Streamline Anthology

By Casei Magnus

The Streamline Anthology is a collection of 8 short tales of the fantastic, written and illustrated before a live audience on the Twitch.TV streaming service. Edited by Casei Magnus. Illustrated by HithHiril, M.C. McLamb, SilentWillow, ThiaCrish, and Casei Magnus.

Adimore's Lever by FarPointBeta - Fantasy - When Adimore the Giant loses his love, what happens when his strength is exploited and his wit enslaved for a former enemy's secret purpose?

Charlotte and the Golden Parrot by BookFish35 - Adventure - When the clever Charlotte tries to be a pirate, she gets more adventure than she bargained for. An action-packed story about willpower.

Earl Gray and the Quest for Dairy by Patrick Day - Comedic Fantasy - Milk--it's serious business.

Mad World by PandArchon - Science Fiction - A city has been left to fend for itself after a strange outbreak. Quarantined and with no assistance, their world has become more than mad.

Ouroboros by Casei Magnus - Literary - Jud must pursue his child's killer, but what is he really chasing?

The Green Box by Silent Willow - Fantasy - A thief must solve the mystery lurking behind a new commission before it kills her.

Under the Influence by Judy Dawn - Science Fiction - Opal risks her future career to give someone another chance in the past. If you could go back in time today to influence your decisions, for one minute, what would you change?

Wherever She Is by B. Black - Modern Fantasy - A young girl must fight against the forces of evil before they can wipe out her kind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mythistorica Press
• Release date: Sep 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370532568

Casei Magnus

Which came first: the Casei or the Magnus? Is he a particle, a wave, or does he paradoxically exhibit properties of both? Is he bound by the laws of relativistic physics or does he sculpt his own realities? Does he really exist or does he just pop in and out of the quantum foam without rhyme or reason? Is he a remote possibility or a definite probability? Would answers to these questions satisfy you? Do they matter? Does anything, really?Favorite Color: Murdered Zebra (black, white and red)Favorite Hat: FezFavorite Quote: "No comment."Favorite Hairpiece: William Shatner's

Book preview

Streamline Anthology

Edited by Casei Magnus

1st Edition

Mythistorica Press

Lillington, North Carolina 2016

Copyright © 2016 Mythistorica Press

All Rights Reserved

Adimore’s Lever by FarPointBeta. Copyright © 2016 by FarPointBeta. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for Adimore’s Lever by Casei Magnus. Copyright © 2016 by Casei Magnus. Used by permission of the artist.

Charlotte and the Golden Parrot by BookFish35. Copyright © 2016 by BookFish35. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for Charlotte and the Golden Parrot by M.C. McLamb. Copyright © 2016 by M.C. McLamb. Used by permission of the artist.

Earl Gray and the Quest For Dairy by Patrick Day. Copyright © 2016 by Patrick Day. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for Earl Gray and the Quest for Dairy by Casei Magnus. Copyright © 2016 by Casei Magnus. Used by permission of the artist.

Mad World by PandArchon. Copyright © 2016 by PandArchon. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for Mad World by HithHiril. Copyright © 2016 by HithHiril. Used by permission of the artist.

Ouroboros by Casei Magnus. Copyright © 2016 by Casei Magnus. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for Ouroboros by ThiaCrish. Copyright © 2016 by ThiaCrish. Used by permission of the artist.

The Green Box by SilentWillow. Copyright © 2016 by Silent Willow. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for The Green Box by Casei Magnus. Copyright © 2016 by Casei Magnus. Used by permission of the artist. Map illustration for The Green Box by SilentWillow. Copyright © 2016 by SilentWillow. Used by permission of the artist.

Under the Influence by Judy Dawn. Copyright © 2016 by Judy Dawn. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for Under the Influence by ThiaCrish. Copyright © 2016 by ThiaCrish. Used by permission of the artist.

Wherever She Is by B. Black. Copyright © 2016 by B. Black. Used by permission of the author. Illustration for Wherever She Is by ThiaCrish. Copyright © 2016 by ThiaCrish. Used by permission of the artist.

