#oc: uthyr kri’asphodel

[cain-e-brookman]

Hey y'all, @creatingblackcharacters has created a challenge for Black History Month and I thought I'd share my entry. I'd like to tag @topazadine @illarian-rambling @mx-ryder and @spideronthesun for the challenge as well!

Uthyr is the main character of my current WIP: The Name, Witch. His is a story of healing, of putting down shame, and of being true to the spirit of what created you, no matter how the world wants you to bend. This is a scene that takes place about 10 years before we meet him in this same garden. Uthyr's greatest victory is always against despair. Uthyr's strength is in his conviction to himself, the culture and virtues that were passed onto him, and his love for the world around him. In my writing, I want my Black audience to see their own resilience in Uthyr. I want to highlight Black men in roles that are softer, but no less strong.

I also sincerely hope that this book can be a long shout out to my Black autistic sibs who are also obsessed with bugs, amphibians, and/or reptiles. I gave my hyperfixation to Uthyr, and I hope you feel seen with it as well. As I said in the comments to a very needed check, joy is just as important as resiliency, and I hope you find as much happiness as Uthyr does in with cold little buddies!

---

perhaps on the crest of each stiff blade of grass hangs the eternal name of someone who was once loved but is now vanished and just another name in an endless field of names that is newly remembered with each return trip of the eager nose...

-Hanif Abdurraqib from "The Crown Ain't Worth Much

The hydrangea bush to the north of his house was the first thing Uthyr put into the soil in his soon-to-be garden. An old witch tradition. The color of the flowers changed with the humors of the soil. Uthyr didn’t know which color he hoped for, just that it grew to be strong. He hoped the plant would grant him the same blessing.

The last thirty-some years of Uthyr’s life had left behind the cooled pyres of his family, and the last two since the death of his mother had left him adrift. The first, a long year where he’d traveled to nowhere in particular, stayed where he found place to stay, and searched desperately for a purpose. At the end of that long year, he realized, exuberantly, there was none. No end to rush to, no greater deed to be done. He would not be rewarded for suffering, would not reach some peak where it became all worth it. He would not find a purpose, nor would he make his own. He would, instead, simply live. Live brightly, now. Live fearlessly, now. He didn't know where he would go, but he knew where he would start.

He practiced his healing for the first time since his father died. A young girl had taken a fall in the small town in which he was staying. He'd gone to her without a thought, placed his hands around the break, and reached out where he knew the magic still laid. The feel of bone knitting beneath his fingers nearly had him in tears. He could hear his father’s warm, heavy voice as he worked:

Bone remembers its home, just not the way back. Remind it gently, and its journey will be painless.

The little girl hadn’t even cried. He’d pulled a dandelion seed that had stuck itself on his cloak and grew it into a miniature sun before placing it behind her ear for bravery. The Sun Goddess rarely answered his beckons for fire, and his stubbornness never won out over the Stone’s, but neither skill brought about the smiles of gratitude he’d seen in all his time healing. He wished it hadn’t taken him so long to appreciate that part of himself, that part of his father’s influence.

Then, after a long while of fighting with his own head, he finally chose himself. Two weeks in a temple to the God of the Golden Moon saw him leaving behind the word “daughter,” to be replaced with a name that held responsibility to no one but himself. Uthyr of the Asphodels, First of His Name. His mother’s now held nothing a burden of failure on his shoulders. He could have been better for her. Should have been better. But he could not make the dead proud, so he cast off the guilt. It no longer served either of them. 

He changed his hair. Spent a long day removing neat rows of braids from his head, combing and washing then rolling his hair like he’d seen his uncle do so many times. At the end of it all, he had sore arms and a deep satisfaction. The start of those locs still stuck oddly from his head in their awkward stage.

“Ugly stage,” his mother used to tease Uncle Callum when they recounted stories of their youth. His uncle would always raise an eyebrow and inform her in no uncertain terms that he’d never been ugly a day in his life. Uthyr planted snapdragons by his window for them both; their favorites. Yellow for his mom. Purple for his uncle. The seeds had been expensive for the paltry savings he’d kept from his brief stint of odd-job healing around the surrounding towns, but the memory of the two exchanging plants on their shared birthday had Uthyr lightening his coin purse without a second thought.

He continued with a few more plots around his house. A smattering of pansies for color, some herbs for healing, then some more for cooking… 

A single row of daffodils by his doorway. For his father. His birthday would be soon. Uthyr would cut one and light a candle. Pray the Death God pass on his love.

I’m alright, he’d tell his father. It’s hard and I’m tired, but it’s alright. I’ve got good soil under my feet and good hands to dig.

