#skyfallen

[kmlaney]

WIP questionnaire

tagged by @coffeewritesfiction and I am so sorry to take this long on a reply. Thanks for the tag!

Tagging @fallenscintilla (if you want! No pressure!) and @waywardwizzard and anyone who wants to!

1. What is the first part of your WIP that you created?

The very first line was: “D’ya think I care how it tastes?” I posted an edited version here. There's a snip of the original here.

For the record, it started as a character background for a TTRPG. In fact, it wasn’t even going to be the character I was going to play. Harrowed (undead/revenant) gunfighter? *eyeroll* Too cliché. I even made a homebrew archetype to play: a “spiritualist” in the late 1800’s sense. But that first line kept bugging me so I figured, okay. Fine. I’ll write this one scene and then work on my spiritualist. 

Yeah. No. I never played the spiritualist.

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

I did all the fan stuff for Phil and Skyfallen, like playlists, faceclaims, all of that. I never did that before. I selected music for the theoretical TV show: main theme, a rotating list of outro/credits roll music, pieces for certain kinds of scenes. So if Skyfallen were a TV series, this would be the theme:

3. What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

That’s like asking which of my pets was my favorite. I love them all. I guess I loved Phil enough to make them the viewpoint character. They’re a more-mature version of the kind of character I wrote when I was a kid, now with serious problems I can explore as an adult. I like Phil’s father, whom I was determined to fridge in the beginning because fridging is usually a female character. Ha Ha! Then I went and gave him a character arc that could only end in his death so he’s not fridged after all. 

I like Travelling Sam for being a conniving, money-grubbing jerk, but he’s fun to write. I like Eva as Carnival Mom; Maury for being a flamboyant, fun-to-be-around person hiding a serious drinking problem that everyone knows about. I like Doc Butcher for his name, for actually being trained as a vet but caring about everyone, and trying to do his best when he’s in over his head because he can’t do nothing. 

I like Maker Lewis for his change of heart, though he was already on the fence and just needed a shove. And I like Miss Warren for being a nosy reporter whom Phil doesn’t want to like but ends up liking anyway. She also lets me play at muckraking reporter. Choosing words to specifically slant a piece is a load of fun.

4. What other pieces of media do you think your fan base would share?

Skyfallen has its roots in Westerns, so people who like cinematic westerns are a potential fanbase. I include horror, steampunk, and gothic elements, so if your venn diagram of interests includes those things then it might be for you. 

Things I like that influenced or feel like this story: Silverado, The Magnificent Seven, RIPD 2 Rise of the Damned (movies. I hate to admit that last one but it was fun). Deadlands (TTRPG game. I created Phil for this setting). The Dark Tower novels--primarily Wizard and Glass but any of the parts dealing with Roland’s world. 

There is zero romance. Phil’s ace, there is no main love interest, and anyone who gets together does so very off-screen. 

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

When writing the draft, the individual scenes flew out of my brain. I could hardly write them fast enough. In deep editing, though, it’s the big-picture stuff I find challenging. Which themes do I want to emphasize and which are less important? Do I really need all this buildup or should I start later? I need to show certain things so the later ones make sense, but that makes it even longer. It’s already very long; shouldn’t I be cutting things down? Argh. It's frustrating.

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

There are animals. Most are utilitarian: Horses, dogs, cats, chickens, cows. There are monsters also (for certain values of “monster”) all along the continuum from “non-sapient animal” through to “self-aware human intelligence.” 

The way they figure into the story is more interesting. In life, Phil liked animals in general and had a special fondness for horses and mules. After dying and coming back reanimated, animals can’t stand to be around them. Phil doesn’t figure it out right away, and it hurts when they do.

