tamlynstales

[tamlynstales]

Secondary

It's not intentional

That's what I have to keep telling myself

I know they don't mean to

Still the persistent absence is like a hole in the chest

Why is it like this?

I'll plan the day, set time aside, be ready to ride

When the ground crumbles beneath me

"I can't make it"

"Sorry not today"

They all say it's because of work or school, a cold

An accidental overbooking

I should believe what I'm told

The feeling still settles in

It makes me want to tear away skin

Unintentionally secondary

Is this my legacy?

When will it be someone's turn to chase me?

To hold space equally?

Guess I'll just have to wait and see

Until then I'll be my own primary

#poetry? #poetic processing #writers on tumblr #the tortured poets department

[tamlynstales]

It's been a while since I've posted anything, so here's a little update! Life's been busy, but good; went traveling over winter break. I've been keeping busy crafting cool sweaters and scribbling in my field journal. Top surgery is soon approaching and I'm so excited for flat-chested life!

Goals this year include: starting a band, being a more dedicated writer, and enjoying another rotation around the sun.

Current wisdom that I'm working on integrating:

You are worthy of investing in your endeavors! Go, do the thing!

You can do hard things! Anything new feels difficult at first, that's not a reason to stop.

Intention drives action; if you're being intentional about something you're aware of the actions you're taking. Unintentional action can lead to following old, sometimes unhealthy, patterns.

Here's hoping that screaming into this little void brightens someone's day ✨ gotta spread light and love as much as we can in this world 🤗

#writers on tumblr #nonbinary #writer #lgbtq #trans joy #genderqueer

[tamlynstales]

A blurb from Chapter 2

“Please darling, I know you don’t want to do this” Eadlyn’s tearstained face, as he feels himself step forward towards her. The king’s voice echoing in his mind “Haven’t you always wanted to taste her?” the predator rising in his throat, as another step brought him closer, fangs and claws elongating for the hunt. His vision blurred, as ruddy tears began to fall down his face. 

“My love, I know you’re in there. You can fight this - you can -” her pleading cut off as he rushed forward, gripping her by the throat and slamming her back into a bookshelf. The air rushing out of her prevented the scream from the breaking of ribs.

“I could fight this, true. The question is, do I want to?”  the words tumbled out of his mouth, cruel and cold. Were they his? He wasn’t sure. Her gleaming jewel-like blue eyes dimmed, he felt her go limp in his grasp, accepting her fate. A boiling rage began to rise within him; rage at her for giving in, rage at himself for losing control, the ever increasing anger seemed to seep into every corner of his being. 

Eadlyn raised a shaking bloodstained hand to his cheek, wiping away the tears still pouring down his face, as her lips struggled to form around voiceless words. Words he may never be willing to hear. 

Her weakness was so tantalizing, the beast within would wait no longer. A pained snarl ripped its way through his throat, as his body lunged forward fangs sinking into her jugular. He felt her arms wrap around him, a dying embrace, as her life bled into him. 

#campaign turned fiction #writers on tumblr #writing process #daringthots #dnd oc #dare #writer

[tamlynstales]

The Prologue (first draft)

This story begins in an unknown land, in an Era when I was not myself. At the beginning there was only pain and blood. 

In a blur of motion, like a red-eyed shadow, Dare appears behind Alvaro claws spilled blood from the King’s shoulder which hit the stone floor of the Cathedral like spilled wine. Ack! [Alvaro] Dare's snarling fangs extended through his lips. Pressing Alvaro against the stained glass, an angelic motif in multicolored glass, which began to crack and break as he ground his face into the fracturing shards. From between red-stained teeth the king began to laugh, at first a low chuckle but as Dare continued to slash at him it grew manic and unhinged. 

“FOOL!” Alvaro snapped his fingers, dissipating into silvery mist. “Do you think you’re any more fit to kill me now?” His voice came in a purr-like whisper over Dare’s shoulder. 

