SF's "Write Your Butt Off!" Writing Competition XIV

[blah the Prussian]

Well, that was, as Shakespeare would say, much ado about nothing.

[Percivalé]

working on my entry now :3c

[Sunwoo]

Deadline has been added to the OP.

[Dragoncat]

Title: Snow Forts and Fur

Fandom: FE(Tellius)

Words: 1097

Characters: Mostly OCs, but Boyd makes an appearance.

“Brr it’s colder than a witch’s titty outside!” The door to the fort flew open, and a man with messy red hair and green eyes walked in holding a load of firewood. He dropped it in the fireplace and retreated to a chair and plopped himself down.

His wife was giving him a death glare. The black haired woman said nothing, just pointed at the three small children who were bundling up to go play in the snow.

“I’ve never seen a witch.” The awkward silence was broken by Samba, the cat laguz of the group. “But...if I did I wouldn’t be getting close enough to her to figure THAT out.”

“It’s just a saying...”

The black haired woman, Eloin, huffed. “A saying we don’t want little ears to hear and little mouths to repeat.”

“Relax, they probably didn’t even hear it.” Cerai, the red haired man’s twin sister and mother of two of the kids, chuckled softly.

“I heard it!” The oldest of the kids, a red haired blue eyed boy, raised his hand and waved it around. “Uncle Leo, what’s a titty?”

Leo’s face reddened. “Me and my big mouth...”

“Come on you crazy cubs, I’ll show you how to make a snow fort.” Samba dropped into a crouch and shifted into cat form. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”

“YAY!” All three children shouted in unison. They paraded out the front door with their laguz uncle right behind them.

“Well that was awkward. I think my son has super hearing.” A green haired man said. “Where does he get that from? Cerai, you sure he’s mine?”

That earned him a smack from his wife. “I’m positive, dumbass! It’s not super hearing if he’s in the same room you know.”

Eloin blinked. “Wow. If your brother ever accused me of cheating, he’d be sleeping on the couch for a week!”

“You married into this freak show.” Cerai grinned. “You should know by now how we act...I knew he was kidding. Right, Boyd?” She gave him a look that said: “you better have been kidding.” He nodded, a blank expression on his face.

“Now...who wants hot cocoa?” Leo got up and made his way to the kitchen. “We even have marshmallows!”

“Make four extra cups, I’m sure they’ll be needed.” Eloin looked out the window and smiled.

----

Three kids were each rolling a snowball around the yard. A gray tabby cat the size of a man was stomping out a large circle on the ground to serve as the snow fort’s base.

“Move, Milo!” The only girl, a green haired three year old named Ciara, nearly ran over her three and a half year old cousin with her snowball. He flung himself out of the way, tripped, and did a face plant in the snow. The bigger snowball crushed the smaller one.

“I told him to move. I didn’t tell him to do that.” Ciara explained.

“Dad says a few hard knocks are good for character...” Her older brother, Naroc, helped Milo up. “Dunno what it means, but he said it when I fell out of that tree last summer.”

“And your mother almost had a heart attack!” Samba padded over and whacked his adopted nephew with his tail. “You kids need to watch what you’re doing! Now...try to put that snowball back together. We’ll need four big ones. Who wants to make the fourth one?”

“Can’t you make it?” Milo asked, spitting and snorting out snow. Some of it had gotten in his mouth and nose.

“Kid, do you see thumbs?” Samba waggled his paws in front of him.

“You can turn back.”

“Turn back? And lose all this warm fur? No way.”

“Then you can go back in and get a coat and gloves and hat and stuff.” Naroc suggested.

“I’m not falling for that.” Samba smirked. “Last time I left you three alone, next thing we know, a certain beorc cub thought he was a squirrel. And that didn’t end well!”

There was a brief silence, then Ciara began attempting to salvage the smashed snowball. Naroc looked at the flattened area of snow. “How come you’re stomping all that snow down?”

“That’s a good question!” Samba replied, a purring tone in his voice. “When the sun comes out, it will start to melt the snow fort, as we all know. The packed walls will stay for awhile if we make them big enough, but if we don’t get rid of the snow inside, it will just turn into a big slush and mud puddle and be plain unpleasant to be in.”

“Hi!” A shrill, high pitched voice came from across the field. Two almost identical five year old girls ran up to the group. They both had long black hair sticking out from under their stocking caps, but one had brown eyes and the other had light green ones.

Ciara looked up, a big grin on her face. “Chandra and Sylene! Hi!”

“How’s your parents? And your baby brother?” Samba asked. “Your parents still working on those magic weapons?”

“Skiler’s SO noisy!” Chandra, the green eyed one, wrinkled her brow. “He screams his head off every night until Mom feeds him!”

“What are you building? A giant snowman?” Sylene blurted out before Samba could reply.

“No, it’s a snow fort!” Milo said.

“Wanna help? You can dig the moat for the crocodiles!”

Samba burst out laughing at that, and it earned Naroc another tail slap. “No, there will be no crocodiles.”

“Aww!” Naroc pouted, but went back to working on his snowball.

The twin girls ended up working together to make the fourth snowball. After the fort was done, the kids spent an hour and a half playing in it under the watchful eyes of their laguz babysitter. Chandra and Sylene’s father, Darcen, came and told them it was time for supper. He had a hard time convincing his daughters to stop playing and come eat, but he finally managed to when he promised they could continue the next day.

The rest of the kids returned home as well. They drained their hot cocoa and supper, then fell asleep near the fireplace...using Samba as a pillow. He didn’t mind or notice. Beorc kids had a lot of energy, despite only having one form...it was enough to make him want to sleep for days.

Kind of a WoC spinoff...Chandra and Sylene kind of belong to Snowy One, since I don't own both their parents. Skiler too, but he only got a brief mention.

You're probably tired of winter xD I know I am, but...that was the idea I came up with.

Edited March 29, 2015 by Dragoncat

[Snowy_One]

Well, here I go.

Title: Unexpected

Fandom: Original/FEish.

Word Count: 3536

Characters: Unnamed

Summary: The leader of a small chapel gets forced into a role she is not prepared for.

The chill of the small chapel sent a chill up the spine of the priestess as she clung tightly to her healing staff, the cold morning air causing her breath to mist outwards as she opened up her prayer-book for her daily prayers. She was the head of her small chapel, though it didn't mean too much out here on the frontier. Mostly it meant she could use a healing staff without accidentally causing some sort of internal damage while what few other priests and priestesses still used vulneraries and tried to focus on healing small animals and prayer while trying to keep the townspeople calm. They needed the calm. Now more than ever. More than ever.

