Always Get Back Up (Kit)

 Always get back up (prompt: “get back up you’re embarrassing yourself”) 

Going flying across the room and landing flat on my back against the hard mats and harder floor wasn't how I’d originally planned to start my morning. Parts of my body hurt that I didn’t know were physically capable of hurting. “Get back up, you’re embarrassing yourself.” is the only acknowledgement I get from the old master who sits watching. I double check that I’m not bleeding or anything while catching my breath before hauling myself to my feet. Grabbing the sparring staff from where it had landed I remark that “I’m fine, nothing's broken, thank you for asking.” all I get in response is a noise that signals I’m on thin ice as it is, and not to push it. Yuuri stands on the other side of the sparring mat, patiently waiting for me to gather my wits before we spar again. Why the insistence on staff sparring practice and other techniques for everyone I’ll never understand. I suppose it does build character, and teaches one to always get back up- either for the purposes of self preservation to avoid embarrassment, or more practically to avoid getting killed while prone. Still, I don’t enjoy it, my skills are much more suited for appearing and disappearing unnoticed and quick close encounters. Aside from learning resilience, and the many places that can ache immensely the day after, this doesn’t accomplish much, for me at least. Yuuri, I suppose, finds it beneficial, unfortunately for me- I just get my ass kicked. Such is the way of a typical Tuesday.

Character Reference: Carter "Kit" Oneil

 Full name: Carter “Kit” O’Neil 

Languages spoken: Breton, Dunmeri, Common

Birthday: May 21st 3E 402

Age: 25

Height: 5’3”

Weight: 120

Eye color: blue-green

Hair color: Blonde

Race: Breton

Significant other: Yuuri Seki

Children: none

Class: rogue

Profession: member of the thieves guild 

Gender: male

Gender expression: masculine

Pronouns: he/him

Sexual Orientation: Gay

Romantic Orientation: Homoromantic

Known disabilities: ADHD mixed type

Siblings: none

Parents: unknown

Current Residence: Seki household, Morrowind

Aliases/ Also Known As: Kit, Kitten, Kitty-cat

Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Twenty Six: The Space Between (Abigail)

 Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Between (a character discovers a secret door in an otherwise ordinary place) 

This is fascinating! Who knew you could engineer stone to move in such a way that pressing a button causes it to pull back and reveal a secret passage? I certainly didn’t, and especially not in such a seemingly ordinary place like a cemetery. Though, I guess, having secret doors in a place like this would make sense, but only for fancy old crypts to hide treasures. A button that when pushed moves a whole sarcophagus out of the way to reveal a staircase down to a secret hideout though, that is very unexpected. I find it interesting that this odd engineering marvel leads to the Ragged Flagon and the Thieves Guild's living quarters in the Ratway rather than some spooky Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. The Thieves Guild does occasionally have to kill people, but only in dire situations, or sometimes it happens by accident. Contract killings go to the Dark Brotherhood. Some of our clients however employ both organizations. We walk the line between life and death in a way. Walking down the cold stone steps kept hidden by day under the mausoleum into the darkness of the tunnel system I find myself very cognizant of that fact. While killing is not part of the job description, a thief still encounters excesses of death, life, and everywhere in between, it’s those realms of being that have the most worth stealing. The dead don’t need their gold, those marked among the living spend their time living in excess. Those between the two sometimes simply have things that are wanted by certain people. To find out why requires reading between the lines, and having friends in high places. 

Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Nineteen: Warning Signal (Lukas)

 Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Warning (a solution introduces a new problem immediately) 

How exactly we found ourselves in Necrom is a series of events I cannot remember with reasons to justify the trip being even less though if I had to guess I would bet that Fyr may just want to talk to some old friends of his. Of course, if that is in fact why we’re stuck here in the city of the dead, he would drag us along for the ride. Really I should just ask Naomi but she seems to be otherwise engaged in poking around the strange city and recording observations. Maybe the trip was her idea, which makes it marginally less terrible…though not by much. The architecture is unusual compared to other cities I’ve been in. That should be expected I suppose since all other cities I’ve ever been to have been made by and for the living and not the dead. Fyr and Naomi look around interested in everything the unnerving city has to offer. Simon and Elisheva stick close to me both just as anxious as I am. Liat, on the other hand, trails curiously after her sister. Not close enough to directly engage with any of the buildings or other objects of Naomi's investigation, but close enough to observe from a distance. A few spirits wander through the city here and there ignoring the living. That is until we get to one who stops dead in its tracks, no pun intended, and stares at me for a very long time. With night beginning to fall more and more spirits begin to appear as the formerly quiet city comes back to life, in a very much undead way. Suddenly a heavy wool cloak is thrown over me before I can react otherwise. While I’m busy trying to find my way out from under the cloak I hear a sigh of relief and Fyr calls out “It’s gone!” from somewhere nearby. I assume it was him who threw the cloak over me. The relief is short-lived as the call is followed by a significantly less pleased noise shortly after. Once I finally manage to get the heavy garment off I can see what the commotion was about. On the place where the strange spirit had been standing is a circle that looks as if it had been burned into the ground with what looks to be writing. We congregate around the odd marking in the attempt to figure out what in the world just happened. Fyr kneels to further inspect the ash-like residue and makes another noise signaling something between curiosity and displeasure before giving me a long hard stare. I don’t like when he does that. I know he’s just thinking, but the intense eye contact is unnerving, and I dislike even regular eye contact at the best of times. Liat I notice pulls out a book from her pack and begins to look through it. “Well it appears that it’s a good thing we came to visit. Something's afoot, and I intend to find out what, starting with this.” Fyr tells the group as he gets up, pointing to the odd burned mark. “Why the ancestor spirit left a marking like this is quite unusual. And why it reacted that way in the first place, disappearing only when Lukas was made to be out of its sight, however rudimentary that solution was, even more so.” he explains, taking a moment to thank Elisheva for lending her cloak in a time of need. 
“Isn’t that supposed to be some kind of omen?” Liat pipes up from the back of the group referencing a page in the book she had been flipping through that has some rather scary looking illustrations. Just our luck. Of course the solution to the current mystery problem turns out to be some sort of warning insight into a much larger, much more dangerous, very likely supernatural problem. That’s just wonderful. Why do I agree to get dragged into these adventures again?

Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Seventeen: Shelter From The Storm (Liat)

 Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Shelter (write a story where the setting is as active and influential as any character)

The desert is far more dangerous and unpredictable than anyone tends to think. Shifting sands swallow cities whole. Once mighty civilizations become forever lost to the unforgiving sands of time. Places offering shelter from the sweltering heat in the day, and the freezing cold in the night, are few and far between. In the blink of an eye an otherwise seemingly endless view of nothing but sand and sky can turn into a nightmare where seeing more than a few feet ahead is impossible. Sandstorms can appear suddenly and disappear just as suddenly leaving only havoc in their wake. Crossing such dangerous terrain requires skill, staying alert watching for seemingly minor changes, and a high degree of preparedness before venturing on. Having set out equipped with plenty of food, water, and lightweight protective layers of clothing the most significant challenge on my journey will be making it to the next place of shelter. With still many more miles to go I feel a familiar change in the wind as a breeze coming from the sea, already so far away, makes its way inland. Looking at the map I calculate how much time it will take as I continue at a steady, if slightly faster pace. Alright desert, if that’s how you’re going to play then let’s play…though, preferably, only once I’ve got a nice sturdy stone roof over my head and walls to shelter from the oncoming mass of wind and sand.  

Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Sixteen: Old Rules Made New (Valan)

Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Rules (a rule is enforced for the first time in years) 

Caius looks at me in a way that makes me worry his eyes may just pop right out of his head. “They said what?!” he nearly yells but quickly comes to his senses and quiets down, you never know who else might be listening after all. “They said what?!” He repeats in a harsh whisper about my strange encounter last night with a couple of people who spoke nonsense about some lord and the return of a lost house that had been “sleeping” awaiting the fulfillment of a prophecy. Apparently these weirdos thought I figured into their plan somehow and grabbed me in the middle of the street while out for a late night walk. Had I not woken up with a bruise on my arm from where one had held an iron grip to keep me from running off I would have thought it all a nightmare. A really, really, really, weird nightmare. “Any ideas what they were on about?” I ask Caius who has since stopped looking at me like I had three heads and instead now paces around the small sparsely furnished house in circles. A hand on his head running through his thinning grey hair the other hand anxiously fidgeting with a spare piece of string that had come loose from the pocket of his pants. Per usual, he still isn’t wearing a shirt, the weather is too hot here for him apparently, and it’s part of his undercover assignment to look like an eccentric neighbor in order to be left alone. “You haven’t mentioned this to anyone else have you?” The spymaster asks, his voice sounding increasingly anxious. “No. Just you.” He sighs in relief. “Keep it that way.” I hesitate in asking but decide to question why. “Every few years somebody comes along claiming to be the reincarnation of Nerevar, which has something to do with an Ashlander religious prophecy. While they’re generally left alone, the Tribunal Temple really doesn’t like it when they bring up that prophecy. They like it even less when people turn up saying they’ve got something to do with it. That’ll get you labeled a heretic real quick. Being labeled a heretic will get you impaled by an Ordinator even quicker. Don’t say anything to anybody.” Well that’s terrifying. “Got it?” I give a mock salute “Yes sir!” the spy only sighs tiredly as he sits on the unmade bed. “We’ve already been over the rest of the rules, but here’s one we haven’t talked about yet because it hasn’t been needed in years; keep your mouth shut when asked about prophecies.” That’s an oddly specific rule. I know better than to question the spymasters rules though, they’ve been compiled over decades of service. I wonder what was going on whenever the last time that rule had to be used was?
 

Flash Fiction February 2026 Day Fifteen: Just Pretend (Fyr)

 Flash Fiction February 2026 Prompt: Pretend (two enemies must act as though they are on the same side) 

Well this is just great, teaming up with one of the people I loathe most in the world. Of course it had to work out this way, just my luck. “Just so you’re aware this isn’t forgiveness for the whole mechanical invasion thing.” I’m given only a silent shrug in return. “You know, I liked you a lot more before you got all holier-than-thou and refused to see me.” Another silent shrug. “Oh please, it used to be impossible to get you to shut up! Won’t you at least say something?” A pause in our walk through the gardens, which are at least quite nice, that’s been a skill kept up. “Something.” A quiet, monotone, almost mechanical voice says. “You cheeky bastard if only I were taller I’d strangle you myself” a glance downward “And yet, you are not.” The swift pace of walking is picked up again without effort. “Beneath that icy exterior I know you still have feelings. You’ve always been good at playing pretend.” Again we stop, and a long thin arm gestures to the beautiful gardens, with their flowing little waterfalls and fish ponds, and in the distance a wooden pagoda stands. It is a tranquil paradise in many ways. “Perhaps you’re right, old friend. I have always been good at pretending. Perhaps even all of this is just pretend. A perfect, make believe world, away from all the rest of the noise and the chaos. Like living in a bubble.” In a way it is a methodically engineered little bubble. “Well, pretend or otherwise, will you help me save the real world this time or not?” Finally, a tiny second of eye contact. “I would be honored to do so.”