OCtober!

[Thorn]

Day Three- Habitat! Neither of these characters are good at words, I'm fully aware the word 'habitat' is misinterpreted. Ursh is mine, Andry is my friend's character. They own an inn together! It's called The Dead Tyrant and their mismatched business practices mean they're always at each other's throats- but they love each other really.

(this time, written in twenty minutes just before midnight. These things are for me the writing equivalent of sketching- just getting the ideas out there as practice.)
(with hindsight, Andry is more of a focus than Ursh but OH WELL, my OC is still in this so eh.)

SPOILER: Click to show

"Y'know, habitat," Andry waved an arm airily. "Habitat. Your favourite places and stuff."

"Yeah?" Ursh frowned. "I thought it was about what kind of environment you're made for. Like I'm good in forests, and you're good at...city stuff."

"You're fine at city stuff."

Andry sighed, running her fingers through her hair. In the background a glass shattered. Ursh turned, realised it was their favourite patron (well, third favourite, if you counted the two nicest Sentinels), and gave her a smile and a thumbs-up to let her know that it was Absolutely Fine and they wouldn't let the Famously Tight Andry charge her for this simple mishap. When they returned their attention to the halfling, she seemed to have composed her thoughts. Or at least, she'd collected more words with which to voice them.

"I don't think anyone's 'made' for a certain environment," she said. "I wasn't made to manage finances or navigate perilous castles any more than you were made to poke zombies with sharp objects and, what, live off weird sour forest berries?"

"I mean Garlin is a forest goddess," they pointed out. "I think it's in my blood. Um, the bit about living off the forest and all that."

"But offing zombies is something those spirits raised you to do, yeah? Anyway, my point was supposed to be all heartwarming and you went and ruined it. Habitats are your favourite places, and this is one of my favourite places, and yours too. It's like we belong here, and Floral, and Tsuki does too, and after everything we can all come back and sit around a nice fire and share stories. Because it's a habitat for us- or maybe 'home' is the perfect word- and there's nowhere I'd rather be."

Ursh eyed her sideways. "You've been drinking, haven't you?"

"So have you!"

They chuckled and patted her shoulder. "Yeah, but it suits me better. That was a sweet thought though. Thanks Andry."

[♥ Azzie]

Day 3: Habitat!

(This is a story about Shadow, my very oldest OC that I still write about. He belongs to the NTWFverse, and his oldest stories are so horribly embarrassing but I love him very much. ♥)

SPOILER: Click to show

When Shadow was a young teenager and first found himself in a safer place, he was sure that safety was all that mattered. It was such a new feeling that it took him a while to accept- but once he finally stopped feeling afraid all the time, he realized that he would do anything to keep from feeling that way again. He swore to protect, protect his new home and his freedom and the ones he loved. He even became a squire, before all that nasty business with the undead had more or less disbanded the Knights’ Guild.

That was when he’d first had more time to think. To allow that there might be more to life than the defensive. He moved around, he made more friends. It was enough. Nothing was his but it didn’t matter, because he was living and that was all he needed.

Then he met Angela.
Shadow was smitten almost instantly. Angela was sweet, calm, and nearly as shy as he was. They were fast friends, and they even worked up the nerve to ask each other out at the same time. It was young love, and he had never been happier.
Except for one thing.
At first glance, Shadow looked like a completely ordinary weewoo. That was how he had been when they met, after all. But Shadow had been born into two worlds at once. And when he first fell for Angela, he had decided- been sure- that he could choose. That she, that love, was worth being perfectly ordinary forever. And it was worth it!

The problem was that it was’t true, and Shadow was beginning to feel sick with the weight of it.

In the end, he broke it off. Broke it off and then told her the truth- ‘hey, by the way, I’m half-human and have been too afraid to tell you this whole time.’ She took it, if not well, at least not horribly. She was furious- but not for the reason Shadow expected.

She blasted him for trying to suppress something so important.

