Fantasy, short story

Ink slingers

Behind every skull-capped gate, there is an Inkslinger sharpening his wits.

Past the gate crowned by grinning death, I passed after a slash of ruby paid my entrance fee. I followed a path ducking beneath a wall of emerging emerald buds. Sweeping the willow’s branches aside, I left it to weep on someone else.

Dreams are gossamer and wrapped up in them, I followed an opalescent gleam to a thumbnail moon. I sought the Inkslinger in his abode.

Polishing cloth in hand, he regarded a topaz tear of a dragon. He leaned against a stone mushroom where several cobbled paths converged. It was a rough-cut thing and my eyes refused to move from its contemplation. What was the thing–an ancient weapon in need of guarding?  Why else would someone stick it behind such a gruesome gate?

A flash of silver recalled my wandering wits. I looked down at the sword protruding from my midsection. Pain registered as I slid to the ground. My blood painted the cobbles and my eyes focused on a corner of a sapphire cloth. Designs twisted up its edge. I laughed as my stomach knit and pushed out the blade. The fight was on.

For: Sunday Photo Fiction  & Madverse a twitter prompt:

23 thoughts on “Ink slingers”

  5. OMG Melinda what a scene! How you managed to look at the photo prompt and envision this tale of fantasy is amazing! And that ending, I’m definitely rooting for the main character. After all, he can’t be stabbed LOL

    Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.