The anemones he planted on the shaded side of his house were for himself, though. They were delicate things, but right now so was his heart and that needed just as much care. He’d stay strong for them and they’d do the same for him. Water and sunlight. The start, his uncle would say, to any life worth living. 

And hope, Uthyr thought. Half of it was always hope.

When Uthyr finished for the day the sun was drawing long shadows across the forest floor. All but his pansies would not see color or flower for a long while, but as Uthyr dusted soil off the dark skin of his hands and forearms, he could already see the future it held. He would get some roses. Maybe not this year. He needed to plant his vegetable garden first. Maybe splurge on a fruit sapling. Tonight he would sit in his mostly empty home, cook a small pot of soup with ingredients from a garden that wasn’t his, and plan recipes for when his own produce grew. But as for now, he felt the waking breath of spring on his face, the softness of the grass under his legs as he dug his toes into the cool earth below him. 

A tentative peace was forming in his chest, walking haltingly like a newly born fawn. He’d found a creek not far from where he sat. He wondered if the tadpoles had yet grown legs.

---

And now, my excited rambling: the title of the poem before the cut is Notes On Waiting for the Dog to Find the Perfect Place to Take a Shit While Morning Cuts Through the Sky, Fresh From Another Darkness, which is quite possibly one of Abdurraqib's best titles and also a wonderful poem. I saw When I Say Loving Me Is Like Being a Chicago Bulls Fan posted on facebook at one point and I've been in love with his poetry since. The way he weaves pain and hope with his anger and his love in a way that criticizes a society that doesn't value himself or people like him, while celebrating his identity is both masterful and cutting. Listen to the man and buy his books! His essay collection, A Little Devil in America: In Praise of Black Performance is going to be my read for my essay collection square for the 2025 book bingo, and I'm really excited to finally get to it!

[cain-e-brookman]

Writing Share Tag

Thanks @orphanheirs!

have the scene right before Uthyr leaves on his grand quest. Crucius being stiff and royal is my fave

The sound of his door’s creaking hinges brought Uthyr back to the present. Crucius strode half inside before he’d managed to turn, bringing behind him both the sweet smell the breeze caught off the trees and a bundle of Uthyr’s clothes under his arm.

“I know it’s futile, but I do have to insist on asking you to knock.”

Crucius paused, his brow furrowing. “Still? I’ve just seen you naked, what else is there to surprise me?”

“I will turn you into a toad,” Uthyr threatened through his teeth. “And not even a pretty toad.”

“You can’t. Aeriessa and Raschic are the only of the gods that can change life. And they’re the only of the gods who won’t answer you.” 

“At my rage, I will make them answer me.”

Crucius waved a dismissive hand, pulling a face. He placed the bundle onto Uthyr's bed. “Watch your hubris. You know how the Trickster likes to abuse such things.”

Uthyr ignored him. Crucius once again wore his own clothes, though these far nicer than anything Uthyr thought him in possession of. He now realized he’d never seen Crucius on the day he left for the coast. Usually said they said goodbyes the night before. Now Uthyr got a shape of why. Crucius said his father wasn’t noble-born, but evidently he did enjoy the riches of one who had been. Crucius’ shirt was of a sheer, flowing material that billowed around his arms, his pants a tan suede, tucked into a pair of strong leather boots. Around his torso, an embroidered corset of the brightest green. In his ear, his golden spider hung, but the brands on the backs of his hands hid under delicate white gloves. Shortening the length of his hair were braids that criss-crossed around his head before they tumbled free in a cascade of loose golden curls. A leather mask hid the left side of his face, this one embossed with filigrees of what looked like feathers.

At Crucius’ hip hung the rapier Uthyr’d seen at his house. Crucius rested his wrist on the hilt. Seeing him this way was jarring. Cold. Royal. Stiff. Crucius never particularly stood opposite those, but to see it in context brought into relief how little Uthyr really knew about him.

“I’ll worry about the Trickster once I figure out if I must curtsy to you,” Uthyr said, his tone flat. “Have I been living next to a lost prince all these years?”

“I promise you, the only thing royal about me is my self-importance,” Crucius said, his tone cold. “If I wander into town in my usual garb, I’m certain my father will have to take to the bed for the fit I’ll send him into.”

“Does he know?” Uthyr asked. “That you live out here? Where does he think you go in the cold months?”

Crucius didn’t answer immediately. “He knows I’m somewhere in this forest. He and Sparrow send letters to the town north of here.”

“Ah,” Uthyr said. He didn’t know why that hurt his feelings. “I always wondered how you had coin to pay for things like letters and books with no employment. I suppose having riches in the family helps.”