In retrospect, Shadow thought, he should have expected it. In a place where a moose was a lawyer and the moon had blown up at least twice, a shapeshifting magical hybrid was probably not the bombshell revelation he’d thought it would be. But her reaction did get him thinking.

Shadow- looked inward, found things about himself that he had hidden so well even he didn’t know they were there. And he realized that even if he had all he needed, he was allowed to want things too. And he wanted something of his very own. So he set to work.
~~~~~
Two years later, Shadow had finally finished. When he was very young, he had tumbled into a place that he could live, where he could be safe and happy. And now, nine years later, he had finally made it into a home of his own.


(Please ignore me and Kabuki in there; I couldn't get a good photo of Shadow's house unless I stood there.)

[Celestial]

I'm only doing a few prompts, mainly because I lack time but also because I do short snippets and they balloon into big long things.

Case in point: #1 Seasons...hmm, I associate Absolon with spring, I should do something with him...maybe I could follow up my most recent story and write Ivar at his grave...but he also- oh no.

Day 1: Seasons

SPOILER: Click to show

Soft pale green leaves hung along with heavy blossoms from the branches of the silver birch that grew in the clearing. Ivar gazed at it with melancholy eyes. No doubt the tree had grown over the years but it still retained an air of fragility that all young birches radiated around them. The old abbot sighed. Were it not for the deep weariness that smothered his bones, he could swear no time at all had passed.

The ferns and grass grew thick around the birch, broken up by the occasional patch of colour from an early, stubborn wildflower. Ivar’s eyes, however, were drawn to the area directly below to the tree. To the uninitiated, it would have looked no different from the surrounding area, and indeed, the years had raised the foliage until it was no different from what had grown there before. But Ivar knew. He could not forget the spot.

Nobody forgot where they buried the love of their life.

A sad smile crossed Ivar’s face as tears stung in his eyes. His knees buckled under him and he almost groaned with relief as the weight was lifted off his feet. Everyone at the abbey told him to stay, that he was too weak to go anywhere. Amund in particular had to fight to keep himself from breaking down. But Ivar, like always, stubbornly refused. He understood their pleas had come from a place of concern. However, he needed to do this. For the past forty years, every year on the day of Absolon’s death, he always came to visit his grave. He was not about to let his age stop him.

“Hello,” he murmured, running his hand gently through the grass on the grave. “It’s me. I’ve come back, same as always.”

A sigh, followed by a smile. “Spring has come again. I know it’s nothing to be surprised about but every time winter begins to thaw, I feel a jolt of joy. And I always, without fail, think of you,” Ivar’s fingers ruffled the grass, their tips brushing the top layer of soil beneath. “It’s thanks to you we can enjoy spring. Thanks to you there are people who grew up without ever knowing Her tyranny.”

The abbot paused to catch his breath. He braced himself on his arms to keep himself from slumping. “The abbey is flourishing. I have been doing everything I can to secure its future and your legacy. I still wish you could have done it. It was always meant to be your position. You knew far better than I. Even with the Woo’s guidance, I cannot compare to you.”

Ivar wiped his eyes with his sleeve. The grass below him looked so soft and inviting. If he lay down, he would stain his white robes but...just for a minute. It would not hurt. Slackening his arms, the abbot reclined upon the ground. Absently, his hand ran over the blades of grass, brushing them as one would stroke a beloved pet.

“I often wonder what you would think of me. Whether you would approve of everything I have done. I would give anything to ask” Ivar’s eyelids drooped. “Even to hear your voice, to feel your touch, just one more time...I would give...anything.”

His eyes closed shut. Almost immediately, he felt a presence occupy the glade with him. Someone touched his shoulder. Cracking an eye open, his gaze caught a flicker of a grey robe.

Fear gripped Ivar. Someone from the abbey! They must have found him somehow! Was it Amund? He had been trying to find out where Ivar was going for some time.

