worst of it. Giving birth-- holy shit, dude. It felt like my poor vag tore to shreds. I am completely serious here. For the Gods’ sake, Arya, because I like you, never get knocked up. It will be the worst decision you’ve ever made.”

“Right,” she agreed, awkward, clearing her throat. “So, um, how’s Wren?” She wanted nothing more than to move on from the subject. Lucas’s sour attitude instantly brightened at the mention of his former apprentice.

“Oh, she’s been great! I just talked to her not too long ago. Totally has the goddess thing down now. Took her long enough. I started mentorin’ her, like, twenty years ago.”

“Uhuh.” Arya thought that the lounge that every supernatural creature went to, The Wishing Well, was a neutral place for them to talk business. She totally forgot about Lucas’s short attention span. He was pretty much everywhere at once; buying drinks, making it rain, talking circles around her… Arya’s eyes met with Eran’s, the vampire who tended the bar during the day and who was also leader of the Dracula Clan. He looked more than amused. Arya scowled and flipped him off. Unfortunately, Lucas noticed and grinned from ear-to-ear at her.

“Oh, I think I see what’s goin’ on here. Who knew you were into Eran? Although he’s such a dreamy, sparkling, mysterious vampire,” he cooed playfully, ruffling Arya’s hair when her face pinkened. “But I should mention that he’s centuries older than you, kiddo.... And he don’t sparkle.”

The Champion groaned, throwing her head back in frustration. “Lucas, look. I need your help with something and I’ve been trying to talk to you about it for the last two hours, but you haven’t listened to me at all. So can you just--”

“You want my blessing so you can go find Excalibur.” Arya stared dumbstruck at him for several minutes. Lucas just sat down on the chaise across from her, smirking.

“H-How did you know…?”

“Because let’s be honest, girly. You never call me just to mingle. It’s either you want something or the kids wanna visit their old man… slash madre. Plus, I saw the video of those kids getting mauled. The reason I didn’t say nothin’ about it earlier is cuz I was waiting on you to be assertive. Take charge. I like being dominated sometimes.” He winked playfully at her, making her eye twitch.

“You’re insufferable.”

“The best annoyance there is,” he laughed, suddenly sitting next to her with his arm draped over her shoulders. “But of course I’ll give you my blessing. I’m not a cunt like the rest of the Norse after all. I’m just your standard, everyday bag of dicks.” Arya shook her head with a lazy smile.

“Thanks,” she said, brushing some hair out of her face.

“No problemo.” Opening up his hand, he held a silver-studded earring that looked nothing like the one he was already wearing. “That’s your ticket to King Arthur’s burial ground. Here.” Fingering her hair behind her left ear, he latched the stud in place for her. “There ya go. Don’t lose it. And especially don’t take it out once you’re in there. If it’s not on at all times, you’ll get stuck in there for eternity. And that would be absolute shit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Arya turned to him with a quirked eyebrow. “I’m assuming you want payment now?”

“Payment, huh? I didn’t really think that far…” He scratched under his chin, lost in thought. “But I guess there’s one thing.” He met her eyes seriously, a firm frown on his face. Arya had never seen him look like that before. “I’m sure you know that if you do succeed in pulling out Excalibur, you own a God Killer. Only a complete idiot wouldn’t know what you’d do next. Lucky for you, my family’s full of complete idiots. But I’m not.” He lowered his voice to point Arya barely heard him over the booming music. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you all these years. Leave me off your list.”

“You were never on my list to begin with,” Arya said, just as serious. “I like you. I wouldn’t betray a friend like that.” It didn’t take much for Lucas to beam with a loud awww! that disturbed some nearby strippers. He threw his arms around her neck, hugging her tightly and nuzzling his cheek against her’s.

“You like me! You really, really like me!” Arya fought off the embarrassed groan bubbling in her mouth. This already felt like a long trip…

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The Quest for Excalibur: Chapter Two: The Hidden Forest

Oh, that’s it alright, Fenrir answered finally after the sword in the stone was revealed. Arya was showing him the video on her phone. The young Mage beamed, feeling accomplished with her progress already. She was sitting on her floor, back resting against the bed. Tiredly sprawled against the ground beside her with his chin resting on her knee was a large, jet-black wolf with crimson eyes and oddly spiked fur. The Arya’s right was a medium-sized grey wolf with a missing right eye. He was sitting up in attention, unlike his counterpart.

Fenrir yawned, the action sounding like a whine. And that was definitely a bear. Now can I go home? I’m exhausted.

“Not yet. I need to make sure everything about his is right.” Arya stoked the smaller wolf’s fur with a smile. “Geri, is there anything Fenrir missed from this?” Geri’s ears perked up.

There’s a lot of things he missed! Geri informed, excited to please his master, drawing an irritated growl from the other wolf. Like, for instance, there’s no forest outside of Elsinore the last time I checked.

“Really now?” Arya cut her eyes at Fenrir, yanking his ear hard.

Ow! Bitch… he bared his teeth threateningly at Arya, but the deep scowl on her face quenched her frustration. He laid his head back down, to the floor this time, bloody eyes narrowed at a spider crawling in front of his snout. Satisfied, the young mage turned back to Geri.

“What happened to the forests?”

They were cut down for the city’s expansion, Mistress, in 2036.

Don’t they teach you about shit like this in school? Fenrir chided, but Arya flicked his nose, something her sneezed from.

“No, they don’t teach us about where every deforestation project is.” She sighed deeply, at a loss. “How could they enter a forest that doesn’t exist? Maybe it’s really a fake after all…”

Don’t give up, Mistress! Geri encouraged, standing and wagging his tail. Geri honestly reminded Arya more of a Beagle than one of Odin’s messengers. Perhaps there is something in the video that we missed. Watch it again.

