doctolka

[doctolka]

So, I know it's been a bit since I posted an excerpt (or really posted at all) but I just saw a post about trigger warnings, and thought I should put this out there.

The stuff I write, though not necessarily the stuff I typically post, is not light. My writing deals with topics that are really common triggers, I think, and though I am usually not explicit with the details, I know everyone's triggers do not work the same way...

So if you're a regular reader of my blog, and I post more than one piece that has one (or more) of your triggers in it, please let me know. I won't promise to avoid it, but I will note that it is a trigger, and try to remember to add a warning if I touch on it in the future. If you don't want me to know who you are, that's fine! You can 100% ask me anonymously

[doctolka]

writeblr intro <3

for the last time, hopefully, hi!!

my name is leah, i’m sixteen and i’m a writer. i’ve revamped my tumblr for the third time, after a year of creative burnout bc of covid and the steady decline my life has been on

but now i’m back, and with me i bring:

faking royalty. arguably my proudest creation, my child that just gets better and better every single year. this is a dark academia wip that has been ongoing since 2018(?), and i am never letting go of it until it is either (by some miracle) published or i have died. seriously. it is now on its fifth (and what i hope is its) last rewrite, so who knows

it focuses on theo and rose—the boyfriend and *secret lover* of brooklyn cavers, the dead girl. brooklyn’s death (through circumstances that cant be revealed bc i like feeling relevant enough to have spoilers) activates an old curse that destroys everyone’s lives, but no one suffers the brunt of it more than theo and rose, which is why they learn to coexist, in the simplest of terms.

my attempt at nanowrimo 2021. yes, i’ll be knee deep in my senior year, doing the ibdp and applying to college. so what. nanowrimo baby!!!!!

my writing (excerpts from wips, little prompts i write to get the creative juices flowing)

moodboards i make when i should be writing

odd tidbits that relate to my experience in writing and just life

i don’t have many (read: any) writer friends so i’d love to get to know new people—if youre a writer, reblog this so i can follow you, or send me a message or an ask (a simple “hey let’s be friends” will be enough for me to melt into a puddle of goo) so we can be friends!!

[doctolka]

12-31-17 | 11:01 PM

New Writeblr!

As the new year rolls in, I figured it’s high time I started a writeblr.

Call me Kai! I’m eighteen, and I’ve been writing since I was little. My hope is that by starting this blog, I’ll be able to sharpen my writing skills and hopefully inspire others to write!

I’m a fiction writer, and most of my work centres around fantasy, friendship, and romance. As well as writing snippets and tips, I also plan to release little snippets of my WIPs—so if that interests you, please don’t hesitate to hit that follow button and keep your eyes peeled!

If you’re a writeblr or a writer, please reblog and follow so I can follow you back! I’m looking forward to writing with you all.

[doctolka]

Personally, I got into it after reading the Artemis Fowl series, because the cipher is really important to the first plot and the symbols written about the edges of the page.

My second page is just a series of examples (some of my oc's names) that I neglected to label when I wrote this down. The larger, central glyph is the first sound, so for the top one of the second page it's M, and the following sounds spiral about it from the last point the pen touched. Each set is one person's name, the first's Marcus Tyldian, followed by Tirosh Balend, Jaette Covrrillo, Edlaise Lo'Bourelle and Veldan Calow. So basically, each spiral is a word.

I think it would be cool to have each spiral be its own sentence or phrase, but idk how i'd get the words separated out in a way that was easy to read....

I see that you seem to be using vertical bars as spaces... do you mind if I ask how you separate clauses an sentences? Thanks!

[Image ID: a notebook page filled with symbols and scribbles as I try to work out a writing system for The Laoche Chronicles. I practice writing my characters' names in the script. End Image ID.]

I refuse to make a conlang because I do Not have that kind of time, but I always loved having secret codes as a kid. Anyone else spend hours scribbling at symbols? Just me?