7. How do your characters get around? (Ex. Trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

For the area the characters are in for the bulk of the story, most people walk, ride horses, or ride in wagons, carts, or coaches pulled by horses or teams of horses. There are a couple of trains but they are rare. In other areas, trains are common, as are ferries and lake boats. Airships exist; they are novelties and considered simultaneously luxurious and dangerous. In larger cities, along with the horse-drawn vehicles, people have bicycles, rickshaws, pedal-powered rickshaws, and palanquins. Automatons in a variety of configurations may be subbed in for horses or people in any of those conveyances. 

8. What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I’ve identified some specific foreshadowing that needs to happen. So I need to add that in. There are a few names that aren’t consistent; they’re flagged so I can fix them. I need to put in a few encounters so later ones make sense. It’s not exactly foreshadowing so much as worldbuilding. So editing stuff.

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe) of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

I have a hard time identifying tropes in my work, probably because I’m in the trees, so to speak, and can’t see the forest. Or groves, to push the metaphor. Having said that, here’s an attempt:

Portal/isekai

Found family

Unlikely group of heroes

Humans can be evil; monsters can be sympathetic

Religion, Magic, and cults 

Monsters dwelling among humans

Enemies to not-friends (don’t push your luck)

Things get worse

Everyone has secrets

Lost memories, memory tampering

Weird West

Steampunk and Gothic Horror

Gunslinger/trick shot

Noble Demon/antihero

Good is not nice

I did come up with one of those taglines that you might see on the bottom of the cover of a book: 

“Every Skyfallen has something they want to forget. And everyone in the Mistlands is Skyfallen.”

10. What are your hopes for your WIP?

Originally I was hoping for traditional publishing. I might still try to go that way. I’m also looking into self-pub, and websites that host serial stories. I think this story fits better into a serial format than a traditional book format. I need to make it more coherent (hence editing phase)

[goldemas1244]

AKA Rafaela calling Zhask a bottom

[kmlaney]

Only one occurrence.

An excerpt from Skyfallen:

“I follow the Divine Architect. I never want to see or smell gunpowder again,” Maker Lewis insists. I heard the longing in his voice when he talked about his rockets. He’s lying as much as if I swore to put up my guns. But I don’t think he knows it. “What if it were in a good cause?”

Daily Sip 1/8

You can reblog this post.

You can make your own post.

You reblog someone else's snip!

Just tag it sipofsnips so everyone can find each other. ^.-

[empyrean-demise]

Why are all the "Angel aesthetic" posts here have a cute vibe, like soft, gentle and harmless?

I'm not like that, I'm fierce and protective of EVERYONE who I love. I'm the night star filled with stars, I'm the dark waters of the ocean, the full moon filtering though the waves.

I'm the flock of ravens that croak at the early hours of the morning, the dark woods that no one dares go into.

No wonder I associate myself with the more eldritch angelic beings, despite looking a bit more like the classical angels.

~ 🕊 [Starfall]

[deerdeardarling]

Does anyone have a list of Pokemon ship names? Mostly for the protags/rivals.

[keioseth]

Rin and Kara aka when the small (well compared to Rin) and violence prone catgirl has a tall bunny BF. Based on a 4koma I found... wow, 8 years ago. Original Artist Unknown.

[kmlaney]

To points 3 & 4 here: It is totally possible to find the plot hidden in the first draft, then dig it out and shine it up in revision.

My drafts heretofore have been pretty clean. They’re readable and decent, not requiring a ton of revision. But I’m also painfully slow getting those clean drafts done, and most of them get abandoned. 

This time I embraced the messy first draft and it’s liberating. Now that I have a draft, I can see the plot throughlines. I can see what things need to be added in as foreshadowing. What things I need to show early and then show development. 

I feel like I’ve been hamstrung by the requirement to outline and plan before starting to write. I can’t just sit down and start writing. That’s not done. It’s not the right way to craft a story. Maybe that was true when paper was expensive and physically writing was time-consuming then you had to go back and read all the stuff and type it up later, so it made sense to not “waste time” on things that weren’t going into final. 

