Out Today: It Takes A Village

‘The Quiet Revolution’ by Jane Jago, is one of the stories in ‘It Takes A Village’, an optimistic anthology speculating about the meaning of care.

The story came to be because I was considering the idea that heroes don’t necessarily wear shiny armour, or ride dragons into battle. Sometimes it is the poorest and most humble of folk whose quiet courage reaches into the hearts and minds of others and shows them a better way.

I bring you, then, a situation where gender is the defining factor in every avenue of life, with neither men nor women having any use for their opposite numbers except as breeding tools. What can possibly change such entrenched ideologies? What has the power to right such an imbalance. And how can hatred be overcome? You’ll have to read the whole thing to find out. Here’s a small taster to whet your appetite…

When human beings came here to start a brand-new home, they called the place Utopia. Which was taking hubris to a whole new level, even if the intention was pure.
Things went smoothly enough when the first settlers set themselves to build Utopian cities or to cultivate the virgin land. Working from dawn to dusk on a newly terraformed planet doesn’t leave too much time for factionalism and everyone was deemed to be of equal value. Maybe the spirit of sharing would even have lasted had not the final shipment of stevedores and manual labourers been drawn from Terran prison colonies where brutality was the norm. Sometime on their intergalactic journey, the convict labourers killed their jailers and when the transport landed their sole intention was to take the new planet for their own.
The beauty of Utopia was despoiled by greed and the lust for power, while running battles befouled the streets. Those who sought power fell into two camps: misogynistic men who called themselves ‘alpha males’ and considered women as no more than the vessels for their lusts; and misandristic women who saw no future unless men were subjugated and reduced to sperm providers or castrated as pets. Each camp boasted heavily armed militiamen and women whose sole function was to enforce the will of their leaders by whatever means they saw fit.
By the turn of the century, the two gender-based ideologies, who had more or less carved the planet up between them, became more and more entrenched in their beliefs and less and less likely to put aside their enmity for anything less than world domination.
It’s not surprising, then, that those people who lived outside the militia-controlled cities started hiding their children away. Sure, some hid them to drive up the profit when they ripened, but most just wanted to keep their little ones safe from the marauding militias.
While men and women fought each other for every blade of grass and every drop of water the Utopian beauty around them was going to hell in a handcart—until the quiet revolution happened and changed us all forever.

Jane Jago is an eccentric genre-hopping pensioner, who writes for the sheer enjoyment of the craft and gets in terrible trouble because of her attitude.

The Easter Egg Hunt – X

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends. Life seems to be going well when…

