Hey! It looks like you're new here. You might want to check out the introduction.
Show rules for this event
Stranded
“Witness your doom, Axiomatic! My fantabulous weapon will obliterate you! MWAHAHAHAH!!”
Dr. Malvagierre waves around a raygun.
Supervillains. You either hate them, or...be bemused at them. I’ve fought Dr. Malvagierre four times in the past year, and he hasn’t even scratched me once. The most he did was make a small rip in my cape, by accident.
Thankfully, his “attacks” don’t usually leave casualties, and when they do it’s never on purpose, so he usually gets out in a couple of months for being a public disturbance, and then he ambushes me when I have a scheduled public appearance.
Such as my speech at the United Nations on the importance of democracy for the prosperity of human nations.
“Doctor, stand down! Do you really think things are going to turn out differently this time?”
He makes a rude gesture in my direction, probably pissed I interrupted his monologue. I gave him the chance to stand down, it is his own decision to ignore it.
The street is empty of civilians, so I fly at full speed towards the legs of the robot he’s riding on. Better make this qui-
A flash of purple light.
I’m disoriented, which is a very bad thing.
There are things out there which can hurt my Amxrite-infused flesh, but they are few and far between, and if Malvagierre got his hands on them, he could rise to be a global threat…
This isn’t New York.
I’m in a glade, in a forest, under an alien sky. I can see the telltale bow of a ring orbiting this planet, just like Maukava IV.
I try to get my bearings, and I see that there’s a girl in from of me, human, holding what looks like an oversized hammer twice as tall as she is and ten times as heavy. She’s dressed in what looks like the garb of a medieval farmer, drab and worn. The hammer, by contrast, is very ornate, its stone head covered in glowing runes, and the shaft looking like the bronze equivalent of Damascus steel.
She’s as white as a sheet, and as I look at her the hammer slips from her nerveless fingers. It bounces off of the grass as if it was lighter than styrofoam.
There’s glass all around us-no, around me-and as I crouch to look at it, I realize that I was encased in it. Did Malvagierre enclose me in a time capsule of some kind? Or was it a dimensional displacement? Or both?
The girl takes something out of a satchel, and I quickly move my head to look at it.
She’s startled by my speed, and nearly drops it, but then she moves with very slow, exaggerated motions to show me the rolled-up piece of parchment.
She holds it in front of herself and reads from it. I don’t understand what language she’s speaking, could be Greek, could be Arabic.
“Do you understand me?”
I do. I’ve also never seen technology or superpowers work this way. It looks like magic, but magic doesn’t...focus, Axiomatic.
“I do. Where am I?”
She honest-to-God squeals, and jumps up and down in happiness.
“Oh I can’t believe that worked! I have soooo many question, what are your clothes made of where do you come from where do you come from-” I hold up a hand to stem the tide of words coming out of her mouth.
Figures I’d get an excitable chattermouth as the first person I meet.
“Please answer me first; have you ever heard of the United States of America?”
“Is that a type of food?”
In the weeks following what I’ve started calling in my mind the “cross-over”, I’ve learned from my host, Deianira, that I’m stuck for the foreseeable future in what looks like a world straight out of a fantasy novel.
She’s an apprentice witch-because yes, magic is indeed a thing. To my modern mind, it looks like objects, not people, getting superpowers, but Deianira assures me it’s completely different. For one thing, enchanting something is a long, tiring process which takes a lot out of the witch doing it, and in their whole lives witches typically craft no more than a dozen pieces.
Her breaking me out of my glass prison was the test she had to pass to prove herself, and be recognized as a legitimate witch.
We’re now walking to the capital, me flying a foot above the ground and she on her donkey, me because it’s the best chance I have of finding someone who can take me back to my world and my friends, she because it’s what she has to do to finish the last step of her apprenticeship.
While we’re moving, I gaze at the field to the left and right of us, were destitute farmers are piling huge bales of hay on carts that soon merge on the road we’re taking, going in our same direction.
“So, we’re gonna have to go to the King’s court, where he’s going to check if I have any power that he can grasp, and then I’m going to meet the High Witch, and then there’s going to be a big ceremony, which is really, really important because I’m going to be the first witch in my family, by the five gods I still can’t really believe it, so it’s gonna be a huge deal because I’ll have to choose my second name-”
“Deianira, a moment.”
