25 January 2024

“Good morning.” I greet Isaac as he walks in, although I don’t turn to face him. Instead, I stare at a series of paintings along the back wall, each a different version of him; short and proud, tall and laid back. A jokester, or too serious for his own good. Caught up in a thirst for adventure.

“Morning.” He looks around. “What… is this place?”

With a sweeping gesture, I turn to face him. “This? A fragment of a dream. A space between realities.”

“Huh.” Isaac cocks one eyebrow as he looks at me warily. “And why have you brought me here?”

“Because I want to understand you.” I conjure up a table and two chairs. “I want to know how your story changes you, and to do that, I need to know who you are at the beginning.”

I take my seat, and Isaac follows suit. “Okay… What do you want to know?”

That brings a wry smile to my face. “That is the question, isn’t it?” I conjure up a bottle of something–sparkling cider, perhaps–and offer him some. “Drink? It’s not alcoholic.”

He shakes his head; so this version is cautious. That seems a bit at odds with someone who would chase down witches and fairies on the off-chance they can help find Aurora. Perhaps I’m reading him wrong?

He squirms a bit in his seat. “What is it?”

“Ah! My apologies. I didn’t realize I was staring quite so intently.” I lean back and place my hands in my lap. “I do have one question, though. Why put so much effort into finding Aurora?”

“Well… She’s my sister, isn’t she?”

“Indeed.” I take a sip from my drink. “But you’ve never met her. She was taken before you were born, and I daresay most of the nation has given up hope of ever getting her back, especially this close to her sixteenth birthday and her predicted demise. SO what keeps the spark going for you?”

“I… The adventure of it, I guess?”

I nod to myself. “Then… Are you actually expecting to find her?”

That stumps Isaac for a long while. “I… I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” He paused. “I guess… before I stumbled into those two fairies, I never thought it was possible? And then I was so caught up in it all I never thought about what it might mean.”

2 June 2023

I was trying (and am still trying, with varying amounts of success) to pin down the plot of Majesty book one. And since most plots revolve around the actions of the antagonist, rather than the protagonist, I decided to try and get information out of Roland. It didn’t pan out as well as I hoped.

I am once again seated with Roland. He raises an eyebrow at me. “And what can I do for you?”

The corner of my mouth quirks up. “I suppose I wanted to apologize. I was wrong last tim. It is not the Conqueror you are scared of.”

Roland blinks; he wasn’t expecting that. His reprieve is short-lived, however, and the smile on my face finishes forming. “No. You’re scared of Moira, and this new country of refugees she’s started up on your doorstep.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Roland jumps up, far more agitated than I’d expected; he even sweeps the papers off his desk. “I tried to warn the Council, of the risks from having a literal dragon next door eyeing our city, but do they listen? Fortune forbid!” He slumps back into his chair and rubs his temples.

The outburst did startle me, honestly, but I make a point to continue sipping amy hot cider and act unperturbed. Once I’m fairly certain his rant has finished for now, I set my cup down. “So what are you planning to do about it?”

“What am I…?” He stares in wonder for a moment, then his eyes narrow. “You’re trying to get me to reveal it so you can counter it.”

“Hardly. No matter what it is, countering it isn’t the problem. After all, if I wanted to…” I snap my fingers and we are instantly teleported to the ocean floor of some coral reef. Roland’s eyes go wide and he reaches for his throat, desperate to breathe. I snap again, and we’re back in his office, torrents of water pouring off Roland as he gasps for breath. I, notably, remain completely dry.

“So you see, it’s not really even a matter of will I stop you or not. Realistically, I even already know how; I just need the details of your plan to see how it all fits together.”

Rather than say anything, Roland just glares at me. Ah, well. Suppose I can’t be too surprised; that was a bit heavy-handed, and even if I hadn’t been, Roland seems to be the stubborn sort. I sigh, bid him farewell, and leave the room.

3 May 2023

Hanging out with family is not particularly conducive to being timely with things. Especially when I’m a time zone over…

Anyway, this is exploring some potential story arcs for the end game, particularly Roland, who I was thinking could actually be the exact opposite of what I imagined, and be the one inviting foreign powers to take charge for one reason or another. This is trying to get a feel for that other power. She is not Asian, if she even exists; I went back to a more Egyptian vibe for her, after all, shortly after this.

