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Post by Thorn on Sept 16, 2019 7:01:42 GMT -5
So I found an old short story I haven't edited in months, but I really like it! It was inspired by a scene in the video game Nightcaster...but more shippy, and with the lady character's role almost entirely changed. I went in and did a little bit of editing while I think about where I want to take this story. A microfic magazine I submit to is taking submissions for a 'Romance' theme this month...but the word limit is 250 and I doubt I could trim this piece that far. I'm more likely to expand it a little and give it a proper ending. Pity, because I was excited for the Romance theme- but I just kinda ended up doing nothing for it. I've also been working on my NTWF 'zine piece, of course, which I'll submit tomorrow when I get back to my laptop. I don't get timezones, but I think that'll work. I want to make sure I give each member of EuroAtlantis enough attention (the piece was designed as a sort of tribute to the group adventuring together for one year. It's two of my NPCs talking about them and their glorious deeds.) I'll share a snippet of Glorified Nightcaster Fanfic 2.0 because, even if it doesn't have a proper ending, I enjoyed writing it and it deserves one eventually! (an angelic ball of light, two chosen ones destined to save each other over and over again until finally they manage to save the world...and also their friend with far less Destined Plot Immunity.) He tightened his grip on the gnarled, ancient oak staff, and with his free hand touched the crow’s skull at his throat.
“No.”
“Etham, you could destroy us both.”
“But I won’t.”
He closed his eyes. All the colour drained from the world, drained into the eye sockets of that tiny skull. The moss in the cobblestones, the blue of the sky, the yellow of the sun- all dimmed as the shine in the skull’s eyes grew. When the gold started to drain from Will’s hair, and his whole form discolored to dusty grey and flickered with the promise of death, Etham sagged and leaned on the staff for support. He felt about ninety years old, but his heartflame nestled herself against his neck, and a little warmth returned, and he somehow found the strength to push through.
We can do this, he told himself as he fell to his knees, ears ringing with faraway music. So close.
Even as his vision clouded, he tightened his grip on the old oak staff and leaned into it, poured his everything into that. It glowed with warmth, funnelling back into his skin, keeping death at bay. His heartflame doing her work even in her final flutters of existence. Etham wished he had the strength to thank her.
All at once his senses returned. Dazed as he was it took him a moment to register the woman standing over him, glowing brilliant gold, hands clasped around his own. The heartflame stirred weakly at his side.
“Anna?” Etham croaked.
“The very same,” she helped him to his feet, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Monster’s dead.”
“I’m glad.”
“Will’s not. That was a brave thing you did.”
I never actually write characters saying they love each other so SUCK IT, UNEMOTIONAL TREND! “I love you,” Etham murmured.
Will stroked his hair. “I love you too, my stupid stubborn sorcerer.” |
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Post by Thorn on Oct 4, 2019 2:01:52 GMT -5
OCtober 2019 Linky List!1. Beginnings (Solaria and Hatchet Split) 2. Dance (Kaztae/Zazz and Kiortel) 3. Feast (Arcaito and Bumbleberry) 4. Nature (Ursh and Gulgg) 5. Lost (Dylan) 6. Bitter (Rauliso and Rinn) 7. Tender (Percy and Floren) 8. Storm (Ragnailt) 9. Study (Kaztae/Zazz and Zorithal) 10. Memes (Tenacity and Tevineri) 11. City (Usavias and Rynn) 12. Obsess (Zazz) 13. Waiting (Ivellios) 14. Play (unshared) 15. Scream (did worldbuilding for the karkini in EuroAtlantis.) 16. Wild (Rynn and Solstriana) 17. Safety (Ursh and Gulgg) 18. Childhood (Dylan, ft. Moni's Anwen) 19. Clean (Gale and Cordelia) 20. Rivals (one unshared, a second with Florenwolf and Percywolf.) 21. Trick (Zazz and Kiortel) 22. Heist (Zazz) 23. Stars (Astrophelle) 24. Hug (Nassi, ft. Bree who is not mine)
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Post by Thorn on Dec 4, 2019 2:48:45 GMT -5
Ursh's campaign wound up the other day. Very emotional! I've enjoyed playing them so much. They were my first D&D character, and in many ways reflect my ideas about what constitutes a truly Good Person: while they're not very attractive, they should probably wash their hair more and take a few more baths, and they're not very intelligent or eloquent or good at reading and writing...they nevertheless do their best by others, they're compassionate and driven, and honestly sometimes when I'm freaking out I fix their persona in mind to feel like a Calmer and Better person. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but whatever the case they mean a lot to me and even though the campaign is over, Ursh will always hold a special place in my heart! This piece takes place a few days after the fight with the BBEG, who killed Ursh and knocked out the other two party members...good times...because of this, had an excellent discussion about death spirals in d&d at work today. A lot of this piece is written in the form of reflections back on the day of that battle. This was in my files titled: 'Ursh Bby after Notkriv.' For what felt like more than a few short months, Ursh had dreamed of vanquishing that demon. They’d pictured all the ways he might be electrocuted, decapitated, or disintegrated- imagined how satisfying it would feel to drive Dragonsword up beneath his ribs. Ultimately he had been vanquished in none of these ways, although even now days later they weren’t sure of the precise circumstances. They hadn’t even seen it happen.
The battle was over by the time Ursh regained consciousness with Paladin Truespark bent over them. For those first few moments butterflies fluttered in their stomach like old times, but the pleasant haze quickly faded. Everything hurt. There was a hollow ache in their chest that didn’t feel right at all (‘intangibly bruised’, was the thought that resurfaced over and over afterward.) When memories of the battle flooded back, they instinctively reached for Dragonsword and didn’t find it. Parts of them were burned and parts were bleeding, and others were just sore for no apparent reason whatsoever.