“Yes?”
She’s a sweet girl, but her method of dealing with any awkwardness or nervousness is by just talking over it.
“Why aren’t the farmers keeping any of the grains for themselves? They’re clearly starving, but from what I know of the my old world, the fields are vast enough to provide for them.”
For once, Deianira is at a loss for words and she bites her bottom lip, perturbed.
“Well...they have to pay taxes first, right? And once they’ve paid what they owe to the King, for his benevolence in letting them farm his lands, then they can keep the rest for themselves. But oh, the taxes are really high right now...I hope my parents are all right, I haven’t seen them at all since I started my training…”
This puts a damper on our conversation. The prospect of family members starving to death usually does.
I change the topic, to keep her mind off of that.
“So, you were telling me that the High Witch has a crystal ball, and with it she can see the past and secrets of anyone who stares in it…”
Trying to get access to the king’s court is harder than anticipated.
“Mmm...this is kind of unprecedented...while normally junior witches are granted access as a matter of course...mmm...asking for a plus one is...mmm...it gives complications, you see?”
The functionary is wearing several tawdry but valuable pieces of jewelry, and rolls of fat stop her threaten to overflow the desk she’s sitting behind. Hunger has never even come close to this bureaucrat.
“Please, this is really important! Look, we can say that he’s living proof I passed my trial! He’s the mystery night from the glass shard of Axior forest! If he doesn’t come with me, how will I prove I managed to free him?”
Bless Deianira’s heart. She’s found a loophole to gain me access to the court. The fact that it’s so hard to get in touch with people in power is concerning, though...no letters to the senator, here.
From what Deianira whispered to me when we first got in line, this bureaucrat is an elder witch who doesn’t have what it takes to be a teacher and whose power at enchanting is middling at best. She raises an eyebrow, unconcerned by Deianira’s plight.
“Oh? Mmmm...so your entire application rests on bringing some unknown, mmm...person to the king’s court? I must say, this is very irregular. Mmmm….quite frankly, I question whether you deserve to pass the trial at mmm...all. For all I know, he’s just an assassin, coming in under false pretenses!”
It crosses my mind that she probably just wants a bribe to let me through-her mannerism is similar to many functionaries I met during my time in Africa-but we don’t have the money. Gears spin in my mind...this kind of attitude is something I’ve often seen in the worst dictatorships, the ones where the man at the top can take everything away from those at the bottom, who in turn vent their frustrations on those under them.
I start floating above the desk.
“MmmWhat?!? This is all highly irregular!”
“Miss, what I’m doing is not a product of magic. I have no enchanted object upon me, and you can plainly see my associate is not chanting from a scroll or waving a wand around. Do you want to explain to the King why you hid new magic from him, something he could use to help win the next war?”
Her face is rapidly purpling.
“This proves nothing! The cape! The cape is enchanted with a levitation spell!”
Deianira explained to me that the inherent power in an object depends on its size, weight, on its components and how complicated and elaborate it is. She’s grasping at straws.
I take off my cape anyway.
After an embarrassing striptease, we enter the King’s court.
While Deianira goes to a side with the small group of novice witches who are here to be sworn in, I make a beeline for the High Witch.
Her wooden, high backed chair makes a strong contrast to the King’s crass throne, which was clearly designed with form over function, golden decorations piling on each other to the point of meaninglessness. The High Witch’s chair is also decorated with carvings over its surface, but I suspect it’s because it’s a magic item, making those decorations functional.
The High Witch herself is a severe and austere woman, tall and slim, with a nose like the prow of an icebreaker ship.
Where nearly everyone here is wearing silks and brocade, her skirt is felt and undyed, and the rest of her clothes are likewise modest and drab. This is not someone to mess with. Thank God Deianira coached me on how to approach her, I wouldn’t want to make a faux pas with a person in charge.
“I humbly approach your Numinous Presence, in the hopes of-” “Cut the crap. I saw the little show you did with Veria before coming in, so tell me how you can do what you do.”
Ah. I wonder if she has some form of clairvoyance available to her, or some array of mirrors to see whoever petitions entry into the King’s Court.
