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lilietsblog · 3 years

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In honor of just how epically my Russian name post blew up, here’s how you can make up your own Russian names

To be clear, most actually used Russian names are borrowed from Greek or Hebrew and Russianified, so the names you make up by THIS method won’t be common or occasionally even pre-existent. This is for when you want to make up a fantasy not-Russia that’s still clearly Russian in language but doesn’t have the same greek-borrowing history. It’ll sound antiquated, alt-history, slightly weird and definitely Russian as all heck.

Set of first halves:

- Vladi (means “power/ownership”)

- Yaro (means “passionately”)

- Veli (means “great”)

- Sviato (Svyato) (means “saint/sacred”)

- Miro (means “peace/world”)

- Meche (means “sword”)

- Tverdo (means “hard” as in “not soft”)

- Gordi (means “pride”)

- Bole (means “pain”. no i dont know why this one gets used either)

- Gore (means “grief/bitter”, see above)

- Slavo (means “glory”)

- Sveto (means “light”)

- Milo (means “dear” or “lovely”)

- Yasno (means “clear”)

- Vero (means “faith”)

- Liubo (Lyubo) (means “love”)

- Kraso (means “beauty”)

- Rado (means “joy”)

- Vole (means “will”)

- Zare (means “dawn” though the wordroot can also refer to dusk when specified. it specifically means the thing when its brighter in the sky than not in the sky. What you see when there’s a city or a bright fire in the distance is called a word produced from the same root)

- Vedi (means “knowledge”; note: I just made this one up, I have never seen an actual name with this. However it fits the scheme and will sound reasonable to a native speaker, and the goal is still to produce NOT common names)

- Zvezdo (means “star” and I made this one up too)

- Ogne (means “flame” and I might have seen this one or I might have made it up idk at this point)

- Snego (means “snow” and i 100% made this one up and its not a thing. Sounds nice though)

- Deye (means “action” and I’m only half certain this one’s a thing. It’ll definitely sound nice though, again)

- Medo (means “honey” and we’re completely off the rails here folks)

- Isto (means “sincerity” and im ALMOST sure this one is a thing. Almost)

- Pravdo (means “truth” and this one is 100% not a thing but it can be if you want to)

EDIT: CONTRIBUTION FROM @reaty CANT BELIEVE I FORGOT FUCKING STANISLAV

- Dobro (means "good" or "kind")

- Rati (means "army")

- Brati (means "brother")

- Vse (means "all")

- Zlato (means "gold")

- Liuto (Lyuto) (means "fierce")

- Stani (means "war camp")

EDIT: more contribution from @archtroop

- Diko (means “wild”)

- Bogo / Bog (means “god”) (usually would be “Bogo” but “Bogdan” and “Bogdana” are pre-existent)

- Vieche (means “age”, “era” or “century”)

Set of second halves:

- mir or mira (male/female respectively)

- slav or slava (same)

- bor (just male) (means "struggle" or “deep dark forest”)

- dar (just male) (means “gift”)

- mil or mila (again same) (see above for meaning)

- lad or lada (same and means “harmony”)

- liuba (lyuba) (just female; adding this in the male form just makes a regular word that means ‘[thing]-lover’, like “slavolyub” -> guy who likes glory)

- rad or rada (see above)

- slov (means “word”)

- ust (means “mouth”)

EDIT: CONTRIBUTION FROM @reaty THANKS DUDE (gender neutral)

- polk (means "regiment")

- gor (means "mountain")

- vid (means "one who sees")

- voy (means "warrior").

EDIT: more contribution from @archtroop

- mor (means “death”, “plague”)

- dan or dana (means “given”)

Pronunciation guide: all “a” like “u” in “duck”, all “e” like in “best”, all “i” like in “ship” or “sheep” (same sound in Russian). Gore - go-reh, Bole - bo-leh, etc. “ia”/”ya” when its after a vowel or at the start of the word is as in “Bianca” and if its after a consonant is like “nya” but will probably sound like just “a” to yall native English speakers. “iu/yu” after a consonant sounds exactly like the german ü.

Obviously don’t go Moon Moon, Slavoslav and Miromir aren’t valid names. Generally these’ll sound nicer if you avoid repeating consonants. Deyemil > Deyedar, etc. With that in mind, go nuts!

Names in this category that are actually common:

Vladimir, short Vova for some fucking reason, no i dont know either

Vladislav, short Vladik or Slava/Slavik

Vladislava, short Vlada

Sviatoslav, short Slava/Slavik

Viacheslav, short Slava/Slavik, which isn’t one of the roots above... I have never seen “Viache” with any other root and I don’t have any idea what it means. EDIT: apparently it’s from Vieche!

Yaroslav, short Yarik or Slava/Slavik

Stanislav, short Slava/Slavik

Vseslav, short Slava/Slavik

(Fun fact, I have an uncle Slava... and I don’t actually know what his full name is)

(Google up the name after you’ve made it up to find out how pre-existent it is. It’ll sound Russian though)

The accent/stress (v important in Russian) will usually go on the first syllable of the second half (GoresLAv, LiubomEEra), with the exception being personally Vladimir, where it’s VladEEmir. (You can also make a ‘secondary’ accent on the first syllable in sufficiently long words, so “lIUbomEEra” etc)

Notice there’s a cadence to this. By the end of that first list I was just making these up out of Russian word roots that fit the rhythm and the vague theming. Don’t Try This At Home though without an actual Russian speaker to consult: note how the vowels at the end of those are different, and I’ll be honest: I have no idea why those specifically, other than This Sounds Right.

There’s... probably more legit ones that I just haven’t remembered. I just spent an hour at work on this instead of working though so you know having to cut the exercise short and all.

EDIT: A P.S. FROM @reaty WHO CONTINUES TO BE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT PROBABLY

Also I think that it's important for these halves to have at least some sense together. For example, Medo- part, I belive, would be plausible in something like "Medoust" or "Medoslov" — a way to depict a person who is good with words — but "Medopolk" would have absolutely zero sense (at least if he is not an actual bee).

#names #russian #languages #HAVE FUN WITH THIS #make the medoslavas of your dreams

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jeannereames · 3 years

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What Genre IS Dancing with the Lion?

(N.B.: This post should not make anyone feel guilty for mislabeling the novels; I’m posting it because there seems to be some confusion.)

One of the most important parts of selling a book is getting it into the right hands: that is, to the readers most likely to enjoy it. And that involves labeling it correctly.

If you picked up Dancing with the Lion because you’re a fan of Alexander the Great or ancient Greece, the book’s genre probably matters little. I’ve read novels about Alexander in everything from lit mainstream to SFF to mystery to old-school Romance.

Yet such readers are a fraction of potential readership. For those with no particular inclination to a book about Alexander the Great, naming the genre matters. Will it meet reader expectations and appeal, or frustrate and annoy? That’s why authors worry about genre labels.

So, to answer the question: Dancing with the Lion is a mainstream historical coming-of-age novel with touches of magical realism and queer themes.

Below, I’ll explain in brief why it’s some labels and not others. But I want to stress that getting a book correctly labeled is NOT a diss at genres it isn’t. Again, it’s about getting it into the right hands so readers like it instead of hate it.

Novel: At root, two basic story types exist—those that focus on plot (romance, small /r/ = adventure story) and those that focus on characters (novel). I write both, incidentally; my current WIP is an historical fantasy adventure series. But DwtL is a novel. Characterization IS the plot, rather than characters moving the plot along.

Mainstream: Just means the book doesn’t fit into the plot conventions of commercial genre fiction. Saying something is “mainstream” therefore says mostly what it is not: not mystery, not horror, not Romance, not fantasy, etc. Some folks will subdivide it further into “literary” mainstream versus commercial mainstream with the distinction that the latter sells better and/or the former is more artsy.

Historical: A subcategory of several genres, including mainstream. Readers of historicals tolerate more historical detail and unusual names, although genre historicals can alter that. Too much historical detail in an historical Romance that slows down the love story can get an author in trouble. Mainstream historicals may include glossaries, character stemma, timelines of historical events, or other reader guides. Afficionados of historical novels are reading for that detail, not in spite of it.

Coming-of-Age: as the name suggests, this very old story archetype is all about the characters growing up. In DwtL, three characters have coming-of-age arcs: Alexandros, Hephaistion, and Kleopatra.

Magical Realism: Unlike genre fantasy, magical realism combines realistic/non-magical elements with supernatural ones. They also take place in this world, not a different fantasy world in which magic works. Yet the line between historical fantasy and historical magical realism can be fine because, in the past, people did assume magic worked, and the better authors of historical fantasy employ magical systems appropriate to that place and time. The biggest difference is that magical realism is subtler, and the supernatural elements may not be perceived by all, or even most characters. (So while Alexandros sees Dionysos, no one else does.)

Queer Themes: This is more than just Alexandros and Hephaistion as lovers. Especially in Rise, one sub-plot for Hephaistion’s coming-of-age is his own growing awareness that the way he experiences desire does not conform to the expectations of his society. He is what we, in the modern world, would call gay. I wanted to explore how it might feel for someone to be gay in a world that doesn’t have that label, and which might, on the face of it, seem more accepting…but really isn’t.

Now, for the genres it’s not, and why:

Not Romance: Capital /R/, Romance the genre has fairly locked-in plot arc expectations. The Hero and Hero (if it’s m/m) meet, go through trials and tribulations, then finally hook up in some sort of permanent way to live happily-ever-after (HEA) or at least happily-for-now (HFN). The focus of the novel must remain firmly on the Hero and Hero and their relationship. Other relationships and events should serve to frame the main one, never distract from it.

DwtL: Becoming simulates some of those things. The book does begin when the boys meet, and they go through a friends-to-more plot arc, but there’s too much Other Stuff, and in Rise, the story just keeps going even after they get together. Furthermore, Rise is not a Romance plot arc, even loosely. It’s all about Alexandros and Hephaistion entering the adult world of politics and war, and the larger theme (of the whole series, not just these books) asks what it means to be a moral/ethical sovereign?

Not YA (Young Adult): Although YA novels should have an adolescent protagonist and will often be a coming-of-age story, not all novels with an adolescent protagonist or coming-of-age story are YA. So what’s the difference? The themes and the language employed.

The plot of YA should focus on things important to that age group (13-18), not necessarily what could equally matter to someone in their 50s. That doesn’t mean adults can’t enjoy YA stories; about 55% of YA books are purchased by adults. Another aspect of YA is the vocabulary used and complexity of ideas. Sometimes adult coming-of-age stories are called more “sophisticated,” which isn’t a term I like. Intricate might be better, in characterization and theme.

Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch, Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, and J.D. Salinger’s A Catcher in the Rye are all coming-of-age novels, and some are even assigned in high school English classes. But they aren’t commercial YA in language or theme. In contrast to, say, Madeline L’Engel’s A Wrinkle in Time, Jane Yolen’s Pit Dragon trilogy, or Ursula LeGuin’s A Wizard of Earthsea. Yet I don’t think anyone would call those latter three “unsophisticated.”

In short, a teen protagonist and/or coming-of-age story does not qualify a book as YA.

Finally, most YA treats sex gingerly as they must be appropriate for readers as young as 13, 14, 15. They may have some romance or none at all, and they may have elided sexual situations light on description. It shouldn’t be shocking, but age-appropriate to adolescent curiosity about sex. (By contrast, the category of New Adult [18-25 readership] may have quite a lot of graphic sex in it, although in other ways NA resembles YA.)

When I wrote Dancing with the Lion, despite the age of the main protagonists, I made no attempt to moderate the language. There are also POV scenes from adults, and three of the chief thematic concerns—what does it mean to be a moral king [Alex], how does one support the powerful without losing one’s self in the process [Hephaistion], and how to exercise personal agency when one has none legally [Kleopatra]—are themes that can apply to any age group. Last, the sex scenes have no stop on them. If two are over fairly quickly with general/poetic description, the third is graphic because it needs to be as what they are doing matters very much to Hephaistion’s character arc. There is also reference to the rape of women and children in war; only the aftermath is shown, but still. While I realize emotional maturity can vary wildly, I wouldn’t recommend the second novel for readers under 15/16. (I told my niece not to let my great-niece read it yet.)

