I'm a writer on this site and I over-stress myself with trying to make my stories as logical as possible while making it creative and throwing in plot twists. But that takes so much energy out of me and sometimes I think up stories that just don't fit logically nor do I have the time to flesh them out into proper stories. So... I won't, instead I'm going to make them into illogical short stories to warm up to writing my usual stuff.
Prepare your ani for anticlimactic endings, nonsense, drama, and really shitty stories. Then again, being on RRL, you'll be right at home with this kinda stuff.
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Once upon a time, there was a dragon so whimsical and scatterbrained that he caused chaos all over the land. He only cared about two things: women and fame.
When it came to women, he was none too picky. As long as it had the female organs be it other dragons, humans, beast, dead, or beast. He'd shag them all, then shag them again for good measure.
When it came to treasure, it simply had to be something others valued. One man's trash is another's treasure, but for the scatterbrained dragon, another's treasure was his treasure while everything else was trash.
Alas one day his rampage came to the end by a lone swordsman. This swordsman had abandoned everything but his style of wielding a sword. He lived by hunting and gathering and travelled to where he felt he was needed.
One day this selfless lone swordsman and whimsical, scatterbrained dragon met. This day was a day like none other before. Both the dragon and swordsman aimed for the same target, one out of hunger and the other out of lust.
The swordsman acted first, decapitating the deer in one fell swoop. It died without even knowing anything, which was a blessing considering its fate otherwise.
The dragon, witnessing this sight from above, felt despair at the loss of its target. Then despair turned to hunger as it realized it was quite famished. Plus its lust returned somewhat when it realized the deer had all of its important parts still intact.
It flew low to the ground, knocking trees over like they weren't even there. Its wings cut through them like a slightly warm blade through liquid butter.
The swordsman, noticing the noise of trees being felled, dodged to the right. But to the right of him was a cliff, so he fell down the cliff. As he fell, to his horror, he saw a dragon carrying off his dinner. No one knows if it was anger from his dinner being stolen or fear of the dragon, nevertheless his survival instincts took hold.
He drew his sword in midair, it made a sharp "Shwing!" noise as it cut through the falling air. Then he drove it into the cliff as he fell. It pierced through the rock with ease and began to cut the rock as he fell. The swordsman grit his teeth from the pain but maintained the sword with just one hand and slowed his descent.
At the bottom of the cliff, the swordsman saw a spiky rock outcrop right where he was falling. So he put more strength into his arm to slow his descent more.
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Writing Tip #1:
Never interrupt a chapter midway with an Author's note. It breaks immersion and can ruin an otherwise okay story. Instead keep any notes at the top or bottom.
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His descent was too fast though, he reached the spiked rock before he could react. The spike first entered his anus before ravaging his insides, completely skewering his body. The swordsman became a morbid lawn decoration.
The end.
"What the fuck was that?!"
"The story is supposed to be about dragon, why would the swordsman dying end the story!"
"Go back and start telling the story again from when the swordsman fell off the cliff."
Why should I? I'm the narrator of this story, what I say goes. I cannot lie nor take back what I've said unless the story is third person.
"Here's another beer if you continue the story."
As I was saying before, as the swordsman descended he spied a stalagmite sticking straight up from the ground.
"Stalagmites are only in caves."
Shut the fuck up Bob! He's underground right now, the cliff was actually the mouth of a cave. When he saw it, he remembered the times when he was a little boy.
"Get on with it!"
"No bullshit flashbacks"
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Writing tip #2:
Nobody likes flashbacks, we just want to get back to the action. Only do flashbacks if they're absolutely necessary and keep them compact.
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Fine, he trained himself in the past against hard impacts on his butt. Now his ass is like a diamond, he clenched his cheeks and flexed his sword arm. In his capable hands, the sword seemed to grow longer and thicker, piercing deeper into the crevasses on the cliff.
When he reached the bottom, his bottom crushed the spiky rock outcropping to dust. Then he picked himself up and found his left arm twisted the wrong direction. Thankfully-
"Wait, what arm is his sword arm?"
His sword arm is his... left arm.
"So, his sword arm is broken?"
No I meant his other arm.
"But you're the narrator, you can't just change what you've said. This is third person, you can't lie."
But-
"Here's another beer."
Thankfully he knew how to wield the sword with both hands. His main sword hand, the left, was not enough to make him back down. He must track down the dragon to avenge his meal.
Since it was only a minor injury, he rubbed some spit on it and continued on his way.
"I... just don't care anymore. Now I just want to hear how this goes and filter out all the bad parts."
Alas the dragon was long gone, it fled as he fell down the cave cliff thingy. But it could've gone to only one of two places: Dragon Mountain or the Desolate Desert of Desolateness. So he spun his sword and decided to use luck to decide his fate.
"What is this, Badminton?!"
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
"Dafuq, the Dragon Mountain seems like a place where a dragon would go."