That’s not today. I have different tools and I can use those tools in a way that works with my process. I can barf up story scraps and stitch them together into a novel-quilt that makes sense, is internally consistent, and is fun to read. I don’t have to figure out how all those bits go together first. I can concentrate on the bits and enjoy writing. Then have more fun in revision, rewriting, and editing. Because each of those steps serves a different purpose.

The WIP project - Rachael's 7 points

Hello writerly friends!

So I started a new story. I know, I know, I haven't even finished the other one. But I had so many ideas and they just had to go somewhere, so they might as well go into a draft called Fantasy2. Yes, I'm great at naming drafts, why do you ask?

Today I come to you with advice from Rachael Herron's newsletter. It was just what I needed to hear and I want you to hear it too. I asked for her permission to quote it here and she allowed it, so here it is, from Rachael Herron herself:

[E]very time I start a new book, I feel like I have NO clue what I’m doing.

I’m about to start writing a new book, so I’m dusting off some of my favorite tips, because I’ll need them very soon.

1. Feelings don’t matter.

The beginning and the end usually feel glorious and terrifying to write. The middle 97% will alternate between feeling like falling out of a hot-air balloon basket and sitting in the middle seat of a thirty-seven-hour flight between twin toddlers. Doesn't matter. Only this does:

2. You just need words.

Bored of the work? Write. Love the work? Write a bit more. Want to punch every word in the beezer? Write a few lines before you call it a day.

3. Plot matters way less than you think it does.

Great plots can be added in revision (I'm serious), just like better, stronger characters can be. But you can’t do anything without a crappy first draft.

4. Revision solves everything.

Always.

5. Make a goal.

Make any goal, whether it’s how many new words you want to write this week, or how much time you want to spend in the chair, actually writing.

Then, at the end of the week, rejigger that goal, bringing it closer to what’s real. (Fantasy Rachael can always write WAY more than Real Life Rachael. Damn it.)

6. Remember that goals are meant to be moved. Not to be hit.

Who cares if we ever hit our goals, honestly? By the time we get to where we really long to be, our endpoints may not resemble our original goals in any way. Better to make room for the better thing. Move the goal and start again, weekly, if not daily.

7. Comfort is overrated.

Writing isn’t comfortable. There, I said it. And it doesn’t matter, because oh, boy, does it feel good to have it done for the day. Not perfectly done, never that. But you did your work, and that means you can now do whatever the hell you want because you followed your dream today, the way you’re meant to.

I love this advice. Rachael is so awesome. If you also want her encouragement and advice in your inbox, sign up for her newsletter here: https://rachaelherron.com/therightbook.  

So how is it going for you? Rejiggered your goal? Started something new? Got something awesome done? Took another turn in the draft? Tell us!

--

@quilleth, @theoriginalladya, @kmlaney, @coffeewritesfiction, @mareebrittenford, @lilliebellfanfics, @keyboardandquill, @fontainebleau22, @kinetic-elaboration, @wildswrites, @rhikasa, @inkvulture, @heroofshield, @bad-at-names-and-faces, @sabels-small-sphere, @annaofthenorthernlights, @sarahawke

[captaindidiermanchione]

Angel Falls From Sky In New York December 18, 2022

[reestallized]

Almost skyfallen but not quite there (yet): Akari pov

[pokemonlegendsnecrozma]

What is Pokemon Legends: Necrozma?

Pokemon Legends: Necrozma is a Pokemon Fangame concept project intending to explore a Legends game taking place in the Alola region. You "play" as either Aster or Eos, the newest recruits to the Seafolk Research team. It's a group of researchers who live on boats, gathering data on pokemon all over the world. Their newest mission is to create the first pokedex in the Alola region the majority of their members call home, so they're ecstatic to welcome in a new skyfallen with an affinity for pokemon. While your task starts off as exploring the islands and documenting the pokemon there, you eventually get wrapped up in a region-spanning mystery and have to save your new home.

How Will This Blog Work?

