The echoes of defeat

There was a sound in the darkness and it announced war.

"Witches!" it howled. "We are taking back our sons, our daughters!"

Swords drummed on shields to hammer in agreement, and to drive their foe out of their homes. The women heeded the call. They gathered, tattered-robed and grey-haired or beautiful and lush. It didn't matter. They were witches all.

"We will suffer you no more. You die this day!" the commander bellowed once his enemies stood before him, lined up neatly at the edge of their village.

The army charged. A thousand voices roared as one to the beat of hooves racing down the hillsides that surrounded the enclave. The witches did not run. Instead, they knelt on the ground, and from pockets and pouches came small figurines. Each one carved from bone. Some yellow and brown with age, some fresh as winter snow.

The witches chanted through the din. Their words of old lighting up the night sky in an eery glow. The air seemed to release specks of light as if the stars had fallen from above to join in battle. The soldiers stopped and watched the spectacle in confusion.

"As you wish," a woman cackled.

Spirits erupted from the lights as they were driven from beyond the veil to protect their mistresses. They struck, slaughtering with ferocious determination. One by one, fathers fell to the hands of their children. Begging, forgiving, pleading, cursing, and screaming. The wraiths did not care about their father's words, they simply murdered -- anything to please their mothers. And so the roar of the living became the wail of the dead.

More bones for the witches' protection. More figurines to be carved. They would be ready when the next army came.

There was silence in the darkness and it announced defeat.

*************

WC: 299

This is the Way

Lua was raised in The Covert, an enclave of Mandalorians. She watched brothers and sisters take the Vow and don their helmets as she grew and waited. The helmet was sacred, proof of commitment. But armor was the defining trait she planned for.

Lua whittled a figurine out of a piece of wood. She spent weeks carving it into a human shape, and weeks more carefully engraving each plate of her planned future. She interviewed her brothers and sisters throughout the Covert, asking about the purpose of each plate and where each mar in the metal came from.

Colors were vital. Every Mandalorian took the Vow, but every vow had its differences. Vows had small details, unique and important to every Mando. Tenants like passion, and protection were popular, and the difference between tan and brown was as vast and subtle as between loyalty and valor.

The day came when Lua took her vows. She entered the circle of her clansmen, helmets and armor donned, ready to accept her. The Armorer, their leader and guardian, held a helm sized for Lua. The young woman took to a knee, clutching the small wooden figure she made.

The Armorer spoke, Lua repeated after her. Word for word, the Vow she knew by heart. Memorized over years of observation and preparation.

"And what will you provide for the Covert?" the Armorer asked, "What makes you worthy?"

"I will protect our people," Lua vowed, lifting her eyes toward the faceplate of their leader, "I will fight for peace." It was displayed to all as she held up her work. Light green trim and a pine basecoat defined it.

"This is the Way." the Armorer said.

"This is the way!" they all chanted as the helmet was lowered onto Lua's head.

She was a Mandalorian.

----------------
WC: 300/300
r/TomesOfTheLitchKing

The Old Enclave

Eileen stood before the bricked-up archway. It was flanked by two crumbling marble figurines set on stone plinths, one with its broken-off head resting between its feet.

When the Lower City was still open to the sky, this place was probably important. Eileen was willing to bet that it still was.

She'd been searching for the Old Enclave since she was first cast out of the Upper City as a teenager. Some said it was a myth, but she believed in the stories that spoke of a place in the Lower where decent folk could be safe and free.

She thought she'd met people from the Enclave in the slums of the Lower, but when she'd asked them how to gain entry, their answers had always been useless, and often rude.

"Read a book, kid." a man had told her, gruffly, then refused to say another word.

"Tch! Be more humble, child." one old woman had rasped, before hurrying away.

"Sorry," a younger man had said with a smirk, leering at her body in passing, "But you've got to be a real head-turner, to get in there..."

Now, as she looked up at the ancient edifice with the words "Public Library" still faintly visible above the arch, she thought she finally understood. The Lower was a place for all outcasts, some mere misfits like her, some violent and dangerous.

