#i'm playing around with idea of making it part of a longer series. with snippets from voryn's life. hmm....

[ashvampire]

Voryn has a lesson in healing with his mother.

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The room was dark – the only light shined down from the windows. They offered little illumination in the late afternoon, and the dark stone walls only made the place feel dimmer. Candles were plentiful, but none were lit.

Voryn sighed, as he wrapped gauze around the limb of a feather-stuffed guar. His mother sat across from him, legs crossed and keen eyes watching her son’s hands as he bandaged the toy. A low table separated them – covered in bandages and squares of gauze, as well as the stuffed guar.

His mother leaned forward, her hand locking around Voryn’s wrist. “You’re not doing it tight enough. Start again.”

Hastily, Voryn ripped off the gauze, scowling all the while. That was the third time he’d failed. He wondered how long his mother was planning on keeping him here.

“Be gentle,” his mother barked, “You won’t be able to bandage someone if your gauze is shredded.”

Voryn bit his lip, trying to be more gentle with the light fabric, but unable to keep the scowl from his face. He gave a sigh when he finally removed all the gauze, and glanced up at his mother. Her face was stern and hard. Her eyes met Voryn’s, and she raised a brow at him.

“You said you wanted to be a healer,” she said, “This is part of the learning. A very important part, actually. What you are learning to do can save someone from bleeding to death.”

Voryn dropped the gauze. “I don’t get it!” he growled. It came out louder than he expected. “Why would I need to wrap their injuries when I can just heal it?! Just teach me magic, already!”

“You won’t always have magic,” she said calmly, seeming to take no care that her son had questioned and yelled at her. “There will be many times when you cannot rely on it. Our magicka, the magic that runs through a veins, is not an endless resource. Our energy will wear out eventually. And if not, our concentration can falter. Healing magic can be dangerous, too. If you don’t know what you are doing, then you may do more harm than good.”

She pulled the stuffed guar across the table in front of her, and took a roll of gauze. She began to bandage one of the backlegs. Her hands moved quickly, with expertise and experience. “Let us say that you are on a battlefield. There are many injured, but you only have so much magicka. There are limited potions you can use – you only have a handful of them on you.

You find three wounded warriors. One has an injured leg. It’s bleeding a lot, and the warrior is complaining about the pain.

The second one is bruised and scratched. He is tired but otherwise mobile, although he has a nasty gash on his head and shoulder. But the battlefield is a dirty place, and with all the chaos, it might be awhile before the warrior can get to an infirmary to clean and stitch up his wounds.

The last has a wound to the abdomen. She is unconscious, and bleeding out.” She finished bandaging the guar, and looked to her son.

“You only have enough magicka to heal one,” she continued, “You cannot see any other healers – they are busy elsewhere. You must decide how to deal with all three, otherwise they might die of bloodloss or infection.”

Voryn leaned an elbow on the table and rested his head atop his hand, deep in thought.

“The first warrior, the one with the injured leg. How do you help him?” his mother said after a moment.

“Um,” Voryn mumbled. He glanced to his mother. He has already failed thrice. He doesn’t want to disappoint her again. “Give him a potion?”

His mother shook her head no. “Remember, what was it that you should always do first?”

“Uh… Oh! Look closely at the injury and clean it if I can.”

His mother gave a nod of approval. “You inspect the wound and clean it. The wound is not that deep. The warrior can still feel and move his foot, and you conclude that the injury is one that can be easily dealt with. But you don’t want to let him bleed out any further, or risk the wound becoming infected. So, what do you do?”

Voryn opened his mouth, planning to say ‘potion’, but then he looked to the stuffed guar on the table, and saw it’s leg wrapped in gauze. “Um… do I bandage it?”

His mother gave a small smile and nodded. “Yes, you wrap the wound tightly to prevent more bleeding or infection. If you have enough potions or magicka left after all the wounded have been found, you can always return to him and heal the wound.

Now, the second. His most notable injuries are on his head and shoulder. They aren’t bleeding heavily, but you can see that dirt has gotten onto the wounds.”

Voryn imagines it. A tall warrior, covered on bruises and cuts, with a large gash that cuts above one of his eyes, and one in his shoulder that broke through armour. “Do I… bandage them?”

“No. What should you do first?"

“Clean it!”