The world had been tense over the past few weeks. In the capitols the lords and leaders were feuding, their sabers rattling in their scabbards as they talked of wealth, power, morals, and honor. As she looked out the stained-glass window of her chapel, her breath freezing on the glass, she could see their lands. The lands that, should the sabers leave their scabbards, would bring fear into the hearts of her small flock. Their only protection was a small guard and they would be facing down armies. More lives could be saved by simply yielding without a fight than could ever be saved by standing up for her homeland. Worse, dark wizards and demons were afoot, playing people behind the scenes as they raised the dead to fight for their cause. More openings, more foes, more sabers to rattle. Her prayers were needed now more than ever.

As she recited her prayers for the last time she turned to her small flock, only four in number including herself, as she walked down among them and touched them on the shoulders. They looked up to her with eyes filled with worry and concern knowing full-well of the hammer and anvil in-between which their small group had been placed. One of the sisters, a young girl whom would not even be out of the schools of the nobles, raised her voice.

"Mother priestess, are we, will we be alright? We have not heard word from the capitol in days, the bandits have grown ambitious, and rumors of war grow ever louder." All the priestess could do was smile back. "Do not worry. Place your faith in the gods and we will be safe in the end."

Another, a young man of only a year older, spoke up as well. "Sister, I fear what will happen as well. Yet we must not lose faith. Come, we have training to attend to." he said as he placed his hand on her shoulder. With a nod from the priestess the two were off, staves in hand as they went to practice their craft.

With that the priestess went outside. Already several of the townsfolk came forwards, their various scrapes, bruises, and ills to be presented for her to heal and cure. There hadn't been a guardsman or soldier among them for days. An abnormality considering how they trained with their weapons, though she knew full-well the reason why. A week and a half ago the Revenants had been spotting across the border. Though small in number they had put the guard on edge and, when the bandits upon their own side of the barrier had started to act up, there was little choice in the matter. They had to act and dispose of them quickly lest the townspeople feel surrounded and manic.

She gave a small sigh as she raised her staff to start to heal their various wounds, encouragement upon her lips as she assured them that everything would be alight, like a mother to a child. Then, as morning turned to noon, the guards returned. Unlike before their mood was dour and down. Trudging on in to the town the reason why was clear. Though they were successful in routing the bandits their numbers were now few and among them the captain of the guard could not be found. They had lost their leader. Nervous, afraid, and disheartened they flocked to her, the one figure to whom they felt they could trust. The priestess of the chapel.

As noon turned to dusk, then to dawn again, the priestess was awake with the rise of the dawn, her breath misting once again as she lead her flock in reciting prayers. Looking back she caught glances between the brother and sister yesterday. They had not practiced nearly as hard as they had claimed and she knew full-well why. Yet she had not stopped them. Their numbers were few as it were and it was more important that people knew how to wield the staff after all. Plus she saw herself not as a strict or rigid leader but rather one of ease and comfort. They dealt no harm to others and had not fallen behind in their skills, so why punish them?

As she left the chapel though, the world before her changed. Gone were the townsfolk eager to have their wounds healed and their souls soothed and, in their place, the town guard stood on edge as, on the horizon, smoke billowed from the foreign lands. At the small barracks, barely large enough to hold the guard at its full capacity, the guards stood. Some with spears, some with bows, and some with fire tomes in hand, ready and waiting, and the reason why was soon clear. A slow and steady stream of villagers from the enemy lands, their clothes ragged, bloodied, and torn headed towards the fortress.

"Mother priestess." said one of the guard, looking out with worry. "Foreigners at our doorstep. They look as if they've been attacked. Do you think, might it be?"

"The revenants? I do not know." she replied as she clutched her staff tight and close to her chest. "Wait here." With that she calmly headed out before the guards, treading forth to meet with them. As she approached, her warm and motherly smile trying to be as kind as possible, the people rushed forwards, their arms outstretched as cries for mercy and peace filled the air, begging for protection. She looked down upon them, hearing their pleas as her fears were confirmed. The revenants had assaulted the village, overwhelming it, and forcing them to flee.

The guard came down, surrounding the villagers with what few people they had, fear in their eyes. Despite their weapons they were not soldiers, not really. Should the horde turn on them they would be overrun. Both guard and refugee looked to the Mother priestess, begging for her guidance. She could do naught but smile and reassure them, telling the now destitute that they would be safe while assuring the guards that no war would come. Then, calmly, she took the guards aside, leaving the mass unwatched as she spoke to the guardsmen.

"We cannot turn aside those in need, no matter their nation." she stated simply. "My flock and I will tend to their wounds and try to ensure them well. Meanwhile spend a pigeon to their nations lands, request that their army come to protect them and drive off the revenants."

"And what if one of them is already infected with those dark magics?" spoke up one of the guards. "They could slip past unnoticed, infest our whole town, then we would be in the same lot as them. We have fire. We should burn the whole lot, ensure that no infection survives to plague another town."

"Slaughter them all? Just because one might be infected? I have clerics. We can bathe them in light magic, cleanse them all of illness and route out any who are infected. To commit such an act would be a horrible crime against life and nature."

"And what if some mother hides her child, knowing full-well he is infected, hoping he will not be found out of motherly love?"

"Is change worth the mass slaughter? They have come to us in a time of need, yet you would not only have us turn them aside but slaughter them all? Are you insane?"

"While we are not strapped for food it is almost winter and we cannot support two villages on our own stores of food. Never mind that they are foreigners, how can we feed them all even if we desired to take them in?"

"Why should we take them in? Their lord threatens to destroy us because of some petty feud. Should we call for their army to protect them and war be declared we will not have a roaring lion in the distance but be firmly in it's gullet."

"If they were to attack us we would be destroyed anyways. Best to hold some favor their their leaders and soldiers than to risk their wrath by turning them aside. We must have faith and do all we can. Help those in need and seek to aid others." responded the Mother priestess. "Please, we must aid them as best we can. It is what the Gods would desire of us."

The guards looked to each other nervously for a moment, clutching their weapons tightly, before looking back to her. Without their leader the Mother priestess was the closest thing that they trusted enough to follow. She spoke with holy words after all. So, with a resigned sigh, they returned. First they surrounded the refugees, their spears lowered, bows drawn, and tomes at the ready as they looked upon the gathered masses as the Mother priestess came forwards to address them, reassuring them as she explained what would happen, that her clerics would come upon them to offer healing and to route out any of those infested with the taint of the revenants.

