#muunfel project

[neonthewrite]

Two Thieves

Finally, some progress on GTJuly (2023)! This next prompt was "Weapon" and I really flip flopped on what to write for this one. Until I remembered Eral and his extremely effective weapons that really level the playing field for a teeny little pixie.

~~~

Two thieves watched and waited, putting in their best effort to avoid looking like thieves. Leaning against a wall and keeping an eye on the many coming and going in the market could easily start to look like loitering if they weren’t careful, but they’d been at this long enough to mind their demeanor. Sturdy, plain canvas clothes, a little too worn to mark them as students at the college taking up a good portion of the eastern district of the city but not worn enough for anyone to accuse them of being hard workers, helped them blend in. Just another pair of humans in a city largely populated by humans. They could be travelers, or locals on a break from tending one of the nearby shops, or youths sneaking off from their errands.

But no. They were thieves.

The taller and bulkier of the two, who usually went by Arden, scanned the crowd without noticing most of the faces. The city wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small, either, and a lot of people from all walks of life wandered through. Arden looked for signs of an easy mark anywhere but the faces he wouldn’t remember anyway.

His companion, Willow, an aptly-named little thing who used his extra-youthful looks to great advantage most of the time, watched the crowd with much more boredom, until suddenly his face lit up. “Arden. By the tailor shop. Red topped foreigner.”

Arden lazily scanned towards the tailor shop. No need to be obvious about his gaze. Indeed, near the shop, he found said foreigner happily chatting up the owner of a fruit and wine cart on the broad sidewalk. The guy wore travel clothes that might have been fine once, but had since worn out. His pack hung heavy on his shoulders. His armor was light and spry and he held himself like one who knew how to draw attention. By his brown skin and deep red hair, he probably got his fair share of sidelong glances in this area. Something seemed familiar about the tattoos on his forearms, bared by his rolled up sleeves as he gestured along with whatever tale he told the cart owner.

“Meraevrian?” Arden guessed, his mouth barely moving. “What’s he doing all the way up here?”

Willow shrugged, but he’d clearly made up his mind about something. “He’s probably got some good trinkets from far away. What say I find out where he’s—is that a pixie with him?”

Arden hadn’t noticed right away, either. From several shops away, the two thieves could hardly be blamed for not noticing the tiny figure standing right atop the cart, also involved in the conversation. Leaf wings and verdant armor made them look like a little decoration for the wares on offer. The pixie couldn’t be more than six inches tall.

And suddenly Arden thought he knew who that pair was. “Foreign redhead with a leafy pixie … we’re gonna forget we ever saw them, you hear me, Will?”

Willow turned a frown his way. “Seriously? A wandering chatterbox and a tiny little fairy? They’d be a cinch. We might even be able to get some pixie dust, if not a whole pixie—”

“We don’t muddy our hands with stealing people, you idiot,” Arden snapped at him, again barely moving his mouth lest someone somehow read his side of the conversation. “Besides. I heard about those two. If it was just one or the other I’d have missed the signs. But there’s been rumors about the Meraevrian and his pixie friend.”

Willow slumped against the wall again, but seemed to accept the warning. “What, is the guy a tough mage or something?”

Arden huffed in lieu of shaking his head. “What I hear, he’s just a bard. Not much going on there that we need to worry about. It’s the pixie we need to be careful not to piss off. And not for any of those ‘beware the fae’ reasons.”

Willow’s expression flattened. “Horse. Shit. The little fae are still little. You could cart that guy off in a pint if you wanted to.”

Arden turned a sharp gaze on his confident friend. “That pixie has weapons, Willow. Weapons no pixie ought to have their tiny little hands on, and yet they’re made for him. Take a good look at him, yeah?”

Willow did so, and Arden watched warily, too. The pixie, seen from a distance, really didn’t look formidable at all. If not for his wings being open and occasionally twitching with whatever he said to his companion, they might not be recognizable. He looked just like any of the small fae, entirely too easy to mess with if they decided it. Willow was probably coming to the same conclusion all over again, so Arden nudged his shoulder with an elbow. “That little guy has a crossbow that shoots through anything. See it on his belt? And the rapier on the other side deals more pain than any needle that size ever should.”

Willow scoffed. “I dunno. Anything better than rumors about them?”

Arden scoffed back, managing to sound much less like a petulant child as he did so. “Take it from Sal at the bar, who heard from a friend of an acquaintance of an associate that a man two towns over got both hands lopped off by one shot from that pixie. So he’s got good aim, too. And maybe they are just rumors. But I like having both hands. So I’m going to leave the damn pixie and his bard alone, and you can sing that to the gods.”

Willow glared up at Arden, still unconvinced. Arden stared back, unbothered by Willow’s disbelief. He’d never apologize for being cautious, especially when there were far less risks involved in targeting almost anyone else visiting the market that day. Neither of them could afford those rumors being true.

As usual, eventually Arden’s steady conviction won out against Willow’s impatience. Willow sighed and returned to scanning the crowd, though they both glanced towards the cart when the bard and pixie took their leave. Those leaf wings became a green blur for the short flight from the cart to the man’s shoulder, and the sun winked off the rapier at the little guy’s hip even from that distance.

Two thieves watched and waited and pretended they never saw either of those newcomers to town.

[neonthewrite]

This is literally just what Imperfect Storm has turned out to be. Some badass fights, some quality banter, and of course shenanigans and stumbling their way into furthering the plot. I think they'll make it, but they aren't taking the easy route, that's for sure.

We've got:

Elias Dawn, the demigod trickster who dual-classes as a bard and a ranger. He's the charisma hog.

Eral the Arbor Pixie, a jaded rogue who's very good at getting into and out of trouble in rapid succession.

Joleth Bay, an exiled elf barbarian who is well versed in the Way of Hit With Weapon.

With cameos like:

Gladys, celestial sea serpent

Cira, a bard-turned-oracle with permanent word salad (words get mixed up on the way from her brain to her mouth)

Guinivere, a mage who really should have been in a party of murder hobos when I initially played her.

all of your dnd character are now adventuring together as a single group. what’s that party lookin like and how fucked are they

[neonthewrite]

Learning to be Friendly

Today's prompt "Rainy Day", brought me back to the cyberpunk au featuring Elias Dawn and their little android buddy. Fifty is coming right along with learning how to be a good friend, and Elias is coming to really appreciate having him around.

Previous stories:

Error 50 | Personal Assistant

~~~

The rain used to mean so much. El used to feel it, used to be able to follow the progress of every drop from the cloud to the ground. From gentle drizzles to raucous storms, they had once had a grasp on it all. Storms, weather, the balance of energies between the sky and the earth, that had been theirs.

