#Rise of the Mage WIP

[aldisobey]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

Game Night

I was tagged by some of the loveliest folks I know. Such sweet words of lusty delight they write. Muses both of you

@ollypopwrites @heylittleriotact

WIP work remains an interesting thing. So I’m giving you fresh character work instead. I enjoyed writing this and decided to take a look at how an evening might look from lich perspective. Consider this ‘work in progress’ character work for what I’m always gettin at.

———-

Rook was yelling. Johanna had that effect. The cheerful sort of shout. Easy enough to tell the difference when mortal. Easier still with undead sight coloring the emotion of the moment. Emmrich watched the triumph spark, an overbearing pride lash towards the skull at the head of the table.

“You can’t cheat here boy, I know you’re out of spells.”

The dining table was clear of dinner. Dishes away and a detailed map laid out and littered with various miniatures took their place. Snacks to nibble, wine to sip, a lonesome whiskey bottle sat untouched. The lich kept to the darker quiet corner couch. Table before him littered with notes, questions, Bellara had left lists if he had a mind to indulge the endless probing.

“Ha! See!! Page 103, you know the necromancer class best, I can use that spirit to power it!” Worne crowed.

Emmrich kept mind there, written questions ignored, watched irritation rise like pride off the half-lich leading the game. He tilted his head that way, could feel Johanna’s attention flick against his briefly before the shouting started again.

“Fool. You could do that. But you lack the proper alignment.” Hezenkoss sniffed. Sounded almost as if she could lift her chin from table in emphasis.

“What?! But Eric is chaotic evil! Says here…” Worne sputtered, flipped still in the book for another marked entry.

Johanna started laughing. Loud mocking braying that shook the table and players gathered. “Should have thought of that earlier! Change it to chaotic neutral.”

“What?! No! He’s evil!”

“Rook.” Lucanis spoke this time. Voice slow and tired. “Last scene Eric gave all his money to a beggar.”

Taash groaned in agreement, lifted their head from where it lay on the hard surface, empty beer in hand, “You shouted ‘bangles for the bangable.’”

“That was purely selfish!! Who cares about money with an ass like that around?” The rogue snapped the book shut, slammed it to the table for dramatic effect. Johanna’s description of the NPC had been too savory for ‘Eric’ to ignore.

“Uuuuh. I hate to mention. But…Eric also saved that kid from a blood mage.” Harding raised a hand from rubbing Taash’s back.

“Evil vs evil!” Worne looked hurt. Betrayed. This was his party, they should have his back here.

Davrin crossed his arms and snorted. “Eric could’ve healed poor Barnacus.” He gestured at his toppled miniature, “but he flirted with that hobo using an illusion instead.”

“Well…” the hurt faded, shame replacing for a flicker, but that never…

“Worne. Eric has been acting neutral all game.” Neve’s calm voice settled the matter. The shame settled. Rook’s face red for once. Neve shrugged, kept glass in hand and hovered over near Emmrich.

A hushed “Fuck…” settled over the table as Worne looked over their fallen minis before the horde. “Dammit. Is that a party wipe again? Where’s Bellara?”

“Her character died an hour ago, Rook. She left to work on that archive.” Davrin said with a bemused brow. Stood from the table then to take leave, “And I need to see Assan.”

Johanna cackled. Rook seemed the only one in distress. The rest had been resigned to such a fate from the start. Were clearing out like Davrin. Some to the library for book club, others perhaps to bed.

Worne remained and bickered over smaller matters from earlier in the game. Emmrich could catch pieces. Johanna argued she kept to the party’s CR. This was practically the module. Worne was checking the balance of dice again. Johanna proclaiming the enemies weren’t idiots. Of course they’d execute someone making death saving throws.

The rest of the beleaguered players exited the dining hall. Gentle talk of night’s last activities and farewells and ‘thanks I guess’ to the game master. Neve still hovered a moment.

“Emmrich. Joining us tonight?”

He leaned forward. Looked up to meet her gaze. Swirling green in skull could see the pity sprites clinging about her. A choking concern he didn’t care to stomach. The lich sighed. A mere sound lacking previous warmth.

“No.” He inclined his head towards the dining table. It had been cleared of its previous game. A new one was already taking form with terrain in place and numerous miniatures arrayed as army. “Johanna still requires some supervision. What holds her can weaken with transportation.”

A small untruth. It could weaken, but he had seen to the matter, reinforced it all before game start. Hezenkoss was as secure here now as she might be on the table in his quarters. He found it less impossible to get something past Neve these days. One couldn’t count on countenance for clues when they spoke with a skull. Still. Her brow rose. Emmrich wouldn’t have moved the half-lich at all if he considered it a danger.

Her smile and voice were soft, “Don’t let them yell too much. Alright? They’re still sharing space with you.”

Emmrich huffed. An echoing noise. Neve only laughed.

“What would the other lich lords think, hmm? You letting those two bully you?”

He’d honestly love to see them try and manage the pair. Doubted they would fare better. Might end up breaking oaths to get a moment’s peace.

Worne was already lining up his scouts. Johanna was holding back, muttering something about reserve and proper deployment tactics being key. Continued on about knowledge of enemy positions and fog of war. Worne was ignoring her and humming. Simply placed scouts along the edge of the map. Quiet enough for the moment.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Emmrich replied. “Your concern is noted Neve.” He did his best to sound thankful, pleasant, but in the moment he wanted her gone. Nascent spirits swirled especially strong within Fade, even bubbled as they were, and he felt something close to nauseous when he glimpsed the worry sprouting around her.

“Slee…” she bit her tongue, “Have a good night Emmrich.”

“You as well. See that you do sleep.”

“You got it Professor.” Neve chuckled light, kept the smirk in play as she took her leave. And the dining hall door clicked shut. Only Emmrich, Johanna, and Rook remained.

“WHAT?!?” Emmrich flinched at Johanna’s rage. Could hear Worne’s laughter rumbling beneath it, building in strength.

“Games over.” Rook had his hands on his hips. Smug grin beaming as he caught Emmrich looking his way and winked, “I win.”

“I could crush your scouts with a single unit!” Johanna sputtered. Emmrich could practically hear her thoughts turning in air. Rook was motioning him over now. Delight dancing around him and seeming to pick at the utter frustration he’d caused. The rogue let Hezenkoss think on it awhile. Then leaned in close to the half-lich skull, his eyes still locked on Emmrich as the towering mage approached, and whispered.

“Deploy then…”

Johanna was silent.

Worne reached a hand out to Emmrich as the lich drew close. Fingers grasped at the edge of coat, pulled the necromancer in by his cloak. “I’ve caught the judge. You trust Emmrich with rules right?” Rook smirked. Leaned up on tiptoe and pecked the point of chin bone.