Then she returned to her chapel, pulling her robes close to her body for warmth. It was cold and would only get colder as winter drew closer. Inside only one of her followers could be found. With a quick wave of her hand and a word she sent him to the door as she hurried to the outdoor field, where the wounded livestock were and where she knew her two best acolytes could be found. Found in the midst of not practicing their healing. She did not look down with dismay or scold them as she watched their cheeks flush red, only smile and let them know that they were needed. Things were tense enough without a tongue lashing.

When they returned to the gathered refugee's she set to work. The first was a farmhand, elderly without much time left for the world. His leg had been gashed horribly by a revenants claw and he was bleeding out. Slowly, calmly, she reassured him as she healed his wounds. The next was a merchant. As she approached him, however, a scuffle rose up from the sister cleric. A young mother, no more than five years her elder, screamed out in terror as she struggled to take the staff away from the young girl. In her arms was a young child covered in cloth and, almost instantly, several other refugees sprung to her defense and the guards rushed to the sisters aid as she stood resolute. The Mother priestess moved swift, standing between the two unflinching as she spoke with authority, forcing both to stand down. All had to be checked and, as she checked both mother and child, she saw that they were not clean. The taint of dark magic was upon them. A young mother and a child too young to even walk.

The sister spoke quickly, stating that the mother needed to be separated and confined to a prison cell only for the mother to override her. Healing was needed and the darkness could be overcome. They should be given a chance. What she did not say was her fear. Fear that, should they start imprisoning people, the refugees would turn upon them. For a moment the refugees and guards stood down, relaxing a bit as her words were spoken, then the mother lunged at the sister cleric with a knife in hand. The blade struck deep, cutting into her chest as the young girl stumbled backwards, horror upon both sides as the mother screamed out her love for her child. Before the mother could even scream in terror a lance had penetrated the mothers heart. Only three people have been tested for the evil of the revenant and two lives had been claimed and, as the Mother priestess descended down upon her poor lamb, she feared a third would be claimed.

As the sister was carried back to the chapel, her lover at her side, the Mother priestess could do naught but stay behind and seek to cleanse the refugees with her remaining aid. What little hope of a easy resolution died with the mother and her child as the guardsmen tightened their grip. When the sun set the Mother priestess returned to her chapel, clutching her robes tight against the cold. Inside the sister was alive, though gravely wounded. The Mother priestess could not abandon her flock.

When the sun rose the third day the mother priestess stumbled out of her chapel, her steps uneven and taxed as heavy bags formed under her sleep-deprived eyes. The Sister cleric would survive, but she would not be able to aid the refugees. As she returned to the fortress doors things grew even worse. The guards, scared of the prior night, had split up the refugees into smaller groups. Divided by gender and age, hoping to contain them into easier to manage groups, and putting more on edge. When she demanded to know why they had done such a thing her words fell upon deaf ears as terror filled the eyes of the guards. They had seen what could happen and were afraid. All she could do was smile, but her reassurances could not sway them. With her eyes blurry she set about to checking them once again.

When the noon came and the Mother cleric retired for her lunch a pigeon arrived and, upon its leg, news most dire. Peace was no longer to be had. She looked down upon the note, calm and composed, before calmly folding it up and hiding it within her robes. War was upon them, but the innocent should not suffer. At the least the refugees should be cleansed and allowed to return. They were not part of this war. As she left the chapel she looked down at the wounded sister, her breath slow but constant. She would be alright. The Light would not abandon those faithful to it. As she left to return to work she had to pull her robes tight as the chill had grown stronger.

The guards held a young man, the merchant from before, at spearpoint upon her return. Calmly she asked what was wrong and why such a thing had been done only to be told he had been caught trying to leave, sneaking past the borders, hoping to flee into their lands. The Mother Priestess frowned as she sat beside him, trying to explain that he had nothing to fear. He would be treated fairly and equally, as a human being and not an enemy. When the guards raised objection, claiming he should be imprisoned, she raised her hand as she turned to him, begging a promise from him not to run, assuring him that things would be alright.

The guards rioted.

"Can you not see? This man has broken the law! What if he is a spy, infected, or worse, intentionally spreading the infestation into our lands? What will happen if war is declared? Would you so willingly let a spy harm our countrymen?" they proclaimed. "We trust you because you speak with the word of the Gods and Light, yet you perform such foolish acts? Do you stay stuffed away in your chapel all day reciting prayers and curing wounds with stained glass separating you from the world?"

"I speak with the authority of one whom has seen evil in this world, whom has seen harm inflicted upon man by man every day. I know of the ills we have done in the past and would dare not commit them again. Shall we condemn and innocent to die because of our own fear?"

The guard looked at the mother furiously before turning to leave. When he reached the door he swerved and launched his spear, piercing the man through his heart. "If fear is what keeps us alive, than I would rather live by fear than die blind to it."

The Mother priestess could only watch in horror, clutching the man's head as the guard left. No taint was upon him or ill-will in his heart. Only a desire to live that now lay puddled in blood upon the floor.

When the night came and the Mother Priestess returned to the chapel, she took her seat down by the wounded sister, her staff raised to heal vainly. She was supposed to be their leader, skilled with the staff and word, able to heal wounds both physical and spiritual. She could feel the letter poking her in the chest, the blood upon her robes, and chill before her. She spoke of the days happenings to the child, hoping she would understand, only to be met with silence as the sister cleric slept.

Her faith had always guided her, kept her safe, yet now before her one of her own flock was wounded. Could she have spoken differently to save the life of the merchant? Could she have protected the young girl before her? Cured the taint? She did not know. It had always guided her on her path, and through it she had helped many. She held no real power but her kind words had granted her respect among those who knew her, yet those same words had placed the sister cleric in danger. Had she simply left the refugees outside the young girl would not have been attacked. Had she simply let the guards imprison the merchant he would still be alive.

Yet as the moon rose high overhead a sudden cry came from the refugee camp. As swiftly as she could the mother priestess hurried out to the fort, the cold passing through her robes with ease. Somehow the taint of the revenant had gotten into those already cleansed. A taint that, with several days to fester and aided by the cold, had finally burst forth from both the cleansed and uncleansed. The guardsmen were walled up within their fortress, their weapons at the ready to fire should the revenants get to close, several burned and pierced already. Guardsmen stood at the gates to the fortress, the townsfolk inside and desperate refugees outside, trying to escape the cries of the revenants, revenants that would assault the town should the fortress fall.

