#adventures in the inklings challenge

[fictionadventurer]

Unfortunately, the official blog isn't the right place to do this, so I'm not sure the people responsible will see this, but

I would like to thank everyone who participated in the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge for retelling my favorite fairy tales from the perspectives that I like best. It's like you had a conspiracy or something.

The main reason I hosted the challenge this year was to get people to write me fairy tale retellings that I like, and it succeeded better than I could have hoped.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

First two years of Inklings Challenge: Spend most of the month trying to write a complicated epistolary fantasy, then in the last three days switch to a simpler idea.

This year's Inklings Challenge: Spend most of the month trying to write a simple idea, then in the last three days switch to writing a complicated epistolary fantasy.

[inklings-sprint]

Time to Brainstorm!

Let's think about Team Chesterton. Adventure or intrusive fantasy.

Let's start with adventure first and we'll switch to intrusive fantasy halfway through.

What type of adventure are your characters going to go on?

How is this adventure going to incorporate one of the works of mercy?

Is the adventure directly related to your choice of mercy? Or is it going to be less obvious?

🪻🌸💮🏵️💐🌷🌻🌺🌹🪷🌼

Your adventure happens by being dragged into visiting the sick/imprisoned. This was not how you expected your day to go, but it's definitely been interesting.

You're caught in a storm, it's pretty terrifying as you're not just caught in any storm, but one that you're pretty sure includes a funnel cloud right above you. This is not the kind of adventure you signed up for when traveling. Nobody around you did either though. Dealing with the aftermath of the storm will be as much of an adventure as surviving the storm.

Panic! A young child is lost on a beach and is tired, hungry and thirsty. What can be done to help this lost child get back to their family.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

I already have a 2 hour playlist for my Inklings Challenge story and idek how I'm going to write it but hey at least I've got inspiration right?

[fictionadventurer]

Now that the teams are posted, it's time for the yearly behind-the-scenes comments!

Providence is your electrical engineer brother stopping by at the exact moment you're trying to find a decent-looking random generator to divide the list into teams, and when you ask if he knows of any, he hand-programs one for you.

Me when recruiting people for this challenge: I want as many people as possible! Me when tumblr refuses to let me paste in the names as a numbered list, so I have to backspace and hit enter for every single line so it will format properly: Why are there so many names??

(Though that did turn out to be a good thing, because it forced me to look at every single name on the list and make sure the formatting hadn't messed it up.)

Tumblr, we need to talk about the issue where scheduled posts disappear from the queue but then don't show up on the dash for several minutes. It always works out but only after several moments of terror.

[fictionadventurer]

What a gorgeous retelling!

Odile is the most fascinating character in Swan Lake to me, so I was thrilled to get a retelling from her point of view. Making the two of them sisters was genius.

So much pain here! I was close to crying so many times. The bond between the sisters, and the way living in an abusive environment forces them to turn against each other.

I also loved the exploration of the way marriage can change/break up family relationships.

I gasped in horror at the "Odile is so odd" comment.

The confusion between the two sisters and the conflicting promises and the way that Rothbart took advantage of the "honorable way to treat my daughter thing" could have been overly complicated but it all worked beautifully.

The Queen is a good character. Appreciated the sense of history she brought to the story.

The explanation of the curse made so much sense (and was so painful), and I adore that forgiveness was the way to break it. (Odile's realization that turning against each other was exactly what their father wanted was one of the most powerful moments).

Loved the way the magic worked here. Vivid and powerful, without devolving into complete chaos or too-complicated rule systems. Odile's use of it was an excellent moment.

So many clever adaptation choices, so much pain, so much goodness. Excellent job.

Bright Wings

(Written for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves Challenge.)

You may think you know this story. 

Think again.

Once upon a time, a handsome prince lost his way while hunting in the woods. Just as the prince had reached what is now called Swan Lake, and was taking aim at two particularly fine birds (even a whole flock, some say; hunters’ tales always grow in the telling), what should happen but, instead of both taking flight, one swan should suddenly spread her wings to shield the other? 

Surprised and touched, the prince lowered his bow. He was still more surprised when the rising moon broke through the black pines to shine upon their wings, and in the blink of an eye, two young women stood before him: one dressed in white and one in black, both lean and strong and silver-haired, our faces alike as two coins. We held our heads high, even as we trembled. 

I am the woman in black, and this is my story. 

The prince hardly noticed me that night, nor did I wish him to do so. The threat of sharp iron still rang through my bones, and so I faded into the shadows, keeping a watchful eye on my sister. Our father had always warned us that men (except for himself, naturally) were not to be trusted. In this arrow-wielding stranger, I saw all his teachings confirmed. My sister, however, always braver than I, forgave the prince as soon as his bow dropped into the grass. She held out her hand to him with all the grace and dignity of her nature, and he bowed over it with the air of one dazed.

“Forgive me,” he said. “If I had known … that is, I never meant to frighten you.”

Odette merely smiled and beckoned me forward.

“Do not be afraid,” she said. “He will not hurt us. Will you, Master … ?”

“Prince Siegfried, at your service.” He swept off his feathered hat. “And … might I have your names?”

“I am Odette, and this,” she drew her arm around my shoulders, “Is Odile.”

That was how it began.

He could not stay long that night, or any other night that followed. Father, who unlike us could change his shape whenever he chose, guarded his lands in the form of an eagle-owl. Whenever we heard him scream, or his wings darkened the moon, we always sent our secret visitor away, fearing for his life should Father discover him. Yet even those brief visits were enough for the prince to open a whole new world to us. He brought us rare fruits we had never tasted, oranges and mangoes from the palace greenhouses. He lent us books from his library, tales of adventure we read to each other in whispers. He played the flute for us and we danced, Odette following the music step by step as I spun and flapped to rhythms of my own. 

I no longer feared him as time passed. How could I, when he was so kind? I can see him now, with leaves in his hair and laughter in his eyes, leaning against the trunk of a tree. He would twirl me about and ruffle my hair as if I were his little sister, but it was Odette’s hand he lingered over every time he bowed farewell. My heart leapt when I saw him coming, only to sink when he left.

Still, I did not wholly trust him. 

When I found my sister weeping in her bedchamber one night after he had gone, my heart sank with premonitions of trouble to come.

“Is it Siegfried? If he has hurt you, I shall peck out his eyes.”

“He has asked me to marry him … and I said yes.”

“That is indeed cause to weep,” I said. “But I am surprised you think so.”

“Don’t you see?” She cried. “He wants me to come to the ball tomorrow, to introduce me to the Queen and ask for her blessing. Tomorrow is a new moon! Even if Father permits it, which he never will, I cannot go. I shall be a swan all night. He will be shamed before the court when the girl he spoke of never arrives, or if I arrive in swan form, they will call him mad. He will think I do not care for him, and that will break my heart,” and she hid her face in her pillow, like the waning moon behind the clouds. And like the moon, I realized, her thoughts were so hidden from me, I could barely follow them.

“You cannot mean to tell me,” I faltered, “That you do care for him?”

Odette’s look made it clear I was a fool for even asking.

“Enough to marry him? Enough to leave me here - with Father?”

Her eyes widened. It was a measure of her love for Siegfried that, for once, I had not even entered into her plans.

