The Forge - Spring 2019

The Forge Spring 2019

George Mason University’s only sci-fi and fantasy literary magazine.

Volume I Spring Issue I2019

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Issue I

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Volume I

Microfiction Over the Cosmic Garden by Ethan H. Reynolds ................................... 7 The Brambles are Intentional by Victoria M. ......................................... 8 The Runes Fortold by Ethan H. Reynolds ............................................. 9 Truth in Tears by Ethan H. Reynolds ................................................... 11 Letters Found in Salt and Santuary by Victoria M. .............................. 12

Short Stories The Paladin by Alexander Shedd............................................................ 16 Dental Work by Alex Wright .................................................................. 21 Skarloft the Gorehound by Ethan H. Reynolds ..................................... 25 Lucy by Alex Wright ................................................................................ 29 The Phantom Isles by Alex Wright ......................................................... 34 Cirque de Dieux by Victoria M. ............................................................... 39

Poetry Even Gods Are Prone to Folly by Victoria M. ...................................... 45 The Agarian Seas by Ethan H. Reynolds ............................................. 47 No Room for Storytellers by Victoria M. ............................................... 48 The Scourge of Thoraclates by Ethan H. Reynolds ............................ 49 In Which a Body is Only Ever Holy by Victoria M. ............................ 50 Red by Ethan H. Reynolds ..................................................................... 52 The Giant by Ethan H. Reynolds .......................................................... 53 Submit to our magazine at:

theforgegmu@gmail.com

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The Forge

INTRODUCTION

Spring 2019

Letter to the Reader This is your Captain speaking:

I’m pleased to bring you all the first issue of The Forge! It has been in the making for quite some time now and I cannot be happier to have this final product brought to you. As a lover of all things Fantasy and Sci-Fi, it warms my heart that you picked up this first issue to read the heroic and thought-provoking stories that lie within this fine collection of literature: I know you will not be disappointed.

I wanted to give a massive thank you to all of my friends and family who helped me along the way with encouraging me to move on past all the struggles this magazine faced in its infancy. I love you all.

I also wanted to thank my wonderful, talented staff who have stuck by me through thick and thin without question. They have produced and edited the wonderful pieces in this magazine with pure grace and intense dedication. If anyone is looking for amazing editors and writers that work in the Fantasy and Sci-Fi realm of literature, you cannot get better than the folks in this very magazine. You have my utmost respect and gratitude: I cherish you all.

So sit back, relax, and grab a warm beverage, dearest Reader, because you are about to embark on a marvelous journey through space and time. All of the great, grandiose tales that lie within the pages of this magazine were created in the swallowing, ever-burning fires of...

The Forge.

-Ethan H. Reynolds

The Forge INTRODUCTION

Our Honorable Staff EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Ethan H. Reynolds MANAGING EDITOR

Arman Analouei COVER ARTIST

James Gray STAFF WRITERS

Victoria Mendoza Alex Wright Joseph Mauceri EDITORS

Julie Tran Bryan Christman Peter Eccleston

Spring 2019

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The Forge MICROFICTION

Spring 2019

OVER THE COSMIC GARDEN A boy looks to the stars for contemplation.

By: Ethan H. Reynolds

E

very morning as the gracious sun rises from the depths of the abyss and into the morning sky I cannot help but to dream of what is beyond the cosmos above.

In my village, where snow blankets the land for three of four seasons, my skal tells

of great titans and gods who dwell in the stars, looking down upon us in either joy or contempt. They are our masters, and we are the sheep to be shepherded for millennia to come. Sometimes I hear the stories of their great feats and cannot help but feel pity for these colossal beings. War rages in the great cosmos above, and adultery rife gods to die with grief or kill with anger.

Maybe beyond that cosmic garden is a land of sweet fruit and beautiful flowers, easing the eyes from the deep reds of war and the midnight black smoke that fills our lungs as raiders burn nearby villages to ash. Maybe there is no hunger, no sorrow, no hatred.

I would not love that world. With great sorrow comes a brighter tomorrow, with the beautiful sun welcoming the frigid land with warm sunshine. I desire no other place than here where I reside, though with time, evil can be left thirsty, but not rotting.

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MICROFICTION

Spring 2019

THE BRAMBLES ARE INTENTIONAL A story of a sleeping princess who wishes to not wake by the kiss of a prince.

By: Victoria Mendoza

S

o there’s this has-been princess who

who are you to rob her of that choice?

sleeps amidst thorny brambles and

What have you to offer, princeling? You

a thousand years’ worth of dust. Encased

think you’re the first rosy-cheeked chit to

in some weird magic that keeps her

wake her? Please. You succeed a long line

skin young and ensures that she never

of starry-eyed fools, intent on claiming

soils herself while sleeping. Such acts

her beauty as theirs. After the first two

are unbecoming of royalty, of course.

or three successors, the beloved princess

Traipsing through dreams and memories

grew a wall of brambles, paid the dragon,

with a smile on her face, ignorant of the

and employed a Spindler to prick her

suffering of her people. She employed a

finger if she should wake. When asked

dragon to protect her from true love’s kiss,

why by the fourth lovelorn ass, she had

content with sleeping through a thousand

yawned and said, “I am tired of losing the

years of war, famine, and terror. Do not

ones I love.”

wake our negligent monarch. Leave her to sugar spun dreams and saccharine memories. We have survived without our crown for a thousand years—we’ll thrive for a thousand more. Let her be. If she chooses to rot away instead of living,

The Forge MICROFICTION

Spring 2019

THE RUNES FORTOLD: PART ONE A wizard opens a book and finds an unpleasant suprise.

By: Ethan H. Reynolds

A

ltheir lit the sagging candle on his

Altheir as he spoke with an ancient tongue.

wooden desk. He watched as the

His eyes glowed white as his feet lifted

room illuminated with shades of yellow

from the planked floor. He began to float

and shadows of black. He chuckled when

to the top of the towering stack of books.

he gazed upon his books that stacked up

Altheir’s hand reached out and grasped

to the ceiling of his room, with papers

the dusty book, which was so heavy it

tucked in between almost every page. The

almost dragged him back to the ground.

decadent scents of crinkled parchment and

However, his strength persisted, even in

old, rugged leather that bound his notes

his old age. He descended slowly onto the

so tightly filled his nostrils. This was his

wooden floor and dust floated into the air

home, and he would be happier to be here

from his silent landing. His eyes returned

if the circumstances were different.

to their normal state as he looked at the

He squinted his eyes and spotted the

ancient book in his hand. He scooted his

book he searched for on top of a stacked

old feet to his grand, velvet chair at his

tower.

desk and gazed upon the book, which had

“‘Aculerum Relulem,’ my dear, leatherbound friend,” he sighed, “it has been ages.”

He pulled out a flimsy booklet from his robe’s pocket. A magical aura surrounded

runes etched on its cover. Altheir moved his palm across it, feeling every rune with its defined etching. He frowned knowing that this terrible book will either lead

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The Forge

The Runes Fortold: Part One

Spring 2019

him once again to great madness or to

time, each one glowing with a brilliant

great understanding. Within his hands,

hue of violet. The book then sprouted

he held the future of all living things, and

terrible tendrils made of arcane magic,

he needed only to open the book to the

which grabbed Altheir. He squirmed and

first page to witness an infinite amount

squirmed but could not loosen himself.

of knowledge. He did it once before, after

His eyes filled with a foreign terror he had

the world was in desperate peril, but even

not felt in ages.

now, in times more dangerous than then,

“Guards, help me!” he shouted, “Gods,

he wished to keep the book away from all

have I not been obedient? Will you let

contact forever.

your greatest wizard fall to the unworldly

Nevertheless, Altheir took in a seemingly endless breath and peeled

creatures who dwell below?”

