Tower727

She felt the scar where her ring had once been. Devils liked making deals for the power they granted.

She’d been traded in one such deal.

Her divorce had been extremely final. She’d given him the finger and he’d kept it.

But at least now she was free.

The Horned Crown of the Tornado Siren. Its lamenting song warns of the coming storms.

Not a watch.
Not a warning.
Not a threat.

The knight’s blade finally pierced the dragon’s skull, and it crumbled to dust.

No, not dust. Sand.

And there, by the water’s edge. A boy with a bucket, a shovel, and a dangerous look in his eye.

“Hey buddy. Grow a pair! Grow a pair of beautiful wings!

Turn into a bird.”

It takes one to know one
It takes two to find one
It takes three to kill one

Plants grown in vorpalene soil itch with foul intent. Thorny wheat and razor oats grow here.

In this purple country, everything that grows, stalks

The soil here is dark purple in color. A testament to the land’s sordid past, that leaden vorpalite might be so highly concentrated as to turn its mud and dust deeply bruised violet

The kids were excited. They’d seen the camera truck driving past last week, updating the street view of the neighborhood.

She’d pulled up the map. She knew he was leaving. But it was still strange to see this side of him—to see the regret as he pulled away for the last time

King and crown.

King and crown.

Princes are born, age and die. But the king is eternal. All who wear the crown are the king.

Or rather, the crown is the king. It matters little whose head labors under its weight

Picnic Pete looked at his timer. “I’m sorry, but these eggs have a very precise marination and I’ll be devastated if they’re not perfect.”

The porcine sentry shook its trident again, but without conviction

“I’ll share.” Pete smiled enticingly

Trident touched floor. “Ajitama?” It asked, hopefully

Feet thunder past you in the dark, an athleticism that is intense and precise and mindless.

You make a note of the car’s license plate.

Someone has agitated the Runalong

He turned off the alarm on the first beep. It was early, but he felt good. Well rested! He’d gone to bed at a reasonable hour the night before.

It turns out the key to a good night’s sleep was deciding your dreams were fake and replacing time wasted chasing them with a healthy eight hours of sleep

The doors burst open and the mob rushed in. “This castle is full of monsters! Werewolves and vampires and hunchbacks!”

The music screeches to a stop. One of the werewolves pats Igor’s hand protectively.

A vampire snatches the glasses off a villager’s nose. “Look out! It’s a monster with MYOPIA!”

It is suspected by some to be related to the impossible visions reported by sailors, of horrifying sea-muensters, cheesecloth-rigged ships sailing inverted in the sky, mighty Roqueforts clinging to clouds, their cheesebrick-crenelated towers reaching nearly to the horizon: The legendary Feta Morgana

“Victor! I don’t think we can be friends any more.”

Victor lowered the brain, stunned. He didn’t know his Assistant thought they were friends. Or that Igor might even be capable of having a friend.

He realized with shame that he did not really even consider the man to be human.

The Mad Bleu is a sentient cheese of the Cold Forests. An emissary and extension of the penicillin fungal networks that allows the forest to communicate.

You’ll smell it before you see it.

You’ll need to taste it to understand.

“How exciting it is to travel.”

He thought, curling up in his hammock.

“How wonderful it is to be home.”

It was good to be in his own bed.

He stared for a moment, understanding dawning on his face.

“Oh. ”

He turned back to find the door closed behind him. “You know that moment when something you couldn’t understand suddenly clicks into place?”

He tried the knob. “Well I finally figured it out.”

Urgently.

“Why I should be scared.”

Lava chicken

Lava chicken: it’s spicy

A polyglottal strix has been stalking you.

You hear it muttering to itself, alternating languages as it struggles to catch your scent.

The wise man smiled apologetically. “I could not bring the mountain to you, so—“

He was interrupted by a catastrophic boom.

“I could.” Said the golemacher.
“It should be here soon.”

Wasn’t there three?

Shrines are often marked by growths of hiderangeas, huge stands of dark flowers that absorb sunlight and convert it into electricity to run the shrine’s defenses.

If you follow the creek south from Main Street, there’s a dungeon under the Park Lane bridge.

Until 1997 it could be opened with the Song Of Secrets, but local cuckoo birds learned the melody and now it can only be opened with the Magepie Key.

A man, a ghost, and a tiny haunted house

Abner regarded the tiny Thesean House with its pulsing ghost lights.

The children of the forest must never leave its borders. If they do, they’ll die.

Yessir, outside the borders of the forest they barely last seventy or eighty years

The M727 Donor Buzzard hovers over the battlefield, seeking organs to harvest for infusions. Although technically medics, they’re universally hated and attacked for the morbid display of medical cannibalism.

As you’ve run your route, something has been wrong all day.

Your Deja vu is so unbearably strong

You see the boy. He is the only one off script. He is bleeding. But there is a look of determination in his eyes

He’s going to try again. Alright, one more yesterday. Then maybe you can face tomorrow.

He frowned and looks at the cookie. “I’m scared. I know how this fight ends for me.”

He looked at you sadly. “But I don’t get to know how your story goes.”

If you calibrate your karma just right, say by doing mostly the right thing but being very passive-aggressive about it, you can achieve a horseshoe orbit