25 May 2024 part 2

I wrote my poem for the week! It’s based on the leader of one of the major antagonistic factions in my campaign. If it runs long enough for him to appear, I would be ecstatic. He is a hodge podge of several different characters that at first, didn’t seem connected, but the more I explored the themes around this character, the more tied together they all seem. Top of the list is Denethor from Lord of the Rings, and Sir Gideon Ofnir the All-Hearing from Elden Ring. (Yes, I’m not using his “official” title, but I find this one more apt, anyway.) Then Taravangian from The Stormlight Chronicles got mixed in a bit, though I doubt my character is anywhere near that composed or capable. Through in a dash of general Bloodborne into the mix, and you get Sir Deneth Rinof the All-Hearing, head of the Oreilles de la Tour (Ears of the Tower), with connections to Great Old Ones and whatnot. His faction focuses a lot on illusions and puppets, at least at first, with more and more eldritch entities showing up as the campaign progresses.

Sir Deneth Rinof

“Know thy place.”

“Hold thy tongue.”

“Speak not above thy station.”

What fool, this king!

Wherefore should I bow to him?

“Heretic.”

Empty words.

What glory would gods grant man?

My soul seeks more

To ascend beyond mere divine.

Deeper truths

Darker secrets

Words to bend them to my will

Both kings and priests

And surely I shall do it

Found at last!

Beyond ken

I draw near that distant star

Madness follows

Eyes inside my screaming mind

All are doomed

I am bound

None can oppose such terror

Bow before it

I will offer it the world

30 April 2024

This is when I figured out who I wanted my Perish Song protagonist to be. This was inspired in large part by the AFK Arena series’ concept of graveborn, along with the trope of the little girl with the doll you see right before her town gets destroyed, leaving the heroes to find only a doll in the wreckage. That girl is my main character. Though I do worry that this trope loses power as far removed from the story as it is.

Lily didn’t remember much from before her mama, Astrid, adopted her. She had only been six or seven at the time, after all. She knew it had been during the [Gravewrought] wars; Astrid had saved Lily’s village from the undead, only to come back a few days later to find it had been destroyed. Lily didn’t remember how she survived, or even what had happened. The only vague memory she had of that time was when she had offered the cool, scary lady–Astrid–her homemade doll. The dolly Lily still had tucked away under her pillow.

She knew after Astrid had found her, she retired to a small town to try and raise her. Lily was pretty sure Astrid had been someone important before her retirement, because a lot of men and women came through just to see her. Lily didn’t mind; it meant she basically had a bunch of aunts and uncles out there.

They lived a simple life; Astrid worked as a woodcutter, and if she wasn’t helping with that, Lily helped out at the bakery with her best friend. On some level, Lily was aware the other townsfolk thought her strange, but she was cheerful and friendly enough that only the bitterest of them gave her any grief. Though Lily did get tired of hearing she was too pale and need more sunlight.

Astrid had only given one rule to Lily; she wasn’t allowed to sing. At least, not anywhere there was the slightest chance someone could overhear her.

“I’m serious, Lily; if you ever sing in front of people, you’ll be lucky if they stop at hanging you. It’s far more likely they’ll burn you at the stake or worse. Do you understand me?”

Lily, who’d been eight at the time, nodded. Even now, roughly nine years later, she remembered that day clearly. She’d started singing to herself while they were out cutting wood, when Mama got really scared and put her head over Lily’s mouth. Lily also couldn’t forget the dead squirrel she noticed nearby while they were leaving.

20 March 2024

I think I’d started watching the anime Zom100 when I wrote this. There’s some pretty cool themes about seizing control of your life in there. Anyway, I had zombie stories in my head, but had no idea what to do with it. I was looking through my list of concepts I want to play with, and saw plant people. I wondered, how would “plant people” zombies be different from the human kind? So here we are.