“How did you find me?!” the abbot barked his head lifting. “I told you, I don’t want to-oh,” he caught sight of the figure’s face. “Oh Woo...” His words died in his throat and he could only stare, his mouth hanging open.

“Hello Ivar,” Absolon smiled warmly down at him. He kneeled down, his brown eyes meeting his beloved’s. Reaching out with the stump of his right hand, he brushed a lock of hair from Ivar’s face. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too...more than you can imagine,” without even thinking, Ivar threw his arms around him, burying his face into Absolon’s shoulder. His face sank into the folds of the other man’s cloak, nuzzling against it in an attempt to stop the stinging in his eyes. At the same time, he felt Absolon’s arms around him, the stump resting against his back while his good hand ran through his hair.

For a few moments, he was lost in the sensation. Nothing else mattered. All he cared about then was Absolon embracing him. Eventually, however, like unwanted guests, thoughts of reality crept into his mind.

“How can this be?” Ivar murmured. “You’re dead. I buried you right here.”

Absolon pulled away and gave a sad nod.

Ivar blinked, confused. “Then how can you be here?”

His beloved dropped his hand down to his, squeezing it. “I came to get you.”

“Get me?” the bafflement in the other man’s voice deepened before suddenly, his eyes went wide. He looked down at his hands and found them unwrinkled. Gasping, he felt his face, once again feeling nothing but smooth skin. His eyes flickered down, but instead of white robes, Ivar wore his old travelling clothes.

Slowly, he turned his head. Behind him, unmoving as a snowbank, lay his body.

“I’m sorry,” Absolon murmured, touching his cheek. “I know it’s not easy.”

“It’s alright,” Ivar shook his head. “I know I should feel scared or sad but I don’t. I feel relieved,” his shoulders slumped as a small smile crept across his face. “I’ve been feeling exhausted lately, so I knew this was coming. So did everyone at the abbey. They’re ready. Amund...he’s an intelligent man. He’ll know what to do.”

“I’m glad,” his beloved said. He gave a nod of approval. “You seem to have done well, Ivar. I’m proud of you.”

The blond beamed, nuzzling into Absolon’s neck. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that.”

They remained curled together like that for a while, simply enjoying being reunited. Finally, Ivar dared to breach the comfortable silence. “So what happens now?”

Absolon beamed. “Now we return to the Woo,” he stood up, holding his beloved’s hand. “I can’t wait to show you what it’s like there. You will love it.”

The blond man rose after him. “I know I will,” he pressed his forehead against the other man’s. “Especially because I will be with you.”

Absolon grinned. He reached up, kissing Ivar’s lips before taking his hand, beginning to lead him onwards. The blond man readily followed. They took a few steps before they faded into nothingness.

A faint spring breeze rippled through the air, ruffling the white fabric of the abbot’s robe as he lay there, motionless.

***

A search party from the abbey finally found Ivar’s body next afternoon. It was carried back there and placed in the chapel, covered by a white sheet. Amund, as Ivar’s successor, was promptly notified.

He had known this was coming. The old abbot had been frail for a while and he had done everything to prepare Amund for the inevitable. It did not prevent the shock from numbing him like ice-cold water.

His body not his own, Amund walked towards the chapel. Already, most of the residents of the abbey had gathered there. As soon as he strode into the door, all eyes turned to him. Silence fell over the assembled crowd, broken only by a few sobs that escaped restraint.

Amund’s mouth was dry. He always knew this was going to happen. The reality of it happening, however, was altogether different to what he had imagined.

Nevertheless, he strode forward with his back straight, looking as calm and poised as he could muster. Walking up to the altar, on the first step where Ivar’s body lay beneath a shroud. His eyes drifted to it and immediately darted away before they could linger. If he lingered, Amund knew he would not be able to hold it together long. With so many looking to him, he could not afford to break down.