“I have employment,” Crucius stated, offended. “My coin is my coin. Father would never let me starve, but he hasn’t supported me since I was old enough to support myself.”

Uthyr leveled a skeptical look at him. “And what exactly do you do?”

“What do you mean what do I do? You saw it in my house.”

They stared at each other, Crucius’ eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“You truly don’t know what I do.”

“You make tea,” Uthyr said, irritably. “And read books. I assume you occasionally sleep. Though, I suppose not well enough to be paid for it.”

Crucius laughed. “Don’t be rude.”

Another long silence.

“Translations, Uthyr,” Crucius said. “I work for a businesswoman in Crescaeya. I’m sent documents with half a payment. I translate them, send them back and then receive the other half of my pay.”

“There’s truly enough need in Crescaeya to send for translations this far south? It’d be faster to swim to Alilux. Against the channel.”

“Who said the documents are in Lucian?”

“What language do you translate, then?”

“Depends on the document.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

Crucius thought about that. “Only speak? Or read in as well?”

“Gods.”

“I know Bhréchin Handsign, too. Does that count as speaking?”

“I’m sorry I asked.”

Crucius’ smile was soft, out of place on his lips. Something wistful veiled his gaze. Gently he said: “Please be safe.”

Uthyr sobered. “I will. You too.”

“I came by to give you this,” Crucius said, breaking eye contact and handing off a small drawstring bag made of emerald green velvet. “If you ever need passage, if anyone blocks your path forward and you can't sway them to move, use this. I promise they won‘t fail to get out of your way.”

“What is it?” Uthyr asked. Before he could open the bag, Crucius pressed it deeper into his palm, his other hand cupping the bottom of Uthyr's.

“It comes with a price,” Crucius said, his voice so hard, it could mortar gravel. “Do not take it out until you have use of it. Don’t use it unless you absolutely must. I will answer no questions about it. I know it’s much to ask, but please trust me.”

“I—” Uthyr didn’t know what to say. “I trust you.”

Crucius nodded, his jaw working. “They won’t answer to me, but I’ll pray to the gods to keep you safe. Never lose sight of your virtues. Never forget who you serve. Stand strong.

“And farewell,” Crucius added at the end. He leaned forward, pressed a kiss upon Uthyr’s brow, then released his hands and left the hut without turning back. Uthyr stood stunned, the skin where Crucius’ lips touched feeling colder for the loss.

“Farewell,” Uthyr whispered in his friend’s wake, once he’d recalled how to breathe. The bag in his hands was heavy, heavier than he thought it ought to be. His hut was empty. Would be emptier still when he left. A lump formed in his throat.

Stand strong.

-------

Alright and I'm tagging: @mx-ryder (get WIP motivated IDIOT (complementary)) @spideronthesun @seastarblue @illarian-rambling

[cain-e-brookman]

Incorrect Quotes

this is so much fun, thanks for the tag @spideronthesun!

Tagging: @eternalwritingstudent @illarian-rambling and @skullduggeryandfilibuster

Rules: Use this link to generate quotes.

Silas: I bet you’re wondering why I gathered you here today. It’s because we need to have a discussion about how some people in this room aren’t getting along with other people in this room. Crucius: Why did you say that so vaguely? Tavi and I are literally the only people you called in here.

--

Uthyr: You remind me of the ocean. Crucius: Because I'm deep and mysterious? Uthyr: No, because you're full of salt and you scare people.

--

Crucius: Tavi, I need some advice. Tavi: You need advice from ME? Crucius: Yeah, frightening, isn't it?

--

Demon: Hey, I took your soul last month and- Silas: No returns. Demon: *sobbing* But it's making me sad...

--

Hesperos: If you took a shot for every time you made a bad decision, how drunk would you be? Uthyr Maybe a bit tipsy? Crucius: Drunk. Silas: Wasted. Tavi: Dead.

--

Hesperos: Uh. . Hey, Felix, i uh, I’ve been stabbed. Uthyr: WHAT? WHERE ARE YOU? Hesperos: Wait- You aren’t Felix. Sorry- I didn’t mean to call you- Uthyr: NO, WHERE ARE YOU? I'M COMING THERE. I'M NOT GOING TO LEAVE SOMEONE ALONE THAT'S BEEN STABBED.

--

Hesperos: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety. I’ll wait. Hauk: You and me! Hesperos: *tearing up* Ok.

--

Hesperos: What is the most illegal thing you can do with one gold? Crucius: Exchange it for a hundred copper, put them all in a sock, and then beat someone to death with it.

