2 February 2023

It felt really good to write about Hanako again. She’s become one of my favorite characters I’ve written. Still not 100% certain how I want to set up the next arc; may need to add to/tweak some of what happens here. But I’m looking forward to it.

I hadn’t intended for Chizu Village and its residents to become major, recurring characters. I was planning for Hanako’s journey to be episodic, save a town and move on, rarely if ever referencing them again. Then I wound up (sort of) accidentally burning Chizu to the ground, and I realized Hanako wouldn’t just abandon them, so… here we are. Now I have to decide if she saves a different village from the local part of the yokai army, or if she saves these guys again. (Spoilers: she succeeds this time.) But I’m leaning toward her (slowly) integrating with and finding a home with the former Chizu residents. Maybe this new village could even become her capital. :)

Hanako ignored the wary looks from the guards, even the outright hostility in one case, and went to find Keiko. Keiko had been designated the unofficial mayor of the refugees, especially now they’d found a place to settle down and rebuild.

The clank of hammers and the shouts of workers filled the air, and the skeletons of what would soon become homes lined the streets. Hanako navigated her way to the central hub, where Keiko was discussing plans for the city with several other people, referencing a large map of the area.

It wasn’t long before Keiko noticed Hanako’s presence and excused herself to speak with the oni. “Good to see you’re still in one piece. Any news?”

“There was an oni scouting party about five miles from here. I don’t think they know about this place, thought.” Hanako bit her lower lip and asked, “I sent a father and daughter over here. Did they…?”

Keiko smiled. “They’re here. Over by the mess tent, if you wanted to say hello. Looks like you found yourself a new fan.”

Hanako sighed with relief. “And Chiaki?”

The smile disappeared from Keiko’s face. “No change, I’m afraid.” 

Hanako nodded, feeling a little crestfallen herself. If only she’d recognized what was happening sooner…

Keiko rubbed her chin, and after a moment a twinkle formed in her eyes. “Still, I have some work for you once you’ve checked in with everyone, if you’re willing.” She nodded her head toward the half-finished homes. “The faster those get finished, the better prepared we’ll be for winter and whatever else is coming.”

“Ah, yeah.” Hanako scratched the back of her head. “Those guys… I’m not sure if that’s the best idea.”

“If they don’t like it, tough. Tell them to take it up with me. I can’t delay getting my people housed because they’re butthurt over a girl half their size lifting ten times what they can.”

Hanako doubted that was the issue. Or at the very least, not the only issue. But Keiko had a point; they did need those houses. Maybe she’d drop by once she checked on the merchant and his daughter.

She found them exactly where Keiko had said. The father was helping the cooks prepare food for everyone, and the girl was running around, playing with the other kids. Hanako was pleasantly surprised at how quickly she seemed to have bounced back.

Hanako headed over to the father. “Glad to see you both made it safely. Is everything going alright?”

<-Hanako First

<-Hanako Previous

Hanako Next->

Current Draft of Hanako’s story (including unposted content)

31 January 2023

Between this and my interview with Bethany later, it doesn’t paint Arylwen in the best light. I promise she’s cool, and is a good person! I’m working on finding the scenes that show that the best.

So, for context in the scene below; this is happening in Book 2, roughly a decade (maybe a bit more) after the other Majesty scenes I’ve posted. The main cast is in their late teens or early twenties. They met Bethany sometime during Book 1, and she was a nobleman’s daughter, and very shy to boot. Arylwen wasn’t impressed. I don’t think she did anything actively malicious, but she definitely let Bethany know about her disapproval.

By the time of this scene, things have at least hit a status quo of some kind; I don’t know yet if Arylwen has merely accepted Bethany’s presence, or if she actually considers Bethany a friend. Regardless, it’s still a big deal that Bethany was able to blow up at her like this. Charles and Arylwen have been getting closer together, and Arylwen’s starting to freak out about it, since romance isn’t something easy to understand. She says something rude (I don’t know what yet), and Bethany reacts.

Arylwen was interrupted by a sudden stinging on her cheek. She looked in shock at Bethany–quiet, timid Bethany–and could barely believe the girl had slapped her.

