PROMPT Random Word Inspiration 11

Discussion in 'INSPIRING MUSES' started by Kitti, Jul 29, 2016.

  1. Thoughts can be fickle things. Sometimes all it takes are a few words to spark an idea and those same words can have a different effect on everyone.


    What do these words inspire in you?
    Write whatever comes to mind, be it poem or prose. It doesn't even have to include the words if you don't feel like it!



  2. "Get up!" Marion groaned as the commander's voice rang for all to hear. He drowsily shuffled his way to the communal showers, the water quickly waking him up. He sighed as he readied his sword and armor for marching. This was just going to be another long, tiresome day of drills.
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  3. Hinata had always wanted to be a warrior. It was a little ironic and bitter for her that her skills made her more of an assassin. Sneaking in and out, especially being the Earth kitsune that she was, made it a simple task.

    At this moment, her mission was to hunt down a certain prince. Or princess? She wasn't sure. Sometimes Naveen had long girlish locks, sometimes short boyish hair. Sometimes he called himself a boy, sometimes she called herself a girl.

    Most of the time, the demigod would simply smile and say, "Naveen is Naveen."

    Hinata stood by her bed. Yes, Naveen was looking quite girly at the moment, long lashes resting on her high brown cheeks, looking as lovely as a butterfly on a flower. Noiselessly, the kitsune pulled her tanto from its sheath, ready to slit the princess' throat.

    Naveen's eyes opened; she blinked drowsily at Hinata, a slow smile on her face. "Oh, hello, I thought you would be here today- I had the servant make tea for you. She made it just as you like, without any spice."

    Hinata's brown eyes lingered at the table where a teapot, teacup, and saucer were placed, steam still escaping the spout of the former. She sighed, returning her weapon to its sheath. She really needed to find another profession.
    #3 Greenie, Oct 14, 2016
    Last edited: Oct 14, 2016
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  4. The battle rages on,
    And the warrior lifts her shield.
    Her sword is held in a steady hand,
    And her hair blows in the wind.

    The monster lurks still,
    Winding around her,
    Striking fear into her heart,
    But she stares into its face with a smirk.

    I watch as the battle continues,
    As she is beaten back time and again.
    I watch as she falls,
    As she drops her shield.

    She's bleeding now,
    But still she fights.
    Even as the monster stands tall,
    She lifts her sword.

    The great beast roars,
    And she flinches.
    Her sword hits the ground with a crash,
    And Depression circles her again.

    Victorious, it whispers,
    Putting ideas into her head.
    And I watch, helpless,
    As she takes the noose.

    No, my friend!
    This cannot be allowed to happen.
    I grip the handle of my own sword,
    And I cut down my own beast.

    Anxiety is its name,
    And it can be just as strong as the other,
    But I mount its head on my blade,
    And run past it to my friend.

    I take the noose from her hand,
    And I bandage her wounds.
    I hand her her sword again.
    It is all I can do for now.

    She must defeat her own beast,
    And Depression is a mean one,
    It will always return, as will mine.
    But she is strong enough to continue.
    #4 neobendium, Jan 4, 2018
    Last edited: Jan 4, 2018
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  5. Maren moved around her hut quietly as she filled her bowl with spices and leaves from her garden. She ground them together with a stone and added enough water to make a thick paste. She moved back to the injured warrior and began to spread the paste over his chest and shoulders. He looked up at her as her fingers moved over his skin. He wanted to speak but the paste was already working it's magic and he was growing drowsy.

    Once he was asleep she began to stitch and bandage his many wounds. How he had survived this battle she could not tell, nor how he had made it to her hut. As fate would have it though, he had survived and would be in her care until he was well enough to continue his quest, whatever that might be.
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  6. He sat down heavily, wearily, upon the steps of the Dragon-class transport, setting down his pulse rifle with a sigh. It was odd how he always felt so groggy after a long, hard bout like this. Despite the adrenaline rush that came with getting shot at, immediately after all he wanted to do was take a nap. It was funny - maybe it was because being a part of the Brothers had never afforded him the luxury of napping. He remembered always yearning for a moment of peace to close his eyes and lay on a cot somewhere. Now as an Independent, he finally could.

    He got up, shaking off the drowsiness, before stepping a few of the bodies. He made a mental note to riffle through their gear later, see if they had any servos to pump up his own armor. Sometimes these Clade goons had a few good pieces worth pilfering, but he could only take so much back with him, and finding a buyer for some of it wasn't always easy either. Even the cargo was going to be tough. It was lucky he'd brought the transport down on Agora IIV. The Inner Systems would get awfully nosy about that kind of thing.

    He picked his way through the ship to the hold, trying not to get blood on his boots as he bypassed the remains of the crew. He, of course, had given them the option of giving it up, but the Clade were too fanatic for their own good, not to mention they loved calling a bluff. The holograph trick apparently didn't fool them into thinking he had a few buddies. It figured - things could've ended a lot better for them.

    "Hope your Tree God's good to you, buddy," he muttered as he skirted around a headless corpse.

    He finally reached the hold. Inside, massive plastic-covered blocks lay on top of one another, held by crashweb to the transport floor. He whistled to himself with eyebrows held high as he walked towards the blocks, which were a deep, almost throbbing red. He put his hand on the blocks, judging the weight just by sight alone, and his stomach tangled around his ankles.

    He pressed a hand to the comm unit on his armor and said, "Eva, you there?"

    "Yup. Broker online."

    "Cool. They said the transport was worth a lot, but I didn't realize how much."

    "Yeah? What's the cargo this time?"

    "Saffron. Literally thousands of pounds of the stuff. Probably the real thing, too."

    "You're kidding me. They were hauling cooking spices?"

    "Eva, this stuff is worth billions of credits. It's a couple hundred creds an ounce. Can you find me a buyer?"

    "I... guess. Caval, what is the Clade even up to?"

    "Not sure," he murmured as he looked about him at the towering blocks of blood-colored spice. "Not anything good."
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