That’s why I’m concerned about Dancing with the Lion being labeled YA. An unsuspecting parent might buy it for their early teen child, only for that child to get a textual eyeful in book 2!

Also, readers who pick it up thinking it’s ___, get angry when it’s not. E.g., in an otherwise fairly positive review, at least one reader wrote:

“Because the western spellings/pronunciation are so ingrained using the stranger sounding Greek slows the pace even further and seems to over complicate things merely for the sake of it. This is clearly aimed at a YA audience and so I find the choice doubly baffling - Because you want to encourage teens reading not put them off by making this harder than it needs to be.”

But it’s not YA, was never meant to be YA, nor marketed or labeled as YA on the cover. Apparently, some folks on Goodreads labeled it that in their tags, so now “Young Adult” shows up as one of its genres…and I can’t get rid of it because I don’t set those tags (nor does my publisher).

In the above case, the reader mostly enjoyed it, but her perceptions affected how she reviewed it. Authors can’t always control those perceptions and expectations, but as we really do want readers to like the book (not feel deceived), we endeavor to use the right labels on them.

#Dancing with the Lion #DwtL #Alexander the Great #historical fiction #ancient Greek historical fiction #labeling fiction #coming-of-age #mainstream #queer themed fiction #magical realism #genre Romance #commercial YA #Jeanne Reames #don't want to annoy the readers

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curlyhairedbibliophile · 4 years

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Raybearer by Jordan Ifueko || ARC Review

Synopsis | Nothing is more important than loyalty. But what if you’ve sworn to protect the one you were born to destroy? Tarisai has always longed for the warmth of a family. She was raised in isolation by a mysterious, often absent mother known only as The Lady. The Lady sends her to the capital of the global empire of Aritsar to compete with other children to be chosen as one of the Crown Prince’s Council of 11. If she’s picked, she’ll be joined with the other Council members through the Ray, a bond deeper than blood. That closeness is irresistible to Tarisai, who has always wanted to belong somewhere. But The Lady has other ideas, including a magical wish that Tarisai is compelled to obey: Kill the Crown Prince once she gains his trust. Tarisai won’t stand by and become someone’s pawn—but is she strong enough to choose a different path for herself? With extraordinary world-building and breathtaking prose, Raybearer is the story of loyalty, fate, and the lengths we’re willing to go for the ones we love.

REVIEW

*Thanks to Amulet Books and Hear Our Voices Book Tours for this advanced copy in exchange for an honest review. Any quotes included may change in final publication.*

Eleven danced around the throne, Eleven moons in glory shone, They shone around the sun.

But traitors rise and empires fall, And Sun-Ray-Sun will rule them all, When all is said-o, all is said And done-heh, done-heh, done.

I’ve been drawn to fantasy stories for as long as I can remember and they’ve been my coping mechanism to escaping the real world ever since. Raybearer grabbed my attention the moment it crossed my radar, not only marked with a Black girl with an afro on the cover that mirrored my own staring back at me, but with the promise of a journey that enticed from the opening line of the pitch. I should have known from the first mention of fairies in an African fantasy environment that I would be in for a beautifully wild ride.

My mother was the devil, and I, her puppet demon.

One of the elements I love most about fantasy is the world building and this one did not disappoint in the least bit. Aritsar is such a richly developed place, full of traditions and culture that leaped off of the page. Everything is so beautifully described and I could tell a lot of care went into crafting even the tiniest details in every corner of the kingdom. It made my heart so happy to read Black characters in experiences that I rarely see in fantasy novels, like the braiding party and being attended to and adored while holding positions of the throne. I also appreciated that there was a glossary and character appendix attached along with a pronunciation guide, which helped with all of the cultural references throughout the story. Stories with these influences have always been fascinating to me, even more when they also turn into learning opportunities. The core of the story for me was following this newly annointed council and the strength of their bond over time. Each member, though we don’t spend time with all of them equally as the four that take center stage, brings something different to the table and is well developed in their own way. I fell in love them immediately upon introduction and became even more attached with every turned page. You could feel the connection from the beginning with each interaction and how being separated in any capacity resulted in a bout of "council sickness," which I thought was a beautiful way to further demonstrate the importance and necessity of their bond. Accompanying them through their training process and becoming a family also helped with the attachment to their characters because I wanted to protect them at all costs, knowing what conflicts were at stake. The other characters were just as strong, which really speaks to Ifueko's writing. Some of their actions were questionable, but the more time I spent with them, I could see how they might have been led down that path and I could sympathize to some extent - especially when it comes to The Lady. My attachment to Tarisai definitely led to her being on the villain list (and just the basis of the plan, to be completely honest), but as the story went on, she started to give off Killmonger vibes. Information revealed along the way suggests that there was reasoning behind her plan, but there were definitely better avenues to achieve her goals (and maybe not involve innocent children! 🙈)

“The place closest to your soul isn’t your heart,” Kirah explained. “It’s your stomach. Anger, love, and sorrow simmer together there, like bubbles in in a cauldron. People of the Wing believe that when the Pelican breathed each soul into being, it wrote two secrets on a burning coal: your greatest good and your best desire. You swallowed the coal before being born, and it burned in your belly. That’s why we wail as newborns, Mama would say.”

Ultimately, the thing I took away from this aside from the relationships and the adventure was the focus on names and purpose. I love a good personal journey story and following Tarisai on hers, as well as the other characters at play, was no different. From the very beginning growing up in Bhekina House to her time growing with the Council in An-Ileyoba, Tarisai is both catching up on everything she’s missed from isolation as a child to finding herself as an independent identity from that of The Lady. She also had and provided plenty of support in her council siblings as they too grew into the identities. I also appreciated that this touched on the idea of carving your own path at various points within the novel. There are so many instances when you can see the characters fighting inner struggles to write their own stories apart from inside and outside influences - sometimes both - and I think that’s a very important lesson to get across for anyone.

"I am Tarisai of Swana," I murmured, "and I've seen your stories now. They belong to me, as mine belong to you. You don't have to help me change the world. But you mark my words; when I get going, this world will change. And you can be a part of that ... or you can stand back and watch."

I don’t think there are enough words to express how much I enjoyed my time in the kingdom of Aritsar. Along with an adventure that doesn't let up and themes of loyalty, familial bonds and purpose, the story also blends important topics like colonization and patriarchy into a beautifully written epic that I was sad to see end. I already miss this world and can’t wait to return back to follow Tarisai and her council siblings for even more adventures.

Rating | 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 Goodreads

#raybearer #jordan ifueko #charles chaisson #ya fantasy #african folklore #arc review #book review #book tours #black authors #black women authors #own voices #booklr #bookblr

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daizyredz · 4 years

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I’m 95 pages into The Black Gryphon by Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon and I think Gesten is maybe my favorite character so far.

One of the things that always trips me up when I read fantasy is the weird names they come up with for people, races, species, spells and places. It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just that I tend to put too much emphasis on figuring out the “right” way to pronounce them. People who are fans of a lot of these fantasy books tend to already know how to pronounce these things and I always felt kind of stupid for stumbling so much. But, while I’m reading this one I’m just not going to worry about it. They’re all made up anyway so even if I’m not pronouncing them exactly the way the author(s) envisioned it isn’t like it’s the end of the world. There’s no page in here that tries to guide you through the pronunciations (although I have seen books that have those!) so I’m going to assume it’s not that big of a deal.

I love the little map in the front of the book, too. I forgot that fantasy books used to have maps in the front like that. It seems to have fallen out of favor in recent years and I wish they’d bring it back. It’s pretty neat. Another thing I wish books would bring back is the table of contents. There should be a law. :p

I’m really enjoying this book so far and it actually seems to be pulling me out of my reading slump of over 6 months. Maybe. I don’t want to jinx it. :p

I’ve only ever read one Mercedes Lackey book before, and that was The Lark and the Wren when I was a teenager. I really liked it but I found the next book in the series to be a bit more boring. Probably because I was hoping for some of the same characters that I loved so much and they weren’t in it so I quit reading it before I got very far. Probably less than 20 pages. I could be like that when I was a kid.

Anyway, I’m really glad I picked this one up. It was really on a whim while I was at the library the last time. Glad I went with it!

#fantasy books #mercedes lackey #the black gryphon #the mage wars #i hope i don't step on anyone's toes with this #i'm not saying it's a bad book or that fantasy in general isn't good #Vamps reads #reading

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thebookbandwagon · 5 years

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The Monster Baru Cormorant book review

dark political adult fantasy. Brutally dark but not exactly grimdark

Slytherin lesbian PoC main character tries to take down a corrupt government from the inside – not by becoming a spy or assassin, but by becoming an accountant

2nd book in The Masquerade series

sea voyage adventure with someone trying to get revenge on the main character, meanwhile the main character just kind of despises themselves

really strong sense of characters and vivid dialogue

emotive and elegant but not too difficult to read writing style

[book review & illustration video]

The Monster by Seth Dickinson is the second book in his dark political adult fantasy series The Masquerade that follows Baru Cormorant as she attempts to take down the government from the inside but the further she gets, the more sacrifices she has to make.

Seth Dickinson writes with flair, his prose elegant and yet not too dense, and he conveys incredibly vivid characters and emotions. Dialogue, in particular, is a strength of his.

So if I enjoy his writing style and characters so much why am I only giving this book 6/10*s?

It’s because I had a very difficult time trying to grasp what was going on.

Firstly, it’s been a few years since I read The Traitor so my memory of what happened in the first book was hazy which wouldn’t have helped.

Secondly, we’re suddenly introduced to a wide range of perspectives. Unlike the first book where the only perspective we follow is Baru’s (I personally found it to be a nice change to be reading a political fantasy with only one perspective), this time there are multiple perspectives from multiple characters, many of them having a combination of very unfamiliar sounding names and similar-sounding names. Normally, this isn’t a huge issue because, being a person who’s generally pretty terrible at remembering names, I can just refer to a list in the book that contains all the names of the characters and a brief description of who they are. However in this book there is no such list, let alone a pronunciation guide.

As a result, for the majority of this book I wasn’t sure why the things that were happening were happening and to which characters. The first two-thirds ended up being a slog and despite how much I did end up enjoying the last third, it didn’t make up for how tiring it was to read the first two thirds.

My complaint is one I haven’t seen from many other reviewers, so it’s entirely possible this is just a me problem, but this is just my honest opinion. From reading this book, I know I’d have to reread the entire series close to one another if I want to read the last two instalments when they come out.

The world is expanded upon, which many people enjoyed. Already finding it hard enough to remember the characters, this aspect just made it even more difficult for me. There’s enough there that I’m sure it would be interesting if I wasn’t already having problems. It’s not as if I’m not able to follow a cast of large characters – I didn’t have this problem reading A Song of Ice and Fire, for example.

In terms of the plot, this time the story is more of an adventure. Lots of it occurs on ships and islands and there are less political machinations involved compared to the first book. Baru is involved in a quest to find something that has links to extended life as well as meddling with various country’s economies, all while someone is intent on exacting their revenge upon her.

Like I’ve mentioned, I do really enjoy Seth Dickinson’s writing and characters and how easily he conveys emotion. But this book, except the last third, was just too hard for me to follow. My attention span has been really low lately which wouldn’t have helped either but I digress. The last third would’ve been an 8 or 9* read but considering the first two thirds, I lowered my rating down to 6*s.

#the monster baru cormorant #the masquerade #fantasy book #fantasy book review #book review #seth dickinson #fantasy books #my reviews

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moxy-fruitbat · 5 years

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Destined for Great Things - (Reposted)

Now it’s actually functional to read because I’m not posting from mobile! I’m so sorry about it being 10 miles long before. The actual story is under the cut!

This is my apprentice Laurene’s backstory of how she came to Vesuvia and met Marcel, the other half of the Sibling Apprentices. Laurene is Fantasy!Irish, and her culture is based on a mix of different Gaelic peoples, including the Gaels (more broadly), the Picts (more specifically), druidry, and my own experience as a pagan.

It also is heavily based on Irish mythology. If you don’t know the myths, it’s perfectly fine and you’ll still be able to understand the story.

