#and the Changeling is like. has an Acceptance about the level of support it needs but still doesn't really Like it kind of stuff)

[brittlebutch]

tbh the more I think about her the more I wonder if Tiffany is going to wind up more of a side character than an actual Main Character in this series... like if i wind up actually writing as much as i am conceptualizing writing, the distinction might not necessarily matter that much, but i do sort of wonder what i'm going to wind up doing with her lol

[ask-iamnotanalicorn]

Previous: The King Sombra Timeline The Changeling Times Timeline

Equestria has been occupied. Changelings, creatures who can take on the shape and voice of anypony, anyone. Monsters who feed on love. They’d infiltrated Equestria seemingly overnight, sinking their roots into every settlement and city like a creeping plague, capturing important officials, leaders, heads of clans, and replacing them or holding them outright hostage. They did not reveal themselves until the fall of Canterlot, and by then, it was too late.

Their demands are simple in their cruelty: Obey the new changeling overlords without question. Do not try to reunite with missing loved ones; they had been taken, trapped in the cocoons that leeched their love to feed the hive. Know that anyone could be a changeling in disguise, and be assured that disobedience would be punished - there was always a need for more love, and having it forcibly drained from you was much worse than losing it unawares.

Featherhorn received warning before the coup was sprung. Not enough to get everyone out - some stayed to hold off the swarm that came once their infiltrators were unmasked, giving time for rest of the town to escape. Pitch Black led their meager forces, along with his father Sales Patter, Press’s husband Curler, Camera Shy, and other brave stallions and mares. Sales would have stayed, but Black and Sales Patter made him promise to get the rest of the town away.

Only a few managed to meet up with the townsponies later. Some of those were not who they said. But some were. Sales Patter gave the story - the majority had been captured and taken away. A few of their own had been changelings even before the attack. But their fight was not in vain.

The Featherhorn refugees were blessed to have a few zebras with them - one of them knew the recipe for the magical poultice that reveals a creature’s true nature. Their group was one of the larger rebellious parties starting out, because they had had warning; but this made them vulnerable, easier to find, and so they went deeper into the forests until they could find some way to defeat the monsters. Slowly, though, they began to pick up other stragglers, organize themselves, become a force that could not be easily found and would not be easily taken when they were.

They have not given up. Sales has not given up. Somewhere out there, Pitch Black, Curler, Cam, and the rest are still alive, still needing saving. And he hopes to not see their faces again until the changelings are overthrown, or he sees them rescued and wearing the zebra poultice with his own two eyes.

Because the changelings can wear anyone’s face. And they prefer to wear the faces of those you trust the most.

----

Fun Facts About The Changeling Times Story/Art:

- I figure there aren’t nearly enough Changelings to forcibly subdue ALL the ponies and other creatures in Equestria; they are only one city-sized hive, after all. That led to a combination of the Canterlot assault and the Season 6 finale - the changelings secretly replacing important ponies until they could confidently reveal themselves and assume control through threats and fear.

- Chrysalis’s rule is in a fast-decaying state - she has the power she craved, but the fear and paranoia used to control the populace is rapidly stifling their love even for each other, diminishing the changelings’ food supply. There are still A LOT of ponies, so it will take a long time to reach starvation levels, but things are already teetering. And the more ponies she pods as love batteries (the pods give them dreams of things they love, and the changelings siphon that off) to offset this decline, the more unrest she creates, and the more unstable her rule becomes.

- There are some changelings who formed genuine friendships with ponies during their longer infiltrations leading up to the invasion and then chose the ponies over their queen. (There is no “hive mind” in this universe, just a strong sense of instinctive loyalty that can be overcome.) They have to stay in their natural forms at all times while among the refugees, but the most trusted act as scouts and suppliers. Sales has a very hard time trusting them for a while.

- Nightmare Moon was rebanished, Discord has not escaped, but the Crystal Empire will return shortly. The conflict between Chrysalis and Sombra distracts her enough for the ponies to overthrow Chrysalis. They receive help from within.

- Thorax is part of the group that reclaims the Crystal Heart and breaks enough crystal ponies free of their mind control helmets to activate it, banishing Sombra. It is during this mission that Thorax discovers the secret of giving love, starting off Great Change and ascending him to kingship. 

- Acceptance of the reformed changelings and the crystal ponies takes a much longer time after the occupation/war than it did in the show, but it does happen eventually.

- I discovered while making these that I could use an almost invisible color gradient over the art to give them it a faint, unifying hue. I think it really helps with balancing the whole image and copying the feel given off in the show! Obviously, this one uses the color green. 

Ha, the notes ended up being longer than the story entry this time! Some of this stuff I literally thought up while I was writing. XD Hope ya’ll are enjoying this series, I worked really hard on these pictures and I’ve been excited about finally sharing them with you guys. Thanks again to ReversalMushroom for his Patreon support and commission that made this alternate timeline series possible!

~River Babble

Next Week: Eternal Night

[lizardrosen]

Hello 🅱️lease share some of your basket friend thoughts. I like your content a ton and Wish to hear your hcs and opinions on ships and such!

I sure hope you wanted a novel for an answer, because that’s what you’re getting! I’ve got so many feelings about all four of them!

Bad Grief

Grief! I love Grief more than almost anyone else in the game! I love his wordplay and his strangely calibrated conscience, and his motley clothes combined with the fact that he’s called “ the anti-Immortell” in the design documents, and I love the little dance he does while idling in classic, and the way he lounges in P2.

He’s a keen observer of human nature, and of his own nature, too. He’s always aware that he’s always on display, and he puts on a show and carries a gun for show, so of course he’s receptive to the existential crisis that Aglaya pushes him towards.

P1 Grief has almost definitely killed people and P2 Grief prooobably hasn’t? I believe in him because I have to, but I do think he struggles with the same killing urge that he talks about in the original game.

He’s trans and bi with a heavy leaning towards men, and polyamorous.

ships: Daniil, Rubin, Artemy, sometimes Andrey

Rubin

Rubin is my favorite oathbreaker! He didn’t do anything wrong and deserves so much better than he got, both from his story and from the fandom. I think people tend to forget that he’s at least as competent a surgeon and doctor as Artemy, and that he was there by Isidor’s side during the First Outbreak. And now he’s basically just an understudy, creating a sample of the panacea in case Artemy doesn’t manage it, and working himself to death in the process. Even if he doesn’t die, he basically disappears after day seven :( It’s quite tragic, on so many levels.

He’s not exactly a nice man or a kind one, but he really does care about the town, and about Artemy, and his reasons for getting angry and bitter and resentful are all valid and justified, and he’s done NOTHING WRONG. I support him but also support Rubin getting some got dam therapy. Get some sleep, tall child.

His gender is No Thank You, but he sullenly accepts he/him pronouns because asking someone to change for him is just bringing attention to something he’d rather avoid.

Not aromantic, but guarded enough in general that he doesn’t feel or acknowledge attraction very often, but when he does it’s always men.

ships: GRIEF, Artemy, sometimes Daniil, sometimes Block (specificially if Artemy doesn’t stop him from joining the army and they come to rely on each other)

Lara

I like Lara a lot, both as a character and for her role in the larger picture. In the first game she was almost too much of an angel for me to care about her, but I got pretty sad in the Changeling Route when she talked about wanting to be a mother but never getting the chance.

Earlier today I was talking with some friends on twitter about how in Pathologic 2 she can be passive-aggressive and evasive and just in general not a perfect kind mediator, because she’s so caught up in her own Stuff, and I really appreciate that about her character! Let women be intense and complicated and rough! Her house is still called the Shelter, but she’s never really able to offer shelter to anyone but Artemy and even that, she does with some bitterness. It’s so good and sad, and I love her.

I’ve also got feeeelings about her and her father and Alexander Block, but that would probably take a huge essay to explain.

She’s a cis bi woman. I’ve occasionally thought of her as a trans woman, mostly because of that line i mentioned about wanting to be a mother, but I’ve never thought too deeply about it.

ships: Yulia, Aglaya, past unrequited crush on Artemy

Artemy

Artemy’s whole path is about love, and yet he believes he’s incapable of love, and I cry about him a lot. His path is also about balance and about trying to reconcile different parts of himself and his culture, and it’s about trying to take on his father’s legacy and trying to even understand it, while also wanting to make his own future with the way he understands the world.

I’m increasingly uncomfortable with the way the game’s endings make it look like he has to choose One Or The Other and like he’ll always be cut off from one aspect of his identity, and i don’t know if that’s a continuation of the idea that there are no right choices in a horrible situation, or a failing of the worldbuilding and narrative, but it makes me very :/

Anyway, Artemy deserves to have HIS wants and needs met for once! Everyone thinks of him as the Dad Character, and it’s true that he’s very caring and loving despite his insistence that he’s not, but he’s gone through a boatload of trauma too, and someone should acknowledge that and pamper him. Please.

He’s a cis bi dude and EXTREMELY demi.

ships: DANIIL, grief, rubin, sometimes Block, sometimes Mark Immortell but only when specific people are know are writing them

[mermaidsirennikita]

Book Roundup April/May 2019

This spring has been exceptionally difficult and busy for me on both a personal and professional level.  I really haven’t had the time to read as I’d like--so I’m combining April and May.  With that being said, there were some good books within the past couple of months--Wicked Saints by Emily A. Duncan was DEFINITELY a huge highlight.

Call Me Evie by J.P. Pomare.  2/5.  Kate is held in a remote cabin by Ben--who holds her captive while claiming to protect her from the fallout of something terrible that she did.  The trouble is that Kate can’t remember the night that terrible thing happened.  As she struggles to piece together her memories, what Bill tells her isn’t matching up--and she must reconcile who she is with what she did.  I’m sure that lots of people would love this book, but the pacing was thrown off for me by all of the flashbacks.  It’s not you, it’s me.

Wicked Saints by Emily A. Duncan.  5/5.  Nadya is a Kalyazi cleric, and as such she can commune with--and draw supernatural power from--a pantheon of gods.  She’s spent her life in a monastery; however, a looming threat finally materializes in the form of Tranavian invaders, heretics that send Nadya on the run.  Falling in with Malachiasz, a Tranavian defector, she sets out to end the war she only way she knows how: by killing the Tranavian king.  Meanwhile, Serefin, the heir to the throne, is summoned home from the front--only to discover that he’s in more danger at home than abroad.  This is a wonderfully atmospheric and delightful novel.  Emily never holds back--you get monsters, you get royal politics, you get alcoholic princes and questions of theology.  And there is a romance that I’m absolutely obsessed with, which is always major for me.  I loved this book to death, and there is one bit at the very end that just got at my soul.  I can’t wait for the next installment!

Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens.  3/5.  Kya is a young child when her mother walks out on the family; it isn’t long before her brother and father follow suit, leaving Kya as the borderline-feral Marsh Girl.  At first, she’s dependent on the kindness of strangers.  But gradually--with the help of friends and Tate, a boy who will become her first love--she becomes independent, if never truly accepted by the nearby townspeople.  Her way of life is shattered when a young man shows up dead--and she is accused of murder.  On the plus side, this book was very engaging, and some the descriptions were at times beautiful.  If you’re from the South, some things will indeed ring true.  It’s not perfect, but it is engaging, and a fun if predictable read... until the last third or so, when everything kind of collapses and the book’s flaws are emphasized in a big way.  I really, really disliked how much Owens went in on the “untouched wild beauty” thing with Kya.  It felt very fetishistic.  She’s this beautiful poor white girl living feral in the marsh... learning everything she knows from black people, by the way.  And all the men love her and want to have sex with her.  I’m honestly just torn about this one; I feel like I would have given it a lower rating if not for how much I did enjoy the first chunk.

The Bride Test by Helen Hoang.  4/5.  Khai is accomplished and handsome; however, he’s never had a girlfriend.  On the autism spectrum, he’s convinced himself that he’s incapable of love.  His mother has other ideas--and while visiting her homeland in Vietnam, she meets Esme.  She offers the single mother a golden opportunity: visit America for the summer and convince Khai to marry her.  If he refuses, she can go home, no strings attached.  It’s too much for Esme to possibly turn down--but making Khai fall in love with her is a much more difficult task than she first imagined.  This wasn’t quite up to par with Hoang’s debut (the delightful Kiss Quotient) but I did really, really like it.  Her trademark humor is there, as is her sensitivity and knack for sweet romance.  Khai and Esme’s story is just kind of lovely.  (And sexy.)  I did feel like the ending was a bit rushed--I wanted more.  But I’d recommend it any day, and can’t wait for Hoang’s next book.

Little Darlings by Melanie Golding.  2/5.  Following the birth of her twins, Morgan and Riley, young mother Lauren is exhausted.  Therefore, few believe her when she says that she saw a woman slip into her hospital room and attempt to replace her babies with strange creatures.  A month later, the boys briefly go missing in the park--and when they’re found, Lauren insists that the things that have been returned to her are not her children.  This may have been a bad fit for me--I love magical realism and changelings, but the overwhelming depressing darkness of this book was just... not even vaguely enjoyable.  And it did help put me off of having children for a looong time, if ever.  I couldn’t focus on the writing quality; it was just so dour.

From Scratch by Tembi Locke.  5/5.  This memoir tracks the first few years following the death of Tembi’s husband, Saro, following a long battle with cancer.  As she visits his Sicilian family each summer with their daughter, she flashes back to the early days of their courtship and marriage--as well as her in-law’s initial struggles over the fact that their Italian chef son married an African-American actress.  “From Scratch” is LOVINGLY written and painfully beautiful.  It made me want to be more open to falling in love, as cheesy as that sounds--what Tembi and Saro shared was clearly worth all of the pain she’d feel after seeing him slowly deteriorate and ultimately losing him... which is saying something.  Locke also has a talent for writing in general, but especially about food.  I appreciated her human examination of the prejudice she faced; it’s really obviously on her to decide whether or not to reconcile with people who treated her with clear racism, but...  She also clearly loves and is loved by her mother-in-law now.  The honest complexity in that relationship is refreshing.  I don’t usually love memoirs, but this one was fantastic.

The Unlikely Adventures of the Chergill Sisters by Balli Kaur Jaswal.  4/5.  Rajni, Jezmeen, and Shirina aren’t estranged, exactly, but they don’t have much in common either.  But after their mother’s death, it’s revealed that she charged them with a journey through their ancestral homeland of India.  With each sister carrying secret struggles, they unite in an attempt to fulfill their mother’s wishes--and come to terms with their relationships with not only her, but each other.  Balli Kaur Jaswal is so good.  And even if I didn’t love this quite as much as Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows, it’s still quite good.  She’s a rare author who can blend genuinely funny moments with high drama (that is often socially aware).  There is one subplot that I didn’t super love due to its implications, but otherwise I really enjoyed the book and the sisters.

Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors by Sonali Dev.  3/5.  Trisha Raje is a successful surgeon--who is nonetheless alienated by her blue-blooded family due to her history.  When she meets DJ Caine, a high-profile chef in the running to cook for the prestigious fundraisers supporting her brother’s political campaign, it’s dislike at first sight.  He can’t stand her snobbish bossiness; she finds his assumptions about her frustrating and demeaning.  But even if DJ didn’t need the job, they can’t avoid each other--because Trisha is the only person who can save DJ’s terminally ill sister.  So: Dev says that this is very loosely inspired by Pride and Prejudice, but as the title suggests it’s VERY inspired by Pride and Prejudice.  Points for the genders being swapped here--though DJ does stand in part for Darcy, he’s the Lizzie of this story--and Dev does a great job of bringing cultural backgrounds and social issues into the forefront without beating us over the head with it.  But for whatever reason, I never really clicked with Trisha and DJ’s romance, and the Wickham side of this was... not great.  Still, it’s a fun read and it made me very hungry.  Not bad for a day by the pool!

[hungry-hobbits]

bio post for my X-Men OC Vincent Fitzfox under the cut

i’ll make edits and let you guys know if ur interested when i’ve added new info but a lot of it i was talking to janie about and was eaten by steam so i gotta re-remember it lmao

also no i genuinely dont care if any of this sounds like mary sue bullshit

Name: Vincent Fitzfox Gender: Male Sexuality: Homosexual Age: Over 100yrs old Mutant Type: Vulpine Feral Powers/Abilities: Regeneration, Longevity, Slowed Aging, Retractable Bone Claws (one on each finger), Animal Form (Gains a more fox-like appearance depending on rage/adrenaline levels), Enhanced Senses, Silent Step

Like most Feral mutants (such Wolverine, Sabre-tooth, etc) Vincent has increased stats to animal based senses such as sight, hearing, smell, as well as perks that come with the species he’s based off of. He has a lighter footstep and is able to sneak incredibly well. His “Fox Form” causes elongated canines, further increased senses, increased aggression, and for as long as he’s in that form his bone claws will be extended.

Personality: In Public/At Work - Stoic and calm outward appearance. Depending on who you ask - vicious and intimidating. Enjoys scaring people by sneaking up on them. A proud individual who takes personal slights VERY SERIOUSLY. Has a tendency to be impatient and fidgety.

In Private - i n c r e d i b l y emotional, very boisterous. Has a very loud, cackling laugh that embarrasses him and sounds similar to the cackle of a fox. Has been known to bottle up his anger and aggression from work and unleash it once he’s home and settled.

In General - a mixed bag of emotions but overall an eccentric and emotional individual with the ability to have you perceive him how he chooses for you to. With the right company he is very expressive, warm, and easy-going.

Background: Vincent was abandoned as an infant for showing signs of being a mutant straight from birth - his golden eyes, pointed ears, and bright red hair frightened his birth parents seeing as mutants weren’t as commonplace in the 1800′s (or at least as accepted, most often they were executed or treated as fay or changeling children). The orphanage took him in, not knowing anything of his status, and gave him the last name “Fitzfox” or “Fox Bastard” because he reminded them so much of the foxes in the area. Vincent from an early age exuded intelligence and cunning, using this to his advantage to find work with people that would help clean up his already tarnished-by-birth reputation.

Being the clever man that he is, Vincent made very wise investments during his life. From land scouting, to expeditions, to overseas deals, Vincent became a very wealthy man and only continued to amass a fortune throughout the decades. He was also openly gay in times where this could ruin his reputation on top of being a mutant. He had no point in hiding and felt no need to as his homosexuality or mutations weren’t involved in his business sense.

Vincent donates a large amount of his excess fortune to various LGBT charities, being that he’s an out and proud member of the community. Once Charles Xavier came into the scene, his charity action only doubled. Seeing someone finally care enough about mutants to organize and help them, Vincent did what he could to privately help get students to the school from all over the world. He helped fund many pro-mutant organizations as well, finding their presence comforting seeing as he lived during numerous times where mutants were feared and executed for simply being alive.

General Information: Vincent lives in a large estate on property that has been owned by him for a majority of his life. The Fitzfox manor has gone through several upgrades and renovations but is basically still very old-era decorated and furnished just with modern accommodations. Vincent enjoys nothing more than lounging in a soft robe with a glass of Chardonnay and a good book by the fire.

Vincent generally wears tailored three-piece suits, with fox themed ties, handkerchiefs, and/or other jewelry and accessories.  He can often be seen wearing faux fox fur because he despises the fur trade, but loves wearing fur.

He has killed people. A lot of people. He doesn’t like it, but he does have a violent streak if pushed and is not above killing someone. But he’d honestly rather pay someone else to do it at this point. Especially since in these modern times it’s so much harder to get rid of a corpse or convince people that you didn’t murder someone who was a long standing enemy of yours.

Canon Character Relationships

Charles Xavier: A trusted ally in the fight for mutant rights. Supports Charles’s passive form of mutant integration into modern society.

Logan / Wolverine: A “business partner” of sorts, in the sense that Vincent will occasionally hire Logan to do dirty work for him when he doesn’t want to (sometimes bad business proprietors need to be killed...) Encountered Logan briefly in various points and time. Doesn’t care for him much because he’s very foul and dirty, but appreciates his dedication to his work.

Wade Wilson / Deadpool: Another “business partner”, though this is a better partnership as for some reason, Vincent can actually stand being around Deadpool where others cannot. He appreciates Deadpool’s work ethic and enjoys having him at the mansion. He considers Wade to be a friend and enjoys hearing about his antics, not necessarily participating in them of course.

Loki Laufeyson: Lover. His better half. As a man who can outlive any mortal, Vincent’s lovers have come and gone, but who better to spend several centuries with than a trickster god who just wants to be pampered? Vincent cares deeply for this man and would kill for him if pushed to. He enjoys being sarcastic and witty with Loki, not to mention using him as arm candy to show off how happy and gay he is to his various business associates at parties.

Thor Odinson: Tolerates Thor because he is Loki’s brother, but is unintentionally insulted by Thor on a regular basis because Thor thinks he is up to no good and has ill intentions with Loki.

[zippdementia]

Part 92 Alignment May Vary: The Gathering of the Storm

We last left the gamers in a precarious position... one of them, Milosh, was literally inside the mouth of a Tarasque, under the control of Abenthy, and sent to stop the players from recovering anything that could disrupt his plans! What are those plans? The merger of the material plane with the Abyss, an act that will destroy the planes and bring an end to life as we know it.

Milosh, with a strength that’s impossible to comprehend, holds open the jaws of the Tarasque for just long enough to unleash a blast of magic down the beast’s gullet. The resultant belch of flame blasts him out of the jaws and through the air, just as they hear a roar approaching them from beyond the lava pit at the edge of their battlefield. Argent, their friendly bronze dragon ally, flies in through the lava pit and tells them to get on his back. Breath Giver is with him, and Argent tells them that Breath Giver seemed to know that Milosh was in danger and was able to lead him to their location.

“The soul of Haggemoth may finally be at rest,” he tells them, fleeing away from the Tarasque, flying back out of the lava tunnel towards the beaches of Rori Rama. “His power has finally faded from this island, and no longer am I restricted from entering the sanctum. Good thing, or else I would not have been able to come to your rescue!”

They leave the island behind then, the distant roar of the Tarasque like the sound of the mountain itself groaning.

Back to Waterdeep 

Imoaza and Carrick sat alone in a tent, set in the woods a mile or two outside of Waterdeep. Or rather, they felt they were alone. Breath Giver was there, too, but the silent shaman had a way of becoming invisible... not truly, not magically, but you would forget she was there. She blended in with her own silence, wearing it like a shroud.

 Milosh, Argent, and Lhu Ee had gone south to investigate a rumor, one they all hoped was not true. Carrick’s mind was not on them, however. He thought instead of something Milosh had told him, when they’d last left Waterdeep.

“Have you asked Imoaza about Aldric?” he’d said, deep in his own melancholic anger. “She murdered him, you know. You would put your trust in us? In her?”

Carrick watched Imoaza now and considered the question. They were coming to the end, he could feel it. They were coming to the time when they needed to be past regrets, past betrayal, past questioning.

He cleared his throat to get Imoaza’s attention. She looked up from the book she was reading, and stared at him, waiting.

Carrick and Imoaza go into a discussion of Aldric’s death. Imoaza no longer connects with the person she was when she murdered Aldric, but neither does she regret it. She tells him that the person she was then wanted power. He asks her what the person she is now wants. She doesn’t know.

They are interrupted by Milosh returning. He says that the rumors are true: Baldur's Gate has been utterly destroyed. Argent, in the form of a black skinned human, says the level of destruction was like "the anger of a hundred dragons." Lhu-Ee says that it was the Tarasque, the great Abyssal beast that Abenthy controls. It is only a matter of time before Abenthy sends the beast against Waterdeep. "When he does though, we also have an opportunity!" the gnome in the painting cried out. “It takes power to transport such a great beast through the Abyss, and when it has been used to attack Waterdeep, we will have a window of freedom from it in which to strike at his base at Friezurazov.”

"What about defending Waterdeep?" Argent asks. Lhu Ee seems to think this is impossible, but Argent reminds them all of a letter they received when they arrived at Waterdeep. Their arrival was not met with celebration by the lords of the city. In fact, they found the city gates barred, their allies who had been in the city banished, or imprisoned, and the lords of the city telling them they would not be welcome there, and that Waterdeep was not going to take part in their war, that Baldur’s Gate had been punished as a warning to others who might think to help fight against Abenthy. So the companions had made camp a few miles outside of the city, in a patch of forest, and now debated what to do next. Time was running short. Every day that passed, Abenthy grew stronger. Only a mysterious letter had given them any hope, but they did not know who it came from. It arrived by being dropped into their camp by a raven, and read as follows:

I write this letter briefly and in some haste, for it is imperative that none in the city know who sent it. More I cannot say, except this: I know what it is you face and what, and more importantly, WHO you fight for. If you would win this war, you will need my help. Go to the ruins of the sea elf post. There you shall wait for my signal, which I shall send to you as soon as I am able, after your arrival. Do not depart, do not despair. There are allies everywhere, if only you have the wit and will to find them. Yours, an ally.

The characters now commiserate on what they know. Who are their allies?

This next section of the game I’ve designed as a prelude to the final battle, which is going to be a massive war against Abenthy’s base at the Jarlberg, in the frozen lands of Friezurazov. For this battle, I’ve got a literal excel sheet of stats and data on what armies and forces they may be able to recruit into the fight. It’s all based on what happens in this next section of the game. Each ally they may gain is going to be played out like a mini-mission. Each of these missions should be thought of like a side quest; played out like a vignette or a montage: quick sequences meant to fill in the gaps before the big battle.

These missions are as follows...

Imoaza reminds the group about the Yuan Ti plot she uncovered when they were last in Waterdeep, and says it is probably their doing which has turned the city against them. If they can find a way to unveil it, they can gain the help of Waterdeep, it will mean having their strength of arms to face Abenthy.

Argent says that they should go to the North, to the mountains where the rulers of his people, the good-aligned Metallic dragons, reside and call on their aid. The dragons are finnicky and will not see the need to aid in a war they feel they will survive one way or another, but if the companions can convince them, they will gain their air support and phenomenal might in the battle to come.

Ruze and Esheballa’s daughter, Hazelwood, left Waterdeep with the changelings, sensing the city was turning against them. The changelings have hidden power, and Hazelwood especially. But no one knows where they have gone. If the companions can find them, they might convince them to help.

When they left the Maakengorge, Daymos had sworn to revive his sister, Jade. They are both incredibly powerful psychics, maybe two of the most powerful beings in the world, and Jade was connected with Nazragul’s soul. Their help in the battle to come would be a tide turner, but where did Daymos go?

Hecate helped free Imoaza and the companions at the Maakengorge. Is she a secret ally, a knife poised at the very heart of the Yuan Ti forces? If they can find her, maybe they can disrupt the entire Yuan Ti operation.

Breath Giver’s people, the Ice Barbarians, are not numerous, but they know the secrets of fighting and traversing ice and snow, and that knowledge could be incredibly useful in the battle to come, as it will take place on the frozen planes of Friezurazov. However, Argent has learned that they have been loaded onto prison ships and are being sailed across the Moon Sea to be sold into slavery in Feylan.

Verrick, Karina’s former lover and now a death knight attached to Nazragul’s power, found his will shattered by Karina’s demise. He wandered from Waterdeep and no one has seen him since. But knowing that he was once a thrall of Nazragul makes the companions nervous... would he go back to Abenthy in the final fight, to once again be a thrall?

Rumor reaches the companions that across the sea in Feylan, at the ruins of Vraath Keep, a small band of survivors keep up a resistance fight against the undead. The fighters are led by Sierra, the half orc who wears the mask of El Ultimo Santo, which Shando once wore. If the companions can help her overcome the undead there, then surely she would join their side for the final battle.

The monsters who once helped Karina and were accepted by her as people have been driven out of the city of Waterdeep and called monsters once again. Bitter and angry, they make their way to Friezurazov to join Abenthy and fight, as they always have, against the peoples of Faerun. But if the companions could find them first and once again accept them as equals, rather than as beasts, perhaps they would fight in Karina’s name once more.

They don’t have time to do each mission. Every time they attempt a mission, they have to roll a d6. On a roll of 1-2, the mission starts off poorly and will take more time to complete. On a roll of 3-4, the mission starts off neither in their favor, or against it. On a roll of 5-6, the mission goes better than expected, and takes a shorter time.

So there are nine total missions they can attempt, but they know even with the best of rolls, they will not be able to do them all (at worst, they will attempt three, at best seven), meaning they have to pick and choose which allies to prioritize. Complicating things is that some of these potential allies could also go to Abenthy’s side, if not won over. 

The Blackstaff

The companions agree that turning Waterdeep to their side should be their top priority, and so they go to the old sea elf post to await the “sign” from the mysterious ally. 

When the PCs reach the sea elf post it is old and decrepit. They follow a raven to an old bell near the old submerged docks. A raven drops a tiny golden hammer into their hands and, taking it as a direct sign, they ring the hammer against the bell, surprised by the deep gong it makes. This summons the writer of the letter, who soon appears out of a secret tunnel that leads from here to the city.

Their ally is someone they’ve never met before, but he has played a role in our wider story, albeit a small one. Ages ago, when Jade and Verrick and the slime Lee went to Feylan and ultimately fell prey to Nazragul, there was a fourth person who was to go with them. Originally, that scenario had been intended as an easy way for the group to keep playing if they had a TPK while pursuing the Red Hand plotline. When the party didn’t need this, the fates of these NPCs became tied into Nazragul’s machinations. But this fourth person, described only as “an apprentice” was left vague and their fate uncertain.

Now it turns out that this is the Apprentice. He saw everything that happened to Jade and Verrick, but was teleported away by her power before she fully lost control to Nazragul. He fled Feylan and told Karina what he had seen, which is how she knew about the evil growing in Feylan, and why she moved the school to Vraath Keep, to begin fighting back against it. Meanwhile, this Apprentice became a statesman so that he could be her ally in Waterdeep. He is old now, but still loyal to Karina. His name is Nakir Dunspar. He tells the companions his story as he leads them through the sewers and into the city of Waterdeep.