His calls were to no avail. Two closed

open the cover. Before him was a blank

eyes eventually appeared onto the page.

page, stained with thousands of years of

Altheir, now horrified, never expected the

aging and stagnation. Altheir chuckled

book to become so corrupted with time.

and once again took out a booklet from

The eyes then opened, revealing slits

his pocket. He opened it up and violently

deep within the golden irises. Altheir felt

flipped the pages until he found the one he

its gaze from his soul. He yelled until his

desired. He spoke more words of ancient

throat bled as the tentacles hushed his

utterance, his eyes becoming cloudy with

screams and pulled him into the book’s

bright white. The tower began to rumble

pages. The book slammed shut and caused

and quake and Altheir looked around him

the entire room to shake. Then, just as

for the cause. A moment must I wait, he

it was before the great wizard opened

said to himself in quick breaths, this is

the door to enter, the room returned to

much direr than I had presumed. The

deafening silence.

pages began to fill with runes one at a

The Forge MICROFICTION

Spring 2019

TRUTH IN TEARS A father and mother grieve for their son lost in a brutal war.

By: Ethan H. Reynolds

“I

miss him more as each day passes,” Haargir said to his beloved wife. “I

painful as it is. Look outside, Haagrir.”

She raised her head and pointed to the

would have hunted with him this season. It

window, just as the sun was beginning to

is so beautiful this time of year. Why did

rise. “We must honor him, and be alive,

the lords take away our child?”

just as our son would want for us. He lives

Sïgna, his wife, leaned across the rough, aged table and lovingly grasped both of Haargir’s calloused hands. She

in wondrous paradise, right behind the sun, as the lords have said.”

Haagrir’s eyes began to flood. With

looked deep within his deep blue eyes, then

kind eyes he bent his head down and

looked down at their intertwined hands.

wept. Tears dripped into the table soft

The gods had claimed another soul as

as summer rain. He had kept these tears

war raged in their frigid lands. Haargir

within his tired and saddened eyes for an

fought alongside his son until his leg was

entire year, afraid of what the other men

severed in the heat of battle. Their son

in his village would think. He then wept.

was left alone on the frozen ground, blood

He bared his head down onto his and his

blooming from everybody as a rose does

wife’s hands, bobbing up and down each

in spring.

sob came from his mouth.

Signa thought for a moment. “They took him away, but he died as an honorable son,” she said. “We must move on, as

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MICROFICTION

Spring 2019

LETTER FOUND IN SALT AND SANTUARY A letter found warns newcomers to watch their backs and realize truth.

By: Victoria Mendoza

I

f you learn anything in this damned,

protection towards the mortals bound to

wretched life, learn to protect yourself.

an Other, but only when it happens within

Always carry salt, an iron nail, and a vial

the safety of the trails. Off the trails,

of holy water—bonus points for a rosary,

a mortal is vulnerable to the full force

but only if it’s blessed. Any talisman

of the Others’ charms. If you’ve been

will do, really, so long as there is enough

“privileged” enough to be sheltered from

belief in its protective ability. Learn to

the Others thus far, consider yourself

enjoy the taste of salt, and never drink

to be the unluckiest damned fool in the

from anything but an iron bottle. While

universe. In this world—this university,

you may carry such protective trinkets,

specifically—knowledge equals safety.

never carry anything that can be deemed

Experience is gold and determines one’s

a weapon. An iron nail is viewed as

chance at survival. It won’t take long for

protection, whereas an iron blade is an

you to stop taking pride in your ignorance.

invitation for harm.

Above all, never stray from the trails.

This university will boast of its diversity and its forward-thinking

It is one thing to screw around and bind

approach in integrating mortals and

yourself to one of the Others on the

Others. When the university offers to

trails, but off the trails? Game over. The

pay for your tuition, in full, in exchange

sanctions placed on the trails allow some

for a favor—politely decline. When the

The Forge Letter Found in Salt and Sanctuary

Spring 2019

professor calls you to stay after class,

to pay tribute to certain, more dangerous

eyes glowing, saliva dripping from their

students. You’ll definitely notice when

tusks—run. While this university will give

their glamours wear off. The first time

you the best education you’ll ever have

you notice hollow eyes and fangs on a

the privilege of receiving, never forget

classmate will be the first time you doubt

that it is a self-serving beast, intent on

the odds of your survival.

devouring what it can. Notice, during finals,

The key to surviving the rest of

how the buildings seem larger, the staff

your stay is to be aware enough of the

more menacing, and how some students

Others in order to avoid them. Know

always seem well-fed despite never eating a

the difference between trueborn Others

damned thing. Notice, during the solstices,

and those who were once mortal. Steer

how the nature surrounding the university

clear of the latter. The mortals who have

seems more alluring. Notice, during the day

been turned, through any means from

of the trickster gods, how perfectly formed

deals with the old gods or enough gifts

circles of clover seem to be everywhere.

from the Others to strip them of their

You will notice, in the middle of your

mortality, are hungrier and more prone

sophomore year, that you’d unwittingly

to craving the salt of a mortal’s blood. A

bound yourself to the university. It will

fresh-turned Other will be more vicious

be around this time that the glamour

and less likely to adhere to the rules of the

of the Others and the prestige of the

Old Ones. While there are little physical

university start to wear off. Around this

differences between the Trueborns and the

time, you will start to become more aware

Fresh-turned, look for the differences in

than you’re used to—like how your shoes

their mannerisms. While the Trueborns

won’t burn you if you leave an offering of

resort to pretty words and subtle tricks

sweetbread and honeyed milk outside your

to ensnare their victims, the Fresh-turned

dorm and how it’s become almost normal

prefer more physical ways of binding. In

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Letter Found in Salt and Sanctuary

addition to mastering the art of speaking in riddles, you must always reside in the balance between complete awareness and ignorance. Know that the cracking sound along with a copper tang and muted whispers permeating your surroundings means certain death. Hold your intentions on saving whatever poor soul is being devoured. Keep walking. Acknowledging them only opens you up to becoming their next victim. A child’s cry for help does not mean you should go investigate. A silhouette in your peripherals does not merit a closer look.

Lastly, avoid reading random pieces of parchment you’ve found in a random book.

You never know who planted the paper there, and whether they’re friend or foe.

Avoid reading any words on any random piece of paper no matter the advice it presents or the ease at which it uses your common tongue. It’s best not to read through letters addressed to some unlucky fool, but in the event that you do, and you’ve read it all the way through—don’t look behind you.

Spring 2019

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The Forge

SHORT STORIES

Spring 2019

THE PALADIN A Ranger hunts after a Paladin across the expanding void.

By: Alexander Shedd

A

laser blast is a funny thing. A quick, clean shot can cauterize

A tall man, thin and physically fit, sat in the cockpit of a small spaceship. His

its own entry wound, leaving the target

eyes were steel, and his nose showed signs

incapacitated but still able to be brought

of repeated breaks, making him look older

in for questioning. A wild, hypercharged

than he really was. Salt-and-pepper hair

burst, on the other hand, could take a

that still betrayed fading hints of jet black

man’s head clean off his shoulders, leaving

was brushed messily behind his ears. The

nothing but a haze of ash and charred

Slinger holstered to his belt was scored by

bone fragments.

nine tally marks.

The ranger’s standard service weapon

The Ranger was tracking a paladin,

was the Slinger, a sleek, versatile pistol

the latest in a long series of dangerous

loaded with a ten-charge magazine. The

war criminals to whom he had been

reliable piece had a hair trigger able

assigned. But this one was different.

to unload its full capacity in seconds.