Rating: T for depictions of trauma, but there’s no gore or explicit violence. Content Warning: Fire, claustrophobia, family death Length: 3,200 words.

Yeah, you read that right, it’s basically a full-length novella. I got carried away a bit, but I’m really proud of it. (And also always open to constructive criticism!)

Irish/Scottish Pronunciation Guide (written by an American with the internet, so it's not good):

- Labhraín: LAW-reen - Muirne: MIR-ne - Bandruí: BAHN-droo - Tlachtga: TLAC-da - Uncail: UN-cuhl - Tadg: TAH-dg - Cumhall: COOL - Áillen: AH-lehn - M'iníon: M'een (Irish translation: My daughter)

Labhraín woke up on a chilly autumn morning, curled up with her cousin Muirne to stave away the cold. Careful not to wake her, Labhraín slowly crawled out of bed and dressed near the central hearth. How Muirne could sleep through everyone bustling about in the house was beyond her - there were fifteen people in here, almost entirely women and children, and half the building was dedicated to the sheep and goats, past the partition. It was always so loud.

Labhraín had just finished braiding her long hair when Muirne came and joined her.

"Morning cousin" Muirne smirked, a smile partially hidden behind her mess of dark blonde hair. "Are you ready for the day? We have a lot of work to do."

That they did. Tomorrow was New Year, one of two days where the veil between realms was at its thinnest, and the day to honor the dead and do readings for the coming year. There was still a lot to do to prepare for the feast of the ancestors and the bonfire atop Almu Hill, and Labhraín and Muirne were the two oldest cousins and eighteen and nineteen, so it was their job to do a lot of that work. Labhraín's mother, Bandruí Tlachtga, always said it was a blessing that there were so many girls. Her father chose some other words to describe it.

Muirne leaned in and whispered, so only Labhraín could hear her. "Hurry up and meet me in the hazel wood, I have something important to tell you!"

---

"What's so important that we had to rush out here?" Labhraín questioned as she focused her concentration to make a gust of wind appear from her hands and into the branches of the sacred trees, rattling the hazelnuts loose.

"I have to tell you a secret. And you promise you can't tell anyone. Especially not my Da. Promise?"

"I promise, what is it?" Not even Uncail Tadg? He was the chief magician - not telling him must mean it's something bad. And knowing her cousin, that should be expected anyway. She was usually getting into some kind of nonsense.

"I'm leaving. Tomorrow." A smile spread gleefully across Muirne's face as she picked up hazelnuts off the mossy forest floor

"Leaving?! What do you mean, leaving?" She hissed.

"I met man, a few weeks ago. Oh, Labhraín, I love him. He's getting me out of here and we're going to get married. My Da wants to keep me here until I'm an old crone, and I can't do it! I know I'm destined for great things!"

Labhraín just sighed and looked at her cousin. Muirne was in love and there was nothing she could do to change her mind. Once Uncail Tadg found out she was missing, he would send out a manhunt. In the past he had said something about an omen, that Muirne could never get married. She wasn't sure exactly what kind of omen that meant, but the soothsayers never lie.

"His name is Cumhall, oh Labhraín, you'd love him. He's the leader of a different tribe, I know he'll take care of me. We're leaving tomorrow night, right after the feast. With all the festivities, no one will notice I'm gone!"

Labhraín thought it was a terrible idea, and even if he was a king she still wouldn't like him because he was taking her dearest friend away. But how could she pull her from what she believed to be her destiny? Was it even her place to say?

Instead, she just sighed, clutching her apron full of hazelnuts and headed back to the blackhouse with her cousin. "I'm happy for you, Muirne. I wish you the best."

They spent the rest of the day preparing for the holiday - rehydrating the woad pigment, baking dried fruit bread, gathering eggs for divination and herbs for the fire, and washing turnips to carve the next day. Labhraín went off on her own for a bit, to practice her music one last time before the bonfire with the other musicians in the family. She bumped shoulders with her cousin, Áillen. He made her laugh and for a brief moment she forgot how unhappy she was.

Silent tears ran down Labhraín's face as she tried to sleep that night, surrounded by her other cousins but holding Muirne close. The words she said kept playing in Labhraín's head: I'm destined for great things. I'm destined for great things. I'm destined for great things.

I'm destined for great things.

Labhraín hoped to the spirits of the forest and the ancestors that it was true. And she hoped the same for herself.

---

The next day, after they had the feast of the ancestors in silence with the rest of the family, she tearfully waved her cousin off into the dusky forest.

"M'iníon, what is wrong?" Her mother asked, catching Labhraín by surprise. "Why are you crying? Is something upsetting you?"

"Oh...nothing. Thinking about grandfather is just making me sad." She lied, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Yes, we did lose a good man this year..." She placed a hand on her daughter's cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "But don't you worry, he's watching over us, especially tonight. The fire is starting soon, would you like me to help you with your facepaint so you can join the other musicians?"

A small smile came upon Labhraín's face and she nodded. She was a grown woman, but her mam always knew how to make her feel better when she was vulnerable.

"I'd like that a lot."

As her mother brushed patterns over her face in the traditional blue pigment, Labhraín kept telling herself the bonfire will make her feel better. Without fail, it always does.

---

At the top of Almu hill, she readied herself behind her dulcimer, her aunts, uncles, and cousins beside her on other instruments. This is where she felt most at home. One at the hand drum, one at the flute, one on the pipes, with Áillen on the harp. He was the best musician of them all, his warm smile always lighting up the room as he played.

But this time, no, she had to be imagining it? Áillen looked different than usual - like a man half dead, his eyes like burning coals. He caught her looking at him, and the smirk he gave her made her stomach turn.

Something was wrong.

The bonfire was never actually lit. Everything happened so fast... They were playing the music, but as Áillen started to sing, all the men began to move slower and slower until they fell unconscious. Her uncle dropped the pipes. And then the destruction began.

Fire. So much fire. It began with Áillen? And the roof of the blackhouse, below them. What was happening? Where was her mam? It was chaos. The sound of screaming filled her ears. Her mother yelled for her.

"Mam!" Where was she? Everything was a blur of smoke.. Her heart raced. Her eyes prickled.

Through the flames she saw her.

"M'iníon! Labhraín! Run!"

It was all she could do. She snatched up her dulcimer and ran down the hill and into the forest, leaving everything behind her.

---

She ran until she couldn't feel her legs anymore, collapsing onto the forest floor. The hammers to her dulcimer were long gone, and she honestly didn't even know why she grabbed it in the first place. She knew she needed to pick herself up and keep moving, to get farther away from Áillen's destruction, but all she could do in the moment was sob into the dark earth.

She wanted her mam. She wanted Muirne. She wanted the hammers to her dulcimer. She wanted to be back in the blackhouse, waking up the next morning and none of this ever happening.

Something large crunched the dead leaves in front of her, and she almost didn't even look up. Whatever danger she was about to face, maybe it would actually kill her. Being dead was better off than her current situation, right?

But she slowly craned her head up, and her eyes grew wide as she looked directly into a pair of bright yellow ones. In front of her sat the biggest mountain lion she had ever seen.

Granted, she had never seen one before. She must have run farther than she thought, since these cats weren't usually found where her tribe lived. Maybe this one was lost like she was.

It cocked its head at her, whiskers twitching, and she heard it speak to her in her mind.

"Lost?"

"Ye-yes..." Her voice trembled. "I...there was a fire and..."

"Fire?"

"Yes... Everything is gone, my mother, she...she told me to run, but now...."

"Safe?"

"Me? No, I...I don't know..." It was the dead of night by now, in a part of the forest she wasn't familiar with. She could usually sense where the spirits of the forest wanted her to go, letting them guide her, but in her current state she wasn't sure she could muster up the strength.

As her voice trailed off, the large cat shook its head once and stood up, beginning to walk away, it's tail straight up in the air like a flag.

"Follow."

It led her to a crevice in some rocks, beneath the roots of a large tree. It was a den for rearing cubs, though she didn't see any. The cougar laid down on its side and curled up, looking up at Labhraín as if to question why she wasn't following in suit. Not knowing what else to do, she laid down beside it, the cat's tail wrapping around her. She heard one more word in her mind before exhaustion completely set in and she fell asleep.

"Safe."

-------

The cougar introduced itself as Philomena, and insisted on staying with Labhraín as she went through the forest, even though she really didn't have a place to go. She was physically and emotionally drained, her skin pale and her eyes heavy. What was the point of even going anywhere? She just wanted to lay down and sleep and never wake up.

Philomena headbutted her, urging her to keep going.

"Need to go. Safe"

She groaned, picking herself up. She gathered up her dulcimer and hugged it close to her chest, trying to pull whatever familiarity to home it had into her, as if it could fly away at any moment.

She walked out into the dewy morning, scattered sunlight filtering through the trees. She sighed - even at her worst, she couldn't deny that the forest was beautiful, and was still proud to call it her home.

Philomena nudged her again, and Labhraín closed her eyes, listening to the forest and feeling where its spirit pulled her.

"Slightly north to the setting sun." She said after a few moments of thought and gathering of her bearings. Her feet like lead and her heart still heavy, she trudged forward through the trees with the sun at her back.

They walked for days, stopping only for food or sleep, and the occasional rinse in a stream. Despite all of Philomena's pushing, Labhraín refused to eat meat, because that would mean she had to light a fire spell to cook it. She never wanted to look at fire again, or at least not any time soon. What if she accidentally lit the forest on fire? What if destruction is in her blood, like her cousin? She knew that didn't make much sense, but the fear was still there.

After five days, the deep forest she was familiar with began to thin. She went around a large mountain, and the trees changes species. Signs of other human life began to appear - she must be getting close to a village. The water from the falls was flowing down the path she was already walking. If she followed it, she would probably end up at the village, since they would be using the water. Is this where the spirits of the forest were guiding her? Her pace quickened - maybe she'll actually find a place to stay.

As she continued, she passed the largest tree out of them all, roots exposed on top of a pile of crumbling rocks. She made a note of it, that if she ended up staying in the woods it wouldn't be hard to turn those stones into walls and make a house under that tree. She would be alone besides Philomena, though, and she was eager to see another human being.

The trees finally cleared, and Labhraín came face to face with the entrance to the largest city she had ever seen. Over the walls was a large white building, with gold and spires and towers. She had never seen something so beautiful. Someone very important must live there.

Philomena nudged her back, causing Labhraín to turn around. The Mountain Lion was sitting up, a look of finality in its eyes.

"Safe." It said. This wasn't to urge her to keep moving, but a statement. This is where Labhraín was meant to be.

"Aren't you coming?"

"No. Stay out here. Home in forest."

That made sense. A large predator like Philomena wouldn't be welcome in her small village, and Labhraín couldn't imagine what a large city like this place would think.

"You're my family now, though, you know that?" She asked, scratching the cat's golden fur behind the ears before wrapping her arms around it in a hug. "I'll be back for you, I'll visit all the time. I promise."

"Familiar." Philomena purred. "With you. Always."

With that, they went their separate directions: Philomena jumped into the upper branches of the forest trees, and Labhraín made her way into the city. Her heart was heavy and she was scared, but Mierne's words echoed in her head, her mantra for her entire journey.

I am destined for great things. There was no turning back now.

---

Labhraín had never seen so many people in her entire life. This city was packed, everyone was pushing around one another and she felt trapped. She didn't really know how she got to this part of the city, the streets were twisted and confusing, but it was some kind of trade center. Everyone was buying or selling different foods, from the most delicious bread she'd ever smelled to piles of exotic fruits she had never seen before. One was dark red and leathery, and a perfect sphere - it had to be too tough to bite into. How would someone eat it? It wasn't until this moment that she realized how much she didn't know about the world. In the past hour she had seen more people of different skin tones, heard more languages spoken, and seen so many different foods than she had ever seen or heard before in her life. There were people who she couldn't tell what gender they were, or if they had a gender at all. She didn't realize that was an option. But most of all she noticed that up until now she had been relatively alone or in her small family group. She realized that all these people and all the noise made her very anxious.