“I could take you with me, perhaps,” she said. “As my lady-in-waiting, if the Queen permits?”

I had little faith in such an idea. Siegfried had spoken to us often of the stifling conventions of his mother’s court, which he sought to escape with us. Any place that made Father’s lands look like freedom was not one I cared to call home.

“You do not know Father if you think you can escape him so easily.” Yet as the brief light of hope faded from her eyes, to be replaced by despair as deep as any I had ever seen (for she did know Father, and therefore knew that escape would be anything but easy), I knew what I must do, though fear lay in wait like a steel-tipped arrow.

“If you cannot go to the ball,” I said, “I will.”

I was the darkness to her light, and so our shape-changes were mirrored. If the swan in her was strongest during the new moon, for me it was weakest. 

“Oh, sister! Would you?”

“I will speak to the prince for you. He is not worthy of you, but if you want him, I shall bring him to you. I give you my word.”

She embraced and thanked me half a dozen times over, but even as I stroked her hair and told her all would be well, I felt a splinter of darkness drive itself into my heart.

Once I helped her unite with her prince, I thought, how long until they both abandoned me?

/

I had tracked Prince Siegfried to his palace more than once, thinking it useful to know where he lived. It was not far as the swan flies, yet by the time I saw its pale walls painted red by the setting sun, my wings ached from the speed of my flight. I had seen no shadow, heard no rustle, felt no stir in the air but my own, but all my bird-instincts cried out that I was being hunted.

I landed awkwardly inside a hedge maze in the gardens, so as to change shape unnoticed at moonrise. I had not expected the maze, which seemed so simple from above, to loom so tall and dark over my head once I was inside it. I turned one corner, then another. Surely, I would soon find a way out.

Something rustled behind me.

I whirled around.

Father stepped out of the shadows, his great brown eagle-owl’s wings shifting into a velvet cloak. He could fly as silently as darkness itself when he chose. I should have known.

“You must have thought you were very clever, child. Did you think I would not notice you stealing away?”

“Father! I - I can explain - ”

“No need.” He held up one leather-gloved hand to silence me. “Your sister told me everything.”

“ … she did?”

“Young Prince Siegfried has caught your fancy, has he?” His golden eyes gleamed like a night-hunter’s. “Odette tells me you have reached an understanding already, that all you need is the Queen’s consent. I had no idea you were capable of such ambition.”

I thought, at first, there must be some misunderstanding. I opened my mouth to correct him - tell him it was Odette, not I, who had fallen in love with the prince - when I realized what must have happened. Odette had made me her scapegoat, to protect herself from Father when he had demanded to know where I was. She had lied to him.

(Impossible, those who have heard this tale will say. She was the light to my darkness. If anyone is a liar, I am - but I leave that to you to judge.)

Neither of us had betrayed the other to Father on this scale before. Then again, neither of us had disobeyed Father on this scale either.

While I was still speechless, what Father did next frightened me more than punishment, for I could not begin to guess his purpose. 

He smiled.

“Come now, stop staring. I could not have chosen better for you myself. I am proud of you, my future queen.”

Never once had he told us so, in all our sixteen years. “Truly, Father?”

“Truly.” He placed his heavy hands on my shoulders and - for the first time in my life - kissed my brow. 

“But I must warn you first.” His smile sharpened. “Have I ever told you why you and your sister are swans by day and maidens by night?”

“All I know is that we have lived this way as long as I can remember. Why?”

“Because swans mate for life, of course.” He pulled a black feather from my hair and turned it in his fingers as he spoke. “When your mother broke her word, I could think of no better shape to teach her the meaning of loyalty. She sought to fly from me. I gave her wings.”

He crushed the feather in his fist and let the fragments fall.

My mind reeled. I remembered nothing of our mother, and neither, I believed, did Odette. There was not so much as a portrait of her anywhere in Father’s manor. He never spoke her name. We had never missed her, not knowing what there was to miss, but we had often wondered what she might be like. The mockery in his voice as he spoke of giving her wings made my own flightless body heavy as lead.

“You … cursed her?” I whispered through my dry throat. “Is that why she died?”

“I did not kill her. A hunter’s arrow did. It was a merciful death, I assure you.” There was no mercy in this sorcerer’s eyes. 

“So take care, my cygnet. If you or the one you love should ever break your word to each other, you will be a swan all your life, and Odile no longer.”

“I understand, Father.”

And indeed I understood - that my body, my sanity, my very self, were held by a tyrant from whom there could be no escape.

/

Father led me out of the maze, through the gardens and up the palace steps, where we joined the throng of arriving guests. I had not given a thought to my appearance, but Father conjured garments for us both. The ball was a masquerade and masked we were, he as an eagle-owl in brown and gold, I as a swan in black and silver. Father showed his note of invitation to the herald at the door, gave our name to him as Tannenwald, and mine as Odette. Soldiers in chain mail stood guard beside the doors and in every corner of the ballroom, to protect the royal family and their guests from just such impostors as we were, but they did not give us a second glance.

That was my chance to tell the truth, to run, to do anything but betray my sister, but Father’s arm and my own cowardice held me fast.

Our false names rang out into the ballroom.

I had never seen so many people in all my life, let alone all crushed together into one hall. More candles burned than we used in a year. Masked strangers whirled about in unfamiliar patterns, smelling of sweat and wine and perfumes. Painted nails flashed like talons, bared teeth like fangs. Fur and feathers shone with every movement. My swan-self screamed a silent warning: hunters on every side.

They all made way as Prince Siegfried bounded across the floor.

Alone among the company, he wore no mask. His handsome face, his blue eyes guileless and open as the lake at noonday, his dark curls that bounced with every step, I would have known anywhere. In honor of his guests, his clothes were finer than any in which I had seen him, though I missed his hunting leathers and was rather in awe of his velvet and gold. It was difficult to imagine this man content in the woods.

He bowed to Father with respect, but without fear. He then turned to me, smiling with unaffected delight.

“Odette! At last! I thought you were never coming - I - that is … how delighted I am to finally make your acquaintance.” He blushed as he took my hand. He could hardly admit to our secret meetings in front of Father. “I had heard that Baron von Tannenwald never left his estate.”

“Only for special occasions,” Father said smoothly. “Such as Your Highness’ coming-of-age, or my daughter’s first ball.” His fond smile looked almost genuine.

“You have two daughters, sir, have you not? Twins?”

“Odile is indisposed tonight. A trifle, never fear. She will soon have her chance.”

“I look forward to it.” Siegfried beamed. “Will you come and meet my mother?”

“We would be honored.”

The prince ushered us to the throne at the far end of the room, upon which Queen Hildegard sat with her courtiers about her. Her face was as handsome as her son’s, her blonde-and-silver hair tied back in a net of pearls, and her gown a rich shade of gold. Father swept her a bow, and I attempted a curtsey. She inclined her head graciously in response, but her smile was uncertain, perhaps even sad.

“You remind me of someone,” she murmured, her eyes fixed upon our masked faces. “I cannot think who it is.”

“This is the young lady of whom I spoke, Mother,” said Siegfried. “I told you she would be here.”