Emmrich gathered his wits. Suddenly awash in the enveloping warmth of Worne’s mirth and blooming adoration. Spirits so strong shouldn’t be so easy to gather. But the moment Rook had Volkarin in hand, less than that, the moment his thoughts started turning towards the mage Emmrich found it overwhelming to be near.

Needed more practice with all of this…sense. But was it so bad to drown in all consuming obsession? The love might smother, but he no longer had need of air.

“Fine.” Johanna snapped. Emmrich’s head tilted, spied a tiny thought of resignation. He made a clearing noise for a lost throat.

“What happens to be the point of contention?”

“She can’t deploy. I win.” Worne giggled, swept a hand over his scouts lined along her side of the board one after the other.

“Pah!”

Emmrich knew that noise. Felt Worne’s mischievousness catch. Assessed the board state a moment…

“You…” he had played plenty with Johanna years ago, read the updated rules weeks past…Emmrich barked a laugh. Loud and full, piercing and flinching, but Worne was joining him. Smacking Emmrich’s back, hugging him tight a moment as tears filled his eyes.

“Emmrich told me plenty about your ‘deployments’ Johanna. I wondered when you’d try it.”

“Incorrigible brat!” The half-lich spit in sound. Further growls following. “Another match! That was hardly fair play.”

“Now Johanna.” Emmrich cut in. Dropped a hand when he realized he’d raised it to wipe a happy tear that would never appear. “Rook won fair and square. The rules are very clear. You have to deploy from your side.” Her growl grew in strength, “and you can’t do it so close to enemy units.”

Simple scouts covered where she might play. Deployment impossible. An entire army in reserve. Useless. The growls ended in the sound of a gnashing bite.

“And Emmrich promised me rewards if I could finish a game fairly and without fighting.” Worne leaned over triumphant.

“I…” the lich had no memory of such a promise, but now that the thought occurred…no he wouldn’t correct it. Rook was carrying on anyways.

“So we’ll be off. I’m done for the night. Do enjoy the fresh view until morning?”

“A relief to be free from your vicinity.” Johanna’s voice coated in loathing. Rook laughed at the sound. And Emmrich spied again a separate delight. Not quite pride, but joy of some kind, and perhaps fondness? She was delighting in thinking of a new way to play.

“Best of luck next time Johanna.” Emmrich chirped. Checked in a glance that wards remained in place. Felt the tug on his arm as Rook led the way out. Couldn’t help but join the rolling chuckles. Worne’s voice a growl as he opened the door for them both, “I’m gonna cuddle all those bones…”

“Darling,” the door shut behind them and Rook was latching on again. Wasted no time in making his declaration truth, hands, fingers were winding into rib. Feathering a touch on clavicle. He drew in still bright and smiling, then dipped his head down low near Emmrich’s waist. Peered up into the hollow where heart once sat.

“Crawl into that ribcage…”

Emmrich sighed and pulled Worne out and away with ease. The lich paused, glanced at his hands after the action, surprised at the strength. The flicker of concern disappeared as familiar scared skin covered the linen, callused fingers entangled in the gilded and pulled the bones along. “C’mon now Lord, your beloved is owed a reward.”

The lich stumbled a moment as Worne sped off with his hand entwined, but an opening of stride kept him even with the faster yet shorter. Emmrich almost felt a ‘breathe’ enter as they hurried back together.

[galluslonging]

WIP Wednesday

thank you for the tag @biowaredisasterbisexual !! i’m always happy to see you mention me ❤️❤️

tagging @splaat, @chimalliwrites, @dymme and anyone else who wants to share their works! (@ me if you see this and want to share and i will reblog!)

ive got some very rough lines from the latest chapter in the “turning tables” series.

romantic cheese below the cut:

The rising sun’s rays crept into the sitting room, tickling Rook’s face until he came to. A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered where, and with whom, he laid his head to rest.

Rook was convinced no one had ever slept more beautifully than the woman next to him.

Was the sofa too small for him to fully stretch out on? Yes. Was the temperature in the ice mage’s apartment colder than a Nevarran winter? Sure. Would this new, awkward crook in his neck be permanent? Undoubtedly.

Was every bit of discomfort worth this single, indefectible moment? Absolutely.

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

WIP WEDNESDAY

“There are reports of a mercenary cult of sorts coming in known as the Blades of Hessarian occupying this area. They are fearsome warriors who follow their leader’s word like scripture. I fear they will be “visiting” us. I wouldn’t ordinarily encourage the taking in of another apostate, but… if she is strong enough to rebuff a giant…”

Ar’Sulahn nodded, hearing sense. “You’re right. I… I like her too. Poor girl’s probably seen much too much.”

Cassandra nodded, disliking thinking of an obviously powerful, and therefore dangerous, mage as being just a child. It… grayed areas that Cassandra preferred to keep starkly black and white. “Do you think Harel was part of a Circle? She is… highly skilled to be just a fledgling mage.”

“I don’t want to imagine a girl like that enduring a Harrowing.”

That brings Cassandra up hard. She hadn’t even considered that. If Harel was as skilled as she was now, so young, it could warrant an early Harrowing. But how long ago? One year? Three? The prospects of a child facing down such a fate made something sour and cold rise in the Seeker’s throat.

It was necessary. But… but. “I… don’t either,” she admitted.

[hawkeshep]

re that ask me stuff post, who are your canon pcs in the dragon age games?? what are their names, what class/race, who did they romance?? I love learning about other's pcs!

HOOHHHHHHmygod thank you for asking this 🥹

I was actually going to make a separate OC sheet on my pinned post where I go into more detail and share screenshots, and you’ve just pushed me to actually finish that! But in the meantime...

DAO:

Admittedly, I have not played DAO in a hot minute, but...

-My Warden’s name is Cliodhna Amell, and as you can tell by the last name, she is a human mage! I have yet to fully flesh her out, but she is a blood mage who romances Alistair. Her main party is Alistair, Zevran & Morrigan. She puts Anora on the Fereldan throne, and stays a Grey Warden searching tirelessly for the cure with Alistair.

trips and falls and 7,373,839 pictures of Hawke fall out

AHEM—

DA2:

-Next up is the actual light and love of my life my Iris Hawke, my favorite local idiot. She is my Fereldan-Tevene special mage rebellion princess and she romances (this word seems pale in comparison to the depth of her feelings for him) Fenris (think rivalmance but with me laughing maniacally in the background while manipulating the game to make it so I don’t ever have to be mean to him). Iris genuinely does not have a main party in my headcanon, as she takes the whole merry band out with her to do Kirkwall's dirty work. She predominantly utilizes fire (maximum chaos) and specializes as a force mage. Later, after Kirkwall has beaten her, her friends, and her family down enough, she dabbles with blood magic. Yes, this goes Extremely Poorly™️. More at 10!

