The Queue: Imp-ossibly short stories

Look at this imp. He looks so proud of himself. Content, fulfilled, satisfied.

Maybe the secret to stopping hordes of demons from invading your planet or dimension is getting them 9-to-5 desk jobs.

Once upon a time, in the beautiful capital city of Dornogal, a young adventurer named Soeroah had just begun his journey into a new land. He was known for his boundless enthusiasm and curiosity, often venturing into the wild to gather herbs and mine precious ores.

One day, Soeroah decided he wanted to become even better at his trades. He heard of an experienced mining trainer who could teach him Earthen secrets of ore gathering that the did not know. Without a second thought, Soeroah asked a guard for the trainer’s location and rushed to the emerald quarry, eager to learn.

“Master Tarib,” Soeroah said, bowing deeply, “I wish to be the finest miner in all the land. Please, teach me your ways.”

The trainer, an Earthen with skin of granite encrusted with amethysts, looked at Soeroah and smiled. “I can teach you, young one, but my knowledge does not come for free. It will cost you 95 gold.”

Soeroah, blinded by his excitement, quickly handed over the gold without hesitation. The trainer showed him the ways of mining, lessons that seemed familiar but were presented with a new, fictile flair. Soeroah felt proud of his new skills — though deep down, something nagged at him.

Nevertheless, feeling like his mind had expanded with knowledge yet craving more, Soeroah made his way to the herbalism hut, where Akdan, an Earthen wearing very fashionable spectacles, awaited him.

“I have heard that you seek the secrets of gathering, proud Soeroah, and I can teach you to pick the finest herbs on the Isle of Dorn,” announced the Herbalism trainer. “95 gold will be the cost of imparting my trade secrets onto you.”

“I will gladly pay, for it seems like a small price to learn from such an accomplished guru,” said Soeroah, handing the gold coins to Akdan. The bronze-bearded Earthen accepted them with a smile — a wry smile, which made that nagging sensation return to the pit of Soeroah’s stomach.

A few days later, while wandering the isle in search of an abandoned dog, Soeroah met an old friend, Red, who was also a skilled herbalist. They chatted for a while, and Soeroah boasted of his new training. Red laughed gently and said, “Soeroah, you did not need to pay for such knowledge. The forest and the mountains have always been your greatest teachers. All you needed to do was step outside and practice.”

It was then that Soeroah realized his mistake. The lessons he had paid for were nothing new; he had simply forgotten the value of learning from the world around him. He had spent over 150 gold on what nature offered for free! A dozen curses to Tarib! A hundred curses to Akdan!

Soeroah returned to Dornogal, poorer, but wiser, and from that day on, he never forgot the lesson he had learned: true knowledge often lies in what we already know, but fail to see.

Moral of the story: Sometimes, the most valuable lessons are free — if we only remember where to look.

Two demons within; only one survives.

Farseer, nature’s might.
Yet in flames, power ignites:
Firelord reigns supreme.

A fractured world threatened by shadows needs those who listen to both storm and moonlight.

Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be

I believe in the future
I don’t believe in miracles
Can it be true?!
It must be true, no doubt!

Life is going on as normally as ever
But suddenly something seems to have happened
Everybody seems to be staring in one direction
People seem to be frightened, even terrified

I want everybody to understand this
I don’t understand
There’re a lot of things we don’t understand either

We need answers from you
What did you expect to find?
What is going to be our future?
It’s your responsibility to do something about it!

Well, I, uh… I have the key in my hand
All I have to find is the lock

Now listen to me, all of you!
Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be

In the heart of Argus, the imps scurried through hunks of fel-iron turned into improvised cubicles, their fiery eyes dimmed by the glow of the Mo’arg monitors. Gone were the days of mayhem; now, they filed reports and answered calls, their fingertips clattering on keyboards instead of hurling Firebolts.

At one desk, an imp named Noklop huffed, his long ears wobbling in frustration as he wrestled with a spreadsheet. He missed the thrill of mischief, the satisfaction of incinerating a screaming victim. But here he was, trapped in a wrecked spaceship that had failed to invade a planet, sorting souls into neat, color-coded categories.

In the break room, the imps gathered, sipping from steaming mugs of black coffee — no cream, no sugar. Their once cackling voices were now softened by the monotony of office life.

“We used to be feared,” muttered Noklop, staring at the bottom of his cup as if it were a Dark Portal to a bygone age of glory. “Now, we’re just… assistants.”

His colleague, Jubnip, shrugged, adjusting his purple tie, and looking strangely proud. “Well, it’s a living. And hey, no more summoning sickness or running back to your master’s corpse. Just paperclips.”

The imps laughed a spineless, mirthless laugh. Their days of tormenting were behind them, replaced by memos and meetings. As Noklop returned to his desk, he glanced at the calendar: another year-end review loomed, and the thought made his ears droop even lower.

But there was a small spark of hope: a rumor whispered among the fel-iron cubicles. If they played their cards right, met their deadlines, and exceeded expectations, maybe, just maybe, they’d get promoted…

To middle management.