But the Enclave was only for the wise.

Eileen knelt down before the broken statue and placed her hands on its fallen head. Her heart skipped a beat, as she confirmed her suspicion: the broken-off head was fixed to the plinth.

So instead of lifting it, she turned it.

And then, with a soft grinding of stone upon stone, the brickwork in the archway began to part.

[WC: 297]

##Shoes and Figurines

It's scaries out there. Nice and safes here. Homes. Comes in, strangerses.

I am one of a few nagas. We are nots the bad sorts, no. We no steals, we no kills. We makes shoes and figurines. Would you likes to buy ones, dear customerses?

No? I understands. Right nows, is dangerous out theres. No monies for buying shoes or figurines.

Oh, yous come for whats? A warnings? The other humans, they wishes to exterminates us?

We understands. But this is our sacred enclaves. We cannot leaves behind our histories, our cultures.

...Yes, we knows. We will not wins against the humans. Our magics is not strong, not like the humans with their guns and their bombs.

We appreciates you, humanses. For comings to warns us. Here. I will repays you. One pairs of shoes, and one figurines. This figurines will bring you luck. It is engraved with the symbols of our founders, Sylvesters.

...You do not wants? You wants us to come withs you? You are very persistent, humanses. I tells you whats. Takes our youngling eggs with you, humanses. You may be a strangerses, but it is betters than certain deaths when the other humans arrives.

...Thanks you, humanses. You have given us hopes for our legacies to continues. We did not thinks we would makes it out of a humans attacks.

I hopes, one day, you can brings our childrens backs to this enclaves. It would be appreciateds.

Nows go, kind humanses. You musts not be heres when the other humans attacks. They will nots take kindly to your warnings us, no?

...

...

Nows, there is only times for fightings. Watches over us, Sylvesters. For this shall be our final fights.

WC: 283

r/EnigmaofMaishulLothli

Little boy

Nori looked out of his cave. He didn't see anyone outside, so he hurried back inside. He was allowed to look outside of the enclave, but he must never set foot outside, for there were many dangers outside.

He stared at a little puddle, noticing his reflection. He was about a foot tall, wooden in nature with beads for eyes. He was, in fact, a figurine.

He didn't know how he was born. One day, there was nothingness. The next there was consciousness.

The cave was filled with scars of nature, whittling away at the walls - trying to tear the cave down. But no matter how much water tried to seep into the cracks and tear the cave apart, it refused to be broken but instead stood solid.

Nori hoped to one day be tall and solid like the enclave. He even talked to it as a friend. For the cave was his friend because he had no one else.

Nori talked to the cave now, "How are you doing ? I'm doing well, thank you very much. I managed to find the exit again after wandering through your tunnels. But I'm sure you haven't revealed all of your secrets to me. Why don't you tell me, instead of keeping it hidden. " He waited but as usual, there was no reply.

He realized that he wouldn't want the cave to tell him its secrets even if it did talk. He liked an air of mystery.

"I'm going back in", He said to the cave. He wanted to see if there was another exit out of the cave. Some nice place that the cave wasn't telling him. He would find it and they'd both have fun in that place together.

With a pep in his step, he stepped back into the maze of tunnels that made up the cave.

WC:283

##Hesa's Children

The people of Bromt watched as the statues of Hesa the first Queen were toppled in every town square. The Grahns spat at them as they did it. Spirits and families were broken. A nation had been broken when Grahnt conquered Ricadlia, and Bromtians were meant to fend for themselves.

The weak-willed ones accepted their fate. Grahns were fair and generous people. Ricadlia had never been good to them, and Bromtians were always slightly different from the rest of the kingdom. To most, these excuses fell on deaf ears.

Others refused to accept their situation. In their homes, they kept figurines of Hesa hidden in their homes. Every day, they stared at it in silent reflection. Hesa was the mother of them all. Though she failed to protect them, she continued to watch and weep.