Tsuki had been uncharacteristically affectionate. Ursh didn't mind that- they always appreciated a good solid hug, after all- but it only reinforced the nagging uncertainty that something wasn’t right. Wellweather, who had clearly seen better days, did not receive the same attention. Ursh suspected that this had been more than just a temporary loss of consciousness. The idea that they could still be killed so easily was unpleasant, after everything they’d done and everything their mother did for them. Months spent away from it all was bound to catch up eventually, Ursh thought bitterly.
When they later removed their armour the fabric below clung to their flesh, dark with blood. Ursh placed a hand between their ribcage and right hip, feeling out this unfamiliar wound and their pulse beneath- slow and steady once more in spite of everything.
Their thoughts so often cycled back to regret at not seeing the demon fall. Of course they hoped he never came back- too many lost their lives in that last conflict- but Ursh wished they’d been there when he died. The fiend lurked somewhere in the hells licking his wounds, for sure, but somebody had put him there and that somebody hadn’t been Ursh. He’d returned to the world because of them and, ultimately, they hadn’t been enough to fix that mistake. People had died because of this monster’s return. People who Ursh never met and who they could never mourn- people whose only crime was existing somewhere in the fiend’s path. A path which wouldn’t have existed if he’d remained bound in that cave.
In the present, Floral chittered and pranced on the grass before them, drawing the orc back to themself. Ursh ran their fingers through her warm fur and buried their face in it.
“Hey Floral.”
Tsuki was gone. She left behind a letter, which was something, but at the same time knowing how she felt made that departure hurt all the more. After everything, Tsuki still didn’t think she was a good person, and if it was up to her they would never meet again. The thought was upsetting and it was all Ursh could do not to employ a sending-spell to at least tell her it was okay- that she was a good friend, that she’d never hurt them, and even if she had it didn’t change the fact that this was Tsuki. She’d done everything with the best of intentions. She’d helped bring Ursh back from the dead close to a year ago now, and that was more powerful a symbol to them than anything the girl could possibly have said or done to believe she deserved loneliness.
Ultimately Ursh decided to give it a month. Perhaps this battle had been too much, perhaps she just needed space. If nobody heard from Tsuki in that time, they would try that sending-spell. She was their friend, after all, and people don’t just leave their friends to suffer. Maybe Tsuki wouldn’t respond, but that was okay. As long as the spell worked they would let her know they cared about her, and that they were here for her, and that they had never once considered her undeserving of friendship. Whatever else was going on in her mind Tsuki needed to work out for herself.
In the meantime there were other friends to consider. Ursh scratched Floral between the eyes with one hand, and with the other pulled a crumpled sheet of parchment from their pocket. They still couldn’t write very well but were gradually improving- and Aurora, of all people, wasn’t going to judge them. One day she would write to Ursh as promised. Had she found her friend yet? Had she managed to keep the others alive? Did Aurora ever get seasick in her travels?
They had so much to tell her already. Hopefully she wrote soon, or else Ursh would be forking half their gold over to the postal service at this rate. They bit their lip as they scanned the parchment, critiquing the scrawlings and errors and corrections. The orc sighed, tucked it away once more, and beckoned to Floral.
“C’mon. I need to ask Andry how to spell ‘Tiberius’.”
For now, Ursh would work on this letter for Aurora. Little things and little steps. |
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Post by Thorn on Dec 5, 2019 0:45:57 GMT -5
While the last piece took a few days to write, this one I wrote half in a surge of inspiration last night when I'd just climbed into bed (wow such timing!!!!), and the other half today. I think it helps I'm not as concerned about the quality of this piece. While Ursh is my own player character, these two are just NPCs from EuroAtlantis- one has never actually appeared in the game, and so there's even less attachment! I think last session I indicated who preceded Solstriana as the head of the Institute, but I also had an idea of who preceded Usavias as Master of Trade (for purposes of Making Worlds Feel Like They Have History And Depth.) Well, I had one idea anyway- a very small thing about her. But then that one idea made me suddenly want to write about her for whatever reason so. Here she is, suffering in the rain at some unspecified time in Shaan's past (my heart says 200 years but idk, some time ago.) Cai Shaan is lovely in the winter, probably not, the party should holiday elsewhere tbhThe two elves had lingered in the middle of the wharf for some time now. The taller and heavier of the duo paced gently, scratching the edge of one long tapering ear with their pencil, a clipboard shoved under one arm. The other figure, clad in bright red against the day’s grey gloom, hunkered down holding a measuring stick beneath the water.
She relayed the water’s depth, which her companion dutifully recorded. The Master of Trade was a sturdy yet angular wood-elf, warm winter layers softening her edges. She squinted at the stationary ship beyond the port, nodded, and turned to her protégé.
"Clipboard," she said, and they exchanged it for the measuring stick.
Slime clung to its base. The younger elf made a small disgusted sound as they wiped it clean against the edge of their boot. Their superior didn't bat an eye. The other struggled to collapse the pole as the Master turned to shield her parchment from the rain, but their gloves were thick and unwieldy and they ended up tearing one away to complete the task, very nearly losing it over the edge of the wharf in the process.
"Master, if I may?" they ventured, placing the now collapsed measuring stick to one side.
"Speak, Usavias."
“With those rocks to leeward, they won't make it safely through. Not with the tide so low."
"Plenty have previously done so," the Master reasoned.
"Yes, but I know this captain."
"Oh?"
"He is overconfident, wilful and careless. Too arrogant by far to follow your esteemed instruction.”
Usavias began a circular gesture, but just as quickly pulled their hand back, instead making a show of hunting for something in a side pocket. The Master cast them a long, sideways glance before she next spoke.
“Is that your professional opinion or personal bias?”
“He is condescending and dismissive of me personally,” Usavias admitted, “but this bias drove me to conduct my own investigation, which I believe was quite professional.”
“And?”
They flourished a pencil.
“He has ruined three ships in his relatively short career, two within the vicinity of a port. I left a report on your desk yesterday morning.”
“I must have overlooked it.”
“I used three different stamps. Your secretary thought I was being excessive. In any case, Master, I am surprised that you didn’t learn of this earlier.”