He sighed and turned to the assembled crowd, meeting their gazes. “I feel your grief, for it is my grief too. Abbot Ivar was a great mentor to me, and a role model in his devotion to the Woo. I...I will miss him dearly,” feeling his voice hitch, Amund swallowed. “We must continue what he and Absolon began. The Shifter of Seasons will not rule us again. Abbot Ivar wanted even her memory destroyed, and we shall carry that on. But as the seasons change, so too, do human lives end. And a new one takes over.”

Amund bowed deeply to the assembled crowd. “Abbot Ivar wished me to be his successor. I pray that now, with him gone, you will accept me.”

A ripple of murmurs ran through the assembled crowd. Eventually, there was a loud cry from one of the monks. “We accept you!”

“We do!”

“If Abbot Ivar chose you, we stand by his choice.”

“You’re best for the role, Amund.”

“Abbot Amund.”

Despite the grief bubbling away beneath the surface, Amund also felt relief well up in his heart. He managed a small smile and looked up at the crowd. “Thank you,” he said gratefully. “Then...I suppose the first order of business would be to arrange a funeral for Abbot Ivar so that we may all share and express our grief at his passing. He told me that Absolon told him that the most notable people are buried within the church building itself, and I can think of no better final resting place for him than here. I assume nobody objects?”

Silence reigned.

“Then we should begin our task.”

[Thorn]

Day 4- Birthday

Ursh again because, c'mon, their age on their character sheet is "28??29???" xD
(I tried something with Cal and Mari, but it wasn't really working.)

This time, the other featured character is Tsuki, my friend's magical-girl flavoured warlock.

SPOILER: Click to show

"You don't actually know how old you are?"

Ursh shrugged. "It's the day I met Roscoe. It seemed as good as day as any for a birthday."

"But you don't actually know how old you are," Tsuki was stuck on something. "What's the margin of error for this?"

"Eh?"

"You think you're 29, right? How likely is it that you're correct?"

They screwed up their face in thought. "I can't possibly be more than ten years older. Probably not more than eight."

"Ten years?"

"And I'm definitely not younger than 22. That one's easy."

"How does any of this make sense?"

They shrugged again. "You try living in a mystical timeless forest for your formative years! Doesn't exactly make keeping track of time easy."

Then, gesturing down at themself:

"Also in case you hadn't noticed: I'm not human. I'm kind of an orc and mostly a demigod, and haven't met many of either, so it's not like I can be like "bro! How old would you say I am?". Not like when you met Chad, and you could determine in minutes that he was Too Old For You."

She raised a single finger. "Please don't bring Chad into this."

(contextual note: Chad is a sailor, who scored a perfect 10 on hawtness. Both Andry and Tsuki were totally smitten with him.) 

[♥ Azzie]

Day 4: Birthday!

SPOILER: Click to show

When Ben Hale turned eight years old, he got something he'd always wanted.

Perhaps not always; there must have been a time when he was too young to remember. But as long as he could remember he had Gramma Spencer's stories. She always told him about the big city, about the parties, about the friendly spirit who liked to chat with her. And Ben knew her stories were true; she'd told him one day, when he caught her coming back through a strange, glowing device.

The same device that now sat on the table, in front of his mother, father and grandma.

"Ben, honey, promise me you'll listen to your grandma while you're over there, all right?" His mom looked concerned.

"Don't touch anything funny!" warned his dad.

"For heaven's sake, it's just a library." Gramma smiled at Ben. "Happy birthday. Are you ready?"

Ben stared at his parents. "You knew?"

"There was no way I was taking you anywhere without their okay," Gramma answered. "It's just a workday, but I thought you might like to see our collection of frog books-"

But she was cut off, because Ben had tackled her in a hug.

[♥ Azzie]

Day 5: Babysitting!
(Just a short thing because I almost forgot, oops!)

SPOILER: Click to show

When Assana was younger, back in Acisazi, she was often given charge of her young cousins while their parents were busy. In fact, she found that she was frequently in the company of many children, related or otherwise. Her mother said it was because she was level-headed. That certainly might have been part of it, but Asa had a feeling it was just that they knew she could entertain them. The little ones certainly seemed to enjoy her little displays of magic, even if it was only prestidigitation; she had a way of making the little parlor-tricks pretty that the children loved. And she did know some nice places to visit, little nooks and crannies she found searching for art supplies. So it was not uncommon to see the young sea elf swimming or roaming around, with four or five little ones trailing after her or running ahead.