Things were surprisingly quiet for a few days. By which I mean the pub was buzzing, but the bad guys were keeping a low profile. Our updated security included a set of panic buttons in strategic places, rather a lot of cameras, and some ordinary objects carefully modified for self defence. These reminded me of a certain weighted baseball bat with which Morgan disabled a woman who was about to shoot me dead. I didn’t know whether to smile or cry, so I put it to the back of my mind and got on with being busy.
Along with the electronic and inanimate additions we also acquired some impressive muscle. Four big lads, called Andrew, John, Pete, and Simeon, moved into the bothy and made themselves useful busing tables, washing glasses, and driving the big mop that deals with spills and accidental messes. I watched them carefully for a couple of days and was satisfied that they’d be an asset come any trouble, but until then they were content to blend in, and work hard.
After a particularly fractious Sunday lunch, when it seemed that every argumentative woman who wanted to see the manager, and every bratty, undisciplined toddler, had been squeezed together in our beer garden, I found the biggest of the boys, who I was almost sure was Simeon, sitting next to me at the big table in the private garden where we were having the staff scoff that signals pub closed until Monday evening. He grinned at me and applied himself to a vast plate of roast lamb. Judging him to be of the ilk that deals with the inner man before speaking, I ate my own meal and kept an eye on my twin daughters, who were inhaling lunch and twinkling at the assembled company. With his plate cleaned the young giant leaned back in his chair .
“Mrs Beckett,” his voice was almost unfeasibly deep.
“Joss please. I never quite know who Mrs Beckett is.”
He rewarded this sally with a chuckle before turning serious. “I bet you know exactly who she is. Just like I’d be willing to put a few bob on you and your man knowing precisely what goes on right across the business.”
“Rumbled. I just don’t like to make an issue of it.”
“Fair enough. But whatever the cause, this place runs like clockwork.”
“We try. Keep an overview and make sure everyone has a defined job.”
“And gets on with it. Which they do. I’m by way of being good friends with Morgan, so I was glad to pull this assignment. I wanted to see why she thinks so highly of you both.”
“And now?”
“Now I do see. And I’m bloody impressed. There’s a few fools around the company who think you and Mark are doing the dirty. I was never one of them, and now I see you and Ben together it becomes even more obvious that’s a crock of shit.”
“But?”
“But me and a couple of others believe that old chestnut is liable to raise its head again.”
I sighed. “I expect it will. But I hope Debs knows it’s a falsehood.”
“She does. And Ben?”
“He’s always known it for bullcrap.”
“So that only leaves a couple of impressionable idiots at Brown Brothers. I guess I need a word with Mark.”
“If you have a reason to be concerned, then you do.”
“I wouldn’t call it a reason as much as an itch in my head.”
“That’s the best reason of all. Talk to the man.”
“I will. I’ll call him in the morning. Him having a fixed dislike of being interrupted on a Sunday afternoon.”
Before I could think up a suitable response, an alarm sounded from the ice cream parlour. My companion and his mates were up as if they had been shot. The pelted across the grass and disappeared through the open back door of the building. Ben stood up and stretched. He offered me his arm.
“Shall we pop along and see what’s toward?” He sounded genial enough but there was a set line to his jaw and I knew he was keeping a tight rein on possible rage.
“That seems to me like a good idea.” Then I turned my attention to the twins. “Will Roz and Allie please stay here?”
They nodded. “We will.”
“Excellent people.”
Sian grinned at me. “Go in you two. The gruesomes will be fine with us.”
Roz and Allie turned identical versions of the stink eye on her allowing us to escape without further questioning.
Inside the ice cream parlour three youths were laying face down on the floor. Each one had his hands behind his head and a heavy booted foot in the middle of his back. Morgan stood with her hands on her hips, and the two middle aged women who worked with her leaned against the counter, appearing to be rather more amused than upset.
“What happened, Morg?” Ben asked.
“The last of the lunchtime crowd had spizzled off and we were just having a bit of a cleanup ahead of the afternoon mummies and brats. Carol was wiping finger marks off the window and she saw these characters running across the car park brandishing pick axe handles and trying to look hard. We pushed the panic button and the cavalry arrived in time to intercept them.”
“That’s good. But what about if our boys weren’t close?”
Morgan pulled an aerosol out of her pocket.
“Pepper spray. Courtesy of Dad. Who says he’ll bail me out if I need to use it.”
Unusually for me, I was at a loss for words. I knew I should disapprove, but I wasn’t sure what to say – especially as Morgan had calmly loaded shotguns for me when we were repelling an invasion of particularly unpleasant white supremacist thugs.
Ben rescued me. “I think me and Annie Oakley here will just pretend we never saw that.”
Morgan chuckled, but her voice when she spoke was diamond hard.
“I’d very much like to know what them three think they were up to.”
“Me too.” Ben sounded as accommodating as a hungry grizzly bear.

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Wrathburnt Sands – 19th Quest