“She is as lovely as you said, my son,” said the Queen. “I am pleased to meet you both. Baron, may tonight be the start of friendship between our houses. Odette, my dear, I hope you enjoy your evening. Take care of her, Siegfried, for she has lived quietly, and we do not wish for the crowd to overwhelm her.”

Tongue-tied, I nodded.

“Of course, Mother,” said Siegfried, “May I begin now by asking for the honor of the next dance?”

“You may,” said Father, handing me over to the younger man like a parcel.

Siegfried led me away, waiting until we were out of earshot - he could not know that Father had the ears of a bird of prey - to lean down and speak to me.

“You look ravishing, though I have never seen you wear black before. I almost took you for your sister.”

One more chance to tell the truth. 

“Thank goodness you are not. Nothing against Odile, she is a sweet girl, only so odd I never know what to say to her.”

Once more, I let it go.

“Have you ever known a young lady to wear only one color?” I said, with Odette’s gentle smile. “We contain multitudes, my prince.”

“So I see,” he said, drawing me close as the orchestra began the next dance.

(I wish I could tell you what came over me when he took my hand. They say I was jealous. As the black swan, what else would I be? They say I set out on purpose to steal him from my sister and win him for myself. That was never my intent, and even if it were, a man’s heart is no trinket for the taking. But I ask you, if you were starving with a banquet before you, could you turn away? If you had lived for sixteen years with such a man as Father, how far would you go for a bit of attention?)

I did not know the dances of this court, but music had always been my refuge, whether it came from the prince’s flute, my sister’s lullabies, or the nightly songs of frogs, birds and crickets by the lake. I could not dance as anyone but myself, and so I did. I jumped. I flapped. I spun myself dizzy. I stomped until the floor shook. I swung Siegfried around, reeled him in and pushed him away. I danced out my wildness and my shyness, my fears and my rage. I danced to drown out the two discordant voices within me: the bird demanding to fly, the woman longing to be seen. 

I looked up, and Siegfried saw me.

The blue of his eyes was nearly swallowed up by the darkness of his pupils. His face was flushed from more than the dance. When he lifted me, I felt the heat of his hands through layers of black silk. 

That look, that touch, though it made my own heart race, by rights belonged to my sister. 

For all our sakes, I had to tell him the truth.

“I must speak to you alone,” I said, catching my breath in the moment between dances.

“Yes … ” He could not tear his eyes from me. “Alone.”

“It is a matter of urgency!” I snapped. “Is there any place we will not be overheard?”

I rose on my toes, searching frantically for Father among the crowd. If I could only get Siegfried far enough away from him, I could end this charade right now and take him to Odette as I had planned from the beginning.

“The balcony!” he gasped. “Come with me.”

He pulled me by the hand, weaving through a swarm of dancing couples, toward the balcony doors. 

He was already reaching for the handle when Father’s booming voice stopped us both.

“Not so fast, Your Highness.”

The other dancers drew away from us as he approached. Some lifted their eyeglasses to stare, others whispered and giggled. Even the musicians, who had just ended their previous piece, did not begin another one. 

In the silence that replaced their playing, I thought I heard a strange tapping sound.

“Sneaking off to a dark corner, were we?” He chuckled. “I was young once too, I understand. But,” his smile flashed into a snarl as his hand shot out to grab Siegfried by the shirtfront. “That is my daughter you are dealing with, not some common tavern wench. I expect her to be treated with all the respect due to her station.”

Gasps and excited chatter rippled through the audience. Apparently, the one thing these people enjoyed more than a dance was a scene. 

“Sir, please - ” Siegfried dropped my hand as though it were a live coal. “It was nothing like that. We were only - ”

“I needed to tell him something,” I broke in. “Somewhere quiet enough to talk, nothing more.”

The tapping continued, followed by a thump, as if something heavy had struck wood.

“Surely telling each other secrets can wait until you are married.” Father let go of Siegfried’s shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles, but there was an implied threat even in this. “You do intend to marry her, no? You have been paying such marked attention to her all evening, I would be very much surprised if that was not the case.”

“Are you implying that my son - your future king - is not a man of honor?” Queen Hildegard had made her way through the onlookers and was frowning at us all with royal displeasure. “Because I raised him as such, and have never known him to be anything less.”

“Please forgive any implied insult, Your Majesty,” said Father. “Naturally, I was concerned for my beloved daughter. When I see a man pulling her away to get her alone - ”

“He did what?” The Queen turned her frown upon her son. “Siegfried, explain yourself.”

This crossfire of questions and accusations from all sides, surrounded by scandal-hungry strangers, backed up against a pair of closed doors and with that relentless tap-tap-tap still sounding in the background, was like a nightmare from which I could not wake. Siegfried must have felt the same way, because when he spoke, he did so with the desperation of a condemned man. 

“Yes! Yes, of course I will marry her. I give you my word!”

The balcony doors flew open as Odette hurled herself through. 

The first thing she saw was her betrothed, with one hand gesturing to me and the other raised to heaven, pledging himself to another woman before her eyes. 

She hovered in mid-air, wings beating hard, beak open as she gasped for breath. Had she flown here for Siegfried, or for me? To keep her appointment, to apologize for making me her scapegoat, or to warn us of Father’s plans? Had he given her the same warning he had given me?

“If you or the one you love should ever break your word to each other, you will be a swan all your life … ”

What had I done?

/

Odette, speechless and tearless, let out a piercing cry and soared into the night.

Rage at all the world, myself most of all, boiled up within me and struck out at the most convenient target: Prince Siegfried.

“There!” I shrieked, pointing to the sky. “There goes your betrothed! I am Odile, you fool, not Odette! I tried to tell you - how could you not know? How can you say you love her, if you cannot even tell us apart?”

Siegfried glanced from me to the moonless night into which Odette had flown, then to Father, the Queen, and everyone watching. His face twisted from confusion to fury as he saw us, saw me, for who I truly was.

“You - you tricked me … you lied to me! Why?”

Too many reasons to name, all of them true, all of them worthless … and all of them drowned out by Father’s mocking laughter.

“You have only yourself to blame, young prince. So this is Odile, is it? No matter.” Father clapped me on the back, sending me staggering toward Siegfried, who recoiled. “You saw what you wanted to see, and blinded yourself to the truth. Still, you had better marry one of my girls, unless you want them both to be swans forever. Which shall it be, boy? Choose!”

Siegfried froze in horror, unwilling to condemn either of us to lose ourselves that way. 

It was the Queen who, hearing Father all but boast of the shape-changing curse upon his daughters, came to a conclusion about her formerly honored guest that did not please her in the least. She stepped forward, snatched the owl-feather mask from his face, and threw it at his feet.

“Rothbart,” she hissed. “Sorcerer. How dare you return, after all these years?”

“Is that any way to greet your future kinsman?” Father raised his arms in mock offense. “Since you banished me from this kingdom, there can be no sweeter irony than for my child to rule it - whichever one of them lasts the night.”

“I see you have no more regard for your daughters than you once had for your wife.” Her lips twitched and her eyes flickered, grief warring with anger across her face. “Ophelie was my friend. For her sake, I should have killed you when I had the chance. Guards, seize him!”

The royal guards drew their weapons and converged on Father. With a flourish of his brown feather cloak, he turned into an owl and flew over their heads, dodging spears and arrows as if they were toys. Guests shrieked and scattered in all directions as the guards tried to evacuate the room. Others raised shields around the Queen. 