Truth be told, when she did finally move to Kintargo, she missed them.

[Thorn]

6. Cosplay
D&D characters again because what even am I. I chose three characters with the 'Sage' background, because they all use this background in very different ways, and since they're all 'intellectuals' it made writing this extra hilarious.

Integrity and Zazz are mine.
Tsuki is, as always, my friend's.
(again, written in ~twenty minutes before work.)

SPOILER: Click to show

"Let me get this straight," Integrity frowned. "You want me to tell you if your cosplay looks authentic?"

"Yeah!"

The tiefling glanced up from the book with very clear, very dad-like disapproval. "Izazdin, unless you've given me the wrong page, all this says is that he's very tall and 'mysterious' and 'brooding', and has a ridiculous trendy hairstyle. That's all I have to go on, until he starts removing his clothes, and I am 90% sure you're not going to be parading shirtless around the convention hall."

"You're no use at all," Zazz scoffed. "Look. Fine. Tsuki, we're of approximately the same generation. Is this a passable Anguish cosplay?"

Tsuki chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I love the jacket, I really do. Not sure about the jeans. I think he'd go in for more of a shredded look? Like his soul is reflected in his attire, almost?"

"But that's so gross! I could maybe...cut it here, then sew on some darker patches? So it's more like his soul has been badly wounded, but it's healed over, but you can still see the scars? If we're assuming this is near the end of the novel, when he reconciles with Cecelia. Maybe even the start of the sequel?"

"Start of the sequel, definitely," Tsuki agreed. "He's less of an asshat."

"Oh gods, you're not even joking," Integrity muttered, looking up again. "His name is Anguish."

"It's Anguish Eternal, actually. And he is one of the great romantic heroes of our generation. Get with the times."

[♥ Azzie]

It must be Tabletop OCs Day! ♥ This is my Masks: A New Generation character, Trie. She...has some problems. But she's also a big jokester and I love her.

OCtober Day 6: Cosplay

SPOILER: Click to show

It was late as Trie crept into her sanctuary, her flashlight shining on wet rock as she clambered in through the secret entrance. She made as little sound as possible; as unlikely as she was to have company here, it was a habit, and at any rate, tonight in particular Trie needed secrecy.

She flicked on a few of her little battery-operated lamps and made her way over to an innocuous-looking box next to a small clothing rack. With an extra glance around, she bent down and opened it, examining the contents. Apparently satisfied, she replaced the lid and grinned. All was ready...

The next day, there was no sign of Trie Ross anywhere in Halcyon Bay. Her friends had been told she was spending the day with family, and her parents assumed she was elsewhere, catching up on schoolwork. Nobody thought much of it. Certainly nobody gave a second thought to the convention brochures that had been spreading around Halcyon Bay for the last month, or to Trie's recent interest in the fabric shop. (Heroes needed uniforms, after all!)

But at the convention, one particular Goat Queen Ettiana basked in the sheer fun of being an ordinary teenager doing something she enjoyed, and the smile never left her face.

[Thorn]

It's past midnight so I'll try this now, since I won't have time tomorrow (I'm spending the night finishing editing Critique Circle review-things.) I'm stumped on 'Palette' for now so I'll go back to 'Seasons' with Borsibudynth, a forest dragon who changes appearance seasonally!

'Day' 1. Seasons

SPOILER: Click to show

The small creatures were following him again, clustered about the base of his tower. Borsibudynth couldn't blame them- he had his spring coat with the delicate floral blooms and mighty antlers, verdant vines wreathing his scales- and he knew he looked majestic. It wasn't vanity (you wouldn't catch him huddled by a pond, straining to catch sight of his reflection in the shivering waters), it was simply a fact. Everyone knew forest dragons only grew more magnificent as the brighter months approached. It therefore made perfect sense that the small creatures would follow him so.