[cain-e-brookman]

Favorite Character Poll

Thank you for the tag, @topazadine! i picked Orrinir in your poll! love a trauma boy with abandonment issues tbh

Rules: list all your main ocs and give brief descriptions of them. then, create a poll with their names and allow your followers to vote on who their favourite character is.

Characters are from my current WIP, The Name Witch. This is part of a series that has many more main characters but I'm really controlling myself here and only taking from the first book.

Uthyr Kri'Asphodel

Uthyr is, in his own words, a soft fussy solitary witch from the Uslarian coast who wants nothing more than to tend his garden, cook good food, and live a life of peace. He has a strong sense of justice, but a delicate heart full of loss and shame. He loves all animals but particularly loves frogs and amphibians as well as most bugs and snakes. His connection to the gods allows him to call on many magics, but he specializes as a healer. Despite being a genuinely kind person, he's anxious and grumpy around groups of people or people he doesn't know. Although a powerful witch, he suffers under others' perception of his standing. He long ago abandoned the name of his foremothers, taking the name Asphodel as the first of his line. Despite this, he doesn't regret doing so. His name, like his garden, is his pride.

Crucius, Formerly of Alilux

Uthyr's neighbor, a Fallen Mage who never speaks on his detachment from his god, though he rarely speaks at all. Quiet, indiscernible, and haughty, he plays most of his past close to the vest, giving very little away in the eight years he's lived next to Uthyr in his square house in the woods. He's branded himself with the only fear he'll admit to: two spiders burnt into the backs of his hands: a reminder of his banishment from his homeland into badlands infested with man-eating spiders. Despite his apparent detachment from anyone, he leaves the corner of the forest he shares with Uthyr every spring and only returns in fall.

Sister Alma of Bhréchin

A young woman from the island country of Bhréchin, new in the robes of the Death God's Order. In fact so new, that as of the first chapter she's introduced, she'd only been a Priestess for a week. Her youth becomes obvious in both her naivete and her love of frivolous gossip, though both belie a dark past she faces head-on. Her devotion to the Death God wouldn't be strange but for the grip of the Lifebringer's Cult in her country, who squash any worship outside of the Church under their boot. With a cheerful disposition, an optimism that could eclipse the sun, and a temper to be reckoned with, Alma is only not speaking when she's asleep. And even sometimes, she does that too.

Bran Yot'Aster

As the heir of the line of Aster, Ninth of his Name, Bran comes from a long line of witches and has been told his whole life of a prophecy that the fate of the world depended on his answer to the call of a twisted wind. When the Coven discovers the unraveling of the realm adjacent, The Other, they call upon him to face his destiny and save them all from the destruction of the Calamities...

Only to find Uthyr has beaten him to it.

Dethroned of his destiny, Bran is surly and adrift. When he joins Uthyr and Alma on their journey, he believes Uthyr's involvement comes entirely from a mistake, that he will see the moment where the prophecy declares him champion, and he finally finds himself deserving of the pedestal his family has always placed him on. Despite the predicament, he's steady and true, believing honesty and valor will light his path to glory.

tags under the cut! feel free to do this even if not tagged, and please tag me if you do! don't feel pressured, only if you'd like to o7

@illarian-rambling @emrowene @xenascribbles aaaannnnnd uuhhhh

@spideronthesun

[cain-e-brookman]

Character Profile Tag

I was tagged by @eternalwritingstudent! thanks so much!

Name:

Uthyr Kri'Asphodel (Uthyr of the Asphodels, First of His Name)

Nickname:

Doesnt really have one?

Kind of being:

A witch, descendants of the Goddess Lythis of the Void.

Age:

45

Gender:

Male

Appearance:

Roughly 5'5", dark umber skin, amber eyes, kind of stocky, with black hair he wears in mid-length locs. He usually wears greens or browns, sturdy boots, and if he's in his garden, thick gloves for weeding. In the early spring he'll pluck dandelions and put them in the fastenings of his shirt. He tells Crucius its just to keep the seeds from his plants, but really he likes when the bees stop by to rest in them.

Occupation:

Healer and apothecary.

Family members:

Most of Uthyr's family is gone.

Pets:

None, though he once had a rooster that someone had given him in exchange for his healing. He wasn't sure if they meant to for slaughter, but witches don't eat meat, so he made it a little house until it passed of old age.