Quickly rushing forwards to the forefront of the mass she approached the guards. With a word she could throw in her lot with the innocent refugees, yet if she was wrong and a person with the taint of the revenant got through, it could risk the lives of all inside. With a word she could order the guards to close the gates and fire upon the refugees, saving those inside, but condemning innocents to die.

The light would not abandon her. She approached the guards, ready to give her word to them.

---

"To the new Mother Priestess.

It is sad to know that your predecessor passed away in the first bought of the war, before the armies even had time to clash. However, her final choice has come to the attention to the Grand Clerics and they have come to question her final act. While she paid for her decision with her life the loss of innocent lives is difficult to forgive. Though we have decided to consider her decision as being made under sleep deprivation and high-stress making her sanity questionable, it is up to the Light and Gods to decide her fate. Our prayers go out to her spirit. You claim that your choice as her successor, though inspired by her, disregarded her actions in her final, stressful, days. We reaffirm that you made the right choice and applaud your struggle to reach those in need despite your grave wounds.

As such, in her stead, you have been appointed to the rank of Mother Priestess. We understand that, though talented, you did not complete your training in healing and a member of the faith shall be dispatched to aid you in this effort and further your education. When the war has died down, assuming your training is complete, you will be assigned to the village as its new Mother Priestess.

In regards to your request for marriage, our laws and tennents clearly state that such a thing is forbidden if it can be proven that it has detracted from the efforts of the cleric in question. While the former Mother Priestess may have overlooked your indiscretions it is the opinion of the Grand Clerics that it has affected your efforts and, thusly, must be discarded.

Go with the Light.

Edited March 29, 2015 by Snowy_One

[Etria]

Looks like I did find inspiration to write something after all. Well, if my mind wants to procrestinate, it can become very inventive. Also, fucking coming up with titles....

Title: Anger Relief for an Angry Pup

Fandom: Elder Scrolls Skyrim

Word Count: 1265

Characters: Vilkas, Tilma the Haggared

Summary: Vilkas was an angry child: it was a familiar sight to see Jergen dragging Vilkas by his ear through Jorrvaskr.

Vilkas was an angry child. No week could go by without him being grounded, disciplined or otherwise punished. His brother Farkas had less problems getting accustomed to Whiterun, Jorrvaskr and their new family. If he didn’t trail behind Vilkas, he clung to Jergen and looked around with his big, sad eyes.

Vilkas, on the other hand, attacked anyone who dared to look at him or his brother. He didn’t know why he was so angry and protective of his brother, but as a five-year-old he also didn’t have the capacity yet to understand it. Instead he still snapped at and fought with anyone getting too close after almost six months of living in Jorrvaskr.

As it was, it was a familiar sight to see Jergen dragging Vilkas by his ear through Jorrvaskr. Normally, Jergen would take him to Skjor (who would make him train until he couldn’t stand anymore), Vignar (who would make him copy some decade old cash-book) or Kodlak (who would actually try to understand him after a gentle chiding) when he didn’t have the time to do it himself. They were out on jobs today, though, and so Jergen brought him to the only other person who was authoritative enough to punish Vilkas.

"Tilma?"

The older woman looked up from the dough she was kneading and smiled at the impatient warrior and his glaring charge. "Yes?" she asked sweetly. There were deep wrinkles at her eyes and mouth when she smiled, even though she wasn’t that much older than Jergen.

"Tilma, I have to leave for a job. Vilkas just beat up Jon Battle-Born and Farkas as well when he tried to stop him." Tilma gasped and instantly her face wrinkled in worry. Vilkas had the decency, despite his anger, to look at the ground in shame. "Make him scrub the pots or something." Jergen then released Vilkas’ ear and after a nod to Tilma, he left.

Shaking her head and clicking her tongue, she walked over to the still glaring boy and herded him over the table with the dough. "Oh, my little boy," she sighed. "What are you doing? Your poor brother." Vilkas climbed on the stool Tilma pushed over to him and pointedly looked at the wall. She quickly floured the table in front of him, cut her dough in half and gave him the smaller half. "Here. We’re making rolls with apple and raisins. Don’t be afraid of spoiling it." She smiled, knowingly. "Dough is tough."

Vilkas huffed snottily, but rolled his sleeves up and punched his fists into the dough. Tilma ignored his rudeness for now; there was no reasoning with Vilkas as long as he was angry. As soon as he vented his wrath on the dough, she would work on his manners.

For a few minutes, Vilkas pounded the dough as if it was Jon Battle-Born’s face. Then, slowly the time between each punch grew longer and longer until it stopped completely. By then, Tilma had already started to divide her dough into fist-sized balls. "Tired, my dear?" she asked.

Vilkas, panting heavily, was glaring at the dough. Even though there were still marks of anger in it, it already started to relax and smooth out.

"Come here. Divide it like I did and then we’ll fill it with the apples."

Vilkas looked up at her through the fringe of his black hair. After a second of hesitation, he nodded and wordlessly ripped into the dough. Tilma sighed mournfully. The boy’s anger sure burnt hot and long. After quickly finishing with the dough balls, she went to grab the sliced apples and raisins she had prepared in the morning so that they could absorb the sweet mead.

As she started to roll out the balls in thin squares, she glanced at Vilkas again. There was still anger in his eyes, but he seemed to have calmed down a bit. "So, what happened with Jon and your brother?" Vilkas froze for a second. His motions were rough and jerky when he continued his work again. "Won’t you tell me? You’ve never attacked your brother before." Carefully, she reached over and caressed his cheek with her floury hands.

For once, he didn’t turn away from the touch and instead stared down again. Tilma sighed. Before she could pull back and try from a new angle, Vilkas mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that, my dear?" She tilted her head closer. "I couldn’t hear you."

"Jon called him stupid," Vilkas repeated and punched his dough. "Said he’s too stupid to be a warrior."

Tilma clicked her tongue. "Now that was very uncalled for."

Vilkas nodded furiously. "That’s when I punched him in his stupid face," he yelled, all of his former anger back at full force. "And- and then Farkas told me to stop! Even- even though he called him stupid. Jon deserved it." Blinking quickly, he lowered his gaze. Sighing again, Tilma stepped around the table and pulled Vilkas into a tight hug. The boy didn’t resist but also didn’t return it. "I didn’t want to hit Farkas," he continued quietly. "I just turned around when he grabbed me and hit him."

"Oh, my poor dear."