There was so much going on. There were so many people…

The crowd jostled her to and fro through the streets, pushed her around. She found herself feeling smaller and smaller, her heart racing, her breath quickening. She ran to the edge of the street, her back against the stone wall of a building. She sunk to her knees and closed her eyes, hoping it would just go away.

"Are you alright?"

She heard a voice and felt a hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes, another face very close to her own, purple eyes looking into hers.

"Are you alright? Do you need help?" A person with tan skin and hair the color of woad knelt down in front of her, a concerned look on their face.

"I...I don't know. I..." Labhraín's voice trailed off.

"You're new here, yeah? I don't recognize you."

Labhraín nodded. Did this person know all these people in the city? How could they know so many faces?

"Here, come with me. The back roads are a lot more quiet. I can show you, if you want." They stood up and held out their hand for her. She took it, and they led her down some side streets away from the crowds They moved quite fast, twisting and turning through the alleys, and Labhraín almost had to run to keep up with their long legs. All the while, this person never seemed to stop talking.

"My name's Marcel, what's yours?"

"Labhraín."

"Law...reen?"

She nodded.

"Laurene. Okay, I think I got it! So you look pretty lost. You've never been to Vesuvia before, have you?"

She shook her head no.

"Yeah, it's a lot if you're not used to it. So welcome to Vesuvia! Are you staying or just visiting?"

"I… I think I'm staying."

"Oh, wicked. That thing you're holding, is that an instrument? It looks like a kanun?"

"It's a dulcimer. I'm missing the hammers, though."

"You play it with hammers? That's super cool! I play the oud."

Did they not know what a dulcimer was? To be fair, she didn't know what either of the instruments they mentioned were.

Marcel kept talking, asking a lot of questions that Laurene didn't think really meant much. What her favorite flower was ("We call it Lily of the Valley where I'm from"), or her favorite food ("fiddleheads". "Fiddleheads? I've never heard of that before. I like kousa mahshi." "I've never heard of that before."). They didn't mean much, but slowly they got Laurene talking, speaking to another human again. They reminded her of Muirne, and she smiled for the first time in almost a week.

By the time they got to wherever they were going, Laurene knew more about Marcel than she did anyone else. They described themself as "nonbinary" and didn't really go by any particular gender. They were nineteen, a year older than her, and was also a magician. Their facepaint helped attune their chakras, whatever those were, and they were really interested in the clothing of other cultures.

Marcel also was uncomfortable showing skin, which explained the boots, long pants, knee-length tunic, and jacket they were wearing. They even wore a looped scarf around their neck, to cover their hair and mouth when they felt like being extra modest. ("Large crowds make me nervous, so it makes me feel better to cover my head.") Laurene didn't know how they could wear so much fabric when the city was still so hot in autumn, but she could make an assumption that it was something magical.

The two of them came out of an alley in front of a shop a ways away from the marketplace, the wooden sign emblazoned with a mortar and pestle that hung next to the doorway creaked in the autumn wind.

"This is the magic shop!" Marcel grinned as they unlocked the door. "My auntie and I, we run it, and live upstairs." They paused, halfway through the door with Laurene still standing on the street outside, unsure of what to do.

"What, aren't you coming in for tea? You're new in town, you're a guest! Come in!"

#moxy ink blot #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana mystic romance #the arcana nix hydra #the arcana apprentice #the arcana mc #the arcana fan apprentice #the arcana fanfiction #fan apprentice #apprentice laurene #fan mc #the arcana fan mc #apprentice backstory

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nebulous-frog · 6 years

Text

The Path to Happiness Ch. 1/7

Summary: Phil, Prince of Stratalary, has an arranged marriage with Daniel, Prince of Iridacia. He doesn't think he'll have any feelings for the prince, that is, until he meets him.

Word Count: 30,000 overall

Genre: Fantasy AU, Arranged Marriage, Slow Burn, Fluff

Warnings: Some Swearing, Food Mentions

Author’s Note: This is my fic for the winter 2018 @phandomreversebang! Massive thank-you to my beta @yourfriendlyblogstalker for being fantastic and so supportive even with my procrastination and several postponements! Thank you also to @pasteldnp for listening to me worldbuild for like two months and then drawing a map of my creation for me, which can be found here The wonderful art for this fic can be found here -- UPDATE -- for my birthday, Juls made an amazing moodboard for this, go check it out!!

Rough pronunciation guide: Stratalary: STRAT-uh-larry Iridacia: ear-ih-DAY-shuh

Chapter 2 Masterlist

Link to AO3 Fics Masterlist

Phil had been expecting it all his life. In the last week alone, he’d been anticipating the order every time a servant entered his presence. Important meetings between kingdoms were happening, something to put an end to the tension and the conflict so everyone could finally exist in peace, and Phil doubted he’d escape the politics.

Expecting and anticipating were not the same thing as being prepared. Phil learned that quickly when the order came.

“Phil,” his brother said solemnly. He looked tired and worn down; Phil supposed that happened when you were king. “I’ve arranged for you to marry the prince of Iridacia.”

Here it goes, I guess, Phil thought with a sigh. He bowed. “As you will it,” he said stiffly to the floor. He straightened, but his eyes remained trained on the floor.

You had no right to imagine anything else. This is your duty, he tried to tell himself.

“Hey,” Martyn said softly. He took a step closer to Phil and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Phil looked up, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

Martyn smiled a small smile. “This is a good thing. It’s important for our kingdoms to show our cooperation now. It’ll bring peace and prosperity to both kingdoms.”

Peace and prosperity for everyone. That’s why you have to do this. It’s bigger than you.

Phil nodded, returning Martyn’s smile. “I know.”

Martyn’s hand slid around until he wrapped Phil in a tight hug. Phil reciprocated, burying his nose in Martyn’s neck.

“I’m sorry it has to be you. I know it’ll be hard, especially at first, and it’ll all be weird and foreign and new, but I think, one day, you’ll be happy,” Martyn murmured, trying to be as reassuring as possible. His hand rubbed soft circles on Phil’s back.

It wasn’t often that Phil got to see his brother Martyn as opposed to King Martyn, but he was grateful to his brother for understanding what he needed at that moment.

“I’ve been waiting for this my whole life,” Phil said quietly. He pulled back from the hug and put on a brave face and a smile. As much as he appreciated Martyn’s comforts, he knew that if he wasn’t careful with how he showed his feelings then Martyn was likely to call the whole thing off, and that would be much worse than marrying a foreign future king. “I’ll be alright. It’s all in the name of peace and prosperity.”

~~~~~~~~~~

After Phil left his brother to attend to his other kingly duties, he wandered a while, lost in thought. If he’d been back in his family’s palace in Cirrus, he’d have made his way to a quiet corner of the library to sit and think. But Martyn had insisted that Phil come to the negotiations with their rival kingdom, so he was forced to wander unknown territory.

The two kingdoms, Stratalary and Iridacia, had agreed to meet on neutral grounds in Fractalis, their mutual neighbouring kingdom. Years ago, their forefathers had fought a terrible war over a small patch of land to the west of both their kingdoms. Now, after decades of a bitter armistice, the kingdom of clouds and the kingdom of flowers had finally agreed to set aside their differences and sign an official treaty of cooperation and friendship.

Phil was unbelievably proud of Martyn for accomplishing it. Other Stratalarian kings had tried, but none succeeded. This would be an amazing step towards a better, calmer world for all their subjects. If that meant he had to marry a man he’d never met, so be it. It was worth it.

Or at least, that was what Phil was trying to convince himself as he crunched through the icy snow outside the palace at Chrystite.

Marrying for love was always a hopeless dream, he reminded himself, stuffing his freezing hands into his pockets as he approached a high balcony. It was a good dream, but hopeless. And that’s fine. I’ll still be happy. I’m always happy. I just have to find the good, as ever.

He sighed as he stared out into the surrounding mountains. It was beautiful here. Snow and ice covered every inch of the landscape, making everything shimmer. He looked down off the edge of the balcony, admiring the way the mountain dropped off steeply to the ground below. It was frightening, but Phil couldn’t pull himself away. The light cast sharp shadows that made the ground look like a white and blue collection of geometric shapes.

Reaching inside himself, he willed a wispy cloud to form in the abyss, then watched it dance in the wind and sun before dissipating. He did this several more times, before finally creating a stronger cloud closer to him and making it snow. He caught the flakes in his palms and watched as they quickly melted.

When I’m in Iridacia, I’ll play with clouds and help to water their flowers. I’ll show them how pretty clouds can be, and they’ll show me their prettiest flowers. Even if I never love the prince, I’ll fall in love with the land.

~~~~~~~~~~

The wedding was to take place in a month, which meant rushed preparations and many, many meetings and appointments for Phil.

His suit needed to be fitted and modified, he needed to be taught about the culture he was marrying into, he needed to know the schedule of the wedding and reception and who he was supposed to talk to and who he was to avoid at all costs.

A week before the wedding, Martyn talked him through the politics of the situation as Phil put on his wedding attire for one last tailoring check.

“You will marry the prince, of course, and then there will be the wedding reception. You must speak with the royal families this time,” Martyn commanded.

Phil squawked indignantly, turning from fastening his shirt to look at Martyn. “Hey, I always speak with the royal families! Every ball we go to, I spend hours talking to them!”

Martyn fixed him with a look that said, You’re a terrible liar. You’re not getting out of this.

“You won’t have a choice, anyway. You’re not to leave your husband’s side except for your dance with Mum and his dance with his mum, and he’s really going to speak with all the royals.” Martyn lifted his book of notes and instructions on the wedding, checking the contents and pretending not to notice Phil’s groan and pout.

Phil huffed when he realized Martyn wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, then turned back to the mirror to continue dressing.

“Ah, yes, speaking of the dancing,” Martyn continued, “you will not be allowed to dance with anyone other than the prince or Mum all night. It’s apparently an Iridacian custom for the newlyweds to dance the night away with only each other as a sign of your devotion to your relationship.” He looked Phil in the eyes through the mirror. “That means that even when old Aunt Madelyne comes around expecting a dance, you have to turn her down, understand?”

Phil’s eyes widened. “How in the world am I supposed to do that? She’s so persistent!”

Martyn shrugged. “I’ll have someone warn the Iridacians so they know to look out for her. With some help, you and the prince can steer clear of her.”

Remembering past family celebrations, Phil grinned. “If we stay away from her, she won’t have the chance to tell me all about her cats’ genealogy for the millionth time!” His grin turned smug. “But you’ll still have to listen to her. I bet Mum will make you dance with her twice to make up for missing me.”

Martyn paled. “Oh, god.”

Phil cackled as he straightened his sleeves. His laughter died away in a sigh as he saw Martyn raise the notebook again through the mirror. “What else do I need to know?”

“Well, at the end of the reception, we will be signing the treaty. I will give a short speech about the honour this treaty will bring to Stratalary, then the current king of Iridacia will give a speech on his relief that the matter is finally being put to rest, then their prince will give a speech about his excitement for his future with you and his kingdom.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe a bit boring, but nothing too intense,” Phil commented casually. He reached for the cape hanging off the back of a nearby chair but paused when he saw Martyn’s face in the mirror again. “What?” he asked nervously. “You’ve got that face you make when you have to say something but don’t want to say it. What’s wrong?”

Martyn hesitated, his face scrunched up in discomfort. “It’s- it’s just what comes after the reception that you won’t like. I don’t know that it will be bad, but it’ll be…” he trailed off and refused to look at Phil, instead choosing to fiddle with his notebook.

Phil set down the cape and turned to face Martyn fully. “Martyn. Just tell me. I’ll have to know eventually anyway,” he reasoned. He tried not to look as freaked out as he felt. If Martyn was this uncomfortable even telling Phil what it was, then how would Phil feel when he actually had to do whatever it was?

His brother let out a long sigh, then finally made eye contact with Phil. His expression melted from the concerned brother and into the responsible king. “After the reception, you and the prince will travel to the palace at Perennis, where you’ll be living from then on. It’s expected that you two will-” some of Martyn’s facade cracked, letting Phil see an awkward, apologetic expression, “- will consummate the marriage,” he finished.