Siegfried drew his sword as well, but I caught him by the sleeve.

“Get away from me,” he spat. “Witch!”

“Insult me later,” I shouted over the noise. “We must find Odette!”

“Yes, but - where could she have gone?”

“Where else but the lake?”

If the curse was already working, if my sister was fading and her swan-self taking control, she would be drawn there with the instinct of a bird. And even if she was still herself, where could she go? It was the closest either of us had to a home.

He nodded sharply and leaped over the balcony railing, climbing down by way of a strong vine that grew along the wall. I leaned down long enough to see him land on his feet and run to the stables.

I knew a faster way.

The swan called to us, you see. It was always there in the back of our minds, urging us to take flight. We could only change from swan to girl at moonrise, but from girl to swan at any time, if we were desperate - which I was.

I launched myself off the balcony and let my black silk gown ripple into wings.

/

I found Odette just where I had been expecting her.

An old weeping willow grew by the shores of the lake, its low-hanging branches making a curtain of leaves which, in swan form, sheltered us from the sun, wind and rain. The roots of this tree formed a hollow which, over the years, we had padded with moss, leaves, grass and shed feathers until it was as comfortable a nest as we could make it. We slept there in the daytime, to make the most of our moonlight hours as girls. If Father knew where it was, he had never sought us there. It was the most likely place I could think of for either of us to hide in a time of trouble. I landed on the surface of the lake as smoothly as I could, swam to the willow, and drew the leaf-curtain aside. 

Odette was a ball of rumpled white feathers in the middle of the nest, her head tucked under her wing. Her breaths, still rapid, were the only signs that she was still awake. She had flown so fast; she must have been exhausted. She had always been more of a woman and less of a swan than I was.

I had a thousand things to say to her, but even in the daytime, I would have been at a loss how to begin. How could I explain to her the tangled web of lies, manipulations, resentment and fear that had led us to this? How could I tell her that, when the sun would rise and her mind would break in a few hours, so would my heart?

I stretched out my neck and nudged her gently.

She flew up with a scream and attacked me in a flurry of beak and wings. 

I of all people, her twin, the one fellow creature who understood what it meant to be Father’s daughters, had stolen the only thing she had ever wanted for herself: the love that would have helped her escape. Soon, she would never be herself again, and it would be my fault. What I had done was unforgivable, and we both knew it. I deserved to be torn to shreds.

My swan-self knew nothing of remorse, however. It demanded I fight back, blow for blow, bite for bite, until one of us was dead and the other broken - just as Father would have wanted.

I refused to give him the satisfaction.

She was better than this. Even I was better than this. We had to be.

I made myself limp and defenseless, floating on the water among twigs and leaves. I would not raise a wing against her, even if she killed me.

She stopped.

Her head tilted sideways to look at me, her neck lowered, and her wings drooped. She pecked tiredly at our lost feathers, black and white, which had been scattered everywhere. The sorrow in her eyes had nothing swan-like about it.

When she began to shine, my first thought was that sunrise had come early.

Yet the sky above us was still dark, the new moon barely a sliver among the stars. Still she shone, whiter than paper, whiter than snow, then too impossibly bright to look at. I covered my eyes, but my own black wings were shining too, until there seemed no difference between them; both of us glowed with the blue light found at the heart of a flame. The pain of my injuries faded, healed by a warmth stronger than summer sunshine. I called out, and my voice was no longer a swan’s. I found myself laughing, or weeping, or both - and so did she.

When the light faded, we were standing on the banks of the lake, barefoot and tousle-haired, the hems of our dresses soaked with mud, human from head to toe. 

Her face, mirroring my own in wide-eyed disbelief, was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. 

We laughed. We wept. We embraced. We pulled water-weed out of each other’s hair and helped each other to the nearby cabin where we kept dry clothes and shoes. We tried to act as if this were any other morning shape-change, when we both knew it was anything but that.

“We broke the spell,” were the first coherent words I found to say. “How is this possible?”

“I am not certain,” said Odette, still breathless, blinking down at her own hands as if newly born. “All I remember is thinking that … ”

“Yes?”

“That I forgave you.” She looked up at me with an astonished smile. “I forgive you!”

“You … you do?”

“Always. Are we not sisters?” She squeezed my hands even as her smile faded and her eyes filled once more. “Can you ever forgive me? It was my idea to lie about which of us was betrothed - ”

“Of course I forgive you, how could I not? Father was using us both.” 

“So he did, but … oh, Odile, why did you let him do it?”

“I was jealous.” Beneath all of Father’s schemes I could have used as an excuse, this was the ugly truth. “No one has ever looked at me the way your prince looks at you.”

“No one has seen us for sixteen years, so how could they?” She tilted her head, bird-like even now, to give me that pointed look that told me to stop acting the fool. “You may yet have your chance. We are free now, to go anywhere and be anyone we choose.”

This idea was beyond my comprehension, so soon after breaking a curse that had lasted a lifetime. 

We could have debated for hours about what to do next, had we not heard the familiar sound of hoofbeats among the trees.

Siegfried came crashing through the undergrowth, leapt down from his horse and ran towards Odette. He stopped short for a moment at the sight of me, but continued on, even as she stood waiting beside me in the doorframe of our cabin with a dignity that would have done credit to Queen Hildegard herself.

“Odette? Thank Heaven you’re alright - but … how?”

“Odile saved me.” Odette wrapped her arm around me, refusing to let me hide (and showing him, unmistakably, which of us was which). 

“We saved each other,” I corrected her. “The spell is broken. We are no longer swans.”

Siegfried stared back at us, lost for words, struggling between joy for her, resentment for me, and sheer amazement at the miracle that had taken place. 

“I am sorry for my part in Father’s plot,” I added. “You deserved better than to be used like that.”

“Indeed not,” said Odette ruefully. “We hardly know each other, as tonight proves, and in that short time we’ve brought you nothing but trouble. I would not blame you if you chose to walk away.”

“Walk away?” Siegfried’s voice rose in disbelief. “Having met your father, if you think I would abandon anyone to him, let alone the woman I - ” He stopped, ducked his head, and shifted from one foot to another, like the bashful boy he must have been not so long ago. 

“I know you have no reason to trust me, after what I’ve done,” he said to Odette. “But please - all I ask for is the chance to earn it back. Let me take you - both of you - back to the palace. You will be under the Queen’s protection. He will never come near you again.”

He held out his hand to Odette.

She hesitated for what felt like a long time, and I wondered what she was thinking. Did she see that same hand in her mind’s eye, gesturing to me as he broke his promise? Which of us traitors would be easier for her to forgive: sister or lover? Did she still love him? Did any of us even know what it was to love?

“Can you really not see the differences between Odile and me?” she asked suddenly. “Or were you pretending not to, and using our resemblance as an excuse? If you were, tell me now. I would rather face the truth.”

“What a fool and scoundrel you must think me … ” Siegfried shrank into his evening clothes. “The truth is that Rothbart was right. I saw what I wanted to see, and blinded myself to the truth. Odile seemed so - so free on that dance floor, so unguarded … ever since we met, I always hoped to see you like that someday.”