Reluctantly, Arya picked up her phone from her knee and replayed it from the top. She bypassed the pink-haired girl arguing with the boy and nearly gave up when Fenrir said Stop.

“What is it?”

Right there. The mediocre pyro burning the fire. Look at what she’s wearing around her neck. Arya squinted; she should’ve just put on her glasses, but it was clear enough to tell.

“That’s an amulet.”

Right. Now who's amulet?

Arya gasped, nearly dropping her phone, startling Geri into a short yelp. “That’s one of Frija’s! How did she get that? She’s no Champion and she certainly isn’t related to me.”

If it is relevant, Lady Frija did report a robbery a few weeks ago at her earthen home, Geri added.

“So the girl stole it. Clearly. But why?”

Sköll may know, Fenrir informed. What time is it?

Arya checked the corner of her phone. “Pushing six. It’s early, but it should still work. The Champion closed her eyes and muttered a long, Germanic curse under her breath. When reopening them, a medium-sized, albino wolf with eyes redder than fresh apples was sitting in front of her, head-bowed.

Y-You’ve summoned me, M-Mistress, the albino stuttered shyly. Is th-there something the matter? Am I in trouble? Her head sank sank lower, fluffy, white tail sweeping between her legs. P-Please forgive me for whatever it is that I have done wrong...

“Sköll, it’s okay. You did nothing wrong. We just need your expertise on something.” Arya reached out and scratched behind her wolf’s ear for encouragement. Sköll slowly leaned into the touch, tail wagging in content.

Th-Then, I shall aid my Mistress. She’s so kind, Sköll sighed. Arya smiled and it showed her the video, stopping it at the boy trying to pull the sword from the stone. Sköll gasped and cowered, ears drooping in fear. Th-That’s Sire’s sword! Sire killed many creatures when he was champion, he did. Much blood spilled…

“So you know it, too.” There was a gentle relief knowing she had somewhat of a chance. “Do you know where King Arthur hid it?” Sköll hesitated, but peaked one, scarlet eye up at her mistress.

Sire hid many things in that forest, she reminisced ominously. Many monster did he take there, oh yes. Lives, he did. Buried deep within the ground to rot. I watched him do it when he ordered me not to. In the shadows, I did. No man can find me there.

“You Concealed yourself,” Arya nodded, understanding. “That’s good.”

No! No good, it was! Sköll sunk back into a state of submission, whimpering in both dog and Germanic tongues that Arya couldn’t make out. Fenrir sat up, muzzling the smaller wolf’s head.

Sister, he coaxed, licking the side her of face affectionately. We need to know where King Arthur hid the sword. Where is the forest, luv? Sköll pawed at the ground, apprehensive, for several long moments. Geri whispered impatient swears under his breath, but Fenrir and Arya shut him down with a growl and glare.

Finally, Sköll murmured, A live soul can enter the forest with The Witch’s Blessing…

“Frija?” Distaste coiled in Arya’s mouth. She could only imagine all of the lewd, humiliating stunts she would have to entertain the Mother Goddess with if she wanted another piece of jewelry.

Not just her, Sköll corrected, but the Trickster, too. He can give you a key to Sire’s grave.

“Loki.” Arya shook her head, correcting herself. “Low Key. Lucas. Right. I’ll speak to your father.”

Slash mother, Fenrir reminded, nipping at his younger sister’s ear in gratitude. And before you say it, we’re seeing him in the morning. You need your rest. I definitely do. Arya rolled her eyes at the elder wolf, but nodded.

“You’re right. You all are free to go. Thanks.” Fenrir was the first to leave, melting into the pit of his shadow. Sköll fled in a stream of white fog. Geri bowed his head and faded, leaving a tiny trail of gold glitter in his wake. Arya stood up with a stretch, stripping herself of her four layers of jackets and long sleeved shirts for the night. When the morning came, she’d call Lucas, earn his blessing, then be on her way to Elsinore. Only then would Excalibur truly be her’s.

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The Quest for Excalibur: Chapter Two: The Hidden Forest
Oh, that’s it alright, Fenrir answered finally after the sword in the stone was revealed. Arya was showing him the video on her phone. The young Mage beamed, feeling accomplished with her progress already. She was sitting on her floor, back resting against the bed. Tiredly sprawled against the ground beside her with his chin resting on her knee was a large, jet-black wolf with crimson eyes and oddly spiked fur. The Arya’s right was a medium-sized grey wolf with a missing right eye. He was sitting up in attention, unlike his counterpart.

Fenrir yawned, the action sounding like a whine. And that was definitely a bear. Now can I go home? I’m exhausted.

“Not yet. I need to make sure everything about his is right.” Arya stoked the smaller wolf’s fur with a smile. “Geri, is there anything Fenrir missed from this?” Geri’s ears perked up.

There’s a lot of things he missed! Geri informed, excited to please his master, drawing an irritated growl from the other wolf. Like, for instance, there’s no forest outside of Elsinore the last time I checked.

“Really now?” Arya cut her eyes at Fenrir, yanking his ear hard.

Ow! Bitch… he bared his teeth threateningly at Arya, but the deep scowl on her face quenched her frustration. He laid his head back down, to the floor this time, bloody eyes narrowed at a spider crawling in front of his snout. Satisfied, the young mage turned back to Geri.

“What happened to the forests?”

They were cut down for the city’s expansion, Mistress, in 2036.

Don’t they teach you about shit like this in school? Fenrir chided, but Arya flicked his nose, something her sneezed from.

