@elishavet-pidyon
Active 5 hours ago- Rank: Eccentric Mentor
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Aha! *subscribing*
A blurb would be good! Then of course a good intro to the Main Characters, because I really liked their aesthetics and want to know what they have to say for themselves.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
Yay! I have a story done too. =D I just have to decide if I want to submit that one or follow a sudden plotbunny.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
*erupts from the shadows*
AH! I love them all!!!
Both of “Barons’s” works are exquisite. I really like the cat eye. Both have have so much character in them. (makes mental note to explore that thread you have so I can find out more about this Baron person. Making drawings for your characters to do is a brilliant idea.)
The kiddo is adorable! His little hands… just so precious.
Dante is incredible. I have only once done a cyclops-like thing, and it was in a “Pembric’s Creaturepedia” style so I could ignore most of the details. You pulled him off perfectly.
Anyway, thank you so much for sharing. I shall now go back to Ooh and Ahh over them further.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
WHAT HAVE YOU TWO DONE?? XD
That’s just plain brilliance. Disastrous indeed, but brilliant nonetheless.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
Welp. This has taken a while. I’m gonna do something though…
By the way, what does Brea look like again? She’s sounding a lot like Nadian, who has black curls, a dusky rose-olive complexion, and dark brown eyes. Basically a little girl version of Viktor but with their mother’s facial structure. Alyona favors their mother more, with straight hair and green eyes.
Viktor (the Library)
“People say that he and I look a lot alike, but I don’t see it because he’s a boy and also old.” A familiar point of view. Nadian hated it when people said she looked like Viktor. Brea just shook her curls and assumed a serious expression. “He has glasses and his hair kind of looks like yours. He doesn’t talk very much.”
“He does sounds familiar. I think I’ve seen him. He has a friend with long, white hair, right?”
She nodded. And probably said something. Viktor didn’t catch it, although it sounded little sister-ish.
He smiled and settled back in his chair. His history book was waxing eloquent on the lives of Hibernian peasantry. Apparently they ate a lot of peas. Brea’s pencil was making scritching noises on her algebra homework. It looked like polynomial division, which just made his head hurt. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the chairback.
It was weird to resemble someone you didn’t really remember. Like you were an echo of a song no one sung anymore. He slid a hand into his pocket. Then slid it further.
A crease appeared between his black brows. He pinched the inside of his pocket and flipped it inside out. Eraser bits sprinkled the seat beside him, but otherwise, the pocket was empty.
“Did you see me drop something?” He asked quickly, before a tremor could slide into his voice. “It’s a little metal box about the size of my palm. Like an old – oh how do you say it – tinder box. Or jewlery box. There’s a medal and a picture in it.”
She scrunched forehead in her “serious” expression that now looked confused and shook her head.
“All right then. I’ll just have a look around.” He thumped his book onto the desk.
There was nothing on the table, or under it. He got down on his knees to look under his chair.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
Also….
Why would Onnendel be sending orcs to hunt his own band? And then give himself away by a notable device on his minions’ uniforms?
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
What? XD Oh no. I’ll tweak that. Sorry for the unclarified pronoun.
Onnendel is not the traitor. It would be a great twist, but he’s too much of Aenwest’s cinnamon roll to have a negative arc..
Plus… Backstory. Lots of backstory….
that bit was supposed to express how well Onnendel and Travenor know each other. They *might* have dealt with this guy before.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
@ellette-giselle @koshka @keilah-h @hybridlore @theducktator @anyoneinterested
The next chapter is up!
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
In Which Orcs Stink, and Dwogin Plays Hockey
Chapter 6
“Cowards and kettledrums!” Dwogin bellowed. His axe sprang into his hand and the stout warrior went charging into the first line of the ambushment. Orcs flew like flies over a hotly contested piece of garbage. I gagged.
In the chaos that ensued, I caught a glimpse of Onnendel and Travenor fighting in their iconic back-to-back position. It was spectacular, like they were posing for a cover shot: the blind prince fighting fearlessly beside the Ranger of the North. Royalty and loyalty personified. I smiled fondly as Randal pulled me to cover.
“Stay here, Aenwest.”
And then I was alone to watch the grisly scene as I liked. I peeked out from the fir branches and tried not to lose the last of the apricots I’d had at lunch. Orc blood, just in case you were wondering, is even more disgusting than the filthy vermin themselves. And it stinks to high heaven. The battle went spinning on.
I inched back into the sneaks of my hiding spot, a bramble of twisted trees and undergrowth. The smell was terrible.