Unguarded - with Father watching us all night? And yet I knew what Siegfried meant. I remembered a moment when the music had struck a high note and he had lifted me clear over his head, turning in a circle, so I could see the entire ballroom at one glance. I had never come so close to flying in my human form as I had then. 

“I have never known freedom in all my life,” said Odette, looking up at him so wistfully I began to wonder if I should leave them alone. “But with you, I began to believe it was possible … until tonight.”

“Couldn’t you still believe it? Even now?” Siegfried asked her in a low voice. “Couldn’t you try?”

I withdrew into the shadows. I believe they had forgotten I was there. Neither one could take their eyes off the other, even though Odette still held herself apart. 

Whatever answer she might have given him, though, was drowned out by the scream of an eagle-owl above our heads.

We all froze, like mice in a burrow hoping the hunter will pass them by. We should have known the royal guards could not stop Father, though they had certainly delayed him for a while. Breaking his curse had done nothing to prevent the hot knife of fear that stabbed me as I heard him call. 

We could not spirit our guest away and pretend innocence this time. We had no choice but to face him down.

“Well met, son-in-law,” said Father, landing before us with barely a rustle. “I thought I would find you here. So, have you made your choice?”

He gave no sign of being surprised, or even aware, that Odette and I had broken the curse. His owl-senses must have told him what shape we wore already.

“I am not your son–in-law!” Siegfried reached for the sword at his belt, which I had assumed was ceremonial, but which gleamed sharply as he drew it. “You have no right to call yourself a father to these women. In the name of the Crown, I order you to let them go.”

“Order me?” Father scoffed. “I give the orders here, little prince.”

He gestured with one hand. Siegfried’s sword glowed red-hot, as if freshly forged. He cried out in pain and flung it away, clutching his burnt hand. The sword landed in the lake with a hiss of steam.

“Father, please listen.”

Odette’s voice rang out in the cool night air, clear and confident, without a trace of the fear she must have felt. Siegfried had stepped in front of us, but now she did the same. She held out her arms to shield us. Even in the pale light of the new moon, the long sleeves of her dress shone like bright wings.

I had seen this before.

That sweep of white blew layers of dust from my memories, opening a strongbox my mind had locked and buried years ago. I had never forgotten it, only feared it - until now.

Baroness Rothbart. Ophelie. Mother. 

I remembered.

/

Mother is packing. Odette smiles as if we are going on holiday, but I am anxious. Mother is throwing clothes into a bag at random, not even folding them, which is unlike her. She keeps looking over her shoulder at the door. I try to stay out of her way as she hurries back and forth. 

The door creaks open. Father is angry. I thought he was going with us, but no - Mother really means to go without him.

“If you must leave, good riddance, but you will not take my flesh and blood from me.” He waves a commanding hand at us. “Girls, come here.”

Odette takes a step forward. I hide behind Mother’s skirt. She gathers us both close. “You are on the wrong path, Eric. You might not see it, but I do. I will not leave them - and certainly not with you.”

“Then you leave me no choice.” He raises his hands to cast a spell.

Mother throws herself between him and us, white sleeves billowing, 

He does not stop.

The world twists all out of shape, like your face reflected in the bowl of a spoon, like fragments of colored glass being shaken in a kaleidoscope. My bones are on fire. Odette is screaming, or is that both of us? No, all three.

We are a swan and two cygnets, lying dazed on the floor.

/

I remembered it all - Father’s hand tearing like talons through the air, Mother’s hand warm and trembling on my shoulder. I remembered the strange, kaleidoscopic world I had glimpsed as the curse took hold, a world of magic underneath the reality to which I was accustomed. It would have been beautiful, were it not so terrifying. Was this what Father saw, every time he cast a spell?

He made it look so easy. Could I do it?

Even as my mind reeled, Odette was calling on all the strength she had to reason with him.

“We are no threat to you,” she said. “All we ask is that you allow us to accept the prince’s generosity, and live at court like any other baron’s daughters. Our curse is broken, so you will no longer have to spend magic to provide for us. We can leave each other in peace. Was that not what you wanted by arranging this betrothal?”

Siegfried’s head lifted in joyful surprise, as this was the first sign Odette had shown of accepting his olive branch. Father, however, scowled.

“What I want, what I have always wanted, is to rule … and for that end, I begin to suspect the boy is more trouble than he is worth.”

Again, he flicked aside the veil between worlds; a small movement this time, but I still saw it. A crossbow appeared in his leather-gloved grasp.

“Stand aside, girl. This won’t take long.”

“We’ll see about that.” Siegfried, brave fool, raised his fists. “If this is your challenge, sorcerer, I accept.”

“No, please!” Odette cried. “Father, let us go!”

Father raised his weapon. Siegfried pushed Odette aside. History was repeating itself, just as it had all those years ago. Once again, I was helpless to do anything but watch … or was I?

Oh Mother, this is why you tried to save us. Shall we never be free of him?

That was when I felt something brush my shoulder, soft as feathers, and heard a voice in my mind that might have been Mother - or Someone else.

I am with you, my children. Free yourselves.

I burst out of the shadowy cabin where I had been hiding and flung up my hands. 

To this day, I can neither describe nor understand what reached out through me the moment I opened the veil. It was a force that could reshape reality as a child plays with mud. If Father thought he could control it, he was deeply mistaken. When he had told me he was the one to choose what creature we turned into, either he had been lying, or he did not understand magic as well as he thought.

Whatever it was, it poured out of me, flowed harmlessly in streams around Odette and Siegfried, and caught hold of Father as if he were a toy.

His conjured crossbow dropped into the grass. He roared and struggled, but the magic did not let him go. It tugged and twisted him this way and that, stretching his face into a beak, pulling at his shoulder blades until wings erupted. At first, I thought he was changing into his owl form again - although when he’d done it for himself, it had never looked this painful - but if so, this owl was taller than a man and had feathers that gleamed like knives. Its screech had a grating sharpness nothing living could produce - and yet, somewhere underneath it was still Father’s voice.

Odette was the first of us to recover her presence of mind. She pounced on the fallen crossbow and pushed it into Siegfried’s arms.

“Run!”

And so we did.

No matter what the ballads tell you, there is nothing glorious about battle. It consists of scrambling up trees, behind bushes or down muddy holes in the hope of not having the flesh torn from your bones. The crossbow was a magical weapon with an endless supply of arrows, but Siegfried’s shots kept glancing off the creature’s scales. The few that struck seemed to enrage it even further. All that saved us was the increasing wildness of its attacks. We were watching Father lose himself before our eyes.

But Siegfried was still a master archer, and eventually there came a moment when his enemy dragged himself along the ground, breath rattling, leaving a dark trail along the shoreline.

I thought of Odette, pecking at the feathers we had shed during our fight. If I spoke now, I might regret it all my life, but no less would I regret staying silent.

“Father? Forgiveness breaks the curse. It will heal you. It doesn’t need to end this way.”

Could I forgive him? Could Odette? I saw her from the corner of my eye, hiding behind a tree trunk, watching warily to see what he would do. Siegfried held his bow steady, poised to shoot at the slightest movement. 

The creature moaned. His eyes, yellow as an owl’s, seemed to darken with a look that was almost human. 