Anyhow, here's a mockup script. It's not inspired by any particular alphabet or writing system, but I was playing around with simple shapes that could connect and form around the lines of the paper. Vowels get added where they fit around the constants that get crammed together. I imagine the characters would use brush pens to write it, making it more like calligraphy, except I only have ballpoints rn. This is specifically used in Arga during the Laoche Chronicles.

I'm still working out what feels the best, so if you have any suggestions or want to try it for yourself, feel free!

[doctolka]

IThis is actually great, 'cause I thought I was only one that did this!

Mine works more based on sounds than on distinct letters, so certain symbols make certain sounds, with sort of "phonetic" modifiers (hard, soft, etc.) that ring the first symbol clockwise from its tail.

if you'd like to exchange notes, I'd be more than happy to (pretty sure my hick accent skips a good half-dozen sounds, but)!

[Image ID: a notebook page filled with symbols and scribbles as I try to work out a writing system for The Laoche Chronicles. I practice writing my characters' names in the script. End Image ID.]

I refuse to make a conlang because I do Not have that kind of time, but I always loved having secret codes as a kid. Anyone else spend hours scribbling at symbols? Just me?

Anyhow, here's a mockup script. It's not inspired by any particular alphabet or writing system, but I was playing around with simple shapes that could connect and form around the lines of the paper. Vowels get added where they fit around the constants that get crammed together. I imagine the characters would use brush pens to write it, making it more like calligraphy, except I only have ballpoints rn. This is specifically used in Arga during the Laoche Chronicles.

I'm still working out what feels the best, so if you have any suggestions or want to try it for yourself, feel free!

[doctolka]

Hey! I'm new to writeblr so I thought I'd do a wee intro.

I'm Iona, I'm 19, queer, a Hufflepuff, and I live in Scotland. My pronouns are she/her. I'm a uni student so I never have enough time to write lol. I mostly write NA fantasy but I do like to experiment and try new things. I also write a lot of LGBTQ+ stories and my favourite trope is found family.

I have way too many WIPs but my main ones are A Girl Worth Fighting For (a medieval sapphic short story about a knight and a princess), The Sinira Chronicles (a high fantasy series about kindness in the face of evil, family ties, and found family), and the Gladiators series (about four people from different backgrounds navigating their brutal, Roman Empire-esque world).

I would love to chat to other writers so feel free to message me!

[doctolka]

I just realized I haven’t done an intro for writeblr so here it is!!

Hi! For privacy purposes, I’m not sharing my real name, but you can call me Pluto!

Some facts about me:

19 years old

Cisgender (closeted to family) bisexual, she/her

Taking a BFA in Creative Writing

Filipino, but I cannot write creatively in Filipino even at a dagger’s point

Leo sun, Taurus moon, Scorpio rising

INFP-T (a turbulent mediator)

I am obsessed with Pad Thai

I play the piano and the guitar. I also have a cello but I’m only learning it for fun so I’m quite fucking terrible at it

A gist of my music taste: TWICE and Florence + The Machine

I had a semester of French classes and now I’m learning on my own 🥴

I have a (very empty) blog for essays and other think pieces. This writeblr is for short fictional pieces I want to share but don’t want certain people seeing just because I’m shy 👉👈

Works in progress:

Weather, Weather - drama/realism, third draft in progress, for a graded workshop

Hounds - science fiction (neo-noir set in a futuristic Manila, Philippines), outlining stage

The Adarna League - high fantasy loosely based on the Filipino epic, Ibong Adarna, just very very conceptual at the moment

My friends and I are planning on writing a screenplay. I can’t say too much but it’s going to be a modern heist story also set in Manila and I’m in love with it

I’d love to interact with the people here so let’s be friends!! 🥺👉👈

PS. I’m girlbossing and Marie Kondo-ing by selling some old books! If there are any Filipinos here in the NCR or CALABARZON area that are interested, hit me up!

[doctolka]

Writeblr is quiet right now...

Obviously, no shade; I know a lot of people are busy with exams!

However: Today is my Tumblr-versary. It’s been one year since I joined with the explicit intent of sharing my writing, and I’ve been thrilled at how how delightful, welcoming and positive the Writeblr community is. 