Post DA2, and with her family now scattered across Thedas, she decides to go on the run (with Fenris, and soon their son, close behind) to protect Kirkwall from the Exalted March that never came.

(I actually have her entire story mapped out and could talk about specifically her for hours on end, I have stopped myself)

DAI:

-Miss Vaenera Lavellan the woman that you are. Unfortunately, I am predictable as hell so she is also a mage (what can I say? I love fire). As Clan Lavellan's Second, she straight up wasn’t even important enough to attend the actual Conclave, standing juuust far enough away that she just barely heard the cry for help from the Divine inside (war flashbacks to the wrong voiceline playing: what’s going on in here 🧍‍♀️) But genuinely, the worst case of wrong place, wrong time as the spare to the heir. Her rise as Inquisitor is a rocky one, leaning heavily on the advice of her advisors and Enchanter Vivienne. To keep that amazing streak of luck going, she romances Solas! What started out as reluctance to trust, followed by frequent visits to hear of his amazing stories and abilities as a dreamer mage, turned into regrettably, a lot more than either of them had bargained for. She is a predominantly storm magic Knight Enchanter, with a party mainly consisting of Solas, Sera & Blackwall.

Post-Trespasser and Pre-Veilguard, she actually joins the efforts of the Shadow Dragons, freeing slaves and fighting corrupt mages alongside Dorian, my Hawke and Fenris, as well as the occasional stint as a Red Jenny with her good friend Sera.

DATV:

(tbh she is a total WIP, but I will do my best)

-Visenna de Riva, EASILY the scrappiest Antivan Crow there ever was, and the bane of Viago's existence. Not too much info on where I want to go with her just yet, but she (YOU GUESSED IT!) is a mage with a spellblade specialization who romances Lucanis. Her main party is Davrin and Lucanis!

Aaaaaaaand let me stop myself so I can finish my nicely formatted sheet!

Thank you so much for asking and I would really love to hear about your OC's as well, if you'd like! 💜 Please tag me if you have any writing on them!

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tags @mysticstarlightduck @theink-stainedfolk and probably many more!

Wip Aesthetic Tag

Rules: Make a moodboard for your WIP, a playlist (3+ songs/music will suffice but it can be as long as you want) and describe the Vibe of your WIP.

Oh god, I'm really bad at aesthetic stuff. No clue why, I just feel like it's never cohesive. That said, here's my best stab at Mystery of the Mortal God.

⚙️Moodboard🌿

🎵Music🎶

Instrumental (pulled from my character playlists):

Flight of the Silverbird

Ponyo's Sisters

HUNGRY!

Exclusive Coupé

A Murder of Crows

Wings (Aether 2)

The Quiet Earth

Vocal:

I Want to Conquer the World - Bad Religion

Supersonic - Bad Religion

Harlan Road - NewTown

Black Lipstick - Chicano Batman

The Reckoning - Dom Fera

Norwegian Wood - Buddy Rich Big Band

Call me Call me - Steve Conte

🩸Vibes🏵

A walking, steam-powered vardo lurches over a yellow-flowered marsh and under a sky of curious stars. Red, sparkling smoke rises from its chimney. Muddy footsteps are left in its wake like the trail of a mechanical dragon. It seems like a place of magic, which is fair, as it's the home of a witch. She sits with a lit pipe and a tabby cat purring on her lap, quietly contemplating a distant, stolen song. Even in the peace of the moment, her mind is alight with grand schemes and dreams of adventure.

In the capital of a thousand peoples, there stands a detective office lit by golden lamps. It's busy - goblins, elves, and lizardfolk rushing every which way in hopes of managing the many crimes wrought by rogue mages. At its heart resides a beat of calm in the eye of the storm - an opulent office out of place for its cushy decorations and color coding fit for a palace. This is also fair, as working at its desk is a prince of sorts. The prodigal heir to divine contracts and a deadly curse. He shudders at the knowledge of his bloody fate, yet pursues it nonetheless.

On the side of a lonely road, in a lonely land, under stars that are not curious, but disappointed, lays a wreck of bronze and steel. It bleeds black on green. It is confused by this. Where is the red? Where is the pain? It remembers another place - gray and icy and riveted. It remembers two eyes surrounded by shadows and a grin hanging in the dark like a half-moon. Hate closes in like a frigid wind, piercing through any amount of heart or compassion. It will have revenge.

Tropes include slow burn romance, revenge quests, magic as a science, and mad scientists. Genre is fantasy steampunk.

Snappier character descriptions include a braggadocious redneck mage with a chip on her shoulder the size of a mountain, a prissy, gossip-loving detective with a deadly curse, and a sweetheart of a maybe-robot with some terrifying instincts hidden behind a fog of amnesia. All of them, due to personal quests, will end up banding together to defeat a would-be demigod, facing cunning traps, summoning ritual shenanigans, and their own conflicting personalities. Will they survive? Will they join the villain? Who's to say? All I can assure is that if they fail, it'll at least be in a blaze of glory.

Heavily inspired by the Foundryside Trilogy and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.

I'll tag @spideronthesun @kaylinalexanderbooks @ominous-feychild @galactic-mystics-writes and anyone else who wants to play!

[urlocallesbiab]

wip snippet game!

rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share an excerpt from your WIPs that start with that letter.

@bookwhimses tagged me (thank you, dearest!) with the word TAILS

i, meanwhile, tag @agent-p-writes, @lavinialost, @sacred-algae, and @clockworkcheetah with the words SHARK or KITTY (pick the one you like!) also, if you see this post and want to participate in the game, consider yourself tagged by me :3

bookwhimses said, when tagging me:

(i know you have wips [eyes emoji] [heart emoji])

my friend, i have SO MANY of them goddamn wips, it's not even funny. lird help me! so, here goes:

T:

[from "Seattle Skies, Montana Blues: A Fool's Guide To First Dates" — the multichap farina slowburn about farah eating shit at dating apps and refusing to acknowledge her feeling for tina, while tina refuses to acknowledge her adhd or the desire to move out of her hometown. it's a year and three quarters old, and i still haven't finished ch1...]