I took one small step toward him, then another. Odette emerged from behind the tree. Siegfried lowered his weapon.

The creature snapped at me, who was closest. Odette pulled me back. Its owl-eyes flashed up at us with mindless animal aggression.

Siegfried’s last shot struck home inside its open beak.

It fell, thrashing, and slid sideways down the bank and into the lake. The water hissed and bubbled until it was still.

Siegfried’s bow vanished in a twist of nothingness. He ran to Odette, kissed her as if he were the one drowning, and held her close as she melted into him. I backed away, but Odette caught me by the sleeve and pulled me in. Siegfried, after a moment’s hesitation, kissed me on the forehead like a brother.

The sun was rising. By its light, I saw us in living colour for the first time: Siegfried’s hazel eyes shadowed with weariness, Odette’s blue as the morning sky and red-rimmed with tears, and my own red-blond hair straggling down around my face. Our dresses, no longer enchanted to mimic the feathers of water birds, were streaked with dirt. We were beautiful. We were alive.

“Let me take you home,” said Siegfried, offering us each an arm.

Needless to say, we accepted.

THE END

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Me, faced with a shiny new story idea: Save it for the Inklings Challenge, save it for the Inklings Challenge, please save it for the Inklings Challenge, I'm begging you please save it for the Inklings Challenge

[justanothersquidblog]

Can you tell us about this annoying octo gf you are giving yon?

During Splatoon 2, Yon battles with her identity as she was set up by her parents to be their genius bread winning daughter that would be the first in her family+town to truly leave and come back a rich business billionaire-

Due to the way she was raised, she was very tightly wound and stuck to rules like flies to gluetraps in a way to cope with her realization that Inkopolis was nothing like her parents said and all her years of preparation, over-maturing, and isolation were completely and entirely unnecessary.

So, when thinking of a rival- I thought to myself; what's the opposite of Yon? Yon being a rule follower that's had to fight for everything she's learned and holds the weight of her home town on her shoulders- and I figured..

An octarian soldier with nothing to lose and little care for the rules of the world, reckless, and careless- but with all the confidence a god could only have.

I havent finished her design yet, or her name, or really anything! But the basis of their dynamic is that Rival is full of talent and strength but dsepite that- the people around her have low expectations of her worth due to being a loose cannon.

She missed out on San's original dive into the Valley so when Splatoon 2's plot occurs and Yon goes fighting her way through the Canyon, she's absolutely ECSTATIC to finally fight a worthy opponent and show off to everyone who the best is.

So during Yon's story, Rival popped up a lot- sometimes even hijacking the success of her own squad- just to 1v1 Yon.

She later left the military after Splatoon 2, and reunited with Yon when Yon had to forge her documents so she could join inkling society, only for Rival to end up in court for multiple crimes, the most important of which she didn't actually do- leading Yon and Rival on a rabbit hole adventure behind the scenes.

She genuinely admires Yon and would never put her down- but also wants to challenge and be better than her- something strange and new for Yon, who's used to people only admiring the version of her that will give them the most gain.

[popcornfairy28]

Finished my @inklings-challenge story this year, for Team Lewis! 😁

"How to Pack Realistically for an Alternate Reality" was actually the third idea I had, but it's the one that compelled me the most to write. So I ended up with Portal Fantasy (which I figured I would) and the theme as "Pray for the living" which is not what I was expecting.

I actually had quite a bit of this story ready last week, but then I got a cold and wanted to record me reading it when my voice wasn't shot so I held back on posting until tonight. In the future, when I post my regular fics, I would also like to include the podfic in the original fic's post as well, so it was nice to do that with this one.

Summary: Emeline was expecting another boring weekend with her cat Lucy, but that's shattered when a stranger walks through a portal into her closet claiming that he needs her help. She might as well go on an adventure like her favorite TV shows.

[fictionadventurer]

This story is, like, 75% of the reason I didn't write a "King Thrushbeard" retelling this year, because you did everything I would have wanted to do with the story.

THANK YOU SO MUCH for making the princess horrible! Every other retelling I've read has made her father or Thrushbeard into a villain, or tried to justify her behavior. Here, you're like, "No, she's a horrible mean spoiled brat." She needs drastic measures to reform, because she can't keep going on like this.

Her love of her pet chickens is a very cute, very specific little detail, and it nicely sets up the possibility that she can care for something besides herself.

"Nothing changes a young lady's heart like a man she wishes to impress" is a fun justification for the ball of All the Suitors.

I liked the concise way you laid out the scene where she insults everybody.

Her judgey comments about everything are really funny. They're mean, but they do show that she's observant and witty.

In the section where they're living in the cottage, you do a good job of presenting Thrushbeard's comments and actions in the most reasonable light. He's frustrated with her comments about the king, but not cruel. He's practical and blunt, but gentle. I especially love the comment that he doesn't want her to learn housekeeping to enslave her, but so she can be master of the household.

I also like how he gets to make some of his insulting comments, but she can hold her own and fire right back. Feels very classic rom-com.

And there are some very cute scenes like with the flowers.

The "breaking the pots" scene was handled well--it fits in with the themes of getting her to value things besides externals.

The "king's new bride" getting a lovely chicken coop was a nice bit of foreshadowing--she's drawn to it because she loves it, mourns that she rejected the king, and doesn't have any reason to suspect it's hers.

It's also a nice detail that the servants at the castle are less patient with her than her husband was.

Even though you handled all the thorny bits well, there was still the question of whether the final explanation of his motivations would work. I think it did, because it wasn't that he was perfect and he took it upon himself to teach her a lesson. It was that he recognized her strengths, and that he'd had to undergo a similar character arc by living a life of discipline. It was very well done. One of my favorite retellings I've ever read (and possibly the only accurate one). Thank you for writing it.

Done with my @inklings-challenge Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge! I retold King Thrushbeard/King Hawksbeak (we had an old collection growing up where it was Hawksbeak). I had a lot of fun and I was able to write it really fast, which is not typical of me, but it is also around 10,000 words, which is typical of me (brevity might be the soul of wit, but it is not the soul of me).

Anyway, please enjoy Bittersweet!

[ettawritesnstudies]

I finished Runaways but I scheduled my Livestream for next week!

Context:

I'm going to make the anthology one way or another to launch with the book, this is just a matter of prioritizing. It'll involve editing the current Kofi stories, writing some new ones, and making supplemental content.

I have 0 thoughts for Inklings currently but it's coming up soon so I should probably figure that out.

End of the Road is a NA paranormal coming of age story about one way road trips, grief, and ghosts. Could be published after runaways because they have a folklore/supernatural element connecting them. Capitalizes on the 20something angst.

Vilotta's Adventure is a MG historical fiction set in Renaissance Italy following a princess who apprentices with Leonardo da Vinci when he comes to her parents court to paint a portrait of her mother. She gets to be an inventor, has a series of misadventures, and learns about friendship along the way. Could be published after Runaways because they're both MG, bonus points for Educational Content™. Rewrite of the first novel I ever wrote so it's not going anywhere.

Art stream: I'd still do 25 minute sprints w/ no talking and just art on screen so you can write without distractions or I show you my progress during breaks. Motive: I miss drawing and my brain hurts.