Despite this, I know we often feel like we’re shouting into the void. Something we put out soul into only gets single-digit notes and it can be disheartening. Finding things in the noise (and with the janky algorithm) can be tough. But my queue is empty and I’d like to fill it back up with your gorgeous works.

So in honour of the community that took me in and got me writing again, I thought I’d extend an offer:

Interact with this post in any way, and I’ll run through your blog and boost any of your works, fan or original!

If there’s something specific you want boosted, or a tag I should be looking at, drop a line in the notes, and it’ll get boosted. I’m looking forward to reading everything :D

[doctolka]

a writeblr introduction!

hello, i’m ina, and i’ve been writing for years. i’m nineteen, a pisces, and a literature major in my first year of uni. i used to have a writeblr years ago but i deleted it, but now i’m back! because i finally have ideas to share!

my current wip: copeyu. ya fantasy, pirate-ish. inspired by chilean folktales.

copeyu is a ghost ship that everyone in giyun has heard tales about. regardless of the warning, suzzi dayani does not believe it’s real. that all changes when, after a storm, she finds herself aboard the ship, with no soul and a family to get back to. she makes friends with some passengers, and they set off to rescuing suzzi’s soul from the hands of keyuma and koyume, the mermaid siblings in charge of bringing people to the ship.

i’m super excited to be sharing my ideas and my writing with you guys!! and i hope you’ll welcome me into the community <3

tagging a few of my favorite writeblrs (i hope that’s ok!!): @mshelleys @ikilledmyocs @anomaly00 @emdrabbles @bebewrites @heartwarning

[doctolka]

Hello please reblog this if you're okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better

[doctolka]

These are actually REALLY helpful, even just as a ‘huh, i didn’t know i was doing that.’ They really helped me to start thinking more about the process and less of just tossing shit down...

Check out Brandon Sanderson: "Chef Writer VS Cook Writer"

[doctolka]

many thanks to @spencer-nyx for the tag! This is the 'first spoken words' tag game:

Veldan, my lost boy...

"Excuse me, sir, but could I bother you for directions?" he asked when the clerk turned toward him.

Tirosh, my nefarious criminal...

"I think my business is my own Captain," Tirosh replied smoothly, turning to face the taller man, "Rest assured that you are not carrying a fugitive, or any other sort of nefarious individual."

Jaette, the alchemist-in-training...

"Um..." the truth wat that she had, in fact, wasted a whole day. On useless research that could never have told her much of anything to begin with, "Well... Shadowspawn are practically immortal---but we already knew that---the less humanoid they are, in most cases, the better they wear the mantle of said immortality. Oh! Except for this old guy named..." she paused to consult her notes, "'Banon Draifus---'"

Edlaise, my warrior princess...

"I killed something. Whether or not it was what the man was asking about, I don't have any clue, seeing as he didn't describe the damn thing."

Reji, the Daratan pyromaniac...

"Father," the other spoke. Not a man after all. Woman. "surely they are not our enemies?"

Cadwyn, the drafted intellectual...

"The pillars," he muttered to himself, "runed. Static? Those should be impossible."

Gonna tag @starlitesymphony and @dareyoutoread-blog, since they're on the taglist for this WIP (feel free to let me know if you want to be added; mostly I just post excerpts...) even though they've probably already done this, as well as anyone else who wants to do this (feel free to say I tagged you, if you like!)

[doctolka]

Tumblr: *rolls out “best stuff first”*

My blog:

[doctolka]

Hey everyone, hope you're doing well.... I just want to let everyone know that I'm going on a break for a little while, since I'm settling into a new routine and it's hard for me to write when shit's changing.

I should be back to post as sporadically as I always do within a week or two. Until then, I might not be even looking at the excellent work that you all are doing, but know that I do approve! Thanks, folks!

[doctolka]

Intro to New WIP: The War of the Shadows Book 1

This is my last post tonight, I *promise*. I'm out of coffee and excerpts that make sense out of context. The former is probably going to be more influential....