The word ‘family’ is like sand on her teeth when she thinks it. Tina doesn't have one of her own, and her folks are growing older and more disappointed with each year; Jacob did, but he's gone now, and so are, in a way, his widow and kids, two thousand miles and two time zones away. Their old house stands still, hollow-eyed, like an empty nest, holding the anxiety of loneliness and dying out that hovers over the rest of the Tevetinos. Clock's ticking, time's flowing, and Tina is draining it away. She is not cut out for long-term relationships: her strategy is to kiss, bone, and bounce, before she could be discovered for the fuck-up that she is. It's not much, but it served her well over the years, given her some party stories to tell and some nights to remember. That's enough — that should be enough, because anything more is too hard to hold in her hands, too heavy.

A:

[from "The novel, horrible taste of consequences" — a narumitsu reunion fic set in the beginning of the 7 year gap, "in which Phoenix Wright loses control of the situation, makes everybody cry, gets engaged, and adopts a child, not necessarily in that order." the first draft is from 2020!]

An utterly unfamiliar girl greets Miles. For a short, bewildered moment he wonders if, in his delirium, he's gotten the apartment number wrong. "Is, uh… Is Phoenix Wright home?” “Aw!” She bows, little arm flying out, then springs back up and swivels away, announcing in a gameshow host's voice into the apartment at large, “A visitor for Mr. Wright!” The visitor stills, taken aback. It feels like a farce, like he's being pranked, or winning a lottery, or all that at once. From the other room, Phoenix laments. “Trucy, how many times do I have to tell you? Don't open the door,” he steps out, shaking his head in disapproval, “to strangers…” He trails off. Miles looks at him.

I:

[from "The mage, the astronomer, the warrior, and a shooting star" - a "yuri on ice" fairy tale au. it's about the half-human royal mage, victor, losing himself in his quest for power, and the first receiver of his magic, yuuri, saving him. the first draft is 8 fucking years old!]

It was a sight to behold, both gorgeous and dangerous, and it attracted many fools and even more rumors over the years. A story had it that once, a magician, mad with love, caught a flying nymph into his arms, and held on so tight that it became his wife; some say he died shortly thereafter, but a child of the union survived him; some say, none of this happened, for nymphs are only spirits. Fools say nothing, and come see for themselves. That night, Yuuri saw: it was a figure like no other. It burned hot and moved fast, dancing joyously and shining loudly; he could not tear his eyes away. The stars it sowed were warm and honeyed, like sun-shards; too big to rise and too thick to melt, these embers scattered wide across the lake and shore. One got into Yuuri’s eyes, and he was blinded; another — into his heart, and he hardly noticed it.

L:

[from "take it easy / floor it / stop / begin" — the rimster gay chicken wip that's nearly a year old and hasn't seen much progress in that time]

Lister's not having any of his bullshit. "About what happened, man!"  "What happened?" Rimmer manages most innocently. He doesn't stoop so low as to bat his eyelashes, but it sure feels close to it. Lister feels close to bursting a vein.  He snaps, "The game! The gay chicken!" Something shifts like a landslide. Rimmer pushes past him in one violent movement: whole body stiff, forceful, face distorted. It's a sharp, vitriolic expression, one that hasn’t been directed at Lister in some time — not truly, not like this. For a confused, terrible moment, Lister's lungs freeze like he's falling. He didn't actually expect Rimmer to act with hatred towards him. Rimmer always does, and Lister never quite expects it.

S:

[from "Naked in Seattle" — a faranda smut one-shot about a casual one-night stand between girl best friends, set somewhere in the middle of SS,MB. started this one half a year ago…]

She makes her way over, strangely steady: moving as if in slow motion, every step cinematic, deliberate. She lowers herself onto the bed by Farah’s knees, putting a hand right next to hers, but not touching — inviting to touch.  “Is this going to be your first time with a girl?” she asks.  “My first time,” Farah amends. “In general.” Amanda's eyes — warm, brown, beautiful — widen just a bit in worry. “Will it be alright? That it's not going to be… well, as special as it could. I know it can be a big deal for some people. I don't wanna ask too much from you,” she speaks earnestly. For all her easy-going attitude, she always cares a lot.  Farah closes the distance between their hands, fingers interlocking. “Yes, I think. When I find ‘the one’, whoever it is — it should be enough to just feel loved by her, and to love her back. I don't want to keep myself for someone, to wait for no reason. I am,” her voice falters, “tired of waiting.”

among other wips, i have:

a kurlish pre-romance wip that i was supposed to post for the big bang 2023, but still haven't finished (shame on me)

a languishing gattaca vincent/eugene semi-fix-it fic that hasn't seen new words since july 2024

a jotatak fic that i had *technically* started back in 2018, didn't finish, have rewritten into english, and then didn't finish that version either...

a couple of snippets for the sequel to the sequel to "hands off" (i gotta write the first sequel first, i think)

a big old worldbuilding thing for a original story that grew out of jotakak fanfic that is going incredibly slowly

and a few other drafts that are neither works in progress nor finished works: - the "once upon a time in hollywood" cliff/rick fuck-and-cry snippet; - the imaginary dirk au that has only 500 words of prose that might not end up canon to the fic; - the alt!hugo au that has a bunch of snippets but nearly zero plot, so i've no idea what to do with it; - a rough first draft / outline for the sequel to "birdwatching"; - the outline for a "i shan't spoil it by naming it" todd-centric fic that hasn't seen any progress in a year, let alone any actual prose; - the android dirk au that's a couple of years old, has a *very* confusing and shabby plot, and lives entirely in my telegram saved messages; - and probably some other stuff that i chucked somewhere and forgot about

woe is me!!!!!

also, tagging @gallantrejoinder — not for the game itself, because you've already done it, but just because i know you'd love to take a look at the rimster and farina stuff :3

[everlastingday]

wip wednesday

i am sending all my love to all my american friends, especially my queer and bipoc friends. i have no words for how truly awful this all is, and my heart goes out to everyone who is affected by this in any way, shape, or form. please be kind to yourselves, and stay safe 💜

i wasn't sure if it was appropriate to share anything today, but @heartstringsduet's post inspired me, and i hope that this can at least distract you from everything else for even just a minute, so here is a snippet from the prologue to my tarlos dark academia au.

--

Carlos remembered the day that he first stepped off the bus and onto the grounds of the Valentia Institute as if it were yesterday. The crisp autumn air, the sun peeking through the foliage, the smell of fresh-cut grass — it was as if he'd stepped off the one-way bus and into a different dimension. One that was trapped in time, and never seemed to age along with the rest of the world. No matter what happened over the next few years, he could never bring himself to hate the place. It was truly magical, both figuratively and literally.

The Valentia Institute was a place where mages were created. Anyone could attend, in theory, as long as they had enough magic running through their veins. That was the deal — give the Institute three years sequestered away from the rest of the world, and the world would be your oyster. It wouldn't matter what your socioeconomic status was before you entered the Institute; once you were an Institute graduate, it unlocked almost every door in society for you. 