[cacartoon]

"Other OctoAgents do play a role in continuing the search in little ways. Paani and Min especially"

Now I want to know more about how they tried to help, can we know more please ?

Also this au is neat and I like it!

Of course! Also thank you :)

Now while the Octonauts are off doing their own things while grieving the loss of their captain, and the junior agents and kids are keeping tabs on them, the Octo Agents are picking up where things were left off.

While most are tending to the Octonauts and giving them something to do (ei. Professor Natquik giving Peso medical work down in Antarctica; Ryla having Dashi join her on cave expeditions; Ranger Marsh having Tweak work with him in the Everglades; Pearl having Shellington work with her and her studies; and Calico Jack helping Kwazii continue his solo search for Barnacles), two agents in particular are also trying to help find the missing captain.

Paani and Min.

Min being a map maker, kept detailed maps and layout of the day Captain Barnacles disappeared and potential places he could’ve ended up. While this was easy for land, she never mapped the ocean and waterways much, and it would be challenging as the ocean is a vast area with many possibilities. Enter Paani, your local hydrologist. Going with the flow is his thing, and he wasn’t one to shy away from adventure.

So, working together, they tried to find Barnacles through their methods. Paani exploring waterways and islands and Min using this info to map out routes and potential locations to search.

Min would also get some details from the Octonauts, more specifically Professor Inkling and Dashi, about the day the disappearance happened and where Barnacles was last known to be.

And this team work, would finally give Kwazii and the other Octonauts the first concrete clue to finding their captain.

Let’s just hope Paani can stay out of trouble long enough to let them know what he discovered.

[rassicas]

idk if this is the question box )scratching my head) but thank you for translating that interesting tidbit about the ink tank! It had me thinking.. How is the ink refilled in their tank? I kind of assumed a tube was connected somehow to their sacs like an iv lol.. I think im actually lost on how the mechanisms of the inktank work for the inkfish. Ik this game's logic and biology isnt meant to be taken apart like this though it's fun to ponder bout it. Id love to hear your thoughts! Thank you kindly

I'd definitely give this post a read as to why the "ink tank drains ink from the inkling" idea doesn't make a whole lot of sense. all we really have in terms of words from the devs is that the weapons are not hooked up to the ink tank and that ink comes from the wrist. it seems like itd be pointless strain on the inkling to drain more of their ink into the tank... which they would swallow back into their ink sac?

I think the way the ink tank is filled is just as simple as it being filled from the pressure of outside ink going into the tank, like putting an open bottle underwater. this would explain why your tank refills very fast when going under the ink. in the case of hi-tech turf war tanks, the flow of ink into the tank could be more controlled, and have filters to keep it clean. The speed that outside ink flows into the tank depends on your ink recovery ability. (I think abilities are like digital tags that interact with the ink tank) Limited ink challenges would just be disabling the function of the ink tank that allows it to take in ink from the outside.

As for agent 3, their ink tank is literally just a soda bottle held with rubber bands. refilling it could just be like. opening up the cap a bit or poking a hole. maybe cleanliness is less of an issue since this homemade tank is just for their scrap hunting adventures where they would just be swimming through and taking in their own ink, rather than playing a team sport that involves using ink that others have used. Also with how an ink tank THIS low-tech can exist, as well as how turf wars started out as a back-alley street sport played by kids, and how many thick items of clothing you can wear, that also pushes me away from the idea of ink tanks requiring medical equipment like needles and tubes directly into the ink sac through the back (though this was what i initially imagined too) Unfortunately, No matter if you view it as inkling->tank->weapon, or tank->inkling->weapon, or how the ink goes in or whatever, there's gonna be contradictions somewhere. i feel like these things have not been thought about in depth on the developer side, or at least are not wholly reflected in game, like how some of the visuals seem to point towards that it's inkling->tank->weapon somehow, like the way the ink tank passively refills when you stand. but I'm going to chalk that up to being a gameplay thing. Because after all, gameplay takes priority and Splatoon Is A Game, and this leads to things like subs and specials coming from seemingly nowhere. (I don't recommend thinking too hard about how a realistic in-universe turf war would work, unless you like headaches)

...Final note, the ink tank needing to drain from the ink sac to function also is a problem for say, if a non-inkfish wanted to play ink based sports, which is mentioned to be a Thing that happens in-universe. Since non inkfish dont die in water and can't respawn, i belive they'd have to play under a different ruleset.... for those who cant produce ink on their own, I think it'd make sense for them to play with the ink tank hooked up directly to the weapon.

[fictionadventurer]

I've honored my tradition of loving the month of May by writing a poem in it's honor: "May"

I've lived up to my tradition of honoring Rietta's birthday (from @isfjmel-phleg's Blackberry Bushes stories) with blackberry lemonade and lemon cake (the photo counts as creating something).

And I've thrown together a "King Thrushbeard" retelling that revolves around some royal traditions: "The Beggar's Door".

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 1

Welcome to Day 1 of the Chesterton Challenge! The beginning of a month full of creativity! I can't wait to head on this journey with all of you!

Today's Optional Prompt is: Tradition.

Chesterton was an advocate for tradition in secular and religious contexts, and May 1st is a day associated with all kinds of traditions, from May Day to St. Joseph the Worker to the opening day of writing and art challenges.

You can interpret the word any way you want. Will you write about a fantasy world's traditions? Write an essay about your favorite springtime tradition? Create artwork within a traditional art medium? The sky's the limit!

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post.

Now go forth and create!

[skelswritingcorner]

Whenever You Need Somebody (March x Farmer)

(This wasn't showing in the tags when I first posted this so I'm reposting it... FOR THE THIRD GOD DAMN TIME)

Kaltain, the new farmer that arrived the previous season, has been running around ragged for as long as the residents have known her. Elsie and Juniper decide to pry into who Kallie might pursue. Also, mild implied Ryis x Farmer.

Warnings: March challenges the farmer to a fight, March being a tsundere as per usual, mild vulgar language

Word Count: 1,044

A/N: Ah yes, my first fanfic for Fields of Mistria. Surprisingly, doesn't include any form of endometriosis! Also I accidentally wrote this in 3rd person and not 2nd person, so the farmer is less of a reader insert and more of her own character this time 'round. Enjoy :3

Ever since Kaltain moved to Mistria, she has been busy every single day. Tending to crops, contributing to the museum, mining, and so many other things that many of the townsfolk wonder how she is able to get everything done within all days she's lived in the town.

"Kallie's such a busybody, isn't she?" Juniper swirled her glass, looking over at the periwinkle-haired farmer. She was discussing something with Olric, who was holding a dagger in his hands.

Elsie nodded, "I've never seen her talk to people that often either," she looked to where Juniper was observing the farmer and Olric, "is she secretly seeing someone?"

Hemlock chuckled from the counter, "Talking about her again?"

Juniper took a sip of her wine, "What's wrong with that? Kallie's quite the enigma, we're just trying to figure things out. Elsie, you're the love expert, why don't you try asking Kallie if she has anyone in mind?"

Elsie smiled, getting up from her seat at the bar to walk over to the farmer and blacksmith. When she tapped Kallie's shoulder, the young woman stopped talking to Olric and turned to Elsie. "Oh, is there anything you need, Miss Elsie?"

