Writing Share Tag!

Writing Share Tag!

Thanks for tagging me @the-golden-comet (here)!

I'll go with a snippet from The Forgotten Ones - namely the beginning of the flashback to the day the Iron Inquisition invaded the continent and Sorin escaped the bloodshed.

TW. Medieval siege of a city, bloodshed, medieval warfare

[...] Screams echoed, ubiquitous, and the familiar clang of metal against metal sent chills down her spine. Sorin sprung to her feet, pushing past harried servants running down the hall,  practically throwing herself against the parapets of the balcony to overlook the chaos below. Citizens, traveling merchants, and nobles alike raced down the once peaceful streets, fleeing from enemy soldiers, clad in armor unlike she’d ever seen before. And the sights she saw, were incinerated into her mind forever - people dragged from their homes, parents killed in front of their children. A woman, trying to escape her pursuers, throws herself out of a window in a panic, falling dead and broken on the ground below. 

The overwhelming scent of smoke and blood filled her nostrils as the winds raged around the Keep, the smell of destruction pungent even from a distance. Fire roared in the distance, and tearing her eyes away from the bloodshed in the streets below, Sorin saw that the city walls - once considered unbreakable - were toppling down, consumed by flames that seemed to reach for the skies, filling the air with tar-like soot.

Sorin's hands shook, holding the parapets in a white-knuckled grip for a moment more before pushing herself away from it. Taking a deep breath, the girl steadied herself - those soldiers would inevitably reach the Keep. Sorin’s heart was racing, anger, and hatred mixing together in the worst possible way. 

As chaos continued to rage on, Sorin tried to steel herself and act - she was the daughter of the greatest warrior that had ever lived. Reikar blood flowed in her veins, the blood of the Elder Guardians. She was raised for this - she should, in theory, know what to do. But the soldiers below pushed forward, death spreading as fast as a hurricane, Sorin realized she was afraid, even though she tried to force it down. 

A loud boom echoed out, and the walls of the Keep shook. Sorin screamed, despite herself, falling to her knees and grasping at the floor to steady herself. After the tremor stopped, Sorin crawled to her feet, cautiously peeking over the parapets - down below, she saw a mechanic monstrosity, built out of raw iron and covered in glowing runes. It seemed like it was supposed to be some sort of battering ram, except much more powerful. More destructive. 

It hit the Keep’s iron gates with a force, rattling the walls once more, and before Sorin could even move, she heard the familiar whizzing of an arrow through the air and scrambled backward just in time to avoid being hit by it in the eye. It still scraped her cheekbone and drew a thin line of blood. “Fuck!”  Sorin cursed in anger, partly at herself for letting her guard down this badly. 

Sorin ran away from the balcony, into the Keep. And just in time. A rain of arrows surged in the horizon line, clashing exactly where she just stood - apparently, the attack took out some of the guards who were lined up on the upper floor, because she saw one of them topple over the walls, dragged down by the weight of his armor and disappearing downwards. 

The tremors continued, insistent, as she ran down the corridor. Cracks began to show on the marble walls beside her, and she wondered how much longer the Keep would hold. Finally reaching her room, Sorin was only able to collect her broadsword and a travel cloak before a deafening crash thundered through her surroundings - looking over her shoulders, she saw that some of the corridor’s wall had toppled and that the soldiers had managed to breach the Keep’s gates below. The additional clashing of metal and bloodcurdling screams that joined the ominous cacophony confirmed her suspicion. 

Pushing herself up on her bed, Sorin didn’t waste a second. She had to get out of there before the soldiers reached the upper floor. She had to… Dread interrupted her thoughts, her heart sinking. Arion. She had to find him - her lover was no fighter. He was a mage, yes, but not a warrior, and his sister was but a child. If those soldiers found the duo… Sorin shuddered at the thought, feeling faint. 

Dragging herself to her feet with determination, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her broadsword with a deathly grip, Sorin raced to the corner of her room, where she knew a secret passage was hidden. Her father had been prepared, made sure that should something like this happen, she would be able to get away - Sorin only wished his caution had been only a father’s overprotective paranoia, and that this wouldn’t have become a reality,

But still, she couldn’t be more thankful for that caution now. 

On the corridor outside, among fallen marble stones and crumbling dust, she saw a servant girl scramble to get across. Sorin opened her mouth to call the girl in, to help her escape alongside her, but she was already out of sight by the time Sorin managed to collect her thoughts. 

Saddened, Sorin wished hat the servant girl would find another way out, though the rational, treasonous part of her mind whispered that it was unlikely. Shaking her head, Sorin reached behind her wardrobe and, with some effort, managed to topple it, revealing more of the stone wall behind it - most notably, one of the stones was salient, standing out amidst the others. Without a second thought, she pushed it, and after a daunting second, the wall began to split, revealing a dusty old staircase, cracked by time and lack of use, on the other side. 