They were amusing, in their way. They pinned holly to their cloaks and wore bracelets of green and gold, braiding flowers into their hair. They were oh so eager to please, and he would often find them tending to small simple elements of his garden, scuffling and shuffling around in the undergrowth. If he asked them to raze the city to make way for more garden, they would do so in a heartbeat. But he wouldn't ask them yet. Not while that druid was watching.

Borsibudynth's lip drew back, exposing his primary fangs. They'd once had so much in common, but now the tiny feeble human grew cold and wary. The civilisation of small creatures had done so little for either of them, so why did he suddenly care? He was old for a human. Old and sentimental. But he still had his wits about him, and if he caught wind of what the dragon was doing, the whole province would know. They'd burn Borsibudynth's garden. They'd capture or kill his servants, drive him away, and he'd have to find a new garden. After investing so much time in this one, Borsibudynth was not keen on the idea.

Atop the overgrown keep, he laid his head across his paws and closed his eyes. He would wait a little longer, but his patience was growing thin. Before long, he would need to deal with that eyesore of a city, suspicious druid or not.

[Birdy]

Here's my result for Day 6 \ o /


OCtober Day 6 - Cosplay

SPOILER: Click to show

“A dragon!”

“You want to be a dragon this year?”

“Yeah!”

The older man chuckled.

“I thought you wanted to be an astronaut this year,” he said, looking at his grandson with an amused smile.

The boy paused, as if in thought.

“…Both,” he finally declared, nodding firmly.

“Both?” his grandfather questioned. “A dragon and an astronaut?”

“Yeah!!”

“What about a vampire? You wanted to be one of those last week, didn’t you?”

“That too.”

“A dragon, astronaut, and a vampire, my my! Very ambitious of you. And what about that werewolf?”

“Yes!”

“So let me see if I have this right: you want to be a dragon, who is also an astronaut, but also a vampire and a werewolf?”

“Uh-huh!” the boy nodded enthusiastically.

“Hmm,” the man said, rubbing his chin in thought. “And I could have sworn you also told me you wanted to be a faerie earlier this month too…”

“Okay,” the boy beamed.

“A faerie too? My, this will be an interesting creature to dress up as indeed! And didn’t you mention a superhero too?”

“Yeah!”

“So you want to be a dragon,” he said, “that is also a werewolf and vampire and faerie, who moonlights as an astronaut when they aren’t being a superhero?”

“YEAH!” the boy cried again, raising his arms over his head.

The man chuckled again. “Alright, alright,” he said. “A dragon-vampire-werewolf-faerie astronaut-superhero it is.”

“Yaaaaay!” The boy extended his arms to the side, and began to spin around the room.

“Careful now,” his grandfather cautioned. “You don’t want to miss out on trick-or-treating because you got hurt, now, do you?”

“No,” the boy said emphatically, stopping and shaking his head.

“Good boy,” the man said. “Now, let’s get you into your jammies,” he said, bending down and scooping up the boy. “It’s almost time for bed.”

“Awww…”

“I know, I know; but the sooner you go to bed, the sooner it will be tomorrow, and we can go shopping for your costume!”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“…Okay,” the boy agreed, after a moment’s consideration.

After getting him into his jammies, helping him brush his teeth, and reading him his favourite bedtime story, the boy’s grandfather tucked him into bed and kissed him on the forehead.

“Good night, Otto,” he said. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Grandpa,” the boy replied, hugging him around the neck and settling back into bed.

After adjusting the blanket once more, his Grandpa Francis left the room, switching off the light as he left.

He had no idea how he was going to make a dragon-vampire-werewolf-faerie astronaut-superhero costume, but he knew he was sure as heck going to try – and his grandson would be the best dragon-vampire-werewolf-faerie astronaut-superhero that Wrighton had ever seen.

Of that, you could be sure.

[♥ Azzie]

I can't figure out how to properly format this for here and I've been working on it for about two hours already, so I'm just gonna link it. ♥

OCtober Day 7: Palette

[Thorn]

A quick summary of Things I Have Learned about my characters, during OCtober:

*I named Anguish Eternal, who up until now was just a tiefling romantic lead in a throwaway adventure novel River and Zazz read. So I named a character from a story-within-a-story? Eh, it counts!

