Drabble STORY ARC #2: Seek and Avenge

A Mortal Meeting

A ‘choose your own’ story epilogue.

This is a ‘choose your own’ fiction story. You can check out Chapter 1 of this story: ‘You Are Dead’ by Bradan Writes Stories. For the previous chapter, visit: ‘You’re in Charge of the Castle’, by JF Danskin.

You toss the priceless “life-stone” absently in one bony hand, clutching a martini in the other.

Brooding.

Things have been tough in the months since your ascension to the role of Grim Reaper, a.k.a DEATH personified.

All went well at first. You stalked the battle field, scything souls as elves and dwarves maimed each other with axes and baseball bats. Entertaining enough.

But soon, you began to ask yourself, “Is this all there is?”

Things got worse when you realized that you didn’t personally have to attend every mortal event. The slash of the scythe, it turns out, is more of a ceremonial flourish. People don’t stop dying if you take a day off…

It came as a relief at first. Think of all that travelling that would be needed otherwise! You’d be constantly living out of a suitcase, albeit one packed only with black robes.

But as time went on, you left home less and less frequently.

Now, you toss the stone again, gazing at the door of your tower, gray and featureless like a headstone before engraving.

The moonlight through the window is the only light you need. Darkness is comforting. You take the last sips of your drink, and put down the glass with the olive still intact.

Just then comes a knock at the door. Odd... you’re the only one on Banshee Isle.

You rise, knees creaking, and stalk over. You pause. Them, another knock. Someone must be hitting it hard to make such a noise…

Curiosity wins; you turn the key, and allow the door to slowly swing open with a grim creak.

A small, long-eared figure stands there, and you sigh. A goblin. You’ve seen these before. They’re usually trying to sell something, lying and cheating.

This one looks nervous, though. She’s wringing her hands, her gray locks blowing in a breeze that causes the skeletal trees beyond to sway like a hanged man on a gibbet.

“Yes?”

She blinks; her big eyes glow red as she gazes beyond you to the interior. “I apologise… it’s aw pretty awkward, but, eh…”

“It’s… what?” you reply.

“Awkward, ah said. The situation, ken?” she says. “It’s mair than a wee bit awkward, tell the truth. It’s fair drenched in awkwardness. It’s like a thunderstorm o’ awkwardness, spillin’ o’er the brim, aye, floodin’ every nook and cranny.”

You’ve taken a moment to tune into Nyx’s Scots accent, but you’re getting there. “Get to the point, goblin,” you snap. “Why did you come?”

She frowns. “My name’s Nyx,” she says, “Ah’ve a message fae ma mistress, Lady Thanatos.”

“Lady…”

“It seems ye’ve been claimin’ the title, God o’ Death. Ah’m gonnae need ye tae cease an’ desist.”

“Wait,” you say stepping outside into the dark. “You’re saying I’m banned from calling myself God of Death?”

“Aye. That’s the size o’ it.”

“But, but…” You point to your skull-like features, funereal cloak, and the scythe in the corner beside a half-deflated birthday balloon that you bought yourself. “That’s absurd. Look! I am the God of Death. I’m literally the Grim Reaper. And I have the life-stone!” You waggle the stone in front of Nyx. “It gave me these powers.”

She takes one step back, eyeing the stone speculatively. “I dinnae want to join your ranks, skeleton! Ah’m a much higher grade than ye are. Ah’m lieutenant to the goddess, an you’re only a level one reaper. One o’ dozens.”

You pause, silently, parsing her words.

“I’m just level one…?” you murmur.

So this goblin is higher ranked than you?! And you thought you were so special.

Now, you reflect, your greedy grab of the stone at the Queen’s castle was a massive error of judgement. You are superfluous. A lackey. Working for a death goddess who didn’t even bother to reprimand you in person.

“Listen, Nyx,” you wheeze, folding your bony arms. “I didn’t ask for this. It was the previous guy’s fault. He kept playing games. Chasing and harassing me.”

She raises her eyebrows, her long pink ears waggling. “That figures. It gets boring, the endless reapin’, an’ all. The—” she looks around “ — loneliness.”

There is a long pause. And then you say: “Is there any way I can… you know….”

“Get out? Quit?”

You nod eagerly.

She gives a sly half-grin, then reaches into her pocket. “Pal, it’s yer lucky day. I happen to own a magical device called the mortal mirror.”

“Uh, huh?” You look down, as she pulls a circular looking glass from her robes, and places it at your feet. “How’s it work?”

“Look.”

You peer into the glass. Rather than a reflection of your own skull, you see a door inside the mirror. Then another one. And another. They are moving, whirling like a roulette wheel.

“Reach in and grab a door,” says Nyx, “and get a new life. A good one, if fate smiles.”

You notice her Scottish accent has disappeared.

“So — peace at last?”

“You’ll see. I just need you to place the life-stone down alongside it. You need to break from its power, see. Like I said, just reach inside the mortal mirror.”

You kneel, bony knees creaking again, and place the mystical life-stone down on the ground alongside the goblin’s mirror. There is a crackling, blue sparks and a smell of brimstone as the objects connect.

You peer in again, trying to focus on a specific door. Nyx is right — this is your way out.

You begin to reach inside, then have a moment of doubt. You’ve no idea what you’re getting yourself into. Should you petition the goddess for more information?

But just when you try to pull back, you find yourself yanked through. Suddenly, you’re falling. A thousand lives flash past, until one large door opens in front of your eye sockets.

“Thanks, sucker!” you hear Nyx say, as she grabs the priceless life-stone.

Continue.

This story connects to an ongoing collaborative choose-your-own fiction work with multiple authors. Please feel free to join in and add a chapter, furthering the story in any way you like. If you’re new here, find out how to contribute to the ongoing story (and others) right here.

Now, onto other matters! This is also a response to Monday Mashup #24, set by Bradan Writes Stories (who is too snowed under by seedling challenge notifications to keep up with them all, but what the heck, I am going to tag him anyway!)

Which prompts did I include in the story? Here is my scorecard:

Main Prompt:

Your MC finds a door somewhere it shouldn’t be/Someone is “knocking at Death’s door" (I did them both) – 2 pts.

Constraints:

A key
The moon
A locked door
The color of a door having some sort of significance
Mirror
Baseball bat
Balloon
Martini glass (or other type of drink holding device)
(I did them all) - 4 pts, plus 1 for this box.

Hardcore Constraint:

Someone speaks only in colloquialism (Scots language, I think that probably counts); include an example of symbolism (the multiple comparisons to graves/death).
I did both - 2 pts

Literary Device:

An example of a sliding doors moment (the doors in the mirror).
An example of amplification (Nyx's comment about awkwardness).
I did both - 5pts

TOTAL: 14 pts.

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it! And check out more of my prompt-response fiction pieces below.