“No, they don’t teach us about where every deforestation project is.” She sighed deeply, at a loss. “How could they enter a forest that doesn’t exist? Maybe it’s really a fake after all…”

Don’t give up, Mistress! Geri encouraged, standing and wagging his tail. Geri honestly reminded Arya more of a Beagle than one of Odin’s messengers. Perhaps there is something in the video that we missed. Watch it again.

Reluctantly, Arya picked up her phone from her knee and replayed it from the top. She bypassed the pink-haired girl arguing with the boy and nearly gave up when Fenrir said Stop.

“What is it?”

Right there. The mediocre pyro burning the fire. Look at what she’s wearing around her neck. Arya squinted; she should’ve just put on her glasses, but it was clear enough to tell.

“That’s an amulet.”

Right. Now who's amulet?

Arya gasped, nearly dropping her phone, startling Geri into a short yelp. “That’s one of Frija’s! How did she get that? She’s no Champion and she certainly isn’t related to me.”

If it is relevant, Lady Frija did report a robbery a few weeks ago at her earthen home, Geri added.

“So the girl stole it. Clearly. But why?”

Sköll may know, Fenrir informed. What time is it?

Arya checked the corner of her phone. “Pushing six. It’s early, but it should still work. The Champion closed her eyes and muttered a long, Germanic curse under her breath. When reopening them, a medium-sized, albino wolf with eyes redder than fresh apples was sitting in front of her, head-bowed.

Y-You’ve summoned me, M-Mistress, the albino stuttered shyly. Is th-there something the matter? Am I in trouble? Her head sank sank lower, fluffy, white tail sweeping between her legs. P-Please forgive me for whatever it is that I have done wrong...

“Sköll, it’s okay. You did nothing wrong. We just need your expertise on something.” Arya reached out and scratched behind her wolf’s ear for encouragement. Sköll slowly leaned into the touch, tail wagging in content.

Th-Then, I shall aid my Mistress. She’s so kind, Sköll sighed. Arya smiled and it showed her the video, stopping it at the boy trying to pull the sword from the stone. Sköll gasped and cowered, ears drooping in fear. Th-That’s Sire’s sword! Sire killed many creatures when he was champion, he did. Much blood spilled…

“So you know it, too.” There was a gentle relief knowing she had somewhat of a chance. “Do you know where King Arthur hid it?” Sköll hesitated, but peaked one, scarlet eye up at her mistress.

Sire hid many things in that forest, she reminisced ominously. Many monster did he take there, oh yes. Lives, he did. Buried deep within the ground to rot. I watched him do it when he ordered me not to. In the shadows, I did. No man can find me there.

“You Concealed yourself,” Arya nodded, understanding. “That’s good.”

No! No good, it was! Sköll sunk back into a state of submission, whimpering in both dog and Germanic tongues that Arya couldn’t make out. Fenrir sat up, muzzling the smaller wolf’s head.

Sister, he coaxed, licking the side her of face affectionately. We need to know where King Arthur hid the sword. Where is the forest, luv? Sköll pawed at the ground, apprehensive, for several long moments. Geri whispered impatient swears under his breath, but Fenrir and Arya shut him down with a growl and glare.

Finally, Sköll murmured, A live soul can enter the forest with The Witch’s Blessing…

“Frija?” Distaste coiled in Arya’s mouth. She could only imagine all of the lewd, humiliating stunts she would have to entertain the Mother Goddess with if she wanted another piece of jewelry.

Not just her, Sköll corrected, but the Trickster, too. He can give you a key to Sire’s grave.

“Loki.” Arya shook her head, correcting herself. “Low Key. Lucas. Right. I’ll speak to your father.”

Slash mother, Fenrir reminded, nipping at his younger sister’s ear in gratitude. And before you say it, we’re seeing him in the morning. You need your rest. I definitely do. Arya rolled her eyes at the elder wolf, but nodded.

“You’re right. You all are free to go. Thanks.” Fenrir was the first to leave, melting into the pit of his shadow. Sköll fled in a stream of white fog. Geri bowed his head and faded, leaving a tiny trail of gold glitter in his wake. Arya stood up with a stretch, stripping herself of her four layers of jackets and long sleeved shirts for the night. When the morning came, she’d call Lucas, earn his blessing, then be on her way to Elsinore. Only then would Excalibur truly be her’s.

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The Forgotten Kingdom & The Summoner's Plea

The ruins of the ancient kingdom looked surprisingly well maintained especially since no living person or breathing civilization had settled in this area in tens of thousands of years. It had a history that extended millennia beyond any history texts that had been written by any present day scholars. In an age forgotten to even the most diligent historians of the world of Ramora an ancient deity had cursed the kingdom to suffer from an unspeakable curse: it’d be forgotten by men and monsters alike, only remembered by the undead and by the spirits of nature who’d come to inhabit it and even then only the spirits and undead themselves in the area once considered part of the ancient kingdom would be forgotten.

The reactions from the undead and from the spirits of nature could not be more different: the undead despised this curse as it trapped them there, due to a mystical law in the world of Ramora about the nature of the undead: an undead being from outside of the kingdom moved into the area by accident or by force would be stuck in the area due to it losing the majority of its powers which stem from memories that those who loved them and those who hated them had of them. Undead in the area would lose too much power to maintain themselves if they weren’t being fed it by the rulers of the Forgotten Kingdom who due to their ancient age had developed a way to feed themselves the energy needed to maintain their existences as undead. Spirits of nature on the other hand drew mystical might and energy from nature itself and thus could come to the Forgotten Kingdom freely and even cherished the place as an area free of humanity where they could live in peace. In time the Forgotten Kingdom became a place of legend. Explorers independent of their species would hear whispers of a land of the dead where spirits and ghosts gathered in great numbers and soon whispers turned into legends of a strange region of the furthest continent where a culture of the dead was beginning to appear. This rumor was spread deliberately by the final and most beloved king of the Forgotten Kingdom. The ancient Golden King tricked both the living and the dead to come to the Forgotten Kingdom. When the dead arrived and realized that they’d been tricked they were approached with a way out: to be absorbed by the Golden King who in life had been a powerful sorcerer and knew the unspeakably powerful magic needed to break the laws of the world that kept an undead being tethered to the world that logically should have belonged to the living which would immediately send the energy that remained in them into the king himself. In this way the ancient Golden King had powers that gradually went from being a reasonably powerful sorcerer in life to powers that had reached the levels of the gods themselves in death.