Phil spluttered. “Excuse me?” he squeaked. So far, he hadn’t complained about any of it. Not the marriage, or the ceremony, or how he’d be sent away from friends and family. Martyn had enough to handle as it was and he didn’t need to feel guilty about taking control of Phil’s life. But this time he couldn’t restrain himself, letting his worry spill out of his mouth in a rush. “Consummate the marriage? I don’t even know the prince! Why is this necessary? It’s not like people are gonna know if we do or-” Phil’s already-pale face got even paler. “There won’t be people watching, right?”

“Oh, god, no,” Martyn reassured quickly, hands held out in a placating gesture. “No one will be in the room but you and the prince, so technically no one but the two of you will actually know if you do it or not. It’s another Iridacian custom that they want you to follow, but that’s between you and the prince.”

Phil’s breath caught back up to him at that. “Thank god. I don't really have to sleep with him, then.” He nodded once, somewhat reassured, and picked up the cape again to try it on.

Martyn’s uncomfortable face came back. “Yeah, probably not.”

Freezing again, Phil slowly looked up from the cape. “What do you mean ‘probably’?” he asked tentatively.

“Technically, the prince has an absurd amount of control over you and could order you to?” Martyn said quickly, fidgeting with his notebook again. “Not that he will- from what I understand, he’s actually really nice and at least a little uncomfortable with this arrangement, too, so it’ll probably be fine-”

“How much control will he have?” Phil whispered.

Martyn cringed and hesitated. “He can’t- like- physically control you, or anything, those are just myths-”

Phil took a step towards him. “I know that,” he said softly. He was a little offended at the implication, if he was being honest with himself. It seemed like Martyn didn’t know him at all if he thought Phil would subscribe to the rumours and stereotypes flying around about the Iridacians. “Please, Martyn. Just tell me.”

Martyn sighed and ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking more exhausted than Phil had realized he could be. “You’ll be completely under the control of the prince and the king. They’ll have to formally approve of everything you do and everywhere you go outside of the castle.”

“So,” Phil started, inhaling deeply. He stared blankly down at the cape still in his hands. “What you’re saying is that I’ll essentially be a prisoner of the Iridacian royalty?”

Solemnly, Martyn nodded. “I’m sorry, Phil. I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

Phil shrugged. Pull it back, Phil. You have to be strong for Martyn. He forced himself to give Martyn a small smile, then raised the cape and put it on. He turned to the mirror. “How does it look?” he asked, straightening out the fastenings and running his hands down the white suit jacket.

Martyn looked like he wanted to say more about the arrangement, but he held himself back. “You look amazing,” he said. He walked up behind Phil and looked at the two of them in the mirror.

“Thanks,” Phil replied quietly. He scanned himself in the mirror, taking in the full extent of his wedding clothes.

He wore a white suit with shimmering silver embroidery and light grey patches, almost like his suit was meant to camouflage him into a cloud. The cape was just barely long enough to drag on the floor. Phil crinkled his nose at the realization that he’d likely get dirt in the soft white tufts at the end of the train.

“You’re missing one piece,” Martyn commented. He held the veil headpiece in his hand. Phil hadn’t noticed him pick it up, but he watched as Martyn delicately arranged it on his head.

Despite his displeasure at his arranged marriage, Phil did have to admit that the aesthetics of the wedding would be perfect. He wore a white flower crown that draped into a light green veil that covered his face and extended to his elbows. Combined with the white suit and cape, Phil’s wedding clothes would be a symbol of the union of the cultures of the two kingdoms.

“I can almost hear the wedding bells now,” Phil mumbled.

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

#phanfic #phandom reverse bang #fantasy #arranged marriage #fluff #the path to happiness

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battlestar-royco · 6 years

Note

I wonder if this was talked about yet: Does anyone know if Eyllwe means something in some foreign language, if it's altered name of some real land from our history or just Sarah headslamming the keyboard? (i still don't know how to prononce it)

Hmm, I looked up “E/yllwe” and everything on the first result page was in reference to T0G, so it might just be a keyboard smash. According to the pronunciation guide, it’s pronounced “Eel-way.” Bear with me because this ask sparked so many feelings I wasn’t aware I had about the name “E/yllwe.” I’m gonna wig out on the name for a second because I’m annoyed.

I get the whole “fantasy worlds have weird names” thing, plus the fact that Mess’s names have never had any hope of internal logic, but E/yllwe bothers me so much because aside from possibly C/haol and F/eyre, “E/yllwe” is the most unnecessarily counterintuitive name she’s ever made (and possibly that I’ve ever seen). Coming from me, that says a lot because I never have trouble with new words and names. Spelling and other linguistic patterns across all languages have always been a really big strength of mine, and I always know/never forget the way a word is spelled or pronounced. (That’s what makes me really good at foreign language classes :) ) It took me like two tries before I got C/haol’s name right, without using the guide. But… E/yllwe. E Y L L W E. Why are we supposed to pronounce this like “Eel-way”? “E-Y” =/= “ee” pronunciation. “W-E” =/= “way” pronunciation. “E-Y-L-L” can only be pronounced like “ale.” “W-E” can typically only be pronounced as “we.” If SJ/M wanted people to pronounce it like “Eel-way,” she should’ve spelled it something like: Eelway, Eelwey, Eelwei, or even Eelweh for a softer “way” sound. When I first read the word “E/yllwe,” I pronounced it like Ey-ell-www, like with an extended “whhhwhwhwh” sound at the end because usually a consonant + “e” implies a certain type of pronunciation. Then I thought, maybe SJ/M meant Ey-ell-wee? Then halfway through the book I was like, that’s stupid; I’m just gonna pronounce it like Ale-way. So that’s how it’s sounded in my head since like 2014. But then. BUT THEN, it gets even stupider when you think about N/ehemia’s name. N/ehemia’s surname is spelled “Y/tger,” but it’s pronounced “Yet-gerre.” WHY would you name your Eyllwe princess “Y/tger”? Why, if the words “Eyllwe” and “Ytger” ostensibly come from the same language, is the letter Y making an “ee” sound in one word and a “yihh” sound in the other? WHYYYY? If E/yllwe is pronounced like Eel-way, wouldn’t Ytger be technically pronounced something like “Eet-ger”? Or maybe E/yllwe would be pronounced “Ey-ell-way”? (This is also inconsistent with the way Y/rene, another name that begins with Y, is pronounced like “Irene” but her name might originate from a different language so I’ll let it slide.) Anyway, sorry that was probably really overwhelming and extra, but as a person who loves spelling and spelling rules, that’s been irritating me for a while. SJ/M should’ve talked to a linguist before spelling her names like that for an aesthetic.

#asks #anti sjm #anti tog

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phoenotopia · 7 years

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2017 September Update

Poster Art

Feast your eyes on this beautiful poster art by Pirate. I immediately took a liking to the previous top-left design, and then that idea was molded over the course of a couple weeks to create the design you see today. Debate was had over which characters were important enough to feature in the poster art, and how many. In the end we decided to err on the side of too crowded vs not crowded enough.

You'll also see that the Phoenix logo is featured prominently in the design. Initially, I was really impartial to a Ringed Planet logo, but the Phoenix logo ultimately won out because it most effectively communicates the "Phoenix" in Phoenotopia. This should also help clue people in on the proper pronunciation of the title.

On the Trailer & Fishing

The past couple of weeks a lot of people crunched to make the trailer possible. At the last minute, Will was still adding precious seconds of music to the new theme song just so the montage could be longer. Clement made entirely new animations and Pirate touched an unlistable amount of art assets to bring them up to speed for the trailer.

So where is it? I have decided to delay its public debut, in favor of privately pitching it directly to some companies. You only get so many chances to do an unveiling, so I want to leverage it properly. I apologize for the delay. While we figure that out, here's a video of fishing to tide you guys over. The fishing mini-game was finally implemented this past month. Like with cooking, the desire was there but the design and flow of the game wasn't settled for a long time.

The trailer finally pushed me to implement it. Coming in, there were a few elements locked in place to help guide the design. I knew that fishing should be tied into the player's character - it should get easier the more powerful the player became. I also wanted range - sometimes it's relaxing, and sometimes it's intense. The difficulty depends on the the fish type. Without further ado, here it is:

youtube

Fishing is a game of cat and mouse. Once the fish has bitten on the bait, the player (represented by the arrow), must chase the fish (represented by the smaller circular subsection). The subsection will dart away and try to elude the player. When the player's arrow is outside the subsection, the player's stamina depletes. When the arrow is inside the subsection, the fish's stamina depletes. Whoever runs out of stamina first loses. As the fish get bigger and more difficult to catch, they have more stamina, and their subsection gets smaller and faster, amping up the difficulty.

It's actually still a work in progress. The plan is to update the HUD further - the fish’s stamina bar will match the player’s style of stamina bar so that it’d be easier to see who’s ahead. And of course, there’ll be additional fish types - some of which will drop special collectibles.

Naming Contest Winners

For the robots, I've decided to go with the names "metal ghoul" and "wendigo" for the Zombot and Stalker respectively. Thank you to reddit user "thomar" for thinking of it! Thomar approached the names from how a "pre-industrial society in a post-apocalyptic wasteland of monsters would perceive killer robots." And that's a great approach since Phoenotopia is a meeting point between technology and fantasy/fairytales. And as some other users have pointed out, there is a precedent in the naming since the game contains Orcs, Harpies, and Kobolds. So we'll continue that naming trend with these robots.

And a surprise winner has emerged for the Desert Dragon bandits! Recall their naming contest was suspended a couple months ago until I received a suggestion that I really liked. That has happened this past week via a private email submission. The name will be "Ouroboros". The writer wrote an explanation:

"... The Ouroboros is a symbol depicting a serpent or dragon eating its own tail. The dragon bandits are dedicated to protecting sand drakes so being named after a symbol of a dragon that represents the renewal of life would be appropriate for them. And since phoenotopia seems have the theme of rebirth with the phoenix symbol, I thought it would be cool if there was a reference to the Ouroboros symbol to add towards the theme of rebirth.

And also the Ouroboros lizard also known as the Armadillo girdled lizard is a real life lizard that closely resembles the sand drakes. The Ouroboros lizard have similar spiky armored scales to the sand drakes and can even curl up in a ball and bite their own tail to protect their vulnerable underside."

When I image searched "Ouroboros lizard", I was immediately sold on the name. Phoenotopia's sand drakes do look like Ouroboros lizards, especially since they all roll around as a form of attack, which does look like they're biting their tail.

I'll be reaching out to both winners to get their preferred naming details.

New Naming Contest - the Boar series!

I'll close this update with a new naming contest. We want to name the right-most green creature - the one marked with an arrow.

This green creature is found in the deep forbidden forest alongside Harpies and Orcs - the other creatures of yore. This plant-hybrid creature scavenges much like its distant boar cousin, but can additionally derive nutrient from the sun. It can also use its plant-like appendages to attack in new and creative ways (whipping vines and shooting seeds).

In the first game, the creatures were dogs, so I called them "dog" and "plant dog" respectively. This time around, the in-house placeholder name to beat is "plant boar".

Also up for an optional renaming are the two boars to the left of the "plant boar". The in-house name to beat for them is ... "boar".

Naming animal-like beasts is a bit trickier since there isn't a clearly established rule set. On one hand, the game has animals with made-up names. Chickens are named "Perro" and the cow/sheep are named "Puki". On the other hand, there are also just regular animals without made-up names (birds, dogs, cats, even a camel). Which category will the boars belong?

As usual, submissions are possible on the reddit thread or privately via this email: [email protected]

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clonerightsagenda · 7 years

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Let’s see if the tuesjade tag accepts my offering this week. I’ve truly hit the apex of barely mentioning the prompt and then doing something else entirely. Tbh this only exists for the betas arguing over soft drink nomenclature. Otherwise I would’ve scrapped it bc it’s kind of boring.

Tuesjade prompt: old-fashioned

You grew up talking with the gods of universe B2, but you grew up reading about the ones from B1 in the tattered volume left in your meteoric prison. When you look at them, you can almost see the loops and curls of Rose's handwriting superimposed over their faces. "Forgive me the quaint device of introducing the cast of characters," she'd written, "but if anyone finds this account in the future, they might as well know in whose incapable hands the fate of reality was entrusted, if only they can curse the gods by name." You’d thought it was funny, then. Now, as you watch the gods of the new world argue over whether to put chunky or creamy peanut butter on the shopping list, you think she had a point.