ISBN: 9781370532568

Table of Contents

Foreword by Casei Magnus

The Green Box by SilentWillow

Charlotte and the Golden Parrot by Bookfish35

Adimore’s Lever by FarPointBeta

Wherever She Is by B. Black

Under the Influence by Judy Dawn

Mad World by PandArchon

Earl Gray and the Quest for Dairy by Patrick Day

Ouroboros by Casei Magnus

About the Contributors

For all of the intrepid viewers and streamers

of

Twitch.TV

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please have them download their own copy — for free — at Smashwords.com.

Foreword

I started writing on Twitch.tv in March of 2015. At the time, the site’s terms of service required streams to be game-related, and as a result of that policy, I did my writing thing while hiding within the Music channel. I played tunes and refused to use my microphone, trembling in terror that the Twitch powers might discover my non-gaming stream and kick me off of the site. As a result, I kept my streams short and rare.

Even beyond the fear of losing access, those early days were gut-wrenching and painful. It’s not an easy task to put an unfinished creative work out on public display, much less perform what is usually a very private art before a live audience. Would I be inundated with grammar fascists hell-bent upon picking apart every first-draft sentence, every new word, humiliating me in front of the entire Internet? Would they see through my facade of English fakery and realize that I’m just making this all up as I go along?

It turns out that the fears were unfounded.

Nobody cared. Mostly because nobody showed up.

Well, to be fair, a handful of friends I had made while watching other streams would pop in, mayhap stick around for a bit and ultimately wander off again, and those people were very kind. Not once did they condemn me for first-draft infinitive splits, voices of passivity, or other heinous crimes against English. They were very supportive of me and my writing, and while I don’t see nearly enough of them these days, I can’t begin to express my gratitude to them for making me feel welcome and comfortable with something that was entirely new for me. In my eyes, it validated the experience.

In the fall of 2015, the Twitch web site opened up the Creative channel and changed their terms of service. No longer focused exclusively on gaming, the site would allow artists and artisans of all kinds to explore their craft before a live audience like never before. Painters, illustrators, musicians, writers, game developers — anyone involved in any sort of creative enterprise — were given a venue to put their imaginations on display before a community of live viewers. This allowed me to crawl out of the shadows of the Music channel and be a lot more open about my craft.

Since, the community of writers on Twitch has been steadily growing, from a core handful in the pioneer days, to a diverse set of writers in both genre and style. There are writers published and self-published, new amateurs and seasoned professionals turning out everything from the tiniest blog post, to screenplays, to full-blown novels. The community tends to be friendly, mature, open, and engaging. We sail with one another in this digital sea, sharing our trials and triumphs, tips and tricks, thoughts and feelings, characters and plots.

This preface aside, all that you see before you was created before a live audience. The stories, the illustrations, the editing process — all of it has been an act of public creation by extremely talented individuals. They gave their time, their creative sweat, their frayed nerves, their boundless energies, all to an idea of an anthology created before a live audience, all without the notion of being compensated. Be certain to go and check out their channels and watch them work live. They are, by all my own accounts, an amazing lot, and worthy of your attention and notice. Without them, this book would be small indeed.

Casei Magnus

August 2016

The Green Box

by

SilentWillow

Illustrated by Casei_Magnus

Cartography by SilentWillow

Gaff lay as low as she could atop the wall, fully aware that her silhouette was illuminated by moonlight. Still, she remained calm during those precious long moments, risking discovery, sweeping the ground beneath her for any signs of danger. The garden was quiet and undisturbed. If there had been dogs, they'd have come running by now — especially after the noise her grappling hook had made against the wall.

Satisfied that no dogs were in her immediate vicinity, she swung her leg over and landed adroitly upon the grassy lawn below. Without hesitation she slipped into the shadow of a large tree and crouched low. Gaff remained like this for a long time, ignoring the pressing time frame her client had established. Given that Gaff never killed, jobs like this required care and attention to detail.

Her client hadn't liked that part of her job specs.

