From now until the end of the year, this post will be updated with the best AI-Generated Content I manage to coax from my subscriptions. Some are stories, others are images. Some are stories inspired by images!
Often, I do a bit of editing, meaning I send follow-up prompts to tighten up the output. So don't be fooled. 90% of these creations required some back-and-forth to make them presentable.
Percival
Every morning, Sir Percival rode out with purpose and good intentions.
He had once carried only a sword.
That had been before the traveling scholars, the merchants, the retired champions, and the men who had never fought anything but nevertheless spoke very convincingly about it.
Now Percival rode beneath the weight of improvements.
His helmet was lighter than his old one, though it had taken three weeks to fit properly. His shield had been replaced twice. A new saddle promised greater endurance. His boots had buckles designed by a famous armorer in the south. Somewhere in the castle lay a chest containing the previous boots, two shields, four whetstones, and a device for sharpening swords that had itself become too difficult to maintain.
But today was different.
Today he carried the Lance.
It shone.
Not gaudily, Percival thought. Purposefully.
Across the field crouched the Beast.
It had grown enormous.
Its hide bristled with discarded weapons, cracked instruments, maps to places no one now wished to visit, books begun and abandoned, curious mechanisms bought from foreigners, and enough specialized equipment to outfit several small crusades. Half-finished projects dangled from it like old battle flags.
Percival lowered the Lance.
The Beast shifted.
Something glittered beneath one claw.
Percival hesitated.
It was a small thing. Exquisite. Ingenious. He could not quite tell what it did.
That hardly mattered.
He dismounted.
The Beast watched him approach.
Behind Percival, his horse began cropping grass.
By sunset, the Lance lay in the mud.
The new object rested carefully in Percival’s hands while he examined its workmanship from every angle.
Tomorrow, he decided, he would begin properly.
Back at the castle, the work remained exactly where he had left it.
Maximalism: Ruler of Rubbish
Maximalism: Ice Cream Scream-o-rama
Maximalism: Pasta Warehouse
Maximalism: Purple Burps