Describe their room:

I'm gonna take this from the canon text:

"His home was more of a hut with one large area that served as his spell room, kitchen, and bedroom. New threshing lined the floor and gave the room an earthy scent mixed with the herbs drying in his windowsill. As he crossed the threshold, he was washed with a feeling of peace. He’d lived his whole life wanting for a space like this.  There wasn’t a single part of his home that didn’t speak to who he was. Littered with knick-knacks, his shelves held more baubles than potions or books. Mostly dried flowers and colorful or interesting rocks he’d found on walks. From the ceiling and on the walls he hung art and crafts from some of his more local patients. He never turned down a client, never required payment from someone who couldn’t afford the care, but even so, some who had little coin to part with gave him gifts of gratitude and he never denied one.

Way of speaking:

When around friends, he's talkative and bright, especially when discussing his garden or magic. He grows wearier around strangers, trips on his words and often comes across more blunt than he means to. He's a rather direct person and trying to decode niceties is a necessary skill he tries very hard at, but is not very good with.

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitudes):

He's always very mindful of his posture, especially when working. He's a healer so he knows how improper movements can strain muscles and cause injury. When in the company of friends, he's very relaxed and open with his body language, but once in large crowds or in front of a lot of strangers, his shoulders tend to rise to his ears.

Hobbies:

Gardening, frog-watching, bee-keeping. He keeps saying he's going to make a bird feeder to better acquaint himself with the local birds, but every year he looks at the squirrels already stealing from his garden and remembers why he's yet to do that.

Favorite sports:

He's not much into sports. Anywhere in his country that might be holding any events is far too distant from him to care.

Abilities/talents/powers:

As a witch, his ancestors made pacts with each individual god, (except Raschic and Aeriessa,) for access to their power. Although he can draw from any, he struggles with cardinal elements, and only finds consistent success with Uensine, the God of Rest (healing,) and Emjir the Trickster (hexes and such.) Considering those two gods famously don't get along, Uthyr has never been sure why he excels at both their magic.

Relationships (interaction with others):

Crucius: his best friend. For the last few years, his only friend. Although Crucius is secretive and inscrutable, Uthyr values his company and his wit.

Alma: In Uthyr's eyes, Alma is all of two years old. He tries not to talk down to her, as she's a fully realized Priestess of Uensine, and as such can call upon her god's waking dead with a single prayer, she's also incredibly naive in a lot of ways, due to being, in Uthyr's eyes, all of two years old.

Bran: Bran is too big for his britches and needs to come back to the ground with the normal people, as far as Uthyr's concerned. He tries to ignore the one-sided rivalry Bran has decided on, but does occasionally revel in putting the other witch in his place.

Fears:

Being left, not being able to say goodbye, as well as little things like crowds and being in the center of attention.

Faults:

Uthyr is always kind, but not always nice. He does tend to be rather impatient where people are concerned. He rarely sticks up for himself like he should, and tends to downplay how important he is in people's live.

Good points:

He's always kind. Despite his objections to it, he's brave and steadfast, loyal and chivalrous, with a love of the world he lives in and the people in his life. His heart's too big for his body.

What they want more than anything else:

A quiet life with his garden, with Crucius across the way. Their daily tea while he talks about how his flowers are getting on. To be important enough to Crucius to be worth telling secrets to. Perhaps a peach sapling to plant this year. Might be nice to have a cat around...

alright i'm tagging @spideronthesun @topazadine @inadequatecowboy and @skullduggeryandfilibuster

[cain-e-brookman]

Write/Share Last Line Tag

i was tagged by @eternalwritingstudent! thanks so much!

Fifteen, Uthyr thought. An infant.  There was a strange and heavy air about her, though. A weightiness in one’s middle. Uthyr had felt the same thing in Uensine’s realm. Finality. Mortality. It hung on her like her heavy robes. Despite her youth, she was an acolyte of The End. Uthyr couldn’t imagine what drew her to such a life. It clashed with the bounce in her shoulders as she spoke of a boy in her village.  “He’s asked for my hand. My Lord has no need of his order to stay unmarried, but I’ve told the lad he must finish his apprenticeship before thinking he has the right. I’m a Priestess after all. He’ll need to be just as settled before I even think of letting him build us a house.”  Uthyr wasn’t sure when he’d missed the part about the house, or if he had. Alma hardly stopped speaking as they finished breakfast, kicked out the embers of the fire, and picked up camp. Her bright attitude brought Uthyr mixed feelings. Although the levity was certainly refreshing, it felt grating given the dire nature of their task.

gonna tag @topazadine @illarian-rambling annnnddd @spideronthesun as always, no pressure

[cain-e-brookman]

thanks for the tag @illarian-rambling! i think i did this right

Unusual Association Tag

Alright, it's Uthyr's turn again

Seasoning: coriander

Weather: the first sunny day after a really wet winter

Color: forest green

Sky: mostly sunny with some rolling fluffy cloud

Magic power: healing

Plant: Asphodelus albus would be too easy of an answer (given his name) but honestly since he's a witch there's a lot of plants associated with him and so i'm going with my initial knee-jerk reaction of Berberis aquifolium

