C.N. Sebright
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cnsebright.bsky.social
C.N. Sebright
@cnsebright.bsky.social
71 followers 42 following 210 posts
Award-losing author-- I swear it is somewhere in this mess-- of "The Man of Elansia" and "Gods Slay the Queen"
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cnsebright.bsky.social
This democracy tastes oddly like an oligarchy with faux democratic characteristics.

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“I don't have time for this,” Stephanie said, interrupting her. “Just go, I don't have time to check you in. I have to get going, or I'll miss my chance to vote.” “Or you're going to vote? That's important,” Eliza conceded. “I assume that's where you were,” Stephanie said, still trying to collect her things while being constantly distracted. Had Stephanie thought through this process to any definitive degree, she would have realized that this was generally impossible. The average production floor worker did not have the same sort of privileges that someone of a different color collar did. They could not go out on their lunch to participate in democracy-- or the facsimile that passed for it around these parts. Of course, this was mostly by design. Limiting the time in which the common dregs got to vote prevented them from making good things possible. Common Port Savant political theory dictated that such a group would easily sway any poll, given the sheer number of them in the city. Thus, the voter blocs were divided into the League, the Delegation, and finally, the largest party: Unvoters. A group comprised of those who could not, would not, or didn't think they should because they hadn't followed politics since their parents told them what party they belonged to in their youth, and couldn't make an informed opinion on subjects beyond their ken. Still, it was not helped when those of political prowess or wealth-- the Venn diagram a near circle-- also managed to paint all those ‘good things’ as actually horrid and generally against the Port Savant way of life. The beneficiaries of these laws were obfuscated on the ORBS, and the general public had no idea what they were about, even if they had an opportunity to vote on them.
November 30, 2025 at 4:26 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
A dedicated invisible platform at exactly shin height felt like a directed attack from the gnomes

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The Deliverer spell was a near-invisible square of aether that floated, unfortunately, exactly at shin height above the ground for most humans; the gnome that had designed it had not really taken this into account, nor did he care when they complained. It had been designed to carry large quantities of bricks from the point where they had mistakenly been delivered to the point where he had been building a garden wall. It was almost a joke among the wizarding community because of how one could pay a few copper coins to an adventurer to carry the same amount and far faster than the spell ever could. This, of course, was before the discovery that the Deliverer did not need to move simply at shin height, but could, in fact, with enough magic, move vertically. The general speed for the amount of magic one had to utilize to use the spell was still a major hindrance to anyone who would want to use it for any real practical usage. It did have usage for impractical things, like buildings far larger than they ought to be. Many buildings of outrageous size, not to The COIN's specifications, obviously, but large enough and in need of bringing substantial amounts of people or objects upward, would make a room dedicated to such endeavors. Of course, this led to the problem of having to hire wizards to staff the rooms, which meant hiring numerous wizards to keep the rooms running at peak efficiency. The larger the building, the more wizards were needed to keep the Deliverer working at all. This proved a problem for Varcc who did not want to hire the amount of wizards necessary to keep the room running at all hours of the day, but also could not find a mage in the whole of Port Savant that knew the spell and no longer trusted warlocks enough to hire another one, plus they were rather prone to run off on the whims of their patrons, which Varcc saw as a detriment to their overall work ethic.
November 29, 2025 at 3:03 PM
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Like all the rich people in the room, Phasun held up a stolen potion and said: "This is mine."

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“Perhaps to you or me,” Phasun said, though he had quite lost the finer usage of his sense of touch, what with the systemic decay of most of his nervous system. “But to the layman, it’ll be indecipherable. So until we can come up with a proper idea that doesn’t end up being too costly, or uprooting our entire way of life, I’ve come up with this.” Phasun produced a bottle of some rather innocuous pink liquid. It swirled on its own, a deep, cloudy hue of color running through it. “What is it?” Drant the Lesser said, “I hardly doubt some pink stuff is going to quell some minor indigestion, let alone some wonky ocean.” “This, my dear Drant the Lesser, is a potion by the great and industrious L’huf,” Phasun said, presenting it even more proudly. “That Cohesivist alchemist dolt?” Drant barked. “What’s it going to do, give us all frog warts?”
November 25, 2025 at 4:06 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
A travel agent once kicked my puppy, so now I mock travel ads in text—a true evil origin story.