Anyway, this is the opening scene (currently) of my new WIP, which takes places several hundred years prior to the other one (yeah, that one's still not done. I know), during the fabled War of the Shadows. It introduces the root causes of some of the disagreements and problems in the modern, and was actually the first plot I built for Adoana... So without further ado....

A Guide to Adoana...

Note: I'm leaving off the taglist for Adoana, since this is technically a new WIP and I don't like assuming people are on board... so if you want me to make a taglist for this, and want to be on it, do let me know!

It was a dark summers night when the first of the band began to arrive in the pre-ordained clearing. Chismos shone darkly overhead, the barest glimmer of its swirling blue light breaking in through the treetops. They had chosen this location well; they did not wish to be disturbed this night. It was an assured place, safe from prying eyes, and far enough away from the city walls that even the sharpest-eyed soldier in the highest tower would not see their meeting had they been looking straight at it.

They were very self-assured, these cultists, as they filed into the clearing, each bearing their respective talismans and rune-inscribed voidglass. This one was from the city, look at all his rings, glittering in the light of the candle he brought about; many cultists only used the finest candles. That one was a poor farmer, though his face lay hidden like the rest by a deep cowl, his rough hands worrying the rounded wooden bowls he held. That trio, warming their hands over a small brazier, they were merchants, their charges already placed: a stark white blanket, soon to be red, covered a set of folding desks; a set of seven voidglass-covered boards sat waiting, with a stack of parchment and charcoal beside.

The final two of the ranks entered the circle of dim light with heavy burlap sacks over their shoulders. They were contacts, the face of the organization that worked with the various undergrounds in the region: a supply of bodies, both warm and long cold, was always a profitable venture. This night, only on of the sacks contained a body as they emptied them onto the ground.

She was a fair maiden, long of hair and thin of bodice, a light green chemise. Likely she had been taken from her bedchambers, hoisted out after drinking carefully drugged water, or after a sharp knock on the head. The two contacts lifted her up to the prepared table, then began to distribute the tools of their trade: colored powders for the fires, some mixed with an incense that would drive those near the brazier to intoxication and even greater fervor than they could get into without it. The woman, directly next to the fire, would be driven to the brink of insanity, if not past it, her mind shattered by the sudden influx of alchemical magics, and leave perfect roosting ground for the beast the cultists were so eager to summon away from prying eyes.

Had they the care to look upward, however, they might have seen that there were indeed eyes to pry, several of them, in fact, perched like so many awkward birds amongst the long limbs of the trees.

Like birds they had feathers, poking out this way and that, in such a way that the trees might have had more fletching in them than leaves, so stuffed were their quivers. And all their bows were held ready to draw, heads already aligned with their targets; all that remained now was for the cultists to begin, and signal their watchers that all members were present.

As if on cue, the man with many ringlets marched to the head of the group, so that a line drawn connecting them all would make a fine teardrop, seven paces tall and four wide, with a sacrifice in the middle. He raised his sparkling hands high, beginning a low, sonorous chanting which the rest took up just after. His hands were filled with the dyes, secreted safely in pouches to burn in the fire. Marcus drew his fletching to his jaw with a creaking of bowstrings about him. The man tilted an arm back to throw as he inhaled, and Marcus released just as the man’s arm began whipping forward.

A burst of yellow powder was quickly followed by a less vibrant burst of red as the long, blade-shaped arrowhead split the man’s hood and temple. A cacophony of surprised shouts and screams rose underneath them as the hail of arrows rained down, each striking true as a mounted troop jogged into the clearing, lances high.

Some few dismounted, drawing their swords, while the rest rode about, back into the woods to harry the cultists back into the hellfire of the clearing. They were a motley assortment, their arms and armor as mismatched as if they were but farmers. Which, after a fashion, they were. Or had once been.

Marcus nocked and loosed again, choosing this time on of the contacts as he slipped past the ring of steel toward the untended horses. He fell with no fewer than four arrows through his chest—or rather her chest, her hood falling back as she fell—and plenty other littered the ground where she had once stood.