Weapon: magic, but nonlethal magic. calling on the Trickster for various amphibian based hexes is a favorite move, but usually a petty one

Social media: rip uthyr you would love pinterest

Candy: those strawberry hard candies

Fear: being forgotten. parting ways without saying goodbye

Method of long-distance travel: he's only traveled his country by foot, but he's fascinated (and terrified) by the concept of horseback

Art style: watercolors

Stationary: paper scraps

Celestial body: saturn

I'll tag @topazadine @emrowene @spideronthesun and @xenascribbles!

[cain-e-brookman]

@seastarblue talking about her Felix has me wanting to share a little on mine. This is a rough snippet of a scene further in my wip than i currently am, but needed to be jotted down before i forgot it

"But he wasn’t the one the guards were afraid of,” Uthyr interjected, stopping what he could only assume would be an entire itinerary of Crescaeyan gossip. “They said ‘look at the lines.’” "That’s right.” Alma handed the ring back to Uthyr. “See how there’s two lines under the octopus tentacles? That’s a sign of the Saccilarius heir. Not Lord Rutilus’ ring. His nephew. Lord Felix. "Lord Felix is a hard one,” Alma continued, visibly thrilled to share her opinions. “Same fanged ambition as his uncle, but Lord Rutilus is at least charming with it. Lord Felix puts on airs, is sharp on every angle. He’s infamously difficult to deal with, got a temperament that would frighten a charging bull.” "You know an awful amount about this,” Uthyr said, rolling the ring in his hand. "I do. I was still in Crescaeya when Lord Rutilus named him as his heir. Every single noble in the city was suddenly pushing their grown children to try courting him.” Alma sighed, dreamily. “And to be honest, if I’d been of marrying age, I would have tried myself. Beautiful man, him. He’s turned off every suitor who’s tried, though. Rumor is that he’s betrothed already. To a foreigner, no less!”

[cain-e-brookman]

Dialogue Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @spideronthesun !

Rules: show off some dialogue!

Tagging: all of you. anyone reading this. you're it. tag me if you do it, so i can read it!!

I shared the last bit of this in the five lines post i was tagged in the other day, but have some context

Uthyr blanched. “What about me?” “Well, what’s wrong with you?” “Excuse me?” “Everyone’s got something. I like to get mine out of the way.” Alma lifted her bowl back onto her lap, stirred her dinner before taking half a bite, then planted her spoon back into it. “I’m an orphan turned lay sister turned Priestess. And I’m not even the worst story I’ve found. Come on now, out with it.” Ah, so it wasn’t normal. Uthyr met her gaze with exhausted indignation. “There’s nothing ‘wrong with me.’” “But there is,” Alma said, sounding almost offended. “There’s no shame in it. We’re all broken somehow. The Honorable Sister said to live in peace with yourself you have to see things as they are, then meet them where they’re at.” “It’s possible,” Uthyr stated, “to do that, and not share it with strangers.” Alma rolled her eyes. Such a juvenile thing. “Come on then, I told you mine. Out with it. Dead family? Social isolation? Unrequited love?” Uthyr hated that of all of those, the last one hurt the most. He shook his head, put his empty bowl next to Alma’s hip, and pulled his pack onto his lap, pointedly turning away from her. “Goodnight, Alma.” “Which one was right?” “Goodnight, Alma.” “Wait, what are we doing with the leftovers?”  Uthyr pulled his hair cloth from his pack. “You’re going to go and bury it out in the woods.” “I am?” “So we don’t attract bears.” “Bears?” “Goodnight, Alma!”

[cain-e-brookman]

Five Lines

Tagged by lovely @spideronthesun! (x) Thanks so much for tagging me!

Rules: post a line from your WIP that follows the prompt

Tagginggggg @illarian-rambling @topazadine @dearunreliablenarrator aaaaand @eternalwritingstudent do if you'd like!

Your lines are: A line about the weather. A line about your mc's hair. A line about the room they're in. A line about food. A line about fire.

-----

A line about the summer:

He’d been watching the life cycle of the spotted frogs since spawning, greeting the first signs of legs on the pollywogs. When they were fully grown, he’d take a summer night by the water to listen to their first song. His father once told him the completion of change held a beautiful type of magic. The kind that inspired light and courage in even the most fragile of hearts. Uthyr hoped to capture some of that magic for himself.

