An older god. One who had been old when the world was new. From before even the time of the dragons, before the elves came into existence, whispered gently, and not unkindly, to Wraithvine. "If your body is ever destroyed, you, your home, and your cat, will be joining us in the immortal plains. So that your work in the world that you so love, will never end." -- Anon Guest

In the beginning, the legends say, there were Dragons. The Great Gold and Great Silver Dragon swam forever in the sea of the Endless Beyond, which was known as Nu. The Great Dragons swam and played, and soon needed a place to bear their first clutch, but Nu was dark and empty...

They are host to all things made and known, now, but they are still there, in the darkness between the stars. The sky at night is their temple, and few sacrifice or pray to them. Yet they are there. Waiting.

Technically speaking, Nu is everywhere. They visit the worlds they hold gently, and only when the sun cannot be seen.

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The hip error plaguing me over yesterday and the day before is still plaguing me today. A knot in one of my right gleuteal muscles is making itself known and life uncomfortable, and I am not liking consciousness at the moment.

Moving along with today's tale while I can stand being vertical.

Wraithvine is trying to help a panicked child who ends up biting him in their terror. He does not pull his hand away, but rather, soothes and forgives the little one. -- Anon Guest

Of all the evils a modern world could commit, one of the top ten was dumping snare wire in the wilderness. Wraithvine considered it part of hir duties to find and destroy it whenever ze wandered through any part of nature. Judging strictly by the howling and snarling, some other creature of the woods had found it first.

By technicality alone, Wraithvine was correct. In that the small Hellkin had also been dumped in the woods and found ways to survive. They had evidently done so by hissing at any intelligent creature, then scurrying away as fast as they could go.

This poor wretch was so entangled that hissing was all they had left.

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My right hip firkin HATES me today, so the spawn are taking over bread production.

I tried a heat pack and it did give some relief, but getting up to reheat that thing is promising a lot of pain.

I might have to get one of the spawn to reheat the heat pack for me.

I'll stick to moving when I have to and using that time to reheat the heat pack.

Posts and stories real soon now.

Nine Princes and Princesses from across the realms receive a mysterious letter, that they must attend an important gathering of unspecified content; one to be held in a peaceful land which has no quarrel with any of the nobles. Indeed, the ruler there declares no knowledge of the invitations nor that he had ever heard of the sprawling palace where the nine gather with their servants and favorites. What unfolds next surprises everyone involved… -- Deathshead419

Eighteen letters. Each on high-class paper, by the same unknown hand. Each edged in gold and marked with a unique, if small, gemstone. There were no implied matches. Not even in the advance warning to the Duke Phurlydow, so he could make ready to host them all.

He had a magnificent garden, and the weather was pleasant, so he had prepared a garden party and ready the biggest ballroom, just in case.

Phurlydow apologised frequently for the lack of appropriate accommodations. The young heirs to kingdoms were just as confused as he was, and forgave his lack if it meant solving the mystery. Therefore, there were nineteen detectives attempting to crack the case.

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King Krivcol III had a brush with death at a young age. Now he relies upon astrologers to gauge his future, planning out every detail of his and his family's lives. But his growing paranoia with what's to come may be blinding him to problems around him in the here and now... -- Deathshead419

Many heads of state had advisors. Some had viseers, some had chancellors, come had cabinets of experts. King Krivkol Florentus Montgomerie Oralendo Montecroix, third of his name, had astrologers, soothsayers, fortune-tellers, and seers. Every morning, they took in omens, threw the bones, read the sky, and ran complicated calculations. Not to organise the King's day, but to warn and prevent impending disaster.

By the time today came about, it was already too late. At least, that's what the King said. And in many such cases, what the King said, went.

The cabinet of potential tomorrows only warned the King about what could happen to him or his family. Thus, they regulated what the royal family ate, where they slept, which members of staff they could trust, and a policy or law here and there. They warned against certain judgements, set appearances, and rare matters of state.

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But at least I have the Promptcast thing in a state where I like it.

Onwards to the Twofer with short pauses for bread.

And then I see what I can chuck to my Patrons. If anything.

My parents were cold narcissists. As an adult, once they signed everything to me, I signed our entire solar system to the alliance. I have plenty to live on, my mansions, my gardens, and so much more. But now the halls are full of life and youthful laughter. It actually feels like a home, not a museum. My parents? They live in their wing, their own little world. I'm letting them live the remainder of their golden years in peace. Under watch, and proper medical care, of course. -- Anon Guest

You might think it's cold. It kind of is. It's kind of petty, too. You would be right, but I can explain.