The Ranger had never pursued a target

Rangers lived, fought, and died by their

for this long before, and he grew tired

Slingers, trained from their first days at

of the game of cat-and-mouse he had

the academy to treat the weapon as an

been playing with the Paladin for the

extension of their own bodies, and many

past several months. Should he have to

carved initials, kill counts, or family crests

start the search again in yet another

into the dark barrel.

solar system, for the fifth time, he would

The Forge The Paladin

Spring 2019

have to ask for a raise. But that was the

gnarled tree stood leafless from the

Ranger’s charge: find, subdue, and bring

surface, stoic and uncaring in its solitude.

back for trial. It was an unspoken rule that

The meager sun of this system shined

the last part was flexible.

on the Ranger from the west, distant in

This time, however, the Ranger was

a gray sky. He adjusted the collar of his

certain he had the paladin cornered. He

duster to shield his neck from the wind. It

had tracked his prey to the outer reach

was cold in this strange place.

of a remote system where he hoped to

The Ranger crossed through pale,

find the Paladin on a lonely moon trapped

waist-high grass toward the waypoint

between a dense asteroid belt and a gas

to which he had been directed by his last

giant. There was no escape route this time.

informant. The air smelled of dirt and dry

This was it.

rot. He’d left his ship a kilometer back to

A brief thought flickered through the

avoid tipping off his quarry, although he

ranger’s mind as he rounded the massive

knew it probably wouldn’t matter at this

planet. Why would the paladin make

point. This was the end of the line.

such a mistake after all this time? Did his

As the Ranger hiked through the alien

target want to be found? The idea was

land, he found the Paladin’s own transport

disruptive, and he quickly pushed it out of

on a tract of scorched earth, one wing

his head. He began his descent onto the

missing, the cockpit glass shattered. His

nameless moon.

heart caught in his throat as he briefly

The landscape of the dusty world was

imagined that he wouldn’t get to finish

mostly plains. A modest mountain range

the job, that perhaps the Paladin had met

lay across the misty horizon, and the

an early demise in a crash landing, but

omnipresent gas giant loomed just beyond

he calmed himself, noting the absence of

the atmosphere, a colossal reminder of

blood inside or leading from the crash.

the moon’s insignificance. An occasional

The Paladin was still out there, waiting

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The Paladin

for him. He scolded himself silently for his emotional response, but he could not deny that he had spent countless hours in

Spring 2019

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” she said.

The Ranger had imagined a man at the

transit across space daydreaming about

end of this road, fiery-eyed and ready for a

the final showdown with his elusive target.

fight, and he was caught off guard by the

His right hand absentmindedly traced

tired-looking woman in front of him. HQ

the nine kills etched into the side of his

hadn’t given him a description, just an old

weapon, ready to slash a diagonal tenth.

military ID number, a last known location,

He arrived at a crude shelter, a cabin

and a list of crimes against the monarchy.

framed by two of the larger trees..

The bottom line was all that ever mattered.

Thirty meters to the right was a pond,

The Paladins had been a rare breed of elite

mud-brown and serene, and the ranger

soldiers; their ranks tended to be male,

imagined a family that could have lived

though females were not uncommon. The

there once, farming the now overgrown

Ranger felt suddenly unsure of himself

land, children and dogs splashing in the

as he considered that all his time alone

shallow water, all alone on a lonely world.

in space had made him romanticize this

Thick umber vines grew down from the

showdown. He shook it off.

trees and through the broken windows of

The Paladin had an athletic build and

the abandoned dwelling. The Ranger knew

was of average height. Thin scars traced

this had to be the place.

down her weathered face like rivers on

His hand brushing the hilt of his

a map, framed by dark, short-cropped

Slinger, he stepped carefully through the

hair that had begun to gray at the edges.

crumbling threshold. The door squeaked

Her hazel eyes were gaunt and tired, like

on its last remaining hinge as he tipped it

the Ranger’s own. Dust thinly caked her

open with his boot. He paused in the foyer

hairline and her calloused fingers. She sat

as he finally laid weary eyes on his quarry.

at a table a few meters in front of him,

The Forge The Paladin

Spring 2019

chair turned to face the doorway, one hand

as they broke the line, glorious freedom

resting on the table’s surface, the other

fighters in a mighty vanguard storming

relaxed on her thigh. The Ranger could

the strongholds of the monarchy. Laser

see no weapons.

blasts were absorbed in their shining,

“I’m here to take you in to face trial,”

energized plate mail as blades were parried

the Ranger stated, pushing away his

and shattered like twigs. In those battles,

uncertainties.

the Ranger had felt only awe and fear of

The paladin chuckled sadly. “Don’t talk

the inspired goliaths rushing toward his

to me like I’m stupid. You’re here to kill me.”

comrades. In the days after the revolution

“Only if you resist.” They both knew it

was crushed, the monarchy victorious, the

was a lie.

“You’re a hunter,” she said. “A hunter doesn’t bring in his prey for judgement.”

“I’m a Ranger of the monarchy. I’m here to make sure you answer for your crimes.”

“Crimes?” she shot back, unimpressed.

“You’ve tracked me across four systems, barely giving me more than a night’s rest

ranger had almost felt sorry that he would never see such prowess again. That was a long time ago.

“You’re an enemy. The monarchy wants you eliminated, and that’s my job,” he said, trying not to betray the hint of regret in his voice.

She ignored him. “You know, I could

for nearly half a year, and for what? Loose

have been a ranger,” she said. “If we had

ends from a lost war? And they call me the

won, I mean. I think I’d be good at it.”

criminal. Spite then, is it?”

Flashes of war erupted in the

The Ranger said nothing, studying her face. He thought he could have been a

Ranger’s mind. He saw the Paladins

paladin, once. The broken woman gazed

charging through the breach on far-flung

out one of the windows.

worlds, fierce guardians in tank-like armor swinging electrified broadswords

“I could have been a farmer, too,” she said softly. The ranger made no reply.

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The Paladin

She looked back into his gray eyes.

“That’s it, then,” she said finally. “I want to go out by the pond.”

The Ranger was still as he watched

Spring 2019

courtyard,” she scoffed.

He hesitated. “I could leave you here,” he said back.

“You and I both know that’s not true.

her stand and silently walk past him and

They’d know,” she said. “No, it’s better this

out the door. As he turned to follow her,

way. There’s nowhere for me to go in this

he drew his Slinger and deftly removed

galaxy with or without you tracking my

the hypercharge modification attached to

ass. Do your job, ranger.”

the barrel.

He stepped outside to find her standing

The Ranger breathed deeply. He knew she was right. He silently cursed himself

with her back to him at the edge of the

for the fantasy he had created, how the

pond, staring quietly out past the water. He

reality of it disintegrated into killing this

stopped a short distance behind her.

lost woman.

“What a beautiful night,” she said to

He heard her sigh as she looked out

herself. The sky was becoming a bruised

over the glowing horizon of the strange

purple where the sun was setting, and

little moon. “This isn’t such a bad place to

early evening stars populated the growing

die,” she said.

void at the edge of the world. The huge dusky planet floated ominously beyond the clouds above them. Glancing up at it, the

He lifted his pistol, aimed at the back of her head, and pulled the trigger.

As the Ranger walked away from that

ranger felt almost as if he could reach out

wasted place, his thoughts still lingered at

and feel the dark wisps of its atmosphere

the breach.

with his fingertips.

“I really could just bring you in,” he offered before he could stop himself.

“They’ll just shoot me in some prison

The Forge SHORT STORIES

Spring 2019

DENTAL WORK An exhilirating event occurs at the dentist’s office.

By: Alex Wright

I

don’t know why Damien even bothers

“Your ancillary node was shattered.

numbing my mouth. I can still feel

Looks like the copper wiring is burnt out

every scrape, every rasping tug from the

also, which is probably where that sharp

drill, and all the pain that comes with it.

pain is coming from.” He sits back and

Small white particles of dust float around

cocks his head a bit, checking the bruising

me as the drill digs deeper into the molar.

around my jawline.

I feel the vibration down into my spine.

“Bar fight?” He asks.

Then, clank!

“No, I told you, I fell down the stairs.”

“Ah,” Damien says, “I think I’ve found it.”

“What’s the problem, Doc?” I merely

“With this kind of damage? Doubt it.

These things were installed with shock

think these words, but he hears them

absorbers. I would know since I’m the one

anyway. My voice is being projected from

that installed them. A beating like this

the other side of the room in the form

would have to be from a group of guys, or

of a robotic, monotone voice. His voice

maybe one of those Enforcers…”

synthesizer is an old model, so it can’t produce my actual speaking voice, but it’s

“Or two flights of stairs. Can you fix it or not?”

still nice to have sometimes. Dentists have

“Yeah, yeah, I can fix it, but it’ll cost you.”

a bad habit of asking questions while their

“The usual?”

hands are shoved in your mouth. This way,

“The usual plus an extra thousand.”

you can actually talk back.

“Thirty-Five? Are you insane?” The

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Dental Work

monotone voice increases in volume a bit, to show my surprise.

“Look,” he explains, “you can sit there and lie to me but don’t expect me to believe it. If I do this for you, and they

Spring 2019

“That’s not….” I stop as the voice synthesizer starts to cut out and crackle.

“Uncle, can you take this crap out of my mouth, so I can talk?”