Carlos never wanted to learn magic. He had the affinity, sure, and sometimes it came in handy when he needed to light the fireplace quickly, but he never yearned for it the way that others did. He liked his life —he had a steady job working in the city as a social worker, and while it wasn't the most prestigious job, he liked it a lot. He liked feeling like he could make a difference in other people's lives. His life was simple. Uncomplicated. Perfectly fine.

His life irreversibly changed four years ago when his best friend, Iris Blake, got accepted into the Valentia Institute. He was happy for her, truly. They grew up together, and even studied to become social workers together, but while he was content with working directly with the people on an individual level, he knew she always wanted more. She wanted to be the one making laws, changing policy, and making widespread changes. 

The Institute's rules were public knowledge. Three years without any contact with the outside world, and after that, its students entered back into the world as fully-formed mages, instantly rising to the upper echelons of society. Magic played a strange role in society. It was ultimately still secondary to the curse of capitalism, but if you weren't born wealthy, it was the fastest way to climb up the social ladder. There was, of course, also just the inherent prestige that comes with wielding magic; its powers are undeniable, and a mastery of any magical affinity automatically made you a valuable member of society. 

Three years passed, and Iris never came back out, and Carlos just knew in his bones that something wasn't right. In the initial months, he tried to investigate what happened to her on his own. He'd filed a missing persons report, but the police weren't doing anything about it. His friends and family told him that she probably just found a better opportunity somewhere else, and that three years was a long time. Maybe she just moved on in her life, and forgot to look back. 

But Carlos never believed that for a second. He knew Iris. She wasn't the type of person to just leave without a word, and when applications for the Valentia Institute opened up, he knew he needed to take matters into his own hands. The Institute was notoriously secretive. Sure, everyone knew it existed, but beyond the most basic knowledge? It was a locked vault. Nobody even really knew where it was located, though it was widely speculated that it was likely somewhere in New England. Carlos had a lot of questions, and he knew that the only way he was going to get some answers was to find them from within the Institute itself.

--

open tag for anyone who feels up to it, and please feel free to tag me as well 💜

[trevelyawn]

WIP: cullen visits the prisoner.

Cullen moves through the hastily assembled camp. Soldiers stand with straight backs and tense muscles, fists clenched over their chests, waiting for their superior to pass before they continue about their business. The Commander reaches the prison as Solas, the mysterious elven apostate that had approached their encampment and offered help, strolls from the building. Hands behind his back, he acknowledges Cullen's presence with a nod and steps aside to allow him to pass. “Any change?” Cullen asks. He is uncomfortable around the apostate but given what he has heard from Leliana, knowledge of the Fade and its machinations is an expertise they cannot afford to dismiss right now. Best not to make him feel too uncomfortable. Solas shakes his head. “She is stable, as is the Mark. I cannot say when or if she will wake.” Head held high, he moves to pass Cullen. He stops. “She is a Mage.” When Cullen doesn't respond, Solas continues, “I know of your past with the Order.” It sounds like an accusation; judgement. That life was gone. Cullen was unlearning prejudices and hatred, and he vowed that things would be different.

Squaring his shoulders, he makes no reply. Old hinges creak when he pushes the door open and enters. He follows lit torches to the isolated chamber. A lone guard sits bored in a chair, the two front legs hovering precariously as he leans back against a stone pillar. At the sight of the Commander, he startles, chair clattering as he jumps to his feet to stand at attention. Cullen acknowledges him with a nod and moves towards the only occupied cell in the dank room. It takes a moment for Cullen's eyes to adjust to the dark as he looks into the cell. He can make out the shape of a woman laying on a bedroll. Her chest rises and falls with even breaths and Cullen listens to her soft exhales. It's surprising how calm she is in slumber, as though she hadn't just fallen from a Fade rift at the site of an explosion that had killed hundreds and left a gaping hole in the sky. He lifts his gaze to her face. Her features are soft, lit by the orange glow of torchlight, and cuts and grazes mark pale skin. Her hair looks almost black; short, loose waves resting on a straw pillow. Realisation washes over him in a wave and his stomach lurches, heart skips a beat. He knows her. Shaking hands reach out to grip the cold bars separating them. “The Seeker and Spymaster. Retrieve them,” he manages to say. When the guard hesitates and doesn't move, Cullen fixes him with a furious glare. With waning patience, he barks an order. “Now!” Red in the face, the guard sputters a panicked yessir! before tripping over clumsy feet in his haste to depart. Hurried footsteps quieten and Cullen waits for the creak and loud thud of the door to let him know that he's alone. He thinks back to when he had last seen her. Kirkwall crumbling, the Circle ablaze, and mages, apostate and Circle alike, forced to flee at the risk of their lives. She didn't want to leave, didn't want to run and have to start anew, but Cullen had forced her to go. Meredith may have been lyrium-mad and consumed by her fear of mages but she had amassed a desperate following teeming with those that believed that the threat of blood magic was too great and that all mages needed to be put to the sword. He had come to terms with never seeing her again.

[decafdino]

Wip Wednesday!! Shoutout to the tarlos haven discord for helping me keep on top of my writing with sprints. Here's a little preview from my most recent sprint:

And TK had had some trust issues after that, but he worked hard to get over them. It was easy to push his uneasiness around strangers away when his dad came back a few months later, badly wounded and left changed by something very few people could understand. TK had wanted to be strong for his father, to show him that while something inside of Owen's mind had shifted, his son would always be the same, strong young man he could one day pass the crown onto. It didn't matter if his parents stopped talking to each other for days on end. It didn't matter that he began to drink himself to sleep every night, just to quell the voices in his mind telling him of all the horrors on the other side of the castle wall. It didn't matter that he started feeling more like a statue on a pedestal than a person, that he was always more admired than seen. As long as his parents had hope in something, had hope in him, all would eventually go back to being right.

Then, he had met Alex, and he had finally felt seen. Alex told him he was beautiful and impressive, and it validated everything TK had strived for so long to achieve. He told TK he was strong and brave and special. It was everything he had ever wanted to hear, especially when his mother and father had been too busy to say it to him themselves.

And then one day, Alex had changed. He met Mitchell, and it turned out TK wasn't so special after all. Suddenly, it was abundantly clear to TK that the image he had strived for so long and so hard to cultivate of a strong leader was nothing more than exactly that: an image.

And when those emotions had taken over all his rational thought, when he was useless and broken and half-dead from drink somewhere in the middle of the Western Woods, TK had given up. He decided then that he would never be a good king, much less a good mage or even a good person. He would never trust his heart to anyone else again, if only to spare himself the pain.