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A scenic montage of Port Savant began to play, showing the vast majority of the city. The large industrious cityscape, the vibrant blue ocean that didn’t appear to be actively trying to destroy anything, the lush greenery of an ever encroaching forest, were all at the front and center as music began to swell and narration began as the picturesque scenes continued to play and people were shown smiling and happy. They were all enjoying rather mundane and typical activities at locations that didn’t resemble anything that the narration was showing. It confused Eliza, but she tried her best to focus on the dubbing and ignore the disjointed visuals. “Welcome to Port Savant, the most fantastic city in all of Steorrata-- so says, well, everyone. From the gleaming oceans of the Serul Sea to the open farmland of greater Sedarin, Port Savant is looked upon in envy by all other cities in the world. It is home to not one but two of the wonders of the world!” Text flashed at the bottom of the ORB: As listed by the "Almost Complete Guide to Steorrata," COIN edition. “First, it is home to the largest tower globally, located in scenic downtown Port Savant. The COIN HQ has been an established business in Port Savant for over 50 years. As Port Savant grew into the bustling metropolis that so many people have come to see and love, so has the HQ blossomed into the largest architectural wonder in the world. Run by one of, if not the wealthiest, person in all of Steorrata, the wonderfully altruistic Hob, Varcc. A better person you'd be unlikely to find anywhere else on the whole of Steorrata in both economic know-how and being kind-hearted, and should be considered a wonder of the world himself. The Guide's authors have told us that it will not be accepting people on many occasions, so please stop asking, but we do anyway, because if you were this exceptional, shouldn't you really be on such a list?
November 23, 2025 at 3:31 PM
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November 22, 2025 at 9:13 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
My latest excerpts have been lacking that certain special something. I hope this one does better.

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Nowadays, the faithful only used the temple during a few special holy days. The rest of the time, the temple was flooded, and Drentz himself maintained residence there, vacating only on his birthday and on the few occasions when the other deities wanted to hold a meeting, usually when Winzett felt like drinking with someone who could hold their liquor without dying. Drentz loved the solitude of his ancestral home. It gave him time to think and practice his passions that he was worried to show others, lest they make fun of him. The times that Sindras had mocked his hobbies, he could hardly count on one hand, which was made all the more difficult when he could make as many digits as he deemed necessary on any of his various appendages. Today, the temple was mostly flooded, making it impossible for visitors to show up randomly. No boat could navigate the pillars and currents that protected the front of the temple; many had tried. Some faithful, hoping to gaze upon the visage of their deity, and some few thieves, thinking a temple with no guards or clergy would be easy pickings. Of course, this neglected the general wrath that followed from stealing from any deity. Still, anyone who would steal from a church was either greedy enough not to care or in such dire straits that it was the only acceptable course of action to survive. It was the difficulty of getting to the temple during the more perilous seasons that the High Priest of Drentz, Magulus Lindwyn of the Port Savant sect of the faithful, was so grateful for a wizard to have joined the flock.
November 20, 2025 at 4:06 PM
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Sometimes you just have to accept you live in some backwarder burg.

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For a moment, none of the trio moved. They were in far more danger than the crowd that had taken refuge at the edge of the forest as soon as the waters had appeared-- in what was a far more sensible move. The ocean bubbled at the three of them. Flik took Eliza by the wrist and motioned toward Zeippe. Eliza grabbed onto Zeippe's shoulder. They waited. The ocean plashed. As one unit, they all took a step backward and held their breath to see how it reacted. The ocean sloshed. They took another. It purled. They ran. It roiled and foamed, but not at them so much as a passing seagull that had gotten delusions of grandeur and decided to float lazily on top of it. The trio made it safely back to the waiting crowd, which all released a collective sigh of relief. Many of the Savantians were now growing antsy. The general atmosphere was quickly metamorphosing from one of unfettered unity to something more akin to a chimpanzee who had found a torch and a keg of gunpowder, with a keen willingness to use them both, unaware of the effects soon to befall them.
November 18, 2025 at 4:32 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
I enjoy writing about awful people being awful to each other.