And somewhere deep inside, they supposed, it still was. But ever since their hands had been numbed, so many of their other senses had fallen dim too. 

“I anticipate this rain will let up within the hour,” came the small, somewhat tinny voice from their shoulder. Fifty was a slight weight there, originally made of sturdy but lightweight metals and wiring for the easiest portability. El imagined his original specs had seemed quite luxurious for whoever had paid for the little assistant droid. He’d still ended up down in the scrapyards, though. El doubted he even realized he’d been rescued.

El smiled and turned away from the grimy window, the one view from the attic level of the small shack they’d broken into for shelter. “Oh yeah? You manage to connect to the weather network, Fifty?” they asked, trying to catch sight of the small droid standing on their shoulder.

The small droid, only six inches or so tall, had a surprising sense of balance where he stood. He barely wavered from El’s normal movements; his little gyroscopes must be in top shape despite his consignment to the scraps. He had his hands clasped politely behind his back. He shook his head. “I have not attempted to connect to the forecast network,” he admitted matter-of-factly. “I am equipped with predictive algorithms in case of offline needs. As you have expressed reluctance to connect to the government-sanctioned networks, I have refrained. This is friendly behavior, correct?”

El grinned. They reached up to gently brush a fingertip over the small swoop of metal meant to mimic a tidy hairstyle atop Fifty’s head. “Good man, Fifty. Only independent education networks, just to be safe.”

As Fifty lifted a hand to thoughtfully touch his head, El found themself drawn back to the window, staring out from where they sat leaning against the wall. They’d used a lot of energy climbing the service ladder out of the scrap level, and it was a wonder they hadn’t dozed off. The rain, an unexpected little reprieve from the harsh sun glancing off all the glass and metal of the city above, had invigorated them in some small, distant way that they almost forgot existed.

“El,” Fifty spoke up again, his little voice quieter than before, but using that almost programmed friendliness that probably came with his artificial voice. “I have some questions. They are not related, and I do not anticipate I will find them in the educational databases. May we discuss them?”

El smirked faintly. “Sure, Fifty. Come here.” They offered a palm at their shoulder, and once the small droid stepped onto it, ferried him around to face him better. “I’ll do my best to answer.”

Fifty nodded and placed his little hands over his chest where his heart would be if he were organic. Instead, El imagined the small power crystal somewhere beneath the layers of doll clothes and metal plating. “I am grateful, El. My first question: I do not see you without your gloves often. Why is this? My second question: Are you … saddened … by the rain?”

El stared at him thoughtfully. Sometimes, depending on the dim lighting the odd pair found themselves in, a faint blue reflection shone on Fifty’s metal plating, indicating El’s constantly-glowing eye. It was a constant reminder that they were truly an unlikely pair, and yet there they were together. El had suggested that Fifty could be their friend; asking casual questions about someone fell into that category.

“Saddened,” El repeated, intrigued by the little droid’s choice of get-to-know-you questions.

Fifty held up a hand with one finger extended to aid their prompt explanation. “A state of having been made unhappy by something.”

El snickered. “I gotcha, buddy. I was echoing you while I thought about it.” They didn’t mind explaining the nuances of conversation to the little droid, even if something like that might seem obvious. If nothing else, they wanted to see how much of it would stick in the little guy’s understanding of socializing.

“Understood!” Fifty said, his little green eye lights flickering in acknowledgement. “I await the response.”

And he did seem content to wait for however long it took. El only took a short moment to figure out how much he wanted to say. It wasn’t like the little droid had any loyalty to someone else. “Your questions are actually related, Fifty. Even if they don’t seem like they are. But before I give you the answer, I need you to promise you’ll keep it a secret.”

Fifty straightened, if it was even possible from his already prim and proper posture. “Of course, El. To reveal information given in confidence would be unfitting behavior for a friend.”

El nodded. “Exactly.” Then, they brought their free hand to their mouth to grip the glove with their teeth. Tugging it free, they revealed their hand and arm, where their brown skin was shiny and warped with layered burn scars. After spitting their glove to the side, they brought their hand close to their still-covered hand, palm up to mirror it. “My hands don’t have much feeling left in them. The gloves and bracers are to protect them from getting hurt without me noticing the damage.”

Fifty stared at El’s scarred hand for a moment before cautiously stepping across the gap between their hands, alighting on the bare palm. As they’d said, El barely felt the little footsteps. Fifty looked up from his small metal feet, and though he couldn’t make expressions on his face, El imagined an expectant look. “And the rain? How is its effect on your emotions related to these scars?”

El’s next smile was a little less beaming than usual. “I used to be able to feel the rain. Not like someone feels it falling on them, getting them soaked. It used to be a connection I had to different weather stuff. And the same people that caused my hands to be burned and numbed also numbed my connection to the rain. It’s still there, but it’s harder to reach. That’s why the rain makes me a little sad. But I still love it.”

Fifty took that in for several quiet, still seconds. The patter of the rain on the window made the backdrop of his processing. Finally, he held out his hands placatingly. “I am sorry about these things, El. I am also sorry for asking such sensitive questions. That was not friendly.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” El laughed. “You didn’t know, and I don’t mind you learning these things about me. You’ve been a good friend.”

Fifty paused again, and then turned his attention up to the window. “I am glad I’ve been a good friend. May I stand near the window? I would like to watch the rain with you, and understand the way it makes you feel. If you are willing to tell me more.”

El shifted where they sat, but something like gratitude crossed their face. “Sure, buddy. Let’s watch the rain together.”

[neonthewrite]

