Addendum

The space curseship is a gigantic jack-o'-lantern. I figured it out.

Science Fiction Horror

It doesn't have to be a spaceship with zombies on it, but that's sure all I can think of. A space station with zombies on it. That's the same thing.

The Fable of the Magic Jar

Once upon a time, a peasant came back from an adventure with a magic jar. He poured water in it, closed the lid, shook it, and opened the lid to pour out ice. He showed it to the villagers and turned their grain into bread, their beer into good beer, and their sand into glass. He showed it to the merchants and turned their ore into ingots and their dross into gems. He showed it to the king and turned his gold into a magnificent crown that the other monarchs soon would envy.
"Well then, why don't we crack it open and see how it works?" A suggestion from a king is nothing less than an order, and so the peasant smashed his magic jar on the palace's tiled floor. Among the shards, there was a tiny little wizard who instantly grew back to his full size.
"Thanks for getting me out of there, fellas!" the wizard exclaimed. "I accidentally trapped myself in there when I made it. Now I can show your magicians how to make jars just like mine." He did just that and ensured the prosperity of the kingdom forever.
Moral: If something's good, break it and see how it works; otherwise, how will you know?
Finis

Addendum

I won't insult your intelligence by reminding you to set a number of continues.

Important Worldbuilding Question

Before you start your first draft, ask yourself: Do people in this setting get hurt if they touch spikes on the side? How about water? Does it kill them instantly? Suppose someone runs into an enemy. Is that enough for damage, or is an attack required?

Wheel of Time Season Finale

I didn't watch it, but did some background Seanchan or Whitecloak discourse on the history of heron-marked blades or wolf breeds or something? If not, I'd like to make a recommendation for next season.

About Character Descriptions

Bad: "He was wearing leather gloves."
Good: "His leather gloves had spikes coming out of them that glowed with demon poison that dripped to the earth and scarred it forevermore."
Bad: "The man looked to be about twenty-four."
Good: "The man stood among twenty-four corpses, a number the same as his age."
Bad: "Her eyes, one green, one blue, blinked."
Good: "The apocalypse had already begun."

Addendum

It's up to your discretion whether you give the henchman a name, but it's probably better in most cases not to.

Trends Are Friends

Antique: Easy transit between the surface and the moon.
Boutique: A random henchman who's shockingly well-informed on an esoteric subject.

The Treatise of Steel

The young scholar kept one hand on the cliff face. As rough as it was, he needed it to steady him as he walked. "Walk" was far from the most appropriate word; he would have been able to think of a better one in the city, but there, miles and months away, language thinned.
He kicked a pebble. It took looking down and concentrating on the laws of cause and effect for him to reach that conclusion. He managed it in the end, and to follow the pebble's path as well, and when he raised his eyes, at last he saw it. The library, that legendary library, that he risked everything to find. For him, "everything" did not amount to much, but that would change. The library was real.
At the entrance a guardian stood and had stood for incalculable ages. The scholar worried his plans would be frustrated at the end by some activity on the part of the great statue, twenty feet tall and as vividly painted as if its creator had finished the piece that morning.
"Inside," the guardian intoned, "is all the knowledge of significance in this world. Enter and learn, visitor." Unmoving, it gave that message again and again in response to the scholar's alternating withdrawals and advances. His old spirit of curiosity was returning, and it pushed him over the threshold.
What books, what scrolls, what histories and treatises filled the shelves tall and wide within that library? None. The place was bare, its rows unfilled. Not a single item of scholarly purpose did he see.
In the middle, however, was a platform, and on that platform a stand, and the stand held up a sword in its life-sparing scabbard. The scholar took the sword in hand. He drew it. He understood then; he knew at last what mattered.
Finis