“I come from another world. There, people are blessed through unknown means, and are given magic, magic which cannot be taken away from them, for it is not tied to any object but to themselves.”
I give a heavy look in the King’s direction, not saying it outright but implying I’m immune to the threats the King can bring to bear.
“I only wish to return to it, and I can give my services as a hero and protector of the people. Flight is the least of my powers, and I am not boasting when I say I can and have broken entire armies on my own.”
Her expression doesn’t change. Hell of a poker face, that woman.
“Thus I ask of you, to use the implement I’ve heard so much about: please, use your crystal ball, gaze into my past, and see how I came to be here.”
She says nothing, but uncovers the ball of spun glass from under the cloth that was hiding it from view. I hear a change in the conversation around us, but I pay it no heed, and I look into its depths.
The fog within it is colorless, but the way it swirls...the tendrils are going through and into each other, at times forming nearly solid phantasms, at times cancelling each other out…
“I see...I see a man, a small man, who tries to be your enemy. I see you and him battle, in a forest of stone, and metal, and glass...I see him try again and again, crafting clever tools which are not magic, and you breaking them again and again...you are not lying, stranger…”
It feels like my heart just stopped beating. I’ve had to deal with con artists in the Undercity of the Tunnel-men, and she is not one. She willingly volunteered information which can be disproven, and which isn’t ambiguous or subject to interpretation.
“I see him plunder ever further in the depths of the cosmos..and I see him find a loophole. He approached magic from a direction unknown to me, but still magic it is, and magic is the thing I understand most of all…”
I keep my eyes fixed on the fog, not daring to blink.
“You were sent here as a message, from one world to another...all this little man wanted was to send you away, but another will acted through him…I see five beings, in a circle, watching you and deciding. Once you deliver your message, you will find your way back home..”
The Arbiters. Last remnants of an impossibly ancient alien race, I’ve only encountered them and their actions twice, but both times they set in motions events that would save Earth and the Galaxy from certain ruin.
If they sent me here, things are serious. And knowing myself, knowing how I’d react to what I’ve seen, it’s clear what I have to do.
“I have to speak to the King.”
She looks faintly perturbed at that.
I turn around and fly over to the throne, uncaring of protocol and formality. Deianira, at the side, looks like she’s about to have a stroke, and the whole court is now in uproar at the daring this unknown stranger is showing. The King is sprawled over the throne, crown askew and food juices staining his priceless doublet.
“KING!”
He doesn’t even get up from his slouch, and just pops another piece of steak in his mouth.
“I am a knight, from a distant land! I have seen misery and strife befall your subjects, and I ask of you: do they have a choice in how they are governed?”
His brow furrows in anger at that. His next words surprise me.
“Every witch who can hear me! KILL HIM! KILL HIM OR I’LL UNMAKE EVERYTHING YOU EVER TOUCHED!”
Streams of fire, and lighting, and ice hit my body. I sit still, presenting a façade of invulnerability.
Of course, it still hurts like hell, but I need to present the strongest possible image here. The peasants starving were a sign he didn’t care about his subjects. The bureaucrat at the door was a sign he was a petty tyrant, but reacting with violence at the first sign of defiance?
This is just another supervillain, and I know how to deal with those.
As the dust fades, he gets up, clearly apoplectic. His screams are raw and deranged.
“OH, YOU THINK YOU’RE SO HOT JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE A MALE WITCH? YOU THINK YOU’RE THE FIRST ASSASSIN TO COME IN WITH STONE-CLOTHES ENCHANTMENTS? WELL, LET’S SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT WHEN I STRIP YOU OF WHAT PROTECTS YOU!”
The King has no magic, himself. What he has, what the royal lineage has, and the reason he’s in power, is the capacity to strip magic from things. And since it takes a witch months to make a magic item, he can leave them defenseless and vulnerable.
He waves his hand, and nothing happens.
I still float.
Truth be told, this was a gamble; if my powers worked on the same basis as the magic of this world, I would’ve been in deep, deep trouble. But it’s worth it, if I can cow him into listening to what I have to say.
His eyes dart frantically around the room, and then they settle onto Deianira. He unsheathes his sword and grabs her by the throat. Shit.