The Master of Trade squinted at the ship anchored beyond the beaches, awaiting her signal. Rain and hail blurred her vision and the clouds overhead had no intention of clearing any time soon. The Master swept the slush from her braid and sighed.
“This is miserable weather."
“Mmm.”
She tightened her scarf. “If there’s another incident with these bloody human vessels, the lord’s going to have questions. I don’t want to deal with her questions and neither, my young friend, do you. I’ll tell this captain to hold until the tide comes in. You’re right- it’ll be shallow along that stretch of coast, and I wouldn’t trust an inexperienced crew with any other route.”
“Shall I start a fire for you?”
She struck out along the wharf, stooping to retrieve the measuring stick as she passed.
“Yes, that seems sensible. You do that. I’ll send the signal and then...you know what, I’ve earned it. I’ll bring us back cocoa or something. Don’t talk to Aravane. He’s only going to gloat, and I already know I should have listened to him.”
“I won’t.”
“And I’m sorry for not reading your report.”
Usavias smirked as they parted ways. “I’m not going to gloat.”
Various things:*DMs who art can sometimes go: 'look! I sketched this character, and right now also they are holding a green book!'
For DMs who do not art, like myself, it's down entirely to verbal description. Which I've never really been good at, especially when it comes to using just a few key details to give an NPC more character than just 'wood-elf bandit' or 'sea-elf sailor.' So I practiced using some very basic descriptors for these two, to give some general idea of what they're like, which is my end-goal for describing NPCs in general anyway.
*'Measuring stick' is a stupid name, but it's the name of a stupid-looking thing irl. They don't normally collapse like this but I wanted to give Usavias something to do while the Master was distracted.
*Elves gesture in conversation for emphasis or clarity, so it shows up a lot in my EuroAtlantis scribblings.
*'Relatively short career' is, indeed, relative. The captain they're discussing is a human, and hoomins don't live very long compared to elves anyway!
*Tea/some other hot drink is how people seem to deal with almost everything in these pieces. I'm just rolling with it at this stage. Plus I've been writing a Christmas-themed one-shot for my irl D&D group, so stereotypical wintery thoughts are very much in my mind. |
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Post by Thorn on Dec 17, 2019 19:01:01 GMT -5
Here's child-Rynn again with Solstriana, from EuroAtlantis. I love writing kidduns and Rynn is the easiest kiddun to write right now. Wrote it in about an hour so it's not amazing, but I had fun. (I might write my brother a thing with Darrius and his sidekicks as part of his Christmas present, so might have some writing featuring him here soon too!) Everyone in this piece is a wood elf except Aviina, who is a high elf. This is five years before the actual game. It was sunny out in the lord's garden. Solstriana liked taking a quiet moment beneath the overhanging trees to stare into the fountain and appreciate life: her role in it, the liveliness of the birds and insects around her, and the fact that she was surely at least 50% more alive than anyone else here because of her splendid magical powers.
Today, however, the archmage paused near one of the trees and sighed. There was a child in the tree. For a moment, she debated going back inside and pretending this wasn't her problem. Aviina would be here soon, and then Solstriana could return to the institute and her books and that new tea pot she'd been quietly painting for some time now. She planned to give it a nice, reflective surface coat for that extra shimmery effect when summoned to her hand. What was the point in these cheap little tricks if people weren't impressed by them, after all?
Solstriana closed her eyes, exhaling forcefully.
"Hello!"
"Hello, Rynn," she said, not opening her eyes. "Does your father know you're up there?"
"Are you okay?" came the little voice.
"Migraine," she lied. Maybe it would shut them up.
"Oh. I'm sorry."
Leaves rustled. When Solstriana opened her eyes, Rynn was perched cat-like on a deceptively strong branch. She wondered if she should catch them with her arms, with a spell, or just let them hit the ground. That'd teach them a lesson. Even children could learn from their mistakes, after all. Then again, she liked this specific child, and if they broke a leg or arm- or their neck- well. Solstriana had to admit she'd feel a little bit guilty about it. Also she'd probably lose her standing with Lyrelle, which would suck.
"Come on down and I'll show you a spell," she said.
Their eyes widened. "What spell?"
"A secret-spell," Solstriana nodded seriously. "Very secret. One I've never shown your father- never shown anyone."
They swung down, landing in front of her with a soft thump and brushing their hair out of their eyes.
"I think you're lying," Rynn folded their arms.
"Would I lie to you, my little lord?"
They snorted. "Do you want me to answer that?"
They'd somehow managed to acquire the worst, most annoying traits of both parents. Solstriana fought the urge to roll her eyes, instead wriggling her fingers mysteriously.
"This spell is called 'the invisible cat'."
"Oh! I love cats."
Solstriana nodded. She folded her hands back inside her wide sleeves as the sound of a purring feline emanated from somewhere near the fountain.
"Can I pet it?" Rynn seemed dubious. "Is it a trick?"
"It's magic," she wriggled her fingers again, golden nails flashing in the light. "And of course. If you can catch it."
As Rynn approached the fountain, the purring stopped. Started up a few feet away. Stopped again.
They turned, arms folded severely. "It's just that illusion spell. Everyone knows the little illusion spell."
"Clever child."
"You can't fool me," they said proudly. "Not again. I've been learning about the fey. The fey are tricksier than any wizard."
"Ah, but what if I am a fey? A very clever fey, who has taken on the exact shape and persona of Solstriana?"
Rynn frowned. "Could they do that?"
"Oh, absolutely. A fey can pretend to be anyone."
"Doesn't matter. I know you're Solstriana."
"How so?"
"When you saw me climbing the tree, you were going to run away. That's just about the most Solstriana thing ever."
Listen here, you little-
"Because I have elegance and tact," she said primly. "I was merely going to find someone who has less of that, to give you a good talking to about how irresponsible you're being."
They stuck out their tongue. "You're the irresponsible one."
"Enough of that."