I want you in and out of there as fast as you can. If you have to kill a guard or two to bring me that box… The client left the rest unsaid as Gaff held up her hand.

Those are the terms. If you accept, we have a deal. If you don't like them — find someone else. I'm sure Henk and Fin at the Lady's Legs down by the boondocks will be happy for the work. Brutes the both of them, but…

I want finesse and delicacy. But I need that box before it gets moved over to the next county. King Thrulian and his daughter will not stay here any longer than it takes to cement Baron Drapple's support.

How do you know that? As she had asked the question, her client slunk deeper into the shadows, pulling his hood over his head all the more. Gaff had cursed herself for being the fool, as such directness had scared the man. She'd been so close to drawing him into the light she almost saw his face.

Campton is a shit hole. The king doesn't like it here any more than the rats.

Sounds like a personal observation, she had noted. Of all the conversation which they'd had that night, that little fact had stuck with her. Was her client somehow related to the king? Usually, for her jobs, Gaff never bothered with the 'bigger picture' beyond the requirements of the task, but for this job the bigger picture was too important to ignore. One did not simply steal from the king and expect to retain your head.

Gaff had learned from an early age that the closer to power that one got, the more it burned, and there was no greater bonfire than that of the king. She crouched in the deep shadows waiting for at least a half hour, listening, watching. Through the line of trees she could see the huge expanse of the villa. It stretched to either side of the main drive then angled around a fountain centerpiece. Even this late at night two carriages stood drawn and ready to go. Armed guards lined the stairs leading up to the villa entrance.

She sensed that there were more but could only see eight. The others must be on the other side of the villa’s door. While she crouched and waited, she plotted her route to the villa over the lawn. She would move around the left side, using the hedges there for cover. At the midpoint on the left flank — the hedge broke near to the villa's side. She could cross there, perhaps swing up to the widow and gain access through that. It was not a hot night; but perhaps one of the windows would be open.

And if not?

Gaff would have liked nothing better than a day or two to scout the villa more thoroughly, but one didn't refuse the sums her client had laid upon the table. Three large money bags as a half-now, half-later type of deal? Who the fuck was she to refuse? Still, the better part of her had cautioned against greed, but her greedy side had won. It hadn't really even been a contest.

It was time to move. She skittered fox-like through the trees and hadn't gone more than a dozen or so paces before freezing in place.

Was that a dog she heard? She strained her hearing. Sure enough, two guards with a dog between them were beginning to roam across the lawn. They were headed directly for the tree line. Gaff tested the breeze and found that, thankfully, she was downwind of them. She cautioned herself, for that could change at any moment.

She reached into the bag on her left hip, opened a side flap and carefully drew out a copper pipe. Fishing deeper into the recess she found what she was looking for, retrieved a small wooden box between two fingers. Carefully she opened the box, saw that the darts were of the wrong color, closed it and put it on the ground. On the second attempt she smiled when she saw the darts. These were cut of glass, having a small vial that carried a liquid within. Its reddish tinge reminded her of bloodshot eyes.

Red Z. It was expensive as a top notch whore. As rare as the truth, and in larger doses it was deadlier than a pit full of vipers. It was one of the reasons she was thankful for the organization she had joined. It helped that they absorbed costs like this. In jobs such as this it was worth every penny, not to mention their gadgetry was top-notch. That popZ fella who ran it really knew his stuff. It took a lot to impress Gaff, and she'd been floored by his skills.

With deliberate care, she slipped the dart into the copper tube, took careful aim, and launched it toward the dog. It landed without breaking.

Shit!

Taking another, she repeated the process. It too landed in the soft grass, whole and happy. She cursed the makers for a glass indelicate enough to break in a grass patch. The dog and its handlers were closer than she cared to have them. Another ten steps or so and her night would turn ugly really fast. Gaff might be quick, but not quicker than a dog, and the bows the guards carried look well-used. The king's men weren't some dainty courtiers all pressed and ironed for looks. These were hard, well-trained men.