"Just call me Elsie, you don't need to be so formal. I saw that blade in Olric's hands, those gemstones inside have such luster! Tell me, how did you get your hands on such a thing?"

Kallie grabbed the dagger from Olric, cautiously showing the gem-studded hilt. "This? Something I was gifted back in my adventuring days. It's an ornamental dagger given to me by some noble I guarded on a route one time. I don't know much about it, so I wanted to ask Olric if he had an inkling of what it's made of."

Olric rubbed the back of his neck, "I've never seen anything like this before. If this was something March made, I would've recognized it. However, all I can tell is that the gemstone over here is Rhondite," he pointed to the center red gem, "and the ones next to it are moonstone! The blade seems to be made with silver, but that's all I could figure out."

Elsie hummed, "That's quite a beautiful thing, and so are those gems! Anyway, I have a question for our dear Kallie, if you have the time."

"Go ahead." Kallie sheathed the dagger before putting it in her bag.

Elsie placed a hand on Kallie's shoulder, "Have you ever been in love before?" The question baffled the farmer, as it was something she never considered. She often kept herself busy enough that love wasn't something actively on her mind.

"I'm no stranger to it, why do you ask?" Kallie raised a brow at the question. Is Elsie plotting something? Trying to play matchmaker?

"Oh, no real reason. Well, I lied," Elsie smiled, "the Shooting Star Festival is in a little more than a week, and I wanted to see if you have anyone in mind to watch the stars with."

Kallie groaned, "You should know my rules by now, I'm not going to romantically pursue anyone until most of the damage from the earthquake is taken care of."

Juniper cackled, "So do all of us here. I know what you're thinking with that, you're thinking of making a full commitment to a partner when you're able to have the time to pursue them."

Taking a sip of her wine, Juniper continued, "You spend a lot of time with March and Ryis. They're both quite strong, I'm sure at least one of them is interested in you."

Kallie growled, "I don't plan on dating someone right now unless they can defeat me in a fight."

"A fight, eh?" And the grumpy blacksmith is here, and so is Ryis. Ryis waved at Kallie with a smile, walking up to her.

"I doubt you'd get that from any other guy than March, if we're going to be honest here." Ryis chuckled, fully knowing of Kallie's notorious reputation back at the Capital. He chose not to tell anyone else, since Kallie likely wanted to put her old life behind her.

March walked up to Kallie as well, "Just to tell you how I'm feeling, I'd fight you even if it was for any other reason. Something for you to understand. I've gotten quite strong over the years, I can take you on."

"You're never gonna give up on trying to be better than me, aren't you?" Kallie's mouth curled into a shit-eating grin, "Well, I hope I don't let you down by saying that adventurers are better combatants than blacksmiths. I'm not letting you run around thinking you're so smug about thinking you can take me on, then desert me when you realize that you're over your head."

Hemlock shouted from the bar, "Don't start fighting in the Inn, you two!"

"NOT PLANNING TO!"

Kallie stretched her arms above her head, shoulders popping and neck cracking. She was done here, and needed to go back to the farm to go take care of things. "I'm gonna take my leave now. Olric," she patted Olric's shoulder, "thanks for helping me identify the materials of the dagger. Sorry to say goodbye and desert the place, but I have to do stuff at the farm now. See you later!"

With that, she speedwalked to the door, leaving the Inn to go to the farm. March looked over at Juniper and Elsie, who were giving him knowing looks.

"What are you two plotting?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"Oh, nothing!" Elsie waved her hand, "We were just thinking of who Kallie would be with for her first Shooting Star Festival. I think she matches your energy quite nicely, March. Maybe she'll ask you?"

Ryis shook his head, "After all that? She's never been interested in dating anyway. Told me several times."

Juniper smirked, "And how do you that?"

"Oh, just something that came up once." Ryis answered, a bead of sweat on the side of his forehead. There's another reason, but that isn't anyone's business but Kallie, him, and March.

Eventually, the Inn went back to its usual chatter, the earlier conversations easily forgotten. The people of Mistria will eventually find out who Kallie ends up dating anyway. For now though, they won't know.

That's right y'all, this fic was simply an elaborate rickroll. Why did I do this? I was tempted while streaming to do this. Why this fandom specifically? Blame the clown man.

[find-the-path]

Inklings Challenge 2024! My first story idea also went north out of the farthest sight so this is what we're going with. All dialogue (technically) so a lot of what I meant to put in is slightly off-screen. I think I do want to continue this though. @inklings-challenge

You asked for a tale and you’ll get one, don’t worry. Quiet now, this one’s true. There were once three brothers who lived in a bright kingdom down south. They were all moderately happy.

The eldest and most skilled with a sword longed for adventure in the north, where the kingdom used to stretch long ago. His gift was far-sight. On cloudy days he looked out east, south, west, north, and told stories of distant peoples to entertain his younger brothers.

The middle brother was the most practical of the three. His gift was swimming, as glad and airless as a fish. The whole family discovered that when he was three and the river was swollen, after much panic. His dream was to join the fleet of ships that patrolled the kingdom’s southern seas.

“---But he joined the pirates instead, and reformed the island blockade!”

What’s all this about pirates, all of a sudden? The royal navy fights the pirates, son, they don’t join them. That’d be counter-productive. Don’t interrupt the story.

The youngest, the quickest, hadn’t yet decided what he wanted to do. He had time, for his own gift had not yet become apparent.

In due time the eldest brother came of age and went off to seek his fortune. Northward, of course, as he’d always wanted. The lands were wide and empty to the north, save for small towns full of insular people and stretches of jagged mountains that the royal geologist had a personal grudge against.

He went past those mountains. Past the brown hills he found beyond them. Looking north, he saw clouds of mist obscuring the furthest stretched of his sight. In the company of a band of scouts he passed out of knowledge of homeland and family, and ceased to be heard of.

Years passed. The younger two brothers grew up and left the house, seeking their fortune afar. Rumors of war in the north grew louder. The king called his council to advise him on the matter, but what they discussed was not known in the kingdom, and the youngest brother chafed at the ignorance. The north had always held a mystery for him--- that of his brother’s death. They all assumed he was dead by now: a fairly intelligent assessment.

At last ten winters were gone by and the youngest brother was as grown as he was ever going to be. He decided he would go north himself, to discover what had the royal advisers in such disagreement, and also a hint of what had happened to the eldest.

He set out in autumn---

“But Papa, the middle brother! Did he go sailing? Did he fight the pirates?”

I don’t know if he ever went sailing, son. I suppose he might’ve found pirates but that’s not what this story is about yet.

“It’s your story, how can you not know?”

Yes, it’s my story, and it’s still being told. Shh and let me finish.

Just north of the capital the youngest brother found a caravan under attack, and helped fight off the mercenaries in return for information and dinner. He tracked the men who hired the bandits to a research town on the edge of the great forest, where he heard tell of a dragon set up in the mountains blocking his path. I can’t see the dragon, which mean it probably can’t see us, but there’s enough sources to look credible enough.

He’s trying to go around it now. If he gets across the moor--- and if that dragon doesn’t see him--- he might make it.

“But you said nobody’s got over the wall for ten years!”

Not since I did it, no. But my brothers... they’re another kind of stubborn. Your uncle’s coming, lad, and when he does we’ll be ready.