*I realised how Ursh chose their birthday (it's the day they met their first friend!)

*I envisioned more Pretty Items of Clothing for Zazz! 100% the reason why I have characters with an ounce of fashion sense.

*I realised that I cannot consistently spell 'Borsibudynth', I had to go back and correct his name like eight times.

[Gelquie]

So I haven't really been participating in this as I haven't been entirely inspired. But I saw today's prompt and this one just hit me. So I wrote up this little drabble.

The character in question is Elin Ryer from Medieval.

OCtober Day 7: Palette

SPOILER: Click to show

It was a little outside her comfort zone.

All her life, she'd been using charcoal for her drawings. It was easy to obtain, easy to make into artist form, and easy to draw with. As poor as her family was, it was the best thing she could use to hone her craft.

It wasn't that she wasn't open to other types of artforms. It was just that she never had the opportunity.

So when she was presented with a palette, with a selection of colorful paints dabbed on different sections, she wasn't entirely sure what to do with it.

Of course, she had watched others paint before, though she had to remind herself not to follow their lead too closely. She was intrigued. That didn't mean she knew how to use it herself. It seemed straightforward, but with art, there was always a bit of unconscious skill to it.

She still wasn't sure how she'd come to this point. She wasn't sure how a conversation with a friend turned to this. Even now, as she stared down at the palette, she wondered what went into producing the paints, if they were using seriously expensive paints or not.

But at the same time, she was never one to turn down an opportunity. Especially when she always wanted to try it.

Elin dabbed a brush into the blue paint and proceeded to stroke it across the canvas. She didn't really have anything in mind when she started; right now she just wanted to experiment with the material. The first section of the stroke, there was a glop of paint, but as she moved her brush across, it thinned, and produced a subtle gradient of color in one swift stroke. She tried again, this time attempting to ensure that she used an even amount of paint from start to finish. It took a few tries, but she eventually managed it.

She could create a sky with what she'd done so far, she'd decided. But she wanted different colors... she remembered that the colors could be mixed. She experimented with this for some time. Light blues, purples, even a dash of yellow to create a hint of green...

She had no idea how to make it all work. But she knew she wasn't going to create a masterpiece. She could still create something...

She worked for some time, experimenting with what she'd been given, attempting to produce a picture out of her experiments...

The end result looked so different from her usual. She was used to the brushes and strokes of her charcoal pen, and the rough sketches she'd create. Here, she had no sketch to work with. As a result, some of her strokes looked a little wonky, to her. The figures she'd created weren't of the best proportions. And some of the colors mixed in ways that she didn't intend.

But for her first-ever painting, it wasn't bad.

And she was proud of some of the colors she did create, some of the ways it came together. A form she created that she'd never have been able to accomplish with her usual method of charcoal pen.

She was too used to her charcoal sketches. And ultimately, she felt that she preferred that.

But if she ever had the opportunity to try this again, to experiment more with paints or any other form of art...

She wasn't sure if she'd have it. But she couldn't help but feel excited at the thought.

[Thorn]

OCtober 8- Comfort

Decided to expand on a random backstory event. One of these characters is Izazdin using his birth name, the other is...a minor backstory character.
I tried to do something with Kohimu and Tai, and then considered werewolfstory characters, but realised I'm currently more drawn to my d&d characters. I need to branch out though- I'll use somebody else for (9)!

SPOILER: Click to show

“He stabbed me,” Kaztae hissed furiously, sinking to his knees. “I killed him.”

Kiortel signalled acknowledgement. He crouched a little ahead of the other, peering between two boulders overlooking the city below. Nobody came here unless they were plotting foul deeds, and although that was fairly common around these parts, today they seemed to be in the clear. Red eyes glinted as he turned back to Kaztae, who had both arms wrapped around his torso.