I sit across form a woman straight out of Egyptian history; dark hair, tanned skin, lots of gold jewelry with her Egyptian-cut white dress. The room around is just as lavish; almost too bright for my eyes. I look over the Cleopatra look-alike again; I doubt she’ll be staying like that by the time I’m done. But who knows?

Then I have a thought and snap my fingers. The aesthetics shift, and we are sitting in an Asian tea room, and a very Chinese empress now sits across from me. I’d been considering adding or changing things to include oriental dragons; would this work?

The queen gives me a knowing smile. “This certainly does feel more comfortable.” She takes a sip of her tea, and for a split second I thought I saw fox ears. She’s certainly not a kitsune, but all the research on Japanese legends lately, especially Tamamo-no-Mae, is affecting my perceptions. How would I want to handle this?

For a long time neither of us speaks; we just study each other carefully. Then she says, “I hear you’re not sure if I even truly exist. Is that correct?”

“Indeed. I need a major threat Roland himself created; I’m not sure that has to be you.”

“Oh?” She leans forward. “And what, pray tell, would you replace me with? Volcanoes?”

“Perhaps.”

She scoffs at me. “As if anyone would accept that.”

“We’ll see.” My smile turns devilish. “But first, my dear queen, what on earth drives you to fear Agthere so much?”

She freezes, looking for all the world like a teenager caught sneaking back into the house past curfew. “Whatever do you mean?”

I lean back and waved my hand dismissively. “Come now. This is a story about courage, especially here in Book 1. Charles arc is about overcoming, and helping others overcome, their own fears. Am I wrong?”

When she didn’t reply, I continued, “And if you are the antagonist, you must serve as a foil. Ergo, you would have to be motivated by fear.” My smile turns malicious and I lean forward to rest my elbows on the table. “So then, tell me, O Queen, what are you so afraid of? And what do you intend to do about it?”

11 April 2023

this was a very good day for figuring out what the plot of Majesty book 1 will be. I needed an antagonist, in particular one that would be defeated by kids without removing the threat the Conqueror herself imposed. And combined with the theme with Charles and courage, I decided on a coward.

I’d actually initially named him Richard—as an ironic twist, from Richard the Lion-Hearted—but it just really did not fit. So he’d Roland for now. there’s a lot that’s shifted even in the couple days since I wrote this; their country no longer has a sovereign, but is, in fact, just ruled by this Council he’s a key member of. A lot of political finagling. It’s also unclear how much his motivations will actually be motivated by fear of the Conqueror, and how much will be tied to the Pirate King (both fear and rage, based on the reveals towards the end, depending on how close he was to his brother-in-law, or how devastated his sister was at her husband’s death).

I drop Roland into a large jungle setting, where the plants are ridiculously oversized, in order to make him feel small. As his eyes dart this way and that, trying to figure out where he is, I study him. He is tall; possibly even matching my own 6’2”, though I’d guess he’s closer to six foot even. He’s skinny, though; there’s so little meat on his arms I wonder for half a second if he’s ever lifted anything heavier than a pen.

No, that’s not quite right. He’s fit enough; it’s just masked by his flowing robes. What is his position, anyway? Is he a Denethor? The similarities are quite uncanny… Hopefully, he’ll prove a little more competent, however. And less crazy.

Finally, I emerge into the light in front of him. “Goodman Roland, I presume?”

He starts, then nodes, somewhat relieved to see another person here. “I am. I… am afraid you have a distinct advantage over me. May I ask your name, sir?”

“Cloud will do.” I wave my hand, and the foliage rearranges itself to create us chairs, or something similar. “Please, take a seat.”

Roland mostly manages to mask his unease; I’m honestly a little impressed. Once he’s settled, I ask, “Would you mind telling me a bit about yourself?”

He seems confused. “Is there something in particular you wish to know?”

I shrug. “Anything will do. What is your position? How did you come by it? Do you have any family?Anything you think to be of note.”

Roland nodded, then mused quietly to himself. “I suspect you are already aware of this, but I am head of the Council, the governing body for our kingdom in our queen’s absence.”

I make a not of that. “And forgive me, but where is your queen? I am not from the area. She has not turned dragon has she?”

“Not to our knowledge, no.” He gave me a polite smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “After the Conqueror invaded her sister’s realm, she headed to the southlands to seek allies. She believes it is only a matter of time before the warlord extends her reach beyond the sea.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you disagree?”