Bethany certainly wasn’t timid now. She glared up at Arylwen, the corners of her eyes glistening. “Charles isn’t like that. You know Charles isn’t like that. And I’ll never forgive you if you ever say something so cruel about him again.”

Arylwen wanted to get mad. To return Bethany’s slap with twice the force, to scream and shout obscenities. But that prick in her heart she’d been ignoring held her back. What good would it do to get mad at Bethany, when Arylwen knew she was right? With some reluctance, Arylwen relaxed the fists at her side.

Bethany nodded once, like that’s what she’d expected. She turned to walk away, but first she said, “If you don’t want him, fine. At least have the courage to reject him properly. I’d be more than happy to finally have a chance with him, and I’m not the only one.” She began to walk off.

A spike of anger flared in Arylwen’s chest. “Are you calling me a coward?”

Bethany spun around and returned Arylwen’s glare with a steely one of her own. “Aren’t you? Charles is willing to lay everything down for you, and all you can do is belittle his efforts behind his back? What, exactly, is brave and noble about that, miss dragon?”

Once again, Arylwen was at an utter loss for words. This time, when Bethany stalked off, Arylwen let her go.

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.

19 January 2023

Not really sure what to say about this one. Also still no idea really where this is going to go; I’ve been playing with different ideas on what might be up with the captain. Also been considering weird romance-y bits, with the ghost and/or Liz falling for Cap and influencing the other. It would be hard to take that seriously, though, so I haven’t decided yet. Depends on what else is going on; if the rest of it is comedy-oriented, then sure, why not.

Elizabeth followed his finger to the image of a pale, translucent woman. Her clothes were old fashioned, over a century out of date; if Liz remembered correctly, that would line up with the previous expedition and colonization attempt quite nicely.

Once she realized that, Liz narrowed her eyes. This was all an elaborate trick, wasn’t it? Designed to either scare her off or spoof her for their own amusement. Well, she’d let them know exactly what she thought of that.

As soon as she stood up, though, the ghost turned around to face her. Liz had to take a step back, because the entire left side of the ghost’s face was missing, leaving just the skull below the hairline.

Even that, Liz could have handled. One doesn’t become a field-based anthropologist by being squeamish, especially around human remains. No, the trouble came when the ghost opened its mouth and screamed.

It wasn’t just that the scream terrified Elizabeth. Rather, it felt like the scream itself was terror and all those who could hear it were helpless in the face of it. Certainly, Elizabeth herself thought that death was inevitable.

And yet, somehow, the captain still had that cheeky grin on his face. He rose and began to make his way toward the ghost. The ghost turned her attention on him, and let loose an even louder, more soul-wrenching scream. This time, Liz noticed the waves of darkness rolling off her to buffet the captain. Still, he moved on, as if it wasn’t even worth noticing.

Once again, the ghost screamed, this time distending its jaw. Her face shifted so the entire thing, not just the left half, looked decayed. Liz could tell that whatever else, the ghost was determined to frighten the captain.

Even then, the only reaction from the captain was to stroke his beard. “Well, you’re a lively one, aren’t you?”

To Liz’s shock, fear filled the ghost’s face, and she disappeared into a cloud of mist. Moments later, Liz could feel a chill running down her back. When she turned her head, there was the ghost–her face whole and complete, now–hiding behind her, watching the captain apprehensively.

Liz, too, watched him with a great deal more wariness. What kind of man could scare even the haunts and spooks into submission?

17 January 2023

I came up with the idea for this story seed while pondering on Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean. Specifically the first movie. In particular, it was about Gibbs and his superstitions, and the way each of his captains handled that differently. When he brings up his statement about bad luck (including “it’s bad luck to have a woman on board”), Norrington kind of waves him off, ignores it. Later, though, when Jack Sparrow hears Gibbs’ concerns, he validates them, while still holding his own position, all with one simple line; “It would be far worse not to, however.”

That approach struck a chord in me. And then I’m taking it too far. :) Rather than simply acknowledging and being considerate of a crew’s superstitions, what if a captain weaponized them and twisted them to suit his needs? It’s actually kind of terrible, now that I stop and think about it; incredibly manipulative. Might be a fun story anyway, though. Not that we’ve got to that part.