For a battle, it was silent, a ritual for the hunters just so much as it had been a ritual for the cultists. Stalk, ambush, kill. Rinse and repeat. That’s what Marcus had done for well over two years now, and many of his comrades even longer. With exception of the screams of the cultists, and the occasional grunt by a hunter as one turned to fight, it was quiet. No shouting orders, no horns or drums or horses galloping across a field.

It was, to put it bluntly, a massacre.

Tirosh dropped to the ground just as Marcus did, drawing his long hunting knife even though the fighting was wrapping up. He was a King’s Ranger, on loan along with a couple of others from King Relnero of Corval to help bolster their numbers. Fredrick was fighting to drive all of these witches out of the man’s kingdom, after all.

There was one cultist left standing as the rest of the bowmen slipped from their trees, dueling with one of their own. No one stepped in to help; Marion had it well under control, even though the last of the contacts was clearly trained. She was an expert duelist—she even entered in tournaments, sometimes—and even with her arming sword against the other’s longsword, it was clear to all that she was, once again, playing with the kill. Some of the men contended that she was really an Other-Kin, a Skin-Changer, and that’s why she acted the way she did, sometimes, but never within her hearing.

They twirled about each other, not in the dance that some poets call swordplay, but in the manner in which a caged wolf might stalk, and the way a deer might flee a hunter. Marion deflected thrusts and slashes alike calmly, letting them get almost close enough to her to hit before sweeping them aside. Finally, she deflected a straight thrust from the man, aimed high for her should, and swung around the outside of his sword arm, inserting her blade easily between his ribs and sliding it out in one quick pirouette. He had time to look down at the hole in his side before he fell; she had sliced both lungs and punctured his heart.

She wiped her blade on the man’s cloak as he gurgled the last of his life away. “That was entertaining,” she said lightly, returning the blade to its sheathe at her side, ornately worked with a red rose. “But why didn’t one of you louts see to the girl?”

“Just wanted to make sure that bastard didn’t have any tricks up his sleeve,” Fredrick growled. He always growled, though he was not an unkind man. “All you need is one time meeting someone as good as you out here to end the game, one for all.”

He was one of the few people who could get away with talking to Marion like that. Isaiah was another, but he was the one who healed their wounds and crafted their antidotes and poisons. He could talk to Fredrick like he was some lost puppy and get away with it. Not that he did, of course, but that did not mean he could not.

“And what of the rest of these, eh? You’d just trip over each other!” she returned, speaking first to Fredrick and then to all of them, sweeping out one long arm in a great arc. “Go see to the girl, and make sure all the fuckers are dead!

Marcus and Tirosh were the closest to the table and Marcus hid a grin from his companion as they loped over. He hated checking the pulses of the cultists. It was one thing to shoot a man, and another thing entirely to feel a man’s pulse and plunge a sword through his chest because of it. He supposed there was a mercy in it—they were almost always too wounded to survive—but it was a cruel sort of mercy, the kind that made him feel black inside, as though he were no better than these cultists that worshipped the Shadow. He checked the woman’s pulse while Tirosh gently checked to see if she was wounded; just because they hadn’t seen any wounds from the treetops didn’t mean they didn’t exist. More than once they’d rescued a victim only for them to die later on from some wound or poison they had overlooked.

Tirosh nodded his beak-like nose as he finished his assessment; the woman would be fine, when she woke. There wasn’t so much the question of if she would wake, since the incense had never made the brazier, though it was a consideration. Together the lifted the lady—who else would have dyed bedclothes? —as gently as they could from the table and tipped her up onto Fredrick’s stallion, Bright-eye. He always like to carry the victim back to safety, to Isaiah’s caring hands, even if they arrived too late. Something about it being his responsibility. He had a lot of those.

“Mount up, folks,” Fredrick called as Hisam and Regenor returned to the clearing, “I mean to be back in a warm bed by sunrise!”

Some of the men laughed at that, a rough, raucous laughter of men used to death, but still uncomfortable with it. At least the cultists hadn’t had a battlemage with them, or a medium such as a wand or staff. Only a week ago, they’d lost ten men in a raid much like this one because of a fellow with a wand. Isaiah had it now, though he was uncomfortable with the thing—he didn’t much care for violence.