The Golden King had long since defeated the deity responsible for the curse but in doing so he had depleted the majority of his energy and it took generations to buildup enough magical fuel to finally defeat the curse. On the eve of the 7th era of Ramora’s history the Golden King cast a single powerful incantation with two reality bending effects: He shattered the curse which kept the living from remembering the ancient kingdom and destroyed the meta-physical fears which pushed the living away from the land that was once the ancient kingdom, and he summoned a powerful figure who he hopes will lead the people who come to this newly inhabitable land into a new age of glory and influence.

In the midst of the spell’s activation time had frozen around the Golden King who was surprised by this sudden development. He found himself staring at something vaguely resembling a character creation screen which would be familiar to fans of Role-Playing Games back on Earth. In truth this “screen” was merely the spell urging the Golden King to select criteria from which the summoning aspect of the powerful incantation would be able to best bring forth a candidate from the variety of other worlds it was shuffling through. The Golden King was tasked with selecting characteristics through which the spell he was casting could pick the single greatest candidate for fulfilling the wishes of the King and those who had stayed behind to watch the day the unspeakable curse had been broken. The Golden King selected the following characteristics for his ideal summon: “Someone with great ambition, which is of course a necessary trait for country-building” “Someone with the knowledge necessary to build a stable nation” “Someone with the power to strengthen and harness the might of both the living and the dead” “Someone who possesses legendary management capability who’ll care about getting results more than arbitrary characteristics such as gender, species, social status or even whether or not his allies are among the living or the dead” “Someone who can create a cohesive and multicultural society where any talented figures can come and contribute”. Even for the spell going across multiple worlds it was difficult to find such a figure. Difficult. But not impossible. Which is how the Forgotten Kingdom and the Summoner’s Plea brought Jonathan Marshal to the world of Ramora. 

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Written by Lucianowrites in portal Fantasy
The Forgotten Kingdom & The Summoner's Plea
The ruins of the ancient kingdom looked surprisingly well maintained especially since no living person or breathing civilization had settled in this area in tens of thousands of years. It had a history that extended millennia beyond any history texts that had been written by any present day scholars. In an age forgotten to even the most diligent historians of the world of Ramora an ancient deity had cursed the kingdom to suffer from an unspeakable curse: it’d be forgotten by men and monsters alike, only remembered by the undead and by the spirits of nature who’d come to inhabit it and even then only the spirits and undead themselves in the area once considered part of the ancient kingdom would be forgotten.

The reactions from the undead and from the spirits of nature could not be more different: the undead despised this curse as it trapped them there, due to a mystical law in the world of Ramora about the nature of the undead: an undead being from outside of the kingdom moved into the area by accident or by force would be stuck in the area due to it losing the majority of its powers which stem from memories that those who loved them and those who hated them had of them. Undead in the area would lose too much power to maintain themselves if they weren’t being fed it by the rulers of the Forgotten Kingdom who due to their ancient age had developed a way to feed themselves the energy needed to maintain their existences as undead. Spirits of nature on the other hand drew mystical might and energy from nature itself and thus could come to the Forgotten Kingdom freely and even cherished the place as an area free of humanity where they could live in peace. In time the Forgotten Kingdom became a place of legend. Explorers independent of their species would hear whispers of a land of the dead where spirits and ghosts gathered in great numbers and soon whispers turned into legends of a strange region of the furthest continent where a culture of the dead was beginning to appear. This rumor was spread deliberately by the final and most beloved king of the Forgotten Kingdom. The ancient Golden King tricked both the living and the dead to come to the Forgotten Kingdom. When the dead arrived and realized that they’d been tricked they were approached with a way out: to be absorbed by the Golden King who in life had been a powerful sorcerer and knew the unspeakably powerful magic needed to break the laws of the world that kept an undead being tethered to the world that logically should have belonged to the living which would immediately send the energy that remained in them into the king himself. In this way the ancient Golden King had powers that gradually went from being a reasonably powerful sorcerer in life to powers that had reached the levels of the gods themselves in death.

The Golden King had long since defeated the deity responsible for the curse but in doing so he had depleted the majority of his energy and it took generations to buildup enough magical fuel to finally defeat the curse. On the eve of the 7th era of Ramora’s history the Golden King cast a single powerful incantation with two reality bending effects: He shattered the curse which kept the living from remembering the ancient kingdom and destroyed the meta-physical fears which pushed the living away from the land that was once the ancient kingdom, and he summoned a powerful figure who he hopes will lead the people who come to this newly inhabitable land into a new age of glory and influence.

