druidx

[druidx]

Then you have people like me who prefer worldbuilding over writing so much that they just give up on writing their story to fiddle around with world ideas forever. If I can't remember it, eh guess it wasn't a good idea after all.

Re:

You, my friend, are the sort of person who needs to go into making TTRPG settings!

Spending 0 time plotting and 100% worldbuilding is what that discipline is all about, because the 100% plotting is then all down to the GM at the table.

#answered ask #Anonymous

[druidx]

Fuck your word count!

༺𖤐๋࣭ ⭑🕸🦇🕸๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ 𖤐༻

"Focus on your word count," "Write 2,500 words a day," "Real writers set monthly word goals."

SHUT UP! Your word count doesn't matter. You're just stressing yourself out.

It doesn't matter if you write one word today or 10,000! At least you wrote something! Focus on that.

Quality and sanity of quantity.

#writing #writing positivity #q

[druidx]

Personally I don't bother until I'm forced to by something in the story. Then I either {fill this in later} it or stop and go on a side quest for knowledge, it depends how deep into the work I am.

I really do think some people make worldbuilding more complicated and stressful than it needs to be.

My only suggestion is you make a note of what you built in a separate doc/ spreadsheet/DB/wiki the moment you have the answer. Because you will forget what you decided, you will have to scroll back up trying to remember where you wrote it, and it's just so much easier to make a note then and there 😆️

world building is so daunting. there are so many aspects. so many details.

#worldbuilding #dru is chatty #dru is also lazy AF - why stress when you can solve things as they're needed?

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 16

CW: None AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannah-heartstrings, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

And then they are outside, in the early spring sunshine, and Elo leads the way down the boulevard in front of City Hall. She doesn't really have a destination in mind, intends only to circle the Plaza of Heros, but the King is evidently content to follow where she will lead.

"I have much the same feeling for my kingdom," he says at length. "The rumblings of lava and the windswept black sands are as much in my blood as the vibrancy of your city lives in yours and lived in Alexis'. It may amuse you to know that my kingdom and your city have nearly equivalent populations, though I strongly suspect Toreguard has the larger of the two." He shakes his head in amusement as she goggles at this piece of news. "My station holds me above my people," he continues, returning to their previous conversation thread. "That is an inescapable necessity. But when I was a young man, new to my throne, I used to make a point of going out of an eve, to walk like this and speak to those I met. At the very least, I tried not to take my meals in solitude. Then I became a single father, and it became harder to tear myself away from my desk and duties. I grew lax in my attention to my people, but your Aunt reminded me I should take it up again. It has become difficult again since she left and with all that has happened since. But I still recall the way she spoke of that connection…" His voice trails off. Elo glances over to see his eyes are distant as he looks over the architecture and the sculptures that adorn the plaza.

Elo nudges him down onto a bench, ever mindful of what Merri told her early this morning, and more than happy to let him be in his head for as long as he needs as he takes in her city. "I understand why you do it," he says at length. "Oh?" "Why you insist on being known only by your police department's rank, and not even your full rank at that. You are entitled. You could demand all call you by 'Lady' and yet you refrain. I do understand, no matter how much I tease you. As King, I am held above my people – there is nothing I can do about this. But you have a choice, and I see you chose to only be Sargent to keep connected to your city." Elo smiles. "Yes. People are scared of titles. Well. Normal folk are, anyway. After a while, you become The Magister, The General, The King. You stop being Thazar, Johan, and Storri. "Elowyn, Lady Freeman of Toreguarde has her uses, but Officer O'Torguarde gets things done. There's less of a barrier. People are more amenable to being bought a coffee, having a joke and sharing their concerns with the Officer. The Lady makes people seize up, and it makes my job ten times harder." King Storri is nodding. "Is that the service you provide to them?" he asks. "The Triumvirate. You keep your finger on the pulse when they cannot, let them know how things are going?" "I'm not a spy," she says, and the insinuation makes her hackles rise. "No, no, I did not mean to imply this," he says hurriedly, shaking his hands in a submissive gesture. "You are more like, ah, an independent advisor. Every court has its sycophants and its yes-men. You provide a different perspective." He gives her a sideways look. "Perhaps I should seek to poach you? It is a valuable position to have." Elo snorts. "I find I am rather comfortable where I am." King Storri gives an easy shrug. "You cannot fault me for trying." They share a smile.