He also tells them of the political situation in Waterdeep. The Open Lord of Waterdeep used to be marked by their possession of the Blackstaff, a relic last held by Laurel Silverhand, a very famous figure in Faerun (and D&D) history. When Laurel died, the Blackstaff was lost. The current Open Lord, an older elf named Vindass Lanteral, carries what he says is the Blackstaff but Nakir believes it is not the real thing. He says Vindass probably doesn’t know that he carries a replica, and if the companions can find the real thing, they could give it to Vindass and with it, he could sway the rest of Waterdeep to aid in the war effort. However, he is also afraid that even now, the Yuan Ti must plot against Vindass and seek to bring harm to him if he turns his support to the companions.

The party discusses the situation and decides to split up. Imoaza uses disguise magic and her arts of infiltration to set her and Carrick up as a mistress and her manservant and attend a ball at Vindass’ estate, where they sneak around and ultimately end up with Imoaza inside Vindass’ rooms, going through his belongings and looking for threats or scrying devices which she can trace back to the Yuan Ti.

Meanwhile, Milosh and Breathgiver have ventured into the city catacombs, to find the tomb of Laurel Silverhand and try and gather clues about where the Blackstaff might be. He finds a riddle written on Laurel’s tomb, that “I still hold the Blackstaff,” and, by sharing this with Nakir, they come to the revelation that the Blackstaff is actually hidden in plain sight, in the hands of a statue of Laurel that rests in a public park in Waterdeep. Thankfully, no one recognizes Milosh in his new form, as he is no longer a Frankenstein-esque metal monstrosity. He and Breathgiver make their way to the Statue and Milosh prepares to draw the Blackstaff.

“It can only be held by one whose heart does not waver,” Nakir had told him, when Milosh had said he was heading to get the staff. “That person must be prepared to give everything they have to the betterment of the people of Waterdeep.”

Now, as Milosh closed his hand around the staff, he asked himself the question... was he ready?

Milosh has to make a Charisma check to see if he can recover the staff and... he critically fails. The staff blasts him away and does not come free of the statue. It seems the companions may fail this mission after all, as Yuan Ti spies have been tracking Milosh’s movements and are beginning to close in on the park. If they discover the resting spot of the Blackstaff, they will destroy. But as Milosh is despairing of what to do next, his player has an idea.

“Could Breathgiver take the staff?” he asks.

It is a brilliant idea. A great story beat. A redemptive arc for the character that, when the party first met her, the players had despised for her enmity towards them. And so, as Milosh lays dazed on the soft grass of the park, Breathgiver approaches the statue, grips the staff, and pulls it free.

Holding the Blackstaff, Breathgiver is filled with power and freed from her curse and her obligation to Milosh. Her heart unwavering, she speaks the first words she has spoken since the Sea of Moving Ice:

“I would fight alongside you still, if you would let me,” she tells Milosh.

Meanwhile, Imoaza has made a disturbing discovery. In going through Vindass’ rooms, she finds a secret compartment with a journal that outlines his communications with the Yuan Ti. He is actually a Yuan Ti sympathizer, in league with them and hoping Abenthy will destory all humanity. Vindass’ hatred for humans descends all the way back from the War of Forgiveness, when the Alliance destroyed the area where his elvish tribe was from. This is a tie back to the plotline that plagued the party in the days of Karina, when much of her storyline dealt with how people thought she was a betrayer of the Alliance during the war.

Of course, just as Imoaza is discovering this, Carrick is keeping watch outside of Vindass’ rooms and sees Vindass himself approaching. This leads to a quick roleplay moment, where Carrick pretends to be weak and falls forward onto the floor, distracting Vindass and actually drawing his concern... Carrick is a half-elf, and Vindass shares a moment with him commiserating that his mistress doesn’t take enough care of him. He gently leads him from the hall to get him some food and water and medical attention, and Imoaza takes the opportunity to cast invisibility on herself and slip out of the door.

With this information, Imoaza and Carrick reach Nakir just as Milosh and Breathgiver are discussing with him how they should go about bringing the staff to Vindass. Forewarned, they change their plans. Nakir declares that Breathgiver must hold the Blackstaff for a while, for it has clearly choosen her, and they must keep her safe in the city until she can be revealed to the public in a grand way, thus stopping Vindass from making machinations to get the Blackstaff back. It is safer if the recovery of the staff goes unknown. Imoaza says she will use her knowledge of the Yuan Ti to feed them back false information about the Blackstaff while Nakir and Breathgiver go into hiding for the time being.

This was just one of the missions the companions take on. They end up being able to complete six of them, so five more await. We’ll cover those next blog post.

[letitrainathousandflames-archive]

The Ever-Changing Stars

I wrote a fanfic featuring trans!artemis for a commission for @artemis-the-changeling! I tried to use my current moment of change and self acceptance to inspire it, and I apologize in advance if this is at any level not relatable to the transgender experience, for I don’t know what it is like first-hand. Also: if any of this is in any degree offensive, please tell me and I will take down the fic immediatly! I have a commitment to respecting everyone and I understand that speaking on behalf of other groups can backfire more often than not.

This was supposed to be a drabble but it got a little bigger than I expected it to, but I’m very happy with the outcome. I think I should add warnings for internalized gender-related conficts and maybe a small mention to dysphoria. But it’s a very upbeat story and I think you’ll like it!

Nº1 was floating in his room down in Haven, his eyes closed and his legs crossed as if he were sitting. The four soft knocks on his door made the demon crack a smile, and he said without opening his eyes:

“Come in, Artemis. I have been waiting for you.”

Artemis walked in, dressed in an elegant tailored Armani suit. His jacket was structured, cut close to the young man’s narrow waist, and the gold cufflinks are delicate and yet a remarkable detail of his attire. His slacks were grey matching his jacket and his shirt was black. He tugged absently on his collar that was - surprisingly enough - not buttoned all the way up to his neck, and he wore no tie. His hair, however, was combed back to perfection, and his features didn’t look so pale – in fact, one could even spot a couple of freckles on his sharp nose.

Nº1 chuckled softly as the automatic doors fell shut behind Artemis. He still hadn’t turned to look at his friend. He didn’t have to.

“I don’t think I have ever seen you without a tie. And your hair is not short as you used to keep it.”

The corners of Artemis’ lips curled up in a small smile.

“I’m trying new things. I think I might have gotten a sun burn helping the twins trim the roses over…”

“…Over your former grave?” Nº1 turned back to face Artemis at that, floating down until he landed softly on a big blue cushion, gesturing to the white one in front of him “I take you knocked on my door four times on purpose.”

“Yes” said Artemis unbuttoning his jacket to then sit down in front of Nº1 “I refuse to be controlled by my past. By the obsessions that once held me back.”

Nº1 raised an eyebrow.

“This is a good thing. So is it safe to say you are cured of every unwanted thought that had plagued your mind?”

Artemis gave Nº1 a small smile. He’d been doing this a lately far more than he ever had before.

“In this life?”

“Can you change anything about your previous one?”

Artemis tapped a finger to his chin.

“I know you are trying to sound wise and ominous, my friend, but in fact, I can. Time travel, remember?”

Nº1  shook his head in amusement, a smile still showing his pointy little teeth.

“Yes, Artemis, I remember. I don’t think you, Holly or myself will ever forget it. But please try to stick to the subject. You know how easily I get distracted.”

Artemis joined his hands, supporting his chin on his thumbs.

“I don’t know.” he chuckled softly “It’s so odd, saying these words. I don’t like it. Not knowing.”

“It’s okay not to…”

“…To have all the answers, yes. Holly and Butler did taught me so. I’m just trying to accept this.”

Artemis looked at the drawings of stars and galaxies on Nº1’s walls. His art was exquisite, and Artemis almost grimaced when he thought that it would most likely soon be erased to have something else painted over. Nº1 would change the art on his walls every 23 days or so; he’d say it represented the ever-changing nature of the universe and the need to learn to let go. Sometimes Artemis’ very old self would make him think of photographing the whole thing and selling the images, but his new, more serene self knew it wasn’t his to take. Like Holly would say, “one d’arvit of a learning for a rich snob brat raised by his thieving self-centered dad.” Yeah, Holly wasn’t exactly one to add honey to her words when she resented someone, and she was still learning to appreciate Artemis Senior.

Artemis drew in a breath, seeing one of the Milky Way’s many nebulae and recognizing each star. He could name almost all of them.

“I don’t know if you ever knew that, but I wasn’t assigned male at birth.”

Nº1 nodded kindly.

“I knew it, Artemis.”

Artemis swallowed dryly. He seemed tense, his eyes low under his knitted brows.

“Did my name give it away?”

Nº1 shook his head, absently running his clawed fingers over the small horns on his head.

“When we connected out minds in Hybras, I knew it.”

Artemis flinched almost unnoticeably, lowering down his hands. He still had his eyes down.

“So you felt it. Biology. DNA.”

Once again Nº1 shook his head.

“No. These things don’t dictate gender. I felt confusion in your heart. A sense of non-belonging. A fear of mismatching the sheath in which your energy has been placed.”

Sadness permeated the demon’s voice, and Artemis rose his eyes to Nº1, his brows still furrowed.

“You… said that ‘these things don’t dictate gender?’” he clicked his tongue to then snarl “It’s science, Nº1, it’s…”

“…the same science that says that magic doesn’t exist?” Nº1 interrupted in a serene tone “Or fairies? Demons? Centaurs? Artemis, you should know better by now.”

“But I know it.” Artemis insisted, although there was a hint of anger in his voice “It’s…It’s what we are taught, it’s how our world works, it’s… It’s how it is!”

Nº1 looks into Artemis’ eyes, and the young man doesn’t avert his own from his friend’s gaze. Instead he glares, almost as if he dared Nº1 to contest his words. That stare had won him more than a few discussions, and although he had no idea, a certain Jon Spiro would still remember that remarkably defying look every now and then in his prison cell in Los Angeles as he waited for his probation date and a chance to start over, but that was another story altogether. Right then, however, Nº1 held his gaze until Artemis’ anger turned to embarrassment and his cheeks turned to a delicate pink shade. Only then did the demon speak.

“Why do you trap yourself within those concepts that do you no good?”

Artemis squinted, scrunching up his nose.

“Because this is how it is. It just…”

“Fairies. Magic. Gold. Even if it had originally been for foul – and yes, I wanted to go for that pun and you won’t take that from me-” Nº1 smirked “You thought outside of what others originally had defined the world to be. You said, no, fairies are real and I will kidnap one, get a troll into my house, get punched in the face, had some lollipop related humor thrown at my defenseless self, get a dwarf in my wine cellar, get mad drunk with my bodyguard and his sister… I missed the point, wait.” He frowned for a moment “Ah. Yes. Okay. So, you thought outside your boundaries. Why do you restrain yourself after all of this?”

Artemis simply stared back at Nº1 for almost an entire minute as his eyes darted back and forward. Butler used to say that when Artemis looked like that one could almost see the grinding gears in his brain.

“I think it’s because… It’s all I’ve ever known. Boy or girl, you can’t get to pick it. You’re born with it and you have to… accept it.”

“Close your eyes.” Artemis obeyed. He hadn’t second-guessed Nº1 in a long time, and honestly, who would? Being a time-traveling sorcerer demon would get you this kind of status. “Connect your mind to mine. No fear. No restraints. Let’s rise to the metaphysical level for a while, shall we?”

Artemis drew a deep breath. Reaching a higher state of conscience was much easier than it should be thanks to Butler’s teachings of meditation. By the time he realized it, he already felt light weighted, no longer tethered to his physical body but a non-concrete existence of pure energy, or, as those with more simplistic mindsets would call it…

“Soul.” said Nº1 “Yes, this is your soul.”

It would be wrong to say that Artemis ‘looked around’ or ‘felt’ anything at all, because he wasn’t physical. He was… him. There. Existing. The miracle of life born twice yet to die for the second time.

“Are you blue?” asked Nº1 in their resonant realm of energy

“I’m not sad.” Artemis answered in a slightly annoyed vibration “It’s tough to say I am feeling anything at all. Or that I am not feeling absolutely everything one can experience.”

“No, No. Are you blue? This existence of yours, is it blue, the alleged ‘boy’ color? Or is it pink, the alleged ‘girl’ color? – oh, do I love pink. It has the right wavelength if I may say it with your words, or, as I like to say it, makes my eyes pleased – anyway, is it orange? Green? Purple?”

Artemis felt his existence attentively.

“I’m not… There’s not a…” he struggled with the words he tried to vibrate in “I’m all. A rainbow. And I’m none. A black hole, non-color. This is… Oh.” he paused “This is beautiful.”

Nº1 vibrated softly like a cat purring.

“There are so many different patterns, Artemis. We are rainbows and black holes, we are pink stained with orange and brown dipped in blue. There’s no linearity when it comes to gender, to sexuality, to everything that defines you as a human being. Think of your friend Juliet.”

“She’s green and black and blue.” Artemis vibrated in agreement “She likes to wear any kind of clothes and she loves makeup and she is attracted to men and women, and…oh there’s so much more, she’s so…”

“Rich and complex? Everyone is.” Nº1 sounded as pleased as he could be “Now, think of Butler.”

“He’s grey and pink and white. He doesn’t connect romantically to anyone he doesn’t feel strongly linked to. He is not interested in physical intimacy, not often anyway, and he can reach his feelings easily, despite him being raised a man and trained a soldier.” Before Nº1 can say anything, he goes on “Oh, and Minerva, she loves women. She’s… she’s still trying to find what kind of appearance she feels more comfortable with…”

Nº1 vibrated softly.

“Have you understand it now, my friend?”

“I…” artemis paused to then vibrate so hard the electricity above his physical body cracked “Oh. Oh, I see it now. I see it!”

Artemis was back into his physical body as if he had fallen sitting on a chair, except “he” was his energy and the chair was his concrete existence. There were sweat beads on his forehead as he looked at his hands. They were shaking.

“There is more than two paths. There’s… I thought people were making this up, but it’s real.”

Nº1 smiled lazily, reopening his eyes.

“Nonbinary.” He nodded “Not boy or girl. Agender. Intersex. None. Both. All. There are so many paths to choose, outside the little boxes you humans make up.”

Artemis looked intently at Nº1.

“Am I this? Nonbinary? Intersex? Agender? Am I any of those?”

Nº1’s smile turned to a happy grin.

“You may be, but I’m not to be the one to tell you so. It’s all up to how you feel, Artemis.” He raised a finger, pointing his claw at the young human in front of him “And remember, you can wrap yourself on these concepts and undress yourself off them whenever they don’t fit you anymore. You are yours and yours alone, to regard to as you wish to. And most importantly, you are yours to be loved.”

Artemis reached to wipe his eyes but the tears were already spilling and he gasped.

“Well this….” He tried to sound as business-like as possible and failed spectacularly “This might take a while to assimilate.”

“No matter.” Nº1 looked around at the paintings of stars and galaxies around them “You have so much time in this life. More than you did in your previous one.”

