urban fantasy – steelstashwriting

Flash Fiction Friday 012 – The Persian Sand Wyrm

The Persian Sand Wyrm lifted it’s mighty head and spit forth it’s venom at the crimson clad combatants. Heinrich ducked, Rich dodged, and Tim dove, but Ulrich did not move fast enough. He screamed as the venom struck his left arm.

It quickly ate through his armor, burning into his flesh. The pain was intense, almost unbearable. Tim rolled to a crouch a few feet from Ulrich and dove back towards his injured battle buddy. He scooped Ulrich up in his arms and tackled the fellow Crusader to the ground as another burst of venom shot overhead.

“Crusader Main, Crusader Main. This is Crusader Bravo. Request immediate medevac at LZ Hawk. Elaine. I say again Elaine.”

Ulrich was faintly aware of the report Tim was sending up. Through the haze of pain, he recognized the code word for confirmation of the sand wyrm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Heinrich and Rich engaging the creature, saw it slither and writhe under the hail of gunfire from the other two Crusaders.

Ulrich was pulled back to the reality of his situation as he felt something tightening on his arm near the shoulder. Tim was applying a turniquet to his injured limb. Reaching into his aid pack, Ulrich popped one of the pain potions that had been issued him and waved Tim away. “I’m good. Help them.”

Tim nodded and took off towards the wyrm while Ulrich finished applying the turniquet. A wave of euphoria washed over him as the potion took effect. After several moments, Ulrich was done treating himself. He couldn’t move his arm, but he was ok for now.

Ulrich reached for his weapon, the crossbow just a few feet from him. The bolts were specially designed and enchanted for desert dragons. Luckily, it was undamaged from the wyrm’s venom, but he only had one shot.

The other three had the wyrm’s attention. It was now or never. He lifted the crossbow, aimed, and loosed the bolt. It struck the wyrm in its venom sack, sinking deep into its neck. With a terrible cry, the creature reared its head before collapsing to the ground.

The medevac arrived a few minutes later and the team loaded up on the helicopters. Ulrich didn’t remember much after that. The medics had given him some of the good stuff, and he faded into a drug induced sleep.

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Flash Fiction Friday 011 – The Red Crusader

Ulrich flexed his left hand as he walked down the city street. It didn’t hurt; it was incapable of hurting, but old habits and all. The sound of traffic and the hum if humanity blared all around him; however, the commotion was muted in Ulrich’s ears. His mind was somewhere far away.

“Hey, Ulrich! Man, you want a taco or what?” Jack had stopped next to a food truck and was looking at Ulrich.

Blinking, Ulrich moved by his friend in line. “Quite a wait for a mobile meal isn’t it?”

Jack laughed and have a shrug. “Master Monty has the best prices on tacos in the city.”

Ulrich craned his neck to see the menu. “Can’t be that good for those prices. How are drinks the most expensive item on the menu? Rat meat, that’s how.”

“A. Probably better than that shit you were eating down range. B. The food is legit. Monty has a taco storm in a jar. Fresh as magic can make it. Don’t get a drink here though.” Jack added. “Potions. Don’t want you popping hot when you get back to your unit.”

While Jack spoke, movement caught Ulrich’s eye. His head jerked around to see a woman walking her pet dragon down the sidewalk. No taller than the woman’s knee, it had it’s muzzle on to prevent accidental fires.

Ulrich tensed at the sight of the thing, his fists clenching. The edges of his vision began to black out before being filled with fire. His left hand began to tap his leg repeatedly while he stood frozen.

“Yo. You’re on leave. You’re on leave. Chill bro.” Ulrich faintly heard Jack’s words at first, but each sentence became clearer and clearer. After another moment or two, his mind cleared and he was at the front of the line for tacos.

Ulrich barely registered anything during the transaction. He knew dragons were pets. They were vey popular pets. Breeding the big ones was also a violation of several international treaties. That didn’t stop some people, though.

Some dictators just got it in their head that dragons were better when big and angry. That’s when units like Ulrich’s were called. USAMA claimed they were the Black Knights, and they could pretend. Ulrich was a Red Crusader, one of four knight forces in the US Army, trained and proficient in handling mythical and magical problems.

Jack guided him to a seat as he continued to flex his left hand. The sound of cogs and actuators was barely audible being magically powered and muted. Despite having no actual sense of anything in that hand, Ulrich could tell the moves of the metal didn’t feel right. Maybe it was just the way the shoulder joint still rubbed burnt skin. He still had a few weeks to get used to it while he finished up his convalescent leav… man. That was a good taco.

Flash Fiction Friday 009 – It’s Raining Tacos. Hallelujah!

When a magician goes to lunch, his intern is left alone in the workshop. The intern is hungry, however, and decides to use a little magic to help fix the situation. What could go wrong with that?

Jeff continued to sweep one corner of the workshop. It was a mindless task. Hell, it was a task that didn’t even really need to be done, but it made him look busy. That was important when the master was in one of his moods. Or any of his moods. Or awake. Jeff had learned that over his five years here. Look busy and don’t ask too many questions. That suited Jeff fine, and his lack of ambition often made the master feel better about his lot in life.

The mood today was good. The experiments were going well and the universe responding like it should. It was almost noon when the master cried out with joy. “I’ve done it!”

