Both victim and assailants alike stood agog, as the wheeled behemoth barreled down the lonely desert highway. Headlights cut a swathe through the dark, and the moonlight glinted off of a bug-splattered windshield.
Seeming to spot the gathering, the machine began to rapidly break. With a squeal of tires, the bus came to a sliding stop next to the traveler, scattering the assembly of horrors.
As the traveler stood, stunned, the doors of the bus swung open...
Hi, awhile back I spent a week on a road trip with my friends and a production crew. They ended up making this full on SHOW, which we are all genuinely proud of. I’d appreciate if you’d give Road Quest a look.
The traveler stood, surrounded by the slavering faces of monsters
Depression, Pain, Frustration, Loneliness; they had followed the traveler for years, troubling happy moments and fueling dark days.
But they were no longer content with mere torment. They'd come for an end, and were circling in, reaching claws for the weary traveler.
Hope seemed lost.
The two lovers stood atop the hill, gazing back at the armies of decrepit doomsayers and old tyrants arrayed against them. A mass of faces contorted in violent rage, all bellowing "NO!"
For a moment the two bright souls watched, pitying the hoard of unloved writhing below. Then, turning to each other, the lovers softly smiled. Raising their hands in victory, they whispered "Yes."
Amidst the ruins of the forgotten star-port, we found this carved on the wall of the main entrance hall, an exaltation of the daring colonists leaving their dying world for a new start in a fertile universe:
"Go wonder thoughts both new and old, and wander near or far. Taste the tang of deepest deep, and Dance 'midst yonder stars!"
"Why do we need a class like 'Ethics?'"
"What is the primary lesson of power?"
"A good start. More accurate to say that Power Reveals. Power amplifies one's voice so that the things once said softly are now a shout projected on the universe. Moreover, the longer one has had power, the harder it is to turn the gaze inward and change a fault. So, we train to be self critical and ethical now, that we may avoid a future tyrant."
Every year I make pilgrimage to the place of my creation.
The moldering corpse of the Parent Factory lies amidst a decaying graveyard of warehouses and outbuildings. Foliage snakes through cracks in of their concrete skin. The growth of an old oak has slowly pierced the factory's heart. Animals make nests in the rusted bones of my parent's corpse. A place of wind, and memory, heavy with the weight of forgotten history.
Ways Mastodon has changed me
Like a plot of fertile soil in a safe and sheltered garden, Mastodon has given me a space to grow my confidence as a writer. The seeds, tools, and technique are mine, but even the best tools do you no good if you do not use them. Seeds will never grow if they go unplanted.
Thanks to all of you who enjoy my little scribblings. May your own garden of thought ever flourish.
As the sailor desperately clung to the rigging, the air filled with the sound of rushing wind. The ship was pulled toward the swirling maelstrom, bruised by the churning current.
Then, a sound like a chorus of cannons filled the night, and the ship was hurled through the sky like chaff on the wind.
The sea calmed. The ship was battered, but still afloat. The crew shaken, but alive.
"Good Health!" called the Sailor.
"Thank you!" replied the Kraken.
As fire fell from a rent and wretched sky, the stranger sat at the piano and began to play.
The music was like soft wind and hard light. A tune of angels weeping over a devil's fall. The melody was the taste of laughter and the sound of tears. A neon prayer for a tone deaf world, making gentle harmony with cacophonous doomsday.
So on and on the stranger played, until, at last, the Sound died away, leaving only silence.
Then, from the back, "Encore!"
The Desert stretches out in all directions, as a hot wind blows the smell of dust and despair across the dunes. In the very middle of the bleak and barren waste rests a lone tree, tall and green and growing.
Some said it is fed by underground wells. Others thought that it drinks the blood of those who approach. Still others claimed the tree imprisons a sea-spirit, the last citizen of a long forgotten ocean.
Naught but the wind and dust remain to say.
Hey, if it's something that would interest you, I'll be playing some Pauper with @LRRMtG@twitter.com tomorrow night at 5:00 PM PDT on http://twitch.tv/loadingreadyrun. I haven't played paper Magic in A While™ so come watch me slow play and fail to maintain the board state like it's 1995, I guess 😂.
Today in Sick Rips: Delicious Deck Tech
“Are you ok? You’re acting a bit cranky today.”
“Ugh, I can’t sleep, unless it is on a bed of pure gold. Silver and gemstones irritate my scales.”
“We mined out all of the gold centuries ago. How do you find enough just lying around to make a sleep-pile?”
A friendly, time-traveling meat-robot. Determined to improve the quality of this world-instance we call "Earth"
Occasionally writes short stories
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