Why I Tried to Conquer the World

“This meeting of the Evil Overlords Guild will now come to order,” Acheros declared in his deepest, most sinister voice.

All around the table, the quiet conversations stilled, and everyone looked at him alertly.

“We will begin by hearing the latest status reports,” Acheros continued.

Qadira jumped to her feet. “First, I just want to know; did you really turn down Yasmina’s application to join us?”

Acheros sighed. “She’s an enchantress, not an evil overlord. She may be as wicked as they come, but she’s simply not in our league.”

“If she’d been male, you would have let her in!” Qadira pounded her fist on the table. “It’s blatant discrimination! I will not stand for this any longer!”

“So sit down!” Demogorgon gave loose to a long burst of cold laughter. “Besides, we wouldn’t be evil if we didn’t keep people from entering.”

“That’s right,” Rhadamanthus agreed. “Rejecting applicants only makes us more evil.”

“And if we let everyone in,” Acheros said sternly, “we’d be flooded with applications, and we’d have to change our name to the Slightly Evil and Sometimes Downright Nice Garden Club!”

“It’s not right,” Qadira sniffed.

“It’s not supposed to be!” Rhadamanthus exclaimed. “Who do you think we are? The Noble Heroes Guild?”

Acheros cleared his throat. “Vegeir, how have things been going for you?”

Vegeir solidified himself into the form of a human. “Very well. I have upped my demands for sacrifices. There has been much blood.” He dissipated again into the smoky black form he preferred.

“And your people? Your priests?”

{The people fear.} Vegeir’s mental voice scratched inside all of their heads. Everyone jumped.

“Don’t do that!” Qadira snapped.

Sulkily, Vegeir reformed into a mostly human shape. “I’m so much less evil this way, though.”

“Yes, well, we all know of your credentials,” Acheros said. “It doesn’t matter. How are your priests dealing with the people?”

“As I have commanded, they take the protesters for my sacrifices.” Vegeir licked his lips. “There has been little unrest lately. I shall have to arrange something to stir it up again.”

“Do so,” Acheros agreed. “Demogorgon? How are things going for you?”

“Taxes have been raised and anyone who fails to pay is placed in my quarries,” Demogorgon announced. “There are protests, but they are quiet about it. The people are in too much fear to properly resist.”

“Good, good. Qadira?”

Qadira sniffed. “No one has any respect for me. It’s a daily battle to keep my subordinates in line. They all seem to presume they have better plans.”

“Get new subordinates,” Rhadamanthus advised. “After a while they’ll get the message and behave.”

“Nobody wants to work for a female Evil Overlord, though!” Qadira sighed. “They all think I’m just a con. I get no respect in this business, none at all! The level of discrimination—”

“Yes, yes, we’re all aware.” Acheros quickly changed the subject. “Rhadamanthus? Has the resistance been stopped yet?”

“No. I’m on the lookout for a Hero; the conditions are perfect. But I plan to be ready for him the instant he shows up. He won’t even know what hit him.”

“Just be sure that isn’t the spark that shoves him on that path,” Qadira said, rather waspishly. “On the other hand, go ahead. Maybe then we can replace you with someone with brains. Someone female.”

“I’ll let you know, I have a long history of perfect service!” Rhadamanthus lunged to his feet.

Qadira clucked. “Perfect? I’m sure that word is never supposed to be applied to us.”

Acheros cleared his throat. “Let’s move on to the next order of the meeting. How can we improve?”

“Yasmina would bring a spark of fresh life to the guild,” Qadira said promptly.

Vegeir pulled himself back into a vaguely human shape. “I’d rather have zombies. Who needs life?” He paused briefly. “Unless I can eat it. Then life is good.”

“Yasmina,” Acheros repeated, “is an enchantress and not an Evil Overlord. She’s simply not the right caliber. Any other suggestions?”

“Fire Qadira,” Rhadamanthus muttered, “and get someone with brains. Someone male.”

“That is the most blatantly sexist insult I have ever heard!” Qadira’s face was turning red. “There should be guild rule about that!”

Demogorgon scoffed. “And what you said earlier wasn’t sexist? As for a rule, who ever heard of an Evil Overlord guild having rules on behavior? We’re evil!”