Wrong Place Wrong Time

I didn't feel up for writing yesterday, so today we start with yesterday's prompt "Banter"! I wanted to use this one to introduce a new character that I haven't been able to use anywhere yet. So, here's Hype the Frost Pixie, making his debut in true pixie fashion by getting in trouble.

~~~

Hype blinked several times, a slow attempt to reorient himself after the chaotic movement he’d just endured, not to mention the several times he’d tumbled against the harsh metal all around him. The presence of iron, thin bars of the stuff arranged in an orderly fashion, tickled his skin like pin feathers. He might not be the most powerful pixie out there, but he was magical enough for it to count.

There was no time to be grumpy about the iron of the cage, or even about the bruises already forming where he’d bumped into it. He had to try to focus on the human that had tossed him in there.

The man had already said a lot to him. His mouth was moving rapidly, and the hand not clinging to the top of the cage gestured wildly. Hype, seated on a metal floor that actively made his skin crawl, had a hard time parsing anything out of the faint, infinitesimal mumbles that he could make out, to say nothing of the rapidly moving mouth. He stared, squinting and trying to concentrate, and got little more than he would if he were to close his eyes and listen. Considering how harshly the guy had grabbed him and tossed him in a cage, he wasn’t sure why he ought to bother trying to understand him.

Judging by what he could see of the man’s attire‒thick cloth shirt, sturdy leather gloves, a bow slung to his back, and a bandanna tied around his neck for an easy-access mask‒he was a scout of some kind. A scout with a small camp near a riverbank who did not take kindly to a lone pixie buzzing nearby.

There was a pause as the man stopped talking and fixed Hype with an expectant look. When Hype continued to stare blankly at him, he scoffed and rolled his eyes. Then, his lips formed a very clear “Well?”

Hype crossed his arms and fixed an unimpressed look on the face looming close. His wings, long and narrow and clear like warped ice, flickered in annoyance at his back. He’d learned to talk back, though he couldn’t hear how clear or how loud his own voice would be when he responded. “Well what? I don’t know what you want to hear.”

It was tempting to throw in some quick handspeak to emphasize his point, but he doubted this human knew any of the common fae signs. The rest, Hype had devised with his family as needed.

Luckily, his sign language was clearly not needed. His response had already taken the wind out of the human’s sails, at least enough that his shoulders sagged and he didn’t lean over the cage quite as much. “Di- you no- -ear me?” he asked, slower now that his frantic interrogation had been derailed.

Reading lips had never been an exact science, though Hype found it a lot easier to fill in the gaps when talking to the big folk than when he was chatting with a fellow pixie. He tilted his head, still managing to appear for all the world like he was unbothered. “I didn’t hear that either,” he said. This time, he did include some handspeak for emphasis, gesturing emphatically to one ear before pointing to his mouth. “But you are talking slower so I caught it this time. Kind of you to let me catch up.”

The human’s frown deepened, and he glanced away from the cage at last. Nearby the river rushed on, and overhead the trees waved in the breeze. Hype assumed they made sounds, though he’d never really asked anyone what they were like. He waited with narrowed eyes for the man to decide what he would do with the startling realization that his rant moments ago had effectively been to no one.

Large shoulders moved up and down in a sigh, meaning Hype’s cage moved up and down too. He considered knocking on the bars to bring the attention back to himself, but he didn’t want to touch them. Instead, he spoke up again, “Well? What do you want, merry man? Usually it’s pixies playing tricks on the big folk. Not the other way around.”

The man scowled at him. He said something, quick and snappy, probably a scathing retort. Hype held up his hands in feigned exasperation, and the guy looked like he’d bitten a lemon before saying, more slowly, “I know those bastar-s good (no, could, Hype corrected in his head as he parsed) use a deaf pixie scou- to snea- their messages aroun-. You’re -oming with me.”

Well, so much for gentle banter and building a rapport. Hype frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but he lost his voice as the man leaned down to drop the cage on the ground, then turned away. He could only watch as the guy started gathering up his meager camp, resolutely refusing to look over at the cage and saying nothing to the frost pixie trapped within it. Hype didn’t see the point in trying to ask who “those bastards” were. Apparently the big folk were at war again, or at least at conflict, and Hype had wandered into it by mistake.

Surrounded as he was by iron, he couldn’t summon so much as a snowflake to his aid. Until he found out more and maybe got a chance to talk to someone with some sense of reason, he would have to bide his time. Pixies weren’t exactly known for patience, but Hype thought he could manage.

If nothing else, he’d get a halfway interesting story out of all this.

[neonthewrite]

The prompt challenge continues! And I have some more things to share! Idk where this one is going really, or where it came from. But y'know sometimes you need some characters learning to be just a tad nicer to each other. As a treat.

~~~

The rain and the mud were bad enough; Alex didn’t need his smirk, too. She winced as she tried to take another step in the mud, but the thick substance clung to her legs like glue. Somehow, having an audience only made it worse. It was like Dorian’s amused spectating encouraged it to be worse. “You,” she said, gritting her teeth as she took another labored step, “are not helping. It’s bad enough you don’t sink into the mud, you have to laugh when I do?”

As if to drive home her point, his next step was a harsh stomp. Despite having soles the size of a child’s bed and heavy boots thick enough to weather all the elements, he barely broke the surface of the mud. The impact shook the ground nonetheless, though, and Alex wobbled. Dorian stood tall over her, not flaunting his twenty foot height but not really needing to.

“I do have to laugh,” he said, watching the path ahead. “Because I offered to carry you across this stretch of the road. And you said no, because your pride is more important than keeping your shoes in any kind of good repair.”

Alex clenched her jaw. She couldn’t argue that point. When he’d suggested carrying her until they found more stable ground, she’d balked at the idea. And if she really gave it any amount of thought, he was right about her reasoning, too. She was prideful, and the thought of being carried around by someone, even a titan who by all accounts couldn’t help how big he was, grated against her independence.

She fought her way through a few more steps in the mud before a feeling of dread curled in her stomach. She was sinking further, and after the last step the mud was up to her thighs. It felt like a grip had closed around her legs.

“O-okay, fine,” she said, excusing her stammer as a side effect of the chill from the rain. “I could use your mud-immunity. I can’t move.”

Dorian, who already walked atop the mud at a leisurely pace, came to an equally leisurely stop. He barely glanced back at her but she saw that smirk still stuck in place. “What was that? All worn out now and want my help?”

She grimaced. “Dorian, I don’t have time. I’m sinking.”

“Why not just back up a bit and go around? Or better yet, just ignore the problem and be more stubborn, surely that’ll work‒”

“Dorian, please just help me out!”

He turned his focus on her at last and found her trying and failing to use her hands to dig away some of the mud, but it was steadily pulling her down. Alex wasn’t looking at him anymore; she was only watching with a frantic heart as her efforts did nothing. Where she normally came almost to his knees, now she was barely past his ankles.

Until he took a few steps towards her and knelt down at last. Both of his large hands wrapped around her waist and hoisted her up; defying the pull of the mud as if it were water. He hadn’t yet explained why he could ignore a simple fact of nature, but at the moment Alex didn’t care. The mud didn’t behave right for him and that meant she was free of it at last. It even sloughed off of her far quicker than it ought to, dropping back to the ground with several plops though she merely dangled gently from Dorian’s grip.

“Thank you,” she said, avoiding his gaze and trying not to sound too pouty about needing the rescue in the first place. “If you don’t mind setting me down on some more solid ground…”

Dorian’s smirk returned at last. “Not a chance, princess. You’re hopeless out here in this weather.”