Elo turns her attention to the passers-by – the bureaucrats, administrators, and other valuable cogs in the machinery of government. Sharp suits and briefcases, pencil skirts and impeccable makeup. Each with a role to play, each with hopes and dreams. Toreguard, the city of ambition, keeper of aspirations. Give to me your hungry, your poor, your downtrodden, Elo thinks of her city, I will feed them and clothe them, and raise them up to be all they can be. Seven hundred thousand souls. Three risen above the rest. One who thought himself a god and nearly destroyed it all. "I also have another role to play to them," Elo says, her voice soft. She lowers her gaze, pressing a thumb into the palm of the other hand. "Oh?" "It. Um. It's a bit of a secret, and I don't think they've twigged it yet… But I remind them who they are." King Storri makes a noise of curious encouragement. "I call them by their real names – only in private, mind you. But I remove their titles. I call them cute nicknames and I sass them. I make an effort to treat them like normal people, every once in a while." She huffs out a laugh. "I'm still not sure how I've gotten away with it for so long, some miracle of obliviousness, I think. "But, just as I use my police rank to keep myself in touch with the folk on my beat, I use myself to keep them grounded." She pauses, glances up at City Hall. "My Aunts have told me of a man who was briefly in power, who almost brought the city to complete ruin because he thought he was better than everyone else. He neglected Toreguard and her people in favour of his own gains and he listened too eagerly to those same sycophants and yes-men you mentioned before. "Those stories haunt me, moreso as I've grown in fame. This all happened before I came here, and I can't change what I wasn't here for, but I can ensure it will never happen again. "If I can do that by being a cheeky bint to those in power, if buying them flowers or other silly gifts helps them avoid that fate, then I am happy to do it." Elo swallows, her voice filling with venom and strength, "But I will not suffer to see any madness claim these lives." She finishes by casting her hand at those who pass in front of their bench. She swallows again, against the bitterness in her throat, and glances at King Storri. His eyebrows are raised, his mouth a little agape. It is not shock or surprise she reads there, exactly, more an intense interest that suddenly softens into the crease of a smile. "Oh, yes," he says, in a reverent tone, "I have got to get me one of you." Elo smiles back and gives him a little eye roll. "You have one," she assures him. "No, I shan't tell you who they are. It rather spoils the effect if you know." She looks back at the crowds, thinking of a woman with wild ginger hair. "But, believe me, you do have one."

They sit a moment longer before Elo thinks it might be time for them to head back. At the steps of City Hall, she hears the jingle of a bell and glances over, a smile lighting her features as she spots a little white wagon and parasol and the dark-haired, athletic man who tends it. "Let's get snow cones," she says. The King gives her a confused look but follows as she grabs his hand and drags him over to the vendor.

#oc elowyn o'toreguarde #npc storri nargondsson #writing #HCWL Chapters only #WIP 'Her Countenance was Light' #titan fighting fantasy #fighting fantasy #ttrpg fanfiction #wandering words

[druidx]

Sending some warm vibes your way: 🍵🌻🫂

How is your fic treating you?

Aww TY *pours a cuppa for us both* 🫖️

The fic... The fic about Elo... The fic chosen especially to torture Elo... Elo's fic. That fic?

It's slow. Last week I only managed 1,400 words, and I know it's because I'm dragging my feet over the next bit because it's such a crucial part of the story. But the original draft here is so waffly and messy and yuck that I don't want to wade through it and I'm finding literally every other thing far more interesting. My bathroom has never been cleaner 😅️

But I have plenty of time before it's due to be posted, so I can either pick away at it, or find a space to be like "//cracks knuckles// Right, let's get you sorted then" 😆️ (It'll probably be the latter if I'm honest. There's going to be a lot of high-level concepts which are best tackled with a clear head all in one go.)

Anyway. Thank you for enquiring, and I hope you don't mind my desultory mooch at you. Hope the spring has brought you fic-movement too, however slow it is 🧡️

#answered ask #hannah-heartstrings #oc elowyn o'toreguarde #meta writing #WIP 'Her Countenance was Light' #titan fighting fantasy #fighting fantasy #ttrpg fanfiction #meta wandering words

[druidx]

As a pantser, it's always a fun little surprise that doesn't really show up until the end of the first draft, sometimes partway through the second.