He shrugged. “It would be incredibly costly. If the Conqueror is not provoked, what reason would she have to take the risk to come here?”

I keep silent. Clearly, he judges the Conqueror by is own values, rather than acknowledging the evidence that shows how different hers are, Instead, I ask, “Any news of the queen’s sister? She was a queen in her own right, no?”

Roland nodded. “Married to the king of those lands. Before the Conqueror came, anyway. Alas, multiple eyewitnesses confirmed both the king and queen perished at her hand.”

“And the prince? They had a son, Elliott, did they not?”

Roland pauses, and when he answers, he is a lot more cautious with his words. “I can’t say that I’ve heard one way or another. Rumors persist that he miraculously survived, but… Even should such reports prove accurate, it would be best for everyone involved were he to stay hidden.”

Once again I raise an eyebrow. “You believe his presence could be the spark that draws the Conqueror here?”

Roland pursed his lips, but the silence itself spoke volumes. I nod and make a quick note. I consider asking what he’ll do if Elliott does arrive, seeking refuge, but as fun as it might be to challenge Roland on his cowardice, that is not the point of today.

Once I finish, I ask, “Alright then. Do you have any family? Wife, children?”

Roland offers a wry smile and shakes his head. “I’m afraid I’m all but married to my job; I’ve little time for such matters.” His face softens. “I do visit my sister and her two children when I can, however.”

“Oh?” A genuine smile begins to form on my face. It’s nice to see him legitimately happy about something, no matter what he’s done or might do later in the story.

“A niece and a nephew. The older one is nearly twelve; the other just turned eight this past month.”

“And their father?”

Roland’s smile vanished. “A sailor. He died when the Pirate King targeted his ship some eighteen months ago.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that.”

He shrugged. “Such is life. He left them enough that they get by, and I help out where I can. Life is full of little sorrows like that.”

5 February 2023

I really enjoy writing these character interviews. I might have to write a book solely using them to tease out the story. Maybe later.

One thing I’m most worried about is how many of the posts recently paint Arylwen in a very negative light. That’s not too bad; she’s certainly flawed, and that’s part of her character arc. But she needs to have redeeming qualities, as well. I need it to be easy for the audience to forgive her for her faults, at least after she’s outgrown them. And in the current incarnation of the story, it seems like Bethany gets the worst of those faults. I will have to tinker with that a bit.

Getting to know Bethany was very fun, though. The girl needs hugs. She’s better than she thinks she is. Which, as I understand it, is almost as common a failing as assuming you are more amazing than you actually are.

I choose to meet Bethany in a garden. There’s a tea table set up in the middle, complete with an array of cakes and things. I give it a critical look. Am I being too easily influenced by common stereotypes? How might I avoid making bethany feel like a cookie-cutter “helpless princess” character? I snap my fingers, and the platter is reduced to a single slice of cake a piece.

Bethany comes out a moment later, in a very fine green dress. I stand and tip my head. As she approaches, I step around the table and pull out her chair, and wait for her to sit down before I return to my own seat.

She studies me a moment. “Are you being gentle with me, monsieur?”

“Perhaps. More than I would with some characters. Don’t read too much into it, though; I simply have not gotten the full measure of your character yet, that’s all.”

Her expression sours, and she opens her mouth to ask a question, perhaps about Arylwen and how I’d handle her. But in the end, she says nothing; it seems Bethany doesn’t have the full measure of my character, either.

I pull out a notebook and flip open to a clean page, pen at the ready. “You are closely acquainted with several notable individuals. Prince Elliott, the young dragon Arylwen… Even Charles is gaining quite the reputation as a hero.” As soon as I mention Charles, a blush creeps onto Bethany’s cheeks, but she stoically pretends not to notice. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come to meet and develop a relationship with them?”

She takes a moment to reflect, and a soft smile slowly eases onto her features. “It would have been nearly ten years ago. Miss Moira came to my father about something–I would later learn it was this very resistance–and she brought them with her. Not that either my father nor I realized who Miss Moira was at the time.”

I decide not to mention that I still don’t know who Moira is. Or was, rather, before her “ascension” to dragonhood. …I need to figure out what terms people in-universe use for that phenomenon.

I prompt her to continue, and she says, “Elliott was quiet. Brooding. It made him seem handsome, in an unapproachable sort of way, but he scared me, too. Arylwen…” Bethany’s face fell, and she drew into herself. “She took one look at me, my dress and my shoes, and stalked off with a snort.”