Taking her last Red Z dart, she slipped it into the pipe and blew it directly at the guard, aiming for the plate grieve. It clinked against the metal and she heard the satisfying snap as the glass broke. Almost at once the dog spun around, sniffing the air around the man's shin.

What the fuck is up with that mutt?

He's picked up the scent of something.

Smells like shit.

Devils take it! I must have stood in a pile of crap.

The dog had now become unsteady on its feet. It tottered drunkenly before collapsing, unconscious.

What the fuck?

Gaff watched as the guard wrestled with the stricken mutt, pulling on its leash. Reaching for the first box she had left at her feet, she flicked the tiny latch, retrieved the small pot inside. Taking a dart from her belt, she punched the point through the fabric lid and then slipped that dart into the tube.

The guard barely had time to react as the dart stung him at the back of his neck. Yeah, the popZ Agency had the best stuff! Magic ointments that could drop men in their tracks was the least of the toys she so enjoyed. She dosed both guards before they ever realized what was happening.

Nighty night, she whispered, then scampered over to the fallen men to retrieve the two unbroken Red Zs lying in the grass. No need to leave that expensive stuff lying around. Slipping the darts back into their wooden box, Gaff scampered away. She followed the edge of the tree line, and then angled away toward the hedges. When she'd gone about ten meters, she reached for the spice bag and scattered some pepper onto the ground. If the dog woke any time soon, tonight just wasn't going to be a happy night for it.

Gaff followed the hedge along the left of the villa and halted when it ended just fifteen feet away. Something at the back of her mind prickled and she froze. There were windows open this side, a lot of them. It might have been a hot and humid evening, but only one reason could account for so many windows having been opened.

House cleaning.

Before she had really thought about it, Gaff was bolting directly back to the wall. She might be noisy, but at this point she didn't care. The entire evening had been ruined! How could her client not have known?

Gaff reached the wall, snapped the grappling hook from her belt and swung it over the top. Behind her, a guard called out. Had she been seen? Gaff didn't turn around to look, but began hoisting herself up the wall as quickly as she could. She was over it and dropping down the other side without taking the time to ensure her landing was sound.

It wasn't. She felt her ankle tear with pain as she landed badly.

She saw the small group of soldiers at the same time they saw her. One reached into his tunic and retrieved a whistle. Blowing on it furiously, the small group bolted down the road toward her.

Farther away, more guards heard the whistle. Did it have to be so ridiculously loud? Gaff was bolting down the street toward the now-deserted market, where there were a lot of alleys and side streets in which she could possibly lose her pursuers. Not half way there, however, she saw a third group of men materialize out of the dark.

Town Watch? Good gods alive! How many worms could actually crawl out of the same piece of wood? she lamented, changing tack in a heartbeat.

Gaff was thinking fast. If the direct approach to the market was out as an escape, then she could cut down along Hammer Street, and swing between Paliothian University and the Tatagon Theatre. She dashed along Hammer Street, trying to ignore the pain in her ankle as she moved across the wide cobbled road. She could hear the heavy clash of armored guards giving chase behind her. She didn't hear the arrow as it nicked her left shoulder, slicing the meat neatly as it whistled on past into the night ahead of her.

Gaff cried out, veering right, and began dodging between the theatre’s colonnades, to throw off any other would-be archers. Just in time, too, as a number of shafts clattered and splintered against the wall. She ducked beneath a wagon, slipped along the wall and turned into a small alley way. To have this many men this close to the villa this late at night, it could only have meant one thing.

It had been a set up.

That much was all too obvious now. Gaff threw herself against the alley wall, reaching up tenderly to inspect her wound. It wasn't deep, but it stung like a bitch. The blood didn't look too dark in the evening light, for which she was thankful, since that meant nothing vital had been injured. She couldn’t detect any residue of poisons either, for which she was especially thankful. Her client had been right about one thing: Campton was a shit hole and even the guards used poisons if they could afford them.

Still, it didn't make sense. Why the set up? If her client wanted something stolen, why double cross her before she delivered? It was time for answers.