A line about dancing:

“The Mages struck them down. This much is true. Usurped the world and reclaimed where they stood. Used the magic they’d gained from their gods so that the people who once toiled the lands could dance across them. The force of those of us who defied my sister was strong, but was not enough. You know this story. How did it end?”

A line about your characters taking a leap of faith:

It was a ring. A signet ring, more specifically. Though it was heavy, it wasn’t terribly big. A fit for a slim finger, but designed to be seen. Uthyr desperately wished to take a deeper look at it, but instead thrust it out at the guard haughtily. He reminded himself that an honest man knew who he was serving. Uthyr didn’t need the guard to know he didn’t know the name of the house he was claiming. Or that he had no idea a moment ago it was a house signet he was invoking. “I just told you,” said the younger guard, “the king himself couldn’t—is that bloodstone.”

A line about love:

The warmth of the sun, the light of moons, and later—much later—the legends of the stars would share space with the ice and lightning of the sky. They would give those bound to the ground something to bask in. To love under. All for the grace of Laeses the Weaver. All for the love he had. Such an ordinary thing, Uthyr thought, to connect it all together.

A scary line:

The creature choked. Gagged. Retched. Black like ink, black like tar, fell from his mouth in stuttered streams. His face contorted, so far from human the memory of human shocked out of Uthyr’s mind. Sharp fangs and spiking bones jutted from his face. His arms—which had already been too long for his body with too many joints—grew longer. What were not eyes burned a color so fierce and indescribable, Uthyr couldn’t meet their glare. The creature shook: a marionette clattering on its strings. With the rattling of his bones, the world rattled with him. The Other cracked, fell apart like a too-dry cake, the holes where it’d been coughed up the same black from the creature’s mouth pooling around Uthyr’s feet. It burned. Cold, but it burned.

I know most of these are more than "lines" but what are you, a cop? Move along.

Also I decided to be serious, but alternate goof for the scary line under the cut

“Wait, what are we doing with the leftovers?”  Uthyr pulled his hair cloth from his pack. “You’re going to go and bury it out in the woods.” “I am?” “So we don’t attract bears.” “Bears?” “Goodnight, Alma!”

[cain-e-brookman]

WELL HELLO! Since I saw you mention your witch characters. Tell me about them a little. Do they know that they are witches since birth in your world? Or do they come into their abilities a bit later? And who is the best at potion making?

hello hello!

so witches in my world aren't a class to specialize in like a lot of fantasy, and are instead an entire race! When the Lifebringer still held dominion of the world through the rule of the Fae, she heard a prophecy (so very conveniently given to her by the Trickster) that the daughter of the Death God would surpass her in power, and so banished the goddess Lythis to the Void. There, Lythis created her own version of life, (in the way someone who's only once seen a bird tries to make a sculpture of a bird, giving Lythis the title of Goddess of the Uncanny.) The creatures she created called themselves Clurga, and were varied and strange, some more humanoid than others.

Back in the land of the living, humans were Not Having A Good Time under the rule of the Fae, as Aeriessa (The Lifebringer) only created them to serve the Fae. A group of humans tried to escape their bondage into the wildlands. Lythis, seeing their plight when they wandered into a glen where the skin between the worlds was thin, let them into her realm. As the children of that group grew, they took partners with some of the Clurga, and those children eventually left Lythis' Otherworldy Plane (known by witches as The Other) and carved out a country from the grip of the Lifebringer, and named their new land Uslaria under the name their goddess gave them: witch. After the Mage Wars and the fall of the Fae Empires, humans joined the witches in their country. Since witches are pacifists, they wanted no rule over the country, and so Uslaria became a human kingdom that is known far and wide as the home of the witches and their central force, The Coven.

This is a very long explanation to basically say, they have their magic from birth, and any child born from the womb of a witch will pass their magic to their child (as opposed to Mages, where the magic follows the blood of the one who sired them.) It's why most witch parents will immediately start teaching their toddlers fun tricks like Put Plant Back Into Seed :) Grow Dandelion From Puff :) Please Don't Summon Fire To Light Mummy's Candles. Fire Is For Grownups. (Magic is like teething. They will do it anyway. Give them a proper outlet that won't end with them accidentally flooding your house.)

And as for who's the best potion maker--of my two main witch characters, it's Uthyr! Bran spent his years learning more versatile magic, so he's very Jack of All Trades wrt his magic. Uthyr put all his skill points into healing and potion making. And hex casting, but he's always found the Trickster to answer his requests, so it's his usual go to. Doesn't understand why more witches don't think about it tbh.

[cain-e-brookman]

thanks for the tag @illarian-rambling!