Even almost a decade later, Violet still had nightmares about that day. The fear on her parents’ faces when the alarm sounded. The screams and press of people out in the streets. The claustrophobic feeling of breathing through a mask. The moment when someone knocked Mother’s mask loose, and Violet and her father could only watch in horror as Mother unwillingly rooted herself to the ground, her face twisted forever in pain as the fungus used her body to produce even more of its deadly spores.

Violet had come a long since then. But there were times, especially in the dark of the night, where she still felt like that same little kid.

15 February 2024

This is a direct follow-up to the second scene here. This really will be for the basis of the whole rest of the book. I think; even the antagonist, Mela, is likely to get canned. But this is what the focus of Kyra’s story is.

Though I will, of course, re-write and edit it and all that.

The old demon found Kyra on the roof of the [Mezzer] building. He wasn’t particularly surprised; her predecessor had always favored high places, as had many of the young saintesses, the current incarnation included. “So. What happened?”

Kra started and looked up at him. If she only just noticed his presence, she must have been deep in thought, indeed. “It is late. You would usually be with miss Brinja. Not to mention your claws; those don’t just form spontaneously, you know.”

“So… it is blood, then, after all. That fuels the demon king’s powers.” Kyra’s voice sounded dead.

The old demon’s curiosity piqued even further. What exactly had she done? And why? “No. At least, not directly. But many of the simplest and most visceral ways to inspire fear involve blood, and a great deal of it.”

Kyra’s eyes widened. “Fear.”

“Indeed. And while the stunt you pulled to get up here certainly shocked a number of people, it wouldn’t have resulted in that.” He gestured to her claws. “So, again. What happened?”

With a sigh, Kyra leaned back. “I… I messed up. With all the shit that’s been going on–the church, Mela, this whole damned city–I got stressed. Figured cutting loose one night wouldn’t hurt. Then a bunch of dumbasses saw a drunk lady stumble out of a bar, and…” She snorted and flexed the claw. “Back in our time, we weren’t exactly taught to hold back, you know?”

The old demon nodded. That was honestly one thing he did not miss from the era of the previous demon king. Even far from the demon realm, the world had operated on a “kill or be killed” mentality. Kyra may even have been lauded a hero back then; however, in the modern era… “I take it someone reported you to the cops?”

Kyra shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t stick around long enough to find out. After… after…” She collapsed in on herself. “Brinja started to get worried you see. It was getting late, and she hadn’t heard from me. So she decided to go out and make sure I was okay.”

“Ah.” It clicked. Why the young demon king was here, and not at home.

“The look on her face… It felt like I was back at that night at my farm all over again. Only this time… This time I was the demon.”

Rather than replying, the old demon simply sat next to her and let his legs dangle over the side. Kyra swept her gaze over the city, at all the people rushing to and fro even at this late hour. “I don’t belong in this world.”

10 January 2024

As you can see, though, I decided to have a very different sort of Rapunzel. I couldn’t convince myself that the more badass version wouldn’t have left on her own years ago, no matter what excuses I made. Even if such excuses would work in real life, if I can’t believe it, how will I convince my readers to buy into it

Yes, Rapunzel had figured out the truth of her real family several years ago, now. She’d thought about leaving the Tower to go and meet them. Once, she’d even snuck out and gotten as far as the nearby village.

As soon as she’d arrived at the fringes, however, she froze up. There were so many people. Each of them had their own dreams, feelings, hurts, worries, goals. How was Rapunzel supposed to talk to any of them? What was she supposed to say? Mother Gathel, as well-meaning as she was, could be a lot all by herself. How was Rapunzel supposed to handle a whole town’s worth of people?

So she ran back. And any time Rapunzel so much as thought about leaving, she’d panic and decide it wasn’t so bad staying in the Tower, anyway.

Not that it would matter much at this point. She only had a [few weeks] left to live, anyway. It seemed almost cruel to go meet them now, when she’d just be taken away again so soon.

Rapunzel shook the morose thoughts from her head and focused on her painting. Queen Hannah always seemed to have a kind and gentle face; it soothed Rapunzel’s soul as she got lost trying to recreate it. She was so focused, in fact, that at first she didn’t notice the Tower’s warning.

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.