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

The airship was moored to a platform just along the waterfront from where the real ships came in. It turned out to be a boat-shaped basket which could hold perhaps eight people if they stood close together. Above the basket was a bright red egg-shaped bubble, decorated with some kind of complex heraldry and attached to the basket by ropes. At the back, behind the basket was a large whirling device which Pew told her was called a propeller. Which made sense as it was this which propelled the airship along.
Pew and Glory both ran up the stairs to the top of the platform and jumped into the basket. Milla followed them more cautiously, wondering what would happen. It didn’t look very safe to her. Indeed, no sooner had she got in than the ground dropped away below them. Milla’s stomach felt as if it was still on the ground, but the rest of her was high in the air. She gripped the sides of the basket and closed her eyes, waiting for her heart to stop pounding and her stomach to rejoin the rest of her body.
When she finally managed to open her eyes, she saw an amazing sight. There, beneath her, were hills and fields and forests, rolling away. In all the time she had lived in Wrathburnt Sands she had imagined what other places the Visitors talked about might be like. Over the last few months she had pestered Pew with questions about the places he had visited and so she thought she had some idea of what to expect. But the reality was incredible. Her fear evaporated and she stared with awe and wonder at the world.
Then the ground below became stoney and bleak. There were massive wooden houses almost tall enough to touch the bottom of the ship and a group of giants waved their huge cudgels and snarled up at the passing air ship.
“They don’t seem very friendly,” Milla said. But Pew and Glory were bickering about something they called ‘stats’, throwing initials and numbers around fiercely and apparently oblivious to anything else. It was odd to think that they took this incredible journey so much for granted that they didn’t even look at the view.
The airship had begun following the course of a river and then suddenly Milla’s stomach dropped away again as the river thundered over a cliff and the airship plunged down with it. For a few giddy moments she thought it had lost it’s magic and was falling, but Pew and Glory didn’t even stop their argument, they both just grabbed the edge of the basket and carried on. Reassured, Milla looked down again and felt as if she could see to the very edge of the world, but a world that was now purple and brown. And very flat. This, she assumed, must be Seersucker Swamp.
Odd creatures like giant slugs and worms and other things with tentacles that Milla really didn’t want to know anything about, slithered in and out of the rusty looking pools which pocked the surface between close pressed tussocks of purple grass. There were occasional trees with trailing branches and uplifted roots, with the same purple foliage and grey trunks. These trees grew more frequent as the swamp progressed until the airship had to swoop to avoid it’s canopy. A pathway snaked through the swamp, marked by posts with skull shaped lanterns and the airship moved to follow it towards some kind of village which was built on stilts with walkways connecting the various buildings.

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 20th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.

The Secret Life of ‘Nomes – Poteen

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

According to Granny, it all was Big Bigger’s fault, but Brenda tended towards blaming Chiggers and his bosom buddy Oisin…
What is clear, however, is when exactly it started.
Big was in trouble, again, and he was skulking in the rhododendrons with bottle clutched to the sweaty mound of his belly.
When his name was called from the back door, he heaved his ass off the ground and ran, leaving his half-empty bottle behind him.
Chiggers led the dash, but Oisin snatched the bottle out of his stubby fingers.
He put it to his mouth and groaned delightedly.
“Poteen.”

Jane Jago

How To Speak Typo – Lesson 27

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

athanema (noun) – wheezing breath caused by running uphill when fat and unfit 

broing (verb) – the act of shyly suggesting a homosexual relationship 

depsite (noun) – place where ill-gotten gains are secreted

diea (noun)  – slightly wobbly locomotion caused by the ingestion of alcohol

feredom (verb) – of novels, the act of returning to the wild

infalt (verb) – to suck in air in preparation for giving somebody a right ear bashing

motger (noun) – small antipodean rodent that can be found in the holes in cheese

neote (adverb) – of speech weirdly hesitant and with an apologetic air

perguler (noun) – person paid to lie in court

rogjt (noun) – very hot chilli only eaten by the foolish or men at chucking out time on a Saturday night (yeah, okay, the foolish)

trud (noun) – very hard poo

upseide (adjective) – having the colour and texture of earwax

vitgun (noun) – peashooter loaded with vitamin pills

wjat (noun) – another term for a thingamajig

xplid (adjective) – pale green and about to vomit

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

Limericks on Life – Secret

Because life happens…

Exploring the mysteries of life through the versatile medium of limerick poetry.

For life has a secret to share
It’s all about when you should care
About who, and what for,
And how you show the door
To those takers who never are fair!

E.M. Swift-Hook

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV Advises on Writing YA Fiction

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV takes time from his immensely important life to proffer profound advice to those who still struggle on the aspirational slopes of authorhood…

Dear Reader Who Writes,

At risk of preaching to the converted, I must first take the time to be sure you are all acquainted with me. I am Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV and acclaimed author of the millionth best seller science fiction and fantasy novel, ‘Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’. As such I have been delving deep into my treasure trove of writing wisdom to bring a few of the more luminous gems of my experience to light.