“Correct. Now, you have cleaned the wound. What next?”

“Uh...” Voryn stared hard at the stuffed guard, as if it would somehow give him answers. “Is it still bleeding?”

“The wound on his head seems to have clotted, but the one on the shoulder still has some bleeding.”

“Bandage that, then...”

Voryn looked up to his mother, hoping for approval.

“And? What else do you do?” she asked.

Voryn slumped in defeat. “I don’t know...”

“We talked about head injuries the other day...” his mother said, trying to give hints.

“Oh yeah… I… Oh! I remember! I just talk to him and see if he’s making sense and if he can see right… oh, and I ask him what he remembers, and if he blacked out!”

His mother smiled wider this time. “Yes! Very good. His speech is perfectly coherent, and he remembers the events of the battle well.

Now you go to the last one. Remember that she has an injury to her abdomen and isn’t conscious.”

“Clean the wound,” Voryn said, trying to think of the answers as quickly as he could, “And uh… I haven’t used any of the potions, right?”

“This is a dangerous injury, Voryn. You should inspect the wound closely. If it is just flesh that has been damaged, you may use a potion. But if the wound is too deep, magic may be required.”

Voryn screwed up his face. It was all so complicated. “What’s wrong with using a potion?”

“They are only good at mending flesh. If you were to use it on internal organs, there would be a great risk that it would cause unwanted growths to form. These growths cause great harm.

That risk remains when you use magic. Healing a wound incorrectly can do permanent damage. You must be sure of what kind of injury you’re dealing with, and how to heal it. Your magicka must be fully in your control.”

Voryn looked down to his hands, frowning. His magicka had grown out of control before, especially with strong emotions, whether it be excitement or anger. He looked back to his mother, ears drooping. “What if I can’t control it?”

His mother smiled encouragingly. “Of course you will, in time. It’s not uncommon for children and adolescents to struggle controlling their magicka. As your mind matures, you’ll find it grows much easier.”

“Are you sure?” Voryn wasn’t convinced; his magicka felt almost separate from him, like something that had to be tamed.

“Of course I am. In a few decades, I think you’ll be the greatest healer House Dagoth has ever had.”

Voryn smiled, thinking of all the lives he would save once he finished his training, and finally having mastery over his magicka.

"You've done well so far, Voryn." said his mother "Go outside and have a break. We'll go back to practicing bandaging once you come back."

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I actually wrote this in either 2022 or 2021, but I never finished it. I rediscovered it and wrote the last 400 words and edited what was already there. I'd honestly completely forgotten about how much I'd written for Voryn/House Dagoth!

Anyway, hopefully this wasn't too boring. I know it ends a bit suddenly buuuut i didn't know what else to do with it if i'm honest.

[keysandopenmind]

Writeblr question tag... thing

I had no idea what to call this but I told @girlfromthecrypt I would do it and here I am! Here's some questions I answered.

1) What motivates you to write?

I always ideas knocking around in my head and I figure it's better to do something with them. Plus people seem to generally like what I read when they read it, and say nice things to me, and then I get warm fuzzies.

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

Okay, so I'm probably not going to pursue this WIP anymore, but I really loved this scene.

Context #1: if Ria holds a personal object belonging to someone while she plays music, she can see a bit of their future.

Context #2: there has been an "accident" during a performance of the circus, and Lucy has fallen a great distance to the ring floor. RIa, her best friend, tells May, her girlfriend, to go with her when they take her to the hospital. Ria foresaw this but couldn't convince anyone to do anything any differently that night.

“You should go with them,” I whispered. She looked down at me. “Do you think so?” “She’ll need you when she wakes up.” “She’ll wake up then? Can you promise me that?” “I…” I wanted to lie to her, to tell her that I had seen another vision where Lucy woke up the following morning, right as rain. But I couldn’t do that to her. May pulled one of her rings off her middle finger. “Take this,” she said, holding it out to me. “If I go with her, I’ll be there when she wakes up. So you’ll be able to see it. You come to the hospital tomorrow and you tell me.” I pressed the ring back into her hand. “May, what if… what if she doesn’t? Do you want to know that in advance? I don’t. There are some things I don’t use my power for.”

I don't know if it necessarily came across here but May loves Lucy so so much. Sometimes I think I was more invested in Lucy and May than I was in Ria and Alex (y'know, the main characters).