I might get a general idea of a theme via the vibes before I start working, but they're never solid until I'm done.

Although there are outliers. My current WIP, Her Countenance was Light, was first drafted while I was grieving, so it really isn't much suprise that the main theme is grief ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ok writeblr i have a question and it does not matter if you answer re fanfic or original work:

do you nerds know what themes you intend to tackle in longer works before you start, or are the themes a fun little surprise you don't uncover until the nth draft?

#meta writing #dru is chatty #meta wandering words

[druidx]

I DO obsessively read peoples tags when they rb my art

And, yes, I DO kick my little feets and giggle when I get compliments

#this #q

[druidx]

The term 'Orchid Drinker' as an in-world, woodlands-specific, term for Lesbians¹ came to me in a dream where Elo was very embarrassedly trying to explain the concept to Merri after being accused of sleeping with one of Merri's sisters.

I mean, look at this thing:

(Photo of Cattlianthe 'Barbara Belle' by A./B. Larsen from Wikipedia)

You see it, right?

I haven't yet come up with a dwarven term. I know more about plants than I do geology...

Anyway, maybe I'll write the scene out at some point.

─

¹ Can't have the term 'Lesbians' if there's no Isle of Lesbos...

#meta writing #cw sexual innuendo #FF headcanon #worldbuilding #fighting fantasy #titan fighting fantasy #meta wandering words #lgbt+

[druidx]

The thing people don’t realize about writing is that time spent just staring out the window is CRITICAL

#writing #writing advice #writing positivity #q

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 15

At 4.3k words, this chapter is twice the length of most I've been posting. Hope you've got a big mug of tea with you 😉️ AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannahcbrown, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

Elo turns the engine over, adjusts the choke, checks the fluid lines, takes the tank cap off and checks the fuel gauge isn't lying. Then she smooths the kickstart again, gentling the engine, before giving it a more vicious downward kick than might otherwise have been called for. The roar of the engines lifts, seems to catch – then falls silent again. Elo closes her eyes. Spark plugs. It has to be the spark plugs not lighting the fuel properly. Maybe the damp…? She draws an oily hand across her face. How doesn't matter. The frigging dragon's fire is out again, and the plugs were only replaced a few months ago. Elo closes her eyes, a wave of exhaustion threatening to take her under right there. There's nothing for it – she just has to push through. City Hall is closer than either her tenement or the precinct station. She can walk the old girl over and co-opt Johan's on-call room. At least then she can get a few hours kip.

By the time she gets to City Hall, the sun is kissing the cream-dollop dome with golden orange which spills like egg-yoke from between ragged grey clouds. She doesn't go straight to General Stucker's office but stops by to report in with Clayrmantle. Early bird that he is, he's already running through some paperwork or other. She knocks on the open office door. "I'm going to steal Johan's on-call room," she says by way of introduction, exhaustion exacerbating her bluntness. "Good morning," Thazar says, raising his head. His eyebrows climb as he takes in her damp, wrinkled suit, the trouser hems caked with mud, the grease smear on her cheek, and the way she sways on her feet. "Do I want to know why?" "No," she snaps, realises she's snapped the word and relents with, "I'll explain after I've slept." He gives her a look of fatherly concern. "Very well. I shall have Evans wake you in three hours." "Could you make it four and a half?" Thazar gives her a low, appraising gaze. "Very well; four and a half hours and a deflection from the inevitable royal enquiries, in exchange for a full explanation, an update on the Evelyn Strucker murder, and your accompaniment during a breakfast meeting next week with the Ladies Rotary Guild." Elo grimaces. "Done," she says, too tired to negotiate any further. There's always a chance she can arrange for someone more suitable to take her place at that meeting. "Clean your face first," Thazar calls after her as she turns away. "I don't want… whatever that is on the pillows." "Yes, sir."