Children of Hesa formed throughout Bromt. The smallest chapters had five members, but combined, they were a force that couldn't be ignored. Grahns may be enjoying their temporary victory, but the Bromtians will triumph in the end.

r/AstroRideWrites

I looked at the map. "We're almost there." I said. "Just need to get into the village."

"There's an entrance, right?" said Jack.

"Somewhere."

After about an hour of searching, we found it- an ancient stone gate nestled between two mountains. It was closed, but not locked.

"You have the Lady, right?" I asked.

"Yup."

"Good."

I opened the gate and followed a dirt road to the cluster of houses. On the way, we passed a villager. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Charlie and Jack." I said.

The woman looked skeptical. Clearly, this place didn't get many visitors. "What's your business?"

Jack pulled the Lady out of his backpack. "This figurine came with a map that led here."

The woman looked at the Lady in awe. "It can't be..."

Soon, the entire village was crowded around us, talking over one another. After some time, I shouted "WHO'S IN CHARGE?"

Everyone went quiet. An old man said, "I am. My name is Chief Rafael."

"Well, Chief, have you seen this before?" I pointed to the Lady.

He nodded. "It is Goddess Bettina- guardian spirit of our village. But why do you have it?"

"It was in my basement." I said.

Rafael looked at me analytically. "Who are your grandparents?"

I told him, then asked why.

"Many years ago, we had too many children. Some of them left the village for homes elsewhere. One was named Eleanora."

"My grandmother?" I asked.

"I believe so."

"She died 20 years ago. I never knew..."

"This means you are one of us. Welcome."

The Mushroom Marriage

Glump the toadstool bowed to the giant hickory tree. "Then it is decided?"

Old Man Hickory's bark groaned as he also bowed, albeit at a much slower and in a much slighter way.

The circle of shrooms danced around their glumpiest Glump. Their shrill acclamation reached not far from the forest floor, for fungi lack large lungs.

Glump sidled up to one of Old Man Hickory's roots, where a porcelain ballerina pirouetted inside a hollow knot. She wore a perpetual smile beneath long lashes. Her blue skirt billowed about her waist, making her look to Glump very much like an upside-down mushroom.

He embraced his new wife in the traditional way that mushrooms hug, and stared up at her glassy, dark eyes. He loved her eyes, and her flowing hair, and most everything about her. But he liked her most because she never said anything cross.

"Chanterelle and I will live here, beneath your boughs, Father." Glump pronounced this last word with reverential awe.

Old Man Hickory had not the heart to tell the tiny toadstool that some unfortunate lass had dropped her childhood toy some years ago, and that he had merely been caretaker since then.

"Son," he managed through taut vocal cords. With a shake of a branch, he showered them with a dozen leaves, laden with enough nutrients for another generation of mushrooms.

Glump would have smiled if he could have, but instead he spread mycelia in the dirt beside his bride, drawing out nutrients from the rich soil and detritus.

"What shall we do on this fine day, love?" he asked.

Figuring her silence for generous deferral, Glump lay his cap against her brow and sighed. "I think so too. It's much too fine a day to cuddle to do anything but."

How to Become an Oungan

​

Raymond thought that he might be blind forever. The mud was in his eyes, mixing with the blood. He saw only brown and red, and he navigated via feel, bumping against familiar boulders. Eventually, through the roar of rain, he heard the trickle of his stream. That’s how he knew he was almost home.

The water was bitterly cold; it numbed the gash on his forehead, taking away the pain. When he came up for air, the forest was quieter. Peaceful, somehow. His little shack still stood watch at the river’s bend, as it always did. He headed towards it.

Raymond’s English teacher once told him that an expert was someone who knew something inside and out. Raymond was an expert in getting beat up. His bullies, Josh and Allen, were experts in hurting, like soldiers were. The difference was that soldiers could get killed, but he couldn’t kill Josh and Allen. He was too small.

The shack was ramshackle, childish. It was a wonder that it kept any of the rain out at all. Raymond removed his plywood door and crouched inside. Home again.