Like lightning Dare whipped around, but it was too late. Reaching out with a black aura-ed hand Alvaro caught him on the shoulder. In a flash of cold, the black aura seeped into him and ate away at him. His vision blurred and he stumbled to maintain balance. Then instinct took over, and Dare grabbed toward Alvaro, strength propelling him forward. He felt his claws sink into tense warm muscle, and heard Alvaro do his best to hold back a pained scream. A smirk of satisfaction showed on one corner of his mouth as he pulled Alvaro closer. Snarling, as the hollow ache through his fangs drove him forward ready to drain Alvaro to a husk. 

“No.” It was a low whispered command, and Dare’s body locked up. Frozen in mid-motion. A low and satisfied chuckle rumbles from Alvaro’s chest as he gestured with a wave tossing Dare backward through the air to the fractured center of the glass. Dare hissed in pain as the shards drove into him. 

“Now let this mark you’ve made be your last,” Alvaro vowed, gesturing to the quickly darkening patch of fabric on his breast. 

Spitting blood in the king’s face, “What are you going to do? Kill me?” Dare chuckled darkly, “Death and I are old friends.”

“Oh no dear one,” Alvaro tutted, “you deserve much worse.” 

Alvaro made some symbols with his hands, pressing them quickly through various forms, his lips barely moving in an imperceptible chant. As he began to pull his hands apart, the space between them was filled with the light mottled darkness of the night sky. The darkness of the spell echoed in the king's eyes as they met Dare’s, flaming and defiant. 

“Enjoy your eternity.”  Alvaro sent the consuming night hurtling toward Dare. It slammed into him, and he heard the window break, felt himself falling back and into the air above the cathedral courtyard. Then the night took him, and he was still falling, now through the endless starlight sky. He felt death’s cold settle immediately into him, no air present to fuel his panicked scream. He felt his body being pulled in each direction while simultaneously feeling crushed between stones. 

The ceaseless unending realms of the void embraced him as the cold reaches of the universe became his coffin. 

You could say that the writing challenge is going well! :)

#writers on tumblr #writing process #campaign turned fiction #dare #daringthots #dnd oc

[tamlynstales]

Novel thoughts

Recently I've been trying to put some more structure around my writing, since my local writer's group is on hiatus.

So! This month, I've set myself a challenge to write 15,000 words. Part of me wants to do more, but really it's less about the word count and more about the routine.

I also aim to participate in this year's NaNoWriMo; which is something I've always wanted to do!

Therefore, this month has become my lil practice run. I'll be updating this page with little snippets of scenes that I'm happy with as the challenge goes on :)

Here's hoping this structure does the trick!

#daringthots #campaign turned fiction #writing process #writers on tumblr

[tamlynstales]

Cool Kids

As much as I love

being a tag along

I don't need to beg

for your attention

Why am I

here

asking what life is like

through your eyes

when the curiosity

is a one-way street

gods! how I'd like to meet

someone

who's inquiries go

toe-to-toe with mine.

Queers of a similar design.

For no longer will I plead

to follow where the cool kids lead.

#writers on tumblr #poetry? #writing process #short prose #poetic processing

[tamlynstales]

Old Photos

Going through ancient posts on the 'gram

Easy to see when I started to be everything I am.

The difference between two selfies,

both subtle and strong,

one was of me

the other of her long gone.

Can others see it too?

Scrolling back through my feed.

The moment that it started to bleed

through to the surface

no longer hidden behind

the mask of a femme faced filter.

Can you see in old photos when I became me?

#writers on tumblr #poetry? #writing process #short prose #poetic processing

[tamlynstales]

Realizations

Oh gods...

Is he just me?

Everything I wanted

but couldn't seem to be.

To tell his story

must I live it?

Do I breath visceral life into

what until now has been

a character held within words?

Or do I continue to write his life

as it would be in story?

To press him between pages

or bleed through his skin.