She glared at him and opened her mouth, but only a yelp came out as he shifted his grip and held her closer to his chest in the crook of his arm. She was so startled by the move that she forgot to squirm for a moment. “Dorian! This is unnecessary! And embarrassing!”

He sighed, and from this close she felt how his chest expanded and contracted. “Alex, there is no reason at all to deny help in this situation. I know I was teasing you, but really. I’m more equipped than you are to deal with this terrain. Just relax for now and we’ll cover plenty of ground.”

She grumbled and crossed her arms, sulking but inevitably reclining in the safe cradle of his arm. She’d gone so much of her life not pulling her own weight. It was only recently she’d been able to understand that about herself and start working to improve it. “I could have made it myself. Just so we’re clear.”

Dorian hummed, his smooth voice rumbling in his nearby chest. “Maybe, but isn’t this so much easier?”

“I …” she couldn’t come up with a rebuttal. As he strode forward, unaffected by the rain and the mud and the fog, Alex frowned with more contemplation than consternation. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

[neonthewrite]

Crisis Averted

GT July is not forgotten! The next prompt on the list was "Trickster" and there was no other option for me but Elias Dawn, my halfgod of mischief and storms. Luckily, Elias has a friend around for when the mischief impulses get too strong.

~~~

Elias’ breaths came quick and shallow and her heart pounded in her chest. Adrenaline coursed alongside electricity through her body, with the occasional blue spark flickering over her skin. Her muscles quivered and she gripped her weapons in hands that had gone pale. Nearby, Eral hovered with his little crossbow still held at the ready, and it felt like Elias could hear every single beat of his leafy pixie wings.

She’d won, and her opponents either scrambled to get away from her or lay motionless on the ground bearing marks of her efforts. There’d been a lot of them, though. Even with Eral there and kicking as much ass as that pixie ever did, Elias had been pushed harder than usual.

It was hard to tell what her actual threshold was. Sometimes she thought the limits moved depending on the day. Whatever it was, some fights drew on a lot of her divinity without any side effects. Others, though, tapped into a side of her that she tried to keep under close control. 

A little mischief here and there never rattled those inner chains. Active and gleeful sabotage, however, came with risks. Her inner trickster, much like her inner storm, always wanted out. She wasn’t a full god‒she couldn’t command her divinity with the ease that someone without a half-human body could. She was good. So so good. She had told herself this since she was a small child. Her abilities couldn’t be all that bad, even if she went a little overboard once in a while.

She grinned, then winced slightly as it agitated a split lip. She’d heal pretty quickly with her divinity in open use, but that wouldn’t clean up the blood she’d already gotten on herself.

No matter. She could still have some fun. She glanced down at the dual swords she held at her sides, tilting them to check the sides of the blades. Filthy. A real pity. After a few deft shakes, they were as clean as they were going to be for a while, and she slipped them back into their sheaths with a pair of metallic whispers.

Putting away her arms drew Eral closer. He stowed his weapon in turn and buzzed closer with a confident grin on his bitty little face. “Well that was a lot,” he said. He would have gone on, but instead let out a quiet hrk as an ambitious spark leapt off Elias’ skin and gave him a little zap. He didn’t drop, but he did waver. “Hey, watch it! Ground those out!”

Elias glanced sidelong at him and snickered. “What, you don't want a little pick-me-up? A little wake-up spark?”

Eral huffed and crossed his arms, a pose that always fascinated Elias when the little guy did it in midair. “I’m already plenty awake, so no. I don’t want you zapping me. Ass.”

Elias pouted her lips in mock disappointment and waggled her fingers, where several happy blue sparks danced back and forth at the ready. “Not even for old times’ sake? Didn’t we have fun when we first met, and I zapped you out of the air?”

Eral narrowed his eyes, but didn’t look at Elias’ hand. Didn’t bite on the obvious distraction. “You had fun with that. I wanted to teach you a lesson for it. I still might.”

Elias tilted her head back and forth a few times and hummed. “Fiiiine. No sparks for pixie. Spoilsport.” She closed her hand in a fist and the sparks fizzled out, briefly tingling through the air as if they shared her disappointment. The storm didn’t want to settle any more than she did.

Eral, sharp eye that he was, didn’t relax. “You’re acting weird. The fight’s over, Elias, put away some of the trickster. You never like having it out this much.”

That was true. Elias tended to come back from mischief sprees with immense regret weighing down her shoulders, filling her with silly things like shame, sometimes even guilt and regret. Those moments, returning to herself, made her feel more human than she ever had a right to feel considering what she was and what she wasn’t. It was heavy.

But for now, she was lighter than an ion, and far more energetic. “It’ll be totally fine this time,” she said. Then, on an impulse, she reached out and snatched Eral out of the air, gently but unavoidably fast. 

“Hey!” Eral flinched and threw his arms up in surprise as he was dragged in front of Elias’ face. His wings twitched a few times before curling into leaf bud shapes at his back, but he didn’t squirm as much as he might for someone else grabbing at him. Elias cupped her hands beneath him once she had him close, and grinned when he still didn’t try to flutter away, instead opting to lean against her curled fingers and resume crossing his arms and glaring at her.

Bothered. Annoyed, even, but not afraid. That was important. “What do you say, Eral? What say we head back to town and show ‘em what an old pixie and a young mischief maker can do? It’ll be funny!”

Eral’s expression softened just a bit. It was hard to see his face sometimes, but Elias had him inches away from her own. She saw in real time as he went from a glare to the faintest little smirk. “I say,” he paused to inspect himself and glance over Elias’ face, “that you look like you could use a good wash, not a good prank.”

Elias’ expression dropped into another exaggerated pout. “Come on. You know it’d be great. They’d love it, after dealing with all these bandits for so long. I’m hilarious!”

Eral shrugged and held out a wavery hand in a so-so gesture (he had to know how devastating that’d be, the little shit). “We could debate that. Sometimes I’m laughing. I’m not laughing now. Pretty sure you need to just calm down. Play some slow music, maybe. After you shut down your compulsion to cause problems.” He paused, and they both blinked at each other, before his smirk grew and he shrugged. “At least for the people who haven’t earned it. There’s probably other bandits waiting to get pranked and we’ll find them later. What do you say?”

He didn’t always have a speech just for her, but when he did it tended to work. Elias felt more like herself by the second. With a sigh, she lowered her hands to give him some space and surveyed their erstwhile battleground again. “I suppose it’d be better if we let the poor townsfolk have a reprieve. Not really all that fun to kick someone while they’re already down.”

Eral clapped a hand on her thumb like one might clap a friend on the arm if they stood at the same scale. “That’s a smart trickster,” he agreed. “And if you really need to be funny, why not buy a round or two of drinks and then anything you do will make ‘em laugh.”

“Ah! Clever pixie, getting us to the pub,” Elias laughed. She ferried him up to a shoulder to offer a perch there, and he hopped over on light steps. “You got the better of me yet again.”

“I’ve been at this mischief thing a bit longer is all. Got a good eye for it. Let’s head back.”

Elias nodded, and as she turned to leave, she welcomed the heaviness of every step.

[neonthewrite]

Tiny Pixie Hands

Decided to try my hand at the GT July prompt list made by @gianttol. The prompt for today is "Fluffy" and I decided to write something with Elias and Eral.

Also, you may have seen previous snippets with Elias using he/him pronouns. Elias is genderfluid and a shapeshifter, so she's presenting very femme in this story. Just a heads up to avoid confusion!