Ok. It turns out, Orc blood doen’t stink as much as an actual orc. Yeah, you may know where this is going. I sure didn’t, which is why I kept backing up, my hand clamped over my nose.
A huge, clammy hand gripped my arm. I jerked away shrieking like a banshee.
“EEEK! Let me go! Lemme go! Rat breathed fiend from the depths of Throg! Filthy, filthy, filthy!”
The hulking beast laughed and tightened his grip on my poor arm. Crushing panic clouded my brain. I fought back blindly, screaming mad. Duck, twist, jab with the elbows. I managed to sock him a good one on the nose. If it could be called a nose. He growled and grabbed my other arm. I balked.
Then the orc crumpled away, and Dwogin stood beside me, a grin splitting his beard.
“For such a little lass, you have a brave tongue in your head.” It was the most unexpected time for a compliment.
I gasped for breath. Tried to call up a smile. “Thanks. I think.” My hands and arms were unclean from the evil creature, but Dwogin grinned again. I think that meant we were finally friends.
With that, my good dwarfish hero spun back into the fray with all the enthusiasm of a pickled banana slipping from its peel… pardon. I crouched down between two old firs and held my breath. My hands shook, but I flipped open my satchel and withdrew a sock I’d never be using again and some sanitizer. Then I reached for my notebook. Yes, I had just nearly died again, but somewhere on page 200 I had jotted down this scene idea. Which meant I was honor bound to find it and make sure there were no more plot twists headed our way in the immediate future.
I found a drawing instead. Young Travenor stood with his hand out, laying it on Onnendel’s shoulder. The elf was a vague sketch that resembled someone from Narnia more than himself. Travenor however, was in great detail. A note beside his head described the scene as “Travenor and his best friend. Long live the shadow breakers!”
A horrific cry cut through my happy distraction. I flipped the page with a shudder.
There, a three paragraph account of this little ambush. Had we been going with the original plan, we would have been further down in the valley and Travenor’s cousins would have come to the rescue. Apparently my feet changed that, which meant my story was changing itself. A terrifying thought indeed.
A sneak attack on Onnendel nearly kills him. But Dwogin whirrs into the way, cutting down the villainous orc before the worst could happen. The battle sweeps back at the weight of Deogin’s ax-
Something thudded to my right. I peeked around a tangle of fir branches to see an orcish helmet embedded into the nearby foliage. I stared at it numbly. Tried not to wonder if there was a head inside or how close it had come to flying into my sanctum. Somewhere some wise hobbit complained about being stuck outside a battle, not able to escape or help his friends. I looked at that helmet and vowed I would take a broadsword class or karate or something dangerous the first chance I got. Anything that would help more than a measly pen when my friends were battling graphically hideous beings.
Then- silence. A groan or two and a muffled conversation. Boots tromped through the underbrush toward my thicket.
“Lady Aenwest? Where are you?”
“Here.” It came out with the slightest edge of a squeak. I stuffed the notebook back into my bag before Randal appeared. He held out a hand which had obviously just been washed clean. I took it and followed him out into the battlefield.
Two words. Dead chaos.
“We cannot stay here.” Ranadal said quietly. I fully agreed. Travenor however, appeared to be fascinated with the uniforms of the orcs. He kicked one over, the front of his cloak pulled over his nose to survive. Randal threw a questioning glance at Onnendel, who wouldn’t have seen it even if he hadn’t been quietly cleaning his blade. Squish, scritch, went the elf’s cloth against the steel, completely lost in his own thoughts. Randal coughed.
“Ahem. What is it, Travenor?”
The ranger looked up, his face red from bending over. He frowned.
“A strange device. A wing of black set with a white stone. It is not orc-work.” He pointed with his sword at an emblem on the orc’s sleeve. Randal stepped closer and his face grew dark.
“An elf lord who employs orcs.” he straightened to face Travenor. They stared at each other for a long moment while the rest of us stood in suspense. Well, not me. I knew.
“Him!” Travenor spun to kick the body again, eyes flashing steel grey. He stepped across to Onnendel. “It was Him.”
Onnendel did not move. He simply gazed at Travenor with his clouded eyes and a gravity that ached my author heart. His sword slid into its sheath with a muted click.
“And he likely has more hidden here.” I crossed my arms, ready to push this whole thing forward if I had to. “In fact, I would not be surprised if he has another band set to come out of their hole in, what, another hour? These were headed for the lower road when they found us.”
“Oh?” Randal turned to me with an interested look. I nodded emphatically.
“He will be looking for us by now. Querrel was not his only target.”