#writers on tumblr #poetry? #writing process #dare #short prose #campaign turned fiction #poetic processing #dnd oc

[tamlynstales]

First Campaign

I find myself so worried

that this torrid tale

will hang forever with no resolution

I only hope I am disillusioned

of the growing belief

that this story has seen an untimely end

#writing process #dnd #short prose #poetic processing #poetry? #poetry #writers on tumblr

[tamlynstales]

Dazed and Dysphoric / Perception Filters

I know what I look like

skinny, soft and sweet

a bright pretty thing like a flower.

Long hair, eyeliner

petite frame and curved hips.

And there's nothing wrong with this -

the way my fine fingers wear their rings;

dimples etching wrinkles into skin when I smile.

And while I love this body of mine,

even able to acknowledge how fine

it is, to be held captive in a flesh-suit like this.

I know what you see

when your eyes try to make sense of "she";

a fire-filled filly

a manic pixie dream

girl; woman,

walking weapon of desire.

Playing at passing.

Some kind of masking to keep eyes

busy objectifying, rather than prying

into my anatomy.

When "she" is so easily seen,

"they" must be earned

and "he" must be fought for;

backed by some sort of twisted proof.

Twisting the truth

of self into forms that others see.

What others' demand of me

for what their perceptions deem "right".

And I am so tired of arguing -

to the world, to coworkers,

to friends and family

and even quietly to myself

that a boy can have tits... or even remotely look like this.

Breath remember my body is not all of me;

a frame for a photo under development.

But no matter the finished photo,

your perception filters;

colors the world as you would have it be -

Colors me binary.

Is "she" all I can be?

A curse of assigned anatomy.

The other words feel like pretend.

"he/him", "they/them", "fae/faer",

"it" doesn't matter.

So you say you see "him" when you look at me,

but how could that be?

I know what I look like...

I know how perception filters.

#writing process #poetic processing #writers on tumblr #short prose #poetry? #poetry

[tamlynstales]

Prologue: Beginning the Unmasking Letters - April 5, 2023

Darling, last night as I came undone at your behest I could’ve sworn you met my gaze unguarded. For the first time in two years I truly saw you as you saw me. It (Recognition) washed through me with a warmth like sunbeams. Then I blinked and it was gone. Your gray eyes, once again cold and calculating. Mask set so firmly in place, as to be mistaken for your true face. An elaborate and decorative mask presented to the world, behind which one remains alone. How lonely is life behind your carefully crafted facade? What pain has led you here? To never let another see past the disguise. How do you bear it? 

I had believed I could bear mine; kept it tightly in place for centuries. For so long this armament was integral to my existence, I began to forget the mask wasn’t the man behind it. My only escape from the gnawing loneliness seemed to be a permanent end; so I waited but one never came. Immortal life seemed to me a curse; to be forced to live perpetually with all the guilt and darkness such a life as mine has accrued. That was the way of my death, and nothing more was expected; living defeat. 

Until a sound, a song, a raw discordant melody shattered my apathy and freed me. Music so alien and so full of life; it seemed to possess me. Suddenly the veneer once so comfortably worn was suffocating; what was my buoy now only kept me drowning. It was overwhelming, but the resonance had taken hold and settled within me; in a way it was unbearable. Inside I argued that no deathly creature such as I relied upon air to survive; what difference would a few more years of this now heightened torture make? The fragmenting facade was necessary, I insisted, it kept the monster within at bay. He could not be let loose again. 

Yet, each time that song rang in my ears more and more of my carefully practiced guise slipped away. Even as the fall took me, I believed I could best Icarus; to fly closer and closer to the flaring star of you without being burnt. Without revealing the core of me. As much as I wish to be freed completely, to pull fresh air into decayed lungs, it is clear now that to do so would only sever you from me; to fall would be to descend into darkness. So I am left (burning) melting. 

