A Liar's List

[ADashofHope]

[These pamphlets? Short snippets of prose? Doggerel? Are found around the Well, always in shaded spots.

Fate Crutzher

Ego

The Magistrate stifled a smile from her seat in the Hall of Jurisprudence. Iolaos Myrto-- a man whose misfortune had been to be in the right place at the wrong time-- had spent the last twenty minutes begging on his hands and knees. Twice the amount of time the raiders had made her plead for her own life. After weeks and months of playing the dutiful soldier...at last the time had come to wield the law as it was meant to be used.

Her own personal plaything.

An hour later it was done. The accused was escorted from the city in a daze. His punishment? Irrelevant. His purpose? A stepstool towards loftier titles...Legate, perhaps? Who could say?

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ONION

The Curse

Once upon a time, there was an old wizard with too many books and not enough time to read them all. So to aid him in his labors, he decided to create a few extra hands. He enchanted the books on his shelves, to float out the stacks and open themselves to him. He enchanted his quill, to take notes as he spoke aloud. And then the wizard, after all this busywork, decided to settle in for some lunch.

But the wizard had failed to properly clean his hands, and as he prepared his meal for the day, he accidentally enchanted an onion, which promptly fled its fate in the frying pan and fled the wizard's tower, into the desert. It rolled and rolled and rolled along in the ash, gathering weight, gathering knowledge, rolling rolling rolling

For years

And years

And years

Until the Onion arrived at Ephia's Well and was promptly given a rosecloak by the discerning eyes of the Crimson Stem. The Onion had changed. It had forgotten its humble origins. The ash coating its form had hardened and calcified into a facsimile of arms and legs. It believed itself to be like those around it, and emulated them to exactness-- save for one thing. The Onion could not speak.

Not yet.

Fear the Onion.

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The Fourth Legion

Fire that Walks

Blood and ash and smoke and scorch.

Do the Fourth know more than they're saying about the killer stalking our streets?

They say they piled their dead in the Scald, for fear the dead would walk.

Did they miss one? 

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Lacto Ephenephres

Insanity

"Are you sure?" The street swindler looked confused. Before him were three shells hiding colored stones, and the man in the Lily-white robe's intent was to select the White winner from its Golden comrades. The problem was, this was the swindler's first day, and he really wasn't good at the sleight-of-hand stuff yet.

There was no way the politician could have missed him pocket the white stone, but the man kept paying him for another try...

"Yes. This time I'm going to win."

The swindler couldn't believe his luck.

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Legate Lajane

Transparency

Champion Gilbrekht: We've got him in custody now, Legate. What do you want us to do with him?

Legate Lajane: Did anyone see him animate the dead?

Sergeant Dead-Eye: No Legate. He does have a mark on him, but that's not on the penal-

Legate Veiled: We can fix that. Hold him for a few hours while I call a Scribe to draw up the paperwork...

Legate Lajane: This is the right thing to do.

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Hakem Corinth

Indecision

"The Legate's getting impatient, Hakem. A Spoke needs to go on the Stele."

But which one? The Hakem swiped at his brow and looked around the circle of Speakers. Each of them met his gaze with a smile and a nod. Each of them carried a brutal blade, dull with blood. The brazier at the center of the circle crackled and hissed-- was that a whisper on the wind? Divine intervention?

"It should be /my/ Spoke, then!" The Hakem nodded with this proclamation, his dwarven beard sweeping the sand. The Speakers raised their voice with a cheer, and in the excitement, the Hakem never noticed the assassin closing in on him.

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Vaskr Farsong

Honorable Mention

Never told a lie in his life.

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[ADashofHope]

[A new entry is added...]