On this blog, I will post information about Pokemon Legends: Necrozma, including art, doodles, character designs, potential gameplay mechanics, animatics, comics, and writing! While I don't have the ability or time to turn it into a working fangame, I want to make this blog a fun experience for people who are interested.

This blog will also function as a sort of askblog! You can send asks to me, the account admin, or ask any of the revealed characters in-character, and they will respond in character! (Please do denote whether you're asking me [Admin Goodra] or one of the characters) By sending asks, you might unlock records and art that you might not if you didn't send anything in, so don't be shy! (Also, I'd really appreciate it!) I'm very excited to share this project, as by now it is multiple years in the making. Enjoyyy!!

[randomwriteronline]

@chaoticgremlinbrainspace dog

The taste was terrifying and exhalting at the same time.

Mindlessly, the pressure increased; something like a horrid crackle filled his ears, loud and ghastly, accompanied by an agonizing hiss.

He was thrown back, and scrambled on all fours to keep himself from being catastrophically hurled off the side of the mountain. The snow felt cold against what little skin he was showing, at once too cold yet not cold enough, not as much as it could have been, not as much as it should have been.

A smaller voice cried out something in a sort of terrified concern.

He replied with a growl.

The hand threw droplets of blood across the icy air as it arose to shield the kid behind itself.

Kamado stared, struggling to remain calm, at the long maws that had clamped so readily into his palm. He could feel the bruised (if not broken) bones scream in anguish with every slightest movement, but try as he might he could not tear his gaze away from the scarlet of his own gore dripping from white teeth to stain white fur before falling onto white snow. The white mane was slowly rising in volume, its crimson tips quivering in a dance of pure vitriol like the tails of a dozen Ekans about to strike down; the red claws curled tighter from where they laid half buried, waiting for another provocation, for the perfect moment, the perfect second to spring upon him and tear him apart.

Yellow eyes pierced holes through his skull.

He heard from behind himself, distantly, worriedly, the request not to hurt him.

His hand shrieked in pain.

The dark coat hung on the vulpine body in a way that was deeply wrong.

Nobody had known; nobody had expected, after all, a devotion to routine so strong that it could keep a mind intact until that point.

Shards of a wooden bracelet - purple paint barely recognizable - littered the cold ground helplessly, uselessly, unable to stir any recognition. A paw crushed a particularly large piece as the white body flattened with a guttural rumbling growl, uncaring of any splinters that could have pierced it.

Nobody had known.

The Zoroark bit down on his arm as he raised it to shield his face and wrapped crimson claws around his neck to cut right through it.

With reflexes faster than the blink of an eye, Kamado grasped the thin furred throat with his unharmed hand, squeezing just hard enough for the sudden lack of air to make the paws spasm open and rush to their lungs’ aid: it was then that he grabbed the large body with both limbs, felled one howling its tremendous pain into his nerves, and slammed the long snout into the rocky pavement so hard that the beast instantly went limp in his agonizing grasp.

He was sure it still breathed. He had measured his strength as carefully as he could have had in such a lightning fast second; and he wouldn’t have heard the kid’s choked cry over the fracturing skull otherwise.

Trying to quell the horrid shaking in his voice as he sunk his bleeding arm in the snow, he ordered his skyfallen recruit to get backup. Someone of the Medical Corps, and a couple or more of the Surveilance - with ropes, possibly, a stretcher too if they managed to take it over here. Send someone to call for the Pearl Clan leader.

They couldn’t quite catch this one like they’d done for others, after all.

Barely inhaling (as Ghosts are wont to do) the Zoroark laid where he’d been struck, yellow eyes half lidden.

Nobody had known that the foreigner warden had died alone.

[kmlaney]

so, about a month ago, I posted this bit of background material for the @sipofsnips word game. I made a comment to @fallenscintilla that I might post the entire scene, just to show how bad a mental health day Phil had. Here it is, basically not edited at all.