"Then Father and Kodlak came by. Kodlak took Farkas because he was crying."

"And Jergen brought you here?" Vilkas nodded. "You didn’t apologise to your brother yet?" Vilkas shook his head. "Well, then you know what you have to do later?"

"Yes."

"You are a good boy." She stroked his cheek again, adding another flour streak, and went back to her apple rolls. "After finishing these rolls, of course." Vilkas nodded again. He seemed to feel better after talking and was actually a help to her. Tilma rolled out the dough and handed every fifth dough square to Vilkas.

While he was slow and his rolls (despite his best effort) rather askew, he was starting to truly relax.

After a while, though, Tilma noticed that Vilkas was picking the raisins from the apple bowl between them and put them into a roll he had put aside. It was a particularly big one and, by now, almost more raisins than apple.

"What are you doing, dear?" Vilkas startled, looking up at her guiltily, a stolen raisin still in his sticky hand.

He obviously fumbled for words. "Farkas likes raisins," he eventually answered, sheepishly. A warm smile broke out on Tilma’s face.

"You are a good brother." Vilkas dropped his gaze. "But the others want some raisins as well. That’s enough for Farkas, isn’t it?" Vilkas nodded quickly and dropped the raisin back into the bowl. Tilma noticed that he closed and placed Farkas’ roll on the baking tray very carefully.

As the rolls were baking, Tilma made Vilkas clean the table and the dishes they had used at breakfast while she started to prepare snacks for the Companions, who came to her kitchen at all hours of the day to snag some food.

When both were finished with their tasks and the rolls had had some time to cool, Tilma gave Vilkas a plate with Farkas’ and his own roll and sent him ahead. When she followed him after a few minutes, she didn’t find him or his brother in the mead hall. After placing the tray with the apple rolls on a free table, she glanced outside to the training field. There she saw the twins, sitting on the wall with their backs to Jorrvaskr, chatting animatedly. Smiling, Tilma gathered the empty plate because they would forget to take it to the kitchen anyway and returned to the mead hall.

Edited March 29, 2015 by Farkas

[Loki Laufeyson]

Ugaghj pray you never deal with severe writer's block, everybody.

Title: Doctor, Doctor (working title)

Fandom: wut. Original.

Word Count: 1135

Characters: Kristy and Ian

Summary: (Rough) A family moved to San Francisco in the year 1987. A month after being settled in, the 16 year old Kristy battles with a personal revelation. All the while, she and her brother hear something strange in her new bedroom.

Kristy never understood why the cat never went into her room. She assumed it was due to the move, yet the cat went into Ian's room all the time. She watched the fat orange tabby sit in the hallway with his tail flicking nervously. Maybe he hates me, she thought to herself. Just as well. After all, I'm not normal. She certainly looked normal enough when glancing in the mirror of her vanity. There wasn't much in the way of space there, since photos of old friends and new friends covered the sides of the mirror.

Her blondish hair was tied in a ponytail that hung high on the right side of her head. There was a purple streak in it, her friend Nella put in it the other night. Kristy's fringe had been stylishly crimped as well. She was pleased with this, as well as the heavy purple eye makeup applied around her grey eyes. Ian kept complaining about what he called 'the war paint.' "You never used to do that. You never used to care." He would whine. Kristy tried not to think too hard about Ian's complaining. He had been complaining ever since they left Sacramento. Ever since Dad took the job in Marin, everything had changed. Even me, she thought.

The strangest sound, like scratching, came from under the closet door. The cat, Kristy thought. She moved to the door and opened it. All that greeted her, was her own clothes and the shifting of her large collection of shoes. Kristy's brow furrowed, turning around to see the cat still in the hallway. "That's weird," she said aloud. "Maybe it was a mouse. Lord Crumpet, you should start doing your job!" she yelled at the cat. There was a flash out of the corner of her eye, of the cat's tail. "Figures he'd run away." Ian had named that cat ever since they found him in the backyard 3 years ago. Kristy didn't know where the name Lord Crumpet came from, other than that it had made her laugh.

She pulled some clothes out of the closet. A cobalt blue blouse and some black leggings. When she began to change, her foot hit something hard. "What--" looking down, Kristy spotted the beige and brown cassette recorder. It had a handle on it and very large buttons. "Ian..." she said angrily. He wasn't supposed to be in her room. Especially now, Kristy grumbled silently. She knew she hid her diary really well, but it was small comfort. The secret too great, or so she imagined. Nella tried to tell her it wasn't a big deal. "Oh, they'll come around. People can't stay that stupid forever. Look what's going on lately!" Easy for you to say, Kristy mentally argued. Your mom joined Green Peace with her girlfriend. Kristy hated herself for being spiteful. Nella may not be that way, but her mother was. She had to face the stigma regardless.

Kristy slipped her purple flats on her feet, when she heard the scratching noise again. Her eyebrows furrrowed again as she got up to look. The closet door was still open. Looking this way and that, behind the door and even poking her head all the way in the closet, she found nothing. It's not the cat, for sure this time. A sudden sound made her jump a mile. It was music. "Doctor, doctor! Can't you see I'm burn' burnin'! Ooooh Doctor, doctor! Is this love I'm feelin'!" Kristy picked up the cassette player and pushed the large stop button on the top. "How on earth...how did this turn on?" she asked out loud to no one in particular. She felt suddenly rather cold and afraid. "It might be broken."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was going down when Kristy's mother came home. The three of them settled in the small dining area of the house. It was just to the left from the kitchen, with a low hanging light overhead. Ian was making noise again. "Where's Dad," he asked. "I got a new model and I wanted to show him."

"He had to work late," answered their mother. "You can show me the new model." Kristy took a good look at her mother. Brown short hair, stern eyes, and too-well pressed a blouse. Perfect picture of corporation, Kristy thought spitefully. She didn't hate her mother, but sometimes resented her unrelenting clench on a more conservative outlook.

"Nah, I wanna show Dad. No offense, Mom, but I don't think you understand the importance of a U-boat." Ian replied in a mock haughty voice. For a half-second, Kristy forgot to be annoyed with him, and smirked. "Ian, what were you doing in my room," she regained her annoyance. "I told you not to go in there!"

"I heard something weird..." Her brother answered. He was going to be 12 in a week, and he was stupidly excited about it. He had their mother's dark hair and a pudgy little nose. His hair was always in a state of disarray, and today, he had a brown smudge on his shirt. Ugh, it's too hard to stay annoyed with him for too long, she thought. "It sounded like Crumps got stuck, so I went in there." Ian finished.