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“Worse?” Eron asked. “How do you know it’ll be worse? Do you know what it is?” “Of course, we know,” Phasun said. “We did studies on it when it first happened, and we determined that in order to fix it, it would cost too much money.” “Too much?” Milo interjected. “What of my silks from the Archipelago? I spend inordinate amounts of gold buying and getting them shipped in. Any more money and I may have to make a dent in my family fortune.” Varcc let out a wearied sigh. “Listen, if the silks are just for you, get a mage on retainer-- don’t bother with a wizard, their guilds are too good and druids have ethical concerns when it comes to stealing from the Archipelago.” “Stealing, I’ll have you know--” Varcc held up his hands in mock surrender. “However you come about them doesn’t matter. If you use the silk on your normal goods, think more economically and use cheaper local materials or have the mage reproduce them for a cheaper influx and save the real stuff for your personal use. If the lot of you had any actual business sense between you-- woe to the world.” “Yes, good on, Mr. Varcc,” Phasun said, knowing full well that Hobs did not like pointless gendered titles. “Sadly, solving the ocean crisis isn’t so simple as using cheap materials to satisfy the gullible populace. The ocean slowly invading the city and throwing them out to sea is fairly obvious compared to cotton and silk.” “It’s actually very noticeable,” Milo said, caressing the fabric of his robes.
November 17, 2025 at 3:01 PM
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Goldist Tenet: Anyone with a good idea does not own that idea if they have no means to use it.

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“Well, I have this idea and perhaps I could run it by--” “Oh, no!” Gerund said, covering his ears. “Young lady, don’t say another word,” Rais said, breaking from his cogitation. “What? Why?” Eliza asked. “Ideas in Port Savant are something like a copper a dozen. They are everywhere and, sadly, that gives certain people the idea that they can commodify the very notion of a thought,” Rais said. “You want to steal my idea?” Eliza asked, confused by Rais’ explanation. “Not in the slightest, but sadly, if you were to tell Gerund or myself anything about it, we would have to.” “Have to? Even if I just asked your opinion on it?” “Yes. It is-- sadly-- in our contracts. Any idea we come up with or even hear can be co-opted by The COIN as their own because we are but lowly employees,” Rais said, shaking his head. “It is an unfair stipulation hidden in there in Legalese of all things. I knew I should have read it better before I signed, but with a chance to work for The COIN, I was rather blinded, you understand.” “It does seem like a good opportunity,” Eliza conceded. “It seems that way, yes,” Gerund said, finally taking the fingers out of his ears. They had, as always, been performative gestures. Gerund had not wanted to overhear any ideas of Eliza’s lest he himself get stuck making them. Not the noblest of intentions, but one could not accuse him of wanting to steal other people’s ideas. “It would, perhaps, be best if you just took your idea straight to Varcc and pitched it to him. Less likely for him to steal it if you do.” “He wouldn’t steal it, would he?” The two lab workers looked at each other for a moment, and both gave each other a shrug. “Less likely,” Rais said. “That little tidbit in our contract just makes it easier for him to do it,” Gerund said. “If you tell him directly, he can’t easily claim that it was just parallel thinking.”
November 16, 2025 at 2:43 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
In Otul, it's common to name your kids after what you hope they accomplish in their lives or utter nonsense. Progress was sadly thought to be nonsense.

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“Young lady, what is it that you need?” Progress said. He was a man in his early forties, with a short beard, smatterings of grey cropping up to hint at an age. For a man who was dressed like a stereotypical wizard-- hat, robes, magical stave of sorts-- he was remarkably well-kempt. It was really the only difference between your average wizard that lived in a tower somewhere and created magic for a living, and one that a large company had hired to do work. The latter of the two really wanted their wizard's to look 'presentable' which, the very accusation that long white beards and unkempt hair was not 'presentable' was an affront to everything that wizards said they once stood for, even if most wizards of the younger set no longer took these notions as the standard anymore what with women being wizards now and what not. Progress was paid too much to care what other wizards said about how he looked; in fact, he had stipulated in his contract that he got paid extra every time one did, which was why he went out of his way to attend wizarding conferences. The payout was extraordinary, and the company would continue to pay it. Not because he was genuinely the best candidate suited for the job, but because they had found an Otulian wizard with a dumb enough name that they could say to people, ‘we are always striving for progress,’ and then, when called on it, show them their employee records.
November 15, 2025 at 3:49 PM
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When you have a long way to go and a short time to get there, wizards are better than bandits.