As much as Fredrick wanted to be back into a town by sunrise, he didn’t make them push their horses. Fredrick didn’t make them do much of anything, really. He planned and organized their raids, and led them in that regard, put the time between raids was their own. There was nothing binding them to the party, save for the bounties.

Under typical circumstances, witch hunters like themselves would be under suspicious eye at the best from the law. Some kingdoms made them bring some witness or other—a sheriff or detective, typically—but in Corval the custom was to bring back the thumbs; the king would not stand for witches within his borders, and didn’t much care if they were caught in the act or ambushed in the streets: he would pay the bounty.

Fredrick’s group didn’t need to do that any longer—and each and every one of them thanked the ancestors for it; it was a most gruesome task—since they’d been personally tasked with removing even the slightest vestige of the ‘infestation,’ as the chamberlain had but it. Fredrick fell on the task with vigor.

They walked through the early morning, dew falling and fog rising as they worked their way out of the woods. Fredrick trotted on ahead, taking with him a good three quarters of their number, but Marcus was in no hurry, nor did it seem that Tirosh was. Though many of them thought the cultists less than human for what they did, some needed time after raids to come to terms with themselves. That category marked a significant group; the new had no trouble, or at least feigned not having it, and they passed on ahead with nary a glance to a side; the old had already come to terms, and had been for years. They had no need for quiet plodding. No, the ones that lagged behind were the ones that were old enough to recognize what they had done, but not quite seasoned enough to simply brush it away.

Marcus grabbed his reigns from Isaiah, swinging into the roan’s saddle with practiced ease. He had ridden a lot growing up, once he had gotten off the streets. It was one of his few comforts on the estates of Lord Darius Tyldian, one of the few things he could do without being watched by a half-dozen servants and guards. It was quite difficult to steal a horse, after all, from a walled-in area. Word had come recently of the odious man’s death. There were no estates waiting for him—for which he was eternally grateful and simultaneously put out—as they had all gone to his sister, an equally odious individual.

He fingered the sword laced to the saddle horn as he walked the horse through the mists. It wouldn’t be long now before they started north again, nearly to the border with Salos. They would have to be careful up there, more so than usual, since the mountain passes offered little in terms of cover, and even less in terms secrecy.

“So how’s the lass look?” Henrik asked, walking his horse beside Isaiah’s—to whom the girl had been transferred.

“Not terribly well, I’m afraid,” Isaiah said in his usual timid manner. “I don’t quite know what to make of it, for certain… I can’t say she’s been drugged, but nor can I say she hasn’t been! A typical bump on the head would leave signs, which I haven’t seen, so they must be using some sort of toxin of which I’m unfamiliar, I think, but there really never is telling with witches whathas been done. You follow?”

“Aye. That I do, at least in part,” the burly Sundlander said, combing his bushy blond beard with thick fingers, “You’re saying these witches is up to no good, that’s what you’re saying!” he finished with a bark. There was nothing much that could keep Henrik’s spirits down for long. No one was really sure why he stayed back with the mourners.

Isaiah shook his head. He knew Henrik was joking—he had to, he’d known the man for some two odd years running—but sometimes the man’s disposition got under his skin—especially when he had a patient he didn’t know what to do with. “Even the dullest of dimwits could tell you that, Henrik, and gladly pass along their title to you,” Tirosh interjected, earning a relieved grin from Isaiah. He might be as dour as could be from a man, but he was a good one, and of sharp tongue to boot.

Henrik’s scowl melted to a wide grin moments later, his feigned hurt evaporating like the morning mist under a hot summer sun. “Aye. That I could tell myself, though I haven’t any idea about handing a mantle to myself—waste of energy, if’n you ask me.” He wasn’t slow—though some considered him to be, as much due to his heritage as to his demeanor—and he always had a clever quip coming to deflect any real hurts.