In the midst of the spell’s activation time had frozen around the Golden King who was surprised by this sudden development. He found himself staring at something vaguely resembling a character creation screen which would be familiar to fans of Role-Playing Games back on Earth. In truth this “screen” was merely the spell urging the Golden King to select criteria from which the summoning aspect of the powerful incantation would be able to best bring forth a candidate from the variety of other worlds it was shuffling through. The Golden King was tasked with selecting characteristics through which the spell he was casting could pick the single greatest candidate for fulfilling the wishes of the King and those who had stayed behind to watch the day the unspeakable curse had been broken. The Golden King selected the following characteristics for his ideal summon: “Someone with great ambition, which is of course a necessary trait for country-building” “Someone with the knowledge necessary to build a stable nation” “Someone with the power to strengthen and harness the might of both the living and the dead” “Someone who possesses legendary management capability who’ll care about getting results more than arbitrary characteristics such as gender, species, social status or even whether or not his allies are among the living or the dead” “Someone who can create a cohesive and multicultural society where any talented figures can come and contribute”. Even for the spell going across multiple worlds it was difficult to find such a figure. Difficult. But not impossible. Which is how the Forgotten Kingdom and the Summoner’s Plea brought Jonathan Marshal to the world of Ramora. 
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The smoke and haze hung heavily in the sky.
Written by beausign in portal Fantasy

Gednam Wood

The smoke and haze hung heavily in the sky.

Brys' vision was clearing up, and he was falling fast.

His Maggie had collided with the beater, and on impact, him and the broom were torn apart. Luckily his Exi-suit was made pretty well, but the internal augmentation systems were still out, but his com was still on. The suit was basically a speeding bullet with an chat box. He was so dazed that he didnt even realize the yelling in his com -

"Bryson! Wake up! Ergghah!"

"If you're not dead you're gonna be-"

"Im here Wally. stuff your fucking face much, huh?" Bryson contorted.

"--Wha- What'd you say, wait, you ass, you're alive."

"Hurry we gotta get you slowed down enough, someone's gotta catch you, or can you fly?"

"No way, suit's shot from the neck down. Im gliding"

"FUCK!"

"How did we get ourselves like this we gotta--"

"Don't, we're gonna get out this, and it's gonna hurt but bear with me, OK?"

"Fuck are you cooking, B"

"You need someone on crew to Ex a High Voltage spell, uh uh, like Ex plot lux caeli! "

"Ok well you're too far up for me, my focus could fry up the whole air space."

"We gotta get someone who can cast this, quick."

"Tell Streya now, tell her and don't leave anything out, hurry, she can do this, she should be only a couple of row over from you, text her DAW and let me know---"

Brys felt a chill up his spine as soon as he let himself trail off. He knew Strey wouldn't let him die, even if it meant hurting. Hurting everything. Instinctively he clinched all his muscles, his crazy best friend was probably about to hurl a spell right at him. He quickly glanced around to see if maybe he could spot her from the descent, but it was no good. Just as he was about to turn his head he saw a flash of light, his heart started to race. Fuck. if he could've only stayed away from trouble, but it seemed this is what he gets for going abcd on the other seeker just to get the glitch. The light was getting closer, he braced himself. Then all of a sudden he felt a tingle everywhere like a static shock, he heard a familiar sound, his suit was turning on, he could move, but he wasn't fast enough to dodge the bolt and as soon as it hit him he almost shitted his pants.

"Ahhhhh, Fuck!"

Brys was locked and loaded. He activated his suit via punching the kill switch on his hip, and he could feel himself starting to slow down but these were Quid Exi-suits meant to be paired with a Maggie broom in order for lightweight protection. Spells carry energy, which means you'll need a power source that can take each item. All he had in his pocket now was a hope that his Mag was still functional. 

"Quidny, put out a beacon for my Maggie, but put a delay on to match my descent"

"I'll do as best as I can, but Right Away."

"Freaking A.I. all he had to say was Ok, Brys thought to himself"

Quickly he turned his head towards where his HUD was showing where his Maggie was. He Glided towards the middle crowd section, and saw his Mag start to float and then rocket towards him. He reached out as soon as he could to catch it, but the Maggie busted into his hand like a lead football. He was gripping the front end, but holding the end like he was about to give the field crew just what they needed to clean him up. He swayed himself enough to get his hand in riding position upside down, and revved the hell out of the Mag up. Feeling the pull, he veered up and away from the pitch just as he was about two stories up. Slowly he let himself down onto the pitch, sitting flat on his ass. Sweating in about every place possible he could feel the snot dripping from his nose from the collision and the descent. He had to find out who was out for him. It was his first year at the Consort, but he had played friendlies ever since he was scouted back in high school. He didn't want any troubles at Gednam, since he already had a mission of his own. He opened his helmet, letting the glitch drop in his lap. He held it tight. Brys' heart started to slow. He was locked and loaded.

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The smoke and haze hung heavily in the sky.
Written by beausign in portal Fantasy
Gednam Wood
The smoke and haze hung heavily in the sky.
Brys' vision was clearing up, and he was falling fast.
His Maggie had collided with the beater, and on impact, him and the broom were torn apart. Luckily his Exi-suit was made pretty well, but the internal augmentation systems were still out, but his com was still on. The suit was basically a speeding bullet with an chat box. He was so dazed that he didnt even realize the yelling in his com -