Jeff came running towards the center dais. It was a large circle, raised by several steps. It held a small table, a stand for the master’s spell book, and a cauldron as well as the master himself, beaming in the glow of the boiling liquid. “Jeff, look! Distilled essence of will power. Just the thing to help all those college kids with their finals. Slap that in an energy drink can, toss on the FDA warning, and boom! We’ll be as big as Monster and more popular than Adderall.”

The master gave himself one final smile before placing a hand on his stomach. “But that is an issue for after lunch. See you in an hour.” With that, the master strode from the dais and disappeared into the noise of cars and humanity outside the shop.

Jeff stood there a moment staring into the cauldron. He carefully lifted the spoon that had been used to stir the mix, pausing with it just before his mouth. Surely a little taste wouldn’t hurt. After a few more seconds of hesitation, he tentatively licked the spoon…and felt nothing.

It was odd. The master was so confident, but Jeff didn’t notice any change to his mood or desires. He did notice a rumble in his stomach. The mention of lunch brought Jeff to the realization that he did not eat breakfast. He also did not feel like any of the fast food chains that were close by. What he wanted was a good taco. There were just no good tacos in the neighborhood.

The thought occurred to Jeff that there was a solution to his taco problem sitting on the table next to him. Picking up his master’s pointy hat, Jeff put it on his head as he thumbed through the spell book. It was the first time he had ever really read any of this book so it took him a few moments to get used to the format. Once he got the hang of it, it was a few more minutes of searching until he found the spells that he needed.

Jeff put a lid on the cauldron to act as a tray and lifted his hands into the air. He began to rattle off the spells that he had seen, his voice floating through the warehouse like the many particles of dust he swept. When he was done, he stared expectantly at the cauldron’s lid.

Nothing appeared on the lid. Jeff dropped his arms in disappointment and placed the hat on the table. Before he stepped down, however, a tortilla floated from the ceiling and landed on the cauldron. It was followed by some shredded beef, a sprinkle of cheese, and a glob of sour cream. Laughing, Jeff lifted the taco and blissfully began to eat.

His laughter faded after two bites. Another tortilla was falling from the sky. And another. And another. Each one was followed by shredded beef, cheese, and sour cream. Before long, the workshop was filled with the flurries of tortillas, the patterings of beef, the drizzles of cheese, and the plops of cream. He did not know what he had done, but he had created a taco storm.

Shock gave way to fear as the storm continued. What would the master say? There was only one thing to do. Jeff quickly picked up several tacos and ran for the door. He did not stop until he was two cities away and looking for a new job.

Meanwhile, the master returned after lunch to find his workshop caught in a downpour of tacos. At first, he was angry at what was going on. As he carefully picked his way through the showery fiesta, he saw the book and hat were not as he had left them. A few moments of investigation gave him all the hints that he needed. The potion apparently worked and his unmotivated assistant had apparently created the storm for lunch.

Placing the hat on his head, the master lifted his arms in the air and began to chant. He shrank the storm to a tiny cloud that he sealed in a jar. Another enchantment was placed on the jar to pause the storm whenever the jar was closed. In addition to a new motivating energy drink, the master also had the start for a food truck business now. All in all, today was a good day.

If you liked this, please drop me a comment or share with your friends. Don’t forget to follow us here, or on Facebook or Twitter so you don’t miss the weekly fantasies I destroy my sanity to build for you. We also have our first newsletter coming out at the end of this month with an exclusive short story. Make sure you sign up and as a special thanks, you’ll receive another short story for free.

Flash Fiction Friday 008 – Hugs, Not Wands

All ages face difficult questions. These questions always need a lot of thought and logic to figure out. Can a father help his daughter understand the challenge of answering these questions?

“Why do we hate protesters so much daddy?”

Torvin blinked, his mouth slightly agape as he turned to look at his daughter. “What do you mean sweetheart?”

“My news feed is full of people talking about how protesters belong in jail or that they are wasting their time. How it must be nice not to have real jobs.” Trina didn’t even lift her head from her crystal, one finger casually flicking up to show more of her feed. “No one seems to want to talk about the issue.”

Torvin cleared his throat while rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, baby…I suppose that’s because it’s easier to talk about protests than issues.”

“Why?” She turned her eyes up towards her father, her brown orbs bright and inquisitive in the way only a child could have.

“Because a lot of people see magic as a right and when you start talking about more education and limiting what people can do, they get angry.”

“But isn’t magic dangerous?”

“Of course it is sweetheart. So are a lot of other things, though. It gets complicated real fast.” Torvin’s brain was already hurting and he wasn’t that deep into the explanation.

“So people make fun of protesters to avoid trying to figure out answers to the problems.” Trina’s lips turned down slightly.

“Maybe. No. I don’t know.” Torvin grunted slightly. “It gets complicated. Some people don’t want to talk about the issues. Some people don’t like seeing these protests all the time. So people just want to be mad at others wanting to change things.

“And that’s why it’s so hard to do anything. You have to wade through the reasons why people are resisting and address their concerns. That’s why we have the Conclave.”

“Ok daddy.” Her voice was distracted, absent any interest or attention. Torvin looked down to see her back on her crystal watching some video or another. That was the problem with young centaurs today. Not enough attention span to finish a simple conversation.

If you liked this, please drop me a comment or share with your friends. Don’t forget to follow us here, or on Facebook or Twitter so you don’t miss the weekly fantasies I destroy my sanity to build for you. We also have our first newsletter coming out at the end of this month with an exclusive short story. Make sure you sign up and as a special thanks, you’ll receive another short story for free.

As always, I mustache you all to stay fantastical.