It takes a moment for her to compose herself. No tears fall, and I’m not sure the glint I catch at the corner of her eye is even real, but it’s clear there are scars there. Then she takes a deep breath, and looks me in the eye.

“But Charles… Charles was different. He greeted me warmly that first day, and even after that, he would always notice me and drag me over to join them on their adventures. Oftentimes, Arylwen would get mad at him or say something mean to me, and they’d fight, and Elliott would have to step in and break them u.” She chuckled. “One time, Arylwen called me a pig. I think at the time, she felt that way about anyone who was rich, but it hurt, and I started crying. Charles got so mad he kicked her right in the shins. It didn’t matter that she was a dragon, or that he liked her.”

Then her smile faded, and she looked down into her lap. “I guess not much about Charles has really changed, has it? He’s still a hero, still kind to everyone, and I… I’m just a silly girl with a silly crush.”

I frown and look up from my notebook. “It is not silly.”

Bethany looks up at me, eyes wide. I sigh. “Even if it doesn’t pan out. Even if you know he and Arylwen get together, and then you watch it happen. Those feelings helped you get here, today, no matter how timid you think you are.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but I hold up my hand. “Tell me, Bethany. Would a coward have been willing to slap a dragon across the face?”

Bethany has no response to that. I continue, “And do you think there is any dragon–especially Arylwen–that would just let that go? And yet here you are.”

“But that’s different. She and I are… Well, we, we know each other, and–”

“Do you know what makes Charles a hero? WHat it is that makes him brave?”

Bethany pauses, unsure what to say. I’m sure numerous ideas come up about why he’s a hero to her, but she just shakes her head.

“For me, at least, it is because even when he’s terrified, even when he thinks he’ll fail, he does it anyway. That’s how I found him, you know. As a little boy, scared stiff, certain he was going to be killed as he stood before the Pirate King. And yet, he went anyway, for Elliott’s sake.” A half smile falls to my lips. “Now, does that remind you of anyone?”

As I watch her expression, I can tell Bethany wants to protest. But she can’t find the words, as she chews on what I’ve said. I don’t know if she can accept it yet–I’m not sure she ever will–but at least she’s thinking about it.

“I wish,” I say, after some time, “that I could promise you a happily ever after. That Charles will see everything you’ve done, change his mind, and sweep you off your feet. But you and I both know that would be a lie.” I smile apologetically. “In fact, I know a bit too much, and you’ve certainly got your share of pain and heartache ahead. But there is joy, too. And the friendship you’ve developed with Charles and Arylwen is always going to be something you can fall back on.”

The tears do come, this time. Bethany turns away, perhaps embarrassed to be seen like that. I rise and check the time. “Well, I need to leave. Was there anything you needed? Anything else you wanted to say or ask?”

Bethany shook her head. As I pass her I pat her shoulder. “It will be alright. Even if that seems impossible now.” Then I walk away.

It isn’t until much later that I realize neither of us ate any of the cake.

29 January 2023

I was intending to learn more about the world of Tirian and Gwen, maybe figure out some potential threads for the central conflict as it applies to them and their character growth. Instead, it wound up being a fourth-wall-shattering discussion on the nature of imagination. :) I do feel it gave me a good grasp of the headmaster’s personality, as well a few of his priorities, though. I still need to figure out how I’m going to subvert his character; I don’t just want another Dumbledore or Gandalf, as awesome as those characters are. Haven’t figured out how I’m going to do that, though.

I enter the room to find the headmaster seated behind his desk. Behind him are wide, open windows overlooking the academy courtyard, making the room feel open and well-lit, despite the towering bookshelves lining the walls on either side.

The headmaster puts down his quill and clasps his hands in front of him. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

I shrug and walk along a bookshelf, trailing my fingers along the grain of the wood below the books. “Curiosity, I suppose.” I move over and sit across from him. “I have only discovered this world, you see, and you seem to be the type that knows far more than he ever lets on. So you might be a good source of information.”

The headmaster raised an eyebrow. “If this is all a creation within your mind, then surely I would be unable to tell you anything you didn’t already know.”