Now it gets harder and harder to keep the words in my heart from spilling from my lips - exposing every thought and feeling - only to be known by you; with hopes of knowing in return. My mangled mask is quickly coming undone. Every cunning glance and witty retort, mere plaster to maintain my failing facade. These truest words must remain hidden. None is more surprised than I that death would be a kinder fate than earning any enmity of yours.  

So,  I set them down within these pages along with hopes that one day we won’t have to disguise ourselves from each other… and if not, then at least our story will live somewhere. 

#daringthots #dare #dnd oc #campaign turned fiction #writing process #short prose

[tamlynstales]

Kallen's Account of the years after

Characters

Carri: Tiefling bard (college of spirits) reborn/undead, age unknown. Alabaster skin, white short curly hair, one white horn, one black that flows into a black masquerade mask tattoo; The "mask" is decorated with tiny ornamentations of skulls and music notes. Their eyes are a glossy gray color, but they wear a bright red lipstick on their upper lip; they wear lacy french victorian style blouses, with tall black boots, tight leather pants and lacy black gloves; about 5’11” They/Them

Moot: Satyr - resurrected Human bard (college of glamor) basically Danni Devito, he wears brightly patterned floral shirts and newsie caps; about 5’ 4" He/Him 

Kallen: protection Aasimar bard/warlock (college of lore, genie patron). Bronze skin, with long black wavy hair; He wears black silk robes, embroidered with gold that cling to his form; flowing chiffon sleeves that meet the upturned shoulders of his white mantle; the open back of his robes reveals golden swirls in his warm skin where his shimmering angelic white wings unfold; 6' 3" He/They

It’s been at least a decade since Moot Point’s journey to the world of Era. 

Since he and Carri had managed to drag themselves back by their claws, barely alive clutching pieces of their dead friends. Moot had seemed to embrace his new incarnation with the excitement of a new student at the Keen; driven with purpose and ambition. But Carri… They had disappeared into the remains of The Last Drop, pouring over every detail that went into remaking it into something that was theirs. 

Kallen and Moot barely heard from them for months, even though they tried to reach out; to offer help, support, anything really. So he and Moot busied themselves with other things. Arranging with the Bureau the beginnings of what would become Moot’s Really Good Stuff. Pouring through tomes at the Keen on the cycles of life and death throughout the Verse; the requirements and rituals that could call back a soul from the beyond. Moot had glimpsed the other side, and was determined that they could find a way to bring back their departed band patron and dear friend. Kallen was more unsure, but an unsettling anxiety at the back of his mind had not left him since their return, and along with a growing concern for Carri, he found himself reading voraciously through reports from the Bureau; searching for a hint of anything to unwind the tension that had not left him. 

  It wasn’t until near the grand re-opening of the newly named La Drop that they heard from their friend. Carri found the both of them, sifting through piles of papers in the Keen’s library, and insisted they both come perform at the grand opening with them. “Moot Point needs to claim its place at the top of the Verse’s music scene, of course.” Moot and Kallen jumped at the chance to perform again, and to see Carri too. Kallen was happy to see that Carri was still their overly-confident and demanding self. Though through the week’s rehearsals Kallen was sure he saw a new darkness had anchored itself behind their eyes; they were slower to outright acts of cruelty, yet more ruthless when pressed. 

This came to the forefront one night, when after their dress-rehearsal, Carri deigned to ask what Moot and Kallen had been doing over the past few months. Kallen kept quiet, shifting his silks nervously. But Moot, either knowing no better or just being oblivious, charged straight ahead and began telling Carri about their plan to resurrect Dare. All at once Carri snapped, their face twisting into a grimace, ghostly purple tendrils poured from the black box at their waist and wrapped around Moot, pulling him close to meet Carri’s darkened gaze. Kallen’s mind begged him to intercede on Moot’s behalf, but his body remembered all too well the beatings Carri had given him before, freezing him in shock. 