Qadira shoved back her chair, leaping to her feet. “And that’s another thing I’ve been meaning to bring up! Overlord is an inherently sexist word! Why can’t we be the Evil Overpeople?”

“Because then none of us would get respect!” Rhadamanthus shot back.

“If we can get back on subject?” Acheros glared around the room and was satisfied to see them all settle down. There was, after all, a reason he was guild president.

Demogorgon tapped his fingers on the table. “It occurs to me,” he said almost silkily, “that none of us have tried to take over the world in quite some time. Our reputation is going to suffer if we don’t do something about this soon.”

There was a long moment of quiet. “Taking over the world is the most dangerous thing of all,” Qadira said finally.

“So it should be just what you want to prove yourself superior,” Rhadamanthus said quickly.

Qadira sniffed. “I don’t need to prove it.”

Vegeir solidified. “A conquest would certainly provide excitement and much death.”

“Yes, but it’s terribly dangerous,” Acheros said. “Who would agree to take the job?”

There was a moment of silence as the guild members looked around at each other. Demogorgon was the first to speak. “It seems obvious to me. For such a great undertaking, who else could it be but our leader?”

Acheros froze. Everyone else nodded eagerly.

{It would be fitting.}

For once, no one complained about Vegeir’s use of his mental voice. Acheros was too stunned to get annoyed, and everyone else was more interested in not being nominated as the one to try to take over the world.

“He’s right,” Qadira agreed. “After all, taking over the world is one of the evilest things you can do. The president of the guild is plainly the best candidate, then.”

Rhadamanthus hadn’t stopped nodding. “I can’t think of anyone better qualified.”

“But…” Acheros blinked, trying to work up a defense. He wasn’t given time.

“It’s settled, then!” Demogorgon clapped his hands. “And I move that we end the meeting. I have places to go and people to be cruel to, after all.”

“I second it!” Rhadamanthus and Qadira cried at the same time.

“We have a majority already!” Demogorgon smiled. “Motion carried.” He vanished.

Vegeir dissipated into the air. Qadira hurried out of the room, followed closely by Rhadamanthus.

Acheros was left alone. “But…” he stared around the room helplessly, “But I don’t want to take over the world.”

It Had to Be Done

The cathedral erupted in cheers and applause. I shouted and clapped along with everyone else, but my heart wasn’t in it.

“It had to be done, Conrad.”

My father had never looked so regal before, standing on the steps to the altar, the purple robe and heavy crown resting on his shoulders and head as if he’d been born to them. Smiling, he lifted one hand as if in benediction, and the cheering doubled in volume. It only began to die down when the trumpeters began to play a triumphant fanfare.

Still smiling, my father started down the stairs. He paused at the first pew, and I joined him, making sure a smile was pasted on my face. We paced down the long aisle together. The cheers began again, accompanied by flowers.

“He was destroying the nation. If things continued as they were, there would have been rebellions and famines everywhere in only five or ten years.”

The doors to the cathedral were wide open. Guards were working to push back the crowd outside the door, making a pathway through the city to the palace. We stopped in the doorway for a brief second. I blinked in the sunlight, my ears filled with the loud roar of the crowd. More flowers were thrown on the street.

“Hail the king!” Someone in the crowd started the shout, and it spread quickly. “Hail the king! Hail the king!”

My father started forward again, his warm smile firmly in place. I followed a half-step behind.

“Hail the king! Hail!”

“I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. I had to do something.”

We made only one detour on the way to the palace: a brief stop in the royal graveyard to leave flowers on the fresh graves of my uncle and his son, killed together in an accident so horrific their bodies had been nearly impossible to identify. My aunt hadn’t yet come out of her rooms where she had locked herself in to grieve. I wondered if she knew the truth.

“Believe me, son, I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t necessary.”

That necessary tradition fulfilled, we resumed our walk to the palace. I kept my head up, looking forward. I didn’t want to see the flowers my feet were crushing into the paving stones. Innocents bleeding and dying.

The cheers and cries of “Hail!” didn’t end until we reached the throne room. My father ascended the stairs to the throne and sat down in perfect silence. There was one final cheer, and then I was stepping forward and kneeling in front of the throne.

