20 April 2024

So, I’m starting a D&D campaign with my family, and I wanted to centralize the lore, make it more accessible. Still very much a work in progress, there. So this is where I started, with the pantheon, since that’s what I have the clearest idea about in my head. I only got one done here, but there’s another three coming in the next post. Heralds are kind of lesser gods, along the lines of ascended mortals or whatnot.

Alyndra,  The Life Mother

Also known as just the Mother, the Wildmother, and She Who Hunts, Alyndra is often depicted as a tall, antlered woman with long, flowing green hair, at least in the human nations. She and her husband Death created this world after unknown events forced them to leave their previous one.

She is responsible for the cycle of life, in all its facets. Her clerics are most commonly associated with the Grave, Life, and Nature domains, though Blood, Death, and Light are not unheard of. She and her husband tend to take a more “hands off” approach to governing the world, preferring to let their children and the world’s inhabitants decide their own futures. The one known exception on a grand, historical scale was many thousand years ago, in the Great Fiend War, when they sealed the Archdemon of Lust after its failed attempt to seduce their daughter Leilari, the Eternal Rose.

Known Heralds: 

1) The Predator 

2) The White Stag? [Could also be an archfey; not mutually exclusive options, either] 

3) Yggdra, the Great Tree

4)

19 April 2024

“I don’t understand,” Elliott pouted. “You’re a pirate, aren't you? Why are you risking so much to help me set up this resistance?”

For a long time, Moira didn’t answer. Then she asked, “How many people do you think are willing to challenge the Pirate King face to face? To all but demand something from him when they do?”

Elliott blinked. “That sounds like suicide.”

“Right?” Moira turned to watch Charles, who was struggling to climb up the rigging after Arylwen. “And yet that boy did just that. In the King’s own throne room, even.” She chuckled. “Oh, he was polite about it. Said ‘please’ and everything. But even then, and even trembling with fear, he showed more spine than men three times his size.”

“That’s it?”

“What other reason would I need? It’s why I joined up with Jasper in the first place, after all.” She dipped her head in Charles’ direction. “Mark my words; that boy will be a king someday.”

Elliott’s stomach twisted, and it took effort to keep his face passive. “And me?”

Moira raised an eyebrow, then smirked at him. “We’ll make something of you yet, little princeling.”

17 April 2024

I was quite proud of this one. The mother and love stanzas need work still, I think, but overall I like how it turned out. Especially since every character listed, except (maybe) Elliott, is or becomes a dragon by the end of the series. For context, stanzas 1 and 2 are book 1; 3, 4, and 5 are book 2; and the last is book 3, which has a lot more focus on Arylwen and less on Charles, so that makes sense.

I actually started this by trying to see how few words I could use to “tell” the Majesty story. I wasn’t happy with that, and wound up here instead.

There stands a boy

Trembling in fear at the feet of the Pirate’s throne

Yet does not yield

And the Pirate hails him, King

There stands a boy

Looking into the face of an old, tired Mountain

And offers hope

And the Mountain hails him, King

There kneels a youth

His surrogate Mother fading fast

He, helpless, weeps

And the Mother hails him, King

There kneels a youth

A ring offered to the Love of his life

Promise ensured

And his Love hails him, King

There stands a man

Confronting she who has conquered the world

At last, triumph

And the Conqueror hails him, King

There stands a man

Betrayed by one who was once his dearest Friend

Together in death

Only then does the Friend hail him, King

5 April 2024

This is quiet a long one; there is a surprisingly large amount to cover with this section of my poem-outline. It’s fun, though!

Temper thy expectations,

Dearest friend of mine.

We know not her wishes

Nor what she may’ve endured.

Wise though thy words,

I cannot my heart restrain.

E’en to see her mor than I once hoped

Look; anon and we arrive.

My queen, all hail. Safe trip, I pray?

Though, alas, it was not so for us.

The prince’s sight is… changed, to say

And the princess will not leave her  room.

Changed, you say?

Did he fall to fairy’s curse?

‘Tis best if I tend to him,

While you thy daughter greet.

Agreed. Then I shall go.

A knock, rejection, but–

I am neither prince nor Phillip.

May I enter?

Panic, shock

Already she stands at my door!?