~~~

The chill in the air was sharp and solid, each breeze like sandpaper on Elias’ cheeks. She didn’t wander through the perpetually wintery regions so far north very often, and every visit reminded her of why. That cold found a way to seep into her bones and stay there, a slow takeover until the involuntary shivers came like clockwork.

At least she was better prepared for it since the last quest that took her into the tundra. She’d chosen a shape that stood shorter than her usual, stockier. She’d opted for plenty of natural padding - thick curves and plenty of tummy to protect her core. Her hair was longer and darker red than she usually kept it - something to help absorb whatever warmth from the sun she could.

She’d bought some hard-weather clothes from a group of traders that frequented the area, so she knew the gear would last and it would work. She was well insulated in hides lined with downy fur, and boots that had a hardy grip on the frozen ground. They’d even given her a pair of sungoggles for when she eventually reached the snowy areas. The coat had a lovely collar of soft rabbit down that occasionally tickled under her jaw, and similar tufts stuck out of the thick gloves she wore over her hands.

She was an adorable bundle, and it put a certain spring in her step.

Eral, by contrast, was not so cheerful for the climate they’d wandered into. It came as no surprise; he stood only six inches tall, and his little leafy wings were paper thin after all. They’d managed to get a few tiny scraps of hide for him to haphazardly tie to himself, but the traders had nothing to offer that was made for pixie size.

Of course they don’t, Eral had griped. Rare to find people that think of us without being told to.

Elias felt bad. She’d offered a pocket earlier, but Eral had stubbornly shrugged it off. Even now, he flew freely, scouting several feet ahead at a time as they made their way up the gentle slope of the tundra.

Ever since they’d come north, his wings had begun the slow color change from vibrant green to snowy white. The edges blended in well with the stark surroundings, but the rest stood out, especially against the deep green of spruce needles.

He landed on a low branch to wait for her to catch up, swaying faintly in the breeze. Elias wandered closer, eyeing the pixie when he was focused on the path ahead. He had pale skin on a normal day, so it was startlingly easy to see how red his cheeks and the tips of his little pointed ears had become. He cupped his hands and blew into the hollow he formed to try to warm them, and only the tiniest puff of breath escaped him. The poor little guy would freeze himself to death over his pride at this point.

“That’s it,” Elias declared, reaching up and scooping the pixie into her gloved hand. She took care not to pinch a little wing as she claimed him. “You need a break from scouting duty and I need a walking buddy to chat with me or I might literally go mad out here.”

“Elias!” Eral complained, flinching and then squirming in the leather cage she’d effectively made of her glove. “I’m fine! I don’t need to hide in your damn pocket!”

“Oh, buddy, it’s way too late for that. I see you shivering.” With her free hand, Elias pulled forward the fluffy lapel of her coat. Behind it was a thick woolen shirt, a second layer of cold protection. “I know you have all your hangups about cuddling with your very best friend and favorite trickster, but you need to warm up, okay? I don’t want you freezing solid out here before we even find the place we’re looking for.”

She waited for his reply. She didn’t always do that when pulling tricks, and Eral paused in his grumpy squirming as the realization seemed to come to him. Inwardly, Elias was relieved. Outwardly, she bolstered her request with a wide grin and a bat of her eyelashes.

Eral groaned. “Fine. Fine! Just don’t go falling on me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Elias confirmed as she opened up her hand and let him crawl into her coat. She settled the lapel gently over him again, though he still shifted around a bit until he found a comfortable spot to rest atop her chest close to her collarbone--

“Gods above your hands are freezing!” she yelped as two miniscule spots of cold touched the skin just above the collar of her sweater.

Eral could be heard snickering under the fluffy collar of rabbit fur. “Hey, this was your idea. And for once it was a good one, I’m gonna steal every drop of warmth I can here.”

Elias shuddered as the cold lingered. Damn tiny pixie hands. “Okay but I’m gonna sing to pass the time now,” she teased. The banter would work better than anything else. Eral still had his pride, so Elias couldn’t rub it in too much that she’d won the argument. “Any requests?”

[neonthewrite]

