The Drabble Writing Challenge: Warm Up

Velaeri

Judgemental Catbird
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I'd like to thank Chronicles member Harrier for the idea. So what is a Drabble Challenge?

Simply put, a drabble is a story of exactly 100 words. While all micro fiction (and nonfiction!) focuses on brevity, an author is really challenged by the drabble.

As our first Drabble Challenge, this one is a warm-up and free form. Post your Drabble story in a reply to this thread. All words count, even "a, the, or," etc...

Need a word counter? https://wordcounter.net/

Some advice from editor Arley Sorg and writer Joe Koch:

First 100 words (of a short story but in our case, your drabble) should include:
a) learn about what the conflict (story) will be
b) meet at least one character
c) have some world building w/o feeling like scenery
d) have something (anything) happen to the protagonist
 
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MorrisonJericho

Ya boi Freddie
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When the barbarians stormed into the room, I knew I was the last to survive. Cowering in the corner, I clung to my arming sword, the feint clattering of metal ringing through the air as my hands shook around its hilt. Their eyes wrought with hate and venom, the air stinking of murderous intent. In that moment, I wondered why tears rolled down my cheeks; was it knowing that our defence had failed, and that my brothers-in-arms had surely perished? No. it was the smell of grass, and of soft soil beneath my feet. I wished to smell flowers again.
 

Harrier

Necromancer
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Thanks for this, Velaeri — drabbles are a fantastic exercise.

A little something:


A footfall in Elbion's grit crunched louder than any ruin or graveyard Harrier knew. The city — half rebuilt, shadowed by floating scraps of greatness — felt like a breath forever indrawn, or a hammer frozen midfall. Unresolved.

The necromancer, hooded and plain, flinched at every sound, though Elbion had forgotten her. The city had too much on its mind, too many displaced faces scuttling through the dust of once-forbidden neighborhoods.

Home, when she found it, still stood. The same rocking-chairs creaked on the porch. Old eyes watched her pass without recognition.

She drew a blessing-spell behind the house, unseen, and left.
 
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Velaeri

Judgemental Catbird
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When does the idiot become the hero?

On this beach there is a line in the sand. I haven't actively searched for it, but no one has been able to tell me where to start. Between the tales of brave souls at sea and the fables of the unfortunate fool, I've dabbled in my share of toeing the boundary.

One month ago I found myself standing at the precipice and learned the line was not straight, nor necessarily perpendicular to my path. Today I forgo all preconceptions: I wander the side of the idiot; a moral pirate on dry land.
 

TapathyWR

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James believed in God. So when he heard a voice in his head at work, he thought it was God. The voice told James to leave his job. James obeyed. The voice told James to shut out everyone else, his family wouldn't understand. James did. The voice told James to stay home, to never walk outside again, that everybody hated him except the voice. James believed him. He was God, wasn't he? He had to be. Nobody was willing to try and convince James otherwise, and nobody ever saw James again. He was with God now.

Anna believed in God.
 

childish brandino

Exhausted and Consternated
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I return to my kitchen from the garden just outside my home, carrying a wicker basket of courgettes and their flowers. A resourceful cook would make great use of all components of their ingredients, but I only liked the flowers for their color, and I picked far too many zucchini.

In a fluster, I set the basket on the counter and turn to the small table in the corner, where there is a rock and a house plant.

“What should I do with all of this?” I ask them.

The rock is silent. The house plant just laughs at me.
 

Szesh

The Silver Flame
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Szesh set deep footprints in the rain-softened earth. The stable doors creaked open, and his lantern revealed his accommodations for the night. This was fine, the beds were too small anyway.

A darting shadow set his nerves on edge. A bandit? A wolf? No. A cat. A black cat with staring eyes and raised hackles.

Szesh took a slow step forwards and the cat started, then fled into a stall.

He followed, peering carefully within. The cat looked back from a high beam. A massive scaly hand was offered. The cat fled.

Szesh sighed.

Small friend. Why do you run?
 