“Dare is dead. And he’s going to stay that way. Understood?” The tendrils tightened around Moot’s throat. Carri glanced from Moot to where Kallen was shaking in place, and Kallen nodded, eyes pleading with Carri. Moot, a defiant glare in his eyes, nodded begrudgingly. The ghostly energy dissipated and released him. “Good. Now I won’t hear another word about this. What’s done is done… and he would want it to stay that way.” Carri said, turning quickly from the two and disappearing off the stage. 

After this, Moot seemed to take to the research again with even more fervor; seeming to view Carri’s forbiddance as a challenge. Kallen was hesitant, apprehensive to do anything that would land him firmly on Carri’s bad side. Yet he wasn’t going to stop Moot. So he found himself mangled uncomfortably in the middle of his friends, covering for Moot and doing his best to distract Carri from their intentions. 

The years passed, all too quickly, this way; an unsettling liminal ongoing dance. 

Kallen and Carri became a musical force to be reckoned with; doing tours through local wild space and bringing more and more travelers of the Verse to Quelleburn. It was one of Kallen’s dreams come true, a revered and legendary bard of the Verse. A golden time so full of life that he almost forgot the darkness that had come before… almost. Though as much as he tried to drown it with sex, drugs and rock’n’roll that unfixed worry still gnawed at his insides. Uncertain of its origin and longing for peace, Kallen did everything he could to ignore it. Until one night, long after La Drops closing hour, an accidental discovery set Kallen’s hidden dread ablaze and it would no longer be ignored. 

He had been pensively wandering through La Drop, expecting it to be empty; Carri usually off celebrating post-show with whatever colorful creature caught their eye that night. Finding his way down into the dim concert hall beneath, he could see through the stage curtain a lone purple light casting the shadow of a harp onto the drapes. Knowing that being caught snooping would surely come with a punishment of some sort, Kallen unfolded his wings and quietly alighted in the scaffolding above the stage. Below he was shocked to see Carri, alone, perched on a stool with their black box set beside them and the harp in their hands. 

Pressing a few keys on their black box, Carri then plucked a discordant line from the harp using their box to loop and morph the sounds. As they began to orchestrate the line into a swelling melancholy song, Carri flipped up a hidden slider on the box and a mauve wisp flowed from the box and wrapped around their fingers. Conducting now the wisp and the somber song, Kallen heard a voice emanate from the ghostly mauve line as it spiked in sound waves between their hands. 

The haunting voice pierced Kallen to his core and let loose the growing dread that he had worked so long to subside. Flooding through him in tandem with this horror, a flash of memories played inside his mind: “Every soul who’s died at one of my performances is kept in this” Carri’s voice, explaining the black box; “The coronation’s performance is just the distraction we’ll need” Dare’s plan to assassinate Era’s emperor; the waves of colliding sound and screams as the final battle raged around them; Dare being vaporized by a beam of green and Carri’s raging grief that dealt the final blow. 

As the memories cleared from Kallen’s mind he found his eyes were blurred with tears and wiping them away with his palms, watched as Carri directed the wisp back into the box; the dim purple light glinting off a line of tears on their face. Carri’s chest heaved with an unnecessary breath, and like a coiled snake they lashed out grabbing the harp and throwing it with all their might into the mirrored wall backstage. As the mirror shattered and the harp was rent apart, Carri stood blankly; broken fragments of their torn reflection gazing up at Kallen in the scaffolding.

The next morning, a sleepless Kallen - still hearing the song's echo rattling in his skull - went to Moot as soon as he woke, frantically explaining his revelation from the night before. 

“Woah woah slow down friend. Are you saying that Dare’s soul is in Carri’s box?” Moot asked, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes over a cup of coffee. 

“I don’t know what else would explain what I heard,” Kallen admitted, “besides weren’t you saying that these sort of rituals only really work if we have something from the person who’s being resurrected?” 