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“Sorry, High Priest. I had hoped it would be dry in here,” the wizard said. “It was when I visited as a child.” Lindwyn gave him a wane smile. He wanted to say something wise and reassuring, but Lindwyn was far too worried that if he opened his mouth, he would deposit more contents of his stomach than words. It was a common side effect of any teleportation spells that proselytizers tended to eat their words when moved too fast or too suddenly. Lindwyn was still elated that they had managed to get a wizard in the flock-- even if his stomach was currently objecting to the whole idea fullheartedly. The utility of a wizard to any faith was untold. There were many magics that a priest or cleric could pull off, but a wizard, especially a fully trained wizard, felt almost endless. If it weren't for the young man, Alusius Delnit, there would have been weeks of travel that Lindwyn could not afford with the sort of people breathing down his neck that would hardly allow things like 'sea travel' to be afforded to a priest, even if he was the highest of his order or otherwise.
November 14, 2025 at 2:04 PM
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Varcc's The Craft of the Pact: Chapter 8: How to build an emergency stop for fun and profit.

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She had deftly maneuvered over the trip wires that had been placed to halt would-be saboteurs and made her way to the glass enclosure. With a simple wave of her hand, the buildup of dust was now gone to reveal a rather realistic interpretation of the Enzirian Flesh-Eating Scarab. Sadly for Dav, she had only heard about them in stories and had never actually seen one, books or otherwise, plus, now she was too close for it to matter. To her, it was simply just another bug, and working outdoors was enough to make any insect a lighthearted affair, no matter what they looked like-- she did feel a little bad about what she had to do next to the life-like interpretation, though. She produced a wooden mallet with aplomb and grace from her side satchel and struck the case with a muted thud. The shattering that followed nary registered for Eliza, let alone the people it was supposed to signal. The boys in R&D, who had developed the enclosure, had not completely thought through, given the environment, that the shattering to act as a warning-- not so much safety, but, at Varcc's behest, to alert a manager that someone was trying to stop the magichine-- to others that the button would be pressed, but with such an awful din, nothing was heard until the magichine wound down, and the behemoth rested for the first time in years.
November 13, 2025 at 4:04 PM
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Okay, so you didn't like those apples. Understood. Try this on for size?

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“By the clammy appendage of Drentz, what are you doing?” yelled a fellow that Eliza had not seen in the slightest. Had she not known better, she would have assumed he had manifested from the very aether in the machine. He had, in fact, been following her since she had wandered in and had himself looked so out of place that she had not noticed him. He was wearing an odd pair of slacks with a button-up shirt and a small name badge that declared to the world that he was, indeed, Dav Mittlemin. He wore his name with pride, even though there was no look of pride on his face as he flipped through the clipboard he carried with him. Eliza was impressed that she managed to hear him over the din. It permeated in such a way that she understood every single word. It came with years of practice at home, thanks to the hearing loss; this was just how Dav and almost all the floor workers talked. “Doing what?” Eliza tried to yell back. Dav looked at her, pointed to his ears, then shook his head. She tried again, but even then she couldn't cut through the clangorous song of the machines. “That hat is not regulation,” Dav said, pointing at the hat, even though Eliza could understand him perfectly. She took the hat off her head and gave it a once-over. It was a typical straw hat, and this entire conversation felt a little weird. “Everyone else is wearing a hat and you aren't wearing one at all,” Eliza yelled. It was returned with the same blank expression devoid of understanding. She sighed as the condescending glare that Dav levied on all those he managed. It did not have the desired effect as Eliza just returned a confused head tilt.
November 12, 2025 at 1:55 PM
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You want burgers?! At this fantasy restaurant? How do you like these apples?