"The cat never goes in my room. And neither should you!" She felt the annoyance rising again. "You left your stupid tape player in there too. I don't even know why you keep that stupid thing anyway. It's broken."

"No, it's not!" Ian spat back. "I just replaced the batteries today!" There was something unsaid in his voice. Some sort of weird fear. He knew the cat wasn't in her room. Did he hear the same noise she did?

"Just stay out of my room, ok?"

"That's enough, you two," their mother interjected.

"But Mom---" they both said in unison.

"Enough!"

Kristy watched as her mother moved into the kitchen. "It is broken, Ian. It turned on by itself..." She shifted in her seat, remembering the song that played on the cassette player. The tape was an early birthday present from her.

"It's never done that before," Ian said. He leaned over in his chair and his voice dropped. "You don't think this place is haunted, do you?"

"Oh my god, Ian, no I don't. I don't believe in that stuff." Kristy answered back incredulously. The move was hard on all of them, but claiming the new house was haunted? That was just too much for Kristy. She began to laugh.

"Stop laughing! If it wasn't Crumps in your room, who was it?" Ian asked, red-faced.

"It was probably a mouse," Kristy answered. She didn't want to tell him she didn't believe that, either. She didn't find any mice. She also didn't want to tell him she heard the noise too.

[eclipse]

Oh crap, I wrote this, and didn't bother with much of anything else.

Title: Untitled

Fandom: Background information's not required - any references to said fandom is fleeting.

Characters: Mostly original, and once again, I forgot to name the main character.

Summary: Clinic drama.

Words: ~3500

Other warnings: As this is a clinic, patients will not be in the best of physical shape. It gets a bit bloody at one point. I've put that part in spoilers.

"Heads up, one's coming in!" The box of files stubbornly refused to move from its spot in the middle of the brown rug I'd placed it on earlier. Fingers under the box - check. Knees bent - check. Push up with your legs, while keeping one's back straight - OOF! The box reluctantly parted with the rug, and I staggered backwards until a wall halted my progress. A stampede rushed past me. Three of them wore white coats splattered with red. One lay on a wheeled bed, obscured by two of the figures in white. A faint trail of red, expressed in drops, followed the four as they raced through the double doors.

"First day on the job, eh? The look in your eyes says it all. They don't see us unless they're about to bleed out - or until it's too late." The weight in my arms dissipated, as my boss held the box that I'd so desperately snatched away from the middle of the room. "The paperwork will wait. Grab a rag and clean off the floor. Can't have any of the medical team slippin' on some patient's blood."

I slowly erased the trail that led towards the closed double doors, faint screams from the other side urging me to hurry. Once the floor was devoid of blood, I ran towards the files. They, at least, kept silent as I put them where they belonged.

---

Another day, another emergency. The box of files sat dutifully next to the desk where I'd placed them, first thing in the morning. Sometimes, the patients flew by me, surrounded by those qualified to work on them. Other times, they were somberly wheeled in, covered by a white sheet. The patient was hurried through, but not before I could catch a glimpse of him - or whatever was left of him.

His upper arm was striped with cuts, with some of them featuring a touch of white. His lower arm lay on his torso, along with his foot and part of his lower leg.

As the double doors swung shut, I fell to my knees and spewed the contents of my breakfast.

"Easy there," a familiar voice chimed in. My boss stood behind me, a rag in hand. I hastily wiped my mouth, and did my best to ignore the mess I'd just created. "I ain't gonna make you clean that up. Here, take these to the tavern. Give the green one to the lady behind the bar. And don't come back 'til the red one's empty." I nodded mutely, and left the room, before my boss changed his mind. The red pouch clanked in time with my footsteps.

"Huh, for me?" The woman riffled through the contents of the green pouch. "I'm surprised the big lunk sent you to deliver this." Her eyes briefly widened as I fished out the red pouch. "Oh, I get it. Looks like you'll be here a while. No need to give me that look - open it up!" I'd expected some money in the red pouch, but what I saw was enough to feed the entire staff.

"How did you know?" The bartender chuckled.

"This ain't the first time I've seen a pale-faced clinic worker with that pouch. First drink's on the house. What'll it be?"

---

"What's this? I thought I told you to empty the red pouch!" My boss' words grated across my tender ears and head. "Guess you're just a lightweight," he spat out. "Here's the key to the supply room. It's the locked room just beyond these doors. The patient rooms need all sorts of things in 'em. Go restock 'em all, and ignore any of 'em who get pissy 'cause you're in there." Nodding hurt, so I grunted out a reply and staggered past the double doors. Surely there'd be a water basin that I could drink from - anything to ease the pounding beneath my skull!

A sheet of paper was pasted to the other side of the supply room's door. Rather than try to memorize it all, I found a blank sheet of paper, and wrote down what each room was supposed to contain. The cart it mentioned was stocked to the brim with the necessary items. I silently thanked whoever thought up of this system, as I wheeled the cart into the hallway.

The first room was mercifully empty. My eyes glazed over as I compared the list of things the room should have to what was on the mostly-full shelves. This was a room that had only half of the necessary supplies? I silently wished calamity on whoever designed the shelves - they were almost out of reach, even with the footstool that was left by the bed. Something pink caught my eye - a lone flower lay on the ground, its petals surprisingly vivid. Before I left the room, I lay the lone flower on the edge of the shelf closest to the bed.

By the time I had put the cart away, the sun's reddish rays illuminated the hallways. One room had the patient who I'd seen on my very first day, but I managed to do my job without waking him. During my second trip back to restock the cart, I nearly collided with a now-familiar team of doctors, who raced through the halls. The only thing I could make out in the blur of motion was the foot of the wheeled bed, and how empty it looked. Soon enough, they were gone, and I was free to continue my job.

---

The day started with a flurry of activity in the reception area. Instead of the usual panic and urgency, I heard giggles.

"We'll miss you, Milos!" Petra, the receptionist who started two days after me, teasingly blew a kiss at the now-released patient. When he'd come to this clinic ten days earlier, Milos had left a bloody mess for me to clean up. Instead of bandages, he wore a tan leather tunic, green trousers, a sword at his side, and a smile that apparently melted the hearts of the female staff members.

"The sweetest angels ministered to my every need. Had I not known better, I'd have to say that I arrived in heaven!" Petra's normally pale complexion reddened. The now-healed adventurer turned around, and stopped when he saw me.