Long have I longed and dreaded this meeting

But… A smidge of courage, I open the door.

I… I am sorry I’m not more

Not a princess, not bold, not brave

Just… me.

I… I never even tried to leave.

Her words like chimes blow past

None settle. Instead,

She is in my arms, at last.

And there we stay, in silence.

~~~~~

The prince before me, changed indeed.

Mortals were not meant for fairy sight

Only one other I know of, but such is luck

That one is me, and I can guide you.

Well enough, and thank thee, truly.

But what e’en is the point?

All is worthless, ash and dust.

All… all that is… ‘cept thee?

Indeed, even when Death takes me

Never shall I age or rot.

But that is of no import.

Come, there is much work to do.

~~~~~

A wond’rous, glorious week

‘Tis not so bad a way to go

Though regrets remain, I will not lament

My time is up, it seems

The princess collapsed,

And fades so fast!

O great Queen of sorceries,

Is there aught thou canst do?

There is. Indeed, long planned.

But I do not like it.

My friend, my queen, dearest Hannah,

Are you sure this is thy wish?

Never have I been more sure.

Aurora has not even had

An honest chance to live.

Can I, as mother,

Prize my life above my child’s?

Mother, what meanest thou?

What plan have you concocted?

A quiet dread fills my chest

Surely, you cannot mean…?

Dearest Isaac, know I love you,

And I’m proud of who you are.

Whate’er happens, we’ll watch o’er you.

Maleficent, ‘tis time.

Ne’er have I regretted a promise more

And decades since last I shed a tear

Yet I will respect thy wish

Breath for breath, and life for life.

W-what?

I am… awake?

Is this Heaven?

But no, there is the prince, and Phillip, and…

No.

No no no.

Please tell me she did not!

What worth have I, a timid girl,

That a queen would yield her life for me?!

4 April 2024

This is a D&D character I’ve made but never really gotten to play; she was the focus of the June 6 post for last year. This is exploring what would happen if one of the two personalities died or disappeared.

Tarynn woke up in her family’s house. She didn’t have the presence of mind to wonder about that; something was missing, like a giant hole carved into her soul.

Her other half was missing.

The version of her that had lived in the back of her head since she was a child; the version of her the rest of her party had taken to calling “tari” to distinguish between them. The confident, bold version that could do all the things Tarynn herself couldn’t.

She was gone.

Tears started rolling down Tarynn’s cheeks. Then, at the edges of her awareness, she felt a whisper of someone. Without even noticing she was still in her pajamas, she dashed after the feeling. Servants called after her, but she ignored them all, until the feeling led her out to the gardens, to the special place she and Tari would ren to whenever they wanted to be alone.

Of course, Tari wasn’t there.

Confused, wrung out, Tarynn turned to leave. Then she heard a distinct voice from the back of her mind, “Farewell, little Tarynn.”

Tarynn’s eyes went wide, and she sank to the ground and wept.

27 March 2024 part 2

This is a little tidbit from what I plan to be the second book in the Majesty trilogy. I want to have a lot of foreshadowing, so it feels believable when Elliott becomes the villain of book 3 (spoilers, sorry).

Elliott watched as the officers clapped his friend on the back. Everyone seemed to be celebrating. And why wouldn’t they? With Charles’ transformation, they had another dragon on their side; they actually had a chance, now. Not that Charles seemed comfortable with the attention. 

Despite all that, Elliott couldn’t bring himself to join them. He couldn’t feel happy about Charles’ success, and he didn’t have the energy to fake it. As he stalked off to his [chambers/tent], he kept circling back to one thought.

Why wasn’t it him? He was the prince, wasn’t he?

27 March 2024 part 1

The subject matter and the inspiration are both pretty self-explanatory, I think. The first line of the second stanza is actually from a verse in the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi chapter 4. Faith and writing are intimately connected for me for some reason; it’s like my faith gives me extra motivation to write, or something. It’s hard to explain, and perhaps a bit unusual, but it is what it is.

Writer’s Block

Emptiness

Void

Dribbles of ideas at the edges of my brain

Who can spin tales in such a state?

“Nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted.”

These words come to mind

Just put pen to paper

What gets written matters little

‘Tis more important to simply write.

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.