–––

Evans wakes her at 11:30 with coffee and a box of pastries. "Magister Clayrmantle left a message for me," she says by way of explanation. "And I supposed you'd be hungry. I hope these suffice." Elo makes groggy noises of approval as Evans places them on the corner table alongside a shopping bag. But the secretary isn't finished. "Your suit has been cleaned and pressed, and you'll find a new toothbrush and deodorant in the bag. Acting Magister Clayrmantle and His Majesty, King Storri are expecting to see you at 1300 hours for lunch. The Magister also wishes to convey his gratitude vis-a-vis your actions regarding the General's wellbeing and has signed off on his compassionate leave." Though Elo is doing the equivalent of having cartoon squeans float around her head, she does not miss the way Evans pauses, shoulders falling, then hauls in a gust of air and pulls herself back with aplomb. "While the Magister has said you can continue to make use of the General's offices and my expertise," Evans says, "I'm afraid you may have a fight for it. After you've finished your ablutions, would you please talk to him?" This last comes out with uncharacteristic pleading. "What? To whom?" "Evans! Stop lollygagging and bring me that briefing I asked for!" comes the General's dulcet tones. "Ah."

Freshly suited, Elo knocks on the door of the General's main office. "Evans, where the blazes– Oh. Elowyn. My apologies." "What are you doing here, Johan?" Elo asks him quietly as she shuts the door behind her. "You're on leave. You should be home, resting." "I spent all day yesterday resting," he says, thick salt-and-pepper brows drawing together. "I have work to be getting on with. I can't just sit at home in my pyjamas moping." She bites her lip. She knows he is right – he's a man of action. Even though there is no action he can take right now, there is still the desire to be moving, to be busy, to keep your hands working and your mind occupied so that you don't think. Because thinking is fatal.

The moment you stop, the moment you let yourself dwell, is the moment you lose yourself. There is the fear of falling into a never-ending pit of darkness and despair. She knows this feeling all too well. It's the same feeling that drove her the night it happened; it's what drives her even now. How much of a hypocrite is she to stand here and tell him to do what she is positively avoiding? She knows that people like them are the worst at dealing with personal loss. They are too used to the battlefield mentality – if you fall apart over the death of a comrade, the next death on the list is going to be yours. You learn to bottle it up and keep moving. You can let it out later, you tell yourself. You can cry when all is said and done, and you are safe. But it is a lie. You never crack the lid. You never let it out, even when you are safe at home, alone. Your tears may leak out of their own accord, but you always hold back. Someone might see, someone might hear, and then you're forced to deal with the fact that you have emotions. You are forced to acknowledge them in the face of another person – and that will not do. So you don't. You keep it tamped down. You keep it safe, a hot glow in your belly. You do not stop moving, and you do not think, and you do not dwell. How can she ask him, knowing all this, to do what she will not?

"Take the afternoon," she says. "Go to the pool club. Challenge some young punk and have a few drinks. Just don't get thrown in lock-up for trying to eviscerate some poor sod with a pool cue." Those bushy eyebrows, curving like eagle's wings, rise as he stares at her. "I mean it, Johan. I'm not bailing you out or pulling strings just because you're you. That's Thazar's job." His mouth remains in a grim line, his stare feels like it's boring holes through her. "The Plot Hook then. Ask Orrock to spot you into a match. Kick seven barrels out of someone who's actually asking for it." He still hasn't said anything. "Please, Papa Bear?" she asks. It's a low blow, but it's the last card in her hand. A small sob chokes out of him, and she rushes over, immediately guilty. "I'm sorry, Johan. I– I'm just trying– Oh Hell." He's curled over on himself again, elbows on the desk and face on his hands, and all she can do is drape herself over him in the closest approximation of a hug. "Please, Johan. You're not okay. And, it's okay to not be okay. You need to–" She stops. She doesn't know what he needs.

He needs to be at home, but he also needs to be moving. He needs to be safe, beyond safe, to relax and let it out. But his office doesn't feel safe enough, not to her, and she isn't sure his home is either. She doesn't know if the victim was still living with him, but the empty house can't be any better. It'll just remind him of what's not there. Elo doesn't know what to do. She tries to think what she would want if it were the other way around. She thinks of the day Merri was shot by a sniper, and they all thought their friend was going to die. All she wanted to do was find the bastard and put them in the ground.