Marcus tipped his head back as they continued to banter amongst themselves, gazing up at the stars that glimmered through the trees overhead. This was what life was supposed to be, minus the killing; walking through the woods with nary a care in world, surrounded by friends… too few people experienced such freedom. What would the world be like if more people were allowed to live happily?

Speculation and philosophy never got him anywhere. Too many ifs and buts; too many unknowns. Likely there would be just as many depraved sorts as there were now, if not more, what with those too lazy to work even for themselves. That was what was said, anyway, though usually by the people doing the whipping. It was almost ironic in that one of the few areas where all people, no matter their walk of life, were equal was within covens.

Not all covens were bad, despite what Fredrick would have a man believe. Marcus had run into the first kind some time before joining up with Fredrick, though it had been an incident with the second that lead him to fall in. The first kind he wouldn’t overly mind joining when he grew too old to hunt the others; they were a kindly, peaceful people, so much so that neither beast or Other-Kin would trouble them. They lived secluded lives, unlike the second kind—the killingkind.

The second kind was worth eradicating. They were named Cultists of the Shadow, politely, and witches when safest from their cursing. They lived in the cities and towns, they could be a man’s neighbor without him knowing… at least until he ended up a sacrifice for their dark god.

That was where Marcus had found himself, a year ago now, in the same place this woman had found herself in this night. He had spent the evening with a farmer on his way back to Marasol after his horse bolted with all his belongings; he’d mucked out his very first pigpen for his board, and found his bed instead being a cold wooden slab in the middle of the forest.

He attributed his survival in no small part to the incompetency of his captors, but mostly to the timely arrival of Fredrick and his band—not so differently from the raid tonight, in fact. That was how a sad majority of them got into the business, it seemed. Victims turned vigilantes, as some put it. Whether they’d found themselves on a cutting table, or next to an incensed brazier, or whether they’re home had been burnt down, or their village victim of an unnatural plague; they all had some grievance or other with the cultists. Few were those who could stay without a firm, personal vendetta.

[doctolka]

Official Taglist Post for Adoana

Hi folks! I'm back after a short break with all cylinders firing (for now, give it an hour or two)!

I'm finally getting around to a taglist post, so that nobody who's interested misses any of my WIP-related posts (which are not, granted, 100% of them)

I'm thinking about doing 2 different lists, honestly, since I've got another WIP that I'm working on. It's closely related to the one I've posted about before, but takes place several hundred years beforehand.

So for those of you who want to be on it, feel free to hit me up! Just reblog this or comment, or simply send me an ask or a message regarding the taglist, and I'll see you're added to it. The second list will be completely separate, so if you want on it, too (even though I've yet to post anything really) just let me know. I'll probably call it War of the Shadows.

Current Taglist for Adoana: @starlitesymphony

Thanks a mil!

[doctolka]

Hello, dear! You've been visited by the random character question fairy! :D ~☆

Free space! Tell me something about your character that you've been waiting to share! :D

Hey, cool! Thanks random-oc-questions-fairy!

Gosh... who to choose.... I haven’t even talked about all of my ocs (I have fucking SEVEN of them, or at least mcs, after all). I think I’ll tell you a bit about a certain Mr. Tirosh Balend.

So think, like, grumpy grandpa, now cross him with, say, the grim reaper. There. You’ve kinda got Tirosh’s mood. Maybe add in Count Dracula, just for kicks.

He’s one of those severely morally-gray characters (most of my mcs are, to some extent) and he’s kinda a mass murderer, but he gets paid by the government most of the time, so it’s all cool.

Despite being older than the hills, Tirosh isn’t the best role model (see above) for one of the other mcs who he takes under his wing. He doesn’t really age due to some experiments that were performed on him when he was young, and struggles to remain morally gray, since the alternative for him is becoming morally villainous.

I don’t really know if this is what the kind fairy had in mind, but... thank you for listening, all the same.

taglist: @starlitesymphony

If anyone wants to be added to my taglist for my current WIP (or my other one, which I may start posting about soon. Both take place on the same world), feel free to comment or ask!

Also, if anyone only wants to be tagged on my writing, rather than just fun stuff like this, let me know that, too.