Raymond’s English teacher had given him a story about voodoo once. He loved that idea, that you could take a big thing and make it small. Breakable. He had practiced every day since. There was his handiwork, on his makeshift workbench. A pocket knife and two small wooden figures. Below the bench was a pile of all the figures that hadn’t worked. You can’t be an expert the first time, Raymond’s English teacher had said. You have to practice.

The thing with voodoo is that you have to believe every time. If you don’t, they won’t hurt. Raymond felt the gash on his forehead again. Still bloody. You can be an expert in anything.

​

(WC: 299)

#Such Beauty

Thomas could no longer hear the screams of the people he just recently called family. They still spilled into the air in agony but his mind was elsewhere. He had broken his enclave's number one rule, never go outside. It wasn't the first time, he was an adventurous young man. How could one enclave ever be enough? This time was different however.

He had discovered the creatures and their home on his third excursion, they were terrifying, yet beautiful. Even from faraway he could tell how they towered over him. Their skin was semi-translucent, shiny, and seemed to move unnaturally on its own. They were clearly intelligent, like they always seemed to know exactly where he was. Exactly who he was. Even in the dead of night and from impossible distance. He felt chills of dread and excitement from it. He felt alive when he watched them.

On his last excursion he had found a beautiful ancient figurine set on a pedestal on the edge of town. It seemed to be sculpted out of bone with intricate golden layers embedded into it, highlighting their worship for what must have been some tentacled god. He couldn't resist taking it. It seemed almost a gift. It felt right grabbing it. In fact, since he laid his hands on it his grip could only seen to tighten and his heart pound with ecstasy. Calling it beautiful would have been an insult. It was divine.

He wanted to share this treasure with his enclave. He could hear pairs of thick wet footsteps behind him as he wondered back in a daze. He felt love when his benefactors showed themselves after he reached his enclave. He smiled as the first of his people were slaughtered. He knew they would all make such beautiful figurines.

[WC: 299/300]

-=The Sovereign's Arrogance=-

- Knight to G6. How do you feel, Alfredo, when I tighten the noose around your king like you around our country?

President Amarante sighed and swept his gaze around the empty, richly gilded banquet hall.

- You are overconfident and arrogant, Luiz. Someday this will doom you. A bishop to B4. Check, my friend. Just don't get too high-strung.

General Paranhos twitched nervously on the extra seat cushion that allowed him to reach the chessboard on the table. His gold medals on his uniform rang ominously.

- Me arrogant? - he shouted. - Do you think I don't see what you are doing to our beautiful city? Kidnappings, deportations and unexplained disappearances. Our population is vanishing! Pawn on C3!

- Do you think we are behind all this? - replied Amarante in a more serious tone.

- Who else? We are a bloody enclave Alferdo! As far as the eye can see beyond our borders, we see you. It is no secret that we are a bone in your throat. A small one, but an annoying one.

- Don't flatter yourself Luiz. I only want friendly relations with my neighbours. You are no exception. - replied Amarante conciliatorily.

- Then where are these people? Have they been kidnapped by aliens? - The general slammed his fist angrily on the chessboard. The figurines began to swing dangerously.

- No, Luiz. You don't see your part in this. - replied Amarante, reaching for the queen figure. - Do you think people will put up with life under the boot of an authoritarian, complacent leader who doesn't give a damn about their opinions or their lives? They'd sooner flee to a friendly neighbour. Queen on H4, checkmate Luiz. It's over. You have lost.

After his last word, the door to the hall opened with a bang and the presidential guard rushed in, guns pointed at General Paranhos.

WC: 300

Debris

Occasionally, some disgruntled local would chuck a piece of masonry or rebar over the wall into the green zone. Most of the blocks to the north were bombed out. Endless debris. We started issuing helmets to the civilian contractors after one got clobbered by half a brick while he was out jogging too close to the shit.