“That’s true, but I’m worried it’s more complicated than that,” Moot’s face grew somber, “Caelynn’s been helping me with some of the research and passed off this report to me a few months back. I’m still not sure what it means but - here.” Moot passed over a glass panel to Kallen that blinked on, and teal glowing words scrawled across its surface. 

Domains of Dread - RECORD ENTRY#76372

What is known of the Domain called Roden T’wyl is scattered in fragments through the Verse’s history but those who hold the records of balance have amassed the following records: 

Once the Demiplane that held two ancient evils, The Whispered One and The Undying King, the land split between their rule, torn by conflict. Until one of them managed to reclaim a physical form on a different world, and once more began to freely roam the Verse. The Demiplane fell solely to the other and quietly out of the spotlight of history. At least that’s one main account. 

The Variant account of this Demiplane appears in the timeline, starting some decades after prior records and seemingly without mention of the previous inhabitants. Roden T’wyl, the variant, is a dark demiplane made of slivers of the shadow-verse that seems to have the attributes of Ravenloft compounded by shadow-slivers of other realms. The Demiplane still holds the foundation and history once laid by its two ancient evils, under a different dark influence. Past this general understanding, some names or keywords(?) any other historical whispers of Roden T’wyl exist in the scribblings of the mad, or at the fading cut-off end of wizard’s notes. 

Keywords: The Whispered One, The Undying King, Cavitius, Lapsul Seren, Lady of Eternal Suffering, Inverted Darkness, Avare Ender, Shadowed Room, Azariel, and the Night of Golden Death

Records laid forth by: Caelyn Menora, Information Overseer and Prime Curator of the Bureau of Balance 

Portions of the report had been highlighted by Moot. 

“I’m going to need you to spell this out for me Moot,” Kallen’s bloodshot eyes glazing over. 

“Right, so - the best guess I’ve got right now is that something else happened to at least part of Dare after he died,” Moot slurped from his mug, “We worked together for a while before yous got to Quelleburn, and I recognize a few of the key words in the report. Avare and Ender were both alias names I heard Dare use over the years, and the whole Golden Death thing was a whacked out story he told me drunk after a job once.”

“Okay, so? All this means?” 

“It means that we might be dealing with a soul in fragments. He wasn’t human after all, and who knows what that shit does to your soul. Besides” Moot sighed resigned, “I tried the rite once already… and it didn’t work. If all of his soul was in the black box, it should’ve worked.”

“What?” Kallen, too tired to be angry. “When?”

“Years back - after Carri told us not to,” a smirk spread across Moot’s face, “didn’t like being told what not to do. But it went pretty wrong.”

“What could’ve gone wrong? In all the worst cases we’ve read it just sputters and the spell fades,” Kallen frowned and pinched his brow; a headache the result of withdrawal compounding the sleep deprivation. 

“Yeah well uhh, in this case something came through. A dried out corpse that tried to eat us as soon as we got near it,” Moot shuddered, “Dealt with it easy enough. That’s what got me thinking that Dare might’ve wound up stuck somewhere he can’t come back from. BUT! If we have access to a fragment, maybe we could use it to find where the rest is!”

Kallen laughed dryly, “There’s no way in the Verse that Carri would let us anywhere near their black box! Especially for this! Asking them would be next to asking for a death sentence.”

“Kallen… we’ve still got to try,” Moot’s earnest and concerned gaze meeting Kallen’s, “If we knew Dare was somewhere better, I’d leave it. But now we basically have proof that’s not true - and sure Carri wouldn’t want us doing it, but don’t ya think they’d be happy once we did?”

Kallen sighed into his hands, and tried to press the bloodshot out of his eyes, placing his elbows on the counter. 

“Alright Moot,” he said through his hands, “fine… you’ve convinced me. How’re we going to steal the black box?”

The opportunity didn’t present itself for another year. 

All the while Moot and Kallen worked secretively to perfect the spell that would locate the other fragments of soul they were searching for. They knew, once they could get their hands on the black box it would be a matter of sifting through the hundreds of souls locked in there to find the one that they were looking for. With that fragment as a central component it would be the driving force of a transportation and location rite. Which, if all went well, would take them to the realm of Dare’s afterlife. Hopefully. 