"We only have the illusion of freedom," Rose reminds them. "Jane's father will be double checking whatever we decide on anyway, so we don't splurge on personal twelve-packs of Mountain Dew."

"Now we have to do that," Dave says. "Alchimeters never got the carbonation right."

John elbows his sister. "You've been missing out on drinks that can go up your nose."

"Like sasparilla?" she asks.

He frowns. "Saspa-what?"

"It's an old-fashioned word for a kind of soda," Rose tells him.

"You mean pop," John says.

Dave holds up an admonishing finger. "I'm afraid it's coke.”

Rose shakes her head. "That's a brand."

His alternate self interjects. "Coke transcends brands. That's two to one, you're outnumbered."

"That's not fair," John says. "It's like you're voting twice."

Jade groans. "I'm sorry I said anything about your silly sugar water."

The beverage taxonomy issue is tabled, and they settle on creamy peanut butter. Rose leaves to deliver the list to Jane’s father, and the boys depart bickering over voting rights. Jade stays seated, rolling the pen they were using away and calling it back with flicks of her index finger. Beyond the glare of the Green Sun, her power is muted, but she’s working on finer control.

You can see Rose sitting in the paneled halls of your meteor, pen to paper. Jade Harley, our session’s Witch of Space. The only one of us with any common sense. I should have more to write about her than I do, but she kept a lot to herself. Does she not trust us?

Maybe I should have asked better questions.

Rose described her friends for you in anecdotes and psychological sketches. She’d tried to stay clinical for imagined posterity, providing bulleted lists of their strengths and weaknesses and making predictions for what her absent friends would be like in three years. At times, though, especially later in her journal, sentiment had crept in. She’d share an anecdote, comment on some trivial detail and then apologize for it. That’s how you came to know them. In truth, text is how you came to know everyone, when all your interactions were through messages you sent to each other, what you chose to share or keep to yourselves. You love words, but they can only do so much. They condense people to characters, and when they do, it’s so easy for those characters to go off script.

“I use the wrong words too,” you say.

Jade looks up. The pen skitters off the table, unheeded. “What?”

“I didn’t have anyone to tell me how to speak. I learned from things that were left behind.” The laptop your troll semi-guardian left behind for you contained old chats with strange slang – words like hive and respite block. You’d hoped a foreign affect would hide the idiosyncrasies, but your anachronisms were from a lot further than across the pond.

“I noticed when I met you,” Jade says. “You didn’t lift your questions at the end. I used to do that.”

Questions rise in pitch, you’ve found. A flat tone means it’s a statement in disguise. Words gain so much based on how they’re spoken. They don’t have that life on the page, only a semblance given by italics, underlines, emoticons. You have a lot to learn.

"I mispronounced things too,” Jade continues. “I thought purpose rhymed with propose, it sounded stronger that way. And Dave said he'd pay me to ask Rose about "peskyology" when we all met up."

"Pesky...” You hesitate. “Oh, psychology?"

"That's right." She laughs. “It fits, doesn’t it? Especially since she uses it to mess with people’s heads.”

“I suppose it does.”

“The dictionary had a pronunciation guide, but the IPA is confusing. It was bad enough that I didn’t know which words I should use… people laughed when I used the bigger ones, so I tried to stop.” She sticks out her tongue. “I don’t dumb myself down anymore, but then my vocabulary isn’t as surprising at sixteen as it was as a kid.”

You nod. "It’s hard to know what to say sometimes. Dirk and Roxy did something similar before they revealed they were from the future.” You remember the way you all danced around each other – you concealing your true species, Dirk and Roxy trying to talk like they hailed from 2011, Jake with his bravado and Jane not wanting to admit she was an heiress. “It's like we were all putting on our own acts."

Jade retrieves the pen from the floor with a ‘come here’ gesture and clicks it closed. "I know what that's like."

“It’s hard growing up alone, isn’t it?”

She touches an ear with a self-conscious laugh. “It’s a miracle I didn’t grow up totally feral.”

Feral. When you’d been truly alone, is that what you were? No, your other self was stone-smooth and just as hard, more like a goddess than a child in the garb of one. You know which version you prefer. “I’ve seen what I would have become. I’m glad I had what I did.”

Jade shakes her head. “I can’t even imagine how bad I might have gotten without people to talk to. When we made it through our first session and I wasn’t living alone anymore, that was the best day of my life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, even with all the problems and arguments that came after.”

An argument would be a good collective noun for the group of you. But you wouldn’t give it up either. From the moment John came for you after you’d risen, bewildered, in the wreckage of your session, you’d been dragged into a whirlwind of colours and mayhem, and you wouldn’t trade in a moment of it. You’re no longer watching a story of an octet of faraway gods, their consorts, and their compatriots. You’re living it.

Rose had compared them, tongue in cheek, to archetypes from a heroic narrative. The fearless leader. The reluctant hero. The sacrifice. “I guess I would be the bad one,” she wrote. “The one who doubted the fantasy paradise they’d stumbled into. It’s not inaccurate. I’m still not sure I was wrong.”

Jade had been labeled the wise one. That was the part you’d carved out for yourself too, the mysterious messenger bearing knowledge and keeping secrets. Rose had placed them into those rote roles to mock the practice, but it caught your fancy. Once upon a time, you painted people in broad strokes. But you’ve met a version of yourself who only saw the big picture. You’ve learned the value of detail. “I like the arguments too,” you say. “They’re charming.”

“Not the ones we used to have.” She shrugs. “Or maybe they would be, from an outside perspective. I mean, John yelling so hard he passed out was pretty objectively funny, if you weren’t caught up in the moment.”

You giggle. “I remember seeing that in the clouds. I drew it. He reminded me of my brother throwing a tantrum, although don’t tell him that. He might find the comparison is insulting, and well he should.”

“I won’t tell if I can see the picture.”

“Oh, it’s long gone.” Your brother destroyed a lot of your artwork, and what was left is lost somewhere in the wreckage of your planet or far future Earth. You miss it sometimes – so much work, gone. It’s probably a good thing your fanfiction didn’t survive, though. “Maybe I’ll redo it for our illustrated account of your adventures.”

She grins. “I’ll describe it in detail. You need to get his legs sticking up just right.”

“I’ll make sure we include it in the authoritative summary of our epic.”

“It won’t be worth it otherwise.”

And she’s joking, but she’s right. Detail is where the people are. In their foibles, their silly spats, their embarrassing moments. If you wrote about Jade, you’d include the way her forehead creases when she concentrates, her favorite kind of peanut butter, the way she mispronounced purpose for the first thirteen years of her life. That’s important.

Who knows what stock character Rose would assign you, but in your own mind you have always been the storyteller. That can lead you down dangerous paths when you make the world your journal, but it doesn’t have to. The universe is made of DNA and song. Both boil down to letters. Those are constructs, symbols used to make sense of sequences of acid or sound waves, but everything is. You are all stories telling themselves. And while you might not welcome an editor with a red pen coming to slash through the parts they find unseemly, sometimes a beta reader can help make it even better.

“We’ll work on it together,” you say. “I wouldn’t want to do it all myself.”

#tuesjade #kat writes fic #i struggle to write interesting scenes w/ calliope #mostly bc i enjoy conflict and there's not enough push and pull

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mothergamerwriter · 6 years

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Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) by Emily A. Duncan | Blog Tour Review & Excerpt

Hello bookland! Welcome to Mother/Gamer/Writer for the Wicked Saints Blog Tour. For today’s tour stop, please enjoy my review of this magically delicious and bloody tale, an excerpt from the novel, and an awesome pronunciation guide!

I received this book for free from the mentioned source in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book nor the content of my review.

Wicked Saints by Emily A. Duncan Series: Something Dark and Holy #1 Published by: Wednesday Books on April 2nd 2019 Genres: Fantasy, Magic, YA, Romance Pages: 400 Format: ARC Source: ARC From Publisher, Blog Tour View on: Goodreads Grab it: Amazon Review Score:

About the Book:

When Nadya prays to the gods, they listen, and magic flows through her veins. For nearly a century the Kalyazi have been locked in a deadly holy war with Tranavian heretics, and her power is the only thing that is a match for the enemy’s blood magic. But when the Travanian High Prince, and his army invade the monastery she is hiding in, instead of saving her people, Nadya is forced to flee the only home she’s ever known, leaving it in flames behind her, and vengeance in her heart.

As night falls, she chooses to defy her gods and forge a dangerous alliance with a pair of refugees and their Tranavian blood mage leader, a beautiful, broken boy who deserted his homeland after witnessing his blood cult commit unthinkable monstrosities. The plan? Assassinate the king and stop the war.

But when they discover a nefarious conspiracy that goes beyond their two countries, everything Nadya believes is thrown into question, including her budding feelings for her new partner. Someone has been harvesting blood mages for a dark purpose, experimenting with combining Tranavian blood magic with the Kalyazi’s divine one. In order to save her people, Nadya must now decide whether to trust the High Prince – her country’s enemy – or the beautiful boy with powers that may ignite something far worse than the war they’re trying to end.

“You could be exactly what these countries need to stop their fighting,” he said. He dropped his hand and she was colder for its absence. “Or you could rip them apart at the seams.”

Magical, dark, and wicked, Wicked Saints is a courageous novel set in a Russian inspired land where nothing is as it seems.

Nadya is a cleric, raised in the old ways and able to communicate with not only one god, but all gods. Her magic is deadly powerful and just as difficult to control as the gods she speaks with through her prayer beads who guide and protect the world. Within the first few pages, we are launched into the brutal attack on the monastery where Nadya was raised. Her people are dying at the hands of Crown Prince Serefin, a vicious blood mage and war general sent to capture her and her power. Nadya along with Anna, an ordained priestess, flees the chaos only to run into a group of rebels who have secrets of their own. Among them, Nadya finds their leader Malachiasz is also a blood mage who defected from his group of Vultures, sinister monsters who destroy everything in their path. After their meeting, it becomes a wicked game life or death and maybe love.

Wicked Saints was easy to devour. Honestly, I was seventy percent through the book before I realized I had become immersed in the tale. Emily A. Duncan charms readers with her lush imagination. Her descriptions of snow and ice and stone make it easy for one to lose themselves in Nadya’s world. The religious war at the helm of it all inspires readers to question right and wrong, what they are taught versus what is and what can be. Personally, I loved the combination of religion and religion based magic. It made what happened to Nadya all the more real and personal. With such a complex magical system, Duncan does a great job of blurring the gray area between the two. Is blood magic all bad? Is using the god’s gifts all good? You will have to read Wicked Saints to find out!

Overall, I recommend it for fans of diverse characters, those that love awe-inspiring worlds, and those that crave something a little dark and bloody in their reading pile.

My Rating

4 N A D E Z H D A L A P T E V A

Horz stole the stars and the heavens out from underneath Myesta’s control, and for that she has never forgiven him. For where can the moons rest if not the heavens?

—Codex of the Divine, 5:26

“It’s certainly not my fault you chose a child who sleeps so deeply. If she dies it will very much be your fault, not mine.”

Startled by bickering gods was not Nadya’s preferred method of being woken up. She rolled to her feet in the dark, moving automatically. It took her eyes a few seconds to catch up with the rest of her body.

Shut up!

It wasn’t wise to tell the gods to shut up, but it was too late now. A feeling of amused disdain flowed through her, but neither of the gods spoke again. She realized it was Horz, the god of the heavens and the stars, who had woken her. He had a tendency to be obnoxious but generally left Nadya alone, as a rule.

Usually only a single god communed with their chosen cleric. There once had been a cleric named Kseniya Mirokhina who was gifted with unnatural marksmanship by Devonya, the goddess of the hunt. And Veceslav had chosen a cleric of his own, long ago, but their name was lost to history, and he re- fused to talk about them. The recorded histories never spoke of clerics who could hear more than one god. That Nadya communed with the entire pantheon was a rarity the priests who trained her could not explain.