Without a word, he unscrews a few

show up here again asking if I helped you,

things and the clamps release, freeing the

I’m gonna need a little bit of cash to make

sensors as he pulls them out. He sets them

them go away.”

on a tray next to him and sits back again.

“That’s highway robbery,” I fire back.

“Thank you,” I say while I rub my jaw.

“You already pay up to them. They don’t

“Look, Uncle Damien, I’m not gonna go

need any more bribes.”

out and just screw with people, I…”

“Need I remind you that it’s your

The front door of the shop swings

fault you’re here and that I am under no

open with a loud thud. We both turn and

obligation to help you?”

see men come in. One of them gives orders

“No Uncle Damien, you don’t.”

to the others, and they begin to walk

“Oh, don’t you pull that family crap on

toward the back. Damien turns to me.

me,” he spits, “if you cared about that you

“You have to hide,” he says. “Now. Go!”

wouldn’t keep jeopardizing my business

I hop out of the dental chair and make my

like this.”

way behind some machinery near the door

“I’m just saying, you don’t need them,”

on the other side of the room. I press up

I plead. “Just hook me up with some of that against the shadows cast by a large rack stuff you keep in the back. No one will ever

of dental instruments. The door flies open,

bother you again with me around.”

and two skinny men briskly walk through.

“As if you’d stick around. You’d go

They wear brown leather jackets, with a

out and try to be the big man in town and

yellow strip that runs across the breast

probably get yourself killed.”

and a black undershirt, which is probably

The Forge Dental Work

bullet proof.

Their pants are clearly a carbon fiber

Spring 2019

which connects to an external titanium spine ending in a point at the base of his

weave made to look like jeans. The creases

skull. Kanine. Guess he’s come to get me

have a slight silver shimmer to them. Dead

back for last night.

giveaway. On their heads, they each wear

“We’re lookin’ for your nephew, Doc,” he

a glass headpiece in the form of a curved

says casually. “I know he likes to come here

wedge that connects to two ports on either

for a tune-up, and I know I did a number

side of their heads and curves down to

on him last night. So, where’s he hiding?”

cover their eyes, ending at a point at the

“Couldn’t tell ya!” Damien replies with

left side of their faces. Low-level thugs,

a smile. “He came in this morning and

Street-Meat, which means they’re not

cleaned out the safe. Could be a hundred

augmented, just their clothes. Shouldn’t be

miles away by now!”

much of a problem. They quickly scan the room before settling on Damien.

“It’s just the Doc, Boss,” says the one nearest me.

“Is that right?” Says a voice from the doorway. “Well, at least he can tell us where to find him.”

A large man walks through the door and crosses his arms as he sneers at my uncle. His skin looks as if it’s been segmented in multiple areas by a pinstripe tattoo that glows a faint neon blue.

You’re a terrible liar, Doc,” he smiles as he directs one of his guys to check out the server across the room. “We know he’s not the type to do that to ya, but now that cha mention it, we are a little short on credits.”

“Hey, I already paid up to you guys this month!”

Kanine sneers again, and his cronies stop and stare at Damien with a smile.

“Did you just raise your voice at me?”

Kanine says in disbelief.

I grab a battery off the rack and take

He has metal, decorated with serrated

the casing off while the three men circle

metal teeth, grafted around his head,

Damien. The shielding on my right arm

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Dental Work

Spring 2019

pops open, and I attach the battery to a

pieces litter the floor around the bodies. I

few open nodes. The small needle in my

turn to Damien.

left index finger slides out, and I insert

“You think you could install some of

it into the pin-sized slot in my right

that military grade equipment before more

hand. The palm retracts to reveal the

of them show up?”

mechanisms within, and I cut a few of the wires as I grab a small scalpel.

“You just made a big mistake, Doc,”

He surveys the room for a quick moment, a little lost, before he finally settles on me.

Kanine teases. “Now I gotta mark ya.” His

“Get in the chair.”

right arm opens along the glowing seam

that runs between his index finger and middle finger. A small electrical brand baring “K-9” rotates out and begins to glow a soft yellowish-red.

I dash out from behind the machinery and bury the scalpel between two upper vertebrae of one of the thugs. He falls over as I turn toward Kanine. He turns as I shove my right hand into his face and overcharge the battery. There’s a bright flash closely followed by a short pop, and he falls back into his last remaining henchman as I grab Kanine’s pistol from his waistband. I aim and pull the trigger as he fumbles for his own sidearm. The glass headpiece shatters. The crimson

The Forge SHORT STORIES

Spring 2019

SKARLOFT THE GOREHOUND: I Skarloft, a wandering, grizzled warrior, finds a town in peril.

By: Ethan H. Reynolds

I

n the dark night sky was the deep

old yet had hundreds of years of patrons

presence of unworldly darkness

under its belt. The fireplace roared with

looming over the plains of Agredanne.

a large flame that warmed the whole inn.

No stygian black has ever cursed the

Banners of different clans and nations

skies in this degree, and the omen of

sprawled amongst the walls, as well as the

which meant nothing short of doom for

occasional sword and shield. His orange-

whoever the dark curtains over. The birds

red beard trickled with ale as Skarloft

who usually chirped merrily amongst

gulped mouthfuls, one after the other. With

the rare tree were now silent with fear,

a loud burp, he slammed his tankard on the

and great bats, who’s wingspan stretched

table, ordering the innkeeper for another

over six feet, took their place amongst

fill. His blue eyes scanned the inn, for while

them. The townsfolk of Dyra shuttered in

indulging himself with a large helping

absolute terror as their land was turned

of ale, many of the people in the inn left.

into a torturous hell just hours after the

He was surprised to see everyone gone in

darkness fell.

such a hurry. He shook his head, and with

Inside the Direspoke Inn was Skarloft the Gorehound, a great warrior from a far-off land, only visiting the once bright

a grunt, he arose from the table, towering over it akin to a giant and a dwarf.

“Gods save us!” shrieked a young

land of Agredanne for odd jobs and a less

woman with a deafening pitch. Clatter

strenuous workload. The building was

was heard outside now, even more than

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Spring 2019

the normal pot dropping or the shrill cry

the grassy earth, with blood leaking from

of a child.

every wound, and the gravely injured

Skarloft hurriedly grasped his travel

filled the air with not only their stench of

bag and slung it over his shoulder. With

oncoming death, but the mind-quivering

a swiftness of a god, his large, veined

sounds of suffering and agony. Too

hands unsheathed his sword, and grabbed

familiar were these sights to Skarloft the

his shield that laid tilted on the table.

Gorehound, as even in his name does such

The sword was broad, with a short hilt

depravity exist. Large, grotesque creatures

and a plain but sturdy crossguard. His

with eight arms and two legs were the

shield was great, and the size of a small

cause for such a devastating genocide of

child, with a more rectangular shape

the townsfolk of Dyra. The sky was black

than a round one. It was painted blue,

as night, and only a full moon shone above

the color of his clan, with symbols from

the world, acting as either a beacon of

his native land scattered across the front.

hope, or a sign of death and madness that

The handle was made of pure steel, with

would soon engulf the land.

an unbreakable latching to the wood

Skarloft remembered learning in a

of his great shield. After gathering his

book when he was a young lad that every

belongings, he strode, sword unsheathed,

so often, the denizens of lands far beyond

towards the door, with floor creaking and

their own would invade the world, seeking

screams heard from outside. Skarloft did

death and destruction to all that live and

not know what he was up against, but he

breathe. Though these were only legends

knew that whatever awaited him past the

passed down through time, his tutors

inn would meet its doom under his sword.

pressured him to think beyond all that

When Skarloft exited the inn, he saw

is known, and to assume that anything

nothing short of a complete massacre of

could be real in other worlds. Maybe these

the townsfolk. Bodies were strewn across

creatures are those of legend, thought

The Forge Skarloft the Gorehound: I

Spring 2019

Skarloft. Without another thought, he

He grunted and sprinted to the next

charged into battle with a bellowing cry

victim of his legendary blade and shield. It

with shield guarding his entire upper

took Skarloft only five minutes to dispatch

body and his sword ready to strike. One

the enemies.

of the creatures tore a piece of flesh from

With panting chest and near empty

a villager while hunched over the young

lungs, he bent to one knee as the last

corpse. When the terrible cry of the

octopod hybrid lay near death with its

Gorehound rose to a volume that would

mouth foaming with saliva. With its last

pierce a grown man’s ears, the creature

hiss, it died, and the Gorehound could

slowly arose, and gave its own battlecry.