Meanwhile, Carri and Kallen continued to play to full houses at La Drop. Carri’s viscous rhythm and electronics now accompanied by twisted sound bites of that ghostly voice, while Kallen’s wailing guitar drove the melody. After each performance Kallen would keep a watchful eye on the box, waiting for Carri to leave it with their zombies, or to lock it in the office, anything; yet the box never seemed to leave their side. He almost began to wonder if they knew. Though, he supposed, if he had had a fragment of someone he had loved to hold close, he’d do the same. 

So Kallen decided that he’d play into Carri’s trust; they'd manipulated him before in similar ways. He started letting Carri take more solos, to be more in the spotlight; which wasn’t his favorite but Carri ate up the attention. He spent months appeasing Carri’s wants and whims, in a way it reminded him of how their dynamic began. When the occasion called for it Kallen would share little secrets with Carri, exchanging vulnerability for vulnerability. The closer he got the harder it was for him to keep his goal in mind; no matter their differences and disagreements Carri was his friend. Kallen reminded himself that it would turn out alright - as Moot said. 

One night, after a performance in which Kallen had been more dancer than counterpart, Carri was brimming with energy from the show, and impatient to go hunt for a pretty thing to play with. Turning to Kallen with their ever-blasé front, “Be a dear and help the dancers break down the equipment. I’m off to enjoy the night,” they winked at Kallen and quickly bounded off the stage and into the crowd; where they were greeted with excited gasps and squeals from fans. Whether Carri meant to leave the box on stage, or forgot, Kallen was unsure - it had happened so fast. Under his breath Kallen cast a message to Moot, “It’s time. I’ll bring the box with me tonight.”

The ritual was set, and Moot waited nervously for Kallen’s arrival. Pacing the edges of the magic circle, humming both to calm his nerves and to keep the circle active. Kallen had contacted him hours ago - where was he? Moot decided he would check the circle yet again for any mistakes; the blending of spells was the best he could summon. He had even taken it to the Allspell when they had finished it, getting a wizard’s eye on the rite as well. The runes were all in their proper quarters, all other components cast, called and present. Moot was halfway through his fifth check of the circle when Kallen arrived. 

“What took you so long?” Moot complained, “I can’t keep this up forever.”

“Sorry,” his white wings folding tightly to his back, “had to make sure it wouldn’t be missed anytime soon. Knowing Carri, you’ll have at least a few hours before they’ll even be checking their gear.”

“Okay okay, well let’s get you on your way then,” Moot gestured to the center of the circle, where two chalk triangles crossed each other. 

Kallen clutched the black box to his chest, and pressed through the shimmering outer ring of the rite. He placed the black box in one triangle and took his place standing in the other. The magic hummed all around him, in layers of ringing harmony. Nerves like those just before walking on stage rose at the back of his throat, and he took a breath to steady them. 

“Whenever you're ready Kallen,” Moot said reassuringly, taking his place to the side of the circle, his lyre at the ready. 

Kallen nodded, and Moot began to play, a lulling melancholy tune. As the notes rang out they carried through the harmonies of the circle and amplified. The air around Kallen was electric - enlivened with song. Glistening blue and white ripples of magic ran through the circles runes and into the center. The black box began to float up from the floor dripping purple ghostly forms who wailed in dissonant melody against the magic that unwound them. The forms pressed against the confines of the triangle, horrified wailing faces, masks of death, made of purple mist began to disfigure the magic around them. 

Kallen stepped forward, wings spreading outward, as he opened his mouth to call forth the soul that they sought from the hundreds. But as the sound left his throat, it came out wrong; somehow echoing the resonance of the discordant wails. It was too late, the twisted melody tore it’s way from his throat as if demanding to be freed. The inner confines of the rite shattered, breaking the layers of sound like panes of glass, and the ghostly forms erupted from the box; which began to fracture with lines of bright violet light. 

