WP: You're a young cultist who has accidentally pledged to serve the Dank Gods instead of the Dark Gods.

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I fled through the corridor, pursued by monsters in human form who were nearly translucent, scarcely there at all save for the exquisitely tailored black suit, white shirt, and black tie that each of them wore.

The moment I could be out of their sight for but a few moments I could ditch my ceremonial black robes, black hat, and smiling mustachioed white masked and I'd be home free once I was outside.

But while the dank powers I served were chaos incarnate, the monstrosities were creatures of order.

The hallway I ran down would stretch on forever in a straight line until I got so far ahead that their unnatural reality-warping powers could not alter the world around me.

"such fast. very speed. much hasten. wow." I murmured under my breath in the dark tongue. It's a real bitch to learn how to wiggle your tongue and do the thing with your throat where you can actually give voice to the lack of capitals or their all caps equivalents to power the incantations, but I was a pro.

Writing Prompt: A Dragon Saves a Knight from a Princess

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Dragons are a very important natural resource, though most mortal being have no idea of this fact. They just think we're a bunch of flying, elemental-spewing lizards that hoard gold, ravage the countryside, and devour virgins.

Flying yes, elemental spewing yes, lizards no. We dragons are decidedly not reptiles. We were here first, before the reptiles, before the mammals, and they went and stole bits out our design. The reptiles made off with our scales and decided to be silly and splay-legged and belly crawly, while the mammals decided "Hey we want to be able to nurse our young and have nice, straight legs that are good for running and sometimes even manual dexterity. Fuck the long tails and necks though, and we want to be covered in ridiculous, easily pierced fluff."

And you'd ravage the countryside too if, let's go with something comparative in size, a bunch of bunny rabbits stole everything that wasn't nailed down while you were taking a nap. You'd flush out, fill in, and set fire to every bunny burrow in hopes of getting information to getting your personal property back.

But with dragons things are on a much longer time scale, a nap can be a few months, while a good solid sleep can last a few decades, and a chronic oversleeper might stir after a century or two.

We need our nice, long naps, they're very important for the continued health of the dragon, and for the world.

UWA Outbreak #7, Kalinda RP 1/1: The Flaccid, Dangling Terror of the Nudistry

I hate adventuring. It requires too much trust in unreliable people. The folks that hand out the quests seldom do anything themselves. They park their butts in one place and yell at passing sword-sporting individuals to go out and help rid the scourge of ogres ravaging the countryside by slaying ten ogres and retrieving their buttocks as proof of the deed.

And then when you complete the unpleasant task of battling nearly a dozen creatures that are like NFL lineman with an extra two or three feet of height and two hundred pounds of blubber packed on, you've got to remove the buttocks from the corpses, which is a stinky, unpleasant task as ogres are culturally opposed to bathing. Much like Rayne Young they don't think that scrubbing under the folds is gangsta, yo.

With all that unpleasant business behind you, you haul in your burlap sack of severed buttocks, plop it at the guy's feet, and get rewarded with whatever coinage he found in the couch cushions and some article of clothing or weaponry from the back of his basement closet.

Writing Prompt: Better to rein in Hell than surf in Heaven

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You'd think that something so inefficient, infuriating, and unpleasant as office politics and middle management would be firmly in the wheelhouse of Down Below.

But no, after a few decades in Heaven you get pretty familiar with the complete and utter incapacity of angels to do anything creative.

They weren't given free will after all, they were just made to be obedient and full of praise. The ultimate yes-men, yes-women, and yes-faces-of-a-lion-eagle-bull-and-man-things.

Writing Prompt: The first boss of an RPG manages to accidentally kill the hero on their first try

Claudia had been having an exceedingly wonderful day, a high point in an otherwise unpleasant life.

She wasn't quite sure what she was, as a monster she'd hatched from an egg and thus had never known her parents. But she didn't fit in with the monster groups.

"Go away," said the dragons, "You walk on two legs and while you do have some scales, you don't have enough to count. Plus that whole being white as porcelain thing is kind of creepy."

"Go away," said the succubi, "Your boobs are way too small and your wings and tail are waaaaay too big. Plus that whole fanged skull over big red smile facial markings dealie you have going is totes hella creepy."

"Go away, honk honk," said the evil clowns' guild, "Wings and tails aren't funny, your deathly pallor and ominous facepaint aren't actually paint and pancake makeup, and you are showing far too much skin with your outfit. Cover up a bit and actually paint your face and maybe we'll see about taking you on as an apprentice clown."

Claudia had thoroughly humiliated the guildmaster by grabbing the bucket of whitewash from the top of the office door exit, dumping it down his over large pants, stealing the guildmaster's own mallet from hammerspace, walloping him with it, and then tying the fool up with his own string of endless handkerchiefs.

UWA Outbreak #6, Kalinda RP 1/1: The Dark Lord of Denny's

You know what the worst part of my job is?

Well, aside from having to deal with egomaniacal shitweasels all day.

Let me try that again, d'ya know what the second worst part of my job is?

Besides all the politicking and institutional racism.

Dammit. Try that again from the top.

D'ya know what the third or fourth worst part of being a professional wrestler is?

Well, probably all the travel and being on the road 300 days a year and not being able to see your family unless you drag them along skipping merrily along the whole jet lagging way.

Okay now. Do you know what one of the worst parts of being an exquisite grapple-master is?

It's that a significant portion of people think you're a fucking idiot. Some are that way because they think there's a slider that has physical development on one side and mental development on the other, so if you're an athlete than you're also a barely functional, drooling moron who can't be trusted to put their singlet on with the correct side facing forward.

UWA Outbreak #5, Kalinda RP 1/1: The Diet Mr. Pibb of Evil

I stared at my minion like she'd grown a second head, or had her skull spontaneously burst through her skin. Again.

I'd explained the basics of the system used to measure magical power, how much was contained in a typical human being, how many would be earned with a victorious title match with a prestigious wrestling title with a million people watching, and the massive amount of power it'd take to breach the barrier between realities and be able to safely deliver my big blue butt back to where it belong.

And of course the batshits insane clown dragon thing manages to make a logical point: if I'd started draining one relatively nasty demon a week, I'd have about enough magical oomph stored up to get myself home by now.

But that would be adventuring. I hate adventuring.