"Bryson! Wake up! Ergghah!"
"If you're not dead you're gonna be-"
"Im here Wally. stuff your fucking face much, huh?" Bryson contorted.
"--Wha- What'd you say, wait, you ass, you're alive."
"Hurry we gotta get you slowed down enough, someone's gotta catch you, or can you fly?"
"No way, suit's shot from the neck down. Im gliding"
"FUCK!"
"How did we get ourselves like this we gotta--"
"Don't, we're gonna get out this, and it's gonna hurt but bear with me, OK?"
"Fuck are you cooking, B"
"You need someone on crew to Ex a High Voltage spell, uh uh, like Ex plot lux caeli! "
"Ok well you're too far up for me, my focus could fry up the whole air space."
"We gotta get someone who can cast this, quick."
"Tell Streya now, tell her and don't leave anything out, hurry, she can do this, she should be only a couple of row over from you, text her DAW and let me know---"
Brys felt a chill up his spine as soon as he let himself trail off. He knew Strey wouldn't let him die, even if it meant hurting. Hurting everything. Instinctively he clinched all his muscles, his crazy best friend was probably about to hurl a spell right at him. He quickly glanced around to see if maybe he could spot her from the descent, but it was no good. Just as he was about to turn his head he saw a flash of light, his heart started to race. Fuck. if he could've only stayed away from trouble, but it seemed this is what he gets for going abcd on the other seeker just to get the glitch. The light was getting closer, he braced himself. Then all of a sudden he felt a tingle everywhere like a static shock, he heard a familiar sound, his suit was turning on, he could move, but he wasn't fast enough to dodge the bolt and as soon as it hit him he almost shitted his pants.

"Ahhhhh, Fuck!"

Brys was locked and loaded. He activated his suit via punching the kill switch on his hip, and he could feel himself starting to slow down but these were Quid Exi-suits meant to be paired with a Maggie broom in order for lightweight protection. Spells carry energy, which means you'll need a power source that can take each item. All he had in his pocket now was a hope that his Mag was still functional. 
"Quidny, put out a beacon for my Maggie, but put a delay on to match my descent"
"I'll do as best as I can, but Right Away."
"Freaking A.I. all he had to say was Ok, Brys thought to himself"
Quickly he turned his head towards where his HUD was showing where his Maggie was. He Glided towards the middle crowd section, and saw his Mag start to float and then rocket towards him. He reached out as soon as he could to catch it, but the Maggie busted into his hand like a lead football. He was gripping the front end, but holding the end like he was about to give the field crew just what they needed to clean him up. He swayed himself enough to get his hand in riding position upside down, and revved the hell out of the Mag up. Feeling the pull, he veered up and away from the pitch just as he was about two stories up. Slowly he let himself down onto the pitch, sitting flat on his ass. Sweating in about every place possible he could feel the snot dripping from his nose from the collision and the descent. He had to find out who was out for him. It was his first year at the Consort, but he had played friendlies ever since he was scouted back in high school. He didn't want any troubles at Gednam, since he already had a mission of his own. He opened his helmet, letting the glitch drop in his lap. He held it tight. Brys' heart started to slow. He was locked and loaded.
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Written by SelfTitled in portal Fantasy

The Quest for Excalibur (WIP)

Chapter One: The Discovery

“Arya, you might wanna see this.” The tiny, brunette girl turned away from A Song of Ice And Fire to her younger cousin, Jon. He slid next to her on the couch in their home’s living room, flashing his phone her away. He was on a “Mage’s Only” chat room; on the screen was a video that someone posted, titled “The Gruesome Deaths of Band of Travelers, Located Excalibur.” The girl’s eyes widened and she snatched the phone from Jon’s hands. “Hey!”

“Shush,” she hissed, playing the video. It buffered a little bit before showing a girl with pink-dyed hair holding the phone lense to herself, grinning at her unknown audience.

“Salutations from Elsinore, Denmark!” she greeted. “If you’re watching this, me and my party are in the center of a forest about twenty kilometers east of the city. What you’re about to see will blow your mind.”

“Hey, dumbass! A little less talking and a little more pulling here!” Another voice shouted from off the screen. The girl clicked her teeth, smile falling into an annoyed frown.

“I’m kinda livestreaming right now. I want people to know why the hell we’re here in the first place.”

“Well can you maybe turn and film this way?”

“Fine, bossy. Jeez.” There was some rustling when the girl switched the view. From what Arya could see, the girl was in a crystal-ridden cave with blue light bouncing off of each jewel. Two other people were with her; a blonde girl lighting a fire to the side with her hands, obviously a pyro or some other fire-elemental witch, and a brown-haired boy struggling to yank a rose gold-hilted sword from out of a prison of stone.

“Holy shit,” Arya breathed. “That’s--”

“It could be a hoax,” Jon suggested, but his cousin fixed him with a glare, shutting him up. Satisfied, Arya went back to watching the video.

“This shit is fucking stuck,” the guy trying to pull the sword growled, harshly withdrawing his hands from the hilt. The camera-girl giggled.

“It is because you are not worthy,” she boomed, voice drenched in humor. The boy’s face burned and he flipped the camera off, but his finger was blurred for the sake of demonetization. The girl making the fire finally stopped and stepped back, rubbing her hands together.

“Maybe we should take a break for now,” she offered.

“What? No way. We’ve been out here for weeks and we--” Off to the side, there was a deep growling that alerted everyone’s attention, even making Arya’s skin crawl. The pyro looked up and screamed bloody murder. Camera-girl turned around, flashing the view onto a dark, looming creature standing right in front of her. It was too dark to make anything out of it except for it’s gigantic, bloody jaws and hell-sent eyes. Arya heard one last ear-piercing scream when the monster raged forward, swiping it’s claws at the pink-haired girl. The phone fell, glass cracking and footage crumpling into static. In the background, flesh could be heard getting torn to shred until the video cut off. She stared at Jon’s phone, dumbfounded for a complete moments. Then, boldly, she ventured into the comments section to make sure what she saw was real.

“FAKE.

This is so fake if wtf

fake af smh

omg did they actually died???

was that a bear??? holy shit, i hate beats…

Kinda wish I saw them all get murdered

            ur fucked up bro

Srsly tho, that was Excalibur

Like from Soul Eater??????!!!1!!!!11!!!??!!?