OC AITA Tag

Rules: Make up a fake AITA post about something your oc did

AITA for telling my atheist friend he was being a dick?

So I (45m) had just gotten home from a meeting with my religious group. I'd gone to get help with a certain problem in my life, (don't want to get into it) but they basically threw me to the wolves and told me there was no problem. I then had to walk all the way home to my house, to find my neighbor (???nb) sitting in my house and making tea. At first I wasn't mad, because I'd had a hard day, so I sat down with him and told him what happened. He said my religious group were a bunch of arrogant jackasses (not wrong) and got really agitated. We don't really talk about religion because he's got some religious trauma, but he's always seemed very respectful of my faith. When I told him that I would simply handle the problem, and that the gods would guide me, he was blatantly blasphemous right in front of me. I wasn't rude, but I held my boundary and told him I'd never judged him for his lack of faith, so he needed to respect my beliefs as well. He then got really cold and stormed out of my house. I don't know what to do. I really don't judge him, knowing a bit about his religious history, but I don't think it was right for him to disrespect my beliefs like that.

poor Uthyr....

I'll taggggggg @eternalwritingstudent @spideronthesun @skullduggeryandfilibuster and anyone else who's inspired!

(reblog for bigger sample etc etc)

[cain-e-brookman]

Happy STS! What genre other than the genre they're in would your characters have the most fun in?

Thanks for the ask!

Uthyr would have the most fun in one of those like beach read type books by Elin Hildebrand or someone. Because then even if he's having A Bad Time, at least he's near the ocean

Crucius would have fun in a spy thriller. He would be the one trying to catch the spy though

Alma deserves a YA romance with a lot of scandal. She'd obviously be the lead

Bran honestly would still want to be in a fantasy novel, but he'd want to be in one where he's the main character :/

[cain-e-brookman]

WIP Anagram Tag

thanks for the tag @spideronthesun!

Rules: You will be given a word, and you must share 1 sentence from your WIP/s that starts with each letter in that word

tagging @skullduggeryandfilibuster @inadequatecowboy @eternalwritingstudent and @topazadine! Your word is COMPLAINT

the word i was given was SOMETHING

S

Silence stretched between them as Crucius poured them each a cup of tea, adding two heaping scoops of sugar to his own.

O

“Oh, he always had some ridiculous answer to any—if not all—concerns,” Crucius said, dismissively.

M

“My mums said he can’t make Priests ‘cause he let vampires take over Bhréchin.”

E

Emjir jumped back so quickly, he fell into a solid form.

T

Trickster take the smug and self-assured.

H

He was a cold one, Crucius, never one to show anything but what was on the surface.

I

In that soft moment when the sun touched the edges of the world, heating enough to contrast the bite of the morning breeze, Uthyr wished he could stay home.

N

“No honor in going back on your word,” Everett pressed, raising his eyebrows and mimicking an Uslarian accent before dropping it once more to say: “No take-backs.”

G

“Great Grandfather, there must be someone else,” Uthyr argued, dropping his hands beneath the table.

[cain-e-brookman]

Forget Myers-Briggs. Let’s talk Tarot

For each of my main characters, I have a corresponding tarot in the major arcana for them. This is based on their character arc within the story and also functions (or will function) as the cover art for their respective book. So without further ado:

Uthyr Kri’Asphodel and the Major Arcana

The Hierophant in Reverse

When you see the Hierophant in reverse, it may mean that you are feeling particularly restricted and even constrained from too many structures and rules. As a result, you have lost quite a lot of control as well as flexibility in your life. You have a particularly strong will and desire to go ahead and regain control as well as to break free from the shackles of convention. You are tempted to try unorthodox approaches or to function in a way which defies social ties and norms.

The Hierophant reversal meaning is mostly about questioning certain traditions and making sure that whatever it is that you do is the right thing for you in this certain moment. (source)

Most of Uthyr’s character arc is him questioning the traditions that mire down those in power, challenging ideals he holds as truth to find what is right and just, and breaking away from that which no longer serves him or those he loves. Though his story takes him to places he’d never willingly travel, he does so with one goal in mind: to help those needing help. If being flexible or walking off the beaten path saves even one person, Uthyr will do it.

With only minimal bitching.

[cain-e-brookman]

Out of Context Tag

thanks to @eternalwritingstudent for the tags!

“Your name, sirrah.” “Everett,” the man lied. “A pleasure,” Uthyr lied back. “Was there something I can help you with?” “Well, if you don’t mind, I need something fetched from the temple grounds.” Uthyr looked from Everett to the temple not ten yards from them. “Have you no means to walk?"

tagginggggg @spideronthesun @inadequatecowboy and @topazadine