Combining your prompts then, how deep is a long distance wishing well, exactly? ;-)
The wishing well Hilda barked, a sharp noise of annoyance and burrowed inside Pestilence’s jacket, wriggled herself around, and then poked her head back out, ears pricked, eyes alert and nose twitching. Scuffles watched her, his eyes slightly wide. “I saw her try and take down a dragon once,” he said. “You’re a lot braver than I am.” “I’m hard to hurt,” said Pestilence. “At least, I’m hard to hurt like that. Law of Narrative again: you can kill me with fire, but otherwise you need strong antibiotics and lots of sunlight. Being clawed by a dragon, or eaten, just isn’t a problem. I pretty much just phase-shift, walk back out and leave behind a nasty case of croup, or scrapy, or whatever dragons are susceptible to. You, on the other hand, are born of conflict and small, hand-held weapons. You’re going to be bruised the moment someone bumps into you but a speeding car will pass straight through you and the banshee’s wail will just sound a touch off-key.” Scuffles frowned. “Then…” “Famine’s weakness is force-feeding,” said Pestilence. “He’s a very tough cookie to kill, especially since he can just make you run out of food, or desire it all for yourself while you’re trying to feed him. War is untouched by anything short of a megaton detonation these days – he used to get nervous around sharp edges even if it was just His Nibs sharpening the teaspoons for giggles again.” “His Nibs?” “The boss. Death. Who is untouched by practically everything, which is sort of the problem we have here. If you can kill him, the next best thing would be to control him, and it looks like someone thinks the Accords can do that.” “And can they?” “We’re all going to find out,” said Pestilence with a smile that promised the end of harvests for a decade and the fall of Empires. “Right, that came from over there, and for a moment there was War and Famine heading our way but they’re gone again. So my guess is they did something, so we should go…” he looked around while his hippopotamus mount yawned widely enough to swallow a gazelle whole, “in pretty much the opposite direction. What’s over there?” “Trees,” said Scuffles. “Use your sense of location,” said Pestilence, hiding a grin behind an etiolated hand. “the Law of Positioning. You can always know where you are and relevant history of the place if you concentrate.” “Oh. Oh wow! It’s like Manga! I can see a mugging around a wishing well, a small battle-“ “A scuffle?” “Hah, yes! Oh, this is awesome!” “And what’s over there?” “Trees?”
2 comments:
Combining your prompts then, how deep is a long distance wishing well, exactly? ;-)
The wishing well
Hilda barked, a sharp noise of annoyance and burrowed inside Pestilence’s jacket, wriggled herself around, and then poked her head back out, ears pricked, eyes alert and nose twitching. Scuffles watched her, his eyes slightly wide.
“I saw her try and take down a dragon once,” he said. “You’re a lot braver than I am.”
“I’m hard to hurt,” said Pestilence. “At least, I’m hard to hurt like that. Law of Narrative again: you can kill me with fire, but otherwise you need strong antibiotics and lots of sunlight. Being clawed by a dragon, or eaten, just isn’t a problem. I pretty much just phase-shift, walk back out and leave behind a nasty case of croup, or scrapy, or whatever dragons are susceptible to. You, on the other hand, are born of conflict and small, hand-held weapons. You’re going to be bruised the moment someone bumps into you but a speeding car will pass straight through you and the banshee’s wail will just sound a touch off-key.”
Scuffles frowned. “Then…”
“Famine’s weakness is force-feeding,” said Pestilence. “He’s a very tough cookie to kill, especially since he can just make you run out of food, or desire it all for yourself while you’re trying to feed him. War is untouched by anything short of a megaton detonation these days – he used to get nervous around sharp edges even if it was just His Nibs sharpening the teaspoons for giggles again.”
“His Nibs?”
“The boss. Death. Who is untouched by practically everything, which is sort of the problem we have here. If you can kill him, the next best thing would be to control him, and it looks like someone thinks the Accords can do that.”
“And can they?”
“We’re all going to find out,” said Pestilence with a smile that promised the end of harvests for a decade and the fall of Empires. “Right, that came from over there, and for a moment there was War and Famine heading our way but they’re gone again. So my guess is they did something, so we should go…” he looked around while his hippopotamus mount yawned widely enough to swallow a gazelle whole, “in pretty much the opposite direction. What’s over there?”
“Trees,” said Scuffles.
“Use your sense of location,” said Pestilence, hiding a grin behind an etiolated hand. “the Law of Positioning. You can always know where you are and relevant history of the place if you concentrate.”
“Oh. Oh wow! It’s like Manga! I can see a mugging around a wishing well, a small battle-“
“A scuffle?”
“Hah, yes! Oh, this is awesome!”
“And what’s over there?”
“Trees?”
Greg - very, very deep. Pretty much all the way down, as they say.
Also, I do believe they say: careful what you wish for.
Ahahaha, love the ending. Also: hurray for more backstory!
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