In time, I found out that Eleni carved little figurines out of those chunks. She wanted to make one for me. Why? I didn’t want one, but I didn’t say no. At that point we had three, maybe four translators left inside the walls. She was the best of them, and I didn’t want to piss her off.

When I met her, she was shouting over the engine noise of this rust bucket Toyota that had pulled up to the north checkpoint. Calm, because if you panic at someone they’re usually going to panic right back. She was shouting without panicking, telling the man to put his vehicle in reverse and return to the main road or those soldiers in the towers were going to shoot him.

Any rev of his engine, sudden acceleration in either direction, boom, done. We would have shot him. He didn’t, though. She got through to him. He put it in reverse and idled away.

She carved a Saracen warrior for me with a sharp little beard and a scimitar sword on his belt. I still didn’t want it, but it was for me.

Me, who doesn’t think about the 30mm round I shot through another Toyota at another checkpoint. Me, who doesn’t think about the one that exploded in the courtyard.

Me, who thinks about that damn figurine, and all the other ones she made, and what became of them after the end.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

Mister Bin Man

If you're assigned to the goblin enclave in New Vulpa, you either deserved it or your superior hated you.

As Damien could attest, he was victim to the latter.

He grumbled to himself, idly rapping his fingers on the wheel of his sputtering old garbage truck. It rattled and shook as it drove across the potholes of the neglected streets. It was dismal, especially since the draft was whisking away good people.

The truck coughed and groaned as it came to a stop beside a worn down bakery. 'The Rye Idea'. The name made him snicker.

Damien clambered out from his truck, sighing as he approached the alley aside the run down bakery. The smell was foul. The grimy, dented trash cans were loaded into the back of his truck, rattling around like bowling pins. Yeah, maybe some bowling later might be good-

A tap came upon his thigh. He looked down, finding a green little girl.

'Umm, mister bin man... I think I lost something in one of the bins.'

"Oh?" he scratched his head. "Sure, I could check for you."

He pulled one of the bins down and rattled through the dirty metal can, soon pulling out a crude figurine of wood, painted green.

"What's this?" he asked, showing it to her,

'Woah! Thank you, mister bin man, that's it!' she exclaimed, a sparkle in her eyes. 'My older brother gave it to me when he went away, I didn't want to lose it.' Damien couldn't help but smile, seeing her so joyed.

The owner of the bakery burst from the front door, rushing over to the two and putting a hand on the girl's shoulder.

'So sorry, I told her not to get in the way. She's a handful.'

Damien shook his head.

"No, she's just fine."

[WC: 300/300]

The old man had his eyes closed. To me, who slept with one eye open, it looked like madness.

"Hey."

His green eyes stared into my soul.

"Food... Medicine." My world turned upside down and darkness took over.

When I woke up, my arm was wrapped up. The old man sat by my side.

"Welcome back."

Trying to be discrete, I groped around for Otis.

"Looking for your knife? I've put it away. It had many shades of red on it."

"Give it back to me."

"We don't allow weapons here."

"We?"

"About 120 people here."

"What are you guys? Some sort of a religious cult? Newsflash, God's dead."

He smiled.

A bunch of huts around a clearing. There stood a clay figurine with its face was covered.

He smiled mischievously. "Prayer time. It's safe here till you are healed."

The people gathered and went up to the figurine in pairs. They raised the cloth covering the face, looked at it, hugged their partner and went back. From this angle, I couldn't see the face.

I also noticed a few kids and old people. Maybe this place was safe after all.

I gathered my things.

"Come see our god before leaving."

"No need."

"Humour me. I saved your life."

"For a while. The world can't afford to leave us alive."

But I followed him.

He held my hand. We walked up to the figurine, and took off the veil.

I saw two faces. Mine, haggard and scarred. His, scarred but smiling.

"The world didn't end when the bombs fell. The world ended when humans decided that it was survival of the fittest. You called us a religious cult. We don't worship gods. We worship humans. If we can be human again, we can rebuild the world. All of us together."

Word Count - 300