Word: Trice

trice 

[trahys] / traɪs /

noun

1. a very short time; an instant.

   in a trice.

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                Victor looked on in confusion as his opponent entered the arena. He barely heard the crowd’s reaction, but he knew they were mixed. Several people were excited to see him win. Others wanted his opponent to be victorious. Others had several more colorful calls about the person.

                That was because his opponent today was something that was almost never seen in the arena. A woman. She was quite the beauty, and seemed to have a fine figure, which was what got the men in the crowds so riled up. He heard several people calling for him to remove various articles of clothing from her during the battle. Victor pointedly ignored them. At the very least, her outfit was fully covering and seemed reasonably well suited to the battlefield. Not as good as armor, but better than nothing.

                Although she dressed decently, Victor still felt unsure of himself facing such a person. He was twice her size, wore good armor, and had a sword. She did not even have a weapon. Perhaps a martial artist? But they rarely did well in the arena. Well, he would find out soon.

                The two fighters got to their starting spots, around twenty strides away. Close enough to easily close, while being far enough that ranged fighters had a chance. Victor held his sword at the ready. The woman stood relaxed and without any hint of a fighting stance. Was she throwing the match? Maybe hoping to use her looks to sway him into giving up?

                The fight began at the signal from the noble’s box. Victor blinked. When he opened his eyes, she was there. Right in front of him. How had she closed the distance so quickly? He barely had the time to form the thought when her arm blurred. In an instant, he felt dozens of impacts striking his chest all at once. And these were not light jabs. Each one felt like the blow of a war hammer.

                 His armor was practically caved in as his body was launched back from the force of her attacks. Before he even hit the ground, she vanished and reappeared behind him. He had no way of defending from the onslaught that struck him. The attacks came all in a single instant and struck harder than they had any right to. His body buckled and changed direction from the power of her attacks.

                He could practically feel his bones bending in ways they should not at the heavy blows and sudden change. He had no idea what was happening to his organs, but whatever it was could not be good. And that was on top of his badly damaged armor pressing painfully into his chest, right on top of where she had hit him.

                This time the woman let him hit the ground, knocking out what little air was left in his lungs. He lay there, groaning in pain. Then he felt her hand close against his ankle. Her grip was tighter than a vice, and he felt the small bones start to bend under the force of her grip. Then she threw him.

                Victor may as well have been hollow. He tumbled and flipped through the air. A small part of him wondered if he was going to hit the far wall of the arena. That part was silenced when she appeared in front of him. This time, she delivered only a single punch. A punch that might as well have come from a giant.

                This time he did slam into the wall of the arena. A wall that would have taken even a fast runner a full minute to reach, he did in an instant. And he was buried in the hard stone, unable to move. And that was even had his body been able to do anything other than feel pain.

                His vision started to go dark. The last thing he saw was the woman waving to the crowd as she celebrated a victory that took less than ten seconds. His mind could only wonder how she had done it as his consciousness finally left him.  

Word: Loll

loll

American  

[lol] / lɒl /

verb (used without object)

1. to recline or lean in a relaxed, lazy, or indolent manner; lounge.

   to loll on a sofa.

2. to hang loosely; droop; dangle.

   The dog stood in the heat with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

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                Sally was cursed. Trapped in the form of an animal with her human mind intact. The old woman, who was apparently a genuine witch, had told her it was to teach her a lesson in diligence or something. Sally really did not care about that. The witch had, after all, made one very critical error.

                She made Sally’s animal “prison” a house cat.

                A lovely calico, to be exact. Sally had started her feline life on the street, but it had taken her all of a day to find a human family willing to care for her. Which meant Sally was now living her dream life. No responsibilities. No worrying about her next meal. Warm, comfy places to sleep. All she had to do was loll around and be cute, and everything was provided. Sally had been good at being cute as a human. Now that she was a cat? She was damn near irresistible.

                She had all the advantages of being a cat, with the understanding of a human. Case in point, when she scratched, she knew to avoid the furniture. Her humans loved that. It led to all kinds of praise and adoration. All from simply using a scratching post instead of the couch. It was perfect.

