Short Stories

This story was made using the solo RPG Caveat Emptor, by Exeunt Press.

“Well, today wasn’t so bad.”

Ohog didn’t answer. The raven hopped from one foot to the other in discomfort. He wasn’t one for placation — wisdom and guidance were supposed to be solutions in themselves — but something in Ohog’s dark and plaintive mood was drawing a new and painful emotion out of the bird. Whatever it was Ohog was feeling, he wanted them to stop.

“Really, if you tell Mephistopheles what’s going on, you might get a promotion!” The Raven clacked its beak in optimistic support. “Think about it. How many years have they been sending devils here, ordering them to keep a low profile and sell subtly?”

“Over a decade…”

“Right…” the raven cocked its head. He wasn’t entirely sure Ohog had intended to answer his question, but… “Right. Think of all that wasted effort! Now you can drop your human disguise and sell openly! Why, you could even make the curses selling-points! More people might show up if they knew what curses they might get. This could be the start of a whole new market!”

This story was made using the solo RPG Caveat Emptor, by Exeunt Press.

The next day had started off bright, warm, and perfect to go shopping. Ohog had unlocked the shop with a spring in their cloven step, and a whistle on their infernal lips. They had woven their human disguise about themself with an extra flourish for fun, and waited patiently for their first customer. They had felt good for the first time in some time, and they didn’t know why. Somehow, they were certain that good things were headed their way. (Not in the moral sense, of course; they’d have been depressed if that were the case.)

It only took a few minutes before the door opened, and Ulrich Monau the Elder stepped into the store. Ohog was nearly giddy with delight, as the man’s deepest desire spilled out in front of him. Lucifer bless the Lutherans, he thought as he beckoned the man inside. “Welcome, welcome, such a wonderful day, isn’t it? Quite wonderful!”

Ulrich’s seething fury was not even chipped by Ohog’s sunny disposition. “Is it? It must be so by Satan’s hand, to mock us all.”

Could very well be, Ohog tapped a finger to their chin. “Why good sir, I can see you are in a foul mood; I hope you are not in some trouble?”

This story was made using the solo RPG Caveat Emptor, by Exeunt Press.

Bartholmes Klingelvuoz was one of those people who was decidedly irritating, when it came to temptation. He was supremely prideful, self-confident, and annoyingly righteous. He had internalized the church’s doctrines on hard work and dedication, and so was steadfastly set on the idea of working for his fortune.

That said, he didn’t want to work too hard. It was threading that needle that was giving Ohog such trouble. What he needed was a curse that would ruin him, but slowly. He needed to become dependent on a cursed item so subtly that he didn’t realize he was using it as a crutch. He needed something that would drag him down just as he was cresting the hill of fame and fortune…

Ah! “Well, yes,” Ohog gently took the harp out of Bartholmes hands and lay it back on the floor, “beautiful music will certainly soothe the savage customer, but what every good merchant needs is quality. You need something that grabs your customer’s attention so powerfully, that they’ll never let it go! Something that they will keep coming back for, because no one sells as good a product as you!”

This story was made using the solo RPG Caveat Emptor, by Exeunt Press.

Ohog grimaced when Helisäus Chytraeus opened the door to the curiosity shop. They had been hoping for a challenge, or at least something interesting. Instead, Helisäus was easily one of the most cliched and boring mortals he had ever seen. Slow of wit, large on ambition, and small in dedication. It was the curse of all mortals, that their dreams always reached so much further than their abilities, or their drive.

Some devils said Pride was the greatest sin, but Sloth certainly made temptation easier.

“Welcome to my little shop of curios! If you need help finding anything, I’d be more than happy to —”

“I’m looking for something interesting,” the man sniffed, beginning a circuit of the store. “You have anything interesting here?”

“But of course,” Ohog forced another smile. “Everything in here is interesting in some way or another. Each item has its own marvelous tale…why, that harp you are holding was made out of —”

“I don’t want something curious,” Helisäus sniffed, setting the harp back on the floor, “I want something interesting.”

This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules, , and inspired by the Doomed Empire line of miniatures created by Oshounaminis.

“You don’t like me much, do you?”

Rishard paused in his pacing to answer the hybrid human-machine. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do,” Airn didn’t bother looking up. “I may not be psychic like Shen, but I can tell when someone’s not comfortable around me. You think I don’t see it all the time in other people’s faces? I’m used to looks of disgust.”

Rishard didn’t answer. He glanced back up the tunnel. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“No, I suppose not,” Airn’s mechanical arms darted across the open panel. You mind if I ask you a question?"

Rishard resumed pacing. “Can’t stop you.”