relax, if only for a few seconds. Sweat

Spit flew from its round, beaked mouth as

dripped down his veiny forehead, and the

Skarloft grew ever near. With a swift bash,

carnage that cursed this small village was

the shield crashed into the devil’s skull,

terrible and cruel. Limbs were ripped from

and broke it into dozens of tiny fragments.

young bodies, and the corpses of families,

With a gurgled moan it fell to the earth

half eaten by these invaders from a foreign

with a thud, and Skarloft plunged his

land, lay together in death. Skarloft shook

sword into its heart, or where the heart

his head and stood up. Skarloft could not

should be. Blue liquids sprayed from its

believe what he had completed and had not

body and covered the warrior with the

had time to analyze such creatures. With

unfamiliar lifeblood of the creature from

legs that could break brick with a simple

beyond. How strange, he thought, the

kick, the Gorehound strode towards a

blood is as cold as midwinter. He drew

home that was torn to shreds by these

his sword from the eldritch being and

monsters, sheathed his sword, and set his

continued to assault the others. He saw

heavy shield upon a homemade oak table.

about seven, but there could be more

From the corner of the room in the small

simply waiting to reinforce their numbers.

house, he heard sobbing. Once again, he

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Spring 2019

drew his sword and slowly walked towards

voice, almost scaring the small child. “I

the mysterious sound. The floor creaked

need you to stay here whilst i search the

just as the inn’s did with each step. He

other homes. You need not to get up from

keenly listened and found that the sound

under the bed which has given you much

was coming from under the bed near

safety. I will come back in a short while.”

the right corner of the home. Intent on

“Okay,” said the child with tears now

striking something with his sword, he

growing in her eyes, “But I’ll be scared.”

gripped his weapon with a firm as iron

Skarloft saw that she was frightened

hold and bent one knee to look at what

to the point of near madness, and this

was making this sound. Once his eyes

broke his stoned heart. He looked down at

adjusted to the pitch-black dark under

his sword and clanged it on the wooden

the bed, he saw that it was a girl, no older

floor. “This sword has slain beasts the

that eight, cowering for safety in the only

size of this village,” truthfully stated the

place she knew. His eyes nearly filled with

Gorehound, “There is no need for worry

sadness, but his brute strength in both

in any shape. I also have a shield which

body and brain forbid him to.

has stopped a blow from a demi-goddess

“Are you alright?” asked the

herself. If the need arises, I shall guard

Gorehound. He had not talked to such a

you with it, as I have shielded myself

small child in years, as his business only

thousands of times before.” He could see

were with adults and on the rare occasions

that her eyes began to fill with hope. He

with young men or women.

smirked and got up to stand. He was now

“I think I’m okay,” she stated. She

ready to examine these beasts, and to

sniffed and wiped her nose. “Are you a

ensure that any other survivors would be

good man?”

led to safety in time.

“Better than those fiends who attacked your homes, yes,” he uttered with a deep

The Forge SHORT STORIES

Spring 2019

LUCY A searcher of a great monolith explores alongside his horse, Lucy.

By: Alex Wright

I

don’t know what I’d do without Ol’

are a lot of pockets of radiation that

Lucy. She’s gotten me further than I

we’ve got to be cautious of, and I’ve seen

could have ever imagined. Even helped

shadows moving through the smog from

me cover that ground twice as fast as I

time to time. Could be people or could

would have on foot. She’s an American

be some of those androids. I don’t trust

Paint Horse—Overo, splashed white. She’s

either.

probably the last of her kind nowadays.

In the distance I can see the outline

I found her up in Essex County about a

of a building. ‘Odd,’ I think. ‘Didn’t

month back. Seems like we were both far

think there were any left around here.’ I

enough away from Manhattan not to be

flip down my helmet’s rangefinder and

affected by the radiation, but no matter.

turn on its scanner, cycling through the

We’ve been walking ever since.

various settings.

Judging by how long we’ve been

‘About a thousand feet out. No UV

traveling, we’re probably around where

signatures…’

DC might have been a few months ago.

Click.

Of course, it’s hard to tell since the smog

‘Or heat signatures…’

obscures everything over fifty yards away.

Click.

Not that there’s really anything to see out

‘Are those light sources?’

here anyway. We’ve been carefully moving

Click.

through the area for a few days now. There

‘An electromagnetic field? Still running

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Lucy

Spring 2019

after everything that’s happened? Could

discover that it’s an old metro tunnel. We

this be it?’

usually avoid tunnels for a plethora of

I flip up the rangefinder and stare

reasons but this seems like the only way

into the thinning smog. The blue light

across. I hop off Lucy for a moment and

radiating from the building becomes more

pull out the flyer from the side pouch. I

and more apparent with every clip-clop

flip it to idle-mode and look at the battery

of Lucy’s hooves. We stop at the levee of

indicator on the side—it’s about half

a river, and I stare across at the building,

empty. Good. I activate it completely and

then at the water below.

it shoots out of my hands and hovers

‘There’s still water here and the tide isn’t very low either.’

“Well, ol’ girl,” I say, “you wouldn’t want to go for a swim, now would you?”

Lucy bucks slightly and sways her head back and forth.

stationary about five feet above the ground as it surveys the surrounding area. A green light flicks on above its “eye”, indicating that its ready.

I tap the controls on the screen mounted on my wrist and it flies off

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

into the tunnel. While it does its work,

I flip the rangefinder down again and

I retrieve Lucy’s mask from the other

look upriver. I can see the faint outlines

saddlebag and strap it to her face.

of a few bridges, but it looks like they’ve

Whether or not it’s radiated down there,

collapsed. I turn my attention downriver,

it’s better for her to have it on in this case.

to the south. There’s a vague silhouette of

She doesn’t like tunnels very much, and

a concrete structure heading down toward

the mask keeps her focused. I eye the rifle

the water, disappearing into the bank of

holstered next to the saddlebag but decide

the river.

against it. Probably too close quarters. My

‘A tunnel maybe?’

I lead Lucy over to the entrance and

laser pistol will have to do.

The screen on my wrist lights up,

The Forge Lucy

Spring 2019

indicating the flyer is done with its task. I tap the controls for it to return. I pull the

“Well, it’s not flooded and there’s a

cord from behind the screen and hold out

clear path to the other side. Radiation

my hand for the flyer to land on. When it

might be a problem. What do you think

does, I plug it in.

Lucy? Full gallop?” She flicks her ears a bit and walks toward me. “Yeah, I agree,” I

>AviTask Assistant D45. >Task assessment.

laugh. “Let’s do it.”

I hop back in the saddle and pull

>

the windscreen down over my face. The

>Initiated: Thursday, 1734 hours.

helmet has its own filtration system, so I

>Completed: Thursday, 1739 hours.

shouldn’t have to worry about breathing

>

in anything I shouldn’t. I flick on Lucy’s

>Assessment:

headlamp, as well as mine, and take a deep

>tunnel.

breath before whipping the reigns and

>minimal debris.

sending her running. By the time we reach

>minimal flooding.

the entrance, she’s galloping as fast as

>radiation:

she can. I hold on tight with my left hand

>Counts - :insufficient data:

while my right keeps a firm grip on my

>Dose - :insufficient data:

pistol.

>electricity detected.

>rails still active.

>movement detected.

> Recommend approaching with caution.

The light bobs and sweeps side to side in front of us in the pitch-black. The sound of rhythmic hooves echoes through the tunnel, drops of water splashing in puddles on the down beat. My headlamp

>

darts side to side as I check every possible

>Assessment complete.

corner and crevice in the dark. We reach

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the bottom of the curve and splash

Spring 2019

trigger.

through the standing water at the bottom.

Click.

