Hugh J. O'Donnell

The young paladin raised his glowing sword, dispelling the cave’s unnatural darkness. The blade had been his mother’s. The quest was also something she’d left him after her death.
He pressed further into the cave, ready to face the ancient warlock that had taken her from him.
He found a boy, younger even than he, clutching an ancient grimoire nervously to his chest.
Eventually, the paladin thrust the point of his sword into the dirt and sat beside it.
It became a lamp as they talked about the world their parents left them, and the new one they would build.

For her crimes, the Faerie Court confined her to the bole of a great tree for one hundred years. There she sat, small, and alone, and waited in the dark.
But a hundred years of solitude is a long time, and as she sat in her prison, she learned to embrace it. She listened to the wind in the branches. She learned the language of birds. She made her jail a home, although all that changed was her.
On the last day of her sentence, her enemies returned to find an angry dryad where they had left a broken faerie.

“Try these ones next,” the dragon said, sliding a plate of cannoli across the table towards the knights. They were perfectly baked, sweet and flaky.
“Superb,” the captain said. “But I must say, you are the first dragon I’ve ever heard of taking up baking.”
The dragon sighed, removed their hat, and crushed it in their claws. “When I was a hatchling, my mother ate one of your kingdom’s princesses. I believe it was your grandfather that slew her for it.” The captain coughed.
“I want to put that ugliness behind us. Please consider this my application for Royal Patisier.”

The assassin waited outside the warlord’s receiving chamber, dressed in the rough traveling clothes of a messenger.
He’d seen the type many times over his long career. All he need do was provoke the warlord’s anger with bad news, and fight back when the warlord tried to kill him for it.
He’d faked the letter exceptionally well, and long use had honed his delivery.
“Her answer, milord, is no.”
“Then it will be war,” The supposed tyrant said, and handed him double the expected fee. “Stay safe.”
The assassin left, bewildered. He’d never seen such behavior in all his life.

“And let’s stretch with your body…” The Yoga instructor said, leaning impossibly forward. “And hold.”
In the front row, the little slime did their best. They were good at stretching, but holding the pose was alway so difficult. There was an embarrassing dripping noise, followed by a splash.
“Let’s take five, everyone.” As the class shuffled out, the beholder bobbed over to the slime.
“Everybody saw that, you know.”
They burbled out a dejected sigh. “I know the Dark Lord wants us in shape when the heroes arrive, but why did he put the mimic in charge of yoga class?”

We sat on the beach and watched the clouds roll in. The setting sun painted the towering shapes pastel pink and purple.
“My grandmother used to take me to the beach as a girl.” My mother said. “On evenings like this we’d watch the clouds and try to spy giants walking on the horizon.”
I scoffed. I was too old to believe in fairy tales. But then I heard booming footsteps, and we saw a towering shape emerge. He peered down at us.
“Excuse me,” he said in a booming voice. “Can you direct me to the ice cream stand?”

The Year 13 Billion Angelic Reunion was off to a rocky start. Things were going alright until the devils showed up, being loud and destructive and just generally unpleasant.
The Ishim, in the floor seats, saw them first, and nearly stampeded. Michael and Gabriel had their flaming swords out at the first moment, but Lucifer merely smiled and held up an envelope.
“We were invited,” he insisted. All eyes, even the Ophamnins’, turned to Uriel, the event coordinator.
“They were once angels,” they insisted. Only the quick intervention of Samael and Sandalphon dividing the room in two prevented a brawl.

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“It’s coming,” the barbarian said, his back bracing against the door. On the other side of the heavy oak, thundering footsteps were approaching fast. The wizard raised her staff. The tip flared searing white in preparation as the thief and cleric dived under a table.
I heard a great snuffling and sniffing, followed by an earsplitting roar.
“Listen up, bard.” The barbarian said, glaring dangers at me. “You’re the one that recruited the dragon into the party, so you have to be the one to explain why it can’t follow us to the tavern. We’re barely welcome as it is!”