Elizabeth wiped the sweat from her brow and pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear. “So you are tracking this place down off a rumor that there’s a ghost here?”

The captain turned back to flash her a grin, with a twinkle in his eye. “But of course! How else would I drive off whatever curse the ship has?”

Elizabeth gave him a flat look, though the effect lost a lot of its power since she was drenched in sweat. “Ghosts aren’t real. And even if they were, wouldn’t that be the exact kind of thing your crew would avoid with a passion?”

“As to your second question, I have it covered. ‘Twill be a simple matter to convince the crew a ghost would be to our benefit, so long as it comes willingly. As for you first statement, on the reality of ghosts, well…” The captain pulled a branch away and pointed into a clearing within the jungle. “What do you make of that, then, I wonder?”

13 January 2023

This was a point where everything seemed to be a struggle. I felt like I had no time, no energy. So I went ahead and used an assignment from my Institute class (kind of like a Bible Study type of thing) to count for my daily writing this day.

Not that I was particularly good about things after this, either. I didn’t write at all from the 14th through the 16th, and then only made it about 3 days before I had another break. And even then, the 18th, was mostly just venting, and I don’t plan on posting that one. I should be back on my updated schedule by next Thursday or so, based on the things I’ve found.

At the flooring mill where I currently work, it can look kind of dreary. Concrete floors, metal beams, corrugated tin roof, fluorescent lights, typical warehouse stuff. It's not too bad, especially once you get used to it, but it's not exactly soothing to the soul, either.

In the summers, some of that can be mitigated when they open the massive doors in every part of the building, hoping to invite a cross breeze in addition to all the fans whirling. That lets in some natural sunlight, and glimpses of the Missouri greenery around us. In winter, though... it's too cold for that.

Despite that, this past week, I had a chance to work outside for a bit. There were some things to clean up, and it had actually warmed up a bit. I'd forgotten how much natural sunlight improves my mood compared to the artificial, "false" light from the fluorescent bulbs. It seemed to warm my soul and ease my burdens that day, just from the way I could relax my eyes.

I think that's the way the Savior is. Even when we're working hard, and things are going relatively well, if we don't include the Savior in our lives, we don't have that natural light in our life, and we never get the peace and comfort that comes from his presence.

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.”

Updates and Future Plans

So, updates first. As you might have guessed, I've been dealing with an episode of depression or something similar most of this month. I'm finally back— something clicked for me this morning, and now I've got loads of energy— but that's why I haven't been posting.

On top of that, Sunday, while trying to set up zoom, my laptop fell and busted. I'll be able to make things work; the screen died, but the computer itself still works. But I can't afford a monitor until Friday, so it's going to be interesting the rest of this week. My brother said I can borrow his computer, so hopefully I'll be able to keep up on my updates here.

Now, for future plans: I want to take time to revise my Rapunzel story, so I'm going to shift this to every other day, except Sundays, which I will still be staying on here for. That will make it less of a to-do checklist and more for myself.

11 January 2023

I decided to take another look at Ella and Kal, and re-examine the way Kal presents himself to his friends. I realized he doesn’t try to hide it; most of the disconnect comes from the fact that no one expects the prince to hang out with a group of orphans, or pull the kinds of shenanigans he pulls. So I tried rewriting his first viewpoint scene to reflect that.

Prince Caspir Leonard Dutchins IV, fourth child and third son of King Edward and Queen Alisonde, practically danced his way to his older sister Serafina’s room. He gave a quick knock, and as soon as he heard her call “Enter”, he strode in.

Serafina took one look at his goofy grin and went back to fussing with her hair. “She liked it, I take it?”

“Yes she did.” Caspir gave his sister a hug. “Thank you.”

“No big deal; I meant it when I said it didn’t suit me.” She looked up at her brother. “So when do I finally get to meet her?”

“I… don’t know.” Caspir’s face fell. “She finally got the job at the Lester Mansion, and just being there for work almost floored her. Coming here, to the palace? As a guest?” He shook his head. “I’m not sure how they’d react to that, Sera.”

Serafina narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t told them you’re the prince yet, have you?”