EXCALIBUR! EXCALIBUR! FROM THE UNITED KINGDOM, I’M LOOKING FOR HEAVEN, GOING TO CALIFORNIA! EXCALIBUR! EXCALIBUR!

Holy shit Excalibur is real…

Who else is gonna try to pull the sword from the stone now?

            You’re fucking crazy

            lol good luck m8

            But for real tho like this was fake

                   But what if it isn’t?

                         Then youre gonna die.”

“I’m totally gonna do it,” Arya decided, handing her flabbergasted cousin his phone then leaping up from the couch. Jon sat there in shock for a minute while she ran upstairs before realizing what Arya said and chasing after her.

“But how do you know if that was real or not?!” He shouted after her just as she entered her room.

“I’ll ask Fenrir! He’ll know!” Jon wanted to protest some more, but she slammed her room door closed, leaving him in a silent state of panic.

“...My Gods, she’s insane…”

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Written by SelfTitled in portal Fantasy
The Quest for Excalibur (WIP)
Chapter One: The Discovery
“Arya, you might wanna see this.” The tiny, brunette girl turned away from A Song of Ice And Fire to her younger cousin, Jon. He slid next to her on the couch in their home’s living room, flashing his phone her away. He was on a “Mage’s Only” chat room; on the screen was a video that someone posted, titled “The Gruesome Deaths of Band of Travelers, Located Excalibur.” The girl’s eyes widened and she snatched the phone from Jon’s hands. “Hey!”

“Shush,” she hissed, playing the video. It buffered a little bit before showing a girl with pink-dyed hair holding the phone lense to herself, grinning at her unknown audience.

“Salutations from Elsinore, Denmark!” she greeted. “If you’re watching this, me and my party are in the center of a forest about twenty kilometers east of the city. What you’re about to see will blow your mind.”

“Hey, dumbass! A little less talking and a little more pulling here!” Another voice shouted from off the screen. The girl clicked her teeth, smile falling into an annoyed frown.

“I’m kinda livestreaming right now. I want people to know why the hell we’re here in the first place.”

“Well can you maybe turn and film this way?”

“Fine, bossy. Jeez.” There was some rustling when the girl switched the view. From what Arya could see, the girl was in a crystal-ridden cave with blue light bouncing off of each jewel. Two other people were with her; a blonde girl lighting a fire to the side with her hands, obviously a pyro or some other fire-elemental witch, and a brown-haired boy struggling to yank a rose gold-hilted sword from out of a prison of stone.

“Holy shit,” Arya breathed. “That’s--”

“It could be a hoax,” Jon suggested, but his cousin fixed him with a glare, shutting him up. Satisfied, Arya went back to watching the video.

“This shit is fucking stuck,” the guy trying to pull the sword growled, harshly withdrawing his hands from the hilt. The camera-girl giggled.

“It is because you are not worthy,” she boomed, voice drenched in humor. The boy’s face burned and he flipped the camera off, but his finger was blurred for the sake of demonetization. The girl making the fire finally stopped and stepped back, rubbing her hands together.

“Maybe we should take a break for now,” she offered.

“What? No way. We’ve been out here for weeks and we--” Off to the side, there was a deep growling that alerted everyone’s attention, even making Arya’s skin crawl. The pyro looked up and screamed bloody murder. Camera-girl turned around, flashing the view onto a dark, looming creature standing right in front of her. It was too dark to make anything out of it except for it’s gigantic, bloody jaws and hell-sent eyes. Arya heard one last ear-piercing scream when the monster raged forward, swiping it’s claws at the pink-haired girl. The phone fell, glass cracking and footage crumpling into static. In the background, flesh could be heard getting torn to shred until the video cut off. She stared at Jon’s phone, dumbfounded for a complete moments. Then, boldly, she ventured into the comments section to make sure what she saw was real.

“FAKE.

This is so fake if wtf

fake af smh

omg did they actually died???

was that a bear??? holy shit, i hate beats…

Kinda wish I saw them all get murdered
            ur fucked up bro

Srsly tho, that was Excalibur

Like from Soul Eater??????!!!1!!!!11!!!??!!?

EXCALIBUR! EXCALIBUR! FROM THE UNITED KINGDOM, I’M LOOKING FOR HEAVEN, GOING TO CALIFORNIA! EXCALIBUR! EXCALIBUR!

Holy shit Excalibur is real…

Who else is gonna try to pull the sword from the stone now?
            You’re fucking crazy
            lol good luck m8
            But for real tho like this was fake
                   But what if it isn’t?
                         Then youre gonna die.”

“I’m totally gonna do it,” Arya decided, handing her flabbergasted cousin his phone then leaping up from the couch. Jon sat there in shock for a minute while she ran upstairs before realizing what Arya said and chasing after her.

“But how do you know if that was real or not?!” He shouted after her just as she entered her room.

“I’ll ask Fenrir! He’ll know!” Jon wanted to protest some more, but she slammed her room door closed, leaving him in a silent state of panic.

“...My Gods, she’s insane…”
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Your second date with God
Written by MsH in portal Fantasy

The God Affair

I don’t remember very clearly first hand. It was a blind date to be sure. February 7, 1980, a Tuesday, exactly 9:15 am. It’s a childhood fling that Mother recalls as a moment of eternal pain. There was a baptismal kind of flood of water—I cried something awful, she reminds me, at the first light of your presence. Indeed, all my senses were aroused and I babbled incomprehensibly, completely oblivious to my foolishness. But you gathered me to your receptive heart, murmured with infinite sound what a Babe I was, and I knew deeply what it was to be wanted

Everyone marveled at the arrangement: us living—all together—all of a sudden. Insinuations of indecency aside, they Oooed and Aaaah at our perfection and credited you for the creation of such complete happiness. But just as quickly as you lit my life, you dispersed, and I looked for you everywhere, longing to reclaim that very first magic spark.