I can see the light at the other end. I

‘Overheated? Already?’

lose myself in it for a moment, before

The creature springs back to life,

I’m snapped back to reality by the sound

digging its talons into Lucy’s neck. She

of grunts and groans overpowering the

neighs and bucks in response, never

sound of steady splashes.

breaking stride, and the creature turns

A figure steps out in front of us,

its attention to me. I holster the pistol

mouth agape, sharp talons spread wide as

and reach for my rifle as it begins to claw

they raise their arms to meet our path. I

the air in front of me. I pull on the rifle,

begin to raise my pistol, but another one

but at this angle, it’s stuck in the holster.

cuts me off from my right. I shine my

I strain to lean back further as it pulls

light directly at it, revealing its sloped

itself further into the spear and closer to

forehead and scaly skin a for split second

me. It gnashes its mangled teeth inches

before aiming at its black eyes and pulling

away from my knees, and I take the butt

the trigger. I press a button on the saddle

of the rifle, aiming it while still in the

with my left hand, and a sharpened metal

holster, and fire two rounds. One hits the

rod bursts from a hidden compartment in

creature’s chest, right above the spear, and

the saddle, right by Lucy’s right shoulder.

the other grazes its head, taking off its left

I steer into the creature ahead and turn

ear. The creature slides off the spear and

my attention back to it just in time to

gets trampled by Lucy’s stampede.

watch as it’s impaled in the stomach by my makeshift spear.

The spear lifts it off its feet, and it

We reach the end of the tunnel; we’re back into the faint sunlight. I clamp her down and hop out of the saddle, grabbing

goes limp for a moment hanging on the

some tubes of healing cream and bandages

spear, and I aim at its head and pull the

from the bag in the process.

The Forge Lucy

“I know girl, I know,” I say, trying to calm her down a bit more. “I know it hurts but this should help. Well, it helps me anyway. I’m running low, so we’ll have to make do.”

I clean and bandage her up and check my pistol. It’s getting old and the battery is wearing out. I need to find a new one.

‘Maybe that has what I need,’ I think, staring off toward the building in the distance. ‘Maybe that’s the monolith I’ve been looking for all this time.’

Spring 2019

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SHORT STORIES

Spring 2019

THE PHANTOM ISLES: I Adventurers begin their journey to search for immense treasure.

By: Alex Wright

A

guard closes the door to a dark storage room filled with various

boxes and barrels. Little pockets of light

to that pirate,” he says.

“Kluurok? He seemed somewhat trustworthy…” Quil answers.

shine through small cracks in the hull,

“He’s a jackass,” Kaathe says.

which the wind whistles through, hiding the

“Agreed,” Scion adds.

voice whispering from somewhere unseen.

“He’s also in the room with you,”

“Kaathe,” it says. “Kaathe,” it says again in a hushed yell.

another voice says.

“I know,” Kaathe replies, “I just wanted

“What, Amnon?” A harsh voice replies.

you to know that you’re lucky you’re not

“You think we’re getting close?”

on my list.”

Amnon asks.

“How should I know? I can’t see a thing inside this box.”

“Yeah, me neither. You okay over there, Scion? Quil?”

“Yes,” a deep voice, Scion, and a scratchy voice, Quil, reply in unison. A hush falls over the room, broken a moment later by Kaathe.

“Grrah! We should have never listened

“And you’re lucky I’m tired of being a pirate,” Kluurok laughs. “To answer your question, Amnon, it’s been raining for a while now. That means we’re getting close.

With all the commotion on deck, I’d suspect they’re getting ready for a landing.”

“And you can’t just go up and see for yourself ?” Scion asks.

“No. I may be her second in command, but dragons tend to be paranoid. Virlym

The Forge The Phantom Isles: I

Spring 2019

Ith is no exception. I have traveled to and

The sound of the door quickly opening

from her island once a week for six years,

and closing again echoes through the room

but I have no idea where it is. The crew of

a moment later, and the muffled sounds of

this ship has seen to that.”

talking are heard from beyond.

“How convenient,” Kaathe groans. “If this is a trap, I’ll let Amnon melt your face off.”

“He talks too much,” Kaathe growls.

“At least he gave us valuable information this time,” Scion adds.

“I’ve done it before!” Amnon yells.

“My neck hurts,” Amnon whines.

“Of course you have,” Kluurok sighs.

“Quiet,” Quil says. “They’ll be back

“Now look. They think everything in here

any second. I’ll link us telepathically once

is gold, weapons, and magic items. When

we’re outside.”

we land, Virlym’s guards will take all of the cargo to the blacksmith, so he and his

…

The door swings open violently, and

assistants can ready everything for her

eleven dragonborn warriors enter the

hoard. From there, you can find a way into

room. One of them points to the boxes

her lair. I suggest not being seen.”

and, through a series of grunts and

“Will you shut up and let us work?”

Kaathe snaps.

“I’m just warning you, Virlym is not

whistles, tells the others to start moving them. Quil peers through a small hole in his box to see that he’s being carried by

going to go down easy. I will be going

two dragonborn down some half-rotten

straight to her when we land, and I’m

wooden stairs. He adjusts his view as

usually forced to leave once we’re finished

carefully as he can so as not to shift his

speaking, so you won’t have much time

weight and alert the guards carrying

if…” Kluurok trails off as the ship shakes

him. He catches a glimpse of a shanty

and stops moving. “We’ve landed. I must

town surrounding two mud hills. Quil

go. Remember, be quick and don’t be seen!”

concentrates for a moment and begins

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telepathically linking with his comrades.

Shwoop! “Alright,” he says. “Think freely.”

Spring 2019

within and escapes out of the opening in the roof above it. He turns to look over the cargo sitting in his workspace and motions

“Do you have any idea how strange that feels?” Amnon asks.

to the three kobolds polishing gold coins at a bench. They put their rags down and

“Shut up,” Kaathe says.

scurry over to find a few crowbars. The

“What can everyone see?” Quil asks.

blacksmith turns back to his forge and

“There’s a small hill,” Scion explains,

throws a bucket of coals in it. The little

“it looks like there are wooden structures

dragon men gather their crowbars and

keeping the rain off of it. There are

begin to open some of the boxes. A gold

many holes in the hill, wood covering

coin slides off the table and lands near one

some of them.”

of the kobolds, getting his attention.

“I can see kobolds,” Kaathe cuts in.

He studies it for a second, and it slides

“Those holes are probably their hovels.

about a foot away from him, pushing itself

The wood is keeping the rain from

through the loose dirt around it. The

washing it all away.”

kobold jumps back and taps his friends

“Does anyone see the blacksmith’s?”

Quil asks.

with his crowbar. They look at him, and he points to the gold coin. They look at it,

“I can see a stone structure behind the hill,” Amnon answers.

“That’s probably it,” Kaathe says. …

Ten minutes later, the last box is

and it quickly slides two more feet away from them. Brandishing their crowbars like weapons, they quietly stalk the now immobile coin as a house cat stalks a mouse. One of them hops up on the table

delivered to the stone structure. A half-

in the center of the shop, another goes

dragon stands over a forge in the corner

around it, and the last one ducks under it.

of the room. Smoke billows from the fire

They all stop within a foot of the coin, and

The Forge The Phantom Isles: I

one of them reaches out to tap it with his crowbar.

Before he’s able to touch it, the coin

Spring 2019

pipes at him.

“Boo,” he growls, and the building is rocked by a thunderous noise. The

shoots off again, out the door and into

blacksmith falls backwards, and blood

the street outside of the blacksmith’s

quickly stains the sandy dirt below him.

shop. They squeak and squawk and give

The skeleton stands and reloads his

chase, swinging their crowbars wildly. The

double-barrel scatter gun. The lid of the

blacksmith turns back around and watches

box to his right cracks open and a metal

them disappear through the door. He

and wooden man wearing scale-mail

stands there angrily for a moment, before

stands up and looks at the body.

one of the chests sitting in the cargo begins to shake and rattle. Not taking his eyes off the box, the blacksmith slowly

“Did you have to use that thing, Kaathe?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did, Scion. I know it’s loud,

retrieves a sword from a rack on the wall

but it works. Now throw the body in the

and cautiously makes his way over to it.

forge while I get the others out.”

As he gets close, the shaking stops. He

“Right.”

hesitates, the point of his sword trained on

Scion throws the corpse over his

the box, before throwing the lid open and

shoulder and walks it over to the forge

looking inside.

while Kaathe pries another barrel open. A

A skeleton, draped in a leather duster

reddish-purple-skinned young man steps

and wearing a wide-brimmed hat, lays in

out of it. The tail and the horns starting at

the chest. It grips what looks like a piece

his forehead and curling around to the back

of carved wood with two metal pipes

of his head reveal his devilish ancestry.

coming out of it. The blacksmith lowers his sword a bit in a confused stare. The skeleton looks up and raises the metal

“Thanks,” he says, “I could’ve gotten that open myself, but my back is killing me!”