I chuckle. “If. Sometimes, honestly, I have my doubts.” I tap the wooden desk, then glance around, noting the simple, yet elegant chandelier above us. “Do I really create all of this, or did I simply discover it, my mind viewing scenes of your world as if through a dark glass, distorted?” I shrug again. “Plus, I wanted to sit down and talk. Everyone else, it would be better to learn about them by testing them, somehow, or throwing them in the deep end.”

“Such as exposing all their secrets before Lightmaster Sennan?” The headmaster’s voice was cold, almost threatening.

I raise my eyebrows. “Was there some kind of fallout from that I’m not aware of?”

The headmaster eased back into his chair. “There are always consequences for our actions, Mr. Cloud, as I know you are very well aware. This is not a simple matter.” He turned his chair away to face out the window–it pivots, apparently?–and adds, “But I’m afraid that will have to be all for today. Farewell, Mr. Cloud.”

Part of me wants to protest, but it is getting late my side. I thank him for his time, and leave the room.

28 January 2023

So, I actually went back to Godhunter for a bit. I had some ideas on how the Seeress questline might progress, and wanted to get a feel for the place, if I ever do get around to writing that one. There’s a lot of options.

I think the funnest part about these, even when I first started, was seeing how “impossible” I could make it feel - take the ordinary weaknesses of a power, such as “checkmating” someone with foresight, and block those one way or another - and then figuring out how the Reaper would defeat them anyway. So, yeah. There are plans in the works. It’s just a question of if I’m in the write frame of mind to tackle it, and no other, more pressing bits I want to write.

I’m also quite fond of this format of “discovery”. Put myself there, and see what happens. This trick obviously won’t work for everyone; some people prefer to put a bit more distance, and take a much broader look at everything and how the pieces fit together, and there are a lot of advantages to that approach. But this, it just feels fun, and still helps me practice my narrative writing skills, as well.

The first thing that strikes me as I arrive in the main thoroughfare of the Seeress’ city is how bright it is. Not at all what I might initially expect of an exploitive, tyrannical god-queen. The street is wide, probably the equivalent of six lanes of traffic, complete with a median in the middle featuring trees planted at regular intervals.

On either side, the buildings are tall, probably six to seven stories, and every other building is draped with a long, teal banner depicting a single, open eye.

The road leads to a large pyramid, the top third made of glass, overlooking the city. Rather than head there, though, I turn off onto one of the side streets. I’m guessing the underbelly of the city could tell me a lot… if I can even understand enough of how that works to envision something semi-plausible.

A few random twists and turns later, and I find myself in a cramped alley, with pipes holding who knows what running into the buildings on either side. I find an old blind beggar huddled away in one of the corners.

In a soft and soothing tone, I say “Hey, there, old-timer.”

His head snaps my direction. When he opens his mouth to speak, I notice he is missing many of his teeth. “H-have you come to take me away?”

“No. I’m new around here, actually.” I pull out a loaf of bread from the ether and hand it to him. “Here.”

It takes him a moment for him to realize what it is, but when he dows, tears start streaming down his face, and he digs in.

I wait for him to finish eating. “What can you tell me about this city? What should I watch out for?”

The beggar hesitates for a bit, then points a trembling finger. “Don’t go that way; Her Ladyship has it blocked off. I don’t know what it is but they’re not very nice with anyone as gets too close.” He turns and points another way. “Madame Gaskal lives that way. She’s kind. Her words are gruff, but if you ever need help, she’s the one.”

He pauses, and in a whisper he adds, “And never go out on the main road on a Tuesday. That’s when Her Ladyship goes on her grand procession.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Grand procession?”

He nods, and opens his mouth to explain, when we hear a fanfare of trumpets. “There it is!” he exclaims. “Quick, hide!” He squeezes himself as tightly into the corner as he can.

Curious. For me, it’s a Saturday. The benefits of mental travel, I suppose. I thank the man, and with a snap of my fingers I reappear on the roof of a building overlooking the main thoroughfare.

The Seeress sits on a palanquin carried by eight tall, bronze-skinned men. Her skin is like copper, with wavy, raven-black hair falling about her shoulders. Her clothes are white, as is the veil used to cover her face.

I notice that the palanquin is decorated with numerous eye motifs. I wonder if that plays into the Reaper’s hunt at all? Rather than killing herself, or yielding to the Reaper directly, does she put out her own eyes to keep from seeing anything? …Somehow, that idea makes the whole thing even more macabre, and not an avenue I necessarily want to pursue.

