Prompt: A sentient mobile tree creature tries to comprehend things outside the forest.
The object fell at an incredible speed, faster than any bound, flight, or slither the Dryent had ever seen. It fell so fast that it caught fire, but then it slowed itself down enough to quell the flames. Still, the impact was powerful enough to strike the Dryent in the side of its head and rip off one of its main five branches. Continue reading
Author’s Note: This story was written live on stream with the audience bidding tokens (earned while watching) to determine the path of the story. The underlined phrases in the choice of three were the winning pathways. Stop by twitch.tv/blainearcade if you’d ever like to participate in our interactive fiction.
Curious Letter Affectionate Letter Coded Letter
Little Vince marched through the snow towards their postbox. His mother had scolded him on his way out the door for braving the driving snow and wind. The postman wouldn’t come for three days yet, that was true, but the letter practically burned his hands. He didn’t need a coat, or a scarf, or even mittens because it was so warm. It was the best letter he’d ever written for his friend and he couldn’t bare to hold onto it. If he did, he might decide something needed changed. Continue reading
Prompt: A dragon steals the latest fighter craft from the human battleship.
Artillery shells exploded all around her as she tried to keep on her path through the otherwise clear skies. Pieces of shrapnel, aluminum hairs, landed in the gooey corners of her eyes and stung them. She roared, flashing her knife-like teeth, and tried to dig them out with the side of her hand. The weapons didn’t stop. They weren’t like the weapons of old; there was always somebody manning those, somebody who might grow a soul and stop attacking. Continue reading
Prompt: A dragon is sent to another plane of existence because he’s destined for greatness.
Fleeing the den without permission could earn banishment. It could earn death if you were from a line expected to be the most dignified. The night sky was full of stars when he fled, on clawed foot rather than wing. The shrubs were thicker than he’d anticipated, and the thorns dug into his wrists and ankles. He shed hot blood, but his fear and sadness kept it from igniting any of the driest plants. Continue reading
Inky animated stars make the world smile with their films and theme parks, and none are better known than Feisty Faustus Ferret. Everything is perfect for our plucky little weasel with the train whistle voice, until someone insists he needs a costar, and the ground under his hallowed studios and parks starts to rumble…
(reading time: 1 hour, 39 minutes)
It is notoriously difficult to hear, the voice of creation. The mind naturally listens for it at all the wrong times. It expects to hear god singing when a flower blooms, or when a child is born, or when lovers embrace. The mind looks out when it must look in. The voice of creation comes from within man. It is when her or his creations are born that it can be heard. Continue reading
Author’s Note: This story was written live on stream with the audience bidding tokens (earned while watching) to determine the path of the story. The underlined phrases in the choice of three were the winning pathways. Stop by twitch.tv/blainearcade if you’d ever like to participate in our interactive fiction.
Trial Begun Judgment Rendered Found Innocent
Shiran had to wear the special circlet to the academy. It was only the first day of his mark, but if his parents’ tone had been any indication, there would be months more of it in his future. It wasn’t hideous, with its white gold coloration and central yellow diamond, but it was clear to everyone, student and teacher alike, what it meant. Continue reading
Prompt: Two brothers defend a dying kingdom.
The king was dead and the kingdom soon to follow. They followed as directly as possible, marching along the same path the king’s body had taken when carried through the fields of Tascott. His coffin was filled with red and purple silk, made from solid gold, and carried on supports of silver. A tenth of their wealth had gone into the ground with him.
The people of Varnhold had invested in their kings and queens for centuries. The crown’s success was theirs. The crown’s joy and sorrow were theirs as well. The birth of a prince was the swelling of familial pride all across the land, a swell with effects as positive as a bountiful harvest. Continue reading
Donut fired his weapon. Well, it wasn’t his weapon. None of this belonged to him, though it certainly felt like it did in the moment. It felt like it was his revolver, his badass vest and cowboy hat, and his actual wiry mustache. It took significant focus to remind himself that he couldn’t even grow a mustache reliably. It was more like trying to grow chia seeds in a sink drain.
Still, he felt masculine. The bullet, garlic-infused, left the gun and struck Strusse in the chest. He was a vampire at the moment, so he was forced to recoil in agony. Steam, rather pleasant-smelling steam, shot from his wound as he tripped over one of the giant noodles and sank into the spaghetti that Donut was also entangled in. Continue reading
Now you probably want to know when I lived, and you probably won’t listen when I tell you that it doesn’t matter at all. I know you’ll think me quaint anyway when I describe my family’s kitchen, which is the most relevant stage in my tale aside from the one other one.
You’ll judge me as soon as I tell you we didn’t have electric ovens or plastic stove tops. I did not even know what plastic was until after the events in question. In all honesty I would happily give that knowledge up for a handful of pleasant memories, seeing as plastic has been no help in the fields of meal-making. Continue reading
Author’s Note: This story was written live on stream with the audience bidding tokens (earned while watching) to determine the path of the story. The underlined phrases in the choice of three were the winning pathways. Stop by twitch.tv/blainearcade if you’d ever like to participate in our interactive fiction.
Mr. Rind Needles Hairy Pit
You were never supposed to go to the house with the teal roof, at least not on Halloween. Every other day of the year it was fine. The little old lady or the little old man would answer the door, or get their mail, or harass their cat into coming back inside, without bothering a soul. The teal roof wasn’t even that menacing, until it was lit in just the wrong way in late October. Continue reading
Blaine Arcade 