It is true that young people today are not as they were. When I was a fuzzy-faced youth in my early twenties, awaiting the chance to shave for the first time, I would not have dreamed of behaving in the manner of my old-school chum’s son when he came to stay overnight the other week on the way to some foreign destination for a ‘Gap year’. He has just turned eighteen. Called Henry.

He swanned into the house and dropped his rucksack on my feet, gesturing imperiously upwards with one finger, no doubt to indicate that he expected me to take it upstairs for him. Then he caught sight of Mumsie, spreadeagled over the sofa as is her wont. His eyes widened and I heard him say: “Em. Eye. Elle. Eff.” After which bizarre incantation he threw himself upon his knees beside Mumsie and whispered something in her ear which made her laugh. Well, giggle.

I retreated to my writing room and when I emerged in the early hours I found the rucksack was still untouched downstairs. By the time I rose to breakfast, Henry had left for Peru and Mumsie was humming happily and dancing around the front room holding a half-empty bottle of Champagne.

It occurred to me then and there, that I should address myself to that phenomenon of recent literary note: the Young Adult novel.

YA Fiction

The first thing to remember is that your heroine – and it almost always is a heroine – must be living a normal, but extra-miserable life. She must be the school social reject or the really plain girl wearing glasses and unfashionable clothes. She is probably poor, but if rich, must have an isolated and unhappy time as a result. In a science-fiction or fantasy setting, she will be an orphan, abused, beaten and downtrodden – probably enslaved. At best she may be allowed an ‘ordinary’ background within whatever world she lives. She can have one good friend. 

But, remember, no matter how bad you make her issues, on no account can she be fat.

Having established this dual point of miserable powerlessness and rejected loner, the author must then bestow upon this heroine a magical power or super ability which is linked to a mysterious family heritage. Or may be brought about by the discovery of an artefact – or both. This will then transform our dowdy underdog cygnet into a burgeoning youthful swan.

At this point, the romantic elements should be established. If her ‘one good friend’ was male, he now becomes a suitor and is joined by one or more other suitors all of which now adore the heroine and all want her to adore them. The degree of self-abasement you can portray for these unfortunate males will boost the popularity of your final work. No matter how much the heroine rejects them, or how rudely, they will return and grovel at her feet each and every time. Or storm off and then turn up to save her in the end.

Do be sure to make her suitors as various as possible. If you are writing fantasy or supernatural fiction, they can be an elf,  fairy, angel, fallen angel, demon, vampire or a were-something. If science-fiction then aliens of whatever variety. Be sure to make the nice ones rich and the not so nice ones poor.

On no account allow any long-term romantic liaison to become established between your heroine and any of these males. To do so will end the game and end the series because, of course, this first book will be just the start of a series.

Take this advice to your collective bosoms my dear students and fame and fortune will stalk your steps.

Until next time.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

You can find more of IVy’s profound advice in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

May Day in England

Summer is icumen in, let’s go down the pub
In the garden we can sit, and sup a little jug
We’ll watch the maypole dancers, then
Throw peanuts at the Morris men
Who quite forget to stamp and whirl
While checking out the young clog girls
Then, when the evening cools the sky
The folk singers they will pop by
And underneath the Mayday moon
They’ll play the old familiar tunes
On comb and paper and bassoon
Until the singing starts, too soon
When some old geyser with a beard
Will stick his finger in his ear
And sing an old traditional lay
That someone else wrote yesterday
He’ll lose the tune forget the words
But never feel a bit absurd
Because he’s here to serenade
On rather too much ‘lemonade’
And when the landlord shuts the bar
We’ll amble home, it isn’t far
As into bed we fall you’ll say
There went a bloody fine May Day

©JaneJago

The Easter Egg Hunt – IX

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends. Life seems to be going well when…