"Nope," they flounced back inside. "You are dismissed, Cai'a Solstriana!"
They brushed past Aviina, already watching from the doorway. "Did something happen, master?"
Solstriana sighed, massaging her temples. "Nothing of import. Thank-you, Aviina."
She vanished- back to her study and to painting her newest teapot. |
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Post by Thorn on Jun 14, 2020 1:57:32 GMT -5
Half a year since I last posted in here...for shame! Here are some EuroAtlantis Things. Lyrelle and Caverael In which I explore Cav's reaction to her other dad leaving, and the concept of 'drifting' as well. Kel (as Cav is called throughout) is the younger version of Caverael. It was a chill autumn night, the still air biting at their exposed flesh, stinging their eyes. The sky above was vast and clear, coated with countless sparkling stars. Most elves in their area were indulging in a quiet evening’s contemplation indoors, but there was nowhere Kel would rather be than out here absorbing the night. The young elf’s arms were bare and prickled with gooseflesh, but they couldn’t bring themself to go and find a jacket. Kel stared into the stars and contemplated what it might be like, in some vague or outright metaphorical sense, to walk among them.
“May I join you?”
They jumped. Their father could be entirely silent when he tried, and they hadn’t heard him approach.
“I miss him,” they blurted.
“I miss him too, darling.”
The tears on Kel’s cheeks warmed them a little. They brushed them away with one trembling hand. Lyrelle settled beside his child and sighed, resting his own hands on his knees.
“It’s okay to be sad, Kel.”
“I never said it wasn’t,” they snapped.
Their father was silent then. Kel could see him out of the corner of their eye- half-curled, head bowed- but he didn’t speak. They wished he would. They didn’t like this silence. Who did he think he was to come out here only to ignore them?
Lyrelle let down his hair, brushed it back, and rearranged it into a simple ponytail before he finally spoke.
“If you want, I’ll explain why your father left,” he offered. “It wasn’t your fault, Kel.”
They gritted their teeth. “I didn’t think it was.”
“Okay,” Lyrelle nodded.
After a time, Kel sighed and rolled their eyes towards him.
“I’d still like you to explain.”
“Of course.”
He rose to his knees.
“The Everqueen created us from fey. In small ways their chaos is always a part of us. I believe that understanding this and what it truly means is part of attaining maturity, especially for us as wood elves.”
“Why us especially?”
Lyrelle’s eyes glinted. “We are bound in spirit to the forests, in which the fey so frequently dwell. Thus the tendencies flow more strongly through our blood.”
“What does this have to do with dad?”
He looked up at the sky for a good twenty seconds. Kel repeated the question, but their father didn’t immediately respond. They hated when he did this. After a time Lyrelle edged closer to place a hand on their shoulder. Kel let him.
“A civilisation could not possibly function as the fey do,” he said. “The Everqueen was aware of this when she created us. As a compromise, we have a focus the fey do not. We have drive. We can pursue passions independent of our...I suppose, independent of our nature. And yet, every so often, many elves tend to...well. We call it drifting. As much a coping mechanism for such long lives as a consequence of our connection to the fey, I suspect.”
“I’m familiar with the concept,” Kel said.
“Yes. Your father was a fisher, but now the forest has called him home.”
“This doesn’t explain why he would abandon his child.”
Lyrelle rubbed his eyes. “I thought the context might help.”
“There are forests here in Cai. He could...he could still visit. Not just...leave me with a goodbye note and...well, leave.”
He put his arms around Kel and the child let themself weep. Kel struggled to articulate what they were feeling- it was difficult, like trying to catch the bubbles in a swirling stream- but Lyrelle held them and let them cry and, eventually, the stream became a calm still pond. The emotions were still there, but they were bound up together now in a quiet fashion which made them far more manageable.
“I’m sorry,” they murmured, still clinging to their father.
“Don’t be. I wish I had a better explanation for you.”
“I don’t suppose he gave you one?”
Lyrelle exhaled slowly. “Not particularly. He loves you, Kel. He would have left far sooner if that wasn’t the case.”
“If he loved me he wouldn’t have left at all,” Kel muttered.
Lyrelle didn’t reply. Kel hugged him a little tighter- this hadn’t been easy for him either- before they pulled back and gestured at the still-open door.
“Should we go inside?”
“That sounds sensible. It’s cold and I didn’t bring a coat.”
His eyes glistened, but Kel pretended they hadn’t noticed. They let Lyrelle help them to their feet and embrace them one last time (the child grumbled wordlessly at this), before he started back inside.
“I love you,” he said, as Kel trailed after him. “You wouldn't be hurting if I could help it, you know.”
“Yeah, dad. I know.”
Rynn and UsaviasIn which Pretentious Elven Naming Conventions (TM), are discussed...with small children. “Sa, how do you choose a name?”
Usavias had been attempting to file their nails for the past half hour. This was somewhat difficult with a child half sitting, half sprawling across them, who kept flopping around and jabbing Usavias with their elbows.
“You know how I chose mine,” they said. “Do you want to hear the second stanza?”
“Mmm. Maybe later,” Rynn sat up suddenly, headbutting them in the jaw. “I mean, how do other people choose their names? Besides you, and besides dad, because you tell me that all the time.”
“It varies.”
“What about my name? I think maybe...Shadow-Moonfighter? Or Sunstar! Sunstar would be cool.”
This was, Usavias thought, a solid argument for why it was essential people choose their names in adulthood. Still, it didn’t hurt to get Rynn thinking about it young.
“A name should reflect your personal qualities,” they said. “Or something you hold essentially true within your soul. When you start to trance, you’ll see things that will guide you to your name.”
“Like how Solstriana loves the sun.”
“Um...yes, well, that’s an oversimplification based on a single element of her name.”
The child scrunched up their face. They’d scrambled to one side and now sat slumped against their parent, which was a blessing. Usavias had several fresh bruises courtesy of this tiny restless menace, and one of their knees still ached from when Rynn had fallen over them hours earlier.