He Who Chews The Flowers

The Gentle Nightmare
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He hadn’t meant to come here. He’d just walked, as he always had. That sentiment didn’t seem to matter to the one in front of him. Eyes darting left and right as if there would be more of He. It was just him, though.

A raised hand to show peace. It snapped and cracked like a branch would when it was stepped upon and made those same eyes blink furiously. Was it the noise that had done it? Or was it the sweat that stung those eyes? He did not know.

The man stuck him with the rusty pitchfork nonetheless.
 
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A puddle of blood, Raphael's boot sank down to his ankle. Screams and shouts of rage and dread, the melody of war crafting a beautiful hymn of bloodshed.

He stepped forward, his body bathed in crimson ichor. Raphael raised his hand out wide, the large blade in his left hand. He beckoned them all to him. Come, lambs to the slaughter. Thousands of threads severed from the grand weave of fate.

A wave of bodies comes to meet their demise and Raphael's grin spread wide. Each swing of his sword, a swish from the conductor, in this sanguine orchestral symphony.
 

Noiraeve Talastra

the wheel weaves
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This one's for you, Velaeri ;)

Feet pounding on soft earth, hard tree roots, slick flora.

Breath heaving in her lungs, blood thundering in her ears, adrenaline flashing in her veins.

Deep down, she knew there was nowhere to go. Noiraeve ran to give her attackers the chance to think again. A woman who took no pleasure in harming others, she silently prayed they would take it. They almost never did.

She stopped at the cliffside. Pounding footsteps like hunters at prey. She felt the Power rushing like rapids, reached out, preparing --

Harnesses boiled murders' blood from the inside.

Noiraeve shivered, staggered to kneel and wept.
 

Shayleigh

Truth Seeker
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Then it all turned dark, couldn’t even make out her hand in front of her face. Where was she? Was here a place, a thing or nothing at all?

Music played faintly, as laughter joined in its symphony. The scent of lavender and lilies awoke her senses.

She was in a field of flowers under the moonlight. Musicians played, while many others danced either alone or with a partner. Desire & magic heavy in the air. He was standing by a fire when their eyes met and that knowing feeling had her gasping awake.

A dream? A vision?

Who was he?
 

Myrra

Rogue for Hire
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Myrra shifted the window’s latch up, as she’d done a hundred times prior, and slipped into the inky blackness of the bakery.

The old codger never secured his shop. It was honestly shocking that he still had anything to sell once the sun fully rose. But Myrra, a dark elf who barely got by on the best of days, couldn’t concern herself with such things.

Instead she nabbed a small loaf of bread before sneaking back out of the storefront, securing the latch behind her.

As she faded into the darkness the baker looked out and nodded in her direction.
 

Aeyliea

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The picture could never again be whole.

The shared journey had been rough and wild, exhilarating and filled with wonder. Now, though, all was dark. The unending road ahead seemed bereft of any hope of fulfillment. She was gone, and with her it would seem my reason for life.

But such stories do not end this way. Darkness gives way, in time, to understanding. I move forward with my life, a day at a time. Pain recedes, until realization: my refusal to mend is anathema to her..

The picture could never be whole, but it could still be beautiful again..
 

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

The Broken Sword
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The greater moon’s light peeked through the snowy pines and danced lazily over a gently running river. Just there by the water’s side, a blond elf knelt. With only his palm for a vessel, he drank of the cool water, and considered the things that this moon had bore witness to - things that he had done.

He remembered her, hiding in the clouds that morning.

And so then, she saw the spilling of kindred blood, she heard the weeping of kindred steel.

Though he knew now they were not themselves that day, with regret in his heart, he wept too.
 

Kiros Rahnel

Pneria's Prophet
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Upon a beach, a poor man found a lamp, complete with genie.

“Three wishes?” He asked. The djinn nodded.

“I wish to be a god.” And then it was so. His mind ascended, but life became boring. He’d millions to look after, but none for company. They were not like him.

“I wish for divine subjects.” And then it was so. But they didn’t care for subservience. They sought to topple him in their ambition.

“I wish for protection from treachery.” And then it was so.

Whisked from the heavens, he found himself returned to the beach in his rags.