There was a chance older, more primordial gods existed, ones that had long since given up watch of the world and left it in the care of the others. But no one knew for sure. Of the twenty known gods, however, carvings and paintings depicted their human forms, though no one knew what they actually looked like. No cleric throughout history had ever looked upon the faces of the gods. No saint, nor priest.

Each had their own power and magic they could bestow upon Nadya, and while some were forthcoming, others were not. She had never spoken to the goddess of the moons, Myesta. She wasn’t even sure what manner of power the goddess would give, if she so chose.

And though she could commune with many gods, it was impossible to forget just who had chosen her for this fate: Marzenya, the goddess of death and magic, who expected complete dedication.

Indistinct voices murmured in the dark. She and Anna had found a secluded place within a copse of thick pine trees to set up their tent, but it no longer felt safe. Nadya slid a voryen from underneath her bedroll and nudged Anna awake.

She moved to the mouth of the tent, grasping at her beads, a prayer already forming on her lips, smoky symbols trailing from her mouth. She could see the blurry impressions of figures in the darkness, far off in the distance. It was hard to judge the number, two? Five? Ten? Her heart sped at the possibility that a company of Tranavians were already on her trail.

Anna drew up beside her. Nadya’s grip on her voryen tightened, but she kept still. If they hadn’t seen their tent yet, she could keep them from noticing it entirely.

But Anna’s hand clasped her forearm.

“Wait,” she whispered, her breath frosting out before her in the cold. She pointed to a dark spot just off to the side of the group.

Nadya pressed her thumb against Bozidarka’s bead and her eyesight sharpened until she could see as clearly as if it were day. It took effort to shove aside the immediate, paralyzing fear as her suspicions were confirmed and Tranavian uniforms be- came clear. It wasn’t a full company. In fact, they looked rather ragged. Perhaps they had split off and lost their way.

More interesting, though, was the boy with a crossbow silently aiming into the heart of the group.

“We can get away before they notice,” Anna said.

Nadya almost agreed, almost slipped her voryen back into its sheath, but just then, the boy fired and the trees erupted into chaos. Nadya wasn’t willing to use an innocent’s life as a distraction for her own cowardice. Not again.

Even as Anna protested, Nadya let a prayer form fully in her mind, hand clutching at Horz’s bead on her necklace and its constellation of stars. Symbols fell from her lips like glowing glimmers of smoke and every star in the sky winked out.

Well, that was more extreme than I intended, Nadya thought with a wince. I should’ve known better than to ask Horz for any- thing.

She could hear cursing as the world plunged into darkness.

Anna sighed in exasperation beside her.

“Just stay back,” she hissed as she moved confidently through the dark.

“Nadya . . .” Anna’s groan was soft.

It took more focus to send a third prayer to Bozetjeh. It was hard to catch Bozetjeh on a good day; the god of speed was notoriously slow to answer prayers. But she managed to snag his attention and received a spell allowing her to move as fast as the vicious Kalyazin wind.

Her initial count had been wrong; there were six Tranavians now scattering into the forest. The boy dropped his crossbow with a bewildered look up into the sky, startling when Nadya touched his shoulder.

There was no way he could see in this darkness, but she could. When he whirled, a curved sword in his hand, Nadya sidestepped. His swing went wide and she shoved him in the direction of a fleeing Tranavian, anticipating their collision.

“Find the rest,” Marzenya hissed. “Kill them all.” Complete and total dedication.

She caught up to one of the figures, stabbing her voryen into his skull just underneath his ear.

Not so difficult this time, she thought. But the knowledge was a distant thing.

Blood sprayed, splattering a second Tranavian, who cried out in alarm. Before the second man could figure out what had happened to his companion, she lashed out her heel, catching him squarely on the jaw and knocking him off his feet. She slit his throat.

Three more. They couldn’t have moved far. Nadya took up Bozidarka’s bead again. The goddess of vision revealed where the last Tranavians were located. The boy with the sword had managed to kill two in the dark. Nadya couldn’t actually see the last one, just felt him nearby, very much alive.

Something slammed into Nadya’s back and suddenly the chilling bite of a blade was pressed against her throat. The boy appeared in front of her, his crossbow back in his hands, thank- fully not pointed at Nadya. It was clear he could only barely see her. He wasn’t Kalyazi, but Akolan.

A fair number of Akolans had taken advantage of the war between their neighbors, hiring out their swords for profit on both sides. They were known for favoring Tranavia simply because of the warmer climate. It was rare to find a creature of the desert willingly stumbling through Kalyazin’s snow.

He spoke a fluid string of words she didn’t understand. His posture was languid, as if he hadn’t nearly been torn to pieces by blood mages. The blade against Nadya’s throat pressed harder. A colder voice responded to him, the foreign language scratched uncomfortably at her ears.

Nadya only knew the three primary languages of Kalyazin and passing Tranavian. If she wasn’t going to be able to communicate with them . . .

The boy said something else and Nadya heard the girl sigh before she felt the blade slip away. “What’s a little Kalyazi assassin doing out in the middle of the mountains?” he asked, switching to perfect Kalyazi.

Nadya was very aware of the boy’s friend at her back. “I could ask the same of you.”

She shifted Bozidarka’s spell, sharpening her vision further. The boy had skin like molten bronze and long hair with gold chains threaded through his loose curls.

He grinned.

Wicked Saints (Something Dark and Holy #1) by Emily A. Duncan | Blog Tour Review & Excerpt was originally published on Mother/Gamer/Writer

#ARC #blog tour #Book Reviews #Emily A. Duncan #Excerpts #Fantasy #Reviews by Diayll #Something Dark and Holy #Wicked Saints #MotherGamerWriter

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fantroll-purgatory · 6 years

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Ciopie Lizset

Ok second troll and last uwu @yeehaw-comrade

(Breakdown is going to be a bit disjointed, so check towards the end for most of my recommendations! -SA)

(I was INSTANTLY drawn to this troll from her design alone. Sometimes going simple really is the way to go. Fantastic color scheme, as well. Very soft, very eye-pleasing.)

Name: Ciopie Lizset

Pronounced See-o-oh-pee

I know for a fact her name is loosely based off of two pianists but i cannot for the life of me think of which (I caught that surname instantly. You’re referring to Franz Liszt. I wonder if you corrupted “Frédéric Chopin” into “Ciopie”? That pronunciation guide is very close to a “Calliope”, a keyboard based instrument that is also the name of everyone’s favorite Cherub. Chopin,,,, though,,,,,, fits Troll Naming Rules. My thought would be to make “Lizset” her first name, as it rolls better off of the tongue. Lizset Chopin? Lizset Chopin.)

Planet: Alternian

Blood: Purple

(Recommendation: Olive OR Purple- see the breakdown.)

Sign: Caprittanius

Aspect: Void

Dream Planet: Prospit

(No comments here on this front.)

Classpect: Maid of Void?

(We’re gonna dial in on this when we go through.)

Lusus: ????

(Purple Lusi are always semi-aquatic. What if… she had an Oarfish. But with arms. That sings. Like, every Siren concept inverted and spun around on it’s head.)

Quirk: ????

(What if, given that piano is always focused around finding Middle C (and it being an instrument keyed in C), that she always Capitalizes the Cs in her speeCh?)

Land: light and shade? Spotlights and Alleyways?

(*Rubs hands together* Land Creation!

With Void players, I always like to dial up the isolation and the alien nature of the Void itself. But, given my analysis further down, I’m going to actually keep this Land thematic with your original.) (Land of Perfume and Halogen Lizset’s shoes make an audible click as her feet hit the ground, as she has to swing out of her hive to get to the wooden floor that passes as a ground beneath her. All the world’s a stage, and all the people are merely players. The air is thick and slightly pink, and tastes of chemicals and patchouli. It reminds her too much of old concert halls and Cerulean nobles. The world is dark until she gets both feet on the ground. Bright, white lights blind her, causing her to fall backwards. Her consorts are hiding in the corners of set pieces. This place assaults all senses, and the Denizen is to blame. Nobody can live their entire lives spotlit, nor in the dark. It’s up to Lizset to get the sun working again, and to turn off these lights.)

Personality: Ciopie is a pianist and a hell of a good one at that. Shes actually pretty famous! Not Marvus tier, but shes up there. She doesnt always get recgonized on the street and she loves that. She has terrible stage fright and wish she wasnt as famous as she is. She mostly wants to blend in which is why her clothing and hair are worn so plainly and her face paint done so simply. But alas, the show must go on. As everyone always says. Shes really shy and never likes to be in the spot light. Shes of course forced too, as talent like that must be exploited for the benifit of others!

Thats p much all i have for her!

(A quick breakdown of what you have for her currently:

Character Motif: Pianos and Performances

Character Motivation: Vanishing (????)

Character Conflict: Living In The Spotlight/Being Used (???))

(Let’s flesh out the personality for this girl, because we have a foundation already, and use that to build the more mechanical, fiddly bits!)

(When I create a character, the first thing I look at is what I want them to DO. In the overall narrative, what purpose does this character serve? What themes do I want to explore with this character? Traditionally the way you do this is through character conflicts and motivation.

Your character’s basic, emotional conflict seems to be whether or not she wants to lean into her nascent celebrity status. She has bad stage fright, so she must tend to freeze on stage, but she seems to be relatively famous otherwise? But, I have to ask: Why?

I worry that there’s a disconnect between the aesthetics and the agency of this character. I know very little about the actual core of her character. Does she even like music? “Isn’t it obvious?” is not an answer, because it’s not obvious. What I’ve gotten from her is that she must HATE playing the piano, as everything relating to her skill is causing her anxiety. You can be good at something but choose not to do it. So, why does she do it?

You make a comment about “for the greater good”, but… let’s be real here. WHO’S greater good? Who is telling her this? Where did she get this idea? That isn’t the kind of idea that just happens.

We have two options for this: Internal and External Motivation

Who is telling her this? If she’s telling this to herself, that this is an idea she got in her head because of something she experienced, that is an Internal Motivation for her to go on stage. Does she have lofty ideals, or really believes in the power of art?

If someone else is making her do it, regardless of what she wants (and I’m going to be 100% honest with you “because she has fans!!!” is not it), then it’s an External Motivation. Is she indebted or depending on someone? Has she made powerful enemies? Enemies who run a speakeasy? Has she run afoul of the Troll Mob?

I personally recommend that you go with an Internal Motivation, as it provides fun growth moments and ~drama~ later on for her.

So, the obvious narrative for her is getting over her limitations. Growing more confident in her own abilities, and with other people, would be a difficult but achievable end-game for her. Growing more powerful in her craft, using the power of music to help her friends and their session.

This is not the path of a Void Player. This is the path of a Light player.

I posit that there’s two distinct ways you could do this narrative: Light and Void. But they go in wildly different paths.

The Light Path is closest to your character concept. We are going to keep Maid, the Active Creator, because I feel both paths involve this character learning to make spaces and opportunities for herself, just in opposite spheres.)

(Light Path: The Love Path)

-Purple Blooded (Dial in on the strength of purples, their violent instability, and how that translates into a dextrous art such as the piano)

-Light, Prospit (Narrative Focus- Energy, knowledge, skill, fame)

-Class: Maid (Active Creation, Self Determination, Confidence)-Motivation: Internal (Ideals, Fantasies, Morals) (In this version of Miss Lizset, her focus is on overcoming her shortcomings. She believes that she has a gift and that gift must be shared (VERY Highblood logic), but that her own issues make her skittish and unpredictable on stage. She must overcome these if she is to become a productive member of her session and accomplish her own ideals.) (Void Path: The Hate Path) -Olive Blooded (Dial in on the lack of special features of Olives, of their overlooked position in society, of how often highbloods use them for their own gain) -Void, Prospit (Narrative Focus: Doubt, Disguise, Backline, Acquiescence) -Class: Maid (Active Creation, Self Determination, Confidence)-Motivation: External (Coercion, Fear, Vulnerability) (On this side, we end up with a concert pianist being used for someone else’s benefit. Whether she liked performing before, all she wants to do now is disappear. Someone is forcing her to use her talents, due to her own acquiescing nature. She must shake off their chains and teach herself how to set up boundaries and to slip out of bad situations in order to become an effective support for her session.) -(SA)

#SA Review #ciopie lizset #lizset chopin #purpleblood #maid of void #maid of light #submission

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katharaya · 8 years

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MM fic: Love, A Fractal Compilation (1/1)

A/N: Figured Valentine’s day is as good a day as any to finally write something for this fandom. Quick, unbeta’ed piece. Slight spoilers for Secret Endings.