Personal Assistant

We have arrived at day 9! Today's prompt: "Hide". I decided to do more with the cyberpunk AU for Elias and their little robot friend. They're still learning a bit about how to manage keeping a tiny bot around.

~~~

The scrapyard bots were changing shifts. A glance at the world above, beyond the partially-underground piles of trash and recycling and everything the city didn’t want to see, the sky was turning a strange sickly orange. El stuck close to one of the pillars under a walkway and eyed that growing sunrise with some apprehension. They’d be easier to spot wandering among the piles, if a police drone happened to angle downwards. They kept a hood over their deep red hair, but that wouldn’t matter much. People weren’t supposed to be down in the piles without a permit, and El certainly couldn’t apply for one.

They could probably find somewhere to shelter for the day, but they’d have to wait until the scrapyard bots had moved to their new areas. Some had to return to their depot to recharge, others were set on a specific path through the scrapyards to search for anything fallen from above.

They were very particular about sorting their scraps. Anything out of place would be seized.

In the case of unauthorized people like El, that meant being stuck in a cramped little holding cell near a work elevator, and a call to a retrieval service up above. They couldn’t simply send someone on their way; the city would miss out on a hefty fine.

Elias Dawn had spent long enough in the city’s cages. They weren’t going back into another one if they could help it.

One of the hulking scrapyard bots trundled past one of the nearest piles; they could only see the top of its chassis over the stack of old hover transports. A dome of tinted glass covered its roving scanner, which rotated back and forth in jerky movements to scan the path ahead of it. El planned to move to the next hiding spot once it had moved on and they were well out of range of that scanner.

A small, static-hazed voice piped up. “You have an appointment today at half-past-two with-kzzt!” El slapped their hand over their chest in shock, effectively cutting off the automated reminder. They winced, feeling some guilt for being so harsh against the miniature droid hidden in their chest pocket, but they didn’t have time to check on him just yet.

The scrapyard’s scanner whirled around inside that glass dome, and El had seconds before it’d spot them. They sidled around the pillar, grateful that the bot at least tried to navigate around the piles rather than crashing through them just to find the source of the noise.

Of course, on the other side of the pillar, they faced a wide open path. On the other end, about twenty yards or so away, another behemoth of a scrapper had already passed by. It had its arms deployed, and they were in the process of tearing sheets of metal into smaller pieces. The screeching sound grated against their ears, but it might mask their own sounds long enough to shake the suspicion on them.

They darted down that path, keeping to the sides of it despite the jagged metal all but reaching out from the piles for them. Their hand stayed over their chest pocket, where the little assistant bot they’d salvaged sat curled up. Occasionally, a little bot hand tested the fabric and pressed into El’s chest or palm.

Fifty, as El had decided to call the little droid, was in surprisingly good shape for something found in the scrapyards. It had only taken a little jolt of electricity to reboot his power connections and get him working again.

After that, well, El couldn’t bring themself to just leave the little guy all alone. The treads of the scrapyard bots would flatten the poor thing.

So they ran as close as they dared to the bot tearing metal sheets asunder before ducking around one of the piles and slinking off to an area that they hoped had already been checked by the wandering scrappers.

They found part of the shell of an old industrial refrigeration unit; the doors and most of the pipes and vents were long gone, but it provided a bit of shelter. They dropped to a seat with a huff and finally opened up their jacket so they could reach into the pocket to retrieve Fifty.

The little droid curled up slightly in their hand, waiting until they held it out flat to move again. Fifty had some missing casings on one leg and bore scratches and dents here and there, but otherwise he was in remarkable condition. He even still sported the little swoop of metal atop his head meant to emulate a short, swept-back hairstyle. His green eyes glowed with gentle light and he faced El patiently.

“Fifty,” El greeted, some exasperation leaking into their voice. “What was that about?”

Fifty paused. He couldn’t really emote, having a metal face, but El imagined him thinking over what they might have meant. Finally, he placed a hand on his little chest. “I am your personal assistant droid, version thirteen point five point seven. It is standard for me to give you reminders of any events logged on your calendar. You have an appointment today at -”

“Half past two,” El interrupted. “Fifty, that isn’t my calendar. I think that’s from your previous … person. I don’t have any appointments or plans. I don’t even have any contacts.”

Fifty paused again, even longer this time. Finally, he broke eye contact with El to look down at his feet. “Understood. I shall clear all appointments. Please let me know if you have further scheduling or information needs. I am your personal assistant.”

El lightly nudged Fifty’s back. “Nah, buddy. You don’t have to work for me. You can be my friend instead.”

Fifty looked up at them. No confusion showed on that face (it couldn’t), but he tilted his head thoughtfully anyway. “I shall do my best to keep my infobase up to date on the requirements,” he said. “Would it be … unfriendly of me to point out that your bionic eye appears to be malfunctioning?”

El grinned and winked their left eye, the one that constantly glowed an electric blue despite all their attempts to stop it. “Not unfriendly at all, buddy. But both of my eyes are the ones I was born with. I’ll explain that story to you eventually, okay? For now let’s just chill here for a while.”

Fifty nodded once. Then, he turned to observe the makeshift shelter they’d settled in. He turned in a full circle on El’s palm to take in all the details. Then, he looked back at El. “This refrigeration unit lacks all the necessary parts to provide lower temperatures. Will it be sufficient chill?”

El laughed. “Yeah, buddy. It’ll be fine.” Outside, the scrapyard bots went about their business, none of them suspicious of an extra presence in their midst. Things would be just fine for another day, and that was all El could ask for.

[neonthewrite]

Error 50

Day 2 of GT July! Today's prompt is "Different Era" and I had trouble deciding on something until I remembered I have a cyberpunk AU for Elias, so once again Elias gets to feature in the prompt! This will be the story of how they met their miniature assistant robot buddy.

~~~

The scrapyards at the bottom of the city, far below the walking levels and lower residences, formed a landscape of sharp hills and flickering lights. Without protective gear or a good map, one could get lost in the piles. Only so many work elevators came down this far, and even then only a scrapyard droid had the passcodes to operate them. On the occasion someone did wind up down there, flagging one of the scrapyard droids for rescue was one of the only hopes of getting back to the walking levels via the elevators.

If one wanted a rescue, anyway. A few lurkers could be seen slinking among the scraps most nights, for their own reasons. Some risked the yards for a chance at supplies. Some sought things to sell, things that should never have been thrown away. And some lurked because they knew it was a good place to hide until the drones stopped looking for them up above.

El found themself down in the piles most days for the latter reason. They didn't mind taking the long way back up on the old service ladders, and the jump down, well … their uncanny abilities were the whole reason they needed to hide in the first place. Magic had not left the world in the wake of the machines, but anyone who had it had a knack for disappearing.

The breeze whistled over the jagged metal scraps El passed as they wandered a quiet section of the scrapyards. The droids appeared to have sorted discarded robotic parts into the area - outdated hardware and corroded plating formed tall stacks around them with the occasional LED flickering as old power crystals died among the rubbish.

It seemed a good place to hide out for the night - the constant blue glow emanating from their left eye wouldn't stand out among those many lights if someone happened to scan the area. The robots around were all too broken down to ping them with the drones above, and the scrapyard bots were focusing their efforts elsewhere. They had a peaceful, quiet spot to wait out the night.

Until a tinny voice shattered the quiet. "ERROR five-zero-pksht!" El jumped away from the nearest scrap pile as the attempted message repeated itself over and over, always cutting off after zero.

It wasn't as loud as they'd initially imagined it in their startled flinch, but still they stared at the pile with a mix of betrayal and intrigue.

The error cry didn't let up, so with a grumble El leaned towards the scrap metal to try to find the source. The last thing they needed was for that sound to alert the scrapyard bots and bring way more activity to the area than they could deal with. They had some makeshift bracers on their arms, so they were safe from sharp edges at least as they gingerly shifted scrap metal around and hoped the whole pile wouldn't fall on them.

It didn't actually take long to find the deceptively small machine making all the noise. With some awe, El pulled a small humanoid android from the pile, only about six inches tall and hanging limp on their palm while their little limbs twitched. The lighting behind the eyes blinked and flickered in distressed red and the little mouth hung open as the error message continued. The little doll clothes it wore had been stained and torn, but this assist-bot had been high end once upon a time.