Behind her comes a procession of priests and priestesses, all wearing blindfolds. Each blindfold has a single red eye painted on it. Kind of like the Sheikah or Yiga clan symbols, only without the teardrop. It does make me wonder; are each of these priests and priestesses blind? If they are, did that happen naturally, or did the Seeress blind them herself?

As the procession makes its way down the street, I have an epiphany. One of the things she’s doing here is to collect more servants to replace any she’s lost. What happened to those, then? How harsh is she with the servants’ failings? I already noticed on the main street that everything is very orderly; every tree, building banner, etc. all must go in its exact place. What if she gets harsh when one of the servants disturbs that? She wouldn’t even need to kill them every time; she might be satisfied blinding them. Then she could reassign them somewhere else, or just cast them out of her palace/temple/pyramid. I wonder what that old beggar did to earn her wrath?

24 January 2023

Sorry about yesterday; I completely spaced it. I did get my writing in for the day, though, so I’ll be back on track after this.

This is a direct continuation of my interview with Moira in this post; I’d already figured out the last story was 90% BS, as I mentioned there, but I pulled a lot of good information this time. Though this early in the drafting process, any and all of it is subject to change. Also, this was the day when it felt like I finally snapped out of the funk I’d been in all month. Not really sure what did it, but I’m grateful. Still had ups and downs since then, of course, but it’s been much more manageable.

I start jotting notes, then I pause and glare at Moira. “You just made that up, didn’t you?”

She shrugged and flashed me a cheeky grin. I groan and rub the bridge of my nose. “Is it at least something that did happen to you, pre-dragon or was it completely off the cuff?”

“Who know?” She pointedly avoids my gaze and swishes her drink.

With a frown, I shuffle through my notes for other things I wanted to ask her. “Ah right. What can you tell me about dragon culture? That vale you mentioned.”

The drink stills in her hand. Slowly, Moira turns to look at me, eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”

Hm. That is an interesting response. I hesitate only a moment before a wicked smile forms on my face. “Oh, I was considering sending Arylwen there in book 3, sometime after she’s become queen. I want to know what she’d be getting herself into.”

Moria’s eyes flash, and the next thing I know I’m slammed up against the wall with her claws around my throat. Good thing I’m not actually physically present; that seems like it would have hurt.

“Don’t you dare,” Moira hissed, “send my girl into that pack of arrogant, self-serving pigs.”

The version of me she’s holding collapses to dust. She spins around to see me leaning against the table, utterly unconcerned. “That’s very interesting.” Moira growls at me, but I ignore that and ask, “Were they all like that? Arrogant and self-serving, I mean?”

“No, you also had the ancient relics, that might as well have turned to stone for all the good they do.”

I raise an eyebrow, and for quite a long time, neither of us say anything. Then Moira sighs. “There was one–maybe more than one, honestly, but it’s not like I stuck around long enough to find out. He was… kind. But he wasn’t the most powerful, or charismatic. I don’t think most of the world’s ever heard of the country he ruled.” She looks away; it feels like she’s looking at something specific, far in the distance. “I couldn’t stand the way they treated him.”

“So you left?” When Moira nodded, I asked, “Did he come with you?”

Her expression softened into sorrow. “That would have required more confidence than he had left, I think. And he was never the impulsive sort, anyway.”

There. There it is. That fits, to me. I think that’s who Arylwen’s father is. And may have been what attracted her to Jasper’s brazen arrogance, too.

I put my papers away and look Moira in the eye. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not sure yet whether or not Arylwen does visit. I don’t know enough about the plot of the 3rd book yet to know if it’ll make sense.” I grin. “And if she does, well. Let’s just say you raised her well.”

Moira raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“One of them makes the mistake of referring to her as Charles’ ‘pet dragon’. During the ensuing duel, she doesn’t even bother going dragon; it stirs up quite the hornet’s nest.”

For the first time since I brought up dragon culture, Moira laughs. “Oh, that’ll be fun to watch.” Then her face falls. “Still, I would greatly appreciate it if she didn’t have to go at all.”

I shrug. “We’ll see where the story takes us.”

Moira grimaces, but she nods. “Was there anything else?”

With a shake of my head, I say, “That’s it for now. I’ll swing by again if there’s anything else.”

“Cool.” She signals the bartender, who hands he a six pack. Beer, I think. Not sure how I feel about that. She waves as she saunters off down the beach. “Take care of yourself, old man.”