"Could you stand to hear about the case?" Elo asks as his tears dry up again. She absently passes him a hanky, and he looks at her with lost, watery blue-grey eyes. "That's why I came here," she says. "Thazar said I could borrow your office, so I can call my partner to check on the case. He traded me an update for the use of your secretary this morning, so I figured I should call and get an update myself, which brought me here, to borrow your phone and office so I can update Thazar." She realises she is rambling and brings herself under control. "If you will allow it, sir, I'll call my office now?" "One moment, Sargent," he says, his voice rough. He stands and walks to the facilities table, makes himself a drink of coffee and Cointreau, wipes his eyes and sorts himself out before returning and giving her a nod.

Elo finds the speaker for the phone, places the handset into the cradle, and dials her desk extension at the 88th. "Constable Breakwood, Special Cases. What's happening, man?" her partner's voice comes over the speaker. "Constable Breakwood," Elo begins, "you're on with–" "Elo!" And, of course, her partner recognises her voice. "Elo, what the hell! Where have you been? I've been trying to get hold of you all morning, ever since I got your message from last night. Cuthbert's Scales. What were you thinking, you stupid cow? I was scared shit–" "Farren, shut up!" she snaps, breaking off his tirade. "You're on speakerphone with General Strucker." "Oh." Strucker quirks a brow at her. "General, I apologise for my outburst," Farren says. "But Elo left me a very worrying message in the small hours of this morning, then proceeded to drop off the face of the earth for the next five hours. I'm sure you can understand my concern." "No apology necessary, Constable," Strucker says. "I'm fine, Brek," Elo says.

There was an incident one time at school. Evie got into an argument which escalated, and Elo came to her rescue. It ended with both girls trying to lie their way out of explaining why their dresses were torn and their faces scratched. The look of fatherly disapproval Johan is giving now reminds Elo of that day, and she fights the urge to squirm like a child.

"What, pray, were you doing during the early hours of the morning, which then kept you away from your bed for several hours and eventually landed you in my on-call room via Thazar?" There is a moment of shocked silence from the line. Then Farren says, "As in, Acting Magister Thazar Clayrmantle?" Elo can hear the teasing half-smile in his tone when he continues, "I thought you went in for chicks?" "Constable Breakwood!" Elo snaps, scandalised. "Do not forget your audience." Her partner snorts. "I haven't Li'l Bug." Strucker's expectant gaze has not left her. "Elowyn?" he asks, and oh, she can see his head is firmly back in the game. She sighs. "I was on my way home from leaving the visiting dignitary with his security detail at the Emerald Star and took a detour via the crime scene. On observing the scene first-hand, I made some observations I wanted to impart to Constable Breakwood as soon as possible. So I called the station and was in the process of leaving the message when I realised I was being watched. I ended the call swiftly – hence Constable Breakwood's alarm – and went to talk to my watcher. "It was a potential informant. I took him to a food truck and gave him coffee, and we talked. He didn't see the crime take place, but he thinks he knows who committed it. I was trying to eke information out of him, but by that time the sun was starting to rise, and he rabbited with a half-arsed promise to find me again later. "Then my bike broke down, and I had to walk back to City Hall, and Acting Magister Thazar kindly granted me the use of the General's on-call room so I could crash. Satisfied?" she finishes snarkily. General Strucker nods, his gaze turned predatory. "Yes," says Farren. "In return, I went back to the scene to look at the scuff mark you said you saw and see if I could find some way to verify your conjecture. Sadly, I was unable to find any evidence to support two killers, rather than one. But I know you, and I know your gut, and I don't think your instincts are incorrect about this. Cobbleskater had a similar thought. "We were, however, able to confirm the idea that the vic hadn't originally intended to be there. We found a date book in her car. It– Uh. There was a different event planned for that night, due to start an hour before Snips pegged the time of death. The event was crossed through." "It's alright, Constable," Strucker says. He looks at Elo. "We were due to go for dinner. It's a– It was a weekly thing. But I was called away for work. It's a recurring reservation, so I told her to take a friend." "It looks like she did intend to go. The date book has Da– uh – the General's name neatly scrubbed through and is replaced with 'Sammy'. We went to the restaurant and spoke with the Maître d'. He said a woman did show up, but she doesn't match the vic's description. We can only assume that was Sammy." Strucker hums in thought. "Did he give a description of the woman?" "Yeah, one sec." There is the rustling of pages as Farren flicks through his notebook. "Approximately in her twenties, black hair, tall – thought she was wearing stilettos, so maybe not that tall. Slim, wearing half-moon glasses and an elegant little black dress." "That sounds like Samantha Fallight," Strucker says. "A work colleague, I believe she's the style columnist for the paper Evie writes– wrote for. Evie talked about her a lot. About how clever she was, and how impressive her sense of style and beauty." Elo thinks that's probably not exactly what the victim was talking about, but she isn't about to betray her friend, even in death, not even to the victim's father. "To bring us back to the point," Farren says, "we think it was a crime of disruption. The victim shouldn't have been where she was that night, and our current theory is that she was an accidental witness who was inhumed as part of a cover-up."