Caspir flinched and collapsed into a nearby chair. “It’s not like I’m trying to hide it. I’ve even told them I’m wealthy, or that I bought this or that. They just… don't believe me.” He smiled wryly. “How much harder would it be for them to accept I’m a prince?”

10 January 2023

This was one of the rare days this week where it actually clicked, and I was able to get a lot done. While I was at work, I was ruminating on various things, including Todoroki’s arc in My Hero Academia. I started messing with things, pulling strings here and there, and came up with some of the basics below. I also have one or two other ideas for scenes related to these characters, but nothing definitive yet.

If I were to come back to his and do it again or revise it, I’d probably either remove the bit where Tirian doesn’t want to use the light, and is instead scared of how people will react to his dark powers, OR when he uses them, he’d start with the light and add the dark after. Not sure which would be better; proabably depends on the rest of the story and what conflicts arise.

Chad slammed Tirian against the wall so hard the concrete broke. “This isn't about your father! Or the headmaster, or anyone else! Right now, you are in the ring with me. Respect me enough to fight me seriously!”

He let go of Tirian’s lapel and let him sink to the ground. Tirian looked down at his hand. “I… don’t know if I can do that. The very thought of use his power–”

Chad smashed a fist into the wall above Tirian’s head, sending a spray of rock chips out around them. “Then make it yours! Own it so thoroughly, no one even recognizes it’s the same!”

Make it his? The wheels in Tirian’s head started to spin. He remembered his mother, all but imprisoned in their summer home, and every time that half of his power had broken free of his control. What if, instead of keeping his two halves separate, he brought them together?

A feral grin spread across Tirian’s face, and he got a wild gleam in his eye. As tendrils of darkness started forming around him, he stood up and told Chad, “Thanks. Guess I needed that.”

Chad returned the grin with one of his own. “About time.” He narrowly dodged an attack, and the battle began in earnest.

Lightmaster Sennan’s face had soured more and more as he’d watched the beginning of the fight, as well as the argument they had in the middle. But he’d remained seated until Tirian leaked darkness; as soon as that happened, he bolted upright, ready to jump in and put a stop to things before another tragedy occurred.

No sooner had he risen, though, when the headmaster ordered, “Sit down, Sennan.”

“Don’t you know how dangerous that power is?” Sennan demanded. “It can’t be controlled. And it won’t end until it’s had its share of blood!”

“You give your boy too little credit. Look closer.”

Sennan turned back to the fight. Then he noticed the tendrils of darkness weren’t nearly as frenzied as they should have been. While he tried to figure that out, Sennan finally noticed the veins of light running down each tendril. His eyes went wide. “...That’s not possible…”

“And yet he’s doing it.” The headmaster raised an eyebrow and looked up at Sennan. “Your boy’s put quite a lot of effort in this year.”

Sennan collapsed into his chair. “What will the rest of the Sentinels think?”

The headmaster snorted. “They know the boy’s parentage–they ordered it, after all–and it’s clear he’s learned control. It would be simple to spin this in your favor.” A sly smile flit across his lips. “No, if I were you, it would be the next fight I would worry about.”

Sennan’s eyes drew together. “The Peren girl? Why?”

“Not her; her opponent. The illegitimate daughter of Baroness Rachel Nuhardt. Does that ring a bell?”

Even more confused, Sunnan shook his head. The headmaster could only sigh. “Pity. Makes the whole thing even more tragic, I suppose.”

Down below, Gwen and Katya watched Tirian’s and Chad’s fight escalate. Gwen turned to Katya. “I’m sorry, but… After hearing and seeing that, I have to go all-out.”

Katya flashed her a wicked smile. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

Soon enough, the fight ended with chad flat on the ground, exhausted, and Tirian still standing. They exchanged a few words, though Gwen couldn’t make them out from where she was, and Tirian walked off the field, followed by the med crew helping Chad off.

“Guess we’re up,” Katya said. Gwen nodded, and the two headed out.

The announcer boomed out their names, and the center judge started the match. Immediately, Gwen sucked in and burst into light so bright the spectators could barely look at her. She caught a glimpse of the Lightmaster’s shocked expression. Ostensibly, he was her father, but after what she’d seen and heard, she was just as happy to have nothing to do with him.

Meanwhile, Katya had jumped onto a kite and guided the wind to circle around Gwen.