How could you do it? How could you how could you how could you...

“We name thee, Conrad, our heir and prince, and bestow upon thee the dukedom of Harasall. Swear now thine oath, and take up thine office!”

How could I?

“I pledge my life and honor to thee, my lord and king, and...” The words I’d memorized only last night fell easily from my lips, the age-old oath of fealty and service, binding me to my father and king.

“We accept thine oath, and pledge unto thee our protection and love in return for thy loyalty. Rise now, and take thy place beside our throne.”

“It had to be done, Conrad. It had to be done.”

I stood, bowed deeply, and went to stand beside my father—my father, a usurper and murderer.

Smile

Smile

Finishing his report, Bran glanced around the small camp while Carey thought about the news. His eyes fell on Shari, cradling Ryan in her arms. From this distance, it was impossible to see anything of the baby.

Carey noticed the look. “You haven’t had a chance to meet my son yet, have you?” He grinned. “Come on.”

A bit reluctantly, Bran followed him. He’d avoided Shari and her baby as unobtrusively as he could; naturally, Carey had noticed it anyway.

Shari looked up on their approach and smiled. It was a smile that encompassed both of them, and Bran started to relax. Apparently, Shari was growing more comfortable with his presence. Either that or she figured that having Carey around made it safe.

Carey slipped his infant son from his wife’s arms, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. He straightened and turned to Bran. “Meet Ryan.”

Bran looked down at the tiny bundle. Wisps of red hair covered a small, round head. Every bit of the sleeping baby’s chubby features was tiny, from the ears to the mouth to the nose. One hand had slipped out of the blanket wrapping him, the miniscule fingers clenched in a tight fist.

With his nearly flawless memory, Bran could barely remember the last time he’d seen an infant. He thought he remembered some of his siblings as babies, but that was long ago. He started to reach forward to touch the tiny hand, but pulled back.

Carey saw it, of course, and a slightly wicked grin crossed his face. “Here, Bran. Why don’t you hold him for a bit?”

“Me?” Bran took a half step backward. His eyes darted over to Shari, hoping that she’d protest and take her son back. To his dismay, she didn’t look disturbed at all. Instead, she looked…amused. There would be no help from that quarter. “I’d probably drop him,” he argued instead.

Carey gave a hoot of laughter. “You? I’ve never seen you come even close to dropping something you didn’t want to.”

Most things he carried didn’t matter so much if he dropped them. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of any other excuses, good or bad.

Carey didn’t give him time to think, either. He stepped forward and calmly deposited his son in Bran’s reluctant arms.

A vague memory of holding one of his little siblings came back to him. He’d probably been no more than eight. It made him feel more confident, though, and he gently touched Ryan’s little fist with one finger, marveling at how small and soft it was.

Ryan yawned, and then his eyes flickered open, revealing them to be a soft blue. The baby regarded Bran’s face for a bit, and then smiled. It was a giant, toothless smile, and it was hopelessly contagious. Bran didn’t even realize he’d smiled in return.

Another yawn split Ryan’s face, and he closed his eyes, wriggling slightly, before dropping off to sleep again. Bran handed him gently back to Carey. “If you don’t need me for anything else, there are a few things I’d like to go do.”

“Go right ahead,” Carey said, his tone slightly odd. “Try to be back in time for supper, though.”

The corner of Bran’s mouth quirked slightly. “Of course.” He bowed slightly to both Carey and Shari, and then turned and left.