“I really like cake,” Rynn said.
“I don’t think ‘cake’ is a good name.”
“What if it was like...if my name was, ‘the layers of a cake, as reflected in the layers of clothing I’m wearing’?”
That didn’t make sense. “It doesn’t make sense, Rynn.”
“It’s like the poem.”
They had to smile at that. “It’s not at all like the poem. The poem compares the ocean to a soul. You can connect the two and say that the ocean has depth, and a soul has depth. Cake is not at all like clothing.”
“But they both have layers.”
“I suppose they do.”
“And if I made my clothing out of cake, whenever I got hungry, I could eat my hat for real! And my gloves and scarf...my coat too.”
“If you ate too much cake, you would get cold because you had no clothing. And sick from eating too much cake.”
“I would learn magic so I could make the sun come out, and I wouldn’t be cold. Also, I wouldn’t get sick, because I’d just use more magic to make myself feel better.”
“Who’s going to teach you all this magic? Master Solstriana?”
Rynn nodded. “Probably, or maybe Jane, but I think Solstriana would be better at making me not-sick.”
“Maybe Caverael?”
“Oh yeah maybe! Anyway, I win. I bested you.”
“You certainly did,” Usavias agreed.
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Post by Thorn on Aug 9, 2020 8:42:00 GMT -5
So many unfinished EuroAtlantis fics. >.> So I guess I'll chuck a heap of extracts in here so at least some of it will not lie abandoned on my onedrive forever!!! Some of these feature characters that have not been in the game very much at all. But they exist and stuff and whatever!! After the Gala:
(In which Rynn misses their new friendos!) Rynn could really do with some salmon right now. Also, they wanted to be outside. Last night had been lovely, with all the little lights and flowers and the people in pretty colorful outfits. They’d made some new friends! And right now their new friends were probably out there, having wonderful adventures like...fishing, maybe?...and Rynn was inside listening to their dad and two strangers converse about stuff Rynn wasn’t really following.
(“Did your dad ever attend the gala?” Rynn had asked Cav the previous night.
She was drinking, but being super classy about it. “Yeah. He accidentally insulted half those in attendance. Was a good time.”
“Was that the only time he attended?”
“No. And I would say there’s a moral in that about love overcoming all obstacles, but then he up and left us anyway so it doesn’t really fit.”)
Rynn wondered whether they should take the moral from that anyway. It was a nice story.
Their father lightly touched their arm. “Rynn.”
He was looking at them very solemnly and seriously, which was his default expression so didn’t mean a lot. Who could!!?! This be?? =O"I was a fisher. The sea is not so unlike the forest, you know. We hunted cod and scaled the masts just like trees. Coming back into Shaan at night was a dream- watching the lights reflect off the water, the boats dark silhouettes against the city beyond."
"It sounds beautiful," she said.
"And I was in love."
"Even more so."
He chuckled at that. "Warm sentimental memories, yes. He was very beautiful, and very witty. We stayed up half the night sharing our thoughts and dreams. When we tranced together I could always feel him there at the edge of my thoughts." Ovinrei and Vaan:
(shortly after the party turned them in.) “Look. When your friend does something horrible, it’s bad, right, but it’s not the same as with a total stranger. We did kill people, Vaan. So did he. And there were powers involved which are...uncomfortable for me to consider, as I’m sure they are for you, but people will go through a lot for those they consider friends. I think it would have been too much for us to expect them to turn him in.”
“They could at least turn us loose.”
“Would you expect them to? Really? After their history with us?”
“They died in the caves,” Vaan growled, fighting to keep his voice low. The centaur guards didn’t seem to speak Elvish, but you couldn’t be too careful. “These people sought them out. They started the conflict.”
“It’s more complex than that and you know it.”
“Are you on their side now or something? Just because that paladin took a shine to you?”
“No,” Ovinrei looked away. Lysanthos and Jane:
(one of their first real conversations, they'd barely met before this.) Lysanthos set the basket carefully on the desk, winding one of the ribbons around his finger as he examined the little jars and tins. Jane took a seat and let him do so. This was probably going to take a while.
“Is that lime marmalade? From Valdrona?”
“There’re lemon drops as well.”
“What’s the occasion?”
There was a shrewdness there, an intensity to his gaze as he sought to ascertain her motivations, even as he kept his voice light. Jane suspected Lysanthos was far smarter than people gave him credit for.
“You’ve been under a lot of pressure,” she said. “I wanted to thank you.”
“It’s my job,” he pointed out. “Besides, I was more than happy to do this.”
“And you’ve done admirably. But not everyone has been kind. I wanted to show my appreciation. Because you deserve to know when you’ve done well.”
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Yes. Well, thank-you, Master Jane. You’re very considerate. I do feel that, sometimes...well, maybe because I’m so young. Or because I’m not...”
Lysanthos trailed off. He leaned back, regarding a small jar in one hand. With the other, he toyed with the twine holding the crinkled white cover in place.
“Will you share some lemon drops with me?” he asked. “I would like the company and also, I would like to thank you for thanking me, I suppose.”
Murai and Lu'hais, newly married:
(didn't get very far, but this bit was cute.) “Now I can officially call you my wife,” said Murai, crossing her left leg over Lu’hais’ right.
Lu’hais squeezed her hand and smiled. “Wife. I like that.”
“And I’m your wife,” Murai added- although it was exceptionally obvious and she was very clearly just indulging in the phrase. |
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Post by Thorn on Aug 10, 2020 7:00:14 GMT -5
Decided to share the full version of that second last one, because Lysanthos is a Cute Cheerful Boi and Jane is a Sweet Motherly Lady, and their interaction made my heart sparkly, so whatever. (set fifteen-years-and-some-months in the past. So Jane was considerably younger and Lysanthos, an elf, was... slightly younger!) “Master Jane Glover!” Lysanthos leaped up, enthusiastically clasping her hand. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Hello, Lysanthos. ‘Jane’ is fine.”