"I honestly thought of Tennis rather than Badminton."
"Shut the fuck up, Bob!"
The sword fell onto the ground and the symbol on its hilt laid upside-down. Then he remembered that he hadn't decided what that'd mean, so instead he decided to just go to the Desolate Desert of Desolateness.
"No! Go to the fucking Dragon Mountain! It has dragon in its fucking name!"
There he found both the dragon and his former target. The dragon perched on a stalagmite, seemingly waiting for him.
"Once again, stalagmites are underground. And how is it sitting on it, they're giant spikes that are straight up, there's not much to grip. And the dragon's in the desert instead of Dragon Mountain?"
The dragon, expecting the swordsman, perched on the stalagmite completely sideways to intimidate the swordsman with his core muscle strength. It didn't work and instead the swordsman gazed at what remained of his dinner. Also the desert happens to be completely underground.
The deer's originally brown fur had changed to white. At first the swordsman thought the dragon had went off and found another deer that was albino. But then he saw the cut on the neck and instinctively knew that it was the same deer.
[What witchcraft is this, the deer has changed colors?!] shouted the swordsman in rage.
"I say it was Bukkake"
"What if it cut the fur off and drained the blood, wouldn't that make it white too?"
"Eww, Harry you're a sick bastard."
"Like it was any worse than the first stipulation."
The dragon responded, with a roar, [Witchcraft? Do not compare myself to those lesser creatures. Though comparing techniques with them personally in the bedroom sounds quite appealing.]
[That doesn't matter, this deer was my kill and belongs to me!]
The dragon leaned forward, taking a slight interest. [Belongs to you? Hah, does that mean you treasure it by any chance?]
[Treasure it? Of course not, it is simply my dinner, sustenance to keep going day to day.]
The dragon turned its head away, quickly losing interest. [If thou doesth not treasure it, then I might trade it for something that you do treasure.]
[I do not treasure nothing but my skill in swordsmanship!]
The dragon took flight and circled around him 3 and a half times before saying, [That isn't something that can be traded... in conclusion, die.]
The dragon continued circling the swordsman while opening its maw and spewing flames. The swordsman used his sword to parry the flames. But the dragon's circling made it impossible to manage the party for more than a few... hours?
So he took advantage of a gap in the flames from the dragon hiccuping to make a mad dash. He was in a fucking underground desert, so the only thing he could hide behind was the spiky rock outcropping that the dragon had perched on.
So he went there and used his unbroken arm to show off his core muscles by sticking straight out like a flag.
This intimidated the dragon into sopping his attack. But this only lasted 5 minutes before he started up his attack again. Shards of ice flew towards the swordsman-
"Ice? I thought this was a dragon, what happened to the flames?!"
"Some dragons can breathe ice instead of fire."
"Key word: 'instead.'"
This is my story and the dragon can breathe both, people got two lungs for a reason.
"That makes no-"
The swordsman quickly reacted by turning around and clenching his butt cheeks. The ice shattered against his behind and some of it even ricocheted back at the dragon, getting in its eyes.
The dragon roared in pain and pleasure. While it was distracted, the swordsman run under its body, slashing everything in sight. One leg, two legs, three legs, four legs, five legs-
"How many legs does the fucker have?"
The dragon has four legs while wyverns have two.
"What's the fifth leg you mentioned then? A tumor?"
"Naw it was his other leg, wink wink nudge nudge."
"Harry sit down, we get it."
The fifth leg was actually the tail of the dragon. Tailless and legless, the dragon could only move by flying. So it took to the skies and finally cleared its eyes via pure willpower. Then it sought revenge, its breathe didn't work so it dived bombed the swordsman.
The swordsman decided to take on the dragon head on, literally. He threw his sword to the side, he was more used to the might of his own body than the sword.
"Why introduce and refer to him as a swordsman then?"
He readied his forehead in vain because the dragon missed him. The dragon required its tail to fly properly, it was like a rudder. Without it, it could only crash in the distance, dying upon impact.
The swordsman then shrugged and decided to do what he was meant to do. Enjoy his dinner that he had won from the dragon in a fair fight.
But the dragon wasn't done yet. This was just the beginning.
End of Prologue.
"What?! Don't end it there!"
"The story is supposed to be about the dragon, what gives?!"
Thunk!
"Shit, he fell asleep, now what?"
"How about we splash some water on his face and force him to continue."
"Why not tell our own stories, like a pure dialogue murder mystery?"
"Please, that's just a play, don't make it sound fancy. My story parodying Mad Max except he's sad and in an arctic wasteland would be way better."
"I want to tell an erotica about tongue fetishes."
"Harry, sit in the corner!"
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I hope you all abhorred this purposely bad short story. Do note that the options given at the end are all short stories I'm willing to write.
Make sure to rate this fiction 0.5/5 stars and give me hate mail.