“You came together with this bint, didn’t you! Now surrender, or first I break her things, and then I break her!”
He really shouldn’t have done that.
The High Witch looks impassively as the guards take the King to the dungeon, barely conscious and with most of his limbs broken...the man just wouldn’t calm down or see reason.
I turn towards her, mindful of the fact her blasts were some of those that actually caused me pain.
“You’re wondering why I didn’t kill him, even when he threatened my friend.”
She nods, impassive poker face still in place.
I sigh.
“You saw that in my world, I was a hero. And that means that, aside from punching bad guys and saving children, I also need to take the long view. If I want to make this world better for everybody in it, I need his legitimacy, and I hope I can convince him to share power with those under him, instead of simply replacing him at the top...I wonder if I can introduce the concept of constitutional monarchy to this world.”
“But you are not yet a hero here. You could have done anything you wanted.”
I pause. I hadn’t considered that she might have viewed things from that angle.
“Being a hero is worth it.”
Dr. Malvagierre waves around a raygun.
Supervillains. You either hate them, or...be bemused at them. I’ve fought Dr. Malvagierre four times in the past year, and he hasn’t even scratched me once. The most he did was make a small rip in my cape, by accident.
Thankfully, his “attacks” don’t usually leave casualties, and when they do it’s never on purpose, so he usually gets out in a couple of months for being a public disturbance, and then he ambushes me when I have a scheduled public appearance.
Such as my speech at the United Nations on the importance of democracy for the prosperity of human nations.
“Doctor, stand down! Do you really think things are going to turn out differently this time?”
He makes a rude gesture in my direction, probably pissed I interrupted his monologue. I gave him the chance to stand down, it is his own decision to ignore it.
The street is empty of civilians, so I fly at full speed towards the legs of the robot he’s riding on. Better make this qui-
A flash of purple light.
I’m disoriented, which is a very bad thing.
There are things out there which can hurt my Amxrite-infused flesh, but they are few and far between, and if Malvagierre got his hands on them, he could rise to be a global threat…
This isn’t New York.
I’m in a glade, in a forest, under an alien sky. I can see the telltale bow of a ring orbiting this planet, just like Maukava IV.
I try to get my bearings, and I see that there’s a girl in from of me, human, holding what looks like an oversized hammer twice as tall as she is and ten times as heavy. She’s dressed in what looks like the garb of a medieval farmer, drab and worn. The hammer, by contrast, is very ornate, its stone head covered in glowing runes, and the shaft looking like the bronze equivalent of Damascus steel.
She’s as white as a sheet, and as I look at her the hammer slips from her nerveless fingers. It bounces off of the grass as if it was lighter than styrofoam.
There’s glass all around us-no, around me-and as I crouch to look at it, I realize that I was encased in it. Did Malvagierre enclose me in a time capsule of some kind? Or was it a dimensional displacement? Or both?
The girl takes something out of a satchel, and I quickly move my head to look at it.
She’s startled by my speed, and nearly drops it, but then she moves with very slow, exaggerated motions to show me the rolled-up piece of parchment.
She holds it in front of herself and reads from it. I don’t understand what language she’s speaking, could be Greek, could be Arabic.
“Do you understand me?”
I do. I’ve also never seen technology or superpowers work this way. It looks like magic, but magic doesn’t...focus, Axiomatic.
“I do. Where am I?”
She honest-to-God squeals, and jumps up and down in happiness.
“Oh I can’t believe that worked! I have soooo many question, what are your clothes made of where do you come from where do you come from-” I hold up a hand to stem the tide of words coming out of her mouth.
Figures I’d get an excitable chattermouth as the first person I meet.
“Please answer me first; have you ever heard of the United States of America?”
“Is that a type of food?”
In the weeks following what I’ve started calling in my mind the “cross-over”, I’ve learned from my host, Deianira, that I’m stuck for the foreseeable future in what looks like a world straight out of a fantasy novel.
She’s an apprentice witch-because yes, magic is indeed a thing. To my modern mind, it looks like objects, not people, getting superpowers, but Deianira assures me it’s completely different. For one thing, enchanting something is a long, tiring process which takes a lot out of the witch doing it, and in their whole lives witches typically craft no more than a dozen pieces.