But that's not all there is to the story, is there? the little voice of hope pushes. It isn't over. Something changed.

"I got brave again," he says to himself. He spits at the floor when too much bile rises in his mouth. "Which means I got stupid. Thinking I could go anywhere in this kingdom, as long as I had someone who cared for me so much always by my side."

He can picture Carlos' wounded look in his mind. His small frown and wrinkled forehead. Do you hate me for giving you that? The ability to live freely? he says.

TK rubs the small few tears he has left to give on his shoulder. "Of course not, my love," he answers truthfully. He doubts he ever would have been brave enough to leave home in the first place without Carlos stepping into his life.

Then live a little longer. He imagines Carlos' warm breath on his cheek, the small, loving pressure of a kiss to his lips. I am coming for you. I swear it.

thanks to @whatsintheboxmh @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom and @emsprovisions for the tags!

[new-royston-cursebreakers]

Call for Readers!

Are you a fantasy reader? Like YA? Queer or enjoy queer themes? Want to help someone's 49,000-word manuscript be the best it can be? Want somebody with 3 years of workshop experience to help you with your similar-sized manuscript in return, or even help you with short stories, poems, or just bouncing off ideas? Any or all of the above?

As you gleaned, I'm looking for alpha/beta readers for my 49,000-word YA queer high fantasy novel, which is as of yet unnamed! I say alpha/beta because I've seen conflicting definitions floating around, but here's what I'd ask for:

Comments on style and descriptions

Feedback on pacing and length

Help with strengthening character arcs and stakes

Any other comments that you might want to include!

More information about my WIP can be found on my blog and pinned post, but here's the synopsis:

Neor, a young woman talented in the magical arts, is sent across the continent to apprentice at the Mages’ Guild. Soon disillusioned with the Guild’s strict teachings, she jumps at the opportunity to follow Sacha, one of the greatest mages in the world, and learn from her. However, a time-travel spell gone wrong—or right—leaves Neor in a distant, bleak, unknown time with no idea what role the spell wants her to fulfill. She finds herself stranded with Vultarne, a violent tyrant who wields Sacha’s staff and rules the land that once was or will be her home. The more Neor explores this distant time, the more she uncovers the hidden truths of her own time. Eventually, she finds she must rise up to do what’s right for the sake of a brighter future.

It's got fae. It's got weird magic. It's got a character with face-blindness. It's got a spoiler that prevents me from talking a lot about it on this blog. And by gosh, it's got a fleshed-out world.

If you want to help me make it shine, then follow this link here and do be aware of the content warnings in the form! Thank you!

[confused-bi-queer]

2023 Lee's Fics Recap

Thank you @forabeatofadrum and @ic3-que3n

There’s no Six Sentence Sunday today, but I do have a recap:

This year, I wrote several things, so I decided to self promote everything that went out this year in AO3 as a recap as well. Thank you for this amazing year!

FINISHED

ponerte a dormir (T, 1.8k)

Simon agessively makes a stressed Baz go to sleep

Bacterial Infection (T, 1.9k)

Simon has an infection, Baz takes care of him

repetition makes perfection (M, 2.1k)

After a nightmare, Simon makes sure to remind Baz he loves him

Family Line (M, 18.1k)

What if Simon knew the Mage was his dad and nothing changed?

Thrown Away And Left Out (E, 3.5k +)

Drunk Sex & Getting Back Together

every inch of you (E, 2.1k) From Erotic Grope Fest 2023

Simon forcing Baz to love himself during sex

The Sixth Chain (E, 3.6k) From Carry On Countdown 2023

Simon explores his “being marked” kink and Baz his silver one

WIPs I take to 2024

Diving Right Into (E, 2 chaps in of 4, 14.4k +)

What if Baz did have a tail instead of Simon during 8th year?

The Rise and Fall Of Us (M, 13 chaps in, 80,2k +)

A Ballet AU in which Baz and Simon star in the first gay ballet ever, about the Chosen One and his enemy-turned-lover vampire. A lot of trauma and very slow burn

ABANDONED

Protecting you like a Pitch (M, 18 chaps in, 85.2k)

Simon reports the Mage’s abuse and with Baz’s new help, they might do some changes at Watford

MALMAGE

burnt logs and ashes (T, 1.3k) From Carry On Countdown 2023

The Mage visits Malcolm during 2018 Christmas and leaves for good

[zmwrites]

Writemas 2024: Day 23

I'm so sad I only have one more prompt to write! But I still thank @agirlandherquill for these prompts and hosting this event.

WIP: Remnants

Prompt(s): "One day, the purpose you serve shall be greater than this." + "We are the same, can't you see it?" + The pain of fighting

Words: 695

Notes: Set before the book starts, so no Damir. But we do get to see Radka at 17/18 years old! It was fun to revisit her. I really need to get back to editing the first draft.

The field hospital was engulfed in chaos. There’d been a battle nearby and now casualties were pouring in faster than they could treat them. There were only so many mages, so many assistants, so many supplies. They couldn’t save them all. They had to try.

Radka grabbed supplies from the storage room and walked swiftly—never run, the floor was littered with debris and spots of slick blood, and the last thing she needed was to twist her ankle or trip and knock her head—to where Olesya was working on a kid whose leg had been blown off by a bomb. Olesya’s hairline beaded with sweat, and her eyes were screwed shut as her hands twisted through shapes as she tried to stop the bleeding; a losing battle, based on how pale the kid was. 

So many of their patients were just kids. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t how the world was supposed to work.

Kids, a voice in her head scoffed. They were the same age as her. If they were just kids, she was just a kid. A wave of nausea rose within her. She was just a kid.

She squashed the panic rising in her throat. It wasn’t the time for such thoughts. Survive now, process later.

Radka left the supplies with another assistant and stepped outside. She needed to breathe. Just a second, just a few inhales of the crisp winter air. Just to get the taste of blood off her tongue.

“Tempestborn.”

Her shoulders tensed as she looked around for the source of the voice. There were tents full of patients scattered about, but none close enough to house the speaker.

“Why are you hiding all the way out here, Tempestborn?”

Radka looked down. A middle aged man sat against the porch, looking up at her. The snow around him was stained red. She swore and jumped down the stairs to assess him.

“Why didn’t you come inside?” she demanded.

“Because I am beyond saving,” he replied.

“You don’t know that.” She found the source of the blood, a shrapnel wound to the chest, and applied pressure. She needed a mage.

“I’ve known this was how I was going to die for years.”

“No one knows how they’re going to die,” she said. He seemed a bit old to be one of the duty-bound, save-the-world types that frustrated her to no end with their conviction that the only honourable way to serve their country was to die for it.