Having been summarily dismissed, I went back to my chores while Ben walked Smith to his car. Stan and Ollie elected to accompany them, walking one either side of Smith with their heads high and their tails swishing. Half of me felt sorry for him, but the other half thought about the cold-blooded creature that lurked behind his eyes.
A while later, Ben appeared in the office door with Stan and Ollie at his heels. The dogs were unusually subdued and he was looking grim.
“You got a minute chooch?”
“For you always.”
He shut the door and perched on the corner of my desk. I saved the accounts I’d been working on and smiled encouragement. He sighed and started to speak.
“I have been having a most peculiar time. When we got to Smith’s car, Clancy was on guard, and he had what looked like a piece of fleece jacket on the ground beside him. Looked to me as if he’d grabbed a would be bad guy. There was a thick cream-coloured envelope on the grass beside the lane, and our dogs didn’t like it a bit. I went to pick it up but Smith stopped me. He was actually shaking, and one look in his eyes told me he was running scared. I don’t think that’s his default setting so I took him to see Finoula.”
He stopped talking and I waited for him to collect himself.
“We were just at the gate of the market garden when Jed appeared. Wearing heavy leather gardening gloves. Said Finoula was waiting for Smith and he’d go fetch the envelope. After that it all got a bit surreal. According to Jed the envelope contained a curse, which Finoula dealt with by shoving it in the Rayburn. She sat Smith down and had him call his father while she phoned Danilo. They had a conference call. In Rom. Which I’m quite glad I don’t speak. Though apparently I had to be there because we own the land. Upshot is there are now two families who are deeply pissed off with the Proudly clan. Call over, Smith and his cake went home and I came to talk to you.”
“Sheesh. That is odd. And off. But I guess we can mostly leave things to Danilo and Smith senior. Except maybe have the staff on alert and talk to Mark.”
Ben bent to kiss me. “I’ll call a staff meeting and maybe you can speak to our friendly enforcer.”
A familiar change in the quality of the air, and the furtive scent of spring flowers underlain with a hint of decay alerted us to the fact we weren’t alone. A girlish giggle that came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time let me know who had joined us.
“Come forward Esme Caunter.” I kept my voice welcoming, but strong.
The ghost of Esme, a teenager who was drowned in a well at the behest of the previous landlord of The Fair Maid, is rarely far from me since the day we buried her remains in the Garden of Remembrance next door to our market garden. She’s usually a quiet little presence, who only makes herself known when she cuddles in beside me to listen to the twins’ bedtime stories and claim goodnight kisses from us all. Although she’s a constant in the background of my life, Esme very seldom has anything to say, but today it felt as if she had important news.
“What is it Esme?”
“Oh Joss. What have you got yourself into?” She sounded as worried as it is possible for a teenage ghost to be. “There are bad people looking to harm you. Be careful. I wish I could tell you more, but I cannot. You tell the clairvoyant she must come to the well so we can show her what she needs to know.”
I felt a soft kiss on my cheek and she was gone. Ben pulled me into a hug.
“I dunno how you cope with being a mother figure to a ghost.”
“It’s sometimes easier than the twins.”
He laughed.
“You might even have a point. Will I go and see Finoula?”
“No. You go back to work and stop goofing off,” I pretended severity. “I’ll call Finoula.”
He gave me a fond squeeze before stepping back and shaping a sloppy salute.
“Consider me gone.” He looked at big dog bed in the corner where Stan and Ollie were now fast asleep. “Seems like all the drama is over anyway.”
“For today at least.” The deep and imperturbable voice that came from the doorway belonged to Mark Brown. “I think you should beef up your security for a while. I mislike the Proudly clan, and I’m not sure I entirely trust the Smiths. Besides which, Morgan has the willies.”
“Me too. A bit.” Ben confessed.
Mark grinned. “It’s always the way. The feeling our womenfolk could be in danger is an uncomfortable one.”
“True. Especially when any attempt to make them keep their heads below the parapet…”
“Is liable to lead to a thick ear.” I put in smartly.
They turned almost identical small boy grins on me and I felt the strength of their need to protect. I made a shooing motion with my hands.
“You two go and do whatever you deem necessary. So long as it doesn’t bankrupt the business.”
They went and I called Finoula. Who was unsurprised to hear from me. When I repeated Esme’s message she groaned.
“I hoped it wasn’t the well. I tend to avoid it as the black water rather freaks me out.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
She thought for a few seconds.
“I’d love you to be with me, but the spirits are forbidding it.”
She sounded almost unbearably weary, but just as I was about to call Esme forward and give her a piece of my mind, I felt Finoula’s spirit lighten.
“Your ghostly daughter tells me I should ask Jed to accompany me.”
I heard Jed’s slow, calm voice in the background before Finoula laughed. It was a young, bright sound and I knew she would be okay.