Artemis laughed openly, wiping his tears away and rising to his feet as Nº1 did so as well. Artemis bent down to the Demon’s height and hugged him tightly. Nº1 hugged him back, rubbing his rough face on his chest over his pounding heart.

“Thank you, my friend.” said Artemis in a whisper “Thank you.”

Artemis let go of him and straightened up his back, turning to leave with no further words. He looked at the stars painted over the walls one last time before he left the room. The stars wouldn’t be there a week from then. The thought gave Artemis a strange feeling of serenity. Everything was in constant change. Good.

[marvelandponder]

Wow, So Supportive!

So, you might be able to tell, but I’ve been kind of figuring out this series as it’s gone along. The first had more behind the scenes info, the second more comparative analysis, and now this topic comes along which requires something entirely new.

Well, not all that new, but enough that it’s an honest to goodness challenge to tackle a topic so terrifically tremendous in size: the entire population of the planet that we’ve been introduced to so far.

I could just spend this time geeking out about my favourites, and I will warn you now, it will probably come to that, but what I want to know is what this pretty pony populous does for the show.

And, I mean, with such an expansive cast that will no doubt only grow in the coming season, there’s quite a lot of characters to cover! But, as sure as I’ve overdone it on the alliteration already for no particular reason (I’m in a mood), there’s certainly something to be gained by examining what the background cast has to offer!

World-Building

Aside from giving our main characters other personalities to play off of, supporting characters give a greater depth to the world they live in. To the audience, the variety of viewpoints and personalities isn’t just fun, but indicative of a living, breathing environment.

It’s part of the illusion. If there’s characters out there besides the protagonists that are fully fleshed out or even just feel like they could be, it adds to the believability that this is a whole world. In fact, with a good supporting cast, not only can other characters with conflicting viewpoints to the main characters be in the right, but they can have their own lives that don’t feel like they’re in service of a plot of the main character(s)’ story at all!

It tells you more about the world the main characters grew up and currently reside in. Seeing what characters outside the main six value and how they conduct their lives gives us context for how they act, what makes them so special (or in some ways, not special).

And in a world this big, you can even get perspectives from outside the country. We might’ve assumed everyone was as friendly and kind as the ponies, but in fact they’re known for being soft and weak among the dragons and having a “typical pony hero complex” and a weird tendency towards singing and hugging among the griffons (who via contrast show us what the rest of the world is like, more on this soon).

So, yeah, finding characters who’ve had their own experiences apart from our favs helps the world feel more real, and certainly more interesting.

The season 6 finale is the perfect example of that fact in action. Watching these side characters approach something that’s usually only handled by personalities we’re all very familiar with was refreshing---plus, there were character dynamics we never dreamed we’d get to see (Trixie and Discord being the big example)!

To use a pretty specific example of how cool this is, check out how terrified Trixie is again:

Throughout the entirety of this two parter, Trixie’s constantly showing the audience how terrifying this situation actually is to a normal citizen of Equestria.

And that’s so cool! We get to see by contrast how brave and well-worn our favourite heroines have become---even Fluttershy can mostly handle herself these days (at least, with her friends by her side) without too much panic.

At one point Trixie even refers to a possible changeling invasion as “princess level stuff.” Even better, the second Starlight tells her about it, she immediately says they need to tell Twilight---which both shows the character development from No Second Prances (as the two of them grew to respect one and other), but also shows the audience this is serious to her: in a crisis Trixie’s first instinct was to get help from her rival.

This kind of perspective on things can only come from a source outside the main cast: contrast.

Parallel Characters

Here’s something you’ve no doubt noticed MLP loves to do: base entire characters around the antithesis of one of our main character’s traits.

This is pretty obvious when it comes to Sunset Shimmer and Starlight Glimmer, and how they operate as warped versions of Twilight (you can’t spell it out better than following the same naming scheme). In various ways, both of them demonstrate by contrast how well Twilight understands friendship and Harmony, among other things.

Discord is the same way.

It’s kinda like how Lex Luthor is the perfect counter to Superman: the mild-mannered boy-scout that will always try to do the right thing meets the embodiment of greed and capitalistic folly. Lex is the self-made man lead astray by his own desire for power, and yet Superman seems to prove that despite being alien, his down-to-earth morality is what ends up representing the best of humanity.

You can compare quite a number of iconic villains to their heroes that way, by seeing what each of them represent. Hans Gruber and John McClain from Die Hard. Ganondorf and Link from the Legend of Zelda. Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker from Star Wars. That’s one part of what makes them so memorable---a perfectly fitting contrast to the forces of good their meant to fight.

In the same way, Discord’s very obviously the counterpoint to our Element of Harmony wielding heroes. Not just the whole chaos and harmony thing, but because of how their values clash. Discord only ever cared about getting a laugh and shaping the world in his own nonsensical image, whereas the girls only care about each other and the ponies of Equestria. The conflict is natural from that point on because Discord’s character was constructed to make it so. More than that, though, his defeat isn’t just good triumphing evil, but instead the things the Mane six value triumphing over the view that directly opposes them.

Tells you they’re in the right by showing you how awesome it feels for them to win, essentially.

Lightning Dust is yet another easy example of a character that exists just for contrast. She’s been likened to season one Rainbow Dash many times, and it just goes to show you how far season 3 Rainbow Dash had come in comparison.

So, side characters won’t just give you different perspectives about the main characters verbally, but through their actions. Even when they only get a wee bit of screen time, relatively speaking.

Minimalism and Imagination: A Writer’s Greatest Tools

That’s sort of how an episode like Slice of Life happens.

Filler background characters with interesting enough superficial attributes (like designs, occupations, or implied character traits) give us just enough personality to work with that our imaginations can fill in the rest. To an extent, all side characters function in this way.

It’s the same way a non-main character can go through an arc off-screen. I know, off-screen development sounds terrible---for important characters, who get a lot of precious screen time.

What happens, essentially, is we’re presented with the bookends to an arc: the beginning and the end, and in between is mostly filled with our imaginations.

The example that pops to mind first is Trixie, between her first appearance her second.

Last we see her, she’s leaving Ponyville with her ego bruised.

Next we see her, she’s acquired an evil amulet and is ready to not only humiliate Twilight in kind, but take over the entire town and turn it into Trixieville.

So... a step up from embarrassed.

The reason we buy that elevation has to do with both the story Trixie tells about hitting rock bottom (at a rock farm, no less), and the amount of time in between.

We’re not given very many details other than her career being impacted and her perception that she was humiliated everywhere she went, but it’s been two seasons since we’ve seen her---there’s enough of those little details and time in between for us to imagine a gradual change that made her decide to seek out straight up revenge, no matter the cost.

In a similar vein, I also find it interesting to see how characters differentiate themselves, with such little screen time.

For some, it’s definitely a matter of great design and/or voice acting that really makes them pop out at you. In addition, there’s usually either some adherence to an easily digestible archetype, like the (...*grunts*) tsundre Dragon Lord Ember or the timid Coco Pommel (which sounds bad, like I’m saying they’re cliched, but archetypes can be pretty useful for side characters yet-to-be-developed because it tells us a lot about their personality instantly). Or, a twist on archetype.

For an example, let’s get fancy: Fancy Pants and Filthy Rich both should be greedy and/or power hungry, or just generally thoughtless based on the rich, money-focused business character stereotype. Instead, seeing how Fancy Pants will make conversation easily with anyone and warmly accept those of a lower class than he is, and how Filthy Rich will be a tough but loving father to his daughter (as opposed to spoiling her) and will go out of his way to be nice to the Apples makes them feel like more complex characters.

Playing to our expectations and then twisting them even just slightly makes them feel less like cardboard cut-outs there to fill the insert snooty rich character here role, and more like well developed characters---all just with a few small actions.

Don’t even get me started on characters who say one thing one time, and we fixate on it to the point that it’s central to their identity. Sometimes, it’s because we treat it like a meme; like, Sonata kinda liking Tacos is a thing the same way Derpy like muffins is a thing. And let’s be clear, Sonata also talks about punch at some point in the movie, concerned with the fact that she added too much of one flavour. But the juice thing isn’t a big thing tied to her character in the fandom like tacos are, and why? Tacos are funnier, I guess.

And let me clear: it’s not some failing of the writers that they haven’t developed these characters, or the fandom getting too obsessive over small details. It’s intentional. Of course, there’s quite a few side characters that do get on-screen development (Big Mac, Thorax, the Wonderbolts, etc.), and still others that remain a mystery intentionally.

Zecora remains a character I’d LOVE to see explored, for instance, because there’s still a number of questions surrounding her. Did she have a family once? How much magic does she really know? How did she learn all of it?

Sometimes the answers aren’t as fascinating as a lack of answers. The MLP staff knows this full well apparently, since they’ve always had a policy about leaving things open-ended just in case they want to develop them later, thereby letting us fill in the blanks.

Which reminds me of another great example: Applejack’s noticeable lack of parents. From literally nothing, we created entire personalities, stories, and character motivations---to the point that when it’s explored in canon now, they have HUGE expectations to live up to.

The role of imagination in developing this world is intentional. That’s what good writers do---give you just enough to let you fill in the blanks.

But that’s what’s so wildly inventive about all these characters. So many of them are so memorable---either through what they tell us about the world, the main characters, or even just as characters in and of themselves (whether that be developed through a bit of trickery with our imaginations or actually developed in the show). There’s so many I’d love to see again, and so many more I’d love to meet in the future!

And, because of them all, like the Mane 6 at the end of Slice of Life, I feel quite lucky to know who I do.

Editorials? What are those? I don’t know, but I’ve written a bunch over here for you. Maybe the three most recent ones will jog my memory (check out the other Elements of MLP posts with the Year of the Pony link):

Derpy Editorial, Top 10 Redeemed Villains, and Starlight Editorial

Year of the Pony

Header Image Wouldn’t Be Possible Without:

Trixie Vector by Comeha Elements of Harmony by SpiritoftheWolf Elements of Harmony by TechRainbow

Chiggity-check out those hard-working artists, yo!

They’re All Main Characters in My Heart, Dammit

[overseer2020]

A City of Citizens

  I started up my blog again because I thought I had everything I wanted in the precise places, but like most creative endeavors, this one refuses to lie still. I’m currently engaged in my own sort of Development process. It’s a little haphazard, but considering the modular nature of Magic: the Gathering, I want to experience some of the chaos inherent in seeing cards I might not think of being together sharing space (this is one of the reasons I’m so excited to get these new prototypes printed). After pulling just a few virtual Sealed Deck pools, Draft Boosters and building constructed decks with Crimeworld cards, I’ve come to realize something surprisingly simple.

Initially, I thought I wouldn’t need a “Changeling”-type glue to hold everything together. That is to say, a malleable group of cards that makes the theme easier to execute on a common level. Lorwyn’s Changelings do this by letting the player substitute a Changeling with basic/suboptimal stats when they can’t round up enough creatures of the appropriate type to make a Limited deck function smoothly. Of course, initially, I was not trying to make so many creature types relevant, but as my world became more complex, it made more sense to include certain secondary creature types in the mix of “supported” tribes. My Development process is already suggesting that I may have “overegged the pudding” and done myself a mischief in the Limited arena.

Fortunately, the remedy for this has been staring me in the face all along and neatly fills in some actual blanks I’ve had regarding creatures of the Citizen type.

You see, the rank and file people who live in The City are known as Citizens. It doesn’t matter what their actual race or class is, everyone is technically a Citizen. However creatures that aren’t Knights or Mercenaries or Clerics or whatever are usually considered to be basic Citizens -- the kind of people who just want to go about their daily lives, keep to themselves and usually have no text in their text boxes.

Generally, Citizens are characterized by being civil servants and regular folk, doggedly adhering to their simple, nonmagical lives, encouraging others to keep this newfangled Magic business to a minimum.

Even non-creature Citizen spells carry a hint of the mundane, the ordinary, the unspecial*. Narratively and developmentally, this serves as the starting point for the fantastic to happen. The opposite of how this will should all end. (I know my Campbell -- If your hero is going to be strong at the end, you have to show him as weak at the beginning or else there can be no growth. This world will eventually be a world of wonders, but first we have to establish a boring baseline and create contrast.)

However, should a Citizen wish to become more, they can train to become one of the real movers and shakers in the world. This is my new revelation -- the thing I came up with today (as I write this, almost a week before you could possibly read it). Hopefully, I haven’t upset the applecart -- the balance of the whole set by introducing ways Citizens can gain new classes***.

Now, I don’t know if this is a strong enough change. Perhaps some of the blank Citizens could have class-adding clauses attached to them**. Currently, I’m just allowing any creature type to be grafted onto a Citizen creature, but ideally, I would want to limit these upgrades to the classes this block cares about. If I can work out a way to word it elegantly, I can lift the Citizens-only restriction. We wouldn’t want this sort of thing to become too narrow.

Once again, I seem to have avoided actually describing the thing I intended to describe in as much detail as is warranted. Oh, well, I’ve said a bunch and there’s always tomorrow.

Next time: Did you say Tribal??!

* [I wanted to include one of the “antimagic” spells that actively nerfs an opposing creature through the power of blandness, but all of those cards have more text on them than I’m ready to talk about right now.]

**  [I was proofreading and ended up writing this whole extra clause and inserting it at this point before I realized I already said the same thing in different words later in the paragraph. Great minds think alike! 

“, but that would necessitate specifying eligible creature types, which I am loathe to do both for space considerations and because doing so would put hard limits on the effectiveness of these cards.”]

*** [I just realized I used the term “classes” without saying what that means. In MtG a few years ago, The Powers That Be decided that most creatures should have a race AND a class -- Goblin Warrior, Human Cleric, Elf Druid, etc.. The intent of Second Career is for the player to choose “Soldier” or “Warlock” instead of “Dwarf” or “Vedalken” (hence the name of the card), but the player is free to choose any (valid) creature type since the rules do not specifically identify certaom creature types as “classes”. While my designs push at the boundaries of acceptable additions/alterations to the comprehensive rules of Magic, I’m drawing the line at creating even more (you’ll understand later) groupings of creature classes despite how useful it would be to group Magic-Users together under one vocabulary word (Magicians?).]