“Master Jane,” he compromised, and stepped back, raking his fingers through that wild dark mane. “How are you? What brings you here this fine day?”
The secretary had, of course, already told him why Jane was here. As well as cautioned her, at length, about how frivolous and erratic and difficult he was, but Jane was used to that by now. She held out the basket in her left hand, and Lysanthos stopped pretending that he wasn’t looking at it. He brought his hands to his mouth and gasped melodramatically.
“Oh! The ribbons are so pretty. Pink is my favourite colour- did you know that?”
“Usavias told me,” she admitted. “They also said to make sure you hadn’t broken anything. Now, I’m sure you’re more careful than that, but have you?”
“I spilled some ink. The stain is pretty stubborn.”
“They’ll get over it.”
He clasped the basket to his chest. “How are they?”
“They’re fine.”
“And the child?” Lysanthos ventured. “Um. Or Cai’rel, I suppose, is more proper...”
“Rynn is fine too.”
“I can’t wait to meet Rynn,” Lysanthos said emphatically. “I'm great with kids. My brother has twins, you know. They’re so smart. I'm teaching them Dwarfish, and they’re just...gosh, they’re so smart. If I’m being honest, I reckon they’ll be better than I am within the year. My Dwarfish is awful.”
“I hear it’s easier to learn while you’re young.”
Lysanthos set the basket carefully on the desk, winding one of the ribbons around his finger as he examined the little jars and tins. Jane took a seat and let him do so. This was probably going to take a while.
“Is that lime marmalade? From Valdrona?”
“There’re lemon drops as well.”
“What’s the occasion?”
There was a shrewdness there, an intensity to his gaze as he considered her motivations, even while keeping his voice light. Jane suspected Lysanthos was far more intelligent than people gave him credit for.
“You’ve been under a lot of pressure,” she said. “I wanted to thank you.”
“It’s my job,” he pointed out. “Besides, I was more than happy to do this.”
“And you’ve done admirably. But not everyone has been kind. I wanted to show my appreciation. Because you deserve to know when you’ve done well.”
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Yes. Well, thank-you, Master Jane. You’re very considerate. I do feel that, sometimes...well, maybe because I’m so young. Or because I’m not...”
Lysanthos trailed off. He leaned back, regarding a small jar in one hand. With the other, he toyed with the twine holding the crinkled white cover in place.
“Will you share some lemon drops with me?” he asked. “I would like the company and also, I would like to thank you for thanking me.”
She smiled up at him. “Of course, Lysanthos. We’re friends, aren’t we? I can always make time for my friends.”
He smiled back. “Thank-you, Master Jane.” And now, a piece I haven't shared before at all. Malka, the Lady of Conquest(wrote this piece to work through Malka's motivations, back when I first had the idea she would seek deification. Finally, I am able to share it!) (Should probably credit, whoops! Malka/Koach and Meallan are creations of Celestial!) Malka did not measure her age in centuries so much as conquests. She was the veteran of numerous delicious conquests and uncountable smaller morsels- she was the voice in the dark, a whisper on the wind, the expression of every mortal being’s unspoken thirst for greater power. They might deny it, but she had persevered for so very long and so Malka knew: while she acknowledged her hunger, mortals pretended otherwise. But it was still there. Everyone wanted something.
The firbolg was an easy target. He had so badly wanted to be special. Poor fool. Now he lived to serve her. Meallan had grown to fear and mistrust her, but loved his lady all the same. These concepts were not so different at their core- he loved Malka because he knew to fear her.
Although he claimed to know little of such practices, this was so very like devotion to a deity.
As Meallan’s thirst for power grew and fed her endless hunger, in turn her own power grew and fed the warlock. It was not quite so primal a need as hers- nothing like the cold pit of craving she felt at all times, even when at rest. It wouldn’t be long now and she would have the strength to pass beyond. The god-forger was nearby. She knew it. Through all these centuries and all these servants, Koach had learned the signs and she knew what it was that she felt.
The air thrummed with a heavy heat, tugging at the hem of her every thought. Koach had learned the signs, and soon Malka would ascend: a goddess in her own right, a new phase of existence. With Meallan her awestruck pawn, they would recite the rituals together, and he would kill her. From the ashes of that destruction Malka would rise anew, deified, and have no further need of fools and pawns.
With the power of a god, revered as a deity, she would never go hungry again. |
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Post by Celestial on Aug 10, 2020 12:28:50 GMT -5
Some comments! I want to cuddle Rynn and bring them back to their friendos. They are such a precious bean. Also "drinking but being super classy about it" is a mood and I love Cab just a bit more for it.
=O I do not know who this is but I do love how poetic this it. It is gorgeous and there is so much heart to it.
Ha, Ovinrei totally was won over by Khamet. But aww. This does make me feel a bit bad for them. They did have it coming (they were bandits) but their perspective on this is important. People will go through a lot for a friend even if they know what they're doing is wrong.
Murai and Lu'hais are also very, very precious. I am reminded of that John Mulaney bit talking about his wife. "It's so adult, you sound like a person."
Aww, precious baby Lysanthos. Good to know he likes citrus things and pink (which honestly makes him even cuter). =D I really want to see his interaction with little Rynn. And Jane is super sweet too. Her mum is very much showing in this fic.
And that Malka fic...oh my gosh. "Voice in the dark, whisper on the wind": such a perfect way to describe her. She is such a deliciously evil creature and I adore her. Her motivations are fascinating and make a lot of sense. It's also fun to see how she views Meallan. I had never thought of how a being who desires to become a god would reconcile her primary follower being a nontheist but this makes a lot of sense. Of course he loves and fears her, and that's similar to how some gods can be viewed. Can't wait to kick her smug behind. |
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Post by Thorn on Aug 10, 2020 17:22:18 GMT -5
Some comments! I want to cuddle Rynn and bring them back to their friendos. They are such a precious bean. Also "drinking but being super classy about it" is a mood and I love Cab just a bit more for it.