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Wrathburnt Sands – 18th Quest

Because life can be interesting when you are a non-player character in an online video game…

A few minutes later they were stepping off the boat onto a stone dock which fronted onto a settlement that looked a lot more substantial than Wrathburnt Sands. There were people everywhere, all races, Locals and Visitors. Locals, noticeable by the slightly bored, long suffering expressions and rather plain outfits that most wore. Visitors, marked out like brilliantly coloured butterflies, clad in glamorous outfits with swirling runes and sparkles. Most boasting weaponry which seemed so powerful that their wielders might slice and dice the very air with them.
Milla felt overwhelmed and held back, gripping onto Pew’s hand like a lifeline as Glory vanished into the throng. Pew frowned at her reluctance.
“Are you alright? You look a bit ill.”
“I… I…” She struggled for words to explain how she felt both crushed in by so many people and buildings, and at the same time vulnerable and exposed as if too far out in the open.
“It’s not some odd after effect of you zoning is it?”
She shook her head.
“I just need to sit down a minute.”
A short time later she was sitting in a dockside tavern with a solicitous Pew and feeling a bit better.
“I never thought there would be so many people in one place.”
“Yeah? Well Liberation is a game hub and a starter city so it tends to get a bit busy.”
A bit?
Milla just nodded and wondered if she should have listened to One Eye and stayed at home after all.
“Look. We won’t be here long. Glory is finding out the fastest way to get to Lustrous Lake and soon as she gets back we’ll be on our way. You think you can manage?”
She nodded again. She’d have to manage. This was a venture. So she drank the odd tasting ale and tried to give Pew a reassuring smile.
Glory dropped into an empty seat opposite them and picked up a tankard of ale, swilling most of it down before setting it back on the table. “Good news. They seem to have extended the airship run out over Seersucker Swamp to the griblins quest camp. That’s just a short run to Lustrous Lake. We can be there pretty quick. But you’ve still not told me what we’re doing when we get there.”
“Air ship?” Milla tried to put the two words together in her head in any way that made sense – and failed.
Glory gave her an odd look.
“It’s only been in the game since the first update in vanilla, flies across all the original lands – you know like a dirigible thing? Very steampunk.”
“OMG. Do you remember the flame-fest when they did it?” Pew laughed at the memory. “Half the player base complained it was pressing the ‘easy mode’ button on transport and half were up in arms because it was a fracking air ship and that wasn’t purist fantasy enough for them.”
“And the other half hated on it for being too slow still, even though it more than halved the time it used to take.”
“Oh yeah and another half thought it was too much to have to do an access quest to use it, so they ditched that with the first expansion…”
“…which meant half the players were back to complaining about lowering the amount of significant content or some such BS.”
Milla decided it wasn’t going to help matters if she pointed out that five halves didn’t make a whole, and as that was the only aspect of the entire conversation she felt qualified to comment on, she said nothing.
“So are we ready to go then?” Pew asked.
“Well that depends. Will this take long? I need to log over to my main to do the dailies and then I’ve got to raid later.”
Pew was frowning and Milla wondered what Glory meant.
“I don’t know if it’ll take long or not. But it’s a bit more important than doing dailies.”
The elf looked doubtful and sucked in her cheeks.
“I’m not so sure. But I can always use a catch-up on them.”
“So we’re ready?”
Glory shrugged and then nodded. “I guess.”
“Good. Let’s go.”

Log on to Wrathburnt Sands by E.M. Swift-Hook for the 19th Quest next week.

‘Wrathburnt Sands’ and ‘Return to Wrathburnt Sands’ were first published in Rise and Rescue: A GameLit Anthology and in Rise and Rescue Volume 2: Protect and Recover.