Sorin straightened herself, slipping the travel cloak over her shoulders and readjusting her grip on her sword. The sounds drew closer, haunting, and Sorin practically leaped down the stairs, looking over her shoulder a few times. 

She only hoped Arion and his sister hadn’t been caught in the crossfire already, as she quickened her pace down the stairs. [...]

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

Hello! This is your monthly positivity mail :)

I hope your month is starting well, and that it only gets better! If you're having nice weather, I hope you take the time to enjoy the outside and get some fresh air. You deserve nice things, and that includes taking care of yourself! See you next month!

Omg, thank you!!! I'm juggling a lot this month and hopefully, I'll manage to get good progress on the first draft I'm working on, start making my art commissions, and prepare for an important test all in this month!!

Thanks for the good vibes! @positivitymail

Details for Historical/Fantasy Writing: Insights from a Reenactor

Writing is the main thing I do for fun, but I’m a multi-faceted lass with many hobbies, and I also do Roman reenactment. I find that by actually doing something, you learn things that aren’t possible through theoretical research alone, so here is a collection of small things I’ve noticed while reenacting that you could add to your writing for a bit of extra realism.

Loose long hair is ANNOYING. There’s a reason most depictions you’ll see of women in history show them with their hair up and/or covered, and that is pure practicality. Having hair in the way is a massive pain (this would be particularly true for working women with stuff to get done).

Repetitive tasks aren’t boring if you have someone to chat to. When we do events, I’m in the textiles tent, and as the most junior member of the team I’m the one who does the spinning. Most events are 10-4/5, and you’d think 6/7 hours of spinning (with a break for lunch) would be boring, but actually, once you’re practiced you can do it on autopilot while you natter! I’m sure this is how people managed samey tasks back in ye olde days.

Speaking of spinning, working with textiles leaves its mark. If you’ve been spinning, sewing, or weaving for a long time, you’ll feel it. It knots up your shoulders and, perhaps less obviously, the friction of fibre against your fingers can wear away just enough skin to make them tender. Thimbles help with sewing, but not spinning or weaving.

Wool is WONDERFUL. I love it. It has a reputation as being scratchy and itchy, but when it’s finely woven/spun it is fantastic to wear. It keeps you cool when it’s hot, and warm when it’s cold. It also has the fantastic property of keeping you insulated even when soaking wet, which is why wool cloaks are so brilliant.

Linen is also wonderful. Lovely against the skin and cool in the summer (but for the average person in history, it’s more expensive than wool).

Woodsmoke gets everywhere. It stings your eyes and makes your clothes and hair smell smokey. However, after a little while the smell becomes just a background thing (and you get pretty practiced at anticipating when the smoke is going to change direction so you can move out of the way). It also keeps insects away!

Cooking over a fire takes longer than you’d think. If we start an event at 10 am, that means we’ll usually be having lunch at 1-2pm. However, we do have pretty elaborate meals, and have to start the fire from scratch every day (a lot of the wait time is getting the fire to cooking embers). If your characters are cooking simple fare over a fire that you’ve started from being banked, it’ll be quicker.

You want different footwear for different purposes. Hobnails give you great footing on soft/muddy ground, but on pavement they offer no purchase at all and will KILL YOU (okay, this is slight hyperbole, but there is an account of a centurion running from grass to pavement, slipping over and getting killed by his enemies). City wear would likely be leather and clogs/pattens.

CLOAKS CLOAKS CLOAKS! They are so versatile. They keep you warm, they keep you dry, they can be a blanket or an impromptu bag. Essential equipment in my view.

OC Picrew!

Thanks for tagging me @oh-no-another-idea (here)!

(picrew maker here)

Behold Jack Tithus (red-haired picrew) and Valen Cassidy (blond picrew), from Supernova Initiative and Scrapyard Boys respectively!

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@the-golden-comet, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

Writing Share Tag

"Oh, you have no idea what you've done." Lord Tarquinne strides into the hall, throwing the doors open. His eyes are scathing, even from a distance, glaring daggers at the cocky young Praetor currently enchanting the councilmembers with his victorious tall-tales.

They were laughing, each one holding a goblet of wine of the highest caliber, it seems. A celebratory scene, one would think - they sure did. Except the current situation was nothing to be celebrated.

In the center of the group, the noble boy looks up at him, mocking arrogance and pseudo-disbelief reeking from his voice "Is that so?"

The older man sighed, exasperated, now standing right in front of the table. The councilmembers fell silent, all eyes turned to him, though Praetor Lorcan seemed particularly amused. Tarquinne answered, "Yes, it is."

Lorcan rolls his eyes, throwing his arms out wide, with a cackling laugh as if he just heard a fine joke. Some of the councilmembers, perhaps out of fear or out of a wish to fall in his good graces, hesitantly joined in, though they seemed unsure why he was laughing.

