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The Golden Stag, episode three: Death Of The Author 2

Written by Jaeger Dominus

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Whenever I wasn't practicing my signature (For my paper checks, told not to trust debit) I was playing dota 2 by myself. I liked to call it "Death of The Author 2" because it killed me every time I played. Not the game's fault, or the devs who made it. No, it was my stubborn pride that kept me refusing a loss even though I earned one. It would have happened with any other game, but this one was a passion of mine.

My room cleaned, my chores done, some extra relaxation with the good stuff and some extra food for my stomach. I played the game. That was all I could do with my time. I hadn't had much anymore. I loved Dota 2 with a passion, and like the passion I suffered. Cut, cut, cut, goes the chisel to the diamond, but which one wears out first? That was me with self improvement. Every old bit of me was gone, yet nothing new remained.

Then I saw a great flashing light consume me and I vanished, not from space but memory. It felt as if you'd envisioned a better life some centuries ago. But this kind of vanishing was more a forgetful state, as if you awoke from a dream some time before. I awoke to an astonishing sight: A fifty kill and one death game as the worst hero in Dota 2, Nature's Prophet. He was the hero I struggled with the most in improvement. And like that, there was a game won. It felt... good. I hated to admit it. I couldn't remember something happening and I felt good about it. It made me feel a tad bit unethical, to have this sort of feeling.

Then it came to a vision of the future, another of those vanishing feelings. I was in a stadium, with hard concrete floors. The Alamodome. We were in the Alamodome. But how did I know there was a 'we?'

"Hey," someone said, next to me, "We made it to the grand finals. We might qualify for The International!"

Yep, delusional. Someone said I'd qualify for The International. Clear trolling. I had a rank of zilch.

I looked to my left, and saw a Tanuki-girl. Raccoon-dog patterns on her face, she had a beauty unseen to many. It felt as if she opened her heart for my eyes only. A beautiful touch, a hug, and we wept on the stage we were on.

Then I woke up. I always knew that was a dream, but it ate at me how comfortable I would have been if it were a reality. She stunned me, just like she stunned everyone else we met.

Then I saw my room was an absolute pigsty, and I knew that I hadn't any idea on how to live my life.

The crow and Raccoon were in the yard again.

I walked through the backdoor to see the creatures wandering around. Nope, no bow this time. I didn't want to hurt them. Why wouldn't I? I didn't feel like hunting.

I cleared my throat when I reached the backyard. "Eh-hem."

The bird and the raccoon stayed, and I assumed for some reason they'd flee, as that was exactly what they did the past hundreds of times. But nope, they stayed. I wondered why, but a lot of things have made me wonder that.

"Half-Mak," the bird cawed. A puff of smoke and the sky went to a brilliant shade of blue, like sapphires in the clouds. Standing in front of me was a raccoon girl, with dark fur and pointed ears on her head. The Corvid Mother raised her hands up.

"Did you prefer your dreams this time?" she asked.

How was I to answer that? "What do you mean, prefer my dreams?"

"There's got to be a reason why you wanted to talk to your backyard neighbors," the raccoon-girl said. She was immediately shushed by the corvid mother. "Sorry."

"You've got to be careful," The Corvid mother said. "He could remember some of his past life as a result."

"My what?" I asked. "Why would my memories be lies?"

Then it clicked. We were in a dark underground area. Those were my previous memories of me when I was Elijah Donovan.

"They're memories, not lies," I caught myself in the middle of saying. "I prefer the name Elijah Donovan."

The Corvid Mother, who I was protecting, blinked. "You do not prefer the term fawn prince?"

I felt disorganized as if I caught myself on a completely different tangent.

"I don't ever remember hearing that. I think?"

"Fine," she said, and sighed. "Half-Mak Elijah Donovan, you are free to explore the Human world once more. Recognize where things have changed, and if you'd like to live the life you are currently leading. It may seem like it was just yesterday, but things have very much changed."

"Thank you," I said, out of hope that this was another crazy dream. "Thank you."

Another blink. I was back in my bed, waking up. Dreams within dreams. Hated those, those tripped me up the most. As I stood up out of bed, I heard a scraping noise on the top of my ceiling. When I looked up large gashes were made into the drywall.

"Antlers?" I asked, reaching up. I touched the things on my head, then saw my fingers.

Deer hands. Deer feet. I stood plantigrade, but my feet looked like deer hooves.

Panic. Then I didn't wake up.

"What's wrong with me?" I asked, stumbling out of my room into the living room. "What happened--"

My antlers caught the railing and I flew back, hitting my head.

I thought I'd see darkness, but instead I still ended up in that dark underground area. The corvid mother.

"Fine," I said. "If it means I'll get more time to be me after this ends, I'll go by the name fawn prince."

"Good," she said, and ushered our mercenary troupe to carry on.

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Liking the third episode? Let me know in the comments or DM'S! A single message keeps me in the game for a week longer!

I'm eventually aiming to get this posted into a novel format on Kindle Unlimited, with a paperback edition! Stay tuned for the Golden Stag.

Commission me for writing projects! My Comm's are open, simply DM me for details!

See ya soon!

--Jaeger Dominus