                And then there was the little girl. That kid was adorable. And so creative when it came to the world of fashion. Sally had been something on an amateur fashionista as a human. The kid loved to make little cat outfits for her. Sally was all too eager to indulge the girl’s creativity in that regard. After all, with a bit of encouragement, she could become a top-quality fashion designer one day. Today was adorable pet clothes made out of whatever she could find. Tomorrow could be the big runways.  

                And all Sally had to do was be there. Just lay around and purr when getting her chin rubbed. Which, by the way, felt absolutely divine. She did have to occasionally pretend to be dumber than she was, which was a pain. After all, if the humans thought she might be more than a mere cat, they might try and find out what was really going on. And if they somehow figured that out—as unlikely as it was—they might try and change her back. And Sally was enjoying her new life way too much to let that happen.

                The only bad part was the somewhat embarrassing name they gave her. Sally knew she wasn’t going to get her human name, but did they really have to call her Clawdia? She hated that name even when it was spelled in the normal, human way. She had nearly cringed when she saw how they spelled it. And once she saw it, she could not unsee it. At least being a cat gave her an excuse to not respond to the unfortunate moniker.

                Other than that, life as a cat was looking pretty good. Sure she was supposed to be learning some kind of lesson about some virtue or something, but why do that when there was a perfectly good sunbeam to lay in?

               

Word: Bolster

bolster

1. to support with or as with a pillow or cushion.

2. to add to, support, strengthen, or uphold (sometimes followed byup ).

   They bolstered their morale by singing.

   He bolstered up his claim with new evidence.

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                General Arvale’s brow furrowed as he looked over the battle map. Dozens of lines crisscrossed each other. Small wooden figures representing the various troop deployments filled the map along various lines. And there were far too many of them representing enemy troops.

                His eye fell on the only figure that was carved into a rough humanoid blob. It was currently deep in enemy territory. Right where it was doing the least amount of good. The small party the figure represented was supposedly going to defeat the enemy’s leader, which was a noble goal. But they did not seem to be actually trying to get to the enemy’s capitol. From the scrying magic being used on them weekly, they were meandering around and doing irrelevant small tasks. Intelligence told him that they were trying to ‘gain goodwill and understanding’ with the enemy’s population.

                The general sighed. It sounded like a good thing. It certainly made for a good story. But it did nothing to help his men being slaughtered on the battlefield. The so-called “hero party” was not actually helping the war effort like they were supposed to.

                And the worst part? That they were allowed to do whatever they wanted. The hero party was undoubtedly powerful. Absurdly so. And the damn nobles and royals were convinced that this was all it would take to bring down the enemy. Had anyone consulted the general? No. Had anyone asked any of the military officers? No. Even if they had, nothing would change, but at least Arvale would have been able to rub it in the noble’s faces when he was proven right.

                If he had his way, he would use the hero party’s overwhelming power where it would actually do some good. Send them to the front lines and have them mow down monsters so the entire damn army could support and work with them. That way the heroes would have an entire army at their backs when they finally reached the enemy capitol. They could deal with public relations after the war ended.

                Unfortunately, that was not going to happen. Which meant that General Arvale was on his own. What he needed now was not a hero. He needed something, anything to bolster his forces. More troops, better weapons and armor. Even a single mage would turn the tides. He would even take one of the mages with so-called useless magical specialties. He had heard of a mage whose only magical skill was conjuring cheese. That man could save the army a staggering amount of gold and massively improve troop morale. And a cleaning mage? Well, that would practically eliminate the threat of diseases born of poor sanitation.

                He could see dozens of ways of using even the weakest mages. And yet, he was not even getting regular soldiers anymore. An extra platoon of archers would be a godsend. A single squad of cavalry would ease so much pressure. But no. According to the people holding the purse strings, all the world needed was the hero party. Forget the soldiers actually holding the enemy at bay. Forget the reason the kingdom had not been overrun yet. Forget supporting the people doing the work.

                Forget bolstering the troops with outside sources. General Arvale would just have to do the best with what he had. Hopefully they would all survive long enough to see whether or not the idiot noble’s gambit would pay off.