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Going for a twofer here, Max and Clara from my Drosselmeier Industries series. They're just really natural and easy with each other, and their banter is excellent (if I do say so myself).

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Revisions and edits! I actually really struggle to get the first draft out a lot of the time. #PantserProblems. But once I have a rough idea and I'm shining it up, I thrive.

5) What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Characters by a mile. I always get feedback that I need to flesh out my descriptions and worlds more. It's something that's led me to concentrating my stories mainly in the real world, though it's always the real world with some sort of twist.

6) What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

I'm loving the vast creativity and also the raw talent! I read a WIP excerpt and I'm like "Wow, I must follow that person" and then I read their bio and they're 14? No way was I writing that well when I was 14! (I just turned 34; I feel like I am an old lady of writeblr xD)

7) A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

Scrivener is always good for longer works. I also recommend a text-to-speech program (I use a free one called Balabolka) for helping pick up typos or clunky passages.

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I love the virtual reality system Max and Clara play. The Veritas is so realistic that if your character trips over something, you feel the pull in your stomach like you're falling.

I have no idea if it's realistic or not, as I have played surprisingly little VR for someone who writes about it. I did do a VR escape room once. That was fun!

9) What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Having been through many a rough patch myself, I promise you will come out the other side!

At one point a couple of years ago, I was planning on entirely throwing in the towel. I couldn't see a way forward with the WIP I was working on, and I thought maybe it was better to ditch the whole thing.

You have to ride the wave. After that rough patch, I went on to recraft that story into one of my best pieces.

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

@hellisheavenwithyou @careful-fear @ryns-ramblings

.

[magalidragon]

making music | a Jonerys AU | fic tease

a/n: Bêcha thought I forgot this one? LOL Nope, just working on it here and there. It will be longer than I thought of course. So here’s a tease to part 1 up soon!

Once again, turning the corner, she almost stepped straight into a busker only this time a trumpet player, and when she knelt down to pick up the coins that had fallen out of a flatcap set on the cobblestone, she heard a low chuckle, and a heavy Northern accent, her blood going cold.

"You just can't help yourself can you?"

"I'm sorry I..." She whipped up, glaring. She shouted. "YOU!"

Jon chuckled, leaning against the brick wall, a foot propped up behind him, his other stretched out, and a trumpet loose in his fingers. "Me." He rolled his eyes, but still smiled. "You want a piece of my gig here or what? That why you keep stepping into my payment?"

She glanced at the cap, noting there were only a few stags; he had way more as a guitar player. She smirked up and straightened. "Maybe you should stick to strings then Mr..."

"Snow," Jon said, lifting the trumpet up. He blew into it, fingers fast on the keys, the tune upbeat, jazzy. Someone walking by tossed in a dragon coin. He finished the snippet of a song she thought she might have recognized as a twist on a famous Essosi opera aria, and had gathered a few other admirers, including, she noted, some young women who giggled behind their hands and ducked their heads coquettishly, trying to catch his attention.

It was the music that held her attraction-- although he did look good standing there in his all black attire, hair pulled from his face, his strong forearms on display. She spied some tattoos peeking out from under the rolled cuffs and one on his inner wrist, a series of musical notes on a scale. She frowned, wishing she could see it closer, wondering what song held such importance to him he wanted it inked to his skin permanetly. Or maybe, was in his mind during a drunken moment and now was inked permanently. Could be anything.

He finished the song, the crowd gathered applauding. He swept the trumpet aside and bowed, moving towards the case while people dropped coins and other things into the flatcap. Several of the women dropped phone numbers. Dany remained standing, waiting for them to disperse and Jon to collect the money. "Do they not pay you enough?" she asked.

He chuckled, unfolding the bills and darting a glance upwards through his dark curls. "They do. This is for something else." He pocketed the money and shoved the cap into the side of the padded trumpet case. He quickly cleaned out the trumpet, wiping down the gleaming brass, dragging the cloth through the valves to dry it, and set it into the velvet lining.

Dany waited and caught his attention when he stood, slinging the case over his shoulder. "Are you first cello?" she asked, wanting more information. He was the only one she knew now from the sympthony, she wanted to get as much information as possible. Especially if they were to play together.