From the look of things, it was barely even damaged. El noted a few scratches on the little head and one leg had lost its casing. From the looks of things, this was a case of some kind of imbalance in the power crystals causing the little bot to malfunction. El wondered if someone had thrown it out without even trying to get it repaired.

"Alright, alright, hush now," El chided it over the continued error report. "Just a second."

They pulled the glove off their free hand with their teeth. The marbled scars there, which covered both their arms, almost reflected the light in some spots; El had to shake out their hand in an attempt to regain some feeling. They'd need it for the next step. 

Their finger and thumb rubbed together for a few seconds until tiny blue sparks flickered out of them; this was the tricky part. Too little and they wouldn't be of much help, and too much and they could fry the little bot's sensitive wiring. El watched the sparks build for a moment, and then finally touched their fingertip to the robot's little chest, sending electricity right into the metallic body and (hopefully) resetting the power crystal connections.

The bot went silent and the eye lights went out so the glow from El's eye washed it in blue. Several seconds passed and they began to worry that they'd overdone it after all.

Then the tiny bot shuddered, limbs coming to life and eyes lighting up soft green as it tried to sit up.

El grinned with relief and held the little robot closer to their chest while it reoriented itself. "There you are, little guy. Take your time, I've gotcha, little Error 50. We're not alone down here."

[neonthewrite]