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Since the idea first sprang to life in the minds of sentient species across the universe, there has been a bizarre concept of assigning the value of goods and services into quantifiable bits and baubles such as coins or, worse yet, dead trees pulped and turned into all sorts of inane colors. At the outset of the idea, and on its face, it is a rather simplistic solution to a rather complex problem: if one were to want something as simple as an apple, how many furlongs of sheep's wool is that worth? It isn't an easy thing to calculate, and what if someone with a lot of apples doesn't need large swaths of anything to do with sheep, and yet, the original person would still very much like an apple. One could give the first person the apple, as something like an apple is a basic necessity to facilitate life. However, if one were to gift a morsel of food to a mere stomach rumble, how long before society crumbles under the weight of the age-old question: Why do we not just give everyone everything they would need to survive? It is an inevitable question in any post-scarcity world. However, whenever someone utters the phrase in public, no matter where they are, out of the woodwork oozes every economist, landlord, robber baron, and anyone who could make a profit off the suffering of others to silence them before it infects the minds of others. This, one must understand, is the true Goldist way-- as it is in various other parts of the universe with whatever manner of name they choose to give such principles. The inevitable gnashing and wailing of teeth that comes from daring to question the infallibility of Goldism will always make for a dreadful time. It always is when teeth begin to wail, no matter which part of the universe you find yourself in.
November 11, 2025 at 3:49 PM
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This is a silly aside, Kalypso facto.

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Kalypso was supposedly a water djinni of some renown, mostly due to her inability to lie. Some scholars say she is a myth, others a tragedy, others yet say she was a sea cow that taught herself to be a wizard, but not many listen to those types because books don’t do well in salt water-- though Aquarians would argue otherwise, having managed to deal with it for centuries. Whatever the case may have been, the story goes that Kalypso, bless her heart, was brought before Jealetesh, the Queen of Laaktis and of elementals in general, to answer for some minor crime that had offended the Queen greatly. Knowing that it would cause her great hardship, Kalypso told the truth to her own detriment, to which the Queen punished her with death, so the story goes. So people use the phrase ‘Kalypso fact’ as a statement so true that they would bet their life on it. Though like most expressions, people tend to use it as they see fit, much like Kalypso, who was, in fact, a notorious liar and grifter who had done everything in her power to pretend to be a djinn and steal from local fishermen. They thought she was a water djinni because of a glandular problem that caused profuse sweating, giving her that water djinn gleen that they had always heard about. She had also never once met Jealatesh, though her story lives on in bits and pieces. The story, no matter who is telling the story and what bits and pieces they may change, it never deviates from blessing the heart of Kalypso in a ritualistic curse devised from Jealatesh as an otherworldly slight to the woman that would besmirch her, that even the afterlife-- though Kalypso never felt it in life-- would feel and undying pang of guilt that she could never shake.
November 10, 2025 at 3:03 PM
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Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand little bites.

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“Yes, well, company policy dictates that maintenance gets done during magichine downtime,” Dav said, quoting the dictum from memory. “I've been meaning to ask you about that,” Valin said, eyeing the emergency stop button. The button was covered in a thick layer of glass, that itself was covered in a thick coating of dust, that-- if one could manage to get to it through the numerous tripping hazards that had been placed in front of it-- if cleaned would reveal a very life like picture of the deadly Enzirian scarab that was known to devour flesh. Of course, the scarab only managed this in swarms, but it didn't prevent the many stories that had been told around Port Savant about how dangerous they were and whether they could survive in the climate of Sedarin. Valin returned his attention to Dav, “When is that?” Dav was taken aback and looked around nervously. He coughed lightly into a clenched fist to center himself and adjusted his collar. He straightened himself up and, with all the company shareholders' past and present on his side, said, “It happens when it happens.” “Right, so, I'm going to stop the magichine before she dies,” Valin said. “Wait!” Dav shouted, somehow louder than he had been previously, “You can't do that.” “No?” Valin asked, sarcasm dripping from the word. “Please tell me, why not?” “Well-- think of the loss in numbers,” Dav shouted again, pointing to a giant arcane counter slowly ticking up.
November 9, 2025 at 4:08 PM
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The difference is that thugs tend to use thumbs for their prying.