“Did you ever — Ah!”

This story was made using the solo RPG Caveat Emptor, by Exeunt Press.

The door-bell chimed.

This time, Ohog was ready. “Welcome,” they said, taking a bow. “Welcome to my curiosity shop. Are you looking for anything in particular, or just browsing?”

“Oh,” the customer blushed, straightening her dress in unconscious nervousness. “I am…just browsing. Thank you.”

Ohog gave a charming smile. “Well, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.” With that, they moved back behind the counter and studied their newest prey.

Ohog didn’t know much about mortal beauty standards. They never went in much for carnal temptations, they had always found it kinda weird that demons would go in for giving mortals joy, even if it ultimately resulted in their downfall. Wasn’t the whole point tormenting them? Well, if the monthly numbers were anything to go by, the experts knew how to make it work for them, so Ohog let them get on getting on. Ohog much preferred torments of a less charming nature. You knew where you stood with boils and needles. A saw across the chest was torture, there was no give-and-take about it.

This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules, and inspired by the Doomed Empire line of miniatures created by Oshounaminis.

“There’s no trees.”

Airn looked up. “What?”

Rishard gestured around the horizon. “No trees. At least, not many. Look, I’m not going to complain about going on a treasure hunt, but I’ve seen Starhost ruins before, and they’re always in jungles or forests. At least there should be some grass. This is just sand and dirt. Barely any life at all. I haven’t even heard any insects buzzing.”

“There are birds,” Airn sighed, turning back to her work. “Shen mentioned seeing one several minutes ago.”

“Yeah, flying overhead,” Rishard leaned on their las-digger. “Probably migrating. I’d feel better if it had stopped by for a bit, but there’s nothing here any birds could want. It’s dead.”

“I promise you, we are in the right spot.” Airn’s glowing mechanical eye blinked, the only sign that she had flipped to the next screen of the file she was looking at. “Satellite positioning puts us within three meters of the target.”

This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.

Gene Mods were dangerous things. Hart knew this better than most, and he was not one to quickly forget a lesson. A mistake in the synthesis, an error in the gene coding, or even bumping the manipulator arms could result in horrible mutations, diseases, even acidic fog that would fill the lab in seconds. They had been tinkering with the building blocks of both life and death in Research Station Kappa.

The cells were separate from the main building. They were connected by a series of airlocks with extensive decontamination stations at regular intervals. The Monitoring station allowed Hart — and presumably the former lab-techs — to see what was happening in the cells without needing to risk life or limb of any of his soldiers.

Had the Sonic Sensors not picked up a distant noise, they wouldn’t have bothered looking. What could still be alive in the containment cells after so long without food or water?

This story was made using the solo RPG Caveat Emptor, by Exeunt Press.

Qhog tapped their long thin finger on the shop counter. Ordinarily, they would have felt bored, but given they had yet to see a single customer brought Qhog closer to panic.

It wasn’t so much that they were afraid of disappointing their general manager, it was more that they were terrified of burning in the Lake of Fire for even a portion of eternity. There were a lot of punishments in Hell — Qhog had felt them all at some point — and the Lake of Fire was definitely their least favorite. (Their favorite was the wheel. Frankly, they weren’t sure how the wheel was supposed to be torturous for mortal souls; they had found it fun.)

Qhog leaned out over the counter and stared out the window. It was a sunny day — at least, as sunny as it got in Wittenburg — and a number of souls were walking about, doing their daily chores. Several looked to be shopping, so why weren’t any coming into their shop?

Perhaps, Qhog thought in a haze of fear, if no one shows up, they can’t blame me for not tormenting any mortal souls? The hope vanished almost instantly. Hell was not known for mercy.

This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.

Commandant Schuler was a prisoner.

No matter how he looked at the situation, he couldn’t see it any other way. Oh, the Lance-Captain had been very polite; had a slew of excuses, apologies, and promises of vacating the colony soon enough, but Schuler was no fool. Despite all the ‘sir’s and ‘please’s, there was no mistaking the tone of command in the Lance-Captain’s voice. There was no missing the heavy rifles gripped in the hands of every armored-soldier that now crawled over the tiny colony “for their protection.”

Even now, in the back of an APC with no one but him and two “escorts,” a fully-charged plasma pistol was gripped in one of their fists, as if the gene-modded super-soldiers couldn’t snap his neck with all the effort of cracking an egg.

They didn’t even move right. Schuler watched as the APC tore over the uneven landscape, pitching left and right, rocking him back and forth against the metal walls of the transport enclosure. The soldiers barely moved at all, looking for all the world like they had been carved out of the APC, as much a part of it as the walls.