Gaff pushed on, aware that pursuit was close behind. She could hear their voices calling out to one another as they coordinated amongst themselves, rapidly closing in their dragnet. Her heart was racing way too fast to continue evading for much longer. She could smell her own fear and felt the first pangs of exhaustion play along her muscles.

The streets were becoming too crowded for her liking, but thankfully she had another means by which to get around the city. Fishing into her bag, she took out two cat’s claws and slipped them onto her hands. With these she would be able to scale the brick walls with relative ease. She would have preferred to put some on her shoes as well to make climbing that much easier, but a quick escape was more important now.

You! a voice at the top of the alley bellowed at her. Come here!

Gaff saw the large guard bolting toward her, drawing a nasty looking sword as he did so.

Always the weapons, she inwardly groaned, gods above why!

Spurred by the rush toward her, Gaff leaped onto the wall, slapping her palms hard against the brick. Feeling the satisfying bite as the claws took hold, she heaved, climbing upward. She hadn't gone more than half-way up before she felt a powerful hand clamp itself around her ankle. Looking down, she saw the guard dangling by one arm, his powerful hand clenched around her foot before their combined weight tore them both down.

With an oooff Gaff and the guard hit the street hard. The wind was driven from her lungs as she landed on top of him. His heavy armor saved him from most of the impact, but she was not so lucky. Her world swam and popped as she gasped for breath. Moments later, she felt his strong hands clasp themselves around her forearms like clamps. He spun her around, anger etched all over his misshapen face.

When I scream stop, yer fucking stop! he growled before backhanding her for good measure. Her head whipped back with the force, and Gaff felt the blackness drop behind her eyes like a curtain. Fighting off the sickening sensation of her impending doom, she went limp in his grasp. When the guard adjusted his weight to compensate for the sudden shift, she stiffened and propelled her palm upwards with all of her might, driving a cat claw as hard as she could into his chin. He recoiled backward, blood spouting across her face. The guard recouped almost at once, reaching forwards for her.

Gaff dodged the clumsy attempt easily enough, grabbing his left hand by a finger and yanking it hard. The guard bellowed and swiped at her with his other hand. It clipped Gaff against the side of her head with enough force to knock her back a step or two, but it was all she needed to be free of his reach. With a final kick to his knee, she was soon sprinting down the alley. She was almost free of it when two more guards appeared. She was about to stop and go back, but saw that they had not yet noticed her.

Gaff bolted through them. She clawed one across the throat and kicked the other somewhere low, missing the groin. It hurt her more than it did the soldier, as her injured foot flared intensely with pain again. The three collided and crashed to the ground. She was quicker to her feet than the two guards, but just as she took her first steps, a third guard sledgehammered into her back, slamming her hard onto the ground.

The lights went out. She was caught and she knew it.

The guard hauled Gaff to her feet by the roots of her hair, but she was too beaten to resist. The guard — the same man who had plucked her off the wall — now clutched a massive hand around a thick clump of hair. He angrily slapped her several times. It was all over, Gaff realized. She would be dragged to the nearest gaol and executed for the amusement of the crowds.

A sudden flare of desperation seized her. She struggled to grab the man's powerful wrist but he rocked her with a snap of his fist. More lights burst behind her eyes and nausea twisted her stomach as if she'd just eaten a rat.

A finger in the eye kills the most ardent love!

The words of her grandmother flooded her mind like a beacon of hope. Without thinking, Gaff fanned her fingers and shoved them toward his face. The man recoiled, dropping her as he clutched his injured eyes.

Eyes, apple, groin, heel. This had been her grandmother's mantra and Gaff followed it swiftly, executing each strike as fast and as furiously as she could. The big man staggered back, clutching his face, trying hard to breathe through his bruised larynx. Then Gaff was bolting down the road again, aware that the other two were following but with far less zeal than their counterpart had.

She bolted east, slipped between the row of trees in the center of Hammer Street and out past the fueller’s yard. Then she scampered down the narrow road between the stables. Just a little farther on and she would come to safe ground. She could see the tavern's sign swinging beneath the lantern: Lady's