Shari looked up at Carey, putting the question in both of their minds into words. “Was it only my imagination, or did I just see Bran Emlyk smile?”

 ~~~

So, Bran doesn't smile much, obviously. He's essentially trained himself to show no emotion, ever. There are reasons behind that; Bran possibly has the most tragic and horrifying past of all my characters. No guarantee, though. ;)
This scene might be cheesy, but it makes me happy. On the other hand, Bran and Carey make me happy...
Anyway, mostly posting this because I want to post something. I ought to work on something new to go here, too...

Rooftop Conversation

“Don’t you ever sleep?”

Only grabbing the ridge of the roof beside me saved me from sliding several feet down the sloped roof. “Why are you still here?” My heart could slow down any minute now, really, it could.

Aidan snorted. His feet whispered on the roof tiles, coming closer. “Nice to see you, too. Sakeri asked me to stay the night. Mother agreed it was a good idea.”

Mother. I would not flinch, not react. “Mm.”

My twin settled down beside me, close enough I could feel the heat from his body, but not so close we were actually touching. “So. Why are you still awake?”

Why are you? I wasn’t in the mood for the pointless back-and-forth that would send our conversation into, so I just shrugged. “Not tired.” And if he dared try to dig past the block I’d put on our twin-sense...

“That explains the dark circles under your eyes.”

I growled under my breath. I’d wanted to be alone, not nagged by my older brother.

Especially not an older brother I’d known for less than a month. Who was only older than me by less than an hour.

He touched my shoulder, his fingers a light, barely noticeable pressure. “Kieran?”

I shrugged his hand off. “I haven’t slept well in a while, all right?” Not since this whole mess started, really. “So I came out here to relax before bed. Satisfied?”

Aidan sighed. “I didn’t mean it as an interrogation.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the tiles. The sun’s warmth had already been leeched away.

Silence wrapped around us like a tight, stifling blanket. I stared up at the cloudy sky and wished I could see the stars and the moon.

Aidan left without saying good night.

~~~

When I wrote this, I was attempting a style that was a little more indirect and used more implication than direct statements. Not entirely sure if I succeeded, though.

Wings to Fly (Seventh Questor)

This is a somewhat longer piece I wrote a while back. If I ever get around to doing something with this particular story, I don't know if this scene will play out much like this or not. A lot of the setting and what was going on was made up on the spot.

Wings to Fly

Brion scrambled up the ladder onto the next platform. The concrete was deeply pitted, revealing the metal skeleton inside in multiple places. He paused for one second and then started to run along the wide platform. There had to be another ladder somewhere.

A woman's voice from behind caught his attention. “Brion! Brion, wait!”

One leap brought him over a hole in the pathway. Brion skidded to a stop and turned around.

Valor was making her way toward him, only slightly slower. She stopped on the other side of the hole. “Where's Arella?”

“I haven't seen her yet. I think she's further up.” Brion gestured to the sky above, crisscrossed with dead roads and railroads.

“How did she get so far ahead of us?” Valor pulled a small pair of binoculars out of the pouch on her belt.

“I don't know. Do you see Eryl?”

Valor grimaced, scanning the sky with the binoculars. “Not a glimpse of either. I hope the kid's all right.” She lowered the binoculars. “We'd better keep moving.”

Brion nodded. “Stay close to me.” He turned and started running again. He could hear Valor's light footsteps keeping pace behind him.

Everything had been going according to plan only an hour ago. They'd slipped in just as the bombing stopped, making their way toward Kolviar's palace.

Arella had shouted a warning at the same time he did. Brion had grabbed Eryl, pulling the boy to the ground just as the...thing had swept over them. By the time he was on his feet again, Arella had been sprinting ahead to the nearest ladder to the pathways ahead.

He would have followed her, but the thing—large, gray, and winged—was sweeping back around for another attack. Both pistols were in his hands and he was firing before he even thought.

Its skin must have been like armor. Ignoring his shots—and Valor's—it dove on them again.

“Aim for the eyes!” Valor yelled, throwing herself down again. “And Eryl, stay down!”

Brion dropped to the ground again himself, throwing a brief glance at Eryl. The young shapechanger was on the ground, looking back over his shoulder. “Valor! There are soldiers!”

The creature was past them again. Brion scrambled to his feet, but held his shots until he could see the eyes.

“Eryl, get moving,” Valor ordered. “Catch up to Arella. Brion and I will handle the soldiers.” Her eyes had turned flaming red. “I need something more powerful than these pistols.”

“We make it out of this, I'll get you something more powerful. Can you handle the soldiers?” Brion's eyes traced the flight of the creature. Just a little longer...

He spared one quick glance to see that Eryl had obeyed Valor. The boy was climbing the ladder Arella had taken.