It occurs immediately after this snip, posted last week. CW for language, drinking, alcohol, mention of execution, and detailed description of a person vomiting.

long post

One of my brothers-in-law takes Mama. Whether home or with him I don't recall. Or care, either. All I care about is getting piss drunk and hopefully wiping the last week or so out of my memory. I buy a bottle in low town--the one place around not picky about who they sell to on execution day, provided your coin is good. It burns going down and makes my eyes water. Utter shit but it’s getting the job done.

The main road is too bright and cheery for my mood right now. All these fucking idiots. Laughing. Singing. Alive. Fuck ‘em. I turn down a sidestreet. Maybe an alley. Whatever. Music isn’t so goddamn loud. It’s nice and shadowy. Smells like shit and garbage. Just like this whole damn town. Whole damn world, all of it shit and garbage. I take a hearty swig from my emptying bottle and cough a few times. “TO HELL WITH ALL OF YOU!” I shout to no one in particular. "RATFUCKING BASTARDS!" Damn, that feels good. Just. Get it out there. Yeah.

Something scampers off a barrel and I swivel toward the sound. “YEAH YOU BETTER RUN, SPRINGER! RUN OFF AND HIDE! IN THE TRASH! WHERE YA BELONG, CHICKENSHIT!” Might not be him. Might be a rat. ‘Course he is a rat. “CHICKENSHIT RAT BASTARD! YA LIKE TOADYING FOR WHIDBY? KISS HIS ARSE GOOD?”

A door opens up in one of the buildings and light spills into the alley. A person steps out. I think they notice me. “Shut up, ya drunk,” they call.

“FUCK OFF!” I yell back. “FUCK OFF! FUCK YA'LL OFF!” The glow is too godamn bright in my nice dark alley. “GONNA FUCKING HANG WHIDBY ON HIS OWN GODDAMN GALLOWS AND ALL HIS FRIENDS BESIDES!” They disappear into the building but leave the door open. When I spin around my shadow’s ten feet tall. I take another drink. Barely notice the burn. "SEND 'EM ALL TO HELL! DEVIL'S WAITING ON YA!"

"Philla?" There's a soft touch on my elbow and a voice beside me.

I lurch around. "WHO FUCKING WANTS TO KNOW?"

"A friend."

"AlN'T GOT NO FRIENDS!" Bring up the bottle and some sloshes out. Damn shame, waste. "Cept this right here." Another glug. Nice.

"How about you come inside?"

Do I know this person? I'm not sure. "Fuck the fuck off."

“I was a friend to your father.”

“THEN WHY AIN’T YOU SWINGING WITH HIM?” I scream. Fucking remind me, goddammit. I upend the bottle and guzzle the rest. Toss it away. It breaks against a building. Now I gotta buy another.

“There’s more inside. How about you come with me?”

Oh, lucky me. “More?” I stand, wavering.

“Yes. As much as you’d like. Come in off the street, Philla.” They tug my elbow toward the open doorway.

I let them guide me. “I got coin.” Coin is important. Coin means booze. Booze means oblivion.

“Don’t worry about that.”

The light’s bright. I hear music and conversation but it flows together. Noise. “Too cheery,” I complain.

They help me up the two or three or ten steps to the open door. “I’ll put you up private. Don’t worry.”

I squint against the glare from the lamps in the hallway. Far, far, far in the distance, I think I see a crowd. Tobacco smoke scents the air. Tobacco and whiskey and leather. That’s where the booze is. I take a tottering step that direction but that same soft touch at my elbow redirects me.

“This way, Philla.”

There’s stairs. Oh, fuck me. I grasp for the handrail and miss. Twice.

Behind me, I hear the voice speaking but not to me. “Take her up to one of the empty rooms on the third floor. Don't leave her alone, even for a minute. Keep her lubed if she wants but most of all quiet. There’s been enough death today.”

"Yes, Miss Peaches." Different voice. A strong arm grips me around my chest and there's a shoulder under my armpit, helping me up the stairs. "Come on, Philla. Up we go."