Storm Delay

Today for GT July we have "Thunderstorm" and I would be absolutely silly to ignore the demigod of storms for a prompt like that.

~~~

With rain pounding on the roof and walls of the building with a vigor that showed no signs of tiring, and with lightning flashing in tandem with rolls of thunder out the shuttered windows, not a single guest at the inn had plans to travel on. The pub on the main floor was raucous with patrons enjoying more food and drink than they’d initially planned on. With nowhere to go and no reason to hole up in their rooms, the weary travelers had become a community, if only for a day.

Eral, seated on a shot glass at the bar, eyed the man sitting on the nearest stool. Elias Dawn had an absent smile on his face as he watched the crowd, scanning it with keen blue eyes. One hand held a tankard of drink and the other absently tapped on the bar in a rhythm only he knew about.

Eral felt every impact through his own seat, and he counted the flashes of lightning out the windows with each one. What no one else in the pub seemed to notice was that the brown-skinned, red-haired traveler from distant lands was practically conducting the storm keeping them all inside, a heavenly orchestra that was heavy on the percussion and the trickling, burbling notes of water running off every surface it encountered.

It didn’t bother Eral too much, delaying their travel. He enjoyed a lively pub as much as anyone, and he had his own thimble full of drink. After another refill or two, he might even join in some of the drinking games going on down the bar.

It probably wouldn’t be long before Elias gave into the temptation and started up some songs. The wandering bard had a penchant and a love for drawing attention. In fact, it surprised Eral that Elias hadn’t leapt onto a table already.

After a good swig from his thimble, the pixie stood up on the bar and strode to the side, putting himself more squarely in Elias’ periphery. When the demigod of storms glanced his way, Eral caught a small glow emanating from within those blue eyes, and nodded pointedly. “So. Did you call this up just to get out of walking today?”

Elias grinned, an expression that could be so foxlike on the best of days. With that glint in his eyes, the impression was especially potent. “The static was already in the air when we arrived,” he said, his voice far off, accompanied by another surge of rain slamming into the roof, “I simply helped it along.”

It was rare, Eral thought, to see Elias leaning so hard into his storm aspect without also calling upon the mischief that lived within him too. Rain and thunder and pressure in the air were as innate to Elias as the color of his eyes or the texture of his skin.

As much as Eral scolded the incorrigible halfgod for his tricks, he decided to let him have his fun this time. It wasn’t doing anyone any harm to be stuck inside with plenty of food and drink and a roaring fire, with plenty of others to share the experience with.

Instead, he marched over to Elias’ hand and gave one finger a light tap with his boot. “Well, I’m helping you along. You keep shaking the bar. So just start playing songs like we both know you want to.”

Elias drummed his fingers one more time before his hand retreated from the bar. “Will you be alright all on your lonesome?”

Eral inclined his head. “I’m just getting started. The sooner you get everyone worked up, the sooner I can win whatever drinking game I feel like. Make it loud, Dawn.”

That drew another grin out of Elias. The two of them raised their glasses to each other and took a swig, and then Elias was out of his seat, ready to bring even more noise to the place.

[neonthewrite]

Do you have any recent drabbles/ideas/plans you've been working on recently?

I do have a few things I've been working on lately!

My primary project right now is the next installment in the Food and Monsters series, the ones that originally brought Oscar into being. I'll reblog later with some links to the chapters I've posted for those interested in what Oscar is getting up to after the latest shenanigans in @brothersapart.

I'm also working away at the next full length Trust Multiverse story with @creatorofuniverses - we are pretty sure that one will go over well with any fans of the angst/fluff dichotomy ;)

Finally, I've been working on writing out the backstory for Eral the Arbor Pixie - a very cynical and jaded little guy, he's also incredibly competent in getting into and out of trouble. This will be how he got his start in the wide world of adventuring.

Excerpt of Eral’s story, I Will Not Fade:

Hard ground and foliage dug into Eral’s back and splayed wings with a harshness he didn’t recognize. Above, far above, sunlight broke past the canopy in sharp bright bursts. The breeze wavered in the leaves, gentle for them but harsh and cold for him. The rattling of branches became the crashing and splintering of wood and the songs of birds became shrieks. Everything was bigger, louder, harder than it had ever seemed before.

He couldn’t do a thing about it. His eyelids fluttered and his chest heaved with pain he couldn’t place. He tried to sit up.

A fresh wave of biting agony exploded from his shoulder and Eral understood why he hadn’t moved and why he couldn’t handle the many sensations of the woods that normally brought him comfort. A dart half the length of his body pinned him to the earth, three inches of reed bound with thin wire and tipped in a razor point. Eral only observed it in the corner of his eye; while he could turn his head, he found that he wouldn’t. Looking would be to admit the trouble he was in.

Thank you for checking in! I know I'm not as prolific on this blog as I'd like, but things really are progressing nicely in the things I'm working on. 🥰

[neonthewrite]

NaNoWriMo Day 30

Today wasn't really a writing day, since I actually finished my goal on the 28th. However, I wanted to make a post to celebrate completing another year of National Novel Writing Month! I was really unsure going into this one, as I've been very stressed about various things, not to mention I wasn't writing very much daily before November arrived.

But here I am! Another 50k down! And in a new story with some new characters to explore! I had so much fun and I really appreciate those of you who peeked at the blog to see my progress throughout the month!

Bonus Excerpt:

“A visitor for me?” Was it a voice, or was it thunder? Blake clapped his hands over his ears, though some part of him knew it might be a sign of disrespect to try to block out that particular voice. He couldn’t help it. As the echoes rumbled around him, he looked up, his eyes wide and his body shaking.

He almost wished he hadn’t looked for the source of that voice, because he found it.

He was tucked up in the corner of the cavernous room overhead. The titan of air had pale grey skin marked here and there with darker grey, like the clouds on an overcast sky. Eyes the color of a clear day stared down at Blake, the pressure of that gaze like a physical weight. The corners upturned with some kind of amusement, and the slit pupils widened by degrees. Storm grey hair in a handsome swoop moved in an unseen breeze.

The titan didn’t have a humanoid lower half, but rather an unfathomably huge snake tail. Below his hips, grey coils that could stretch across what felt like a mile of sky bunched into the corner of the room. Blake couldn’t see where that tail ended.

The hands, each bigger than Blake’s whole body by several feet, pressed into the walls up there. The titan grinned, showing off fangs that matched the rest of his snakelike body. “A visitor indeed,” he all but purred. To Blake’s surprise, he spoke quieter than before. “It’s not easy to sneak your way into my humble house, not for you little folk below. I’m intrigued already.”

Blake really didn’t like the way that titan stared at him. There was a long pause in which he craned his neck back to stare up at him, coiled up in that high corner of the room, and he stared down at him, intrigued.

At length, the titan’s half-lidded eyes closed entirely. A tongue slipped out from between those lips, long and forked at the end. Blake shuddered at the brief sight, and the titan smirked as it disappeared once more.

“That’s fear all over you,” he noted playfully. “Why ever would a human, an accomplished mage in fact, be so afraid of big old me?”

[neonthewrite]

NaNoWriMo Day 1

It begins - I am not sure if today's momentum actually reflects how the following days will go, as I hyped myself up for this particular scene. However, I didn't actually finish the scene, so there's high hopes! I am so happy to finally get to write these characters.

Word Count: 2279

Excerpt:

At length, he came to her table - or rather, he stood alongside it. Even then, she couldn’t catch a glimpse of his face with the shadow of his cowl stubbornly giving no hints. Marina waited an extra beat, but apparently it was her turn to try to catch this outsider’s attention. He turned, just a bit. She finally caught a glimpse of the shadowed jaw, masculine in its angles and the faint black stubble upon it.

If he wanted to buy anything, he’d already have patronized one of her fellow vendors, so Marina didn’t waste her time on the usual sales pitch. “You after anything, love, or is this a performance piece?”

The stranger paused, then turned towards her more. Odd shadows played tricks on her, kept her from picking out more details on his face besides his mouth. When he spoke, those lips turned up ever so slightly at the corners. “I beg your pardon?”

Marina returned a coy smirk of her own, leaning forward slightly as if she were a schoolmarm handing out an important lesson. “Respectfully, gent, a market isn’t the best place to beg, not in the middle of the day. Are you here to buy, or is the walking around mysteriously a part of a performance for all us little town types?”

[neonthewrite]

NaNoWriMo Approaches ...

And I plan to make an attempt at it! Just like last year, the writing energy has been a bit spotty, but I have been keeping in the habit of writing almost daily for the past couple months in preparation. Have I written enough per day to stand up to the usual word par for NaNo? Certainly not, but I don't think that by itself is reason enough not to try.

And so, without further ado, I introduce my next project for NaNoWriMo:

Heavy Lies

A self-taught witch with ties to the pantheon, trying to keep her child safe. An exiled mage with no voice, looking to clear his name. A wandering man whose people have scattered, trying to keep his traditions alive. Worlds and borders collide as three unlikely allies work to subvert the designs of powers far higher than they. Drifting among the Timewilds, perhaps the answers to their questions lie in wait among the ruins and the grass.

[neonthewrite]

NaNoWriMo Day 29

As I said last night, I actually already hit the 50k, but I'm still writing a bit today and tomorrow to finish things out. Today I wrote a little bit more of my villain for the story - he's coming along nicely in all his lawful evil efficiency.

Word Count: 500

Excerpt:

“The eighth king of Synka has been born. He is living destitute in a small town, barely more than a village, in the Timewilds. The people’s living hope is in squalor.”

Another thing about elves, Autumnus had noticed, was that they never minded letting a pause draw out. While his revelation sank in, the two of them watching his face closely for any tells he didn’t intend to give away, Autumnus relaxed into his chair. He could be damned patient himself; his only disadvantage against them was not having elven longevity. Whatever processing they needed to do, he could wait it out. That was part and parcel of dealing with their kind.

“The eighth king,” the second elf echoed delicately. His eyes were keen as a razor. “And you haven’t secured him yet?”

Autumnus tilted his head and let his expression shrug for him. “Your rumor-mongering is powerful indeed, my friend, but even you could not dress up news of the Order taking a child from his mother without there being some careful … massaging of the truth in place first. Even if he is the most important asset for us, we can’t move too hastily.”

“This will put pressure on the mother,” the elf woman surmised.

Autumnus smiled, the expression reaching his eyes this time. “Precisely. Who is Marina Fehrliss to argue with the will of the people?”

[neonthewrite]

NaNoWriMo Day 28

I am coasting in on the buffer I made sure to build up at the beginning of the month, and today I actually passed 50k! I plan to keep working on the story to finish out the month and get that achievement for updating every day of November, but the big goal is behind me!

Word Count: 747

Excerpt:

Autumnus didn’t have all the details, and he doubted he’d be able to put as much together as Veranus could even if he did. She was one of the best he had. If her hunch was right and someone was trying to keep her distracted, time was of the essence.

It was a unique opportunity, however. One he couldn’t deny. “I assume you’re already working to lock down the cape.”

Veranus nodded. “I am working with their council to the full extent. The suspect is also secure here, though I think many of the mages here are not convinced of his guilt at this time.”

Autumnus sat back slightly and sighed. “It pains me to say it, but I think Amata’s guilt or innocence is secondary to your primary mission, if there is indeed a risk that you’re being played. We may be able to revisit his case later on, but for now, I think it would be best if he took the fall here, if only to move the investigation along. You will be in their good graces for solving their little mystery with all swiftness, and then you can move on to the next steps.”

Veranus didn’t blink. She barely even paused. “If I jail him for this crime, his chance for appeal won’t come up for a very long time. The violent nature of the murder assures a minimum of ten years.”

Autumnus glanced at the clock he kept hanging on the opposite wall. “So be it. You have my approval, and my secrecy. Thank you, Cassandra.”