Her breaking me out of my glass prison was the test she had to pass to prove herself, and be recognized as a legitimate witch.
We’re now walking to the capital, me flying a foot above the ground and she on her donkey, me because it’s the best chance I have of finding someone who can take me back to my world and my friends, she because it’s what she has to do to finish the last step of her apprenticeship.
While we’re moving, I gaze at the field to the left and right of us, were destitute farmers are piling huge bales of hay on carts that soon merge on the road we’re taking, going in our same direction.
“So, we’re gonna have to go to the King’s court, where he’s going to check if I have any power that he can grasp, and then I’m going to meet the High Witch, and then there’s going to be a big ceremony, which is really, really important because I’m going to be the first witch in my family, by the five gods I still can’t really believe it, so it’s gonna be a huge deal because I’ll have to choose my second name-”
“Deianira, a moment.”
“Yes?”
She’s a sweet girl, but her method of dealing with any awkwardness or nervousness is by just talking over it.
“Why aren’t the farmers keeping any of the grains for themselves? They’re clearly starving, but from what I know of the my old world, the fields are vast enough to provide for them.”
For once, Deianira is at a loss for words and she bites her bottom lip, perturbed.
“Well...they have to pay taxes first, right? And once they’ve paid what they owe to the King, for his benevolence in letting them farm his lands, then they can keep the rest for themselves. But oh, the taxes are really high right now...I hope my parents are all right, I haven’t seen them at all since I started my training…”
This puts a damper on our conversation. The prospect of family members starving to death usually does.
I change the topic, to keep her mind off of that.
“So, you were telling me that the High Witch has a crystal ball, and with it she can see the past and secrets of anyone who stares in it…”
Trying to get access to the king’s court is harder than anticipated.
“Mmm...this is kind of unprecedented...while normally junior witches are granted access as a matter of course...mmm...asking for a plus one is...mmm...it gives complications, you see?”
The functionary is wearing several tawdry but valuable pieces of jewelry, and rolls of fat stop her threaten to overflow the desk she’s sitting behind. Hunger has never even come close to this bureaucrat.
“Please, this is really important! Look, we can say that he’s living proof I passed my trial! He’s the mystery night from the glass shard of Axior forest! If he doesn’t come with me, how will I prove I managed to free him?”
Bless Deianira’s heart. She’s found a loophole to gain me access to the court. The fact that it’s so hard to get in touch with people in power is concerning, though...no letters to the senator, here.
From what Deianira whispered to me when we first got in line, this bureaucrat is an elder witch who doesn’t have what it takes to be a teacher and whose power at enchanting is middling at best. She raises an eyebrow, unconcerned by Deianira’s plight.
“Oh? Mmmm...so your entire application rests on bringing some unknown, mmm...person to the king’s court? I must say, this is very irregular. Mmmm….quite frankly, I question whether you deserve to pass the trial at mmm...all. For all I know, he’s just an assassin, coming in under false pretenses!”
It crosses my mind that she probably just wants a bribe to let me through-her mannerism is similar to many functionaries I met during my time in Africa-but we don’t have the money. Gears spin in my mind...this kind of attitude is something I’ve often seen in the worst dictatorships, the ones where the man at the top can take everything away from those at the bottom, who in turn vent their frustrations on those under them.
I start floating above the desk.
“MmmWhat?!? This is all highly irregular!”
“Miss, what I’m doing is not a product of magic. I have no enchanted object upon me, and you can plainly see my associate is not chanting from a scroll or waving a wand around. Do you want to explain to the King why you hid new magic from him, something he could use to help win the next war?”
Her face is rapidly purpling.
“This proves nothing! The cape! The cape is enchanted with a levitation spell!”
Deianira explained to me that the inherent power in an object depends on its size, weight, on its components and how complicated and elaborate it is. She’s grasping at straws.
I take off my cape anyway.
After an embarrassing striptease, we enter the King’s court.
While Deianira goes to a side with the small group of novice witches who are here to be sworn in, I make a beeline for the High Witch.