"So it was dumb luck?" Strucker sounds aghast. "That my baby was killed and not some other?" "Not necessarily," Elo says quickly. "She may have been following a story for the paper. Was there anything she was looking into?" Elo knows the victim had aspirations of investigative journalism, but despite her best efforts she always got handed the softer, more lady-like community interest pieces. "I don't know," Strucker says. His voice has gone soft, his eyes distant, and Elo thinks she needs to end this call soon. "All her notes will be in her apartment," Strucker says. "Evans will have the address and the spare keys. Feel free to take anything you think will help." Elo clears her throat. "Constable Breakwood, have dispatch send a car to City Hall, and I'll get the details to you." "Sure thing," he says. "I'll catch up with you later," she says by way of farewell and hangs up the phone.

Elo tidies the speaker away and sets the desk to rights as Strucker sits there, staring blankly. "I have to run those keys downstairs," she says. Stucker blinks, looking lost again. Elo leans over the desk and squeezes his hand. "Take the afternoon off," she says. "Go to the pool club and stack a few racks–" "Break some racks," he corrects automatically. "–It'll make you feel better." Stucker nods, and Elo gives his hand another quick squeeze before stepping away. "Wait." Elo looks back. "Yes?" "You said your bike broke down?" "Yeah. I think the spark plugs are fried. Italian bikes, eh?" She rolls her eyes with a fond huff. "Bloody finicky about the weather." "Where is it?" There is an intensity in his eyes, under the soft crease of his brow. "In the overground visitor's car park," she says warily. "Maybe," he says hesitantly. "Maybe I could take a look for you? It's been a while, but I used to ride during the Great War. I know a thing or two about motorcycle maintenance." "Oh. Well…" It's not that she doesn't trust him. It's not that she doesn't want him looking over her baby and helping the dragon get its fire back, but… Auri is her baby. Though she doesn't have the time, Elo should be the one to repair it. She has always done Auri's maintenance herself, and it feels strange, the idea of someone else fixing her dragon. No, says the voice in her head, taking help is what feels strange. She grits her jaw, takes a breath – concedes that it is right. It'll do them both good. He needs to be doing something constructive, and she needs her dragon running. "Sure," she says and throws him her keys. "There's an abridged manual in the saddle box." Strucker nods and gives her a half-smile before she hustles out.

She leaves the request for Evie's keys and address with Evans with the addendum that Elo has convinced Stucker to take the afternoon off, then ducks into the private office. There she dials their desk extension again, praying Farren has sent Cobbleskater to dispatch the car. Her partner answers almost immediately. "Farren," she says, cutting off his usual spiel. "Elo, didn't we just–?" "Yeah, but I have more I need to ask, things I couldn't in front of the General. So I found a different phone." "Oh." "Look, did you or Candy find anything else about the artefact?" "Yeah, a little. She says she thinks the wood is ebony, and the stone is tree agate. The wires, she says, are made of brass. The markings are like nothing she's seen before, so she wants to take it to some professor of linguistics and symbology at the University." "Don't let her do that," Elo says quickly. "Bring this professor to her. In fact, find a way to keep that artefact under lock and key. When she's working on it, I want a body posted there too." "Uh, Bug?" "My new informant, Snotgrut, told me he was waiting for me to show up at the docks. He'd been posted there by his boss, who he says pulled the killing blow on our vic. Apparently, Snotgrut was supposed to kill me too, and take the artefact. It's very valuable, at least to his boss. Which means said boss is going to do everything they can to recover it. I'm not adding Candy to our body count, is that understood?" "Loud and clear, Sarge." There's the scribble of pencil on paper – Farren taking notes, she guesses.