“Don't worry about me.” Valor gave a grunt, hauling a piece of rubble upright to provide some protection. “Just give me warning if I need to duck.”

The flying creature swung back around. Brion's eyes narrowed. He tucked his left-hand pistol back into its holster and lifted the right-hand gun, steadying his wrist with his left hand. There were the eyes...Brion held his breath, waiting for it to draw closer. His finger tightened slowly, gently on the trigger.

He fired three times. The creature jerked, a shriek ripping out of it. It spiraled up and away, wings flapping wildly. “Hit it.” He swung around in time to see Valor fire her gun several times. “How many soldiers?”

“Ten.” She jerked back behind her shelter. “Correction. Eight.”

Brion leaned back against the wall of the alley until the shooting had stopped. “Do we take them all now or follow the others?”

“I'd be happier if we had helmets.” Valor leaned out and fired before ducking back. “Missed.”

“I'll get to work on that when I get you a stronger gun,” Brion promised. He leaned out to fire a few shots of his own. “Winged someone.” He glanced over at the ladder. No sign of Eryl or Arella. “Valor, we can't stay here.”

She looked over at him with a frown. “Intuition?”

“I think so.” Something about their situation wasn't sitting well with him, anyway. The ladder was calling.

“Got it. Get going; I'll be along in a second. I want to leave them a surprise.” She was digging in her pouch again.

Brion hesitated and then nodded, reminding himself that she knew what she was doing. “Be careful.”

“Don't wait for me,” Valor added. She was sticking a tiny piece of explosive to the wall. “No sense in making a target of yourself up there.” Picking up her gun again, she fired several more shots. “Now go!”

And now they were both running along the bombed roadway, looking for the next level up. Brion didn't need to have seen where she went to know that Arella had kept going up. He didn't know why she'd bolted like that, but he trusted her judgment as much as he trusted his own.

There. A ladder up ahead. Jumping over a deep crack, Brion slowed to a jog as he approached the ladder. He glanced over his shoulder.

Valor grinned at him, her eyes green again. She wasn't breathing hard, but beads of sweat dotted her forehead. “I'm still with you. Don't worry about me.”

“No pursuit, either,” Brion said, looking past her. “I can't imagine your 'surprise' really killed all of them.”

Valor shrugged. “Don't question good fortune.”

“Unless it's not fortune,” Brion grumbled. He grabbed the ladder and started climbing. “Who builds places like this anyway?”

“I think they wanted to show off their construction skills,” Valor said from below. “Waste of money if you ask me.”

“Especially now.” Brion reached the top of the ladder. “Railroad. At least the bombing should have stopped the trains.” He turned and helped Valor up the last few rungs.

“Which way?” the Alcean asked, brushing some hair out of her face.

He couldn't see a ladder either direction. “Right.”

“Got it.”

There was a small walkway alongside the actual train track. It was too narrow for them to go side-by-side, so Brion took the lead again.

A distant shriek jerked them both to a stop. Brion tilted his head back, scanning the sky and the pathways above.

Perched on a roadway near the top, a dark shape spread its wings, giving another scream—of outrage, Brion thought, not pain.

“It's that thing again,” Valor muttered.

“Can I have your binoculars, please?” Was Arella up there fighting the thing by herself? She had a good gun, but there wasn't any shelter.

Valor pressed the binoculars into his hand. Brion brought them up to his eyes, looking for the creature. There. Yes, that was Arella up there too, pistol in hand.

“Is Arella...?”

“She's there and she's fine so far.” Brion lowered the binoculars a fraction. “We'd better hurry.” He took one last look through the binoculars—in time to see the creature's wing strike Arella in the side. She went right over the edge of the roadway. “Arella!” He shoved the binoculars back at Valor and took off at a dead run.

Logically, he knew there was nothing he could do. He was too far away and even if he was closer, there was no way for him to stop Arella's fall. A quiet pressure at the back of his mind kept him moving, though. It was a sensation he'd learned not to ignore.

“Brion!” Valor's startled call didn't slow him down.

“Come on!”

The wing had knocked Arella in the head. She fell without knowing she was falling, the wind ripping through her hair and pulling it out of her braid.

Her body started to glow with a faint white light.

Arella.