Her wooden, high backed chair makes a strong contrast to the King’s crass throne, which was clearly designed with form over function, golden decorations piling on each other to the point of meaninglessness. The High Witch’s chair is also decorated with carvings over its surface, but I suspect it’s because it’s a magic item, making those decorations functional.
The High Witch herself is a severe and austere woman, tall and slim, with a nose like the prow of an icebreaker ship.
Where nearly everyone here is wearing silks and brocade, her skirt is felt and undyed, and the rest of her clothes are likewise modest and drab. This is not someone to mess with. Thank God Deianira coached me on how to approach her, I wouldn’t want to make a faux pas with a person in charge.
“I humbly approach your Numinous Presence, in the hopes of-” “Cut the crap. I saw the little show you did with Veria before coming in, so tell me how you can do what you do.”
Ah. I wonder if she has some form of clairvoyance available to her, or some array of mirrors to see whoever petitions entry into the King’s Court.
“I come from another world. There, people are blessed through unknown means, and are given magic, magic which cannot be taken away from them, for it is not tied to any object but to themselves.”
I give a heavy look in the King’s direction, not saying it outright but implying I’m immune to the threats the King can bring to bear.
“I only wish to return to it, and I can give my services as a hero and protector of the people. Flight is the least of my powers, and I am not boasting when I say I can and have broken entire armies on my own.”
Her expression doesn’t change. Hell of a poker face, that woman.
“Thus I ask of you, to use the implement I’ve heard so much about: please, use your crystal ball, gaze into my past, and see how I came to be here.”
She says nothing, but uncovers the ball of spun glass from under the cloth that was hiding it from view. I hear a change in the conversation around us, but I pay it no heed, and I look into its depths.
The fog within it is colorless, but the way it swirls...the tendrils are going through and into each other, at times forming nearly solid phantasms, at times cancelling each other out…
“I see...I see a man, a small man, who tries to be your enemy. I see you and him battle, in a forest of stone, and metal, and glass...I see him try again and again, crafting clever tools which are not magic, and you breaking them again and again...you are not lying, stranger…”
It feels like my heart just stopped beating. I’ve had to deal with con artists in the Undercity of the Tunnel-men, and she is not one. She willingly volunteered information which can be disproven, and which isn’t ambiguous or subject to interpretation.
“I see him plunder ever further in the depths of the cosmos..and I see him find a loophole. He approached magic from a direction unknown to me, but still magic it is, and magic is the thing I understand most of all…”
I keep my eyes fixed on the fog, not daring to blink.
“You were sent here as a message, from one world to another...all this little man wanted was to send you away, but another will acted through him…I see five beings, in a circle, watching you and deciding. Once you deliver your message, you will find your way back home..”
The Arbiters. Last remnants of an impossibly ancient alien race, I’ve only encountered them and their actions twice, but both times they set in motions events that would save Earth and the Galaxy from certain ruin.
If they sent me here, things are serious. And knowing myself, knowing how I’d react to what I’ve seen, it’s clear what I have to do.
“I have to speak to the King.”
She looks faintly perturbed at that.
I turn around and fly over to the throne, uncaring of protocol and formality. Deianira, at the side, looks like she’s about to have a stroke, and the whole court is now in uproar at the daring this unknown stranger is showing. The King is sprawled over the throne, crown askew and food juices staining his priceless doublet.
“KING!”
He doesn’t even get up from his slouch, and just pops another piece of steak in his mouth.
“I am a knight, from a distant land! I have seen misery and strife befall your subjects, and I ask of you: do they have a choice in how they are governed?”
His brow furrows in anger at that. His next words surprise me.
“Every witch who can hear me! KILL HIM! KILL HIM OR I’LL UNMAKE EVERYTHING YOU EVER TOUCHED!”
Streams of fire, and lighting, and ice hit my body. I sit still, presenting a façade of invulnerability.
Of course, it still hurts like hell, but I need to present the strongest possible image here. The peasants starving were a sign he didn’t care about his subjects. The bureaucrat at the door was a sign he was a petty tyrant, but reacting with violence at the first sign of defiance?
This is just another supervillain, and I know how to deal with those.
As the dust fades, he gets up, clearly apoplectic. His screams are raw and deranged.