“Tempestborn. Radmila.” The man rested his hands on hers. “Do you not remember me?”

She looked at him closely, imagining him without the blood and dirt that covered his face. A cold, heavy weight took root in her stomach. “You were with the Great Seer of Kastal.”

“I was.”

Of course. How else could he know the title the Great Seer had bestowed upon her?

“So I ask you again: why are you hiding so far from Pyarovsk?”

“Because I don’t want to die,” she answered honestly. It didn’t matter; he’d lost too much blood and had minutes to hours of life left.

He laughed. “We are the same, can’t you see it?”

“What do you mean?” she demanded. She shifted her weight; snow had soaked through her skirt, melted by her body heat.

“We’re already dead.”

Radka snarled. “Maybe you are, but I’m not. I refuse to die because some old man said I have to.”

“That’s not how fate works,” he said gently.

“Fuck fate.”

He smiled softly and brought her blood-covered hands to his lips, pressing reverent kisses to their backs. “One day, the purpose you serve shall be greater than this.”

The man exhaled and died with his own blood staining his mouth.

“I don’t want to serve a purpose. I want to live,” she whispered. She took a shaky breath and stood. There was nothing more she could do for the man, and she’d been away from the patients inside for too long.

Fate would have to drag her back to Pyarovsk if she was to fulfill her so-called purpose as Tempestborn. Nothing and no one could make her go back willingly. Not ever.

[definitelynotadeathclaw]

A WIP

Emmrich x m!rook

The screeching hum of magic in his ears came to a stop as Xavier slowly opened his eyes. His breathing picked up as he looked around. Dense fog swirled in front of him, not quite obstructing his view Of the crumbling elven ruins. He bit his lip hard, tasting blood.

The pain set off tears in his eyes, adding to the rising panic he felt. So this was it then. Solas had been right, the asshole had forcefully swapped places when Xavier had grabbed the lyrium dagger from that…that corpse. He refused to use her name, flashes of the last few hours flashing through his mind.

His breathing hitched as his thoughts swirled faster, a whimper escaping his throat as his hurt turned to rage. Everything had been so much, but he was alone now. And in the fade of all places. Swallowing back the tears, he took a breath, letting out a scream that echoed through the ruins.

Xavier went on until his voice was hoarse, hurling his fist at the wall and recoiling when his knuckles cracked, the fresh pain bringing back the tears. He sat down in exhaustion, curling up with his head resting on his knees. He was stuck here, in a prison that had held ancient gods, powerful mages, for centuries. How was he supposed to have any chance?

After what felt like forever, he heard a voice.

“C’mon kid. You won't get anywhere waiting around”

______

Emmrich frantically dug through the pile of books, tossing some to the side unceremoniously. There had to be something, anything that could help them get Xavier back.

It had been days now, and Harding and Neve had expressed concern for his lack of sleep. But he couldn't rest, resting would be doing nothing, and he knew his darling, knew their distrust of magic and the fade. Emmrich knew his love was scared, and that spurred him into action more than anything had before.

[myreia]

wip wednesday

oops I guess it's not Wednesday anymore, but!! ty for the tags, @thevikingwoman & @hylfystt! 💖 tagging @gatheredfates @anneapocalypse @fourteenthz @tsunael @bearlytolerant @roguelioness @ardberts @lilas @galadae @coldshrugs a bit from the divergence of the heart sequel I am picking away at. Just very 🥺 about Aureia and Hilda's friendship.

The frozen air rings with the sound of a single shot.

Aureia frowns and lowers her rifle, squinting at the target. It smolders in the distance, a plume of black smoke rising from the side she struck, looking for all it’s worth like some animal bit a chunk out of it. She huffs, blowing hair out of her face with a puff of breath. After all this practice she should have hit the bullseye, and every time, without fail, her rounds go off course.

“Hmm.” Several paces away, Hilda leans against the wall, shaded by the overhang. She scuffs her boots against the snow, oblivious to the melting icicles above. “You’re sure you loaded that right, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure you held your stance the way I showed you?”

“Yes.”

Hilda chews her lower lip and makes a face, dark brows drawing together. “Well, somethin’ is wrong. Could be the rifle. Could be you.” She sniffs and rubs her hands together, tugging at the worn wool fingerless globes. “Why don’t you try again?”

“Again? You think I haven’t been trying?”

“Oh, I’ve been watching you try. That’s for certain. Sometimes these things take practice.”

“Practice? You think I haven’t been practicing—”

“You’re no markswoman, that’s for sure.”

“Never said I was.”

Hilda smirks. “I thought as a mage you’d have better aim.”

Aureia rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Magic covers a far greater area,” she says, gripping the rifle with unfamiliar hands. “I can afford to be a little imprecise because I know it will hit. Marksmanship is another story, I gather.”

“You ever shot a bow?”

“Yes. No. Sort of.” She blows out an irritated puff of air. “I fell down a hole once and it was the only weapon I could find.”

“You… fell.”

“Yes.”

“Down a hole.”

“Yes.”

Hilda’s lips twitch. “Gods above, don’t make me ask what kind of hole.”

Aureia turns around, snow half-melted snow flying around her feet, and rams the butt of her rifle into the ground. “Get me a drink tonight and I might just tell you,” she says, deadpan.

Hilda throws her head back and howls with laughter. She leans over, clutching her stomach, ruby eyes glimmering with glee. Aureia grins, chuckling to herself, and lets her laugh it out. Truth be told, the story of the Palace of the Dead and what she found down there is not the kind of story for casual conversation. At least not one without multiple drinks.

[cat-esper]

I thought I'd redo my intro post and this time make it ✨pretty✨

I'm Cat [she/her | aroace] and I write sci-fi and fantasy with a dose of cosmic horror. I love mixing genres and general experimentation. Whether my work is marketable or not is less important than having fun. My absolute favorite things are found family, robots, and time travel, and I am a firm believer that platonic relationships can be just as fierce and important as romantic ones. Most of my novels are set within a shared universe I call the Starfish Saga and that's my main focus, though I do have quite a few exciting projects outside that.

I am quite shy but love making new writer friends and am open to tag games and ask games and other sorts of writerly socialization.

I have...a lot of projects. A worrying amount I try not to think about. But! Below the cut, you'll find the ones I'm focusing on for the time being, now with new and improved titles.

Books of the Starfish Saga

The Last Paladin | YA science fantasy | 12 part series

When Chelsea Seaver's parents are abducted by aliens, she embarks on a grand adventure across the galaxy--making friends and learning magic on the way--to bring them home.

