Gris Lee Stories

Hard to tell how long I’ve been gone. Seconds, years, centuries even. Time is endless, and meaningless here.  I stood at the door of my pride and joy; The Untold Tavern. In a void of nothing, this bar exists for lost souls to come have a drink and chat before returning to their own worlds. Both the exterior and interior shift in appearance, though my favourite is the classic bar of human fantasy realms. I’ve worked here as long as I could remember. I was not born. One day I just was; Monica, the bartender. Ah, yes, that is in fact my real name by the way. Whilst travelling, shortening it to ‘M’ seemed like a decent way to hide my identity. It could stand for anything, after all. And thus, when my time was done I could slip away into relative obscurity.  I’m not sure what I am exactly, nor who created me. I admire myself in the reflection of the window. Like the tavern, my form isn’t necessarily set in stone either. Though, I have one that I’m partial to. The tall, bald, gender...

Whilst cavorting around the mystical islands of gods and magic, I played it safe so I could stick around a while. With such concentration of global cultures, I’d grown curious about how this affected their customs, or holidays. Time marched on, and soon we reached autumn. The islands were slowly painted over by bronze colours and spooky aesthetics. I’d been especially curious as to what they did with the over commercialised concept of the most spine-chilling holiday of them all. I was most certainly not disappointed. Turns out they’d developed their own version of the season, calling it Hallowed. It has a similar vibe to Halloween and Samhain, whilst also mixing in aspects of the various cultural equivalents of the locals. I’d spent the month attending various events, whether spiritual, or for silly fun. Today it fell into the latter category; a pumpkin carving competition at the Knask Eller Knep Patch. Someone informed me that it translates from Norwegian to ‘Trick or Treat Patch’. I ...

Exploring the mystical hidden islands, though fascinating, was a rather tiring venture. On my quest to provide tribute for the gods, I’d been hopping between temples, leaving gifts in my wake. From  my reconnaissance, the next on the list was the deity known as Charm. The list was long in what was deemed acceptable, though I’d be made to understand the gifts were somewhat reflective of themselves and another. Their partner, perhaps, I gathered from context. At the temple, I knelt down and produced a beautiful antique I’d been holding back for just the right moment. It was an old, handcrafted fan made by a Japanese courtesan I once shared a meal with. It was sewn together with thread and peacock feathers. Once the delicate piece had been laid down, I found myself growing quite peckish. To my great luck, there appeared to be a tea emporium connected to the deity in question’s temple. I made sure I looked presentable, then casually wandered over to have a look.  The emporium’s ar...

I’d been travelling this realm alone for the better part of my time here. I lent my aid a few times to passing parties of adventurers, but I felt it best not to get too attached. One quest here and there was fairly harmless. However, though the land and seas were full of riches, those came at a price. Chaos and destruction were a natural part of the order here. Whether it be a wild creature, an unholy demon or a wayward soul, blood would be spilt. Much of it I bore witness to first hand. My role of observer often made it difficult to change things; there’s only so much of my power I can let be known. It was a late evening. The stars were just starting to peek through the twilight veil in the sky. Shops were closing up, and I had come wandering in, weary from walking miles through the countryside. My feet dragged through to the closest inn. Luckily, there were still rooms free, so I paid for a bed, a hot meal and a good sized tankard of ale. Once settled, I’d only begun chewing on the g...

I was catering a wedding to the Calvetti family when it happened. The mansion grounds that day were filled with the merrymaking of mobsters. Don Calvetti’s son had just tied himself to a beautiful lady he’d met at a ‘business meeting’. The ceremony had gone quite smoothly, or so I was told. Myself, I was busy arranging the feast in the lavish gardens. I had no ties to the family; they simply reached out to caterers they could guarantee would not snitch. My reputation in New York at the time was fairly low key. I kept my face under a veil and my eyes on the job, to save my neck from the chopping block.  Once the alcohol had been circulated amongst the masses, the Calvetti heir himself took centre spotlight, calling for a toast. He held his glass of wine high, mouth open to speak. But, no words came. The silence was permeated by a bullet barreling through his teeth. It struck the wine glass. Shards clattered, liquid spilled, swirling into the trickling blood. Calvetti swayed forward,...

Extended version of The Lizard Wizard piece for university coursework. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I sneeze for the umpteenth time from the unsettled dust sprites using my home as a shedding spot. The glass tube I’m holding slithers between my fingers, though I’m able to recover just in time to tighten my grip. The murky green liquid swirling inside sloshes and settles. My cumbersome hat flops over my eyes. I breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing I need is another accident in the workshop. There’s a reason that the nobles all refuse to keep replacing my assistants. Bah! Humans have proven useless to me anyway. I don’t once regret holing myself at the helm of this old tower. Sure, it may be cold, dim and home to horde of dust sprites but the isolation is invigorating. Also, since I’ve situated myself upon the edge of the town, I am privy to the finest view of the forest. I...

I sneeze for the umpteenth time from the unsettled dust sprites using my home as a shedding spot. The glass tube I’m holding slithers between my fingers, though I’m able to recover just in time to tighten my grip. The murky green liquid swirling inside sloshes and settles. My cumbersome hat flops over my eyes. I breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing I need is another accident in the workshop. There’s a reason that the nobles all refuse to keep replacing my assistants. Bah! Humans have proven useless to me. I don’t once regret holing myself at the helm of this old tower. Sure, it may be cold, dim and   up with dust sprites but the isolation is invigorating. Also, since I’ve situated myself upon the edge of the town, I am privy to the finest view of the forest. I removed the rotting wooden shutters to the window above my desk upon moving into the place, just so I could overlook this glory of nature every day, all day as I work. I find it inspiring. It’s also very dis...