[infinitehouseofbooks]

BLOG TOUR - Demon Assassins

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS by Bewitching Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.   INTERVIEW WITH THE AUTHOR Thank you so much for inviting me to your blog! I appreciate your interest in my books.   What initially got you interested in writing? I’ve always been a writer. Poetry and the school paper in high school and interminable, far less interesting, writing as a psychologist. Words have always come easily to me, so I write fast, which helps. I’ve spent a lot of time in the backcountry by myself. Stories always ran around in my head and one day toward the tail end of 2008, I came home from a Labor Day trip to climb Bear Creek Spire, sat at the keyboard, and began breathing life into my fantasies.   How did you decide to make the move into being a published author? I started with short stories and after having about 15 of them accepted for publication, I moved into longer works. At the beginning, I wrote for publishers. It’s only been the last couple of years I made a full commitment to being an Indie author.   What do you want readers to take away from reading your works? Many of my books have a dystopian setting. I probably do that because I want others to understand how truly fragile our environment is—and how easily we could lose it. For my romances, I want readers to see that everything worthwhile takes effort. No one gets everything they want. Not in my stories or in real life, either.   What do you find most rewarding about writing? I love the flow. I feel more like a medium than anything else when ideas are flowing, and I live in that story world right along with my characters.   What do you find most challenging about writing? Marketing. I’ve had a love-hate relationship with it from the beginning. I went from a profession where I needed to be darn near invisible to one where I sometimes feel like I live in a fishbowl. The transition hasn’t been an easy one.   What advice would you give to people want to enter the field? Treat writing like a job. Be structured and disciplined about it. Set daily word count goals and stick with it until you’ve gotten there. Depending on how my day goes, I’m often at the computer late at night because I won’t let myself sleep until I have that day’s chapter written. Don’t expect instant success, or success at all. There’s not much money in books. This is something you do because you love it—not because you think you can be the next Nora Roberts. I’m finally making a decent income, but it’s taken years, and I still plow half of what I earn back into cover art, editing, marketing, and now audio.   What ways can readers connect with you? www.anngimpel.com www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel http://anngimpel.blogspot.com @AnnGimpel I also have a presence on Pinterest, G+, and Linked In ABOUT THE BOOKS Witch’s Bounty Demon Assassins Book One Ann Gimpel   Dream Shadow Press 66K words   Release Date: 9/6/16   Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance   Urban Fantasy Romance with a heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!   Book Description:   One of three remaining demon assassin witches, Colleen is almost the last of her kind. Along with her familiar, a changeling spirit, she was hoping for a few months of quiet, running a small magicians’ supply store in Fairbanks, Alaska. Peace isn’t in the cards, though. Demons are raising hell in Seattle. She’s on her way to kick some serious demon ass, when a Sidhe shows up and demands she accompany him to England to quell a demon uprising.   Gutsy, opinionated, and outspoken, Colleen refuses to come. Witches need her help, and they trump everything else. Despite breaking a prime Sidhe precept concerning non-interference in mortals’ affairs, Duncan offers his assistance. Colleen fascinates him, and he wants to discover more about her. Lots more. The Sidhe might be the best-looking man Colleen’s ever stumbled over, but she doesn’t have time for him—or much of anything else. She, Jenna, and Roz are Earth’s only hedge against being overrun by Hell’s minions. Even with help from a powerful magic wielder like Duncan, the odds aren’t good and the demons know it. Sensing victory is within their grasp, they close in for the kill.   Amazon    BN    Kobo    iBooks    ARe    Google Play    Author’s Store   Excerpt from Witch’s Bounty:   Rain worsened from a steady drizzle to a pounding, punishing deluge of icy sleet. Colleen Kelly strengthened the spell around herself. It sizzled where it ran up against the droplets. At least she wasn't quite as wet as she would have been without its protection. Pavement glistened wetly in the last of the day's light. It was just past three in the afternoon, but December days were short in the northern latitudes and Fairbanks was pretty far north. “At least it’s not snowing,” she muttered as she pushed through a nearby glass-fronted door into the magicians’ supply store she owned with two other witches in the older part of downtown. Bells hanging around the door pealed discordantly. She sent a small jolt of magic to silence them. “I heard that. Not the bells, but you. It’s supposed to snow this time of year. How could you possibly be pleased the weather patterns have gone to hell?” Jenna Neil stalked over to the coatrack where Colleen stood. Blonde hair, hacked off at shoulder level, framed a gamine’s face and shrewd, hazel eyes. Jenna towered over Colleen’s six foot height by a good four inches, and her broad shoulders would’ve made most men jealous. Between her trademark high-heeled boots and a scruffy embroidered red cloak tossed over skintight blue jeans, she looked as exotic as the anti-hex hoop earrings dangling from each ear. Colleen rolled her eyes, shook out her coat, and hung it on the rack. “Spare me your lecture about global warming, okay? It’s cold enough to snow. It just isn’t, for some reason.” “Mmph.” The line of Jenna’s jaw tensed. Indian spices wafted through the air, mingling with the scents of herbs, dried flowers, and desiccated body parts from small animals. Colleen’s stomach growled. Breakfast had been at six that morning—a long time ago. Pretty bad when even dried newt smelled like food. “Did you cook something?” she asked. “And if you did, is there any left?” A terse nod. Jenna turned away, walking fast. Colleen lengthened her normal stride to catch up. “Hey, sweetie. What happened? You can’t be in this big a snit over the weather.” Jenna kept walking, heading for the small kitchen at the back of the store. “A lot of things. I was just having a cup of tea. Shop’s been dead today.” She disappeared behind a curtain. Colleen glanced over one shoulder at the empty store. The phalanx of bells around the door would alert them if anyone stopped in. The minute she tugged the heavy, upholstery fabric that served as a kitchen door aside, the pungent tang of Irish whiskey made her eyes water. “You said tea.” “Yeah, well I spiked it.” Colleen grunted. “Smells like you took a bath in booze. What the fuck happened?” She grabbed the larger woman and spun her so they faced one another. “We got another pay-your-tithe-or-die e-mail from our Coven.” Jenna’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “So? That’s like the tenth one.” There were new policies none of them agreed with, so they’d joined with about twenty other witches and stopped paying the monthly stipend that supported their Coven’s hierarchy. “It’s not what’s bothering me.” Jenna pulled free from Colleen, tipped her cup, and took a slug of what smelled like mostly liquor. Colleen fought a desire to swat her. Getting to the point quickly had never been one of Jenna’s talents. She clamped her jaws together. “What is?” “Roz called with…problems.” Jenna turned and started toward the steep staircase ladder leading to her bedroom above the shop. “You can’t just drop that bomb and leave.” Colleen made another grab for Jenna to keep her in the kitchen. Worry for their friend ate at her. Of the three of them, Roz was by far the most volatile. “What happened? I thought she was in Missouri, or maybe it was Oklahoma, visiting that dishy dude she met online.” “Didn’t work out.” The corners of Jenna’s mouth twisted downward. Colleen quirked a brow, urging her friend to say more. Jenna plowed on. “He only wanted her for her magic. Turned out he preferred men.” “Aw, shit.” Colleen blew out a breath. “She must’ve been disappointed.” Half a snorting laugh bubbled past Jenna’s lips. “Maybe now she is. At the time, furious would’ve been closer to the mark.” Colleen’s throat tightened. “Crap! What’d she do? She didn’t hurt him, did she?” “Not directly. She turned him over to the local Coven.” “Thank God!” Colleen let go of Jenna and laid a hand over her heart. Roxanne Lantry was more than capable of killing anyone who pissed her off. It was how she ended up in Alaska. Roz hadn’t exactly been caught when her cheating husband and his two girlfriends went missing, but she hadn’t stuck around to encourage the authorities to question her, either. Colleen and Jenna had already left Seattle when that little incident went down. Roz repressed her antipathy for Alaska’s legendary foul weather and joined them. Magically, she was strong as an ox, and she had a hell of a temper. Colleen’s stomach growled again. Louder this time. It didn’t give a good goddamn about anything other than its empty state. She pushed past Jenna to the stove, lifted a lid, and peered into a battered aluminum pot. Curry blasted her. The spicy odor stung her eyes and made her nose run. “Whew. Potent. Mind if I help myself?” “Go ahead.” Jenna sat heavily in one of two chairs with a rickety wooden table between them. She picked up her mug and took another long swallow. Dish in hand, Colleen slapped it on the table in front of the other chair and went in search of a mug of her own. There weren’t any clean ones, so she plucked one out of the sink and rinsed it. Back at the stove, she tipped the teakettle. Thick, amber liquid spilled from its stubby snout into her waiting mug. Jenna waggled the whiskey bottle in her direction. “Nah.” Colleen settled at the table. “It would go right to my head. Maybe after I get some food on board.” She tucked in. After the first few mouthfuls, when the curry powder nearly annihilated her taste buds, the pea, potato, and ham mixture wasn’t half-bad. Jenna drank steadily, not offering anything by way of conversation. When Colleen’s dish was empty, she refilled her mug with tea, filched a couple of biscuits from the cupboard, and sat back down. “Are you going to talk to me?” “I suppose so.” Jenna’s words slurred slightly. Colleen cocked her head to one side. “I suggest you start now, before you forget how.” “Oh, please.” Jenna blew out a breath, showering the small space with whiskey fumes. Colleen waited. The other witch could be stubborn. Wheedling, cajoling, or urging wouldn’t work until she was good and ready to talk. Finally, after so long Colleen had nearly chewed a hole in her cheek, Jenna finally muttered, “Roz called.” Colleen ground her teeth together. “You already said that. It’s how you knew what happened with the guy.” Jenna nodded. “There’s more.” She picked up the whiskey, started to pour it into her mug, then apparently changed her mind and drank right from the bottle. “She’s in Seattle. Checked in with Witches’ Northwest, just to say hello, and because she wanted to touch base with people she’s known for a long time.” Another long pause. Colleen batted back a compulsion spell. It wasn’t nice to use those on your friends. She shoved her hands under her bottom to reduce the temptation. Jenna lowered her voice until Colleen had to strain to hear. “The Irichna demons are back.” “But our last confrontation wasn’t all that long ago. Only a few months. Sometimes when we best them, they’ve stayed gone for years.” Colleen shook her head. Even the sound of the word, Irichna, crackled against her ears, making them tingle unpleasantly. Irichna demons were the worst. Hands down, no contest. They worked for Abbadon, Demon of the Abyss. Evil didn’t get much worse than that. No wonder Jenna was drinking. Colleen held her hand out for the bottle—suddenly a drink seemed like a most excellent idea—and picked her words with care. “Did Roz actually sight one?” “Yeah. She also asked if we could come and help. More than asked. She came as close to begging as I’ve ever heard her.” “Erk. They have a whole Coven there. Several if you count all the ones in western Washington. Why do they need us?” Colleen belted back a stiff mouthful of whiskey. It burned a track all the way to her stomach where it did battle with all the curry she’d eaten. Jenna just shot her a look. “You know why.” Colleen swallowed again, hoping for oblivion, except it couldn’t come quick enough. She knew exactly why, but the answer stuck in her craw and threatened to choke her. The three of them were the last of a long line of demon assassins, witches with specialized powers, able to lure demons, immobilize them, and send them packing to the netherworld. When things worked right. They often didn’t, though, which was what killed off the other demon assassin witches. It didn’t help that demons as a group had been gathering power these last fifty years or so. Witches lived for a long time, but they were far from immortal, and demon assassin ability was genetic. She, Jenna, or Roz would have to produce children or that strain of magic would die out. So far, none of them had come anywhere close to identifying a guy who looked like husband material… Colleen looked at her hands. Even absent a husband, none of them had a shred of domesticity. Certainly not enough to saddle themselves with offspring. “What’s the matter?” Jenna grinned wickedly, clearly more than a little drunk. “Cat got your tongue too?” As if on cue, a blood-curdling meow rose from a shadowed corner of the kitchen and Bubba, Colleen’s resident familiar, padded forward. When he was halfway to them, he gathered his haunches beneath him and sprang to the table. It rocked alarmingly, and Jenna made a grab for her cup. The large black cat skinned his lips back from his upper teeth, bared his incisors, and hissed. “Oh, all right.” Colleen clamped her jaws tight and summoned the magic to shift Bubba to his primary form, a gnarled three-foot changeling. The air shimmered around him. Before it cleared, he swiped the liquor out of her hand and drained the bottle. “Would’ve been a good reason to leave you a cat,” Jenna mumbled. He stood on the table and glared at both of them, elbows akimbo, bottle still dangling from his oversized fingers. “If you’re going to fight demons, you have to take me with you.” “No, we don’t,” Colleen countered. “You don’t follow directions well,” Jenna said pointedly. “Isn’t that the truth?” Colleen rotated her head from side to side, starting to feel the whiskey. At least once when they’d humored the changeling, he’d almost gotten all of them killed. Problem was she couldn’t predict when he’d follow her orders, and when he’d decide on a different tack altogether. Then there were the times his fearlessness had saved them all. Bubba might be a wildcard, but he was her wildcard. “You forgot when I welcomed your spirit into my body—and kept it alive—while the healers worked on you.” Bubba eyed Colleen, sounding smug. “If you hadn’t decided to play hero, and needed to be rescued, the demons wouldn’t have injured me.” Colleen winced at the sour undertone in her voice. That incident had happened five years before. Maybe it was time she got over it. “Nevertheless.” He tossed his shaggy head, thick with hair as black as the cat’s. “When you conjured me from the barrows of Ireland, and bound me, we became a unit. You can’t go off and leave me here. It would be like leaving a part of yourself behind.” His dark eyes glittered with challenge. “I hate to admit it—” Jenna sounded a little less drunk “—but he’s right.” “See.” Bubba leered at them, jumped off the table, and waddled over to the stove with his bowlegged gait. Once there, he opened the oven, climbed onto its door, and peeked into the pot. He started to stick a hand inside. “Hold it right there, bud.” Colleen got to her feet, covered the distance to the stove, and dished him up some of the curry mixture. “Get some clothes on and you can have this.” He clambered down from his perch and over to several colorful canisters scattered around the house where she stashed outfits for him. Keeping Bubba clothed had been a huge problem until she’d hatched up a plan, and sewn him several pant and shirt combos with Velcro closures, since he didn’t like buttons or zippers. The changeling dressed quickly and took the bowl from her. “I could’ve gotten my own food.” “Better for the rest of us if you keep your paws out of the cook pot.” Jenna stood a bit unsteadily. “I’ll be right back.” Bubba stuffed food into his mouth with his fingers. “Where’s she going?” His words came out garbled as he chewed open-mouthed. Colleen looked away. “Probably to pee. Maybe to throw up. Um, look, Bubba, it might be wiser if we took a quick side trip to Ireland and released you.” She glanced sidelong at the changeling spirit she’d summoned during a major demon war forty years before. He’d been truly helpful then, especially after he’d mastered English, which hadn’t taken him all that long. In the intervening time, he’d mostly clung to his feline form, eating and keeping their shop free of mice and rats. They’d lived in Seattle the first ten years or so after he joined them, relocating to Alaska to conceal their longevity. She dragged the heels of her hands down her face, feeling tired. It was getting close to time to move again, but she didn’t want to think about it. Bubba shook his head emphatically. Food