Pairing: 707/Main Character Rating: M Word count: 1,321 Summary: An epilogue in fragments, concerning Seven and you and always, always love. ---

Love is the way he gives you an Arabic dictionary of your own, small enough to fit in your bag but thick enough to be fairly comprehensive.

Saeyoung is not the kind of person straightforward enough to give you a house key or outright ask you to move in, but you know how to read him and you know what he means to say, even without saying.

And love is the way – after numerous failed tries and terrible pronunciation that ends with you still on the wrong side of a locked door – a panel opens beside the gate to reveal a handprint scanner. When you press your hand to it – how long has this been here? you wonder – the light above the door shifts to green and the gate says, in its robotic monotone, “Welcome home, princess. Should you have further need to improve your Arabic pronunciation and/or grammar, God Seven is always available to help.”

And love is the way he stands there as you walk through the door, excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet, before he crowds you against the wall and kisses you.

Love is the way your shoulders shake in laughter as you smile against his mouth.

“Have you been there all this time?” you say, pretending to be miffed as he trails kisses across your nose and cheeks.

And love is the way he only laughs and says, “We’ll work on your Arabic after dinner, okay?” --- Love is the way you wake, sometimes, in the night, with him curled around your back, his arms warm around you and his face pressed to your neck.

Love is the way you pretend to be asleep as he kisses prayers and benedictions onto your skin.

“Thank god,” he whispers, his lips curling up into a smile against your shoulder. “Thank god for you.”

And love is the way you turn over in his arms on the nights his prayers turn from wondering to doubtful to afraid – afraid that this is all a dream, an illusion, a trick of the light in the shadows creeping into his room. Love is the way you take his face in your hands and kiss him, assuring and loving and real, reminding him that you are here and he is here and that this is not a wishful fantasy of smoke and mist that will dissipate in the harsh morning light. --- Love is the way sometimes, when you leave Jaehee’s house late after a long day of looking over plans for your shared café, the CCTV cameras on the streets turn to follow you as you walk by.

“It’s a bit too late to take the bus, isn’t it?" Jaehee says. “Should I call you a cab?”

And love is the way you shake your head and say, “I’ll be fine,” with all the confidence and self-assurance in your body leaking out through the pores of your skin.

Love is the way you’re never afraid to walk home in the dark, secure in the knowledge that your very own cybernaut angel is watching over you. --- Love is the way he still pushes you away, sometimes.

Love is the way you pull him back.

Love is the way you get angry when he forgets to eat, and love is the way he fights back against your love, because he thinks you deserve better than a washed-up secret agent who only knows how to do filthy, despicable work.

Love is the way you place the cat robot in his hands and remind him, “You made this, and it’s beautiful.”

You bring up the webpage with Zen’s Tripter bot on it, his face splattered across the screen and the hit count numbering in the hundred millions. “You made this,” you remind him, “and it’s beautiful.”

You place his hands on your face and guide them into stretching your cheeks into a grin. You look up at him, smiling, with all your love plain on your face, and say, “You made this.”

Love is the way his face crumples up, handily beaten by all the facts laid bare before him, and he whispers, “And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” --- Love is the way he kisses you, tender and still so very hesitant after all this time, like he’ll break you, or sully you, or like he’s afraid you’ll push him away.

Love is the way he sighs against your mouth when you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close – promises without words, saying, I want you, I want you, I want you.

Love is the way his kisses turn frantic, hungry; love is the way he turns his considerable focus completely on you as his skillful hands divest you of your clothes, your underwear, removing each and every barrier between you until you’re skin to skin and eye to eye and heart to heart, drowning in bedsheets that smell more and more like both of you, these days.

Love is the way he looks at you all throughout, whether it’s with his head between your legs or his cock in your mouth or him inside of you, moving with you, and it’s as if he cannot turn his eyes away. Love is the way he watches and listens, studying you in that intense way he studies everything that interests him – and nothing is half as interesting to him as you are.

Love is the way he’s constantly adjusting – his pace or position or where he places his hands and mouth – to draw out gasps and moans and sighs of pleasure from you, building up your desire into a crescendo until you tip over the edge screaming his name.

And love is the way he hesitates – only briefly, but you know him inside-out and of course you notice – as if to ask, are you okay, is this okay?

And love is the way you pull him closer still and say, “I love you, Saeyoung. Won’t you come for me?”

Love is the way he shudders against you and holds you close, thrusting into you with the intensity of stars burning, expanding and collapsing in on himself like a supernova.

Love is the way he scrubs his throat raw with your name, desire and reverence mangling the syllables until all that comes out is love breathed out against your skin, like the penitent prayers of a sinner broken and forgiven and redeemed. --- Love is the way he only tears up when he sees you walk down the aisle on your wedding day, even though Zen and Yoosung are both bawling and Jaehee is sniffling delicately into the lace of her handkerchief.

Love is the way he is too profoundly happy to shed too many tears.

Love is the way he laughs when you push Jaehee towards him for a mother-son dance.

“She’s such a mom friend!” you say, smiling. “It’ll be just as good as the real thing!”

Love is the way he smiles at you as he takes a grumbling Jaehee’s hand and says, “No, it’ll be so much better.”

Love is the way he grins as you drag a reluctant Saeran onto the dance floor.

“’m not your father,” his brother mumbles as you lead him into an awkward shuffling two-step.

Love is the way you feel Saeyoung’s eyes on you when you say, “You’re still family, Saeran. That's what matters.”

Love is the way Saeyoung watches you two dance, with a look on his face like he’s realizing happily-ever-afters aren’t just lies that exist in the pages of fairytale books. --- Love is the eleven days he spent falling in love with you.

Love is the two days he tried to push you away.

Love is yesterday, today, and every tomorrow hereafter.

Love is the way he’d do it all over again.

Love is the way you kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, until he realizes he won’t have to.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fic #mystic messenger 707 #luciel choi #707 x mc #707 x reader #katharayawrites

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enddaysengine · 7 years

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Exploring the Manifest Zone - Episode 1: Introduction

Those of you who've been with me since the beginning may recall that I originally started this blog as a way to improve my writing while having some fun exploring different worlds. I'm going to keep that up, but you might also notice that I've started to branch a bit from the original monster descriptions and plot hooks (no duh!). One of the things that I've been doing recently on the Chronicles of Darkness forums has been Let's Reads of various books, including my ongoing review of Parasite Rex. I'm going to keep doing that, but I'm also going to open up my genres a bit, so you can expect to see Let's Watch and Let's Listen segments in the future on various topics and games.

That brings me to Manifest Zone. Manifest Zone is a podcast about Eberron hosted by Wayne Chang, Kristian Serrano, Scott W, and Keith Baker. It is excellent, and while I haven't finished the first episode, I've gotten some fresh new campaign ideas out of it. What I'm going to aim for in the future is to come out with Let's Listen to Manifest Zone catching my initial reaction to the podcast within a week or two of them being released. These thoughts will mostly be just reactions and unedited, so if you want to get a discussion going, feel free to reblog and comment. Manifest Zone also has a Q&A where they respond in short clips to questions. I won't be replying to those, although maybe I'll compile a bunch of them into a response later on.

So without further ado, Episode 1...

Introduction

https://manifest.zone/01-introductions/

So I know Keith loves Eberron, but I also know that Sci-Fi/Fantasy fans can make creators burnout. The fact that he's still here, still dedicated to a setting that was released 13 years ago and still has yet to see the light of day in 5e is incredible. He sounds so happy to talk Eberron yet again at the start of this podcast, and it is in some ways unbelievable. Eberron has survived and thrived not just because of Keith's grand vision, but because of the person that Keith is.

Keith, if you are reading this, thank you. You've given us far more than we deserve and Eberron fans are spoiled by your love and generosity.

It is fascinating how Wayne, Kristian, and Scott all got into Eberron and why they were motivated to do the podcast. That speaks well to having a variety of perspectives in the podcast. I'm interested to see if I can pull any of Kristian and Scott's ideas from Savage Worlds into Pathfinder. I've debated trying to run Planescape and Eberron in Chronicles of Darkness before, but never really pushed it.

I like the idea of introducing Eberron as a post-fantasy setting. In fact, I will probably include it in my next campaign pitch. Being up front with the fact that Eberron lacks many classic tropes, and the ones it does contain are often deconstructed or twisted in some way is good practice for GMs. I'd toss Eberron much more into Science Fantasy than plain Fantasy.

The way that elven lifespan impacts their culture wasn't something I had thought about until Keith brought it up in the FAQs. It has to be one of the most interesting parts of Eberron for me, even though it's underplayed. If I add another elf culture on a separate continent, I'd be curious what other alternatives are out there for how elves deal with death and memory.

Zilargo is absolutely one my favourite nations in Eberron, and there are numerous reasons for that. One is that gnomes feel like a distinct race with their niche and values that are clearly separate from both dwarves and halflings. Another is precisely the modern socio-political question that the podcast discusses; the question of how far we are willing to sacrifice privacy in the name of public security. I remember very early on when Eberron was first released, and Keith described Zilargo as being one of the scariest places to people who have been brought up in North America's modern culture. Unlike the Sarlona, Zilargo has made some genuinely challenging (and possibly disturbing) political decisions, but the Zil remain relatable and understandable. For all that I would personally absolutely disagree with the way that the Trust runs their country, I can empathise with the why the gnomes made those decisions, and I find the implications for their culture to be fascinating. While Zilargo can fulfil an "evil nation" role in a campaign, their default presentation remains that of one political system amongst many, and they are not obvious villains. Of course, with the Trust, that's precisely the way they like it.

Lifting different storylines into RPGs is a time honoured tradition. Firefly would make for excellent fodder, but I'm more interested in the Lost story. I've heard Keith tell part of this one before, specifically the bit about the roc eating the captain, then the giant cat treating the roc like a songbird. I didn't know the bit about it being inspired by the TV show, but is sounds like an interesting scenario. Maybe I will try to write it up if I ever find the time. Diehard on an airship also sounds awesome.

The unanswered questions about Eberron are one of my favourite parts of the setting, and it is one of the things that Eberron and Golarion have in common. No one knows what caused the Mourning or what killed Aroden (well, Erik Mona knows the latter, but he isn't telling). This goes even further in Eberron than most settings. If you listen to the Speaking Stone segment on pronunciation, Keith says that the reason there are no guides how to say the names of the nations is that there is no one correct way to say them. The design team deliberately left out pronunciation guides so that Storytellers could have NPCs from different regions pronounce names differently.

The point that Wayne makes about the joy of trying to piece history and little clues together is so true. This is a common thread I see in Planescape, Chronicles of Darkness, and Eberron. History is important to all three, and they tell you as much with the spaces that are left in between what is explicitly said. They challenge you to find what fits in those gaps. There's a reason I have timelines for all three setting that I meticulously add details to so that I can see how everything relates together. It is no surprise that those three settings are my favourites.

"Wide magic" is an excellent term to describe Eberron that I haven't heard before. I like it. It's the same way that Firefly isn't high technology, its wide technology. I am guilty of calling Eberron magipunk though. The historian and teacher in me love the speculative fiction portion of Eberron's "magic as technology" premise. It is so interesting to see our world through a "mirror, magically."

The lock and key model of focus items with Dragonmarks is neat. I'll be using that one in the future.

The setting expectations bit is all very solid advice. The concept of failing forwards is very prominent in Chronicles of Darkness, and it adds to the game greatly. I'm wondering if there is some way to reward major failures that create drama and story twists in d20 like CofD does with dramatic failures and players being able to choose to turn failures into dramatic failures. Maybe extra uses of per day abilities? I'll have to think on that one.

Next episode is on the Last War. Super psyched for it.

#Manifest Zone #Eberron #Keith Baker #Podcast #worldbuilding #3.5 #WotC

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