=O I do not know who this is but I do love how poetic this it. It is gorgeous and there is so much heart to it.
Ha, Ovinrei totally was won over by Khamet. But aww. This does make me feel a bit bad for them. They did have it coming (they were bandits) but their perspective on this is important. People will go through a lot for a friend even if they know what they're doing is wrong.
Murai and Lu'hais are also very, very precious. I am reminded of that John Mulaney bit talking about his wife. "It's so adult, you sound like a person."
Aww, precious baby Lysanthos. Good to know he likes citrus things and pink (which honestly makes him even cuter). =D I really want to see his interaction with little Rynn. And Jane is super sweet too. Her mum is very much showing in this fic.
And that Malka fic...oh my gosh. "Voice in the dark, whisper on the wind": such a perfect way to describe her. She is such a deliciously evil creature and I adore her. Her motivations are fascinating and make a lot of sense. It's also fun to see how she views Meallan. I had never thought of how a being who desires to become a god would reconcile her primary follower being a nontheist but this makes a lot of sense. Of course he loves and fears her, and that's similar to how some gods can be viewed. Can't wait to kick her smug behind. Thorn's replies! That one line (Cav 'drinking but being classy about it') made me laugh a lot when skimming old writings, so of course I had to share it. xD Glad you like it too! She is such a good inspirational big sister, complaining about her deadbeat father every chance she gets.
I'm glad this second piece seems poetic to you! It is difficult for me to write in that style. 90% of my writings are just...characters talking about other characters, but the particular Slightly Wistful angle on this one, plus the tendency for pretty imagery on the speaker's part, made it trickier.
'Doing a lot for a friend' is 90% of Ovinrei's personality, I think! He also, yeah, has some bitterness at Organised Society, but not to the same degree as say Vaan, or even (not that it really came up) Solaria.
'You sound like a person' I love that line! Might have to look it up. But yeah, once upon a time, Lu'hais and Murai!!! Were newlyweds!!! So everything was new and shiny and exciting to them. Much weird to think about.
Lysanthos is a good sweet person. Being underestimated because he's bright and chipper and says silly things is 90% of his life! But of course it would get to him sometimes, so Jane is being A Nice. As for him interacting with leetle Rynn: he probably tends towards the Thorn approach of OH MY GOSH??!!?? SO SMALL??!!!
I am especially glad you liked the Malka fic. <3 Again, it was originally almost a note to myself as I worked through her motivations. She definitely finds it amusing that Meallan doesn't care much for gods, but had such devotion to her- revering her in exchange for powers, similar to a powerful cleric. |
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Post by Thorn on Aug 27, 2020 7:17:27 GMT -5
EuroAtlantis? EuroAtlantis. Moni and I were talking about the general sweetness of Ovinrei and Vaan's friendship, and it gave me an idea. So here is a kind of sweet, and fully Unhappy, short piece of writing! Thanks Moni! <3
Evertemple (Ovinrei and Vaan)Ovinrei had taken to trancing lying underneath a blanket. It wasn’t that he needed to, per se. He could trance just fine the regular way, but lately his whole body ached and everything was so much effort and, besides, he hadn’t seen anything cosier than a threadbare bedroll in a long, long time. Might as well make the most of the whole scenario.
The blanket was a comfortable buffer against the room he shared with Vaan. It was still so unfamiliar, almost alien: four walls, soft furnishings, the solid looming outlines of shelves and chests. More than once Ovinrei had regained awareness and, alarmed at not immediately recognising his surroundings, fumbled around for a weapon. His weapons, of course, were long gone. At least by the time he remembered this, Ovinrei had also remembered where he was, and that he didn't need them anymore anyway.
As usual, after some time Vaan slid under the blanket beside him. They lay there back-to-back- neither fully trancing, nor fully alert, each lulled by the other’s quiet breathing. It felt like some measure of safety, having somebody familiar so close. Logically it made no sense- if there was a threat, how could either protect himself unarmed, let alone the other? But Vaan’s presence was comforting nonetheless.
After a few minutes, Vaan started trembling- irregular lurching motions against Ovinrei’s back and shoulders. Ovinrei rolled over and let the younger elf bury his face in his chest.
“Hey. It’s okay.”
“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” Vaan’s breath hitched every other word.
“That’s okay too,” Ovinrei wrapped his arms around his friend.
“I don’t-”
Ovinrei hummed soothingly. They remained that way for some time, Vaan tense with fear and grief, and who knew what else besides. Eventually he stirred and, muttering plaintively, removed Ovinrei’s arm and rolled over to face the wall.
“Thanks Ovi,” he managed.
“Don’t mention it.”
Ovinrei turned so they were once more back-to-back, and that was that. It would be the same tomorrow night, and for many nights after, but Ovinrei was okay with that. More than anything, he wanted Vaan to be happy again. After many more nights of this, perhaps he would be.
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Post by Thorn on Sept 1, 2020 7:01:12 GMT -5
UHHHHHHH have some more EuroAtlantis Things. *flings into the thread, flees* This was one of the first pieces I wrote based on this game. And never shared. But hey, conversations between dead NPCs about other dead NPCs are hardly spoiler, so...! (Volan and Niles) “I heard you and Kavrala last night,” looking up from the fire, the fur-clad elf raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
The newcomer blushed. “It’s nothing, Volan.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Come. Join me. I could use a fresh set of eyes.”
Niles navigated the mess of objects scattered around the room, kicked a wooden dish aside, and knelt beside Volan. The latter had a heavy book open across his lap, quill in one hand. He wasn’t frowning- Volan rarely frowned- but his head was angled slightly to the left and he was tapping that quill against his knee. They’d known each other long enough for Niles to recognise that Volan was frustrated about something.
“So what is it?” he prompted.
Volan rubbed his eyes. “Been staring too long and hard. These numbers. Do they make sense to you?”