19 March 2024

Reyzha knew she was being a bit ridiculous. When you prayed to the Deep Gods, you asked for things like safety or good loot in the dungeon that was her town’s lifeblood. You didn’t ask for children; that was the domain of the Celestial Gods, particularly the Lifegiver.

But they hadn’t answered. So here she was, before another dungeon raid, asking for a child instead of something sensible like protection or good fortune.

So when she saw the basket resting on an altar, ten or so floors down, Reyzha assumed it was an offering left by a previous party. However, before she and her group could leave, they heard a baby crying within.

After exchanging a glance with her husband, a fellow adventurer, Reyzha dashed to the basket, and peered inside. Within lay a beautiful baby girl, and a note on silver paper. It read,

Reyzha,

Her Name is Seila. Take care of her.

-D

8 March 2024

…dragged her off. It wasn’t long before they found the others, and soon the five of them were gathered together in a group outside.

Seila’s hands trembled as she broke the seal on the scroll, a wide smile on her face. She unfurled the scroll, but to her and the other kids’ surprise, a musical score accompanied the words of the spell.

“A Ka Dua No Ra?” Seila muttered.

“Can you read it?” one of the other kids asked.

Each of them shook their heads and Seila frowned. “Maybe I can ask Mama.”

Seila barely waited for the kids to agree before she raced off for home. Mama was harvesting from their garden when Seila arrived, and waved the scroll in her face. “Mama, look what I found!”

A light smile appeared on Mama’s face. “Oh?” Then she opened the scroll, and her smile faded. “Where did you get this?”

Mama’s serious tone scared Seila a little. She explained the whole story, with the strange door and the statue, and Mama frowned. Once Seila finished, Mama said, “This is a very special, very dangerous song. I want to forget you to forget about this, alright? If you sing it, the song will kill you and everyone around you. Do you understand?”

This time, it wasn’t excitement that made Seila’s hands shake, and she nodded. Mama flashed her a tired smile, and locked the scroll with the other dangerous artifacts she’d collected.

But Seila didn’t forget about the scroll.

7 March 2024

I heard a song on YouTube by Trickywi called “Perish Song”, inspired by the Pokemon move of the same name. Something about the song just niggled at the back of my brain; there is a story in there somewhere. It wasn’t until the past couple of days I nailed down who I’d want the character to be and what there story should even kind of look like, but a lot of the writing I managed to do in March was poking at the idea

Seila had always been fascinated by the old crypt that ran under the village. Apparently, there had been a great battle here hundreds of years ago, full of mages and whatnot. Actually, the crypt was most of the reason the village even existed; many of the villagers, including Seila’s parents, made their living delving its depths for treasures and old forgotten magics.

So when she found a strange door while playing hide and seek with her friends, Seila got super excited. She managed to open just enough to slip inside, where she found a tall, skeletal statue offering a scroll.

Seila’s eyes widened. She was too young to really understand the details, but she knew a scroll like this would be worth a lot of money. She hesitated a moment; Mama always taught her it was dangerous to touch strange things in the crypts. There was more than one person in the village who’d been killed by traps. Still… Seila couldn’t help but imagine how proud Mama and Papa would be if she brought back this scroll.

Doing her best not to touch the statue, Seila shimmied the scroll out of its grasp. It took a while; the statue seemed to tighten its grip a bit when it was almost out, but Seila got it. She must have imagined it. The scroll itself was old, held closed with a seal of black wax.

Excited about her discovery, she raced back to the other kids, heedless of the fact she was still supposed to be hiding. “Look what I found! LOok what I found!”

Her best friend, Mina, scowled at her. “Seila, you’re supposed to be hiding!”

“Yeah, but look what I found!” Seila shoved the scroll in Mina’s face.

Mina’s eyes went wide. “Where did you get that?”

“There was a room with a creepy door over there, and inside a skeleton statue was holding onto it!”

Mina bit her lip. She was the sort to always keep the rules, so she was probably conflicted. Seila just grinned at her and grabbed her hand. “Come on! Let’s find everyone else and go outside so we can open it!”

Before Mina could reply, Seila had dragged her off.

24 February 2024

Each moment is nothing more than a mirage

Ephemeral

Naught but a breath of time

And yet…

Moments are the threads from which eternity is woven

Dreams are like distant stars in the night sky

Elusive

Always, it seems, just out of reach

And yet…

Will we ever move forward if we do not chase them?

20 February 2024

Kind of fed up with the options we have in the recent presidential elections. So I wrote a thing. I’m not sure how I feel about doing political commentary; seems a lot more prone to causing conflict and aggression than I’d like to be. But I wanted to put my thoughts down somewhere.

There was once a pair of demons who yearned to walk the earth and revel in its depravities. One was a fat, bipedal mammoth with a gold crown a top his head, who loved nothing more than to trample on the masses beneath him. The other was scrawny, little more than a skeleton, with a donkey’s head. He had a propensity to manipulate those around him, whether through words or wires, turning the world around him into a grand puppet stage.

They’d hidden themselves well; disguised as human, they mingled with humanity, and slowly gained power. Sometimes they fought–for as any demon would, they hated each other with a passion–but often times, they exaggerated their enmity while they worked behind the scenes to enslave the population.

By the time they revealed themselves for what they were, it was already too late. They’d grown so powerful, most people believed they couldn’t do anything; the demons were unkillable.

Except… there were those. Some few, small brave souls, who risked their very lives to speak out against this injustice. “There must be a better way.” “We have to have other options.”

Like a whisper in the wind, the words traveled to and fro, and with every new gust, more voices joined in the chorus. The demons and their henchmen tried to stop it, of course; it would not do for the people to have a voice, to remember freedom for themselves. But who can stop the wind?

Spurred on by the voices in the breeze, brave men and women rose up to oppose the demons. It was true that one soul, alone, had little hope of vanquishing them. But together, with the voice of the people behind them? There is nothing a champion could not accomplish.

So the question remains. Who among us is willing to stand?

16 February 2024

It’s being surprisingly difficult to come up with the exact circumstances for the prologue, where Gothel kidnaps Aurora. A lot of moving pieces that need to align perfectly while still being true to themselves. I’m not really satisfied with this version, either, but it’s my most recent one.

Queen Hannah of Lowenveil had been apprehensive when her husband, Frederick, mentioned inviting two or three fairies to the presentation of their daughter. Aurora had been born very sickly, so if they could save her, Hannah couldn’t really protest. But she’d heard stories from the east, where the fae holds held sway, and they didn’t fill her with confidence.

Frederick had insisted the stories were exaggerated; he knew a fairy personally, and she was harmless. Timid, even. So Hannah had agreed.

Everything seemed to be going fine; one of the first things the green and pink fairies did was bless Aurora with good health and [grace], and immediately color had filled Aurora’s cheeks. The blue one, Gothel, didn’t offer a blessing; she seemed ready to bolt at the slightest disturbance. When Hannah asked Frederick about her he said she’d always been like that, ever since he was a boy.

Then a certain guest walked in. Hannah went to greet her, as she had every other guest. “Queen Maleficent! It’s good to see you. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to make it, considering the recent loss of your husband. Thank you for taking the time to come.”

Queen Maleficent pressed her lips into a line that almost could pass for a smile. She surveyed the room, then stopped when she saw the two fairies near Aurora. When she spoke, her voice dripped with venom. “Queen Hannah. If I make ask, who are they? And what are they doing here?”

Hannah blinked, and some of her earlier doubts about the fae began to resurface. “That’s Lena and Frieda, fairies from [___]. My husband invited them, along with Gothel, there in the corner.”

As soon as Hannah mentioned “Gothel”, Maleficent froze. “Gothel, you said? Which one is she?”

More confused than ever, Hannah pointed her out. “Over there, in the blue dress. Very timid; she hasn’t said more than two words to anyone all evening.”

“Indeed.” Maleficent’s face paled a shade, but she waved it off. “No matter. That is the child, there?”

With purposeful strides, Maleficent strode toward Aurora’s crib, Hannah doing her best to keep pace behind her.

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.”

14 February 2024

I am not entirely happy with this. The deal Isaac agrees to at the end, in particular, seems far too unbalanced and idiotic even for this version of Isaac, especially when I don’t think that’s going to cause significant problems later. If it does, I still need to make it more believable.

The two fairies looked over his note and studied him carefully. Lena asked, “And what will you give us in return?”

Huh? Isaac blinked and cocked his head.

“You are requesting a service of us, are you not?” said Frieda. “Quite a difficult one at that. So, how will you compensate us?”

That… actually seemed quite fair. He felt at his coin pouch; he doubted the amount in there would tempt them. What else did he have of value?

One idea struck him, and with some trepidation he unbuckled his sword and set it on the table, sheathe and all. Yet the two fairies merely looked at it disdainfully.

“That's it?” Lena asked.

“He could be offering his swordsmanship as well,” Frieda posited. “How else would we know how to use it?”

Isaac flinched and shook his head. The sword he could part with, but his skill… The thought made him shudder. But what else could he offer? He took back the paper and quill to write, “What would you want of me?”

They studied him for a time. “What about three moments of your time, picked at our discretion?”

“Or perhaps… your thirst for adventure?” Lena walked up and used Isaac’s chin to turn his head to the side. “Yours is surprisingly powerful, after all.”

Cold beads of sweat trailed down Isaac’s back. His thirst for adventure? Who would he even be without that? And three moments of time… It sounded like a good deal at first, but it seemed suspiciously like owing the fairies a debt. Isaac felt grateful for all of Maleficent’s dry lectures on magic. With a shake of his head, he wrote. “I’d rather not pick those. Is there something I could do as a prince?”

Lena huffed and turned away, but Frieda continued to stare at him, unblinking. Finally, she said, “Do you have power to let the fae freely and legally enter Lowenveil?”

He did not. Especially after what had happened with Aurora, his mother would never allow that. And even if and when Isaac became king, he knew better than to just open the doors to any fae who asked. But… if it was just these two…

“The fae in general, I cannot,” he wrote. “But especially if you help return the princess, I am sure I can convince the queen to make exception for the two of you, and let you walk openly. And so the two of you, and only the two of you among the fae, would have free access to Lowenveil.”

After reading his words, Frieda leaned back and nodded to herself. Lena sneered, however. “And what of her? The Fairy-killer? We know your family has dealings with that witch. What protection can you offer us?”

Isaac blinked. “I can try to convince her to spare you, to leave you be. She is my godmother; with the help you’re offering, I should be able to prevent her from harming you.”
“And if you cannot?”

For a long time, Isaac paused. He had an idea, but was it worth the risk? Finally he put his pen to paper. “Then you can have me. Whatever I have at that point is yours.”

Both fairies’ eyes lit up at that, and wide, almost cruel smiles formed on their faces. “Agreed.”

13 February 2024 part 2

I am actually pretty proud of this one. It’s not a sonnet or anything like that (no rhyming and the stanzas aren’t long enough), but I did play with iambic pentameter; it seemed to fit the subject material. Basically, this is my Valentine’s post. Happy Valentine’s day! (Even if we’re two and a half months past by the time I post this.)

The inspirations might surprise you, though. I was listening to music at work, and “Phoenix” by Belle Sisoski and “Legends Never Die” by Against The Current played back to back, and got me thinking about phoenixes and things. There’s also the line about the “scars collected all their lives”. So I wondered; if there were a phoenix who could and did take human form, and they got married, how would that work? Hence this.

The Phoenix’ Husband

Howe’er can one describe a goddess’ grace?

With hair like sunset o’er the mountain pass

And eyes and smile more bright than evening star

Nor these alone; her form with blade in hand

More glorious and deadly than the lion

Yet gentle laughter always at her lips

Once met, five years spent I in courting her

Together walked through rain and snow and shine

I knew this hope but folly, yet kept on

At last she answered; joy forevermore!

We wed within the town we next arrived

And seemed to me eternity ahead

Alas, ‘twas not to be. How cruel is fate!

Before three years had passed, a bandit’s shaft

Near pierced my heart, and may as well have done,

For she did bear it in my place and died

The fight, though won, my heart did turn to ash

And darkness clouded soul and sight a time.

But then, within the ashes of my love,

A child, a girl, her hair alike aflame

Her smile did soothe my soul. I took her in

And raised her with me on the road abroad

Some say a child should not like this be raised

But who am I to clip the phoenix’ wings?

13 February 2024

And here is where we finally get to see Lena and Frieda step into their own as terrifying fey creatures. I really dragged my heels on this one…

Isaac shrugged. “I might surprise you. My older sister was kidnapped by a fairy right after she was born, and because of that, they made a point to teach me all sorts of things about magic and how it works.”

Both women froze, and Deifra’s tea cup slipped from her hands to shatter on the floor. Alne asked, “Your… sister, you said?”

That’s when it clicked. The shack that was sturdier than it looked. The colors of their dresses. Their names. “You’re those fairies, aren’t you? Lena and Frieda.” Isaac couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

It seemed that was a mistake, though, as Deifra–Frieda–reached out into the air and pulled, like she was tugging on a string. Something yanked itself out of Isaac; he couldn’t see it, but he could feel it as it left.

In the same moment, both women shifted. Instead of a frail wisp of a girl, Frieda was now a full-bodied, statuesque woman, even a bit taller than Phillip. Lena was still short, roughly around Isaac’s height, but instead of an old lady she now had youthful even elfin features, with dark hair pulled back in a long braid.

Isaac tried to protest, only to discover he couldn’t make any sound. He could breath just fine, but his voice was just…gone.

“I could not risk that you might have some way to summon the Fairy Killer here. So, what is it you want, boy?”

Isaac’s expression soured, and he tapped his throat. In response, Lena passed him a sheet of paper and a quill. Once he accepted it, he paused. It didn’t exactly seem like the best idea to tell them he’d only shown up out of curiosity. Then he got an idea, and began to write.

“Could you help us find Aurora? We think Gothel took her to the Lost Wood, but anyone who enters winds up losing all sense of direction for months. Maleficent has tried to help, but she can’t perceive Gothel or anything related to her, so that hasn’t worked.”

9 February 2024

This was… really random. I don’t really know where my head was that day, other than the fact I didn’t want to think about anything too hard. I can’t even call it a crack-fic. It’s just… strange.

There is a question no one in Belobog or Penacony seems to know the answer to. Who, exactly, is the Garbage King?

Admittedly, this is because 99% (or more) of the population straight up doesn’t care. But you have those rare few–be they an eccentric Nameless or a certain struggling author–who know this secret could open the door to countless other discoveries.

So let’s ponder for a moment what sort of being he (or she) would have to be. What Aeon might he, and the trash can as a whole, worship? Not Nihility, for IX would not encourage such diligence; nor would Elation fit well, for his works are not bombastic or  entertaining enough. Neither Destruction nor the Hunt fit, and Yaoshi’s Abundance also is a bit too much of a stretch.

He could conceivably be some obscure, long-forgotten or presumed dead member of the Genius Society,; they are all eccentrics by nature, and if his devotion to trash was somehow inspired by a thirst for knowledge, it’s not inconceivable. HooH’s Equilibrium is an obvious choice, along with Preservation. A worshiper (or remnant) of Idrila the Beauty is not impossible, either; one who strives to find the beauty in anything, even the contents of a trash can, seems like it would fit well with such an eclectic order, as does one who takes care of trash to preserve the beauty around him. Finally, he could also have obscure ties to Harmony, in doing his part to make the world more clean and orderly.

8 February 2024

Lena herself had transformed into a nervous-looking woman with a hint of buck teeth. She frowned at Frieda for a moment, then huffed and plopped into a chair, arms folded. “Fine. But if they’re here to arrest us after all, I’m turning them both into frogs.”

Isaac refrained from commenting. He hadn’t paid much attention during Maleficent’s lessons, but he did know enough to know that wasn’t possible. There were plenty of other unpleasant things she could do, though. “No worries. That’s not why we’re here at all.” Then he had the most brilliant idea. “Could you help us find our way though the Lost Wood? We’re pretty sure that’s where Gothel took my sister, but we have no way of getting past her magic ourselves.”

Lena narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you get the fairy-killer to do it? Surely she can handle something like that.”

With a shrug, Isaac replied, “Apparently, Gothel is terrified enough of Maleficent to put up wards and things specifically to defend against her. Something about old grudges?”

Both Lena and Frieda nodded, as if that made perfect sense. Isaac himself didn’t quite get it, but that didn’t matter. Frieda asked, “So what do we get out of this?”

“Hm?”

“What kind of payment are you offering for helping you get your sister back?”