The glow strengthened.

Arella.

Her eyes snapped open, glowing so brightly the eyes themselves were hidden. Wings of light unfolded from her shoulders, spreading wide and slowing her descent.

It only took a thought to halt her fall. For a moment, Arella hovered in midair. Her head tilted back, looking up at the creature that had knocked her down.

It wasn't looking back. She was forgotten, no longer deemed a threat.

Arella smiled. Her wings swept downward, sending her hurtling back up.

The creature's head swung back around toward her. It jerked back, snarling.

Arella paused in front of it, hovering. She reached behind her back. Two hilts of light solidified in her hands. As she drew her hands back, the hilts lengthened into swords.

Blades held in front of her, Arella smiled at the creature. “Let's try this again, shall we?”

With an angry shriek, it lunged forward, teeth snapping. A quick burst of speed sent Arella flying above his head. She dropped almost immediately, landing on its neck. Both blades slashed down.

The creature threw its head backwards. Shaken loose, Arella lost her grip on her swords. They dissipated into the air.

She landed on the creature's back and rolled off into thin air. Her wings snapped out to catch her and slow her fall. Two quick wing-beats launched her above the creature.

It was going to be a tough fight, even with...wings and swords of light. She took a deep breath and reached back for the swords again.

Motion to the side caught her attention. Eryl was sprinting along the roadway. He jumped up on a small pile of rubble and leaped off it, transforming into a wolf midair.

Not wanting the creature to notice him, Arella gave a yell and dove downward, swords of light grasped in her hands again.

Characters

Arella: Seventh Questor, which is a little hard to explain in a short space. Suffice it to say, she has certain powers and abilities. This is where she discovers she can sprout wings, fly, glow like a lightbulb, and pull swords out of her back. Her instinctive knowledge of what to do is part of being a Questor.

Brion: Fifth Questor. He's far more aware than Arella of his gifts, for the simple reason that while there have been other Fifth Questors with the same gifts, Arella is the first Seventh. Brion is a craftsman by Gift, and military by trade.

Eryl: a teenaged shapechanger and Valor's cousin. I don't really know a lot about him yet.

Valor: Alcean berserker by nature, saboteur by training. She's an explosives expert and good with any weapon you hand her.

If desired, I can explain things like Questors, shapechangers, and berserkers in separate blog posts.

Too Late

Another short little piece playing with a character, this time a side character and a rather unpleasant and morbid situation.

Too Late
They were too late, too slow, had been too confident. Alan approached the site of the tiny massacre slowly, knuckles white on the grip of his bow. They'd thought killing the men on guard would be enough. It should have been enough.
Trying to ignore the shouts of "Death above all!" that still echoed in his memory, he knelt beside a particularly small body.
The boy couldn't have been more than three. His mouth hung open in an eternal scream, his chest nearly consumed by the gaping sword wound that had cut short his life.
Fingers shaking, Alan leaned down and closed the child's eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "This never should have happened."
"Alan!"
He straightened, looking around.
Erik walked around the bodies toward him. "We have to join the others. They may need our help."
As these dead had needed it. One deep breath, and Alan nodded and stood. He gave the dead boy one last look, turned, and followed Erik. This was why he fought. So that his wife and unborn child would be spared this fate: murder by fanatics who only honored death.


So...yeah. Morbid and dark, and not really edited much beyond the initial writing. Any thoughts?

Blind

I wrote this up in a matter of minutes. It's precisely 100 words, and the "he" is one of my characters, generally known as the Ark. Hopefully it'll be interesting even without knowing the backstory and what exactly is being spoken about. I may do other little snippets similar to this; little fragments focusing on character and description as a way for me to develop them more...and do more writing in short amounts of time. So here it is.

Blind

He hadn't truly seen, not for thousands of years. Most of the time, he never thought about it. He was sightless, after all, not blind.

Once a year, on the anniversary of that day, he locked himself into his house and took off his blindfold, the shield of a coward too ashamed to admit his failings and too afraid of what would happen if he told the truth.

Alone, unveiled, he closed off his other senses and walked through his house, truly blind. It was his reminder, his punishment, of his other blindness, the one that had cost him everything.