flew from the sides of his mouth. He scooped a glob off the floor and ate it anyway. “I have to agree to being released. I don’t want to go back to my barrow. I like it much better here.” Colleen sucked in a hollow breath, blew it out, and did it again. Bubba was right. Rules were rules. He’d had a choice at the front end. He could’ve refused her. Witches respected all living creatures. The ones on the good side of the road, anyway. No forced servitude for their familiars, despite rumors to the contrary. Jenna lurched back into the kitchen looking a little green. “You okay?” Colleen asked. “Yeah. I drank too much, that’s all.” She rinsed her mug at the sink, refilled it with tap water, and sat back down. “Did you two come up with a plan?” “I’m going.” Bubba left his dish on the floor and vaulted back onto the table. Jenna rolled red-rimmed eyes. “That was the discussion when I left.” “Your point?” Colleen swallowed irritation. “Nothing.” The other witch sounded sullen, but maybe she just didn’t feel well. “I offered to free him—” Colleen began. “I refused,” Bubba cut in. He shook his head. “No recognition for all my years of loyal service. Tsk. You should be—” “Stuff it.” Jenna glared at him. “We have bigger problems than your wounded ego.” He stuck out his lower lip, looking injured as only a changeling spirit could, but he didn’t say anything else. “I suppose we have to go to Seattle,” Colleen muttered, half to herself. “Don’t see any way around it.” Jenna worried her lower lip between her teeth. “What exactly did Roz say?” “We didn’t talk long. Her cellphone battery was almost dead.” A muscle twitched beneath Jenna’s eye. “She’d just stopped in at Coven Headquarters and the group mobbed her. Said we had to come. They’ve already lost about twenty witches to stealth demon attacks.” Colleen’s heart skipped a few beats. Twenty witches was a lot. Maybe a quarter of the Witches’ Northwest Coven. “Crap. When did the attacks start?” “Only a few days ago. They’d planned to call us, but saw it as goddess intervention when Roz showed up.” “Damn that Oklahoma cowboy.” Colleen pounded a fist into her open palm. “If his Coven doesn’t flatten him, I will.” “He wasn’t a cowboy.” Jenna’s voice held a flat, dead sound. “He was supposed to be a witch. You know, like us.” “Doesn’t matter.” “Do you want to close things up here, or should I try to get someone from our Coven to fill in at the shop?” Jenna looked pale, but the tipsy aspect had left her face. Colleen shook her head. “We haven’t sold enough in the last few weeks to make it worthwhile to pay someone to clerk for us.” “Okay.” Jenna’s hazel eyes clouded with worry. “When do you want to leave?” “If you asked Witches’ Northwest, we probably should’ve left three days ago.” “How are we getting there?” Bubba squared his hunched shoulders as much as he could and eyed Colleen. “Excellent question.” Jenna looked at Colleen too. She raised her hands in front of her face, palms out. “Stop it, you two. I can’t deal with the pressure.” Colleen clamped her jaws together and considered their options. Roz already had a car in Seattle. It didn’t make sense to drive their other one down, plus it would take too long. Flying with Bubba was impossible. He looked too odd in his gnome form and his cat form didn’t do well with the pressure changes. They had to teleport, which would seriously deplete their magic and mean they couldn’t fight so much as a disembodied spirit for at least twenty-four hours after they arrived. Jenna screwed her face into an apologetic scowl, apparently having come to the same conclusion. “Look, I’m sorry I’m not more help. There’s something about that particular mix of earth, fire, and air that I always bungle.” Air whistled through Colleen’s teeth. It had been so long since they’d teleported anywhere, she’d almost forgotten Jenna’s ineptitude with the requisite spell. “How about this? You go down to the basement and practice. I’ll get a few things together…” “What do you want me to do?” Bubba asked. “You can help me,” Jenna said. “I’ll do better if I have an object to practice with.” The changeling scrunched his low forehead into a mass of wrinkles. “Just don’t get me lost.” “Even if she does, I’ll be able to find you.” Colleen tried to sound reassuring. She was fond of her familiar. In many ways, he was very childlike. Heh! Maybe that’s why I’ve been so reluctant to have a kid. I already have one who’ll never grow up. The bells around the shop door clanged a discordant riot of notes. “Crap!” Jenna shot to her feet. “First customer in two days. I should’ve locked the damn door.” “Back to cat form.” Colleen flicked her fingers at Bubba, who shrank obligingly and slithered out of clothing, which puddled around him. She snatched up his shirt and pants and dropped them back into the canister. “I say,” a strongly accented male voice called out. “Is anyone here?” “I’ll take care of the Brit,” Colleen mouthed. “Take Bubba to the basement and practice.” She got to her feet and stepped past the curtain. “Yes?” She gazed around the dimly lit store for their customer. A tall, powerfully built man, wearing dark slacks and a dark turtleneck, strode toward her, a woolen greatcoat slung over one arm. His white-blond hair was drawn back into a queue. Arresting facial bones—sculpted cheeks, strong jaw, high forehead—captured her attention and stole her breath. He was quite possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Discerning green eyes zeroed in on her face, caught her gaze, and held it. Magic danced around him in a numinous shroud. Strong magic. What was he? And then she knew. Daoine Sidhe. The man had to be Sidhe royalty. No wonder he was so stunning it almost hurt to look at him. Colleen held her ground. She placed her feet shoulder width apart and crossed her arms over her chest. “What can I help you with?” “Colleen Kelly?” Okay, so he knows who I am. Doesn’t mean a thing. He’s Sidhe. Could’ve plucked my name right out of my head. “That would be me. How can I help you?” she repeated, burying a desire to lick nervously at her lips. “Time is short. I’ve been hunting you for a while now. Come closer, witch. We need to talk.” Witch’s Bane Demon Assassins Book 2 Ann Gimpel   Dream Shadow Press 66K words   Release Date: 9/6/16   Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance   Urban Fantasy Romance with a heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!   Book Description:   Last of the demon assassin witches, Roz, Jenna, and Colleen have escaped disaster so far, but their luck is running low. Demons strike in the midst of Colleen’s wedding, and Roz launches desperate measures. As she shape-shifts to keep one step ahead of evil, at least it takes her mind off her other problems. Personal ones. She burned through a couple of marriages and hooked up with a string of loser men before, after, and in between. Though she wants to be happy for Colleen, the jealousy bug bit deep and hasn’t let go.   In Roz’s secret heart, she’s attracted to Ronin, one of the Daoine Sidhe. He’s so profanely beautiful she can barely breathe around him, but he’s also headstrong and arrogant. Not good partner material—unless she wants to end up dusting her heart off one more time.   Ronin set his sights on Roz the day he met her, and he can’t get her out of his mind. Unfortunately, she’s so prickly getting close to her requires scheming. He casts an enchantment to lure her at Colleen’s wedding, but she senses the spell and calls him on it. Demons swarm out of the ether before he can come up with another strategy. Killing them trumps everything. Roz is used to calling the shots. So is Ronin. Sparks fly. Tempers run hot, right along with an attraction too heady to ignore.   Amazon    BN    Kobo    iBooks    Google Play    ARe    Author’s Store   Excerpt from Witch’s Bane:   Roxanne Lantry—Roz to everyone who knew her—paced up and down the sodden lawn outside the huge old Victorian that housed the Witches’ Northwest Coven headquarters in Seattle. Rain pelted her from beneath a gunmetal sky, but it was better out here than inside. She fought an unfamiliar thickening at the back of her throat and balled her hands into fists. “I will not cry,” she muttered to an inquisitive ground squirrel that ran across her boot tops, but telling herself and controlling her emotions were two different things. One of her two best friends, Colleen Kelly, would be getting married in less than half an hour. Roz had been inside, in the midst of all the bride-craziness, but seeing Colleen swathed in cream-colored lace sent her into a tailspin. What the fuck is wrong with me? She kicked at a hummock of grass and yelped when it didn’t move, but the pain from her stubbed toes helped her focus. If she was honest, not an easy task when men were involved, she knew exactly what was bothering her. “Yeah,” she mouthed the words, lecturing herself. “Two failed marriages and a whole bunch of loser dudes before, after, and in between. I’m jealous and I need a good, swift boot in the backside. Just because Colleen finally stumbled across Mr. Right doesn’t lower my odds of ever finding someone who’s gorgeous and magical and worships me.” Now if I could only believe that… Roz was happy for Colleen and Duncan, the Daoine Sidhe she was marrying. They made a great couple, but surely there was enough connubial bliss in the universe to sprinkle a little her way too. Her last go-round with a strikingly handsome Oklahoman she’d met online had ended in fireworks when he’d admitted all he really wanted was to tap into her magical ability. When the rubber met the road, he didn’t even like women. Her stomach churned. She hated being made a fool of. She’d turned the guy in to his Coven for false advertising and laying a trap to delude a fellow magic wielder, but she doubted they’d done much to censure him. Water dripped off her nose. She stuck out her lower lip and blew upward, but the rain kept on dripping. Roz shook her fist at the low-hanging clouds, recognizing it for displacement activity. What she really wanted to do was pound her fist through the Oklahoman’s nice, straight nose. Enough of this. Give it a rest. That happened months ago. For Christ’s sake, I need to get moving, go inside, and trade my jeans and serape for fancy duds. Roz took a few deep breaths to settle her angst. She couldn’t show her tear-stained face to the world. She’d never live it down. When she closed her eyes, the Oklahoma asshole formed behind her lids, taunting her. Roz clenched her jaw and summoned a calming spell. It seemed like cheating, but time was short. As the wispy edges of magic caught her up, they soothed her frazzled nerves and she turned hard right and headed for the house at a brisk trot. She, Colleen, and Jenna Neil were the last of a long line of demon assassins. Witches with specialized powers, they lured Irichna demons, immobilized them, and sent them packing to the netherworld. When things worked right, she and her sister witches—along with Colleen’s familiar—shanghaied the demons and locked them behind the gate guarding the Ninth Circle of Hell. The demons didn’t go without a fight, though, which was what had killed off the other demon assassin witches. It didn’t help that demons as a group had been gathering power these last fifty years or so. Witches lived a long time, but they were far from immortal, and demon assassination ability was genetic. She, Jenna, or Colleen would have to produce children or that strain of magic would die out. None of them had a shred of domesticity, so no one had signed up for motherhood. At least not yet. I can’t put two weeks together without a major demon battle these days. How the hell could I take time off to raise a kid? Rain ran down her neck and Roz shivered. Thinking about demons chilled her bones. Realizing she’d stopped walking, she plodded toward the house again and forced her thoughts to the magicians’ supply store she owned with Colleen and Jenna in Fairbanks, Alaska. The other two witches had moved there months ahead of her. She hated the idea of all that snow and cold and winter nights that lasted twenty hours, but she’d boxed herself into a dicey situation and hadn’t had much choice. Her temper, never very controllable on a good day, had gotten the better of her, and she made short work of her cheating husband and his two—yup, count ’em—girlfriends. After that, she’d packed up and headed her aging Subaru north. Next stop, Fairbanks… That had happened a few years ago. So many, it was almost time to move on before anyone noticed she and the other witches didn’t seem to grow any older. Roz shook her head, not wanting to go there, either. She forced her mind back to the special skill she shared with Colleen and Jenna. She hated to admit it, but demons held the high cards these days, and she had no idea how to even the odds. Aren’t I just the queen of cheerful? She gave herself a mental shake with instructions to snap out of her funk. Roz made it to the huge house and tugged on one of the ground level doors. When it didn’t open, she hit it with a jolt of magic, and the deadbolt snicked aside. She stopped long enough to shake water off her and then loped down a long corridor with a concrete floor toward one of the old mansion’s many stairwells. Fluorescent lights, recessed into the ceiling, gave off a sickly yellow gleam that matched her sour mood. She’d just begun climbing upward when a rush of footsteps sounded from the hallway below. “There you are,” Bubba, Colleen’s familiar, cried out and leapt up the stairs after her. Roz glanced over a shoulder and saw he was in his normal form: a three-foot-tall changeling with oversized feet, long arms, and a bow-legged gait. His shaggy, black hair had been brushed until it shone, and his dark eyes glittered mischievously. Colleen had a hell of a time keeping him dressed, but today he sported black pants and a black jacket over a white shirt. “Yes,” Roz countered, still feeling out of sorts. “Here I am. The question is why aren’t you upstairs with everyone else?” “Colleen got worried. She sent me to hunt you down.” Bubba crossed his arms over his chest, looking pleased with himself. Roz rolled her eyes. “Bubba, look—” “Uh-uh.” He uncrossed his arms and waggled a finger at her. “Niall. Remember, you all promised to use my real name from now on.” “So we did. Crap! I don’t have time for this.” She unkinked her neck and trudged upward. “No kidding,” he agreed. “Everyone’s here, and you’re not even dressed yet.” Rather than focus on her shortcomings, Roz changed the subject. “You’re looking pretty spiffy, bud.” “Do you like it?” “What I saw of it. It’s sort of like a black tuxedo, but with Velcro instead of buttons.” “I hate buttons.” Roz grinned in spite of herself. “I know you do, sweetie.” She came to the third floor landing and pushed the stairwell door open, holding it for the changeling. “Run and tell Colleen I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.” Without waiting for an answer, she walked briskly halfway down the long hall and let herself into her bedroom. Locking the door behind her, she unlaced her wet boots and toed them off. Next she shucked her sodden clothes, ducked into the bathroom, and gathered strands of coal black hair, pulling it into a ponytail with both hands. Once she had her hair together, she wrapped her head in a towel. She didn’t believe in hair dryers, so once she’d soaked as much water as she could into the towel, she grabbed her comb, made several sections, and plaited her knee-length, straight-as-a-stick hair, weaving it into a pseudo-French braid. Before she left the bathroom, she inspected her face in the mirror. She never wore makeup because it made her look like a clown. Her bronzed skin and stark bone structure declared her Native American blood more clearly than words could have. She smoothed her eyebrows with a few drops of water and considered which of two outfits to wear. Colleen had said it didn’t matter to her, so long as Roz didn’t show up in her usual tattered blue jeans and combat boots. With a snort of amusement, she padded back into the bedroom and pulled a long, beaded black buckskin skirt off a hanger. She stepped into it and laced the side fastening. Next came a turquoise deerskin top, also beaded, that clung to her like a second skin. In addition to not bothering with makeup, she also didn’t care for underthings, so the outline of her breasts was clearly visible through the soft leather. She slipped a heavy silver and turquoise necklace over her head, arranging her braid on top of it, and grabbed a matching ring off the dresser. The only thing left was her moccasins. Roz wriggled her feet into them, enjoying the way the deerskin warmed and hugged her feet. Jenna always wore high heels, but Roz had never understood how she could tolerate them. They’d had a few heated discussions years ago before Roz finally gave up. “To each her own,” she told the mirror. Satisfied she looked presentable, she focused the threads of her calming spell, strengthened it a bit to make certain she’d last through the ceremony without breaking down and bawling like an idiot, and let herself into the hallway. The buzz of a crowd reached her from the main floor. She glanced toward the stairs and then the other way, wondering if Colleen was still up here. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to find out, she walked two doors down and knocked. The door flew open almost immediately and she looked into an accusing set of pale blue eyes. “It’s about fucking time,” Colleen exclaimed. Auburn hair with lily of the valley woven into it swirled around her, falling to waist level. At six feet, Colleen was normally a good four inches shorter than Roz, but today she wore heels and they were of a height. “Huh?” Roz murmured, confused. “I almost went downstairs. I had no idea you were waiting for me.” “We’d planned to all go down together.” Colleen sounded sullen. “You know, like a proper wedding party.” “If we were all that proper,” Roz said, “Jenna and I would be wearing matching—” Jenna made chopping motions with both hands and unfolded her well-rounded frame from off the bed. Blonde hair, hacked off at shoulder level, framed a gamine’s face with shrewd, hazel eyes. Rather than her standard, thrift store couture, today she wore a short beige silk skirt, a lacy blouse, and her trademark high-heeled boots. Huge, golden hoops graced her ears. She walked to Roz’s side and looped an arm through hers. “Don’t think anything of it. The bride—” she waved an airy hand Colleen’s way “—has been antsy as a scalded cat all day.” Colleen closed her teeth together with an audible clack. “Maybe I’m making a mistake.” Roz and Jenna turned to stare at her. “What?” Jenna asked, incredulous. “Hey, if you don’t want him—” Roz began. “No shit,” Jenna interrupted. “Tall, blond, drop dead gorgeous. Those green eyes are to die for and those shoulders.” She made panting noises. “The couple of times I saw him without a shirt, I almost came just watching his muscles rustle beneath his skin when he walked.” Colleen rolled her eyes. “You two are impossible. Can’t a bride have a case of jitters without her two closest friends turning into vultures?” “No.” Roz looked down her nose at Colleen. “Considering how long and hard I’ve hunted for decent partner material…” She let her words trail off before the extent of her jealousy leaked out. The door blew inward and Bubba marched in, hands on his hips. “Come on. Everyone’s ready.” He lowered his voice, but not by much. “I think Duncan’s worried that you—” he pointed at Colleen “—got cold feet.” “She nearly did,” Jenna muttered. “Aw, crap. Guess I need to go tell everyone the wedding’s off.” Bubba did an about face, but before he could sprint through the open door, Colleen snatched him up. “You’ll do no such thing.” She swallowed audibly. “I’m ready. I guess.” “Let go of me.” Bubba writhed in her grasp. “Not before you promise to keep your mouth shut.” Roz smirked. Circumspection was not exactly the changeling’s long suit. She walked to Bubba’s other side. “I’ll take him.” She held out her arms. “I can walk,” the changeling said with a great deal of dignity, “as soon as Colleen lets go of me.” “You haven’t promised,” Colleen said. “Please, sweetie. It’s important to me. A girl needs to have some things stay private.” He blew out an annoyed sounding breath. “All right. I promise.” Colleen relaxed her grip. Shaking himself like a dog might have, the gnome-like changeling chuckled. “Too bad. Something like that’s a prime piece of gossip.” Colleen broke into a broad grin. “Right up your alley, eh?” Roz made shooing motions. “Let’s get going. You don’t want all that food the Sidhe catered to get cold do you?” “I don’t care about food,” Colleen mumbled. “I’m so nervous I probably won’t be able to eat a thing.” “Well I do,” Jenna said. “I’m with Roz. Let’s get this show on the road.” “Have a couple belts of whiskey,” Roz suggested. “It’ll do wonders for your nerves.” The hallway air brightened and shimmered. When it cleared, Titania, Queen of Faerie, shook floor-length silvery hair out of her ice blue eyes and pushed it over her shoulders. A diaphanous gown, more jewels than fabric, floated around her tall, thin frame. “Is there some problem?” she inquired with asperity, and her gaze zeroed in on Colleen. Colleen half curtseyed. Roz considered it, but didn’t because Titania wasn’t her queen. “No problem at all.” Colleen inclined her head. “We were just on our way.” The Queen of Faerie’s severe expression softened. “Thank the goddess. For a minute there, I was afraid you were going to break Duncan’s heart.” She strode forward and thumped Colleen’s chest with a bony forefinger. “If you ever hurt that boy, I’ll hunt you down and make you very sorry.” “That boy—” Colleen held the queen’s gaze “—is a thousand-year-old man.” Titania furled her perfect silver brows. “Details. Besides, it’s rude to contradict me. Privilege of age and rank and all that. Let’s go. I haven’t performed a marriage in centuries. I’m quite looking forward to it.” Colleen’s eyes widened. “I thought Naomi, the leader of this Coven, was going to join Duncan and me.” “We both have roles to play.” Titania’s mouth twitched. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let one of my own be bound in marriage without my magic involved.” “I have no idea what I thought,” Colleen managed, but she looked ready to throttle the queen. Before things got any tenser and Colleen started in about it being her wedding, Roz herded them out the door and down the hallway. Colleen stopped for a moment at the head of the stairway, tension rolling off her in waves. Roz wrapped an arm around her. “It will be fine,” she whispered. “Just fine.” After a quick hug, she let go. As if those six words did the trick—or maybe it was the hug—Colleen swept down the long, curved staircase, looking regal. Roz, Jenna, and Titania jostled one another as they made their way down the twenty-five steps. Bubba made an end run around them and fell in behind Colleen, where he picked up her lace train. They marched through the dining area where caterers and witches bustled about laying out a spread of food that smelled delicious, into a large, luxurious room that took up much of the bottom floor of the old Victorian. At one point, they’d talked about having the ceremony outside, but the weather put the kibosh on that idea. Roz wondered why they’d wasted their breath even considering an out-of-doors event. It was the winter solstice in Seattle. She bet there’d never been one when it wasn’t raining like crazy—or snowing. Chairs lined the wood-paneled great room, and a fire burned merrily in a huge stone fireplace that took up one end of the sumptuous space. Old-fashioned chandeliers were festooned with hundreds of blazing candles. Witches sat on one side of a center aisle, Daoine Sidhe on the other. Roz guessed between three and four hundred people were in attendance—more Sidhe than witches. Everyone turned in their seats to stare at Colleen, and a collective aaaaah surged through the room. Roz clamped down on a grin. Colleen really did make a lovely bride, with her Irish complexion and red tresses. The creamy lace dress was perfect. White would have made her look washed out. Titania strode around all of them and took her place at the head of the room. Roz noted with amusement that Naomi held her ground when Titania tried to push her to one side. Before she and Jenna left Colleen to find their seats, her gaze landed on Duncan—Lord Regis—and her heart nearly stopped. All Sidhe had an ethereal beauty, but Duncan practically glowed. Dressed in a black tuxedo with a crimson cummerbund and diamond studs, he cut an impressive figure with his high forehead, sculpted cheekbones, and strong jaw. Longish blond hair had been braided in tight rows, but the severe style suited him and make him look like an ancient warrior. Roz averted her gaze, afraid he’d catch her staring, but he only had eyes for his bride. She said a quick prayer asking the goddess’s blessing on their union and turned toward the witches’ side of the room. Because Ronin came up from her other side, she didn’t notice the Sidhe leader until he wove an arm around her shoulders. “I saved you a chair next to me.” Her heart slammed into double-time rhythm. She’d met Ronin two weeks before at his castle in northern England, and they’d shared several spirited conversations over meals. Something magical and electric had sparked between them, but she’d chalked it up to everyone’s emotions running full tilt. She’d just escaped demons by the skin of her teeth, and he was dealing with shame or guilt—or whatever he felt—about forcing witches into being demon assassins two centuries before. While his attentiveness had been welcome—and more than a little flattering—she’d been more focused on her relief at being alive than anything else. Besides, after the Oklahoman, she’d sworn off men—forever. Ronin smiled, not looking anything but glad to see her, and her heart did a funny little flip-flop, in addition to beating much too fast. Dark hair hung loose to his shoulders, and his blue eyes twinkled warmly. Every bit as handsome as Duncan, he was dressed in formal clothing, black with a blue cummerbund, and what might have been ruby studs. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m supposed to sit over there.” She gestured in the general direction of the witches’ side of the room. “No one will notice,” he assured her and hooked his hand beneath her arm. Roz didn’t fully understand why she let him guide her to a padded straight-backed chair near the front of the room and help her into it, but there was something irresistible about his energy. Too late, she recognized a mild compulsion spell. Anger spiked, but now wasn’t the place to give in to it. With every shred of self-discipline at her disposal, she forced her attention to Duncan and Colleen reciting their vows, and to Naomi, who’d muscled her way in before Titania could get rolling. When Ronin draped an arm around her shoulders, she shot him a harsh look that made him move it damned fast. Good, she thought. It’s about time the Sidhe realize their days of pushing witches around are over. Yes, he was gorgeous, and he seemed interested in her, but the last thing she needed was some overbearing mage mucking things up. She still wasn’t quite certain how Colleen’s marriage to Duncan would impact her and Jenna. They’d always been kind of like The Three Musketeers, demon style. The permanent addition of a Sidhe was bound to have some effect. Exactly what was hard to gauge. Who am I kidding? We didn’t just get Duncan. We’re stuck with his kinfolk now too. All of them. She bit back a sigh. If the series of meetings a couple of weeks before in the U.K. was any indication, she, Jenna, and Colleen would have to fight to be recognized as anything remotely close to equal. Roz snuck a glance at Ronin. He sat straight in his seat, his profile heartbreakingly beautiful. His long-fingered hands were clasped together in his lap. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what they’d feel like stroking her body. Warm. Electric. Compelling. Maybe I should give him a chance, a tiny, inner voice piped up. Bosh. Roz tried for a stern note, but the other part of her brain wouldn’t shut up. Witches Rule Demon Assassins Book 3 Ann Gimpel   Dream Shadow Press 68K words   Release Date: 9/26/16   Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance   Urban Fantasy Romance with a heaping side of Hexes, Spells, and Magick!   Book Description:   Jenna’s a special witch, sort of, when her magic works, which it often doesn’t. One of three remaining demon assassins, she and her sister witches, Roz and Colleen, are Earth’s only hedge against being overrun by Hell’s minions. On the heels of Roz’s and Colleen’s weddings, Jenna is headed for the U.K. when a demon confronts her. Any other witch could teleport out of the plane, but not her.   Frustration about her limited power eats at her. It would be pathetic to get killed for lack of skills a teenager could master.   Tristan is a Sidhe warrior, but his primary gift is attunement to others’ emotions. He fell hard for Jenna, but hasn’t had an opportunity to act on their attraction beyond a few kisses because she returned to Alaska, and he’s been in the field fighting demons.   As seer for the Sidhe, Kiernan is haunted by visions, particularly an apocalyptic sending that seems to be coming true. A confirmed bachelor, he doesn’t understand his attraction to Jenna, but it’s so strong he can’t fight it. After a while, he doesn’t even try, despite recognizing Tristan’s claim to her.   Startling truths surface about Jenna’s magic, and then there’s the problem that she’s falling in love with two very different men. At first she believes she has to pick one of them, but her spirit refuses to walk away from either. It’s impossible to choose between a seer with dreams in his eyes and a beautiful man who intuits her every need. Standing on the verge of Earth’s destruction, will she defy convention and follow the song in her heart?   Amazon    BN    Kobo    iBooks    ARe    Google Play    Author’s Store     Excerpt from Witches Rule:   Jenna Neil sank heavily onto her airplane seat and kicked off her high heels, shoving them beneath the seat in front of her. With a small sigh of relief, she rotated her ankles to take the pressure off her aching arches. She’d always loved heels—the higher the better—and insisted on wearing them, never mind they definitely lacked a comfort factor. Once she’d shot past six feet, she figured it didn’t matter if she added a few inches to her already overbearing height. A flight attendant leaned over to hand her a pillow and blanket. Jenna tucked the pillow behind her head as she listened to the safety briefing and estimates of their arrival time in London. She closed her eyes, but it didn’t ease how tired and gritty they felt, and smoothed her too-short denim skirt down her thighs. A red wool sweater and matching denim jacket finished off her outfit. She’d been so excited about getting out of Alaska and away from the layers she was forced to wear through the winter, she’d probably underdressed for the current jaunt. Less trendy clothes were tucked in her checked luggage, but they weren’t exactly accessible. The last few days hadn’t offered much opportunity for rest. She, Colleen Kelly-Regis, and Roxanne Lantry-Redstone—Roz to everyone who knew her well—were the last of the demon assassin witches. Having escaped Irichna demons by a ridiculously narrow margin—again—the three of them were on their way to the U.K. where they could do it all over again. Jenna grinned ruefully. Demons running amok through the British countryside had thrown witches and the Daoine Sidhe together after two hundred years of enmity. It had also netted impossibly hunky husbands for her sister witches, but that was beside the point. Staying alive was a much more front and center problem. Because Irichna demons had become so much more aggressive, everyone but her thought it would be best to travel separately. She hadn’t agreed, but she’d been the one dissenting vote. As far as Jenna was concerned, there was always strength in numbers, but the others were convinced their current strategy would confuse the demons long enough for everyone to regroup on the eastern side of the Atlantic. Colleen and Roz were teleporting with their husbands. Niall, Colleen’s Irish changeling familiar, was making his own way back home along with two Scottish changelings, Llyr and Krae. Jenna had never been much good at teleporting, so she’d opted to fly commercial. It would place her arrival at least twelve hours after everyone else, but she could live with that. At least the first leg of her journey, from Fairbanks to Seattle, and thence to New York, had been uneventful. Thinking about Irichna made her shiver, so she unfolded her blanket and draped it around her shoulders. Demons didn’t get much worse than Irichna. As Abbadon’s chosen henchmen, they played for keeps, and Abbadon was the biggest and baddest of Hell’s denizens, so nothing was off limits. Demon assassin witches had been a craw in his throat for a long time, and lately he’d upped the ante to get rid of them—permanently. Them means me, and I’d do well not to forget that. Jenna blew out a weary breath. One of her not-so-distant ancestors had been forced into demon containment two hundred years ago by the Sidhe, breaking every rule that bound magic-wielders, but the Sidhe hadn’t cared. In the intervening years, demons had managed to kill every single witch with demon-assassin ability—except for her, Roz, and Colleen. The Sidhe were primed to take back some responsibility for ferrying Irichna to the Ninth Circle of Hell where the gatekeeper locked them away, but that hadn’t exactly happened yet. She gritted her teeth and unclenched hands she’d balled into fists around the edge of the thin airline blanket. The aircraft backed out of its slip and headed for one of the many runways at JFK Airport. While it would be lovely to have help with the demons, working with the Sidhe held its own set of problems. For one thing, most of them were insufferably autocratic, which was how Jenna’s great-grandmother had ended up being suckered into picking up the demon banner in the first place. Even though Titania, Queen of Faerie, appeared marginally tolerant of Colleen’s and Roz’s marriages to Sidhe now, she’d given Duncan quite a bit of grief over his proposed marriage to Colleen at the front end of things. By the time Ronin, the de facto Sidhe leader, made it clear he’d set his sights on Roz, Titania had backed down a few notches, probably because they were beset by Irichna. Jenna thinned her lips into a hard line. Hundreds of years before, Ronin’s human partner had died in childbirth, and the child along with her. Apparently, both the Queen and King of Faerie made it clear Ronin had sunk himself by choosing to marry someone outside his race. In the face of their indifference, Ronin had carried his grief alone. It’s just like it is with humans. Everybody’s got to have somebody to look down on… Jenna tamped back a cynical grin. The Sidhe had made strides accepting other races, but they had a way to go before they moved beyond their intolerant past. Jenna pictured her friends’ husbands, and a small sigh escaped. Like all the Daoine Sidhe, Duncan Regis and Ronin Redstone were heartbreakingly stunning. Duncan’s blond good looks and green eyes provided a counterpart for Ronin’s dark hair and deep blue