“No! Kallen!” Moot’s voice, as far away as if through depths of water. 

The fractures on the box brightened and then exploded apart - the ruptured wave of sound and contorted souls surging outward. Kallen covered his face from the blast, but then through his fingers he saw a golden light, still hovering in the center. Amidst the chaos of sound all around him, he could hear echoing out to him that same hauntingly familiar voice in yearning song; the one from all of Carri’s new sounds, the one who's heartbroken melody had awoken his deep seeded fear and convinced him that his friend was not beyond saving. 

 Through the waves of jagged sound and force, Kallen lept for the light and as he reached out for the golden orb, wings closing in around him - they blinked… and were gone.

The resounding explosion and discordant wails of the now untethered souls flattened an entire city block.

#campaign turned fiction #my friends ocs #daringthots #dnd #fantasy writing

[tamlynstales]

AI chan might be cute, but stealing art isn’t‼️

[tamlynstales]

What calls you? (page 61)

Life keeps sending me the message

"you're powerful

a healer,

a karma dealer,

a force for inspiring good"

Witches on the internet confirm

"do what calls to you!

that's how your medicine will spread"

warmly whispered words of inspired motivation

Why then, when a call is heard, is it so hard to find?

Feverishly following it's melody

until fist closes around the flighty thing called muse

source

truth

They met my eyes with horrific piercing clarity

"here child,

the tale's path lies before you"

wisps of silver filigree along a mist laden path

feet longing to follow

it's at this moment

against heart's will

an icy shock runs through my grasp

and drops inspiration on it's ass

"so sorry to have bothered you"

mutters fear's bitter voice

"another's pen will wield you better"

One day will fear relinquish?

Can I hold a muses call?

if not, I'll certainly try

#writing process #writer #poetry? #rough draft #music for mood #lgbtq #witch #witchy thoughts #Spotify

[tamlynstales]

What no one tells you about deadnames 1/?

Recently her name keeps echoing around my head. Insisting that it still belongs to me. Rushing to the front of every quiet self-directed thought.

For the past year she seemed content; happy to let another navigate the long roads at night. What had formed and fueled her had her following the paths of other’s needs and expectations. None of it was truly hers.

When we joined forces she giddily set those weights on the roadside, handed me her faulty compass and said

“Maybe it’ll work better for you.”

In some ways it does I guess. We had shared the same path all along you see, though she did not know me then. The directions the compass’ needle favors asking for constant awareness.

Now, as though enraged at my discovery of true north and our new course, she has begun grabbing at the steering wheel.

“We can’t go that way,” she says, “it’s not safe! There’s no path!”

“Yes, that’s what it means to navigate true. Charting the ways unknown.” I try to soothe her; it’s worked before, she’s trusted me this far. But then she gets mean.

“It doesn’t matter what you do - others can see it - I’m the you that’s always true!”

Sometimes she even says it in my father’s voice too.

#poetry? #writing process #lgbtq #gender dysphoria #transmasc #transformation #mental health #its the neurodivergency

[tamlynstales]

?!

All it took was a song or two

a word or a few

and the damn of words unwritten cracks

Works seep out

good

bad

any

...

any at all

What is this weird muse?

#poetry? #rough draft #writing process

[tamlynstales]

Pavlov's Vampire

It's ingrained in me now,

I can't help it.

that building melody

shattering with directed discord

the enthralling command of your reign.

At the first notes sound,

through time and madness

and purposeful corruption,

what was

what is

what could have been

rips into me like thousands of jagged blades.

Everything happens all over again...

Every blade,

every memory

is painfully precious

a self-induced searing torment.

Like caressing the sun as it melts you to nothing

just for a moment's warmth.

#dnd oc #dare #dnd #poetry? #pov #Spotify #campaign turned fiction #oc