Niles frowned, lifting the book into his lap. “That’s Kysariel’s handwriting. So, no. No, they’re clearly quite wrong. As per usual.”
Volan snorted softly. “Niles, really.”
“It’s true.”
“I can usually understand it on my own.”
“Well you’re not much better, with that hideous scrawl I can barely decipher,” he accepted the quill. “Thank-you. Vin, where do I even begin?”
Volan chuckled. “I’ll give you a moment. You hungry yet?”
“Anything,” Niles was already scratching at the parchment. “Not too bitter.”
Volan stood. “I’ll see what I can do. Shout out if you need me.”
“What are you, my mother?”
He grinned. “Somebody has to take care of you idiots.”
Hey look! Some friends! Whose relationship is not remotely complicated whatsoever. This piece is set hmmm...probably close to 300 years ago? When Lyrelle was somewhat less lord-ish, and the characters act like foolish teenagers. You have been warned. I started writing this around the time of the in-game Flower Gala, only coming back to revisit and finish it very recently. (Lyrelle and Usavias) Through silver moonshine and golden magelight, dozens of people flocked to Lyrelle, and they talked and they danced. Some moved freely, almost liquid; others were steady and grounded, and still others brief and sharp like a sudden winter wind. The shimmering silver skirt billowed around him, other attendees swirling nearby to the glint of eyeshine and sequins.
He was the heir. Others flitted to him like moths to a flame. It was exhilarating and validating but, after near two hours of this, exhilaration became exhaustion. And Lyrelle had no further need of validation.
He’d had one eye on Usavias the entire evening. Lyrelle slipped under a stranger’s outstretched arm and took his friend’s hand, guiding it to his waist. If he was here with someone, the others would hopefully leave him be. Hopefully. He could catch a few moments to rest and recover.
Usavias drew him in close. “Lyrelle.”
“It’s a beautiful night.”
Their gaze flickered upward, to the moon and its entourage of stars. “It is. You look beautiful. Tonight.”
He smiled. “Wasting compliments on me?”
“Mmm. It’s good practice.”
Lyrelle rested his head on their shoulder. Usavias was soft and warm and reassuring as ever, in spite of the gauzy capelet pulled low over their shoulders. They smelled faintly of cinnamon, which was new. Cinnamon and something light and floral. Unless they’d suddenly taken to baking they were trying something new- probably for his benefit, but not with the same motivations as everyone else who did things for his benefit. Lyrelle appreciated that more than he could convey.
“The vultures are circling,” he said, which was a human phrase he’d taking a liking to as of late.
“Vultures are like that. Your sister is staring.”
“Probably jealous,” he said, and took their hands and pulled away so suddenly Usavias half-stumbled after him.
“Come with me,” he said.
“What’s happening?”
“I want to kiss you. On the bridge, surrounded by tiny white-and-gold lights. I’m sick of these people, and I want to kiss you, because you are my very favourite person in the world.”
Their ears flushed red. “Okay.”
“Yeah.”
“That sounds nice.”
Lyrelle felt free and slightly light-headed, buzzing with wine and adrenaline. The bridge was mere feet away, and soon the stream bubbled gently beneath them. He watched the ripples distort his reflection, hazy in the darkness. He contemplated the wavering image of the bright full moon above.
Usavias placed a hand on Lyrelle’s shoulder, and so he contemplated them instead. They brushed a finger across his cheek.
“You’ve kissed me plenty of times,” they said.
“And? Here is-”
His friend moved so suddenly and with such force that their noses clashed painfully together. Usavias wasn’t very good at this, but he was so overcome with emotion that Lyrelle didn’t actually care. He seized their arms so he had something to do besides flail. It was like melting. A sense of his entire being melting.
Lyrelle had never been any good at poetry.
When Usavias retreated, one hand over their mouth, Lyrelle buried his face in both of his and laughed. His nose still hurt, and his tongue tingled strangely, but he felt happy. Happy and a little unsteady. His heart was pounding. Usavias was already apologising. He took their face in his hands and kissed them back to shut them up.
He pulled away, grinning. “Bold move.”
“Mmm,” was the extremely coherent response.
They stayed together a while after that. Any number of people drifted past, casting impatient glances Lyrelle’s way, eager to demand more of his attention. Usavias didn’t demand anything of him. He liked that. They exchanged small talk to pass the time- idle nonsense about the weather, little comments on what others were wearing- but there wasn’t an ulterior motive to it.
“I should get going,” he said after some time, after one too many sharp glances from his sister were followed by the Expectant Arched Eyebrow of his mother. “Will you be alright here?”
They nodded. “I’ll be fine. Thank-you, Lyrelle.”
He gave their shoulder a little squeeze before moving back into the flood of moonshine and magelight. Once more people flocked to him, and once more Lyrelle swirled and stepped and mingled with people whose only interest in him was his nobility. It was exhilarating, and validating, but it was nice to be reminded there were still people who saw him as worthwhile in his own right.
He glanced over at Usavias and winked. His friend smiled back at him.
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Post by Celestial on Sept 1, 2020 8:46:32 GMT -5
Aaah, that second one is so pretty and descriptive and adorable. ;.; It's so odd to see Usavias and Lyrelle young and relaxed and being so mushy. I love it.
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Post by Thorn on Sept 1, 2020 8:51:56 GMT -5
I spent way too long wrangling that second one, so am glad you found it both pretty and adorable! <3 I enjoyed working on it.
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Post by Thorn on Oct 3, 2020 16:14:40 GMT -5
As usual, here is a helpful Post of Links so I can easily find my 'tober stuff later! Will primarily be focussing on OCtober, but may tackle others from time to time and will link those here too. OCtoberPrompts (1) and (2): Decision and Comfort (Astrophelle.) Prompts (5) and (7): Sickness and Silence (Assorted EuroAtlantis NPCs.) Prompt (8): Winter (Urshmek.) NTWFtoberDay 9-10: Game(s) (Caverael, Lyrelle, Vari.) |
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