Welcome to odd prompts central! But what happens after the prompt begins to percolate?
Does it bud slowly, like the springtime flowers here in the northern hemisphere? Does it require a mix of ingredients, like sunlight and warmth? Do the seasons matter, supple in spring and brittle in winter?
What makes your prompt turn into story, wafting perfume into the air? However you prompt, the important part is getting it done. So let’s go!
| Prodder | Stick | Prodded |
| Fiona Grey | The dreams of a hero frozen into stone | AC Young |
| AC Young | I don’t bellow! I sing fortissimo. | JA Marshal |
| JA Marshal | When you think of the word “burble”, you think of happy things like infants and brooks. This wasn’t that. | Leigh Kimmel |
| Leigh Kimmel | When I was a child, there was a whole magical world of tiny people hidden under the huge front porch of my grandmother’s house… | nother Mike |
| nother Mike | There were frogs in his briefcase. | Fiona Grey |
Spares are like wildflowers, free for the taking.
| Spare | The kittens danced lightly over his toes |
| Spare | The forgiveness song |
| Spare | The viper slithered through the reeds silently, the scent of cucumber its only giveaway. |
| Spare | It was the Nothingth of Eternity… |
| Spare | The dust bunnies of the apocalypse lurked behind the bathroom door… |
Don’t forget to post your blooms in the comments – or send in a prompt for next week, to oddprompts@gmail.com.
Header image by Fiona Grey
More Odds Than Ends 
This week Fiona Grey prodded me with: The dreams of a hero frozen into stone
I was stumped for a while as to how someone could be both frozen and turned to stone. When I figured out that particular combination, the tale came together.
—
Kalokardos crept up to the outer wall of the Glacier Keep. For some reason the Ice Queen didn’t maintain any lookouts, so he thought he could sneak inside without the alarm being raised.
If he could manage to get close enough to the tyrant, he might be able to end her reign of terror, and restore warmth and love to the land. He had been trained in the foothills of the mighty Eastern Range by the Knights of the Sun – the Eastern Range being one of the few areas of the land not yet under the Ice Queen’s sway.
Kalokardos swung his grappling hook, and it caught on the crenelations. He climbed up the trailing rope. When he got to the top, he hauled himself onto the walkway, before coiling up the rope and putting the hook and its coil back on his belt.
Here the Ice Queen’s arrogance helped him once more. Only her most trusted servants were permitted to reside in the Keep. Her troops were all stationed in barracks in the towns of the plains.
Kalokardos crept in to the keep through a doorway at the top of one of the corner towers. He headed down into the interior of the keep. The stairway spiralled to the right. One floor down he took a doorway into the interior of the keep.
He searched through the maze of passages, trying to find the throne room. Eventually, some time later, he found the minstrel’s gallery.
Kalokardos crept to the edge of the platform, and looked down into the hall below. He saw the Ice Queen, sitting on her throne to his right.
He drew his sword, climbed up onto the banister, and jumped down.
He landed safely, knees bending to absorb the forces, and straightened up. He swung his sword to his right. But the Ice Queen reacted first, striking with her wand. At the same time, an ice dragon, previously hidden under the gallery, breathed its icy breath on him.
Kalokardos was simultaneously turned to stone by the Ice Queen’s wand and frozen solid by the ice dragon’s breath. He stopped moving, frozen into stone.
Kalokardos awoke. All his muscles screamed in agony, but he couldn’t move to relieve the pain. By some strange alchemy, the combination of the two changes hadn’t killed him, but left him trapped as a statue. He could only see that portion of the throne room directly in front of his face, and could hear nothing. His only respite from the pain were those times when he fell asleep in spite of it – and then he dreamed only of the events leading up to his failure.
This had been his life for he knew not how long. Had the Ice Queen bothered to calculate it, she would have known that he had been a living statue for a century. How he was still sane was a minor miracle in itself.
Then something new. Kalokardos heard a voice in his head, speaking a language that was nearly forgotten, even in the days of his youth, but somehow he understood it perfectly, translating it instinctively:
“Beware the cold-hearted warrior, O Queen of Ice.
Decades shall he endure, unmoving, undying.
When his heart warms, doom shall fall;
The rule of Ice shall be no more.”
It was from the book of the Prophecies of the Sun. Kalokardos had almost forgotten those words during his long torment, and the Ice Queen hadn’t bothered to consider them. She had conquered all the land, no power being able to stand up to her. So prophecies that one power or other would bring her eternal rule of Ice to an end were laughable to her.
Suddenly, a warmth spread through Kalokardos’ limbs and torso. The everlasting pain was washed away. Movement returned, and he could hear again.
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Oh, here he comes again! Very nice!
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Intriguing!
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We’ll have to see if I can pull it off, but I’m thinking that this will be the prologue to the tale. I’ve started to write the main story (approx. 1k words in), which starts some months prior to the recitation of prophecy.
At some point the main storyline will involve some characters being told to ride to the Glacier Keep, and they’ll arrive at about the same time that the prophecy is recited. Kalokardos (et al?) will then join with them, and the combined group will then force the final confrontation.
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Looking forward to reading more of this work in progress!
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[…] Go check it (and more) out over at MOTE! […]
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Does this frog dance, too? With a top hat and cane? Ribbit…
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I’m thinking this frog is in danger of getting eaten by an actual dragon lady, and both he and Hayes are in way over their heads… 🙂
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And now mine is up on my LiveJournal at https://starshipcat.livejournal.com/1324454.html.
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Oh, babbling brooks and people trapped in a curse… nice!
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(I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date…)
Leigh Kimmel poked …
When I was a child, there was a whole magical world of tiny people hidden under the huge front porch of my grandmother’s house…
[oh hoh! Elves, fairies, talking crickets… who is hiding under grannie’s front porch?]
[blasphemy! I’ve had this playing in the back brain, about the youngster wondering about the tiny people, and then… probably one dark and dreary night, having them come visit him, to ask for help? Or maybe finding out that there actually is a whole magical collection of action figures? Or maybe… But this week has gone sideways, and I haven’t chewed out a single version yet. So, let’s take a quick crack at one of them, at least…]
Gerry squinted into the dark back room of Grandma’s house. He knew it wasn’t true, but when he was a child, there was a whole magical world of tiny people hidden under the huge front porch of his grandmother’s house. And since he was staying over, somehow, those old dreams and nightmares came floating back.
That’s when something scratched at the floor, and a tiny torch lit. Gerry looked down, and saw… well, it was three little figures, like miniature people. And they were waving at him.
After a moment, he got out of the bed and laid on the floor. The little people walked closer, and slowly bowed.
Gerry said, “Hello?”
The figure in the middle smiled, and said, “Hello. We are the speakers for the village under your grandmother’s front porch.”
Gerry rubbed his forehead.
“The… the village under the porch? And…”
The figure nodded. “Yes. We have come to ask for your help.”
[hum, that might work…]
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