“Shut up and get Quil out!” Kaathe

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snaps, as he cautiously looks out the window.

“Alright, alright,” Amnon sighs as he raises his hands and they start to glow. The barrel next to his begins to shake as he concentrates on it. A moment later, he tears at the air as if he’s ripping a cloth in two, and the barrel shatters, revealing a small lizard man squatting among the wreck.

“I stopped moving the coin, so the kobolds will be back soon,” he says.

“Everyone out the back window,” Kaathe says as he hops out. Quil and Amnon quickly follow, and Scion makes his way back across the room but stops short to admire a throwing hammer on the weapon rack. He hears someone trying to open the door and quickly snatches the hammer and follows his comrades through the window.

Everyone moves to the outside corner of the building and stares up at the large hill. On the top of the hill rests a ziggurat.

Three guards watch the area from the top, and a few patrol the perimeter. Kaathe looks towards the small village to make

Spring 2019

sure the coast is clear.

“Alright,” he says confidently, “let’s go kill a dragon.”

The Forge SHORT STORIES

Spring 2019

CIRQUE DE DIEUX The mysteries and intrigues of the Cirque are explored by a dangerously curious soul.

By: Victoria Mendoza

T

he Cirque de Dieux was a fickle,

saint relics and crosses on every window.

mysterious thing. Some say that the

When Father Haywood moved his church

Cirque was the machinations of a would-

to the town square and gave his sermons

be magician, who sold his soul to the

outside, Undine’s ink-black gaze does

Kindly Ones to travel between the worlds.

not miss the way his eyes occasionally

Some—mostly Father Haywood’s ilk—say

flickered to the tents. Nor does she miss

it was a den of witches practicing their

how the townspeople’s focus was half

darkest arts and seducing hapless fools to

on the red-faced preacher, spittle flying

sin. Personally, Undine thinks they have

from his mouth, and half on the maze

nothing better to do than speculate on the

of canvas, ribbon, and flags that made

origins of a glorified sideshow that may

up the Cirque. Undine definitely does

or may not appear. What a sad, sleepy

not miss the tension rising throughout

town, so bored with their own mundane

the town—a mounting crescendo of

existence that they latched onto anything

anticipation shooting lightning through

new or interesting and tore it apart.

the town’s veins.

She saw how the men’s eyes sharpened,

For as long as Undine could remember,

glinting like a dagger’s edge, when the

people gifted her names wrapped in silken

Cirque came to town. She looked around

shrouds and frothy ribbons. Inside, each

at the townspeople frantically cleaning

carried an identity she must learn to live

their whitewashed walls and hanging

out—some are kind, but most reeked of

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Spring 2019

fear and hatred, often unearned. When

its sleepy people and drooping, earthen

the weight of a name stung a bit too

houses. Holding court in the very center

much or bruised her neck with its force,

of the town’s square was a lone oak in

she thought of all the names she wished

which Undine perched, nestled between

she could get. Maybe if her mother

the boughs and out of the sight from the

kept Undine, she would have names

bleak bodies below. The branches of the

like beloved and mine. A lonely kind of

tree hid her well, curving around her like

wistfulness never failed to trickle through

a mother’s arm. The people could find her,

Undine when she thought of all the

if they looked, but they never do.

what-ifs and could-haves centered around

She stayed, for the majority of her

her mother. She could, theoretically, seek

days, lounging in the treetop. The tree

for this smoke and dream woman, but

was the only thing safe about the town.

Undine was not in the business of chasing

To Undine, the tree was home, friend,

whimsy. This world has no patience for

and pulpit. It was where she hid when a

those with hope staining their cheeks and

rock made its mark across her cheekbone

dreams dancing in their irises. This town

and where she curled up as a mere child

taught her so. In this town, she learned

to cry until her voice was hoarse and her

patience and how to weather the whims of

heart was stone. This tree knew her in

embittered people. She carried the names

an intimate way, like that of a well-loved

the townspeople gave her: orphan, freak,

sidekick. Undine suspected that the tree

and witch. She very much liked the last for

housed the remnants of an old god’s

its promise of power and invulnerability.

essence in the way that its benevolence

Those that spit witch in hisses and cross

was felt by those searching for it and its

themselves at the sight of her never

wrath by those deserving of it. She was

strayed too close.

pleased to note that Father Haywood

Such was the way of Warrenton, with

never stepped foot near the willow.

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Spring 2019

Whenever she needed a place to avoid

felt her heartbeat stutter inexplicably, as

the preacher, she sought out the tree to

if it knew before her what was going to

nimbly climb its rough, knotted trunk

happen. There was a breeze carrying the

and branches to reach her favorite hiding

smells of salt and caramel from the plains

spot. There, Undine was able to watch the

outside the town’s limits, and she looked to

townspeople, miniature at the treetop’s

see the Cirque in all its beauty.

view, go about their days. This was also

When, later in the day, a small troupe

where Undine got her first glimpse of the

ventured in to entice the townspeople to

Cirque, captivated by the dust-ridden tents

come to the Cirque, Undine watched raptly

and crimson flags.

as they commanded the town’s attention.

She was not quite sure what, exactly,

For all of the town’s pious teachings, no

compelled her head to snap up when

one protested as a girl with wide, delicate

it did. There was nothing particularly

eyes and curled horns danced across

enchanting about that day. The leaves,

a ribbon of silk held taut by her crew

all in varying states of decay, fluttered

members. There was something achingly

listlessly across the square, where the

familiar in the defiant way these strangers

baker’s open windows allowed the steam of

carried themselves—something about

the fresh breads and pies entice the people

how every minuscule movement dared

walking in and out of the shops. The

someone to object to their presence that

town itself, while alive with the bustle of

made Undine’s throat ache and pulled her

people busy with Mabon preparations, had

from the safety of her tree. She studied

a sort of routine atmosphere that scripted

each member of the troupe, drinking in

every movement and every conversation.

their features greedily in fear of losing the

Undine sat safely in the oak, watching the

moment permanently. She crept closer to

monotony of the town, until someone’s

the fringes of the growing crowd to eye

anticipation traipsed across her neck. She

a man with inky wings protruding just

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Spring 2019

beneath his shoulder blades and a stark

Undine’s neck. Something within Undine

band of white painted across his eyes.

sighed, and whispered, finally, it took you

Inching closer still, she was so captivated

long enough. The witch, because there

by the winged man igniting the tip of

was no other word that summed up the

an arrow with a puff of breath that she

woman so succinctly, tilted her head

almost missed the woman watching her.

towards the miniature city of canvas

Enthralled by the performances, Undine

and crimson in response.

did not notice the woman with crows

As night fell and the townsfolk donned

perched on her shoulders and a wide-

masks and costumes and made their way

brimmed hat with a pointed and curled

towards the city of tents, Undine made

tip. It was not until she was directly in

her way around a large, cream colored

front of the woman that she felt the

tent to slink through a gap between the

weight of her gaze and it was not until

canvas. Within this tent, like all the other

she could see the startling yellow of the

tents, was a world in and of itself. With a

woman’s irises and the markings gracing

glittering night sky covering the ceiling

her cheekbones that Undine registered the

of the tent, flashes of stars danced across

fact that she was being watched. Undine’s

the inky darkness to create ever-changing

eyes skirted the air around the woman

constellations. As Undine stepped further

and followed the trail of wild curls to the

into the tent, a maze formed around her.