Finally, the Praetor took a deep breath and a long sip of wine, before retorting, still smirking "Oh. I get what you're talking about." He says, realization dawning on him but not harming his confidence. He continued proudly, mockery in his voice "Still, I feel the need to ask: why do you think so?" Lorcan chuckles, gesturing dismissively "After all, she's just a girl! She's no threat anymore."

Lord Tarquinne's face was unreadable, and he took a step forward. What few councilmembers had joined in Lorcan's mocking display had long since fallen silent once more.

The older man slammed his hand on the table, rattling the cutlery and startling a few of the noblemen. Lorcan still stared up at him lazily, sipping his wine as if bored. "That 'girl' won a duel against one of my finest knights when she was only thirteen years of age. That 'girl' is the daughter of Cerys Reikar - the most dangerous man in the realm." At that, Lorcan's easy smile began to fall, being replaced with a frown, uncomfortable at the reminders "She follows the Oath of the Sword by the book. Sorin knows more ways to kill a man than you ever will."

Hushed whispers filled the table. All here knew those words to be the pure truth, as much as the cocky commander of the guard refused to acknowledge it. Tarquinne moved away from the table, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to find the patience to continue, "And you, stupid child, just hurt the person she loves the most in this world. Worse yet, you let her escape. With a dragon."

Lorcan scoffed, indignant, "I was trying to send a message -"

The other cut him off before he could finish the sentence, voice calculated, "And you did indeed send a message. A message that you're unfit for your position and that your choices can bring jeopardy to everything the Inquisition stands for." Tarquinne's sentenced ended in what was practically a yell, booming in the hall, before he took a deep breath and paused.

The gathered nobles were silent as a grave, and Lorcan's eyes burned with rage at his faults being exposed to his 'adoring crowd'. However, his arrogant facade was beginning to falter, dread peeking through into his expression.

Tarquinne addressed Lorcan, and though he asked a question, it was more than clear that it rather was a statement. "Do you seriously think that Sorin is going to stand down after you tortured her betrothed to the edge of madness and killed his sister?" He couldn't keep the sheer disbelief and impatience out of his voice at that, much like a teacher scolding a troubling child. Lorcan said nothing, and the older Lord shook his head. "No. She'll be coming for your blood, and I won't be the fool standing in her way."

It was clear the young Preator didn't want to show weakness in front of his followers. Still, his face was visibly paler, and his rings clattered slightly against the wooden table as he placed his hands upon it, steadying himself, "Then what should I do now then?"

His voice was provoking, carrying an underlying tone of disdain that wasn't unnoticed by any of the others in the room, especially not Tarquinne, but he still seemed to wait for an answer rather nervously.

Tarquinne sighed, "Now, fool, I will do what you should have done in the first place - I'll send my men to kill Sorin Reikar and the wildmage you drove mad before they come for us. And you had better pray neither of them find you before my men find them."

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@the-golden-comet, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

OC Questionnaire!

Thanks for the tag, @urnumber1star (here)!

Your Questions:

Do you know how to dance? If so what kinds?

What's the season you hate the most? What's your favorite season?

Do you have any unusual fears?

I'll go with Deimos Soll (Supernova Initiative), Asael (The Forgotten Ones), and Quince Warren (Scrapyard Boys)!

Would you ever kill another person?

Deimos: "I mean, of course, yes. I'm a sniper and a rebel fighter! Killing is... kind of the job description there. I don't necessarily like it though, and I try to only kill people I strictly need to - I never hurt innocents. All my targets are people who would have otherwise harmed others."

Asael: "If I had to protect my Kindred - my adoptive brother - yes, I would kill in the blink of an eye. I think killing is wrong, but we've gone through too much, and I would do anything if it means he can live."

Quince: "I have... killed before. But I didn't mean to! They were trying to kill us, and I was scared. Emily was scared too. When I came to my senses there was only a pool of gore and viscera where our attacker was. That's how I... discovered my 'power'. And I hate myself so much for it."

2. What is your biggest dream?

Deimos: "Being safe, and being free. I want to remember what it's like to live without someone on my tail trying to murder me. It's been too long. I also wish... well, I wish I hadn't made the mistakes I made. Betrayed my only family for safety. I was so wrong, and I only wish I can find a way to make up for it."

Asael: "That the Inquisition will go away. That it will leave us in peace and stop torturing my kind for magic. I wish I could live in a world where I didn't have to choose every day between suffering through unthinkable torture or letting my Kindred suffer instead. I want things to go back to the way they used to be - happy, normal. Free."

Quince: "I wish I could have a different power. A nice one that didn't bring blood and death every time I used it."

3. If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?

Deimos: "If I could, I would go back in time and prevent my argument with my half-siblings, so that I didn't leave the crew. If I didn't leave the crew I wouldn't have made... the mistake. I wouldn't be in this situation if I had just been calmer."

Asael: "Does making the Inquisition perish in a fiery heap count?"

Quince: "I would like to change my powers. Maybe have telekinesis, or healing powers, or plant generation, something that didn't fucking make people implode!"

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@the-golden-comet, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG