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Reblogging on the actual Date of Birth. Please go show my good buddy @i-made-that-thing-there some love!

If you like Mad Max nonsense and original MM:FR fanfiction with stellar OCs, they have a blog for that! @burn-your-face-upon-the-chrome

More interested in Predator things, including a fancomic they were developing? They’ve got that, too! @trials-by-blood

If Tolkien-esque fantasy with handsome bisexual orcs and sassy small emotion-readers is your thing, I recommended their FANTASTIC original work, ‘Touch Me’! Do they have a blog for that? Sure they do! @the-six-realms

Basically my friend is the coolest and you should show them much love today.

Hear ye, hear ye! A birthday gift has been born!

On behalf of my good buddy @i-made-that-thing-there‘s birthday, I have written them a fic! If you’re interested in some good, ol’ fashioned Mad Max: Fury Road fic including a War Boy and Wretch OC, you may want to take a gander at it!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38147848

Enjoy it, dear friend, you so deserve it.

An amazing author that deserves your read!!

The General Prologue

Hello to any and all who find this post! I decided to take a chance here and post the general prologue for my fantasy novel. I've been (very slowly) chipping away at it for the last three years or so and I'm hoping hearing people's opinions on it might help to reinvigorate that spark to keep going. The chapter itself is below the cut and features elements of high fantasy, cosmic horror, animal death, and other unsettling imagery, so reader discretion is advised. Thank you for your time and attention, welcome to a small corner of my imagination :)

Prologue

“Be kind to the stranger. Give them food and drink, but never let them stay the night; the world turns real unfamiliar when the sun goes down.” 

~Red Ridge Mountain Proverb~

Elisenda

Of all life’s simple pleasures, Elisenda’s favorite was sitting with her dog and watching the sunset. Every evening, once the day’s work was done, she would reward herself with a cup of tea and barley bread, soaking up the last rays of the dying sun and greeting the pale light of the newborn moon. She practiced this tradition for the better part of forty years with various companions at her side, though none could replace her sweet late husband Horatio. 

It had been him who convinced her to slow down and enjoy what her late husband called “life’s little miracles.” If only he had known just how much of a miracle he was; friend, father, and husband. Elisenda saw her Horatio’s face every day in their son Alfi, another one of her former gazing companions, who had just recently taken up the habit of missing the sunset in favor of sneaking off to see the miller’s daughter after he finished his chores. 

The amber of the horizon stepped back to allow the full beauty of the scarlet sun to flourish. As she sipped her tea, Elisenda broke off a small chunk of bread and tossed it down to Lady, the family dog, who enthusiastically wagged her tail for more. The drink’s warmth mixed with the cool breeze of the new night’s air, creating a sensation like no other. Elisenda closed her eyes, taking in the full majesty of nature’s splendor. 

When the sun's light had finally died and the night’s bugs began to sing, Alfi had yet to return home. Usually he would be certain to get back to their farm before dark, as there were all sorts of dangerous creatures that could harm a fourteen-year-old boy. Few more minutes, then I’ll get to worrying, she thought to herself. 

Elisenda gazed up at the night sky, seeing all of the stars looking down on her, wondering if they truly were angels, just as her mother had once told her. One thing that was certain, the veil that used to shine so brightly had dimmed over the course of her lifetime. No matter what religion people devoted themselves to across these lands, all acknowledged the great rip in the fabric of the sky only visible at night above the Red Ridge Mountains. 

Though all beliefs had their disagreements about how to live and who to believe in, just about everyone agreed that the massive interconnected streams of light that hung high above Cairdeas were a gateway to something greater. As to what exactly that something was, once again, there were many schools of thought. In general, people called this divine phenomenon “The Veil,” and Elisenda’s farm offered a full view of its splendor. 

While its beauty seemed like an eternal blessing, over the course of her lifetime, the Veil had changed. As a little girl, Elisenda could see the brilliant colors glowing and moving from her home at the southern tip of the mountain range. She remembered watching the way the green lights would shift their hue to shades of blue, then come back around to green again. The way they moved was like watching the very heavens dance, both awe inspiring and disconcerting in their sheer magnitude. Over the years, the colors seemed to burn more dimly, the streams seemed to shrink in their number, and the disappearance of this clear divine presence left Elisenda feeling even smaller than before.

She attempted to take another sip from her tea, only to realize there was none remaining. As for the bread, only the heel was left on the small linen she had wrapped it in. Lady, who had been patiently seated and ready to be fed another morsel, looked at it with longing in her aged eyes. 

“Here you are, old girl.” Elisenda said as she tossed her the last of the food. “Meant to split it with you, guess I just got lost in thought. S’pose that means we’re both getting a little long in the tooth, huh?” 

Lady seemed not at all bothered by the delay in delivery, instead, she was merely content to be eating. Elisenda pet her on the head, scratching between Lady’s ears with a smile. Her mind turned back to Alfi, who still had yet to return home. It’s not like him to just up and disappear like that. Her lips tightened and her heart began to race, but Elisenda kept an even tone as she spoke to her dog. 

“Go find Alfi and get his ass back here, won’t you girl?” She asked. 

Ever the loyal companion, Lady wagged her tail enthusiastically. She understood the command and darted off into the night without hesitation. Elisenda already felt better about the situation, having full confidence that her dog would bring her son back safely. She grabbed her chair and brought it back inside, along with her tea cup. 

Elisenda grabbed a fresh candle from the cupboard and placed it in the lantern out front. She created a small flame with a strike of a knife against firesteel and a sliver of wood, careful not to let it go out as she carried it outside. When she lit the flame, she noticed just how loudly the candle crackled as it burned. Elisenda closed the latch of the lantern, muffling the noise, but it still remained the only clear sound she could hear. Only then did she realize that the candle itself was not loud, but the rest of the world around her had gone silent. 

There was no familiar rustling of the corn stalks, no chirping of bugs, nor birds calling out to one another. A chill shot down Elisenda’s spine as she realized that something was deeply wrong. She wasted no time in grabbing Horatio’s old spear off the wall, quickly slipping her boots back on, and taking the lantern from beside the door. The candle within would only burn for a short while, but there was only a small yet dense stretch of forest between her and the next homestead. She hooked the light to her belt and dared to brave the darkness of the woods that divided her from her nearest neighbor, the miller. This is no time for fear. Alfi and Lady might be in trouble.

The pathways she walked day after day felt like a safe haven, leading right up alongside where the farm ended and the thicker brush began. Each step sounded as if she were throwing her foot down on the ground with all her might, but it was merely the silence of the world around her that emphasized her every movement so much. Elisenda steadied her breathing, then looked down to see the clear divide between the beaten path and the unfamiliar woods. She tightened her grip on her late husband’s spear, praying to Lugus’lumfáda for his holy protection. 

Elisenda took her first step forward, then another, followed by another, with her eyes wildly darting from side to side as she continued. You’re doing this for Alfi and Lady. You’re the biggest and most dangerous thing out here. You’re going to get them back and get everyone home. She glanced over her shoulder, noticing just how far she had progressed from the safety of familiarity. The path was well behind her, yet the only sounds she heard were still the ones she was creating. 

She used the tip of her spear to push aside a large tangle of downed branches and shrubbery, only to be met with two large glowing eyes staring at her. Without hesitation she thrust her weapon forward, piercing the chest of the creature before her, yet those eyes remained open. Elisenda paused, grabbing the lantern around to get a better view of the animal she had speared. A rush of emotions came over her as she looked into the lifeless face of Lady, whose canine body was inextricably conjoined to the mess of leaves and branches, contorted into an unnatural position. 

Elisenda fell to her knees, covering her mouth to keep herself from loudly weeping. She examined the corpse of her beloved pet, finding far more questions than answers. Lady had scratches and rapidly drying blood over her eyes and snout, as if she had just been in a brutal fight. Across her back, thick vines rippled in and out of her skin, cutting through flesh with ease. The plants looked to be simultaneously impaled into Lady as well as bonded to her, with some small patches of fur sprouting along the twisted roots. Lady looked up at her owner, her jaw loosely dangling unnaturally wide, yet her gaze still held the same quality Elisenda had known since she was a pup. “What happened to you, sweet Lady?” She asked through tears.

The poor dog’s head remained upright, her eyes wide open. Her expression looked as though her final moments were those of a fear greater than any she had ever known, a primal terror that had overcome the entirety of her being. Against her better judgment, Elisenda looked into the eyes of her beloved dog one last time. It was then that she noticed a peculiarity in the lantern’s light, one eye was its usual dark brown color, but the other had a new greenish hue to it. That’s not right. Looks more like Alfi’s than it does Lady’s.

The candle began to crack over and over, the sign of an untrimmed wick and the flame burning out too quickly. She pulled Horatio’s spear from Lady’s grotesque carcass, dropping it on the ground and bringing the lantern near the open wound. Elisenda touched the odd patch of bare skin she had managed to skewer, fighting with all her might to keep the unspeakable thought in the back of her mind at bay. To her horror, Elisenda watched as the flesh of the open wound began to knit itself back together with plant-like fibers pulling each of the separated areas of flesh closer. 

She stepped back, reaching down for the spear only to be met with a thick overlapping network of roots and vines. Elisenda turned to run, but her boots refused to move, quickly swallowed by the entangled mess of vegetation. Panicked, she opened the lantern and grabbed the dying candle to try and start a forest fire, but it was too late. Vines constructed of mixed flesh and plant fiber took hold of her arms, knocking the light to the ground. 

Slithering up from the darkness, an eldritch beast, defined not by a face but by its oppressive presence, emerged from the shadows, and snaked up Elisenda’s leg until it wrapped itself around her chest. Each time she exhaled, its construction grew tighter and tighter. The light of the candle finally gave out, leaving them both in total darkness. “Lugus’lumfáda, Danu, all ye gods above are cruel monsters!” Elisenda cried out. 

The clouds that veiled the moon parted, and in the pale light she saw the twisted visage of her darling Alfi, the living memory of her dear Horatio. His slack-jawed mouth took in a pained breath. The voice that emerged carried the quality of a band of disharmonious flutes, each competing to play over the others, with every word taking great effort to pry itself from his throat. “We…are…not…gods…” 

What followed was a small twinge of pain at the nape of her neck. Elisenda tried to prepare herself for the experience of death, for an intense agony or an indifferent numbness, but instead she felt warmth moving through every inch of her body. In her mouth, she tasted a meal with the texture of beef but the taste of pork; and though she never chewed or swallowed, she already felt herself nurtured by the tender meat upon her tongue. 

Elisenda’s mind ceased to race as her rapidly clouding thoughts floated away down a river of consciousness. She had always feared dying, she had been afraid of slipping into the darkness alone, yet here she did not feel any loneliness. She felt as though all she knew was fading away, becoming a part of something more. She did not sense the cold grasp of death; in fact, she did not feel very dead at all. 

Chapter 4!! Although I've gone through more than once for some brief editing/re-reading of what I've already got written, I didn't realize how much of a set-up there was. This chapter is the final chapter of "set-up": after this, a bit more action comes into play.

Also, please keep in mind that although this has already been edited, it's nowhere near how I'd like the end product to appear. I've got lots of ideas for additions and changes and would greatly appreciate any and all feedback!!

tw: mentions of death and war

Ch. 4

“War?”

May sighed, standing and brushed herself clean of the bit of dirt. “It’s hard to explain,” she started, holding out to hand to prompt Oryn to do the same.

He took it, standing and joining her. They started their walk back towards the cabin—towards the witches and a warm lunch, a soft rug, and a place to forget all these things for a little while.

“What is it?”

She shook her head, not wanting to meet their eyes. Years ago, when May had first laid eyes on the place she now visited so often, she saw the woods as nothing but hostile; both in nature, and in who it inhabited. There was an aura of fear permeating around the tree line, warning all who crossed the threshold that something unwanted and probably painful was awaiting them on the other side. And yet, tucked inside of all that, was someone so innocent as not to know of war; of death and blood and battle and victory. She didn’t know when it happened, she didn’t know the cause, but the fear was replaced with a warmth that had been missing from the manor for quite some time. That aura became a beckoning call when it was once the Witches’ defenses.

“It’s nothing good, Oryn.” May said, stopping in her tracks and looking to them. “I don’t want to think about those things. War is… it’s something men don’t always come back from. I don’t want to think of my brother like that.” She took a moment before continuing to walk, their paces now slowed, lethargic.

“Alright,” Oryn said, a look of clouded questions hiding in their gaze. “Would the Witches tell me?”

May smiled, shaking her head. “Probably not, but I don’t see how it’s something they could avoid. It’s everywhere, all the time.”

Oryn sat up a bit straighter. “Is it here now?”

May laughed, bumping into them as they continued. “No, no. Not like that. Think of it as an argument between big groups of people. As long as people live, they’ll have things to argue about, right? Differing opinions and such.”

Oryn nodded.

“War is like when you and I disagree on something, but instead of just you and me, it’s one kingdom versus another. If there are people, we will fight. If there are kingdoms, they will go to war.” She kicked a small stone along their path, her words falling from her tongue before she could stop herself thinking of them.

“Oh,” Oryn mumbled under their breath, slowly nodding as their brows furrowed with more questions than understanding. As May realized the plethora of things she had just unearthed for them, she looked at them with a worried glance. They chewed their lip, staring at the ground ahead with each step they took. “I argue with the Witches all the time. They say it’s normal; that a person is supposed to question things and feel strong emotions. But, in the end, we are still the same. We don’t go anywhere. Why wouldn’t your brother come back?”

She saw it coming. “People fight with more than words, Oryn. Weapons. Spears, axes, swords and bows. They…” she followed suit to them, looking down at the path ahead of them. “They die.” Please, for the love of the Waters and Winds, tell me they’ve explained death to them.

Oryn stopped in their tracks, eyes wide as they met May’s. “People just go and— they just run off to fight so hard they die? Why would someone…” they shook their head, continuing down the path.

-

“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” Maureen seethes, pacing the creaking wooden floor of the deck. “The things you put in his head!”

May sat straight-backed, a stern look of her own displayed on her face. “If you’d just told him—”

Maureen stopped in her tracks, her cold gaze settling on May’s, as if sizing her up.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” She said under her breath, her thin tendrils of what was once beautiful hair flinging itself into the breeze behind her.

“Understand what, exactly?” May huffed in exasperation. “The three of you do nothing but talk in circles!” Her throat started to constrict as she went to ask about the vile, viscous brown liquid she drank those many nights ago. “And you—”

She choked on her words, gasping for breath, hacking up phlegm and bile. There was a taste permeating her tongue, enveloping her entire mouth as she struggled to catch a breath. With each arduous inhale there was more gagging, more pain. She could taste it, feel it lethargically slugging its way down her throat again, coating her insides with something rancid. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how hard she tried. This is what happened every time; what held her back from speaking her truth.

That’s what this must be, she thought, retching yet again, this is lies. This is what lies taste like.

One of Maureen’s thin arms snapped towards May, her hand grabbing the girl by the neck as her steel grip tightened, piercing gaze causing a shiver to ravage her body. “Stop struggling,” she said, voice thick with authority, “and stop trying to speak of it. You can’t. That’s what makes it so effective. Don’t you get it?”

May took another moment to gasp and struggle, digging her nails into the bony hand wrapped around her neck. When there was no flinch—not even a modicum of pain splaying on the witch’s face—she decided to do something different for once and listen.

Breath slowly steadying as Maureen released her grip, May raised a hand up to her own throat and rubbed the sore skin. It’s their fault, she thought, locking eyes once again with the witch. She wouldn’t back down; she would be told the truth tonight.

“What did you do to me?” she muttered.

Maureen scoffed, brushing her skirts with the backs of her hands. “We saved you, child. I saved you. This life you live? The freedom and luxury of not having to do anything to cover it up?”

They knew.

“Because of what we did for you, no one will ever know what you did, May. No one will ever have the privilege of locking a spoilt girl such as yourself down in a dank cell. No, not you, May. You’re—”

Elisa rushed into the room with a gust of wind behind her, the door whipping open and slamming itself shut after she entered. “I swear, if you’ve laid a harmful hand on her—”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to!” Maureen shrieked, knowing full well her intention behind her brief stunt a moment ago, even if it was out of her command to execute it.

As they looked at each other with disdain, May found herself starting to tremble in her seat.

They knew.

~

“My Lady, we have to advise against—”

“I’d have asked if I wanted your advice,” she said, secure in her judgement as she swiftly made her way down the hall. To think, just days before, blood and gore painted the walls. You wouldn’t know if you hadn’t seen it. “I’d have already asked for it.”

The shuffling of leather and clinking of mail grew louder behind her, too afraid to stop her but holding too much respect for her to listen. “But he—”

She stopped short, turning to face the gaggle forming behind her. They stumbled over one another at such a short stop, most looking towards her with wide eyes full of something she hadn’t seen in any of her men for a very long time: fear.

“I took him here,” she started, making eye contact with each soldier, one by one, “therefore I am responsible for him. I’ll be the one to decide what comes next. If you cannot trust that your lives are of the utmost importance to me, then why have you ever taken my orders in the first place?” She paused, allowing the men to think on her words. “I know more now than I did a week ago, as do you. Trust that I am doing what’s right.”

One of the spearmen—a guard—from the back row of soldiers shuffled where he stood, eyes darting between May and the men standing beside him. With what must have been an enormous amount of courage, he spoke.

“Our lieutenant trusted you,” he mumbled.

May’s ears perked, eyeing the man. He couldn’t have been much older than herself. “What was that?”

The guard blushed, his cheeks matching the deep crimson of the uniform he wore beneath his leather vest. Yet, still, he spoke again. “Lieutenant Riker, my Lady. He, uh… he trusted you and, well, he died.” He seemed to sink into the small group even more, if possible.

May shook her head, her piercing gaze not letting up on the poor spearman. “Did you forget that Lieutenant Riker expressly denied orders to leave our guest in peace? Do you think the proper warnings and precautions were not taken? Do you think,” she said, her voice raising, gesturing towards the door at the end of the hall; her ultimate destination. “I would risk the lives of my men—our men—by inviting something hostile into our home with no reason?”

She had their attention now.

Looking once again from one man to the next, she sighed. She owed them more than she could ever tell, and yet they’d all have her head if they knew the truth. It may be time.

“Tell your officers there’s an impromptu meeting this evening,” she said, gazing towards the shadow through the ornate window adorning the plain stone wall. “Give it four hours' time. I’ll tell you. I swear it.”

As she started striding once again down the hall, Oryn’s door coming ever closer, the men behind her merely watched. The door hadn’t been open since the attack, locked from the inside by a man who thinks he’s a monster. May approached, taking a deep breath, her hand reaching for the handle as she heard a soft click, the door opening but a sliver to reveal the dark recess of the room beyond.

“Just you,” Oryn said, voice but a whisper, pulling the door back slightly more, allowing May in.

They sat in silence, looking at one another. May’s ambitious attitude melted away at the sight of them, all shriveled up upon themselves, draped in two or three robes hiding their visage from being seen. There was nothing in the room but a shredded mattress upon a stone dais, raising it slightly in the center of the room. All other furniture—most likely broken beyond repair—had been removed. Long scratches lined the walls, trailing from one end of the room to the other, their twins cascading over the floor. The smell permeating the air was rancid, of rotting meat and decay. The closer May got to Oryn, the worse it became. As Oryn sat upon the remnants of mattress, May adopted the soldier's stance—hands clasped behind your back, feet apart, chin down—giving them ample time to prepare for her onslaught of questions.

Suddenly, the thoughts were flying away, leaving nothing but an empty void in their wake.

“I’m sorry,” Orryn said, breath hushed and full of something heavy and painful.

May shook her head with disbelief, pinching her nose between her fingers and sighing. “I didn’t invite you here to watch you rot in this room. I didn’t come here today to chastise you for what happened.” She made her way closer to them, standing over them near the mattress and offering them a hand to stand next to her.

Oryn, between the hoods of the robes they wore, looked at May’s outstretched hand. “You aren’t afraid?”

She leaned closer, peering between the sheets of fabric with might. “I don’t think you could hurt me. Now get up.” She reached down and took their hand in her own. It took everything in her not to recoil with shock as she felt the cold, dead weight laying limp in her palm, sweat starting to bead on her brow.

Oryn felt something when May grabbed their hand, warmth flowing freely from her body into their own. They looked upon the two hands sitting together, held there by the sheer will of two people.

“I said,” May barked, tightening her grip on Oryn’s hand, “Get. Up.”

She pulled on their hand, yanking him off the tattered mattress and out into the cold center of the empty room. Limp and cold, Oryn stumbled behind, finding themselves standing next to May, her conviction visible and flaring from her ears.

“You can’t do this anymore. Sit here, brooding. Wallowing.” May sighed, eyes narrowing as they continued to stare.

“But I... You—”

“You’ve never killed anyone before? Not once? Not for any reason?”

Oryn shuffled where they stood, refusing to meet May’s eyes, wishing they could curl into the mattress behind them. “Why would I have...”

As they lifted their chin into the light, meeting May’s gaze but for a moment, she saw something there that she’d never seen before. She shook her head, dropping Oryn’s hand and letting it fall beside her as she started pacing the room.

She sighed, the sound of her boots hitting the stone matching the drone of the soft pounding playing in the back of her head. “What did the Witches tell you about death?” she said, her breathing even.

“Everything dies,” Oryn mumbled, “it’s a part of being alive. It might be the end part, but it’s a part we all come to.” They hugged their arms to their chest, pulling the robes tighter around them. From the corner of her eye, May could see the shape of the body underneath; one she wasn’t familiar with. She kept pacing.

“Do you remember when I told you about war?” She kept her eyes straight ahead.

“Yes.”

May nodded. “I’m fighting in a war,” she said, pausing her pacing to meet Oryn’s eye.

As expected, the shock on Oryn’s face was magnifying. She could see the layers to the fear crossing her mind, the horror of murder and untoward death upon the innocent. May knew that—in Oryn’s mind—there was no real understanding of the world as it is. If she was going to stay here, she needed to understand. And, despite the pounding ringing through May’s skull, she couldn’t think of any outcome to the events leading here in which she didn’t take Oryn home.

They shuddered. “I don’t understand. Why would—”

“I’m going to explain everything to you. I promise. But it’s going to take a lot of time: there’s a lot I need to teach you. But,” May said, stepping closer to Oryn, keeping her eyes locked on theirs, no matter how wrong they looked. “I need you to know that those men—my men—they all choose to be here. They all choose to fight. And they’re not fighting in search of death, but in spite of it. Do you understand?” The hardness in her eyes melted away as she leaned forward, taking her hand to pull back the hood concealing Oryn’s face.

She tried her best to hide her shock, but Oryn read her like a book. They knew something was different; whenever something like this happened, they always were. First it was subtle, but as the days passed, the differences became more obvious. They didn’t dare to look at themselves since the attack, but they knew. The soreness brooding in their ribs when they took a breath, the aching in their joints, the tight feeling of their jaw... it always happened.

Oryn nodded, shallow and slowly. “I understand choice,” they started, hands trembling, “and I trust you, May. But I can’t just… I can’t just kill.”

“I never asked you to.” May took in whoever it was in front of them; the new shape, the new structure. “But I’ll need your support. Your undoubted, unequivocal support. No questions asked. Can you do that?”

“I’m not going to be another one of your men—”

“I never asked you to, Oryn. I’m asking you to be my friend. To trust me. And you just said you could, didn’t you?”

Another nod was exchanged between them.

“Good,” May sighed. “There’s a meeting a few hours’ time. Come to the Hall, okay?”

This AMAZING concept art of early days Oryn and May is by @skidotto and is PHENOMENAL 😭😭😭😭😭😫😫😫😫😫 absolutley obsessed with the life they were able to bring to characters that I never thought I'd get to see outside of my words on a page. I'm fucking FLOORED.

Everybody go get a com from them rn 😌

Back with chapter five!! Things are starting to pick up now 😈 please feel free to leave any and all feedback!!!

tw: fighting, bodily horror, mentions of death, war

Ch. 5

The air in the room was thick with anticipation. The humidity was rising, heavy breaths hanging on every crevice. As the door clicked shut behind the last soldier, May cleared her throat and rose from her seat. Her men followed suit, standing straight with their hands behind their backs, eyes straight ahead: alert, at attention.

May raised her hands and subtly relaxed her wrists, allowing her men to sit. May remained standing at the head of the table, solid chair sitting crooked behind her. To her left sat Oryn, starring directly ahead, eyes fixated on a random point in the table. Next to them sat Alec, blushing and trying his hardest to keep his composure at being invited to such an exclusive meeting. To May’s right sat the head of her personal guard, Lieutenant Demetrius.

“Thank you,” May started. Oryn—through quick glances—was making eye contact with each soldier around the table, intentionally or not. “I have several things I must get off my chest this evening, all of which are meant to benefit you—all of you—in the long run. There may be outrage and there may be those who would rather walk away in peace. Either is fine with me; your servitude is a gift that you may revoke at any time.” She looked towards Oryn, who’s unhooded figure looked more ethereal in the waning sunlight, skin seeming to sag in certain places and be pulled taught in others.

“The skirmishes between us and our fellow countrymen must come to an end.” May’s eyes scanned the room, searching for the first sign of upheaval from her men. Not one of them stirred.

She folded her hands on the table as she continued, swallowing a lump forming in her throat. “It is with great sadness that I report to you all the death of our beloved High Councilor of Ilucia,

The very air in the room became stagnant, the unsteadiness rolling through the room like a wave. Each man around the table had a look of distant mourning—a mask to disguise their fear.

The guard’s words were sharp as he spoke, “Tt was Giardin.”

The small crowd murmured, more men agreeing silently with each passing second.

May sighed, sitting up straighter in her seat. She knew the accusations would come, but not this quickly. “I’ve already considered him the cause, but it was unfounded upon further inspection.”

The loud grumble they gave in dissent reminded May of their loyalty to her and how fickle a thing it was.

“The border disputes have never been an act of unperturbed violence; we marched in fields, we followed oaths, and both ourselves and Giardin’s men have carried the Crown Banner into every battle fought. The disgusting act of murder upon our Holy Councilor does not spell anything close to the Lord who, may I mind you, has done nothing but fight with honor.” May looked from one man to the next, her conviction unwavering.

The silence was heavy.

There was a soft shuffle near the other end of the table before a young man spoke, “Honor?” His breaths were labored, his shirking eyes never daring to make eye contact with May’s own. “That scum… Has fought with honor?” His crude laugh echoed in the suddenly cold office.

May’s jaw tightened as she stood from her seat, the young man doing the same.

“The man kills your kin—has been trying to stake his claim in what’s belonged to your family for more generations than his own has walked the sodden dirt he calls his own duchy… That man is far from honorable, my Lady.”

His statements strengthened the men’s resolve, their eyes becoming certain in their own convictions. May ran her fingers through her cropped hair, taking a step away from the table to get a better look at her men.

She looked at Oryn, then at Demetrius. He nodded, knowing what would come next.

The fire was powerful behind her, roaring in the mantle as it cast dramatic shadows upon the Duchess. Her eyes were hard, yet her voice was on the edge of wavering. The weight of their lives was behind her, supporting her, supporting Ilucia. Without them backing her, what was she?

“I’m ending the dispute.”

The slack jaws and shocked faces were no surprise. This war had been funding them for much longer than May would like to admit.

“But—”

May held up her hand in protest, the guard’s mouth falling shut. “It has to end. I will no longer permit any more of my men to die fighting a battle neither shall ever win.”

He held her gaze longer than he should’ve, but May wouldn’t break it. She would show her men she was still strong, despite pulling out of a generation’s long skirmish. She had more important things to focus on.

Demetrius grew restless in his seat as he watched the May’s play of dominance. He was ready if the man didn’t back down.

“You can leave my service, if you’d like,” May said, relaxing her stance as her gaze hardened.

“I have dead brothers to avenge,” he mumbled, trying harder with each passing moment not to shrink from her watchful eyes. “Our men. Your men.”

“Do you want to die fighting the same war your father fought? The same war your sons will fight? Do you think I want more of you to die for a lost cause?”

He stepped back as he broke her gaze. “Lost cause? They all fought—died—for a lost cause?”

“The border is set, men. The dispute is done. Leave your pin on the table if you’re leaving,” she said, sitting back in her chair as the man stared at the floor beneath his feet.

“What did you give him?”

She sighed, shaking her head.

“You must have given him something!” The anger in the man’s voice was growing, his brow bunching as the veins in his neck bulged, “What did he demand for his peace?”

To everyone’s shock, May laughed. She laid her head back against the hard chair and laughed, going as far as to wipe a tear from her cheek and flick it towards Demetrius.

“He came to me asking how I infiltrated his home, wondering how I killed his High Councilor.”

The few who had started to remove their pins quickly stopped in their tracks, immediately looking back at May.

“I had met him to discuss my own predicament in much similar terms, but he seemed to have beaten me to it. We paid each other nothing besides the intent to bring forth the sacrilegious killer and have him pay his dues,” she placed her hands on the table in front of her, leaning over herself as the fire behind her cast the shadows of a warrior upon her. “I won’t fall victim to whatever plan is being hatched by whatever man is hatching it. Is that clear?”

She had managed to bring them back within her grasp, but knew it wouldn’t be easy to continue to hold them there.

The remainder of the meeting went as planned, the opposition to the truce floating away with the realization that there would be no more fighting upon the muddy banks, death spilling upon the shoals and staining the flow of the river.

They didn’t seem to mourn the holy man Voth much after the announcement of the ending war, instead choosing to celebrate bringing in a new era of peace.

She let them cheer as they ran to meet their wives through the manor corridors, choosing instead to meander a bit longer in the office with Demetrius after she’d dismissed them.

His jaw was sharp and tight as he faced her, slowly shaking his head. “They’d have more to celebrate if you told them the truth,” he said, unabashed as was his way.

May met his eyes, pleading dripping from her own. “What they did to Giardin for refusing—”

“Is not our responsibility!” His heavy fists slammed the solid table, the wood shuddering underneath them both.

May met his strength with her own. “Who are we if we let them win?”

The silence between them was quick in passing, but heavy in foreboding.

“You’ve never been religious, May—”

“This has nothing to do with the church, Demetrius, and you know it. What he’s doing… it’s wrong. I don’t want to sign them up for a war. A real war, with more than a few hundred men marching upon one another.” She scoffed, tilting her chair back towards the fire, “They don’t know what real war is.”

“They’d immediately support him. He’d be getting rid of all tithes, forever.”

May shook her head. “I’m not in support of the tithes, Demetrius. You know this.”

He nodded, folding his arms in front of him as he sighed. “You’ll have to tell them at some point. Sooner rather than later. Either that or risk your head.”

“I know,” she let her chair fall flat to the floor again, leaning her elbows on the table. “But not yet.”

-

Oryn didn’t know how to feel. They didn’t know what to say. The thought of May killing something sentient, something living, let alone commanding an entire… What was it called?

Alec skimmed another couple of pages before handing the book over to Oryn. He stood from their plush seats, rummaging through the scrolls littering the desks and shelves. “This passage is about the main structure of the Councilors,” he said, a distracted air about him. He wouldn’t look Oryn in the eye and didn’t want to stand too close; his fear was palpable, but Oryn could see the spark in the child’s eye, too.

Oryn shifted in their seat, sinking a little deeper into the cushions. “How do you want to go about this?”

Alec froze mid stride between one bookshelf and another, fumbling with the small stack of scrolls in his hands. “Well,” he started, “Our Lady wants me to teach you. That’s… that’s what I’m doing.”

“Well, yes,” Oryn sighed, “but I image there’s got to be a whole lot of information to cover.” She looked around the archive from where she sat, never having seen a room so tall with shelves so large. So many books to read, so much to learn. It was just a tad overwhelming.

Alec tapped his foot on the stone, a soft echo resonating around the archive. “Yes,” he nodded, “there is. Here, I’ll have you start with some of the basics of the clergy, then some old hymns and poems…” he nodded, growing more confident with himself. “I’ll put together a few of the basics for you to read through while I try to form some semblance of a history lesson.” He turned and started down the hall, mumbling to himself about which books he should pick first.

After his original search down in the archive, Alec knew he’d need to make some changes if he were ever to find what it is he was searching for. The layers of dust and debris could be hiding any number of precious tomes holding exactly what he was looking for. Things were strewn about without rhyme or reason, and Alec took upon the task of fixing it. Although it had only been a few weeks since he began, the polished stone floor and fresh candles made the place where Oryn sat seem completely different than the one Alec had first entered.

He didn’t know if his father would be proud or enraged at his current position, flitting amongst stacks of books instead of training to fight, yet taking direct orders from the Duchess herself. He wouldn’t worry about that now, though—he had lessons to prepare, books to find. He was getting better and better at pushing things from his mind, like the fact that the man he’ll be spending the majority of his time with is a beast wearing sheep’s skin.

Oryn started reading the book laid on their lap from the page Alec had flipped to.

The torment cascaded through the flesh of what was once man, devouring a soul in exchange for sanctity. To live safely amongst the banished demons, you had to become one. An act of evil that has occurred only once throughout the history of our realm, shattering the unity of man and the vitality bestowed upon us by our Gods. In doing so, order had lost all meaning and Natural Chaos enveloped the land, any semblance of what was once holy lost among those maimed in the sacrifice, their secrets disappearing with them upon their deaths.

A large portion of the rest of the page was an author’s note, pertaining to the time skip in this particular text. Several centuries of strife and chaos and ruin befell humanity, with most being hunted for sport by the rampaging beasts fueled by our indecision and selfishness.

It was with great hardships that the Council was risen, restoring holiness to a dying race. It was with a Herald’s blessing—glorious in its horrifying visage—that all was saved and greatness restored. Upon his descent—

Boots thundered down the hall as what sounded like a full battalion of soldiers making quick pace through the manor. Muffled orders were shouted, someone on the other side of the door sounding afraid.

“Shit,” Alec scrambled out from the tall shelves, dropping the large stack of scrolls and books and parchment. “Sounds like a call to arms,” he muttered, looking towards Oryn. “There hasn’t been one of those in well over a month now…” he rambled, his eyes constricting as the door was opened with force.

Demetrius’s hulking figure stood in the door frame, his great-axe looming at his side in his shadow. Guards and soldiers alike rushed behind him down the hall, getting louder and louder as each order was barked from the many superiors heading to the center of the fight.

“Attacked from the southwest. Looks like Lord Giardin’s banner, but we can’t be sure. Duchess has asked I take you to safety,” he said between heavy breaths, sweat staining his brow. He had fought already tonight, and would have to fight yet again.

“At… attacked?” Alec muttered, his skin starting to pale.

Demetrius sighed, grabbing the boy by his shaking hands and turning towards Oryn. “Follow me. Stay close.”

He turned quickly from the room, Oryn following in his wake. It was tumultuous to make it through such a packed hall. As the majority of them turned off into separate halls and headed towards their designated battleground, Demetrius and his motley crew headed up a winding staircase.

He continued his brisk jog up the stairs, pulling Alec along with him. Oryn’s chest burned with the exertion as they went through one door into another hall and up the second—or was it the third?—flight of stairs.

The screaming only got louder with their ascent, the battle on the ground accelerating quickly. The screams of the fighting and dying, the roars of the flames as barns were lit ablaze, the shrieking of steel on steel…

Oryn’s blood rushed hot through their veins as the sounds seeped deep into their skull, striking something primal within their core. Their hands shook as they ascended the rickety ladder after Alec, Demetrius having headed up first. The sounds abated as they were muffled by the final floor of the manor, the hatch being pulled shut tight behind them, Demetrius effectively sealing them in.

Guys,,, I need that feedback on my book,,, give me ur opinions pls 😌 with the start of the semester I'm CRAZY busy and have taken a step back from writing and want to focus on editing! I can read my own stuff a million times, but I need to know what a more unbiased perspective sees/thinks!!!

Small doodle of oryn and may by @skidotto 😌

Chapter 6!!! Is here!!! A direct continuation from the previous chapter, May is tasked with saving her new housemate only to realise she's being faced with than more than she'd first thought, MUCH more than she could've prepared for.

Definitley trying to add more bits and pieces of wolrdbuilding throughout, as well, so let me know if it flows well!

tw: blood, gore, fire, burning, mentions of war, death, bodily horror

Ch. 6

The laceration on May’s arm throbbed as blood gushed from the wound, only fueling her desire to cut down the man responsible for it.

There were no shouts of warning as the first volley of arrows was released into the main courtyard of the manor. The whistles of easily a hundred arrows arching with grace over the main wall, many hitting the cracked cobble at their feet and too many more sinking deep into flesh. A score of men downed in but a moment; she was caught with her backed turned. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

Her sword bit home in the neck of her opponent, sending a hot spread of blood back at her. Her men had started surrounding the outermost section of the courtyard, working their way towards the center and slaughtering everything in their paths as tight units of fifteen to thirty men. They were efficient; May trained her men to be deadly.

Her sword killed one man after another, the rage she felt becoming the passion of the Winds. Her heaving breaths of unbridled anger became the steady breaths of a woman singing in the Gods praises. Her feet were weightless underneath her as she spun and ran through entrails, the death rattles of the fallen a prayer to her victory.

Time both slowed and flowed faster, men seemingly growing old and dying as May severed an arm here and slashed across a chest there, a whirlwind of honed chaos. She continued pushing forward, a large group of her men now rallying behind her as they met the center of the courtyard. Their main advance would be towards the contingent of archers that managed to huddle towards the manor’s gate.

As May lifted a dead man’s shield from his corpse, instinctively blocking arrows as they headed towards her, she caught a glint of something from the corner of her blood-red eyes. Off in the corner, towards the right of the manor, smoke started to bellow from the peaked roof.

The attic.

She was smart to have listened to her instincts those few weeks back, vacating the few valuables from the room and cleansing it in whatever means necessary. Putting the remainder of the old texts and records either in the vault or the archives, the room was merely a little secret hiding space that made for a good saferoom in this particular instance, where Oryn’s safety was in danger.

Oryn? Why would this be about Oryn?

It didn’t matter. She needed to protect them—hide them—and Demetrius was the only other living person who knew of it’s existence.

Something much larger was at play here. Someone deeply connected to May and Ilucia had infiltrated the system she fought so hard to build, making her seem a fool. As she watched the first soft licks of orange cascade across the eaves decorating the attic, her resolve quickly returned.

“Squads four and nine, come with me! Everyone else,” she turned, her throat already horse from breathing in smoke and screaming as she killed, “Kill the rest of these bastards!”

Although she’d already seen more than a squad or two lying dead on the cobble, the morale in her remaining men didn’t waiver. They stood tall, weapons ready, in the exact formations they’d practiced. They stomped their feet in time, yelling their war-cry as praises for their Duchess.

She started towards the side door of the manor, the two squads called for quickly falling into a defensive formation around her. As they ran, May couldn’t keep her eyes off the roof being enveloped by the flames.

The manor itself was hardly damaged but for a broken window here or a scuff along the mortar there. It’s as if the goal here wasn’t to destroy, only to kill—and to do so quickly. The fact that the fire was now reaching towards the sky in only one part—specifically from one room—There must have been another motive, a plan…

Sprinting through the side door and running straight for the closest set of stairs, May noticed just how quiet the manor was now that all who are usually patrolling it took up arms to fight out in the courtyard. This is my fault, she thought to herself, but not because of the weight all of her fallen men; because Oryn was sat in a burning cage and it was May who had put them there.

Out of breath but nowhere near exhausted, they arrived at the top floor, May ripping the door off the closet. The heat was nearly unbearable, the immediate wash of newly born flames reaching from what was once the sealed entrance. May’s blood rushed through her, her heartbeat loud and persistent in her ears as the hum slowly started seeping into her skull.

The men behind her stood back, staring at the soft blaze set before them.

The clang of a desperate fight could be heard over the roar of the flames, someone battling for their life.

“Get me up there!” May screamed, turning to her men with her jaw set and eyes ablaze.

“But—”

Without thinking—without even a second to blink or take a breath—May’s sword cut deep into the abdomen of the Squad Four Commander, the hilt meeting the soft leather of his armor as the blood seeped onto May’s hand. Her eyes were dark, determined.

She turned to the other’s, their eyes wide and mouths slack.

“Get me up there,” she repeated, her breath low and hot.

Without a second thought, she was all but thrown by her men off the floor and up into the searing flames of the attic entrance.

The pounding hum resonating beneath her skull got stronger as she hoisted herself up on burning beams into the center of the alcove. The smoke burned her eyes and left her in a wake of dense fog, unable to see much of the world around her besides the roaring flames slowly dissolving the wooden room. She gasped and hacked as the ash entered her lungs, burning her insides with a fierceness she hadn’t ever felt before.

“Oryn!” She called, her voice horse and meaningless amongst the raging fire. The fighting continued, the clanging of steel just barely making itself heard. She stepped forward, her own bloodied sword held in front of her.

She was getting closer, the battle sounds growing louder, her vision fading with each step she took, her skull vibrating as the pressure of the pounding built. She cried out, falling to her knees, the flames seeming to edge their way closer and closer to her with each passing moment.

There was a shriek of pain, something almost animalistic in nature. The ripping of skin, grinding of bone, tearing of sinew and blood coursing through changing veins.

Fuck, May thought, heaving up smoke as tears rolled down her cheeks Not here. Not now!

The pounding in her head slowly turned from raging, meaningless rumbles into the staccato beats of something being beckoned forth. She didn’t feel any pain, but the soft mush inside of her skull slowly separated, something new emerging from the inside. Her eyes snapped open as the rush of something powerful washed over her. She lifted herself from her knees, her vision steady and clear as she saw what unfolded before her.

Demetrius was fighting neck and neck with two soldiers May had never seen before, wearing the livery of a duke or duchess she didn’t recognize. Their faces were covered in what must have once been white linen, now burnt at the edges and covered in soot. Their skin had been scorched in places and was completely barren in others. How they continued to wield a swords was beyond her comprehension.

With a new weightlessness pushing her forward as the thrumming became a hymn in the back of her head, May threw herself alongside Demetrius, her own sword flying in beautiful arches over her head as she tried to even the odds.

Demetrius was worse off than those they were fighting, a large slash across his face leaking a garish trickle of blood. His leather plate was slick and oily, his hair plastered to his head as he swung his sword ruthlessly. There was nothing but the power and flow of the Wind behind his eyes, the battle rage holding his spirit.

As May ducked under a slash from the enemy, she quickly brought her sword behind the legs of him. As his tendons were cut deep and a spray of blood hit May’s hands, she stood and turned towards the hulking creature behind her. She made a final puncture to the soldier’s throat, killing him.

May could barely make out the full shape of the beast, her vision clearer than it should’ve been in the smoke but unable to focus on whatever Oryn’s form was. She could just hardly see Alec peeking out from behind what must have been the right shoulder of the beast, clearly hanging on to the protruding thorns and masses of skin running down its back. As it steadied itself on its two legs, finally meeting eyes with the fight between Demetrius and the other soldier—flames roaring just barely behind him— Oryn let out a deep, guttural cry.

Oryn leapt into the fight, Alec hanging on tight, trying to hide his face in whatever he could find to block out the smoke. The pads of Oryn’s feet hit the smoldering floor like a clap of thunder, sending shudders through the attic and bringing both May and Demetrius to their knees. It was instinctual: cover your ears. As Alec did the same, the pounding in May’s head ceased. She watched the remaining soldier bring his sword up above Demetrius’s bowed head as he knelt, readying himself for the killing blow.

His arms, strong and lean and glistening in the light of the fire—were steady, the linen finally falling from his face and being devoured by the flames. Then, something changed.

The silence finally enveloped May’s skull once again as she lifted her head to meet the eyes of the man ready to kill her most valuable soldier; one of her closest friends. Holding his glowing sword high above his head, his arms began to shake. The veins in his arms started to bulge, his skin draining to become a ghostly white. His veins started to move, the blood inside of them seemingly thick and collecting in places. As a slow drip of blood started to leak from his nose, his head exploded.

May couldn’t tear her eyes away. Blood and chunks of brain matter and shards of sharp skull bits flew with force from the viscera, a loud hisssss being heard as the fire licked the liquid into more smoke for them all to choke on.

She was yanked to her feet by something that wasn’t a human’s hand and lobbed over the beast’s shoulder, feeling a scared hand reaching out and holding on to hers as Oryn then picked up Demetrius, who was just as stunned by the scene that unfolded before them. Alec squeezed May’s hand, Demetrius gripped the monster’s ever-moving flesh, and Oryn barreled through the outermost wall, letting the group of them fall into the courtyard below.

Back with Chapter 7! How are we feeling about the balance between povs's and flashbacks? Trying to balance the emotional integrity of the scenes and worldbuilding can be difficult.

The aftermath of the surprise siege is upon them, May and her men needing to prepare for what comes next.

tw: mentions of death, bodily horror and harm, murder, war, blood

Ch. 7

It took what remained of May’s men another hour to clear the courtyard of all attackers, and another few hours after that to properly barricade the main square of the small town surrounding the manor. There was a line of destruction straight through the middle of the once beautiful yard, showing where the other troops had marched through to get to the Manor—to Oryn.

Scouts were sent out into town to assess the damage and bring as many townsmen into the barricade as they could. Although most men of the duchy were already wielding weapons under May’s command, any that couldn’t still find themselves wanting to serve her in any way that they could. The entire population was loyal to May’s blood, not a single one of them turning down the chance to defend their homes when asked.

As May paced back and forth in front of the main gate to the courtyard and watched her men scurrying back and forth to make sure everything was set before they were attacked again—which they most definitely would be considering the slaughter wrought today. The only thought raging through her pained head about Oryn and their safety and whether or not this attack could potentially have anything to do with them.

It’s obvious, she thought. They wouldn’t have gotten into the attic… they were tracking him, listening to me. This had everything to do with Oryn.

Demetrius came limping towards her, still a hulking form despite his burns and other miscellaneous injuries.

“The barricade is sufficiently guarded and secure, my Lady. Scouts are being directed to their designated areas as we speak,” he said through a hoarse throat, hacking up a glob of ash-stained phlegm, the bit of blood staining the dirt beneath them.

May shook her head, worry plaguing her. “I can’t afford to lose my Chief General, Demetrius. You need medical attention. Go,” she commanded, looking him up and down with scrutiny.

He held her gaze longer than usual; he never liked letting her know how much pressure he held. And yet, just this once, he let his eyes meet hers.

May shuffled where she stood, crossing her arms. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

“No,” he only let the shock play on his face for a moment. “But that wasn’t you, either, I surmise.”

Word travels fast. It’d been a half a day since May had skewered one of her own men, the blood that served her own staining her blade. How many know? Does he? It was a question that had never crossed her mind before: how much would it take for her men to betray her?

Demetrius towered over her, and yet his presence was that of a scared child. “Do you think it was him?” he murmured.

May took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. “I do. But I don’t think he knows.”

Demetrius shook his head. “How can he not know?”

A small group of scouts was seen scurrying through the growing crowds, the townsfolk clearing the way with loud shouts and demands of clearing the way.

~

Maureen paced the length of the cabin, her long hair flowing softly behind her in a graceful waft. Elisa sat upon the cushioned stool with her back as straight as a board, following Maureen back and forth. Starla was merely prepping the afternoon tea, humming a soft song to herself.

Oryn sat beside Starla on the soft wooden counter. It always smelled so lovely when Starla was the one to make the tea. Oryn could never figure out what made hers different from the other two; it just tasted better.

They could all but see the haze of tension cascading over the room. It was terrifying in a way that made their hair stand on end. Oryn couldn’t think of a time when any of them ever expressed so much fear before. Well, once. But that was another matter entirely, nothing like this.

“When he arrives,” Maureen mumbled, “we need to have a plan. We need to be ready to strike before he decides to do anything drastic and—”

“He won’t,” Elisa interrupted. She slowly stood up, stretching her neck and back. “It won’t come to that. However, I do think a plan needs to be set, just in case.” Her hard eyes met Maureen’s, something unspoken being shared between them.

Oryn all but jumped in their seat as Starla stopped her humming and spoke up. “You’re both so cynical,” she chided, sighed as she grabbed a few mugs from the cupboard. “He’s the one that left him with us. If anything, he’s the only other living thing on the face of this good land that shares our goals.” She started to set the small table with their finest placemats.

“But what if—”

“You shouldn’t expect—”

Starla shot them both a glance, the fire roaring in the mantle behind Maureen dulling under her gaze. “We are more than capable of handling ourselves. How much do you think the poor old man truly knows of us? Of our capabilities? Whatever you assume of him, stop. He’ll be here sooner rather than later and the last thing I want is for him to feel as if he’s unwelcome. We need to discuss what comes next. And Oryn,” she said, turning to them. “Don’t ask too many questions. In fact, ask none at all.”

It was rare of Starla—of the three of them—to set her boundaries with such brute force, letting her powerful senses overtake her and express themselves. They decided to listen.

She continued to set the table and arrange the baked goods and tea, letting Oryn have a small taste of the honey and sugar. As Maureen and Elisa sat down at the table to wait, their gazes towards one another never broke. The air was electric with their fear.

There was a knock at the door.

The forest was silent with anticipation.

Maureen and Elisa stood from their seats. Starla opened the door.

The man who stood there was old and frail, the white wisps of hair on his head matching the scraggly beard flowing down his chests. The gray robes were modest and seemingly understated for someone of his status.

“Hello, High Councilor,” Starla said, smiling with pride and bowing just slightly to show her respect.

“Please,” Jonas said, “No need for such formalities.” As he returned her smile, Oryn saw a heaviness in his eyes. He reached an arm around Starla’s shoulder, Starla leaning in and hugging him.

“It’s good to see you. You look well,” he said, pulling away to take a look at her.

Her smile softened as she looked him over, a different weight heavy in her own gaze. “As do you. Please, come sit,” she said, beckoning to the set table full of pastries and tea. Maureen and Elisa both curtly nodded their heads as they waved towards the man, sitting after doing so and starting to fill their own plates. Oryn took that as the queue to fill their own.

They sat for a few moments in silence as they ate and drank, Oryn delighting in the fact that they were being allowed so many treats. They didn’t notice the odd glances and long stares from the four adults at the table with them.

“You look well, child,” Jonas said, setting his napkin down on his emptied plate, letting his cup sit idly on its saucer.

Oryn looked from Maureen to Elisa to Starla, each of them glaring into his soul with their own piercing gaze as if they were each willing what words to come out of their mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Oryn said, making eye contact with the man as they swallowed the last of their pastry. “But I don’t think I know you.”

Jonas nodded, leaning deeper into his chair. He took a long, deep breath. “How much have these lovely ladies told you about how you came to be here?”

Oryn’s brows furrowed in confusion as they once again looked from one witch to the next. Now, though, the three of them each avoided their gaze, squirming in their seats.

They knew an opportunity when they saw one.

“Not enough,” they mumbled, their own gaze darkening as something deep within them said it wouldn’t be smart to ask.

Jonas nodded yet again, maintaining his gaze with them. The witches sat silently in their seats.

“Your mother,” Jonas started, tapping a finger on the table, “she died.”

Oryn nodded. “Yes. And that’s why the three of them take care of me,” they said, gesturing towards where they sat.

“That’s right,” he sat up straighter in his chair, leaning forward as his gaze grew deeper. “I’m the man that got you here. To make sure someone could take care of you.”

Oryn nodded, not understanding the behavior of the witches; what could possibly be so nerve-wracking about an old man with a soft spot for a motherless baby?

“My mother,” Oryn’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. “You knew her then?” their voice was innocent, yearning.

Jonas smiled widely, finally breaking her gaze. “I did,” he said, a small frown creeping to his face. “I knew her well.”

“What was she like?”

The three witches’ necks all but snapped as their heads swiveled and their gazes met Oryn’s. It must have been one of the questions she wasn’t allowed to ask.

They were all silent again for a moment, a solitary tear brimming in his eyes and running down Jonas’s cheek. “She was wonderful,” he muttered more to himself, “and dedicated and beautiful. It was a shame she had to pass so young.”

The relief was palpable, everyone’s shoulders relaxing and sighs being let out.

“Oryn,” Starla said, a forced smile splayed on her lips and an edge behind her voice. “Go outside and play. We have important work we have to do with Jonas today.” Her eyes flicked to the door.

Oryn sighed, looking one last time at each member of the table before hopping off of their stool, grabbing a final pastry, and heading out the door.

Jonas shivered, his gaze becoming cold and hard as his fist slammed down on the table. “What is that?”

“He grows fast,” Maureen mumbled, “much faster than a human.”

“His appetite…” Elisa whispered.

Starla shook her head at them all, meeting Jonas’s gaze. “That’s a young boy,” she said, her voice firm and back straight. “A young boy who has been loved and provided for, even when the things we must provide are challenging and… unethical.”

Jonas closed his eyes, resting his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It hasn’t even been a full five years,” he muttered to himself, “and he’s seemingly twice that age.” He lifted his head, his eyes meeting Starla’s. “Don’t you forget what he did to her. Do you understand me?” He stood from his seat, walking towards the window that overlooked the yard where Oryn had gone out to play. “That boy… that thing… the things he’s capable of…” he trailed off.

“You think we don’t know that?” Maureen snapped, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “You think we haven’t taken the utmost care in nurturing something your people think is the devil?” She scoffed, getting out of her own seat and standing next to Jonas, following his gaze out the window towards Oryn.

Starla stood as well, starting to clean the mess of the table. The daggers in her voice were sharp. “My good High Councilor, don’t you forget who have been the ones raising him all this time; the ones fighting to understand his nature, his abilities, his…” she trailed off, stacking cups in the wash-bin. “The things we’ve had to witness. And the worst of it is the fact that he has no idea what he’s capable of.”

Wonderful and amazing art of my oc's by my wonderful and amazing artists friends ♡♡♡ @skidotto @thebluester2020

Chapter 8 is here mwahaha 😈

The siege has been going longer than expected as May tries to come up with something to save her men from the impending doom of being locked behind the courtyard walls for too long, still not sure of where the attack came from.

P L E A S E give me feedback and critiques 😌 only partially edited as well so keep that in mind lol

tw: mentions of death, war, bodily harm, blood, food shortages

Tag list (dm me if you want to be a part of the club lol): @skidotto @idonthaveapenname

Ch. 8

They started calling it “the Bitches Siege.” It enraged May’s men in a way that made her proud, no matter how twisted the circumstances.

The makeshift barricade lasted longer than anticipated, especially after the local masons and carpenters took to work reinforcing it on their own volition. Food and certain other supplies were growing scarce, though that was to be expected from a siege. It wasn’t going to end in a matter of days; they’d be lucky if it were over in a matter of weeks, if not months.

May was a studied Duchess, understanding more than others the ramification of what this attack could mean. It’d been months since Giardin’s men were at her gates; they had settled their three-generation long debacle after May had all but killed him in hand-to-hand. She knew him as a coward, but never expected him to yield. The truce was signed within the day. And, considering the lengths at which they were at odds, she had never seen him possess such tactics.

But what would he know about Oryn?

There were no secrets among her men. At least, none that May couldn’t control. Oryn was a secret that was spread wide throughout the manor and surrounding encampment, the stories of a man who can become a beast saving the day.

Little did they know that the entire attempt at this siege was one made on Oryn’s life.

It was obvious who they were searching for; they distracted as many of May’s men as they could with the hopes that Oryn would be tucked away into the saferoom that they must have known about long before May herself had discovered it.

How was it all related to the summons she received from the King? The call to war?

She had yet to call a meeting to discuss anything more than battle tactics with her men. The looks of desperation and curiosity grew in numbers with each passing day, more and more of them needing answers to feel satiated. But May didn’t have any.

Someone is leagues and leagues ahead of me, calculating every step I take and making sure I fall into place like the pawn they want me to be. Whether it’s one of my own men, someone from the church, some imposter hiding amongst the chaos—

“You’re brooding,” Demetrius’s heavy hands clapped together as he stood at attention next to may, staring ahead.

“Planning,” May interjected, sighing as she changed her own stance to match his. They stood atop the barricade as the sun set, the small flames of invader campfires glowing softly in the distance.

“We need to ask for further assistance,” he mumbled, his brows setting deeper. “Look at them all out there. A few thousand, at least.”

“We can hold,” she said, her own confidence wavering in her voice, “I’m not concerned about the barricade. You know it comes down to supplies, which we’re steadily running out of.” She sighed. “Any word yet?”

He shook his head, not daring to make eye contact. “I doubt there will be,” he scoffed.

May’s jaw tightened. “I’m not going to disagree with you, Demetrius, but what proof do we have?”

“Who else knew?”

She took a moment to respond, wishing she could ignore the obvious signs. “You know what that would mean, Demetrius! That’s treason. I can’t risk that yet.”

“Then when?” He finally looked right at her, the anger flaring in his eyes. “When our men are starving? When we’ve eaten all the mounts and burned the last of our fuel?”

She glared at him the way one does when you’ve disrespected your superiors. “I’ve sent my ravens. Until we get a response, the only thing we can do is wait.”

Demetrius shook his head, turning to face straight ahead again. “You know,” he started, “I don’t know much about politics; never cared to. But playing their games can only end one way. Your father knew that.”

May’s jaw tensed as the taste of acid coated her tongue. “My father…” she fought against the lump forming in her throat. “I’m standing firm, General. Tend to your men. I doubt a raid tonight, but be prepared nonetheless.”

She felt his eyes on her back as she descended.

“It has to be about him,” he called after her.

“I know.”

-

There was no brooding after this kill, just a constant worry nagging in the back of Oryn’s head about Alec; the young boy reminded them so much of… some warm and tingly feeling. May’s men quickly turned the dining hall of her manor into a makeshift infirmary; there weren’t enough structures that would properly hold out all the elements within the barricades wall. This was the safest they could get, dying amongst one another.

May’s boots made a crisp sound as they clicked across the stone, walking amongst the rows of beds. It couldn’t be more than maybe a hundred of them—if that—but every single one of them was a devastating blow when your entire retinue only consisted of maybe 600 men total.

There was no doubt that she continued to inspire them just by being in their presence, allowing them to gaze upon the person they thought was wiser and more deserving than themselves. In the recent weeks, however, she could tell that the light behind their eyes was slowly fading. They didn’t see an end coming soon to the carnage, no matter how slowly it was reaped.

She looked from one patient to the next, smiling and shaking hands and bowing as was expected of her. It took longer than she would have liked, but she finally approached Alec’s bed, where Oryn was perched by his feet hunched over a massive tome.

His injuries weren’t as severe as May had assumed. The burns were the worst of it, taking the longest to heal and the only reason he was still being kept in bed.

“How are you holding up?” May smiled, meeting his gaze. He couldn’t help but smile back at her, his eyes still full of hope.

“You could’ve let me up days ago,” he said, nudging Oryn with his foot under the blanket. “But at least now you’re letting me be useful.”

Oryn nodded, shuffling where they sat and waving their hand at whatever it was Alec said, too absorbed by the book in their lap to have heard anything.

“He’d do really well with proper tutors,” Alec said, all but beaming with pride. “I never thought Clergy History was too fun, but we have to cover that first before we start with the real stuff. Look at this,” he said, immediately changing the subject as he slowly peeled back one of the bandages wrapped around his arm.

May peered into the healing wound, still leaking a bit here and there with the skin having faded from a vicious red into a more tender pink. “You seem more anxious than excited to get out of bed,” she said, eyeing him with suspicion. “I don’t want you fighting yet. Besides,” she gestured towards Oryn who had all but stuck their face right up against the aging parchment, “it’s too important to teach him about the world. I can’t risk you,” she tousled his hair, not realizing the care in the gesture until her hand was back at her side.

He laughed before pouting as he fixed his hair. He really was just a boy.

“Alright,” May sighed, “I’m sorry to have to pull you away from your studies,” she waved a hand in between Oryn’s face and the pages of their book, finally pulling them away from whatever they were reading, “But you and I have some planning to discuss.”

Chapter 9 😌

Since college has started back up, I've taken a step back from writing *more* of the story and have been really focused on editing what I have, both for grammatical errors but also lots of worldbuilding, plot heavy stuff. Alluding to different events, setting up later plot lines, etc. I'll be going back and editing previous posts for the chapters as I go through them, but haven't yet! Stay tuned for that lol.

tw: mentions of restrains, bondage, bodily gore and harm, knives, blood, war, grief, death

tag list: @skidotto @idonthaveapenname

Ch. 9

“Is it too tight?” Starla mumbled as she gave a tug to the thick rope binding Oryn’s wrists together. They shook their head, eyelids drooping as a yawn escaped their lips.

The three witches worked in tandem as they set everything out of the room one at a time, slowly taking care not to break anything. As Maureen cast a soft yet powerful protective ward on the hard floor, Starla and Elisa continued with securing Oryn to the wooden bedpost atop the extra mattress.

The tears brimming in Starla’s eyes were in stock contrast to the anger in Maureen’s and the fear in Elisa’s. As the three of them woke together every morning, they wondered if they would survive the following night.

“It won’t work forever,” Elisa mumbled.

“I know,” Starla said, hiccupping a soft cry. “What happens then?”

“Fuck them all,” Maureen chided, finishing the transcription on the floor before lighting the lone candle on the windowsill. “Fuck that old man on that stupid throne, fuck the clergy, fuck every high councilor who had any hand in this… this ridiculous plan!” she grabbed at the windowsill with her bony fingers,

“Maureen—”

“No!” She screamed, ripping off a part of the ornately carved wooden piece, splinters falling to the ground as she crumbled the wood in her fist. “Fuck them all! Especially that good for nothing, washed up, old geezer who thought he had any right to lay a hand on her! To bring her into this! To bring us into this!”

She stormed to Oryn in her rage, her hands twitching as she looked down at the small child. It hadn’t even been a year since they found their way into the Witches care. The concoction given to them to help them sleep had already taken affect, their head lolling to the side as their chest moved with even breaths.

“It would be so easy to kill it,” she muttered, watching. Waiting.

Starla looked at her, whispering, “But he’s just a child.” Another tear rolled down her cheek.

“He killed her!” Maureen roared, turning on her two lovers with more rage than they had thought she could hold. “That bastard…. That monster… all I see when I look at him is her blood. I can’t…”

She stalks from the room, hands soft and laden at her sides, closing the door behind her.

Elisa looked at Oryn. Starla looked towards the window with the broken sill.

“It won’t ever be the same,” she muttered as she made her way towards Oryn, still lost to slumber.

“No,” Starla said, “it won’t.” She put a hand on Elisa’s back, leaning her head against her shoulder as Elisa continued to tie Oryn down. “But it’s not our place to choose these things.”

Elisa scoffed, wiping away a tear. “How do you still believe? After all this?”

She shrugged, pulling away from the bed and looking upon Oryn again. Elisa stood again next to her. “I don’t.” She pulled her tight into her chest, holding her close, letting her sob into her. “The Waters and Winds… it’s all a lie, Elisa. But with him… with that child here, it’s impossible for me to believe in nothing. Not with all he can do.”

~

“You’ve been reading about the clergy?” May set down the hot mug on the table between the two chairs, sitting in the empty one next to Oryn.

Oryn nodded, crossing their legs in the chair and leaning against the cushioned back, holding the warm mug to their chest. “It’s interesting. I didn’t know people could be so… structured.”

May laughed softly, only bringing more comfort into the room with them. The soft fire blazed lazily in the mantle before them. “That’s something you’ll keep finding as you keep learning. People like to control things. You can’t control things unless you make rules and make sure people follow them.”

“And to make them follow the rules you, what, reward them with titles? With the right to… do what they want?”

May sighed, looking towards Oryn. The differences in their features didn’t disturb May as much as they used to; she had grown to expect them every now and again. It was the calm look in their eyes that she found jarring. The way they were suddenly so calm in the midst of the first siege Ilucia had seen since before her father’s time; most don’t take their first battle well, let alone their first intentional kill. And Oryn was so…

“You’re staring.” They said, sitting straighter in their chair.

May shrugged, looking towards the fire and taking a sip from their mug. “Do you know how you got to be with them? Out in the cabin?” She knew it’d be a hard conversation to have.

Oryn let out a deep breath and set down their cup, closing theri eyes and leaning back again in the chair. There was a soft drone creeping its way towards May’s brain, starting from the base of her neck. She shivered as she realized it was comforting her.

“My mother died in childbirth,” they started, “I don’t know much about her. The Witches never told me; they said to never ask.” They opened their eyes and looked towards May as the skin around their jaw started to shift. First, she thought it must have been a trick of the dancing firelight, the shadows playing across their face. But the longer she watched, the more she could truly see the change.

Pain painted Oryn’s face as they continued, May unable to look away. “There was a man named Jonas. He was so old back then; I doubt he’s still alive. I met him once and he said he was there when she died, when I was born. He was the one who took me to them, out at the cabin.”

As they hissed softly between their teeth and gripped the arms of the chair, Oryn’s skin seemed to become a shimmering blanket of thin silk, bubbling and molding itself to the bones that had started to shift from one angle to another.

May shook her head. “You have to know more than that, even if they didn’t tell you.” It was a sight to behold.

As they slowly writhed in their seat while the rest of their body contorted, Oryn continued to talk through the pains. “Not much,” they stuttered, hunching over themselves. Their spine protruded from their skin, the vertebrae contorting with every small move they made. Their skin tore and regrew, the sinew stretching over the fresh wounds like an artist painting something anew. Oryn heaved, sucking in a breath between the agony, meeting eyes with May as their face was lost to the mass overtaking them; no, becoming them.

“They never told you what you are?” May whispered, brows furrowed as she studied them changing, the pounding in her head begging her to do something—anything—as she fought to resist it.

Oryn’s maw sat agape, brown teeth like daggers dripping opaque saliva as the eyes sitting behind their snout rolled back to the front of their head, the lids opening ever so slowly.

“I don’t think,” they huffed, voice no longer human, “they ever knew.”

They could only hold that form for a moment before crumpling in on themselves, the ravenous SNAP of realigning bone making May jump in her seat. Their skin was gray, sagging along their joints as it slowly rippled itself back to where it was meant to sit. But even then, the place where it was meant to sit was something different now.

Oryn’s head hung low, chin on their chest as their jaw ground itself down, chest heaving erratic breaths. “I don’t think anybody does.”

The heat building in May’s chest was abruptly extinguished, the thrumming in the back of her head ceasing. “We can find out,” she said, determination cascading through the room with her voice.

“Do you think there was a book they didn’t read?” Oryn laughed, sighing to themselves. “A spell they didn’t try?” They looked up towards May, their body shaking. “There’s never been any reason to it; never any explanation. I’ve never had control. Not until—”

“The fire. The start of the siege.”

The smile flitting along Oryn’s lips was small, but noticed. “I’m learning,” they muttered, slowly standing on shaky legs and walking with a limp towards the fire, leaning into its light. Their jaw was softer, their eyelashes longer, their body still a recovering version of what it’ll be once it’s finished. “I’ve ruined so many things. Destroyed so much, ridden with so much guilt…”

May stood and joined them huddling by the fire. “It can’t be your fault if you were never taught how to control it.”

“I know,” Oryn turned to face her, “I didn’t realize how much I didn’t know; how much they kept from me.” They smiled, a soft look of reverence overcoming their face. “I think I understand war now, May.”

“Really?”

“If someone is trying to kill you,” they said, “and you don’t want to die, then you’ll have to kill them first. Not because you want to.”

May shuffled a bit where she stood, sighing. “Almost, but… Well, that’s self-defense, I guess. War is a lot more than merely protecting yourself. Hell, if that’s all it was, I could only imagine where I’d be now.” Her gaze was lost in the fire.

“What I did, then, up in the attic… I didn’t do war? I just protected myself?”

May stood back a bit and laughed. She couldn’t help it, no matter the circumstances. “No, no. Gods,” she shoved Oryn lightly. “You don’t do war; you partake in it. It’s too big to think about in terms as simple as that,” she grabbed their mugs from the table between the empty chairs, handing Oryn theirs as she took a sip of her own. “And I’d say you did more than just protect yourself up there. You protected us,” she motioned to the room around them.

Oryn nodded, holding their cup with confidence. “Demetrius, Alec, you…” they lost themselves in thought for a brief moment, then met May’s eyes again. “And without you, who would be running the place? Who would be protecting these people?” Oryn’s eyes went wide, finally realizing that there’s another side to the coin bearing guilt.

May smiled and finished her tea, sauntering towards the door of the office. “With the control you were just able to exhibit,” she said, opening the door and motioning for Oryn to follow, “I think it’d be best if we starting getting you into a more… structured routine.”

Chapter 10 aaaa!!! Things really start picking up now as the siege has put its pressure on Ilucia to the point of nearly breaking it, a strange visitor all but seemingly an omen for turning tides.

Still editing the earlier chapters, so stay tuned for those edits!!! And all feedback welcome, of course please and thank you 😌

tw: blood, death, bodily harm, horror, war, food shortages

Tag list: @skidotto @idonthaveapenname

Ch. 10

“You know,” Maureen was covered from fingertips to forearm in slick blood, the pungent smell of iron and the very beginning of decay permeating throughout the dank room beneath the cabin. “There are those who would have us hanged for what we do.”

Starla etched away at the blade of the old knife, intricate runes taking a long while to carve on such a sharp and old piece of silver. The dust piling on the table was picked up by a gust of wind gently sailing through the open window. “Since when have you cared about those who’d hang us?”

Elisa grunted with disdain as she held the struggling sack of birds underwater, the churning quickly fading away as they met their deaths. “It’s one thing to be heretical,” she mumbled, her breath heavy as a bead of sweat dripped from her brow into the now still sink, “It’s another to do what we find ourselves doing.”

The three of them continued to work mostly in silence. It had become routine, yet none of them found comfort in it. When they closed their eyes at night, they no longer dreamt of each other’s warm embrace and being at one with Vitality. Instead, they bled carcass after carcass dry, praying to whatever gods they thought might listen to make each dying breath the last they would hear unless it be their own.

It was a true waste of what they could do, but they did it nonetheless. Each animal sacrificed; each child butchered… Was there any such thing as the greater good while you pulled the meat from the bones of a babe? Any grief felt when the hundredth dying heart was held in their hands, pink matter turning gray as the bucket at their feet filled?

The three of them sat amongst the riverbed as the child ate. Their feet were drifting in the clear water, the cold not enough to numb them the way they needed. The blood under their fingernails was dark and browning, no amount of river water able to wash it away.

“We’ll die before it happens,” Starla said, looking nowhere in particular as the sun began to set across the horizon. “If we’re bringing this upon the world, I don’t want to see it when it happens.”

Elisa nodded.

Maureen’s gaze didn’t change—it rarely did anymore.

“Let’s decide now.”

The three of them continued to sit in silence for a while. Starla knowing when she’d like it to end, Elisa never wanting it to, and Maureen wishing it would have long ago.

Maureen closed her eyes, breathing in the fresh earth around her as dug her blood-stained fingers into the dirt beneath her. “Everything we stood for was toppled in an instant. All the love we’ve ever felt greedily taken from us. There will come a time where our deaths will have that same impact on him. Then. That’s when we do it. I want him to hurt.”

~

It was dark. Late. Most men who had been well enough to be tended to in the manor’s once-banquet hall had found themselves hobbling on two feet again, well enough to stir a pot or muck the stables if not picking up the sword. The longer the barricade held, the more secure they became in their positions. Less of them were hit by the searching arrows as they learned where the best nooks and crannies were to seek cover, got quicker with the barrels of hot oil, rarely allowing the enemy to cross the threshold.

And yet the standstill was putting them all on edge. This wasn’t a matter of holding their ground; they could do that in their sleep. They needed an offensive play and, from behind a siege wall, it was far easier said than done.

“If you held the meeting and announced your loyalty, it would end. Isn’t that what we want? Isn’t that the goal?” Demetrius followed May at as close a range he could as she hurried through the halls.

She strode with purpose, her boots hitting the floor as thunder roared in the sky above the manor. “My loyalty has been sworn for as long as my bloodline has commanded Ilucia,” a slow pounding rhythm started sounding near the base of her skull as the rage in her blood boiled hotter, thicker, “and I am committed to the oaths I took.”

He sighed, grinding his jaw. “We’d never win against him. You know this.”

She shook her head, her hand gracing the sword in its hilt at her side, “This is not a matter of control to the crown—”

“Then what else!” His whispered shouts were hoarse, his eyes all but emerging from his skull as his face turned red.

May stopped in her tracks, facing him for a moment. Before her lips opened, he knew the answer.

“You don’t feel it? You don’t know?” the pounding in her head grew in strength, as did her conviction.

For just a second, they stood there in silence, the rain hitting the roof so far overhead.

“It ends tonight, Demetrius. When it does, you’ll see that I’m right.”

They made their way through the corridor and down the once-grand set of stairs, the few candle nubs and spent torches barely lighting the rough stone walls. The muffled sounds of the raging storm were both a blessing and a curse: only a fool would procure an attack under such circumstances, while the makeshift village of tents and shacks scattering the courtyard would all but be washed away in the aftermath. She’d have opened the doors to the manor weeks ago for more stable shelter had Demetrius not reminded her that she didn’t know who she could trust.

Oryn and Alec were already standing near the main entrance, shrouded by the shadows playing off the dripping walls and shuffling where they stood.

A shiver ran through Demetrius’s spine as he leaned towards May. “The boy can’t be a part of this.”

No one was summoned to the hall.

In fact, May hadn’t thought she’d be running into Demetrius as she assuredly slunk into her armor, peeking through darkened windows to see if she could spot any wayward fires amongst the storming winds. Of course, there were none.

When she opened the heavy oak door, his silhouette was lurking just beyond its precipice. Something’s about to happen, he’d said.

May took an uneven breath as she looked over Oryn’s figure covered by the heavy robes they wore to sleep. The bit of their body that she could see was taught, straining itself against something unseen.

They feel it, too.

“Alec, go back to your chambers.” May’s voice was firm.

His hair was ruffled at its ends, bits and pieces sticking up from what must have been restless sleep, if any at all. He wasn’t wearing any armor, just his boy’s pajamas. His cheeks flushed a deep, hot red as the pounding in his head slowly started to fade and he found himself for what he was.

He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat as he turned on his heel. “You’re… you’re all about to go and do something,” he muttered under his breath, not wanting to show how embarrassed he felt as the little boy who could barely hold a sword. “And I won’t be much help. But there has to be something. A reason to… Why’d I come down here?”

The rain continued its relentless beating against the manor. Time seemed to slow.

There was a slow, solid knock on the door behind them.

hi tumblr! this is a short story draft I’m working on, hope y’all enjoy

there once was a gentle giant named quan. he was large, as most giants are, with a body as slender and strong as a teak tree. his hair was like a dark pool of ink, and grew long and straight down his back. his thin eyes were a deep brown, and when he smiled his lovely smile, they crinkled.

quan lived in a rainy forest full of leafy trees that stretched as far as the eye could see. he loved the forest, and tended to it like it was his child. when humans came and tried to burn it or cut it, he scared them away. when animals came, he welcomed them with green tea and his finest lychees.

for a while, that was enough. the trees and the animals were all the love quan needed. they began to call him quan the lovely, for that was who he was; a seemingly bottomless vessel of love.

but it was not to last. slowly, sadness slipped into his life. “even the trees have each other to love,“ he thought. “I must content myself with being a witness to their joy. they might as well call me quan the lonely. all I want is to be loved. is that too much to ask?”

quan cried and cried, and the animals cried with him, for they hated to see their friend sad. after a while, a little greenfinch named mai pecked him on the shoulder and asked, “well, have you tried making someone to love?” quan blinked, confused. “making someone? whatever do you mean, mai?”

mai chirped, “well, you wish for a great love, is that right?” quan nodded. “but only you know who your great love would be, so why don’t you just create them? you have lived for a thousand years and have enough love in your hands to create a thousand hearts.” “I suppose you are correct,“ quan said thoughtfully.

and off he went, with a new spring in his step and a plan brewing in his mind.

author’s note: I hope you have a safe holiday break and get plenty of rest and relaxation. :) I might turn into a series, it was fun to write. Likes and follows are appreciated.

all my love, minh.

Concepts for my OC webcomic, Moon of Ronos!

This time around it's a concept sheet for a group of people called the Engineers.

The Engineers were originally humans blessed with a passion for mechanics. They fled to the sky when they gained enough mechanical prowess to build spires capable of existing far up beyond the heavens. They shortly thereafter cut off complete contact with the surface, leaving them as an elusive group now housed in the surface dwellers minds as nothing more than a memory that was fading with time.

Here's the main concept sheet!

I have to work on the rest of the specifics for these people, they're actually a revamp I've been working on of a concept I made back in 2020.

If you'd like to read my webcomic, it's on webtoon! Next episode comes out November 1st!

www.webtoons.com

Moon of Ronos

A child of mysterious origin wakes up with no understanding of where or who they are. Joined by a blue flame and guided by a group of eight