gaze. When Jenna scratched the surface and did a little soul-searching, she had to admit she’d never expected to find a permanent partner. Girls like her—well rounded and obscenely tall—weren’t exactly in demand. Colleen was beautiful with her waist length auburn hair and pale blue eyes, and Roz was unusual and striking. Her Native American heritage and long, lean frame turned heads whenever she passed by. Guess I’m the odd witch out these days… Jenna pressed her lips together. It remained to be seen how her friends’ marriages would impact their lives. Some things would have to change because she couldn’t quite envision Duncan and Ronin simply moving in to her Fairbanks, Alaska, home along with their new wives. For one thing, all the Sidhe maintained amazing abodes in the U.K. Places that resembled castles more than houses. Jenna reined in her thoughts. There were a lot of unknowns, but the main problem would be surviving the next few weeks. Once they got the Irichna on the run—if that were even possible—then she could figure out more prosaic things, like if she’d be the only one still living in Fairbanks and running their magicians’ supply shop. Before the thought even finished forming, she knew that arrangement wouldn’t work. She, Roz, and Colleen had to stay together, and if the others insisted on remaining in the U.K., well then she wouldn’t have much choice in the matter. If she returned to Alaska by herself, she’d be a sitting duck for Irichna to swoop down and overpower her. She shivered again and considered asking for a second blanket. In an attempt to divert herself and maybe unwind, though it seemed unlikely, Jenna started to push her seat back and then remembered she wasn’t supposed to quite yet. The plane’s engines were revving, but they hadn’t left the ground. She heard the captain instruct the flight attendants to prepare the cabin for takeoff and tried to relax in her plush first-class seat. If the goddess was good to her, maybe she’d catch a few hours of sleep before the plane landed. A flurry of supernatural energy caught the edges of her attention, and Jenna’s gut twisted into a sour knot. She sat up straight and craned her neck to scan the cabin, defensive magic at the ready. Her eyes widened in disbelief as Krae’s unmistakable form shimmered into being, and the changeling bounded into the empty seat next to Jenna. Her long, bright red hair hung loose, and her eyes shone like emeralds. Krae’s stocky body was draped in wide-bottomed green silk pants and an embroidered black tunic. As was usual with changelings, her feet were bare. The creatures drew their power from the earth, and Jenna assumed they didn’t want layers of leather or rubber or neoprene between themselves and their magical well. With their three-foot height, broad shoulders, and longish arms, they looked like a missing link between humans and the great apes. “What are you doing here?” Jenna kept her voice low. “Don’t worry,” Krae replied, not exactly answering Jenna’s question. “No one can see me except you.” “Where are Niall and Llyr?” “Niall joined Colleen and Duncan, and Llyr is with Roz and Ronin.” Of course, why didn’t I think of that? Jenna cleared her throat. “Why did you make different plans?” Krae cocked her head to one side and crinkled her gnome-like face, making her look even more outlandish. “We discussed it and decided you might need help.” A corner of her mouth curved into a frown. “Personally, I thought it was a bit overdrawn, but Niall was most insistent about remaining with Colleen.” “Can he join her teleport spell after it’s already set in motion?” Jenna was curious, but if Krae could teleport into this aircraft, maybe the other two could tap into a spell she’d always considered sacrosanct. “Not directly, but he communicated with Colleen telepathically, and she altered her destination to pick him up. Llyr did the same with Roz and Ronin.” Krae dusted her palms together and grinned. “Nothing easier.” The changeling swept her agate-green gaze around the first-class cabin. “When will they feed us?” “As soon as we pass through ten thousand feet, which won’t be long since we just took off.” Jenna paused for a beat. “If you weren’t thrilled about the plans to get to the U.K., why didn’t you speak up back in Alaska?” “We did. No one listened to us. Roz and Ronin were so wrapped up in lust and pawing at each other, all they wanted to do was get to his manor house as fast as they could.” “Well, they did just get married,” Jenna pointed out in defense of her friend. “And I don’t recall anyone but me voicing concerns about splitting up to travel.” “That’s because you weren’t paying attention, either. Look, sweetie, if the Irichna win, no one will be tupping anyone.” Despite being much shorter than Jenna, the changeling managed to send a withering glance her way. “Point taken.” Jenna shot an equally scathing glance back. “Next time, if you feel strongly about something and no one’s paying attention, talk louder.” “Rehashing the past is a waste of time.” Krae bounced up and down in her seat. Jenna considered telling her to fasten her seatbelt, but if no one could see her, there wasn’t much point. “Be sure to take everything they offer foodwise,” the changeling instructed. “I’m hungry.” “Shouldn’t be a problem since I’m not.” Jenna lapsed into silence. “Why so glum, witchy girl?” Krae trained her ancient eyes, which probably didn’t miss a trick, on Jenna. “Oh, no particular reason.” Jenna stifled a snort and rolled her eyes. “I find facing death several times a day downright exhilarating.” A bell sounded, and the fasten seat belt icon winked out. Moments later, the first-class cabin flight attendant leaned close. “Are you all right?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” Jenna snapped and then winced at how surly she sounded. “I heard you talking and thought maybe you needed something.” The flight attendant smiled encouragingly. Airlines had moved past using Barbie clones long since, and this woman was middle-aged with streaks of gray in her dark, shoulder-length hair, the beginnings of wrinkles around her blue eyes, and a kind expression. “Food,” Krae prodded, not bothering with telepathic speech. “Thanks for being concerned.” Jenna managed a genuine smile for the cabin attendant. “I am hungry, so snacks would be appreciated whenever you get around to serving.” “Of course.” The woman smiled back. “I’m Suzanne.” She tapped the nametag hanging around her neck. “Just press your call button if you need anything. Other than that, relax and enjoy your flight.” “You could’ve been a bit more assertive about our dinner,” Krae complained. “I’m guessing they can’t hear you, either.” Jenna switched to telepathic speech. “Of course they can’t.” Krae blew out an annoyed-sounding breath. “Look, witchy-girl, draw a spot of magic and shield your speech. That way no one will bother us, and we can talk.” Feeling like an idiot because she hadn’t come up with the idea herself, Jenna drew the requisite spell before she spoke again. “I was actually hoping to sleep.” “You can do that after we eat and talk.” Jenna turned to face the changeling and raised a quizzical brow. “This is starting to sound bigger than you. Whose idea was it for the three of you to split up, and for you to join me?” Krae’s generous mouth twitched into a grin, and she jabbed a finger in the air between them. “Smart witch.” “You didn’t exactly answer me.” “No. I didn’t.” Jenna pressed her tongue against her teeth to manage her annoyance. The last thing she needed was a rousing game of twenty questions, so she trained what she hoped was a non-confrontational gaze on Krae and shrugged. “We have seven hours, feel free to take your time.” The changeling’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re burning up with curiosity. I can smell it.” Jenna didn’t bother to point out she was so trashed from the past few weeks that she doubted she had enough energy to burn up with anything. Suzanne handed her a bottle of water and a tray with an assortment of appetizers. The flight attendant had no sooner moved on to the next passenger than Krae bent over the tray and dug in. The changeling looked up after inhaling half the finger sandwiches and most of the nuts. “Sure you don’t want any of this?” “Help yourself.” Jenna adjusted her seat so it tilted backward, twisted the cap off the water, and drank deeply. “Beer, wine, or a cocktail, miss?” a masculine voice asked. Jenna glanced up at a cabin attendant she hadn’t seen before. He was tall and rangy with very blue eyes, white-blond hair, and a gold band on the third finger of his left hand. She swallowed a smile. With looks like his, he might have begun wearing the ring in self-defense, to slow the tide of women throwing themselves at his feet. He arched a brow and gestured toward the drink cart. “Um, maybe a cup of coffee with a side of Irish whiskey.” “Excellent choice.” He beamed at her, displaying very white, very even teeth. He may have winked, but she wasn’t quite certain. “Would you care for cream or sugar?” “Both.” Once he handed her drink over, she uncapped the small bottle of spirits and dumped a little into her cup. She’d traveled through so many time zones already, it scarcely mattered whether it was evening yet, and the liquor might have a salutary effect. The steward’s gaze traveled up her body in frank appraisal before he moved to the passenger across the aisle. Jenna’s face warmed a few degrees. What the hell? Was he sizing her up for a quickie in one of the plane’s johns? Krae twisted her head and stared at the man. The air glistened wetly where the changeling deployed magic. She wasn’t particularly subtle, and the man’s spine stiffened, but he didn’t turn around. “He felt that.” Jenna pitched her mind voice just for Krae and shielded it to boot. “Indeed he did.” Krae narrowed her eyes. “Do you know what he is?” Jenna shook her head. “Pity,” the changeling went on, “neither do I.” “I don’t think it’s a good idea to send more magic his way,” Jenna murmured. “As it is, what you did tipped him off. How did you know something was wrong?” “How else?” Krae shrugged. “I almost missed it, but something…odd drew my attention when he looked at you. If he’d been human, his gaze would have held more heat. Instead there was an…unnatural hunger.” She hesitated. “More like he was relieved he’d found you rather than wanting sex.” A shudder iced Jenna’s blood. Unlike Roz and Colleen, she couldn’t simply teleport off the airplane. Her heartbeat sped up. “Maybe you should leave,” she told Krae. “No point in both of us being trapped.” “Uh-uh. We hold our ground for now. It’s possible his presence has nothing to do with you.” “Not very fucking likely.” Krae picked up another small sandwich and stuffed it into her mouth. Jenna snuck a peek at the steward just in time to see him disappear through the curtain separating first class from the remainder of the aircraft. Because she was desperate for information, she sent a tendril of magic snaking outward and yanked it back as soon as she determined the man wasn’t an Irichna disguised as human. Duncan had run up against one masquerading as a priest near the Witches’ Northwest Coven headquarters in Seattle. It had lured two female teenagers and would have drained them of life if Duncan hadn’t intervened. As it was, he wasn’t certain either had survived because he’d left them at a hospital and hadn’t hung around long enough to find out. Jenna ran options through her mind, not liking any of them. She didn’t want to end up in a pitched battle inside the aircraft. Hell, they’d probably lock her away as a terrorist the minute the plane landed, and Irichna would pick her off from her cell. “I was serious,” Krae’s out loud voice intruded. “There’s at least a small possibility he’s simply some sort of mage. He might have gotten a magical hit off your aura and was curious.” “What did you want to talk about earlier?” Jenna changed the subject because she could speculate about the mystery steward from now until he made a move against her, and it wouldn’t change the outcome, other than making her more aware to watch out for him. “How much do you know about my race?” Krae countered, answering Jenna by asking a question of her own. “Mostly what I’ve gleaned from living with Niall for forty years. Why?” Krae popped the last sandwich into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “We’ve always known we would have a key role to play in major battles against the Irichna. It’s written in our histories, and we’ve prepared as best we could.” Jenna drew her brows together. “Niall never mentioned it.” “It’s quite possible he didn’t know. We’ve done our damnedest to keep that particular bit of knowledge quiet, so the Irichna wouldn’t target us before the time came to play our part. Not that we didn’t inform our people—and try to coach them—but Niall’s been gone for a good many years.” Jenna rolled her shoulders to offset the iron bar of tension sitting between them. “You sound like a preacher threatening the latter days are nearly upon us.” “They are.” Krae’s expression turned deadly serious. “More whiskey, miss?” Jenna started at the sound of the steward’s voice. He’d returned to the cabin so quietly, she hadn’t heard him. “Um, no.” She resisted the temptation to look at him. It would give her more information, but that was a two-way street. “As you will, miss.” He pushed the drink cart past her. It made quite a bit of noise, which led her to suspect he’d used magic to muffle his presence earlier. How long had he studied her without her knowing? Why hadn’t Krae sensed him? Worse, he’d apparently made his way back to the front of the plane, pushed the rattling cart past her, and served other passengers without alerting her to his presence. Not good. Jenna shielded her mind—just in case—and clamped her jaws together when he sashayed into the curtained galley alcove between first class and the cockpit. Her heart thudded against her ribcage, and her throat was dry. It was looking like she’d need to do something, but what would attract the least attention? Krae uttered a muted expletive in Gaelic, bolted from her seat, and whisked after the steward. Jenna stared after the changeling with her mouth hanging open. She pushed upright, remembered her seatbelt, and fumbled with the clasp. By the time she was free of it, a flash of multicolored light practically blinded her, flaring above, below, and through the curtain. Heedless of the other first class passengers, who couldn’t sense expended magic anyway, she threw her power wide open. Jenna didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it whistled from between her clenched teeth. She drew her lips back, hissing in satisfaction once she realized the blast of power had come from Krae, not the man. Balancing on the balls of her stocking-clad feet, Jenna strode forward and pushed past the curtain. The steward was shaking his head back and forth, his face screwed into a mask of pain. Power flashed from the changeling’s hands. “No more,” he rasped, tottering from foot to foot. “I won’t hurt either of you.” Jenna dragged an invisibility spell over all of them, layered a don’t look here spell over that, and prayed to the goddess no one would enter the small, enclosed space for the next few minutes. “What are you?” She shoved the question hard into his mind. “I already figured that out,” Krae said sourly. “He’s a minor demon sent to keep an eye on you and report back.” “I already told you I hadn’t,” he whined. “And I won’t. You can bind me with magic.” “That’s not good enough,” Jenna growled. “Demons lie.” “So do changelings and witches.” He shot her a venomous look that belied his promises of non-interference. “We’re wasting time,” Krae said and settled into a low chant. A look of horror twisted the steward’s handsome face into something unrecognizable. He tried to walk past them but clearly couldn’t move. The air thickened, took on a blackish tinge, and stank of ozone just before smoke rose from the creature and he vanished. Jenna drew back, impressed. Whatever Krae had done was magic well beyond her own abilities. Footsteps sounded on the far side of the curtain. Suzanne. Jenna recognized her energy and ducked into a passenger restroom. If Krae was powerful enough to banish the demon, shielding herself from the flight attendant should prove trivial. Kicking herself for being sloppy, Jenna pulled the magic from her spells to make the cramped galley appear as normal as possible. “Paul,” Suzanne’s voice was pitched low, “your drink cart’s here. Where are you?” Jenna flushed the toilet and splashed cold water on her overheated face. She took her time drying off and settled her features into a bland expression before stepping out of the john. With a nod and a smile at Suzanne, she pushed the curtain aside and returned to her seat. Krae was already there, doing her best to mask a self-satisfied grin. “Okay, I give up.” Jenna eyed the changeling. “What did you do?” “Teleported him outside the plane. Nature took care of the rest.” Jenna thought about it. “While it’s good he’s gone, how will we know he didn’t report in somehow?” “We won’t,” Krae said shortly. “Which means we’ll have to be very careful not to lead the enemy right to wherever we’re staying after we land.”   About the Author: Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients, now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published over 30 books to date, with several more planned for 2016 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren and wolf hybrids round out her family.   www.anngimpel.com   http://anngimpel.blogspot.com   http://www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel   http://www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author   @AnnGimpel (for Twitter)