Status: books 1-3 drafted

Intro | WIP tag

Incantations of the Mad Mage | YA epic fantasy | 6 part series

In order to honor her dead mentor, battle mage Arna Vaughn races against the Sforia Empire to locate six legendary magic spells that have the power to end a bloody war; whoever finds them first will change the course of their world forever.

Status: books 1-4 drafted, editing book 2, outlining book 5

Intro | WIP tag

Records of the Spiral | YA portal fantasy | 4 part series

Three misfits stumble into a surreal world inhabited by strange creatures and watched over by the eldritch Enochians; it's a place they belong to more than Earth and if they don't want to see it destroyed, they'll need to stop the very beings who created it in the first place.

Status: drafting book 1

Intro | WIP tag

Music of the Spheres | YA science fantasy | standalone

Shay Finnegan leaves everything behind when he decides to become a light-wielding Paladin, a protector of the galaxy, in order to find a higher purpose and avoid the fate that haunts him with the words you will bring everything to ruin.

Status: rewriting for the millionth time

Intro | WIP tag

Red Ghost | YA contemporary fantasy | novella

Mel Black joins a ghost-killing organization in order to free the spirit of her dead friend from a fate worse than death, but saving him might just mean the end of humanity.

Status: pending edits

Intro | WIP tag

Nightland Nexus | epic fantasy | 5 part series

As tensions rise across the worlds, a group of characters seek to satisfy their own ambitions, but they'll need to team up and unite the worlds to prevent a long-dormant Darkness from awakening.

Status: world-building

Intro | WIP tag

Sundial Fates | YA sci-fi western | 10 part series

A time machine crashes on the edge of town, launching three reluctant teens into the biggest adventure of their lives. They may be able to face down alien invaders, mad scientists, and unfathomable entities, but can they face the truth about themselves?

Status: overhauling the plot/updating the lore

Intro | WIP tag

Other Projects

The Zodiac Circuit | post-apocalyptic sci-fi | duology

Rhys Valencya reluctantly teams up with an android in order to stop her own family from resurrecting the lich that almost wiped out humanity centuries ago.

Status: drafting book 1

Intro | WIP tag

Androids Don't Rust | time travel | standalone

With human extinction inevitable, four androids are sent into the past to retrieve data for the Archive that will outlast humanity.

Status: very early planning stages

Intro | WIP tag

Robbery on the Hell Express | weird western | novella

Occasional partners and oftentimes enemies, Harlan Nye and John Callahan team up to rob a ghost train--betrayal, deadly wraiths, and a lethal race against the clock mean they may not make it out of this alive.

Status: planning

Intro | WIP tag

The Chronicles of Josephine Mercer | dark pirate fantasy | ongoing series

In a darker version of the 18th century Caribbean, mutineer and newly self-appointed Captain Josephine Mercer escaped the navy with a ship and ambitions that would see her become the bane of the British Empire.

Status: research/world-building

Intro | WIP tag

Liminal Spaces | urban fantasy | 5 part series

Caffeine fueled video game artist, Ref Sanderson, comes home one day to find his daughter is missing. Turns out, she's been making new realities in her free time. Now she's trapped in one and he'll need to learn how to enter and fabricate realities himself in order to save her.

Status: outlining book 2

WIP intro coming soon

Other Starfish WIPs I'm technically working on, in the background, that I probably won't talk about unless someone wants me to:

The Siege of Coracaltone: a space opera about cinnamon roll wizard Flynn on a quest but gets sidetracked by space pirates (waiting for a rewrite)

Pirates vs Dinosaurs: cosmic horror about, you guessed it, pirates and dinosaurs and the slow dissolving of their sanity (drafted and just waiting for editing time)

Dreams of the Spiral: a prelude to Records of the Spiral about the band Red Tape Rocket and the summer things got really weird (still being planned)

If any of them pique your interest and you'd like to be added to a taglist, let me know!

[keldjinfae]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @dear-massacre... um... a week ago? More? Less? The point is, I was tagged to share a snippet from a WIP, and for the first time this year, I actually have something to share. This is from the first part of what is going to be a stupidly long series that fuses Teen Wolf with Skyrim, Life in a Northern Town. Even just posting this, I'm already reformating parts of it in my head, so that should give an idea of how very much "in-progress" it is:

The village of Falkreath was known for its graveyard. Rather than an actual Hall of the Dead where the deceased citizens of Falkreath Hold were entombed, as was the custom in most parts of Skyrim, they instead joined the ranks of a large, sprawling cemetery. The resident priest of Arkay oversaw their burials and otherwise kept to his nearby home, where he held rites for the god of life and death, and led mourners in services for their departed loved ones.

Outside of the small hold capitol, the cemetery was nearly <i>all</i> that Falkreath was known for. The Pine Forest had legends of its own, and the old magic of the woods was often enough to spur wary travelers past the unassuming road leading to the village in their haste to break through the trees before nightfall. Those who were brave (or avaricious) enough to shrug off superstition and remain found that the villagers had long embraced its reputation, and that death had inevitably settled into their way of life.

From the innkeeper at Dead Man’s Drink to the alchemists selling poultices and poisons at Grave Concoctions, Falkreath’s citizens were well-practiced in attracting the business of the morbidly curious. Just like they were similarly adept at drawing their attention <i>away</i> from the mages who placed the wards on the graves that made sure the dead remained restful, or the men who dug the graves in the first place. Death may have been the village’s tourist trap, but the actual trappings of death were bad for business.

Which meant having to slip out of the house just before dawn and stumbling down to the cemetery, still half-asleep, if Stiles wanted to catch up to Isaac before he was finished. The sounds of his trek across one side of town to the other were exaggerated by the slumbering stillness of the early morning, from the sharp crack of the door's creaking hinges as it closed behind him, to the crunching of grass and dirt beneath his feet, made crisp by the frost that had settled overnight. In less than an hour’s time, the sun would warm the earth just enough to clear away the frost, but a thick fog would rise up in its place, looming over most of the hold like a burial shroud until nearly nightfall.

Stiles moved quickly through the dark without a need for carrying a torch or casting Candlelight, able to find his way as the stars were gradually washed out of the sky. He’d only made it about halfway to his destination before he started to regret not throwing on more clothes despite his haste to leave without waking his father, curling his hands together and blowing into already-stinging fingers to warm them before tucking them under his armpits. He kept his arms folded tightly over his chest as he passed by the beginning of the long, stone wall dividing the cemetery from the rest of the village, and it wasn’t much longer after that he was able to make out the faint, flickering glow of a lantern in the distance.

Isaac Lahey was tall even for a Nord, his head and arms still popping up above the ground every few seconds while he drove a shovel into the frozen earth.