I wake in my own bed and immediately wish I hadn't. Sunlight streams in around the closed curtain, tunnels through my eyeballs, and curdles my brain. My stomach churns and gurgles in a decidedly unfriendly way. Something reeks to high heaven. It might be me. I groan and throw an arm over my eyes. It doesn't help much.

"Well, maybe fourth time's a charm. How are you feeling?"

I move my arm and crack open one eye. A woman sits in Mama's old rocker across the room. Strawberry blonde hair, simple blue dress, and quite frankly that's all I notice before covering my eyes again because they ache so bad. "Like shit." My voice sounds nauseous.

"Answering questions. That's a good sign," she says.

I groan again. Thinking about words is an effort. "Mind telling me who the fuck you are and why you're in my house?"

"Asking questions, even better." She giggles. "My name's Liese. Miss Peaches sent me home to take care of you."

"Nungh," I grunt in reply.

"We'll see if it sticks this time," Liese says.

I slowly, slowly, sort through her answer. "Peaches?" I ask, settling on the most pressing issue.

"Miss Peaches, yes."

"Mama here?" Any loud noises and my head will explode, and if Mother discovers one of Miss Peaches’ ladies here there will be a lot of loud noise.

"No."

Her answer brings it back, all of it, everything I was trying to forget. The arrest, the executions, the…the hanging. The whole thing. Something between a sob and a moan escapes my lips and my stomach rolls. I’m going to be sick. I try to turn on my side and Liese is there, helping. She even has a slop bucket. But it doesn’t matter because all I manage is dry heaves. My nose is running a steady stream. I wipe it away with the back of one hand. Liese cleans off my hand and nose with a dry cloth. Like Mama or---that train of thought leads to another choked sob and more heaving.

I have to know. When the spasms pass I ask, “What day is it?”

"Tuesday."

"Fuck me." Tuesday. Fuck.

Liese places one arm around my shoulders. “How about sitting up?”

I try to lay back down. "How about no?”

It doesn't matter because Liese hauls me up anyway. My head swims with the change of position and I gag a few times. “There. How do you feel?” she asks.

I squint my eyes open against the light. I’m wearing a long shirt I don’t think is mine. I certainly don’t remember changing into it. My legs and feet are bare. "Like shit and also confused."

< stuff happens > < Location: Phil's house later that day >

I think it’ll stay down this time. But I’m wrong, and Liese realizes it a half-second before I do. She shoves the slop pail at me barely in time to catch my spew. I vomit up the food I just ate until there’s nothing left in my stomach. Then I vomit up sour yellow bile until I run out of that, too. I puke until my belly aches from the effort and I can’t anymore. She gives me a mouthful of water to rinse, setting off another round of dry heaves. God, everything hurts.

Liese wipes my face and mouth with a damp cloth like I’m a child. She crouches down beside me and puts my arm over her shoulders. “Let’s get you to the jakes. On three. One, two, three!” She stands and brings me with her despite my groaning protests. I struggle to make my legs work. They don’t want to. My heels slip on the floorboards. Eventually I manage to get them under me but it’s Liese bearing my weight. She leans to grab the slop bucket in her free hand. “Come on, Philla.”

< stuff happens > < New Location: Peach House, Later >

Miss Peaches walks around the end of the bar to stand beside me. "There's a line between drowning your sorrows and drinking yourself to death and you rolled right over it without slowing down. So I cut you off and sent Liese home with you once you dried out enough to stand."

"I don't remember."

"I'm not surprised. I ought to have done sooner,” she says. “My condolences, Philla. He was--"

I hold up a hand to stop her. "Don't. Just don't. I had to go past the square to get here and if I have to think about it I'll be sick. Not today. Not now, please." Christ, I'm begging. I can't look at her. I can't look at anything but the dark polished wood of the bar I’m leaning on. My haggard, distorted reflection stares back at me. There's a black chasm, a cliff, barely beyond my toes and only the thinnest wire keeping me from taking that final step and falling in. "I want a drink."