9 January 2023

I have been struggling so hard this week. I didn’t even write anything the 15th and 16th. Some of it is time; there’s been a lot going on in my personal life lately, and not just because of schoolwork. Or even mostly because of that. But there’s also issues with my motivation and energy levels, as well. I’m still not sure what to do about that.

Anyway, here’s a little clip from Adeline’s story. I kinda tried to push forward despite whatever block I’m dealing with. For me, at least, it shows in the writing; not my proudest efforts.

The jeweler offered a price, and after confirming it with Zad, Adeline accepted. She handed over the jewelry and took the money, and the trio began to head out.

Just as they opened the door, the old man called out to Zad. “This is big risk your family take. Next time in Luskra, if you make it, I give you special deal. Tell your father.”

Zad seemed more than a little surprised, but he nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

Soon the three were walking down the street. Adeline asked, “Where do we go now?”

“Well, you’ve got a few options.” They stopped at an intersection, and Zad pointed down the road to the left. “The Grand Market is up that way; I’d recommend at least going to visit once before you leave. They have all kinds of things for sale, and all kinds of performances and street shows, too.”

He gestured up ahead, further down the road they’d been walking on. “If you want to take a ship, follow this road down to Harbor Street and turn right. It’ll take you straight there. Not sure how much they’ll ask for, though. You could always try looking for another merchant caravan, I guess, but most of them will be at the market anyway.”

8 January 2023

I was really tired and struggled to think of what to write about when I wrote this. It’s not factually accurate to real mining projects, especially the comments about the backup lights, but eh. That wasn’t the point.

It’s easy to say, out in the light, that darkness isn’t a thing. And they’re right; it’s not. It’s the absence of a thing, the absence of light. But when you’re trapped hundreds of feet down without any light, the darkness has got weight to it. If you’re not careful, it’ll crush you just as surely as any cave-in.

Such were my thoughts down in the mine when the power cut out. Whatever happened must have been catastrophic, because even the back-up lights never came on. For better or worse, most everyone else had already left by that time, so it was just me. Alone in the dark. With none of the lifts working.

The only way I could go forward, then, was the backup path. It was a narrow set of tunnels that curled around on itself to wind its way back up to the surface. A hefty iron chain had been bolted in, so we’d have something to follow even in the dark. I held onto that desperately. Sure, I had the weak little light from my headlamp–most of the time, anyway–but that only got me so far. I had to hold onto that chain like my life depended on it… because in a way, it did.

7 January 2023

Continuing from the last Majesty post. Figured out a lot more of the current dynamic between Charles and Elliot with this. Ironically, even though he spends all his time talking about Charles, I learned more about Elliott here; it helped me finally get a pin on his character. Which made some of the earlier bits a little painful to reread, honestly, since he’s a bit over the top with the “noble privilege” in those.

“...anyway? Isn’t he some commoner trash, according to you noble folks?”

“Don’t call him trash.” The princeling glared at Arylwen, then stared back into the sea. “Why do you care?”

Arylwen shrugged and sat on the railing. “Just curious. Everyone seems to see something special in him. Even you.”

For a long time, the princeling didn’t respond. “Charles has this…core to him that no one else has. He’s honest–stupidly so, sometimes–and in a world of nobles scheming for power or asking for favors… well.” He smiled grimly and shook his head.

“So, how’d it start? When’d you meet?”

Elliott chuckled. “Well, he already spent most of the time in the castle, since his mother was one of the royal bodyguards. At first, he mostly played with the other kids in the castle, but one day he randomly noticed that I spent my time alone in the library.”

“Ah. More of that brooding.”

He shot Arylwen a glare, but continued. “Whatever the reason, he decided–on his own, I might add, whatever I thought–that I needed friends. At first, he tried to drag me out to play with the other children, but, well.” He grimaced. “After that, he parked himself next to me in the library. Sometimes he’d try to talk to me, but more often than not I’d ignore him. So he’d grab books and try to read. Honestly, it was exasperating how much he couldn’t understand, but…” For the first time, the princeling actually smiled for real. Arylwen felt a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

6 January 2023

Felt like working on Adeline. I realized I couldn’t remember exactly where I was trying to go with the scene with the jeweler, so I picked another section of the story to work on.