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The cultists threw Eliza to the ground, and with her hands and feet bound, it did not make for a pleasant trip. She landed in a heap next to Zeippe, who had taken far more of a beating than she had. The hob was bleeding from the head and a little from her pug nose and had even lost a few teeth-- luckily for Zeippe, she shared a lot in common with sharks, more than just a toothy smile and fearsome bite. “Are you okay, Zeippe?” Eliza whispered, hoping their captors wouldn't take some deep offense at cross-talk. Captors usually did as they found it annoying for reasons beyond a captive's understanding. Scholars always chalked it up to religious toxicity of some sort, but for unknown reasons, scholars and cultist thugs never really got on. One could only hope to speculate as to why the two didn't really like each other, though prying eyes were always mentioned, both the peeping and more physical varieties. “Yeah, yeah. I got a couple of them before one of them cheated and snuck up behind me. Coward tactics, just like cultists. How many did you get?” “At least two dozen,” Eliza said, candidly keeping an eye on the cultists. “Two dozen?” Zeippe hissed. “There's no way you killed two dozen.” “What? Killed? No, I counted them.” “You-- counted them?” Zeippe asked. She needed no answer as she flailed helplessly against her bonds, weakly knocking her head into the dirty stone floor. “What is it you are actually doing here, Eli?” “If you must know,” Eliza responded tersely, not liking the implication in Zeippe's tone of voice. “I was hoping that maybe I could help people. It wasn't my original intent, sure, but after seeking all the trouble that people have around here-- what was I supposed to do? Turn a blind eye? I'm sorry, but I wasn't raised that way. These people don't deserve this-- as much as they believe that they are unworthy of anything better.”
November 8, 2025 at 3:06 PM
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A rather short snippet about a rather big, ogre fella.

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Fa'ma would have said something, but he feared a sudden outburst would cause an unneeded movement and lead to damaging the building that now had grabbed onto his black formal robes. It was bad enough to be bested by two small people, but worse yet if he caused more undo damage to the buildings around the city-- as much as he would love to at this very moment. He was now resigned to going backward and back through the pocket dimension he had emerged from — all because the League and Delegation had stated they would no longer protect him from property damage. They had specifically said 'property damage' was too much, but overcharging customers was fine, poisoning them was acceptable, getting them hooked on medicines, and then restricting their use was encouraged. Fa'ma enjoyed Goldism a little too much, but it, like himself, had a very lax moral compass, which is to say, it was broken and only pointed to the next opportunity for exploitation.
November 7, 2025 at 2:33 PM
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In Flik's defense, vampires are scary.

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"Okay-- they're duds, I get it," Eliza said, but just got a Zeippe tilting her hand back and forth to indicate that Eliza's assessment was only so-so. "Okay, alright, then what can we do to stop it? Maybe if we talk to Lyssa or someone from the old guild, they can come in and save the day-- like they did for Larna." Zeippe scoffed and took a drink. "If you believe her. Anyway, Flik wouldn't help; he works in town selling real estate." "He does what?" Eliza asked rhetorically as she visibly deflated. "He calls it 'Fireball Realty: Homes so hot they're bound to catch fire,'" Zeippe said, absent-mindedly finishing the slogan. "Who would want a house that would catch fire?" "Look," Zeippe said, "the man could sell water to a fire elemental, so I think his silly tagline can be forgiven for being a little dense." "So you don't think he could help fix things?" "It isn't really his place to step in and upend the governmental system-- even if he did 'fix' Larna." "I was thinking more about the buildings-- and the ocean." "Oh," Zeippe said, taking a drink. " Yeah, that. If he was going to do something, you'd think he'd have done it by now." "Well," Eliza said, thinking about it for a moment, " If the ocean sinks all the buildings, who is he going to sell the houses to?" "Aquarians? Water Elementals? He'd figure something out." "Okay," Eliza said, trailing off, "but the Flik I remember wouldn't let something so devastating happen. The old guild was first to take up arms and help out, and they never asked for anything in return. They saved Medisool from a vampire – no questions asked." "Yeah, I heard that story," Zeippe said, obviously unimpressed. "From what I heard, they 'drove off' the vampire after she came and turned the mayor. So they didn't save the town so much as waited until the vampires left." "Well-- to be fair, they did uncover the evil wight that was facilitating the whole thing, so they did help-- a little."
November 5, 2025 at 3:20 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
For a fantasy novel, you'd think steel would have appeared more than once.