"Ah, you must be one of the doctors who laboured to save me. You have my thanks." I involuntarily took a step backwards at his words.

"I'm, uh, the one that keeps things running. Don't know the first thing about saving lives!" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Petra shake her head. Milos lay a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Whether you're the one in front, fighting the monster, or the one in back, shouting out warnings, you're still important. Head up and shoulders out! You're surrounded by all these lovely ladies. I'm almost envious of you." My own cheeks warmed at his words.

"T-thanks," I replied to the spot Milos had vacated moments earlier.

---

The incident at the front desk had left my sneaking skills lacking. As I wheeled my cart into what I thought was a vacant room, the patient on the bed stirred. Though her eyes were wrapped up tight with bandages, her head turned towards me. I kept my gasp of horror to myself - the person in the bed was a child!

"Nigel," she croaked, her voice wavering.

"Nigel?"

"Brother, you're here!" She moved towards the edge of the bed. I ran towards her, putting myself between the edge of the bed and the floor. She grabbed my hand eagerly. I'd been trained to organize papers and keep rooms restocked!

"How are you doing?" If only she could see how different we looked! Surely her brother would have pale blond hair, like her, rather than my dark brown one!

"Oh, I'm so glad that you're alive!" Someone coughed behind me. One of the doctors stood over me, looking none too happy.

"I have to go now," I said as gently as possible, while untangling my hand from hers. I did my best to ignore the doctor's withering gaze as I wheeled the cart out of the room.

---

"What the hell were you doing?" The cross doctor had caught up to me. I parked the cart off to the side, and looked right back at him.

"Had to make sure she didn't try to climb out of bed." My reply earned me another dirty look.

"Her brother is dead. Don't give her any ideas." Once again, my cheeks flushed. How was I supposed to know that? I silently cursed the doctor as I finished up my supply run.

---

"Who would've thought that you'd cause such an uproar in back?" my boss mused, clearly less rattled by yesterday's incident than me. "Don't mind 'em - they're best at fixin' broken bodies. I've got some errands that need to be done. First, deliver these to the tavern." He handed me two familiar pouches, one red and one green, along with a slip of paper. "Nina's birthday is today, so we're buyin' everyone lunch. Go ahead and write what you want. I put in enough for you to order, as long as it ain't somethin' like veal. Next, take these to the shop. It'll say 'adventurers', but their stuff helps us, as well." I looked at the brown package quizzically. It felt as light as the green pouch.

"How am I going to carry all that food back?" I asked, looking at the rather lengthy list of sandwiches.

"They'll deliver 'em when they're ready. Now go!"

---

On most days, I went straight home after work. Working at the clinic paid well enough, but not so well that I could afford to move out of the cramped quarters that I called home. Once I'd saved enough money, I wanted to move elsewhere in the city - somewhere where I didn't have to sleep, cook, and eat in the same room. The fastest way to get rich was to become an adventurer, but I had little stomach for killing things, even if they were monsters. Instead, I worked at the place that tried to keep people alive.

"Ah, back again," the woman behind the bar greeted me. "Looks like you're here on business."

"Yes, I am." I handed her both pouches and the list of lunch orders.

"Hmmm? Why is there an empty space at the bottom of this list?"

"I wasn't sure what you served today," came my hasty reply. In truth, I wasn't sure how much was allotted for "my" lunch, and I didn't want to short-change her.

"The menu is over there." While she counted the money, I took a good look at what they served, and whistled softly to myself. Their more expensive items cost about as much as half a week's worth of home-cooked meals!

"Seems like your boss was feeling generous," she chimed in, interrupting my thoughts. The money on the counter was enough to pay for all but the most expensive items!

"I'll take a pulled pork sandwich." She chuckled at my order.

"No need to restrict yourself to one of the cheapest sandwiches!" My cheeks flushed, yet again.

"I--I usually don't get to eat pork. But there's enough for a side order of slaw too, so I'll take that." She nodded her approval as she penned my order down.

"He won't yell at you if you give this back as change. Don't be afraid to live a little! Saving money's nice, but it's pointless if you never use it!" I couldn't think of a proper response, so I nodded and left.

---

"Back already? And why do you have that package?" My boss' brow creased. It was the first time I'd seen him unhappy.

"There was a sign on the door saying that the shopkeeper would be out for the day. Does she normally do this?" He crossed his arms and diverted his attention to the ceiling.

"She did post a job at the tavern requesting an escort. Perhaps someone took her up on it. Ah, it can't be helped. Lunch won't be ready for a while, so can you get to those?" He pointed to two large boxes full of files. "The new guy skipped out."

"Of course!"

---

Eventually, the doctors "forgot" about the incident with the little girl, and I was permitted to restock rooms again. By the time I finished the first two rooms, all that remained on my cart were two boxes of bandages and a bottle of water. As I prepared for my next foray, I spotted a small figure in the halls. Her bandaged eyes turned towards me, and before I could say anything, she ran straight into the cart. Undeterred, she felt her away around it, and grabbed my leg.

"Brother! You're back! Please don't leave me again!" To my horror, she was followed by the one of the doctors.

"Your brother's dead, now go back to your room!" My logical side reminded me that throwing supplies at a doctor would cause me to lose my job.

"He's right here! Say that you'll stay!" The girl's voice wavered dangerously. I couldn't pretend to be her brother forever - once one of her relatives saw me, they'd know. I thought back to the time when I'd lost my own parents - I was a bit older than her, but I remembered asking people around me why they were sleeping, and when they'd wake up. According to my aunt, it had taken me a month after the funeral before I went outside to play. Back then, I didn't want to let go of my parents, just as she didn't want to let go of her brother. The faintest wisp of an idea came to mind - worse comes to worse, I'd be fired on the spot. If that happened, I'd throw everything on the cart at the doctor before I left for good.

"Yes I'm here. I asked a very nice man if he'd let me use his voice." The girl shot me a grin. The doctor shot me a glare. I ignored the latter.

"I wanna go out again! To see the pretty forest!" Her face turned towards me, expectantly.

"I can't stay here forever. This man has his own little sister to take care of. She'd be sad if she never saw her big brother again." That part was mostly a lie - according to my aunt, my sister had died a week after she was born. I was too young to remember her.

"Oh." The girl's expression became downcast. The doctor's glare had transformed into a puzzled look.

"I had to make sure you would be just fine. That's why I came back. Your smile told me that your all better." A faint frown came back to the girl's face.

"The doctor said that I don't have eyes. That's not all better!"