I actually don’t know a lot of the circumstances of what’s going on around this scene. I know the basics; Kenna Magleby, the other protagonist, is part of a squad of law enforcement-type peeps. Adeline has been arrested for helping her father (unwillingly, but they don’t know that yet, per se) in his illegal kidnap and slave trade; Kenna was one of their victims during that time, though she eventually escaped. Needless to say, There’s some history there, and Magleby’s being affected, though I need to do more research to understand how better.

Adeline watched the members of the squad that had arrested her. There was a tension in the air between them; was there something else going on?

Privately, she was afraid it was somehow her fault. She remembered the blonde one in red. Magleby, they called her? She’d been with her brother the last time Adeline had seen her, and Magleby seemed to be at the center of it all, along with the younger man in blue.

Eventually, one of them, a shorter woman with ruffled brown hair, came over and watched Adeline for a while. When she finally spoke, she asked, “You must have really done a number on her for her to be this spooked by you. What the heck did you do?”

As best as she could with the manacles, Adeline signed, “I don’t know.”

The woman–Rayner?--seemed surprised by that. “You don’t know?”

Adeline shifted to give herself more slack with the chains. “Father took care of most of that. And I think the worst usually happened after they got sold. I don’t actually know what she’s been through.” She looked away, her expression clouded with guilt. *”I… didn’t want to know.”

There was another pause, then Rayner asked, “Your father. Was he the one who did this to you?” She tapped against the side of her cheek.

Adeline nodded. When Rayner didn’t reply right away eventually Adeline added, “Not long after he found us, I tried to warn someone to leave.”

Rayner nodded, as if that was the answer she’d been expecting. She glanced over at Magleby and cursed under her breath. “This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

“Why? WHht’s going on?”

Rayner stood up. “Let’s just say there’s a lot of hurt mixed up in all this, and suddenly it’s got nowhere to go. Here’s hoping she gets her head on straight before she does something she regrets.”

5 January 2023

This was fun. I was dead tired, and I had my online class soon, so I pulled something random, and decided to write an explorer’s impressions if he (or she) had run into the pop-tart people that show up in the comics on the boxes. I might be conflating them with the minions from the Despicable Me series in some ways, but eh. Short little nonsense piece. I think that’s important sometimes, too.

I’ve been many a strange place, and met many a strange people in my time. A regular Gulliver in my travels, if you will. But none were so odd as these folks. They were some sort of living pastry, by all appearances, with a large, rectangular body or head and stubby little arms and legs.

That, in itself, was strange enough, though not the oddest or most terrifying thing I’d seen. No, what was strange to me was the creatures’ utter lack of survival instinct.

I witnessed far too many instances where one pulled a prank on another that resulted in one or both of them literally breaking into pieces. They would climb, jum, and fall without any thought of future consequences. And even odder, many of them begged me to eat them, assuming I’m interpreting them correctly.

I can only conclude that some being, somewhere, was continuously making more of these creatures, either through scientific or mystical means. To what ends, I know not, but it is the only explanation I have for why the race as a whole hasn’t driven itself to extinction.

4 January 2023

This one is short, because I spent most of my evening planning things out for this story and trying to figure out who Elliott was better. In particular, I want to get a better grasp on the dynamic between Elliott and Charles, and the way that will evolve over the course of the series.

Arylwen found the princeling brooding over the railing at the stern. It figured. What else would blonde princelings do in their free time?

She dropped down next to him. She was a bit disappointed when he didn’t jump; he must be getting used to her by now. She asked, “Where’s the other one?”

“With the captain. I guess he wanted extra sword lessons or something.”

Arylwen shuddered. “He could still move after her normal ones?” When the princeling didn’t respond, she flipped around the rail to get a better look at him. “So what, he’s busy, and you just mope out here?”

Elliott shrugged. “More or less.”

“Why do you hang out with him, anyway?”

3 January 2023

A lot of this was basically a result of figuring out who the rest of Nick’s family were, and wanting to show that off and how that impacted his head. In retrospect, the way I approached it and handled Elsenaia’s side of that feels somewhat insensitive to people who aren’t blessed with that kind of family… I’ll need to think of a better way to handle this in the future.