Need I say more? Obviously, no. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, even Dwogin. The dwarf stuffed his hands in his pockets with a grimace and stepped closer to Randal.
“If there are more of these maggots around, we need a safe place to stay.” Travenor turned to look back down the path. “There is no such place until we reach the Dell.”
The Dell, a common little place hallowed by its many years of service to Rangers, was perfect. It was also about a league away. The path there wound down through the wilderness below, over rivers and through woods thicker than anything we had met with yet. A firm resolution settled on everyone’s face.
Everyone but Dwogin. The dwarf fumbled with his ax and cut a glance toward Randal.
In the books, characters rarely leave a battle site like this without cleaning up first. But then, in the books you can clean up a pile of orcs in a sentence and a half. That leaves plenty of time to reach the only safe haven for three miles before it gets too dark to see the road or worse. Randal nodded to us each.
“Come then. There’s no time to lose.”
We set off down the path at once more closely knit than before, yet also not. Dwogin stomped along slow enough that he would have trailed far behind the group if I had not been going just as slow. I caught his eye.
“Hey, thank you for helping me back there. If we ever have the opportunity, we should make up insults together. They might be useful.”
He hooted at that and picked up his pace a little. I smiled. Everyone needs an ally. Sometimes it’s scary to be a dwarf.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
I guess I have a magic system, but it’s more a power system. In my KoS/Shattered Kingdoms series, there are unseen powers behind almost everything. Influences from the races of the Lighted and the Faded on the race of Blood. (Made the names up on the spot. XD) It’s pretty obviously allegorical, but I’m having fun developing it as if it’s not so I can just tell my story as if it was just another high fantasy story.
Basically, in the beginning of the world, those of Blood were in harmony under the lord Elisa, king of Light. He is the master and source of light, and rules a Kingdom and of warriors and messengers who are made of light not flesh and bone. They don’t have blood, but if cut the wound will spill light that in turn heals it.
The light is embodied in a visible, tangable form, as well as a verbal form. The language of Light is powerful, and can only be spoken by those born of light. It breathes blessings and carries the living power of Light. It’s what we used to make the world.
Enter the Faded. A faction of the Lighted that rebelled and took the race of Blood with them. In their treason, the light in them died. The Faded became a people of shadows, while those of blood became mortal. Without everliving light in their blood, they would die. The Faded do not die yet, but every age that passes changes them more.
The Faded have their own language as well, and it almost sounds like that of the Lighted, but it’s of shadows instead. It imitates the power of Light, but decays.
The Light can imbue something, and when used to forge a weapon, the weapon becomes reactionary to Light. For instance, a sword forged with light changes the wielder. It serves Elisai (but can be used incorrectly, which will temporarily turn it to a normal blade) and in the heat of battle or presence of Light, a brilliant blue-white fire will dance inside the steel. The effect is brightest when used by one who is Reborn with Light and is a subject of the Lightened kingdom, also called an Aetheling.
So there are “laws unbreakable” like the cost of reason and the concept of ransom blood which are deep in the fabric of the world.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
Absolutely welcome! I may have to struggle to finish something, but characters and random ideas are my cup of tea. 🙂
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
TRASHGRIFFINS!!!
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
OoooOOOoohHHHHhhhhh nnnNNNNOOOOooooo…….
Yep.
I do have a rough mythology as much as I want to have it. The god of war and his consort the goddess of prosperity run around doing their thing while the god of the yurt (home/tent) tries to just keep the tents from burning in the chaos. I have decided not to go too in depth, since I don’t want to pull the darker sides of false religion into he book. Other than the whole “war is worship” thing of course. And the fact that A_____’s captor is a bit of an infidel because he has spurned most of the religion for a form of stoicism. His wife is devout though, and it’s sad.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
EXACTLY. XD I even started a language simply so I could have it on signs in the illustrations. Like, no one speaks it in the story, but it’s there??? It did help me figure out the social hierarchy though, since I had all these neat names and no roles to put them to.
HOWEVER. I am rather proud of the Dorwain’s pagan religion, as dark as it is. It saved the world from becoming a huge political allegory, and gave the Dorwains an actual reason to hate the Eirtanians. It does cause one small problem though.
The gods don’t have names. And if they get names they’ll have to be in Dorwainish, which is different from Eishlagair, but has not been necessary up to this point. *slowly panics*
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
And then what if… if theresafoodcalledshoemashandyoudon’tknowwhybutyoumadeitupanditsoundsdelicousandnowyouhavetothinkofareasonbecauseyourfamlythinksit’snastysoundingso-
It’s porridge, but the “everything but the kitchen sink kind” and is delicous.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