“OH, YOU THINK YOU’RE SO HOT JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE A MALE WITCH? YOU THINK YOU’RE THE FIRST ASSASSIN TO COME IN WITH STONE-CLOTHES ENCHANTMENTS? WELL, LET’S SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT WHEN I STRIP YOU OF WHAT PROTECTS YOU!”
The King has no magic, himself. What he has, what the royal lineage has, and the reason he’s in power, is the capacity to strip magic from things. And since it takes a witch months to make a magic item, he can leave them defenseless and vulnerable.
He waves his hand, and nothing happens.
I still float.
Truth be told, this was a gamble; if my powers worked on the same basis as the magic of this world, I would’ve been in deep, deep trouble. But it’s worth it, if I can cow him into listening to what I have to say.
His eyes dart frantically around the room, and then they settle onto Deianira. He unsheathes his sword and grabs her by the throat. Shit.
“You came together with this bint, didn’t you! Now surrender, or first I break her things, and then I break her!”
He really shouldn’t have done that.
The High Witch looks impassively as the guards take the King to the dungeon, barely conscious and with most of his limbs broken...the man just wouldn’t calm down or see reason.
I turn towards her, mindful of the fact her blasts were some of those that actually caused me pain.
“You’re wondering why I didn’t kill him, even when he threatened my friend.”
She nods, impassive poker face still in place.
I sigh.
“You saw that in my world, I was a hero. And that means that, aside from punching bad guys and saving children, I also need to take the long view. If I want to make this world better for everybody in it, I need his legitimacy, and I hope I can convince him to share power with those under him, instead of simply replacing him at the top...I wonder if I can introduce the concept of constitutional monarchy to this world.”
“But you are not yet a hero here. You could have done anything you wanted.”
I pause. I hadn’t considered that she might have viewed things from that angle.
“Being a hero is worth it.”
Okay...
This is interesting. At first, I thought this was about a video game. Noop!
A lot of typos.
A superhero trapped in a fantasy world. Interesting.
Beyond typos. Misspellings?
Anathema.
So, overall, this feels like a fanfiction. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. There's much FiM fanfic that is far and away better than published original novels that I've read on paper. But this story in particular seems like there's a lot of backstory that I'm not privy to, and that I should have known to understand the story. That, and the protagonist is a god-tier Gary Stu.
This is interesting. At first, I thought this was about a video game. Noop!
A lot of typos.
A superhero trapped in a fantasy world. Interesting.
Beyond typos. Misspellings?
Anathema.
So, overall, this feels like a fanfiction. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. There's much FiM fanfic that is far and away better than published original novels that I've read on paper. But this story in particular seems like there's a lot of backstory that I'm not privy to, and that I should have known to understand the story. That, and the protagonist is a god-tier Gary Stu.
If you ignore his kryptonite, it becomes pretty hard to argue that superman isn't too powerful to warrant a good character, and a superman without kryptonite is essentially the character you've written here. To make matters worse, even the things that should be bothering him really don't seem to, such as being transported to another strange world, giving his arch-nemesis an opportunity to perform as much villainy as he wants unheeded. Sure, he wants to get back, but there isn't a whole lot of urgency to him. And sure, the corruption of the society "bothers" him, but it doesn't present him with much of a problem because of how easily he can handle it.
Assuming your story is going to be character-centric, which most are, then fixing your protagonist into someone more relatable should be priority number one. Hope this helps!
Assuming your story is going to be character-centric, which most are, then fixing your protagonist into someone more relatable should be priority number one. Hope this helps!
Not too bad, I kinda like it for what it is. Short, but works.
It summarizes its theme at the end, and I think this could be improved by foreshadowing that a little more. One easy spot for that may be the intro, which is funny but maybe a little too much. It made me think this was establishing an ironic story about superheroes with all the melodrama. I see a clever little parallel with the United Nations and the King's throne room, but maybe that could also use a foreshadowing of the hero's moral decision?
It summarizes its theme at the end, and I think this could be improved by foreshadowing that a little more. One easy spot for that may be the intro, which is funny but maybe a little too much. It made me think this was establishing an ironic story about superheroes with all the melodrama. I see a clever little parallel with the United Nations and the King's throne room, but maybe that could also use a foreshadowing of the hero's moral decision?