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“Who is that?” Eliza shouted, still hotly on Zeippe's trail. “Fa'ma, he runs the medical racket here that isn't controlled by the church-- supposedly,” Zeippe said, slowing down to make the corner. “Supposedly he doesn't control them, or supposedly he does?” “Whatever, it doesn't matter.” “It matters a little,” Eliza said, slowing to an awkward stop as she looked back. “No, it doesn't,” Zeippe said, still running. “Zeippe,” Eliza said, calling after her, “I don't think we have to hurry.” Eliza stared at the ogre. It was a sight that did not fit with her preconceived notion of what an adventure would be. This was much the opposite. Even Zeippe stopped and came back, glad not to actually have to run with her stomach still doing back flips. The sight they saw was far more comical, and she let out an uncharacteristic chortle. Fa'ma was currently trying to pursue them, but was having difficulty maneuvering the alleyway. Under normal circumstances-- or at least those that bard's actually sing about-- a creature of Fa'ma's size would have crashed through the buildings in a mad rampage to catch the two thieves. In this case, he was using the utmost caution to shimmy through the alley, his muscular bulk already pushing up against the buildings no matter which direction the 3-meter ogre turned. He finally managed to turn and see the two. He leveled a steely gaze on the two of them, just daring them to laugh more. “You two wait right there. Law and Order will catch up to you soon enough,” Fa'ma shouted down the alleyway. At the rate he was going, it would take him half the day to get to them. “You have the Assurance thing-- they're supposed to pay, right? He wouldn't really call the guard on us, right?” Eliza asked, concerned. “Law and Order are what he calls his fists,” Zeippe said to Eliza, who remained less than reassured. “Come on, let's go.”
November 4, 2025 at 3:04 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
Hob delicacies like Rollin' Stone Moss Soup and double-baked rock lobster.

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“Anything good?” Varcc asked. “I wouldn't know,” Zeippe said, having never been allowed to actually eat at one of The Luncheons before. “You always seem to complain that they don't have adequate varieties of food you like, though.” “Ah, right. Last time I insisted we get some decent Hob cuisine, they all complained that it was too 'ethnic'. I suppose that is what you get when you have a bunch of generational wealth humans in charge of everything. Not a single one of them knows how to make a coin the hard way-- and wouldn't know good food if it was right in front of their face,” Varcc said, scratching at his neck wildly and pulling back a blood-stained hand. “Sir? Are you sure you don't want to cancel and go see a doctor?” Zeippe said, more out of diligence than a genuine worry. “No, I'm fine. I could really go for some flame-roasted sheep, though?” “Sir?” “Sheep nicely roasted over a flame and with some traditional Hob spices.” “You want a leg of lamb roasted over a fire and overly salted?” “See, Zeippe, you get me,” Varcc said. “I'll send Steph out for it right away,” Zeippe said, motioning to leave. “Oh,” Varcc said, as she halted in place to look back at her. “Tell her to get me a bandage-- and probably a muffler.”
November 3, 2025 at 4:59 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
Sometimes the monster was us all along-- or at least the systems we've been forced into.

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The value placed on the lives of those who have coins is something that Life-- the capitalization here denotes the universal force in charge of overseeing all living things across the universe and not some loftier fleeting goal-- has seen countless times. Sadly, the direct lethality of coinage comes from Life's disappointment in the sentient beings that always seem to equate a one-to-one from the very lives of the beings to the output of their labor in terms of shiny baubles. This one-to-one equivocation makes no sense on a cosmic scale, and the vast breadth and depth of the very overseer that is purported to maintain the whole of all of life across the universe is something that must be filled. However, nothing can truly fill the void left behind by something as purely magnanimous as Life itself. The most minute of instabilities in every coin, paper, shell, or what have you that represents nothing more than the very utter broken wish of Life bandied from person to person and made exponentially worse every time it is done so. Some people are resistant to this effect and find reasonable happiness without the siren song of the void ripping their very souls from them; others are not so lucky, and this void corrupts them to their very cores. It burrows in and guts them, making them like monsters that existed in stories, and perhaps it would have been better for everyone involved had they stayed within the pages. This stems from the penchant of those who turn into monsters to make their problems everyone’s problems. This often includes whole swathes, if not all of ‘everyone’.
October 31, 2025 at 3:03 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
Dissever should have worked, but evil gods tend to have legendary resistances for-- reasons.