To every newcomer, I held our my hands and tried to grasp you back; grasping at zephyrs… So much time elapsed in doubt. Where did you go? How could you give so much joy, and abandon me to kindle some other love yet unborn? Some 9:16 am. It immediately irritated me…and I wailed my discontent, feeling ugly, hungry, naked, soiled, and alone. Who knew I would spend so long trying to regain my faith in you, and in me; because when you disguised yourself behind an endless stream of faces and popped in and out of infinite spaces, I lost confidence in the smallness of my self. I was no longer best—not the belly button of the universe—just another cell among billions of Others. Dime a dozen. And I wasn’t whole, until the second date, that of our first born…

Then, once again water broke, anointing, outstretched little arms receiving the entirety of your love. And the hole in my life I could see was open, but now healed. Though you just as quickly disappeared, I saw you reappearing, winking at me and whispering directives in my ear. Yes, I do tear; you are so removed, yet so near, my celestial paramour.

And I feel you close... I no longer wait. I don’t believe. I know you have already set another date—one for which I can Never be late.

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Your second date with God
Written by MsH in portal Fantasy
The God Affair
I don’t remember very clearly first hand. It was a blind date to be sure. February 7, 1980, a Tuesday, exactly 9:15 am. It’s a childhood fling that Mother recalls as a moment of eternal pain. There was a baptismal kind of flood of water—I cried something awful, she reminds me, at the first light of your presence. Indeed, all my senses were aroused and I babbled incomprehensibly, completely oblivious to my foolishness. But you gathered me to your receptive heart, murmured with infinite sound what a Babe I was, and I knew deeply what it was to be wanted
Everyone marveled at the arrangement: us living—all together—all of a sudden. Insinuations of indecency aside, they Oooed and Aaaah at our perfection and credited you for the creation of such complete happiness. But just as quickly as you lit my life, you dispersed, and I looked for you everywhere, longing to reclaim that very first magic spark.
To every newcomer, I held our my hands and tried to grasp you back; grasping at zephyrs… So much time elapsed in doubt. Where did you go? How could you give so much joy, and abandon me to kindle some other love yet unborn? Some 9:16 am. It immediately irritated me…and I wailed my discontent, feeling ugly, hungry, naked, soiled, and alone. Who knew I would spend so long trying to regain my faith in you, and in me; because when you disguised yourself behind an endless stream of faces and popped in and out of infinite spaces, I lost confidence in the smallness of my self. I was no longer best—not the belly button of the universe—just another cell among billions of Others. Dime a dozen. And I wasn’t whole, until the second date, that of our first born…
Then, once again water broke, anointing, outstretched little arms receiving the entirety of your love. And the hole in my life I could see was open, but now healed. Though you just as quickly disappeared, I saw you reappearing, winking at me and whispering directives in my ear. Yes, I do tear; you are so removed, yet so near, my celestial paramour.
And I feel you close... I no longer wait. I don’t believe. I know you have already set another date—one for which I can Never be late.

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Write a 10 sentence fantasy story.
Written by desmondwrite in portal Fantasy

Garden War

Between two trees exploded into boulder stumps, Elemmírë raised a fist. Behind him, ten figures, barely visible above the gloom and bloom, dropped to their knees and scanned the street. They relied solely on the ghostly green readouts from their face masks, as their actual sights would have been distracted by the feral tapestry of flowers, the result not only of civilization gone wild but the biodegradable ammunition being used in the War. Inside each bullet was a gene seed which, when struck by fire, would sprout by day’s end into a single flower. It'd been the only agreed-upon convention between the elf factions—a way of turning war zones into gardens, of reducing the carbon imprint from endless shelling.

For a heartbeat, Elemmírë's Sight picked up a cracked skull, lilac seeping out like purple brain. Then he was Focused on the lights of armored cars bouncing across perforated rock-wake. A set of hand signals and the Ten disappeared, their gaudy red-and-gold camouflage blending with laceleaf and marigold. What Elemmírë's scouts were about to do was an ugly thing; an undignified ambush of a supply convoy. But in another way, a way beyond the soulless tactical hell of battle, they'd be returning motorized death-cannons and plated mercs wearing the ears of enemies around their necks to the serenity of nature.

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Write a 10 sentence fantasy story.
Written by desmondwrite in portal Fantasy
Garden War
Between two trees exploded into boulder stumps, Elemmírë raised a fist. Behind him, ten figures, barely visible above the gloom and bloom, dropped to their knees and scanned the street. They relied solely on the ghostly green readouts from their face masks, as their actual sights would have been distracted by the feral tapestry of flowers, the result not only of civilization gone wild but the biodegradable ammunition being used in the War. Inside each bullet was a gene seed which, when struck by fire, would sprout by day’s end into a single flower. It'd been the only agreed-upon convention between the elf factions—a way of turning war zones into gardens, of reducing the carbon imprint from endless shelling.

For a heartbeat, Elemmírë's Sight picked up a cracked skull, lilac seeping out like purple brain. Then he was Focused on the lights of armored cars bouncing across perforated rock-wake. A set of hand signals and the Ten disappeared, their gaudy red-and-gold camouflage blending with laceleaf and marigold. What Elemmírë's scouts were about to do was an ugly thing; an undignified ambush of a supply convoy. But in another way, a way beyond the soulless tactical hell of battle, they'd be returning motorized death-cannons and plated mercs wearing the ears of enemies around their necks to the serenity of nature.
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