My earliest memory was crying because I wanted a Raggy May doll, and they told me I had to have a teddy bear or nothing. Teddy bears fit the aesthetic of the nursery. Which was fifty shades of beige. There once was a heritage green cushion, but it was quickly disposed of for being "too disturbing" for the peace of the childcare wing.

They decided every aspect of my life. The clothes I wore, the subjects I learned, the toys I was permitted to play with, the musical instruments I learned. Everything. Right down to when I could relieve myself and what kinds of food I was permitted to eat and when.

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Gilbert and Sullivan aside, I need to go shopping, write a twofer, and figure out at least what the fuck I'm doing for the Promptcast.

Update

Survived shopping. Activating the binaural beats and locking in for today's twofer.

Yay. Not.

So everything that emerges from me on the interwebs is largely dependent on how much energy remains by the time I resume operations at my regular place.

If nothing today, twofer tomorrow.

They ran as fast as the wind toward Wraithvine and Bibrid, tackling both to the ground just as a magic arrow flies past the three. The arrow's power seared the being's back, the percussion caused bones to be broken. But, despite the immense pain, they said in a soft whisper to the two. "I'd tackle you again like this in a heartbeat, you're worth it." -- Anon Guest

Of all the strange powers to have from birth, Scramble's ability to freeze time around hirself for ten seconds seemed the most useless. Especially since ze could only do it once a day without hurting hirself. Ten seconds wasn't much time, so Scramble used it when relevant backs were turned.

It was enough to steal a stale roll or armload of unguarded apples. Enough to get food to keep hir alive for one more day.

Ze almost didn't believe that Wraithvine and hir Gnomish companion passed hir by on the street. A small handful of silver appeared in Scramble's begging cup, and ze looked up to see the famous patchwork Wizarding hat.

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Allegedly settling down to get on with today's agenda. With the usual chatting with my peeps on Discord.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day, so I'm doing some stuff for MeMum and the resulting daily tale will be later than what passes for normal. If it's presented at all.

Travel and stuff tends to drain me, so we shall see what we shall see when the day happens.

I know damn well I have technical issues that make things troublesome at best.

Story as soon as I can focus.

Not long ago, this planet of havenworlders saved a human who had, had a cheese-grater landing. If not for these beings, the human, fortunately the only occupant of that freighter, would not have survived. Then raiders came to harm these people. And the humans showed what gratitude for kindness earns. -- Anon Guest

[AN: May be in relation to: https://peakd.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-04839-m090-waif-and-stray ]

Hal was learning a lot of things. Starting with the fact that aliens were real and that a lot of them were more harmless than the average Human. The surprising part was that there were other Human worlds, stations, and settlements all over the known universe. Lots of them had banded together to form some kind of fellowship, but they were also friends with a whole bunch of aliens.

He also figured out that he couldn't go back to his world and tell the people there that. Hal's home was isolated and would panic if actual real live aliens showed up. He might even be considered 'polluted' or 'infected' by the alien forces.

They might even think he had been copied or... taken over by the aliens.

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I shall be clinging to every spare penny in the hopes of saving up for some little extras that will make life more pleasant in the long run.

In betwixt hoping that things improve overall, of course.

Still no word from the agent who is supposedly looking at Beauties and the Beastly. I sent off a polite email and am officially on tenterhooks.

I get to relax a little today. Tomorrow, some shenanigans commence. Up to my friends how much shenanigans are happening because Archive bullshit.

Basically the one person running the Archive is edging steadily towards being an unmasked dictator and she's leaning on ethnicities in the group to try and back her up. Said ethnicities are getting their backs up in response and everything might all go to shit all the sooner over there. Glad I left early TBH.

Today's agenda is: Stories, helping friends, and fun times with or without said friends.

Story sometime in the middle of all that jazz.

It took Vholno some time to understand that his father was once regarded as a blushing maid who found his true self through the care of the dryads. Though wind pollination makes humoresque paternity all but impossible to determine, still, Vholno is desperate to learn the one who’s pollen took root in Gyethamp the Bard all those years before.

Sequel to https://peakd.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-04709-l325-difficult-history -- Deathshead419

There was a lot to take in. A lot to understand. A lot, after those two facts, to learn about Dryad biology. Which was associated with Dryad sociology and Gyethamp's big faux pas. Listening to it from the Dryad side of things was an education.

"He drank of all our nectar," said one of the grove. They were all interchangeable and had no individual names. "He ate of our fruit. He tangled limbs with all of us."

A second spoke up, "Yet he named one and said that one was unique and above the others."

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