"Yet you can laugh, and smile, and argue with a stuffy old doctor. That's the little sister I came back to see." The doctor's glare returned. I smirked back at him.

"So you're not mad at me? Even though I didn't listen to mommy and daddy?"

"I'm not mad at you. I'm happy that you're here." Her smile returned. "But I need to leave soon. You have to do something for me. Something that I could never do." Her forehead crinkled. Had her face not been bandaged, her eyes would've gone wide.

"But you could do anything!" Whoops. Time to improvise.

"It's something YOU must do. I want to see you blossom into a fine young woman. Smile and laugh often, and don't make other people sad. Can you do that?" She turned her head towards the wheels on the cart, before turning her face towards me.

"Okay! But you hafta do that, too!"

"I will. Goodbye, Ava." I silently thanked the nurses for gossiping about the little girl. Then, I coughed a bit, before speaking in a slightly higher voice.

"Ugh, what happened?" The girl let go of my leg.

"Oh, you're the nice man. Be a good big brother! Or else!" The doctor's expression had changed from hostile to one of exasperation.

"Time to go back to your room." The girl took the doctor's hand, and they walked off down the hallway.

"That was some pretty impressive acting." I jumped, as my boss appeared behind me.

"I, uh, remembered something about people who claimed to talk to the dead. That's the kinds of things they said, right?" My boss threw his head back and laughed.

"You'd have a fine career ahead of you, as a swindler."

"I think I'll stick to honest jobs," I meekly replied.

---

"Goodbye nice man!" Ava held her mother's hand, a radiant smile on her face. Her father motioned me off to the side.

"We know Ava was found next to her brother's mangled corpse. Her sight will never return. Yet she's smiling and acting like nothing happened. What in the world did you do?"

"As long as she thinks that her brother is with her, even if he's not physically here, she'll be fine."

"Without her eyes, she'd have to rely on her other senses. Your voice sounds similar to Nigel's. Perhaps that's why she latched onto you. Thank you for helping her." I smiled as he left.

"Your shift's up." My thoughts were interrupted by my boss. "Goin' home again?" My stomach rumbled in response.

"I think I'll give the braised beef at the tavern a try. Gotta make use of the time that I have, right?" The blow to my back knocked the wind out of me.

"Heh, you got a point, there. You ever thought about bein' a doctor? You got the bedside manner that many of 'em are sorely missin'. We gotta replace three of 'em, soon, before they keel over." My mind flashed back to the man who'd lost part of his arm and leg, and I felt the blood rush from my face.

"Let me think about that."

---

The new doctors always started with the worst shifts. I wasn't fond of waking up as the sun went down, but someone had to be in the clinic during the night. The familiar rattle of a bed on wheels snapped me back to reality. My first patient had come in, about fifteen minutes after my debut as a proper doctor.

"Hey, you're not allowed back here!" One of the nurses intercepted a kid who'd followed the bed. His red coat didn't hide the fact that he'd been cut several times over.

"But I gotta tell her that--" I sighed and ran over to the commotion. The nurses could stabilize the patient.

"You with her?" I asked bluntly. The kid's brow furrowed.

"Yeah." His shoulders slumped.

"You're in no shape to worry about someone else." I turned to the nurse who stopped the kid. "If you've got time to yell at him, you've got time to prep another bed." Both the nurse and the kid's jaw dropped.

"I'll be fine, dammit. She's the one that took the hit." Though it was contradictory, I smiled.

"She wouldn't have done that unless she believed in you. Now it's your turn to believe in us. The nurses can bandage you up. I think your friend would be pretty peeved if she saw what kind of shape we left you in." Another nurse returned with a bed. I looked at the blood on the floor and sighed.

"Some things never change," I mumbled to myself, as I jogged back to the original patient. It was time to work.

[Percivalé]

I FORGOT TO GET MY ENTRY FINISHED LOL maybe next time

[blah the Prussian]

So, when does the voting start, and how?

[Sunwoo]

I'm a bit late to end the competition, but the entry phase has officially ended!

Give me some time to create a voting thread for the competition (that we will reuse -- every other host after me will have to bug either a mod or me to update polling choices).

Glaceon

Anacybele

IceTeaPeach

blah2127

Dragoncat

Snowy

Farkas

Loki Laufeyson

eclipse

Edited June 13, 2015 by Sunwoo

[eclipse]

OMG today's Sunday! That means I have to think of something!

Theme

Write a story where the main character doesn't have his/her/its full five senses at his/her/its disposal. This can be something like "blind in one eye", or "inability to feel heat". If you decide to go with an alien race that has different senses, you'll have to describe what the main character is missing, and why it's a hindrance.

RULES

Since I'm in Hawaii, you'll get a wee bit more leeway for due date. Entries should be in by April 19, 2015 at 11:00 PM HST. It's not midnight because I'll be asleep by then. Use the linked clock to figure out how much time remains, because Hawaii doesn't follow DST.

Entries:

Glaceon Lord

Dragoncat

Anacybele

Snowy_One

Dual Dragons

Jotaro Kujo

Edited April 20, 2015 by eclipse
Time now reflects extension

[Anacybele]

:O

I have a character that's blind in one eye! Much of his backstory takes place before he lost sight in that eye, but I should still be able to come up with something to write with him. Dragoncat might know which character I'm talking about, as we've talked about our OCs to each other a lot, but the rest of you will just have to wait and see who this guy is if you have no idea. ;)

Edited April 5, 2015 by Anacybele

[Dragoncat]

Nice theme idea! I'll have to think of something...

[Magical Glace]

Hmmm... I think I have something resembling an idea.

Maybe. We'll see how this goes.

[Dragoncat]

I have an idea now too, but the hinderance won't be there for the whole story, would that be reasonable?

[eclipse]

If you're talking about "I had two eyes, then I lost one", sure~!

[Anacybele]

Good, that's basically what happened to my character. :P Was born with two eyes, but got the right one literally ripped out of his head at some point.

[Jedi]

This time I'll actually have time to make a story!

[Loki Laufeyson]

Hee...heeehehehehe.

Challenge accepted!

[Dragoncat]

If you're talking about "I had two eyes, then I lost one", sure~!

More like the other way around. The hinderance is healed during the course of the story.

[eclipse]

Sure, I'll allow it~!

[Dual Dragons]

Hey, I think I have the time to squeeze a story in.

[Emmar]

Oooh, this one I might be able to hammer something out for.

[blah the Prussian]

Well, blind in one eye? I know a guy.