I frown, but before I can protest I’m still in my thirties–and anywhere from a couple decades to several centuries younger than she is–she walks off, out of sight.

12 January 2023

I have a thing I do, where I interview my characters. This isn't unique to me, by any stretch. But I tend to make the interview itself more of a narrative format; seeing how my characters react to me or to weird, non-canonical situations can tell me a lot about them. And I like to hear their impressions of other people, too.

That said, it turns out the last bit, about Arylwen's father, is complete BS. I don't know if it's something that did happen in a different part of Moira's life, pieces of several events, or completely off the cuff, but it's definitely not about Arylwen's dad.

I take a minute to center myself before I invite Moira over. Where are we? Somewhere suitable to her. After a moment, I open my eyes and see that I’m in an open-air beachfront cafe, though other than the man behind the counter there is no one around.

Not long after I decide I’m ready, Moira walks in, wearing a collared vest and black pants. I gesture to the seat across from me and she takes it, lounging comfortably, with her feet on the arm rest of another of the many empty chairs.

I lean back and study her for a moment. “So, Moira.” I cock my head. “Just Moira?”

“For now.” She flashes me an impish grin, then signals the bartender. He brings over a tall, orange drink with a fancy straw. I assume it’s alcoholic.

I review my notes. “Well, first off, what do you think of the boys? Where I’m at, they’re just joining your crew.”

“Ah, yes.” She smiles, a toothy thing that dimples her cheeks, and sets her drink on the table. “Charles is fascinating. There is a light to him, and an honesty, that is precious difficult to find in men.” She ponders for a moment, then adds, “Or women, for that matter.”

She grows more somber. “As for Elliott… There’s a darkness to him I didn’t recognize at first. I hope it doesn’t consume him.”

I carefully maintain a neutral expression, making her chuckle. “No spoilers on that one, eh?”

With a smile, I say, “Not yet, at least.” I kinda want to pursue the bit with Elliott, but that’s not the priority today. “So, why a pirate?”

“Hmm?”

“Well, you’re a dragon. You could have gone anywhere, done anything. Singer, artist, baker. So why did you choose to become a pirate?”

“Call it a whim.” Her eyes got a far off look, and she chuckled to herself. “I happened to run into Jasper one day, and he intrigued me.”

I nodded and made a note, then paused. “How did that happen, exactly? Did he attack the ship you were on?”

“Got it in one.” She took another swig of her drink. “He wasn’t a captain yet, just a lowly deckhand. I was on my way to some place new, when his crew attacked. Long story short, most everyone else on either of our crews wound up dead. Even once he learned I was a dragon, even once I had him pinned to the deck with my claws at his throat, he still smiled fearlessly. He even had the audacity to invite me to his crew.” She shrugged. “I figured, why not?”

I give Moira a sidelong glance. “You like collecting interesting people, don’t you?”

She just grinned. I asked, “Was this before Arylwen was born? Did you know you were pregnant?”

Moira shrugged. “I knew, but it wasn’t showing yet. She’s spent just about her whole  life on those boats.”

I hesitate for a bit. “If I may ask, who was–is–her father? What’s the story there?”

“Ah, that.” Moira’s smile turned sad, and she pulled her feet off the other chair. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“If anyone my side of the screen should, it’s me.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees.

“Well, he was human.” She chuckled. “A surprise, right? I know you wondered if any of the bastards back in the vale were nice enough to catch my ey, but…” She shrugged. “I met him not long after I’d left. I was in a bit of a tight spot, and he offered to help. We slowly got to know each other, and fell in love.”

Moira’s eyes were distant, now. I doubted she even remembered my presence. She continued, “He was always the odd one in his family, which was one of the lesser noble ones in the area. Rather than a warrior, he was a scholar, and loved to research what he could about plants and animals and the like.”

Her face fell. “They came the eve of our wedding. They hadn’t known my true identity, and I was able to fight them off… but I missed a sniper outside, and failed to catch the arrow in time.” Her eyes blazed, and her voice grew cold. “They’d dressed to make it look like a rival family had attacked us, but I knew the scent, the faces of the assassins. His own family believed he’d dishonored them when he chose to be a scholar, and again when he married me. So they decided to remove him from the line of succession.” Her smile grew feral, and she concluded, “Now there aren’t any of them left. Unless you count Arylwen… and I don’t. She’s mine. Not theirs.”