He nodded. "Aye."

"But you also play guitar and trumpet?"

"I play a lot of instruments."

"Yeah so does everyone," she scoffed. They all said that. Viola players claimed they could play violin and vice versa. Guitar players claimed they were also proficient in banjo and ukelele sometimes. Anything for the résumé. She rolled her eyes. "There's a difference in maybe playing something and being proficient in it."

Jon eyed her sideways, chuckling. "Alright, I'm proficient in a lot of instruments. And you?"

"Four."

"Let me guess."

She grinned. "Go ahead." He'd never guess.

Jon ticked off his fingers. "Violin."

"Duh."

"Guitar."

She wrinked her nose. "Yes."

They turned a corner; she had no idea where he was going, somehow she was stuck to him like a magnet, unable to tear away. He patted his pockets, searching for somethng, and removed a pack of cigarettes. He smiled sheepishly. "Bad habit."

"Terrible habit, especially for someone who plays a brass or woodwind instrument," she chided.

He lit the cigarette, pocketing the lighter with a flick of his fingers. She spied a wolf etched into the side of the silver Zippo. He paused at a corner, studying her a moment. She shifted, oddly uncomfortable with the x-ray-like gaze. His irises were gray, a peculiar color. They shimmered, reminding her of the ash on the cigarette or else storm clouds. He blew a stream of smoke out to the side, gesturing with the cigarette. "Piano."

She grit her teeth. Eyebrow quirked, she shrugged. "Alright. Yes."

"I've got three. How many more guesses do I get?"

"One more, I told you I play four."

Jon kept his gaze on her, once again giving her the x-ray once over. He narrowed his eyes and smiled wide. "Harp."

Her mouth dropped. What...how...WHAT!? "You cheated!" she exclaimed, at the same time he burst out laughing. He dodged the fist she flung out to smack at his shoulder, this perfect stranger, but she was positive he deserved it. First for chastising her when she completely accidentally stepped into him, then for his comments after her incredbile audition, and now well, for whatever was happening with this. She glared at him, simultaneously impressed he got them right and also annoyed.

Now he laughed. "How did I cheat? I didn't know you until like three hours ago."

"But you did," she realized. He knew her real name. Could have been a good guess, but she tried vrey hard to keep the lives separate. So how did he know?

They were still walking. She realized they were approaching a nondescript old building, stone and worn, with moss growing on the side from the healthy amount of humidity King's Landing endured. There was a large olive tree out front, providing shade over a fountain of a series of wolves chasing each other. They stopped near the entrance to the small courtyard, his fingers idly running down the strap of his trumpet case, his cigarette almost worn down to the filter.

He flicked off some ash, drew in a last pull of it, and stubbed it out, tossing it into a trash can. He smiled again, but it didn't meet his eyes. He tapped her case. "Violin, easy." He gestured to her fingers. "You have piano hands, calluses on your wrists, your black and white outfit, probably what, teacher too?" She scowled, refusing to acknowledge he was right. He carried on. "Guitar because that was actually just a guess."

"And harp? How'd you guess that?" she demanded.

Jon blinked, shrugging. "You're a Targaryen."

Her jaw set. "Yes," she ground out. She arched her brows, silver bouncing up to her hairline. "Which I would kindly request you keep to yourself."

"You should probably hide your eye color then."

"I could just be Lyseni or Valyrian otherwise."

"You have your mother's face," he said. He continued, her shoulders drawing back at that, surprised. He smiled again. "And Rhaegar Targaryen was one of my first music teachers. I know a Targaryen and I know he has a little sister and well, Targaryens are the only harp players that actually make it a worthy instrument to learn." He grinned wider. "I'll give you a hint. One of the instruments I do not know how to play is harp."

Rhaegar's student? Her mother? Harp? What? There were questions swirling around in her mind, before she could ask him to clarify. He walked by her and to the fountain, dropping some of the coins in it and then depositing his earnings into a box near the entrance to the building. He tipped his fingers to his temple, saluting her. "See you around Daenerys Targaryen. Or Dany Storm. Which do you want me to call you?"

"Dany," she whispered, unsure what to make of him.

He nodded, smiling. "Dany." He turned, walking off and reached into his pocket, removing a harmonica, lifting it to his lips and humming off on it as he wandered away, out of sight.