"I won't serve you," Miss Peaches says.

“I've half a mind to find someone who will.” More than half, if I’m honest. Wouldn’t be hard even this early. Not in low town.

She rests her hand gently on my arm. “Don’t.”

It’s so like my father I feel tears forming hot in the corners of my eyes. They roll down my cheeks. I squeeze my eyelids shut to try to stop them but they creep out anyway. My breath hitches in a sob. Fuck. I can’t lose it now. Not here. Not in public. I blink a lot, snurfle the tears back, then drag out a coin purse and set it on the bar. “I, ah, I owe you…for the, ah, the room and all.” The words come out ragged and hoarse. I almost don’t recognize my own voice.

Miss Peaches folds my fingers back over the bag. “No, you're paid full,” she says. Her other hand brushes my hair behind my ear and ends resting across my shoulders in a gentle embrace.

I choke out another sob and feel her soft pat on my shoulder. It breaks the dam. My eyes squeeze shut again and I start shaking. No sounds. She gathers me in and I cling to her shoulders, curled into her embrace, when the wailing begins in earnest. She holds me while I cry out all the pain I tried to drink away before and then some. At some point she guides me to one of the card tables and eases me down into a chair, then sits with me until I'm all wrung out. It’s ugly. It feels like hours.

When the shakes finally stop and the tears slow she smooths my hair and asks, "Better?"

"Not really." I feel like I did when I stopped puking. Nothing's fixed. I'm not done. I'm just spent. Numb and hurting at the same time. “I ruined your dress,” I say. Snot and tears pucker the shimmering blue material. It looks like someone’s baby spit up and then some.

Her face shows no disapproval. “I have others.”

[goldemas1244]

Hmm?

Enhanced, it turns purple-blue?

Four eyes on the sword?

Gem on the logo?

Extra shine?

Does Moonton confirm Zhargus???

[kmlaney]

Skyfallen. This snip references a part I wrote out. You can read it here.

My fist punches a boy in the eye and he screams. After that he wears a patch on that side. The boy throwing rocks at young horses in a paddock. I throw rocks at him until he chases me into the bull’s paddock. I can shortcut across the corner and I’m small enough to slither through the fence on the other side. I know Washbourne is not.

Daily Sip 1/16

You can reblog this post.

You can make your own post.

You reblog someone else's snip!

Just tag it sipofsnips so everyone can find each other. ^.-

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Music ask game: Fi's Farewell [https://youtu.be/lLkv4hJEcE0] & Fi's Gratitude [https://youtu.be/WJWl6HtQgT8].

Legend claimed that the legendary sword had a spirit inside of it. There were stories that said only the person who possessed the Soul of the Hero could hear the spirit's voice, stories that claimed the spirit was a guide.

No one knew if the legends were true, of course. There hadn't been a hero in millennia. But now that the threat of the Calamity was ever growing, now that a new Hero had been pronounced, the stories circulated far more than they used to.

Does he hear the voice? The people wondered. Even the princess herself had asked such a question.

Most thought the stories were simply that. There was no way a sword had a soul, after all.

But in the middle of the night, after an enormous festival celebrating the coming of hope, the coming of two figures of myth who could help save Hyrule from destruction, the sword lay innocently in the knights' barracks. In the middle of the night, as the Hero slept fitfully, a faint glow emitted from the blade, and it hummed gently.

In the middle of the night, Fi sang once more, calling to her heroes, able to reach out into the world around her for the briefest of moments. In the middle of the night, the princess' Champion turned towards the blade in his sleep, soothed from a nightmare, and the skyfallen knight in the castle perked up briefly, swearing he heard a familiar call.

[empyrean-demise]

Also today we learnt that Starfall does not like Christianity-

Basically, we had to attend a school worship and Starfall started freaking out.

They're fine with the concept and with angels... it's just that worship is NOT something they like.

~ 🔶️ [Aven]