I’m also dissatisfied with the ending bit about loneliness. Sure, everyone has lonely moments. And if Nick’s were poignant enough to resonate with Elsie, that’s great. I don’t know that I believe that. It feels too much like someone who has a lot complaining about the little bit they’re missing. If it helps, Nick is the oldest, and as his siblings move on with their life he’s feeling a bit left behind, but A) that’s still a relatively small thing, I think, and B) I didn’t communicate that well enough regardless. Progress to be made.

As I passed yet another diorama of Elsenaia’s family, complete with her faceless self, I wondered just what her family life must be like. How sad must it be for “family” to mean loneliness and cold contempt?

Apparently, my musings affected what Elsenaia could see, because within my head I heard her gasp. Soon, instead of D&D sessions with my friends or bits of elf-centric anime, I began remembering times with my family. That time when Adam introduced us to Robin before they got married, and we played Apples to Apples. Or the time my sister Danielle actually won when we played Risk one day, and how ecstatic that made her. Some of the times Jake and I argued over the specific meanings of one word or another, or when Mom got after Jake and Danielle for sparring in the kitchen.

Not all the memories were happy–we had our fair share of troubles and arguments, too–but each one had a warmth I could tell Elsenaia craved. “Do humans really live like this?”

The question seemed odd, to me. “Every family’s different. Some are like yours; cold and distant from each other, too concerned about pride to care about love. A lot are way worse; there are whole portions  of our local governments dedicated to dealing with abuse and shattered homes. But yeah, this is real.” I mused for a moment, then added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if many of your own people had families like this. What was Tairsi’s family like?”

Eenaia had no response. The palace around me shifted, somehow, as Esenaia tried to withdraw, close herself off. Even so, I could still feel how raw and pained she felt. Lonely. Even with my upbringing, I could relate to that, in a way.

The image in my head shifted as I remembered Danielle’s wedding. Henry’s a great guy, and he and Danielle make a great couple, don’t get me wrong. But… still. I wanted to meet someone for myself, too.

When she noticed that, Elsenaia’s shell opened up a little. I was reminded of a scene in RWBY, where Weiss is talking with Blake. It’s the line, “You’re right; I don’t know loneliness like you do. I have my own version.”

2 January 2023

Elliott’s still more hung up on royal pride than I think he should be. His shock at the difference between her demeanor and her implied heritage should still be there, but I think he’d express it differently in a less class-ist way.

Also, Arylwen is one of my favorite characters, at least as far as I’ve gotten to know her so far. She’s got this spunk to her, and absolutely will not take crap from anyone. It’s going to be fun, especially in the later two books.

A moment later, a figure with large, black bat-like wings glided down from the crow’s nest. When she landed, Charles and Elliott were shocked to see a girl their age, and even more when the wings folded into her back and disappeared. “What’s up, Mom?”

Captain Moira gestured to the two boys. “I’ve got a couple new cabin boys to work with you, straight from Jasper. Show them the ropes, would you?” She turned to the boys. “This is my daughter, Arylwen. I’ll be having her take care of you two, alright?”

Elliott still stood with his  mouth open, staring at Arylwen. Charles wasn’t much better, but he managed to pull himself together enough to offer a handshake. “Um, nice to meet you. My name’s Charles.”

Arylwen shook it halfheartedly, and she narrowed her eyes as she looked at the two of them. “Eh… Really, Mom?”

“Don’t judge the just by their looks; I’ve taught you that already. This one here used to be a prince.” She jabbed a thumb at Elliott, who had yet to regain his composure, then waved a hand at Charles. “And that one went down and talked with Jasper unannounced.”

Arylwen’s eyes grew wide, and she stared at Charles. “And you’re still alive?”

Charles nodded. “He’s, um, he’s really scary, but he think he m-might be kind of nie, too, in a way.” He bit his lip, then asked, “W-were those wings real? Are you really a dragon?”

“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

At that, Elliott finally reacted. “But, that means you’re some sort of royalty! And yet, you’re dressed like [that], without any of the dignity a royal should have!”

Arylwen shrugged. “I don’t care about any of that crap. If you want details, ask my mom.”