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“You did it,” Eliza shouted, throwing her arms around Flik and giving him an unprompted hug. Flik was taken a bit aback at the sudden show of affection and awkwardly patted her on the back. He was at a loss as to how to handle the situation with her over her exuberant show of gratitude. “What exactly happened?” Zeippe said, looking around curiously. She did not believe that Flik had managed to accomplish such a task on his own and was looking for any reasonable answer in the surroundings to give away the game. Sadly, anything that could have been a clue to what had happened had been mostly washed away, though the slight increase of moisture in the surroundings was a clue unto itself. “I told you he was an adventurer worth his salt. How'd you do it? I bet it was a well-timed Dissever spell to send them all back to The Deep Down?” “No, you see--” “A full-powered Balled Fire that vaporized them instantly?” Eliza interrupted. “What happened was--” “You turned them into worms and threw them into the ocean,” she interrupted again. “No, it was--” “How do you explain the temple then?” Zeippe interjected. “I had just assumed since he got rid of the evil god that the temple would go with him. Isn't that how they work? I'd have assumed you'd see more temples to ancient gods around if it didn't.” Zeippe had initially wanted to contradict her but found a modicum of wisdom in what she was saying. “I suppose you have a point.”
October 30, 2025 at 2:45 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
Politics is sometimes just the pits.

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“Yes, well, as an added little treat, we’d like to present one of your favorite city council members: Pits Novèl.” There was a slight murmur of surprise from the group as Pits appeared on stage. He was, in fact, nobody’s favorite city council member, especially not from the small smattering of people that sat before him as he waved his way before them. Pits was an Otul native who had grown a sizable following as a stage magician before joining the League. He was charismatic —most magicians and Leaguers had to be to pull off what they did —and had managed to land himself a rather famous ORBS actress as a love interest, who played well with most Leaguers. Had the majority of the General Public known that this had been a publicity stunt for both Pits and the actress, they would have been momentarily chagrined and then realized that was ‘just the way things were’ now. Sometimes you take a dark-skinned, half-Wohdian and put him into a magician’s costume and let the people root for him because he’s an underdog. Sometimes you get lucky and he’s actually talented, handsome, and just charming enough to make it work. Was he something of a token city councilor? Perhaps, though the League would never frame it that way, even if he were one of the only nonhuman members and certainly the only of elven heritage there. When this was brought up, the Leaguers always pointed out how the Delegation had no elven members and only one woman councilor, and it was they who were truly being performative and holding back the city.
October 28, 2025 at 12:02 PM
cnsebright.bsky.social
No way I used 'blood-curdling'... oh, I used it ironically? That tracks.

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"You rambling son of a scoundrel," one of the tusslers yelled above the din of the fighting. "Me?" another cried, appalled by the very accusation. " You're nothing more than a lying, slack-witted, flim-flam man!" "Oh yeah, well, I know you are, but what am I?" the other responded. This response sent them both into a rage, and the two began trading the heaviest blows they could muster. The air would shake under the blood-curdling noise that followed the claps that tried in vain to mimic thunder. Even wizards laughed at the weakness of the barbs thrown during these Opposition forays. The slap fight that Eliza witnessed bewildered her to the core. This was not what she had initially expected, but now she could see why the other patrons had long since gone on with their lives. It presented as an act at best and merely childish at worst. "Is this-- it?" Eliza asked. "Behold the titans of the Opposition," Zeippe said, swirling the last of her drink. She downed the last drops as she tried to flag down one of the beleaguered and eternally overworked waitstaff that still maintained a smile frozen in naught more than desperation to exist.
October 27, 2025 at 2:08 PM