curve of her smirk. A jolt of awareness

The scent of evergreen and cloves tickled

rushed through Undine, like waking up

Undine’s nose and a whisper of here I

and coming home all at once. Oh, hello,

am urged her further into the maze until,

a whispered purr floated through her

finally, she stumbled into a clearing and

mind. Undine’s eyes wrenched from the

everything went silent. With a shaky

knowing grin to the witch’s glittering

inhale, Undine walked towards the

gaze and relief cut through the tension in

table in the middle of the clearing. Two

The Forge Cirque de Dieux

Spring 2019

chairs accompanied the table strewn with

make a choice—to claim the Cirque the

flickering candles, a familiar hat, and a

way it claimed her. Her hands shifted

lone deck of cards. The table, with vines

through the cards, shuffling the deck in a

etched into each leg and branches detailing

soothing rhythm. She saw the possibilities

the edges, was a black so deep that it

unfold before her: futures in which she will

reflected the stars dancing above it. The

be free of the town’s monotony and free

chairs on either side of the table were of

to be who she pleased. As she settled into

the same wood and had burgundy velvet

the chair and fanned the deck across the

stuffed to the brim for the utmost comfort.

table, a full-blown grin graced her lips. An

Settling into one of the chairs, Undine

uncertain whisper from a man emerging

lifted the hat towards her head and paused

from the hedges asking if she can read his

when she found an envelope beneath the

fortune drew Undine’s chin up. She studied

hat. Reading the envelope—addressed

the man, Father Haywood, and waited

to her, of course—Undine began to

for recognition to wash over his face. She

feel hope, loneliness, and adrenaline

braced herself for the steel grip of his fist

war within herself. A shy, secretive grin

to pull her from the tent. As if in response,

tugged at the corners of her lips and she

the stars and the candles’ flames flickered

stopped herself from biting down on her

once, then twice. Undine studied her hands

excitement. She looked at the letter as if

spread over the deck of cards, feeling more

it held salvation and a homecoming all in

grounded than she ever has. Her gaze

one. She felt the promise of safety down in

flitted towards Father Haywood’s and,

the marrow of her bones and let herself

somewhere, a piece snapped into place. She

imagine the kind of liberation that the

cleared her throat and inclined her head,

letter promised.

shuffling the cards once more.

A rustle in the hedges alerted Undine to prospective audiences, urging her to

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The Forge POETRY

EVEN GODS ARE PRONE TO FOLLY By: Victoria Mendoza It is with a familiar ache that you witness your most recent failure, In which the treasured body of your newest paramour deteriorates while you watch, helpless.

So careless with the heroes you chase, that you never remember the fragile flame of their mortality until the ashen smoke coats your tongue.

You never thought of pouring ichor into their veins until they have been reduced to a mass of bones beside you.

This is your curse— to claim a poisoned tongue, to have a mortal cherish all of your worst traits, and to watch—each time—as they burn.

Immortality never feels like a prison until your favorite hero is dying.

You, with all of your skill, never catch them as they plummet.

How does a body so magnificent, so limitless, never fail to be the cause of some poor soul’s destruction?

Spring 2019

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The Forge

POETRY

In love, you are at your most dangerous— With a greed that envelops its victims and incinerates, you’ve never kissed a pair of lips without drawing blood; you’ve never loved gently.

The stories name you villain, danger that you are.

You like bruises scattered across the smooth expanse of willing shoulder blades.

You like claw marks wrapped around necks.

Evidence that this body and heart were yours, once.

You like to collect the jawbones of your favorites, so possessive in everything you do.

How could you not devour such adoration?

You greet each embrace in the selfish way of the immortals, Indifferent towards such fragile bodies.

You burn so bright your lovers fall, and you’re never quick enough to save them.

You who controls the fate of the morning, are powerless against the current of this story.

You’ve played this role so often, you’re sure there are traces of you in every lover who litters their favorite bodies with bruises and teeth marks.

It is only ever after the fact, when the charred bones of your beloved stop reminding you of the remains at your altar, that you even think of howling in grief.

Spring 2019

The Forge POETRY

THE AGARIAN SEAS By: Ethan H. Reynolds

Seafarers dare not extend their reach Past the sandy shores of native land, Else they fall prey to the great depths That lurk far below the nether.

Creatures so vile and sin-filled That even light strays from their souls.

If one seeks the shimmering treasures Of cities fallen beneath the waves, Then pray to the great Ethion you must For even his stone-crushing jaws Cannot render a scratch upon Their flesh.

Spring 2019

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POETRY

Spring 2019

NO ROOM FOR STORYTELLERS By: Victoria Mendoza ne thousand and one stories—how could you hope to persevere?

With a mountain of fears pulling you in, you persevere.

This is how you survive: weave your web of tales.

Such beautiful, sparkling things, only meant for those who persevere.

Speak of the giants you’ve felled and of Mediterranean kings.

Speak of a brother’s betrayal and a son’s determination to persevere.

Fall asleep to the lilting melody of an unknown fate.

Wake to your own resurrection, secure with the knowledge you’ll persevere.

You are one part dream smoke, one part desert flame. Don’t you ever forget this.

When this king of thieves takes you from what you are used to, persevere.

Become an enigma—shroud yourself in gold and crown yourself queen.

Claim tribute, demand everything. Expect a prize of unmatchable value, persevere.

So smile with all of your sharp, wanting teeth.

Promise this country that it will burn with you—do anything to persevere.

This king will chew you up and spit you out—mark you prey.

And you, spiteful thing, hungry to prove him wrong, you persevere.

The Forge POETRY

Spring 2019

THE SCOURGE OF THORACLATES By: Ethan H. Reynolds

His armor of midnight, sword drawn, He swore upon the sun that plague Would rule, locusts gnawing.

Breath frigid and empty, Blood dripping like dewdrops Onto the fair snow beneath him.

They would rue the day The King of Thoraclates Was abandoned for dead Atop that wintry mountain peak.

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POETRY

IN WHICH A BODY IS ONLY EVER HOLY By: Victoria Mendoza You walk up to the podium on my name day, With shackles tinkling like bells and your shift flowing.

You sing the sacrificial hymn and I have no choice but to listen.

I can’t remember anything before this moment, can’t remember an existence without you in it.

And I should be angry—I know this distantly.

How dare a mere mortal, a mere sacrifice, be so captivating?

How could such a fragile, graceless body rival that of the gods?

I want to know the beauty marks on your shoulder.

I want to gorge myself on your rose petal mouth.

Gluttony has never been so inviting, a body has never been so tempting.

You grace my temple before your sacrifice and it is the first time I have noticed the beauty of a mortal before I’ve noticed their worth.

Noticed the masterpiece that is their features before I’ve noticed how much of their blood I can harvest.

A constellation dances across the bridge of your nose and I wonder what I needed to do to be the goddess

Spring 2019

The Forge POETRY

who placed it there.

I want to bite the ruby of your beating heart.

I wish to taste the salt of your pomegranate flesh.

I now know what it is to hunger.

To be ravenous.

I could unhinge my jaw and devour you— if you’d allow me to.

Spring 2019

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POETRY

RED By: Ethan H. Reynolds

My heart is an inferno Of lust and rage With swirling pools of hate Bubbling within my soul.

I want to tear The world asunder Under my bloodied Calloused fingertips.

The universe engulfed In singing, searing flames Seems like a symphony To me.

Spring 2019

The Forge POETRY

THE GIANT By: Ethan H. Reynolds Father told me long ago

I hope to be like that giant of old

Of a giant big and strong.

And grow to be strong like him.

His mind was large

I want a mind sharp

As bulky as his arms

And arms strong enough

As he grew them both

To hold books all the way

All day long.

To the brim!

He always did sit On that craggy mountain top As he read his stories and wrote.

When asked to talk about himself From his mouth came not one note.

He ventured off into lands afar On a day as sunny as this.

He smoked his pipe And hummed as he went Skipping merrily in bliss.

Spring 2019

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The Forge Awakens...

From the starry cosmos, to the fields of magical lands, The Forge Literary Magazine contains all aspects of adventure, emotion, and mystery within the genres of Science-Fiction and Fantasy.

In this collection of microfiction, short stories, and poetry created by writers at George Mason University, readers can expect to delve into lush, awe-inspiring worlds across all ages of time. The Forge offers a full experience for all lovers of ScienceFiction and Fantasy literature, offering a lovely pair of superb writing with wonderful world-building.

It is the goal of The Forge to give writers, readers, editors, and artists who have fallen in love with Science-Fiction and Fantasy a platform to express their passion for these two genres.

With each flip of a page, this collection seeks to serve as an escape from all things grounded by our world with powerful prose littered throughout.

If you have any inquiries or want to submit to our magazine, send an email to:

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Thanks for reading!