“He stabbed me,” Kaztae repeated.

His voice shook a little. Kiortel reached out to probe the makeshift dressing.

"Didn’t think he had it in him,” he said mildly. “Did anyone see what happened?”

“Uncertain.”

“I don’t want to invest all this effort, only for you to get offed anyway.”

“I won’t,” Kaztae gritted his teeth as Kiortel worked. “I’m better than that. Think he was acting alone, anyway.”

“It does seem strange,” Kiortel mused, sinking back on his haunches. “He was always such a meek little twerp.”

It was quiet up here, the bioluminescent fungi coating the cavern walls lending everything a faint blue-green glow. Usually Kiortel found it peaceful. He would come here when things got too much, and take out his anger on the fungi, which did wonders for his general mood. He’d brought Kaztae up here a couple of times and, while the taller drow seemed to enjoy himself, Kiortel got the impression he preferred the lights of the city. Tonight, however, any sense of peace was overridden by the possibility that they were being watched and hunted. Kiortel found himself tensing at the smallest noise or flicker of movement. He couldn’t wait to go home and put this behind him.

“Do you have more of that salve?” Kaztae murmured.

Kiortel looked at him. His jaw and shoulders were tensed and he was visibly sweating, but of course it was going to hurt. He’d been stabbed, what did he expect?

“It’s not magical. It dulls and cleanses, it doesn’t actually repair anything. I still think we should go to a cleric.”

“I’m not dying,” Kaztae responded, for the umpteenth time. “Why would they expend the effort?”

“We could pretend you are.”

“They’re not going to fall for that. Even if I was, why would they?”

“I would,” Kiortel managed.

He cringed at his own admission. Kaztae’s yellow eyes flickered towards him, and his face slackened in surprise, but he quickly twisted this into a faint smile.

“Thank-you, Kior. I appreciate that.”

Some context:

SPOILER: Click to show

Drow are conditioned to be cold and calculating. That's really all that needs to be said! Hence why when Kiortel says I WOULD CHANNEL MYSTICAL DIVINE POWER AND HELP YOU ifIhadit, Kaztae is like WOW I AM SO TOUCHED.

Side note for my future reference: his mother and two oldest sisters are clerics at this stage, but off on a pilgrimage.

Things I have learned from day 8 of OCtober:
-The name of a minor backstory character!
-A little of his personality, and the relationship between he and Zazz!
-Umm I think that's it.

[♥ Azzie]

I did do yesterday's prompt but it was rushed and for an AU so I'm not gonna post it. But today, I'll present you...

OCtober Day 9: Dinnertime!

SPOILER: Click to show

The belltower always chimed at nine, at noon and at six, every day.

Supposedly the chimes announced when the King had his meals. Eddy was too far away to see the grand old clock that marked the hours, but even from the forest he could hear the bells, and so he marked his days by them. First chime meant people were moving, and so should he; if he wasn't ready, he'd miss some travelers to guide and, if he were unlucky, some passing nobles. Second chime often reminded people to stop for lunch, and so it was generally a good time to make himself scarce. But the third chime was the most important of all.

Every night at third chime, at six o'clock, the entire kingdom shut down. People's differing schedules all ground to a halt when that third bell rang. It was a tradition, older than anyone in the kingdom. For a single hour each day, everyone would stop their working and share a meal with their loved ones.
Even Eddy, who followed no one's rule but his own at the best of times, made an exception for this. He sat, ate his food, and enjoyed the silence of the kingdom. The beasts of the forest were the only sound, and he loved it. For a single hour each day he didn't have to be on his guard, ready to jump up and be charming.
But it was more than that.

Eddy never felt out of place within the kingdom; on the contrary, he was quite secure in his place, and often took pride in it. But stopping for that hour made him feel... different. Everyone from the King to the smallest thief- that is to say, himself- honoured that tradition. And in that small hour Eddy felt, not so much like a piece of the larger picture, but part of the heartbeat of the kingdom itself. It made him feel closer to the world as a whole- and it was a closeness he treasured, even if he would never admit it.