"Snotgrut called the artefact the, uh, Nerishklis. I think that's how he pronounced it." "I'll let her know." "Has anything else… strange happened since yesterday?" "It doesn't look like a volatile explosive anymore, if that's what you mean. When I last saw it, it looked just like you said. Candy's been fine. She wears gloves when handling it, but she's not had any dizziness, burning or speaking in tongues since I checked in last. She did seem surprised when she saw the ice had melted away and how it looked underneath." "Does she know what I did?" "No." "Maybe keep it that way?" Farren hums in agreement, and she hears him scribbling some more things down. "Tell me about this informant of yours?" "I can only assume 'Snotgrut' is a nickname. I think he's probably homeless," she says, scrabbling to make the creature she spoke to seem plausible. "He was dressed in sackcloth and rags and got real twitchy about being seen in daylight. I suspect I won't see him again until tomorrow night." "Something happening tonight?" "State function. I'm getting dragged along." "Huh. Well, have as much fun as you can, I guess." Elo snorts. "Thanks." "Ah, it'll be fine." She hears Farren drumming his pencil on the desk. "This Snotgrut… Do you think he can be trusted?" "I think he's telling me the truth about his boss. But no, not completely. Not if he was willing to swap sides at the slightest hint of kindness." An idea strikes her then. "He was about Cobbleskater's size. Maybe you could go have a look in the Lost and Found for a coat of some kind? Some proper shoes, maybe." "Yeah, yeah, I see where you're going with this. Bribery comes in all forms, right?" "Right. It'd be helpful if we can keep him on our side." "I'll see what I can dig up while I wait for those house keys. Cobbleskater and I'll go and check it out, see if we can't find something in her apartment to help explain what she was doing down there in the first place." "She was a budding journo," Elo tells him then. "She always got stuck with the fluff pieces, but she never stopped trying to break into investigative journalism. Maybe she finally found something worth investigating?" "Maybe so," Farren agrees. "Where will you be if I need to reach you?" She has to think about this carefully. "I have to take the dignitary to lunch soon – we'll be occupied until midafternoon, I suspect. Potentially, I'll be back at Strucker's office, but I could just as easily be kept out. Or I might be free to come by the office." Elo drags a hand down her face. "Clayrmantle gave me use of Strucker's secretary. If you need to, leave a message with her. I'll try and check in more often." "Sure. But try not to leave me any more gut-churning messages like last time, eh, Bug? You scared me shitless." "I'm sorry. I'll do my best, but I'm not making promises." Farren turns his huff of laughter into a harrumph. "Stay out of trouble," he says by way of parting. "I will if you will," she replies and hangs up the phone.

Elo takes herself from the office, collects an envelope with the keys and address from Evans, and explains the situation with the messages. Again, Evans doesn't bat an eye at this, and Elo is amazed by the woman's composure. Elo takes the envelope and meets King Storri on the way to the elevators. "Ah, Lady Toreguarde," he says. "Sergeant O'Toreguarde," she mumbles. He presses on as though she hasn't spoken, "Our meeting finished early. I thought perhaps we could see something of your city before we take lunch with Acting Magister Clayrmantle." Elo considers it, cannot see a reason why not. "Of course, sir," she says. "I have an urgent errand to run first, but then we can go for a short walk if you like." "A walk?" "Yes. Ground floor, please," Elo says to the liftman as they step into the elevator, before returning her attention to King Storri. "A walk will clear the cobwebs that have gathered in the Council chambers, a bit of exercise will do you good, and there are few better ways to see the city." "Oh? What other ways might there be?" "Canal trip, possibly? While you can walk the towpaths here and there, there are some parts of the city you'd not otherwise see if not from the water. I also find it can offer a different perspective on things. Then there's by Helicopter – that's always a good one. It can give insight into the layout of the city, and again shows you sights that you'd not ordinarily see." She gives him a sideways glance. "I suspect you've used that method already," she guesses. He nods and grins. "But not with such an informative guide." Elo snorts. "I'm no historian." "Ah, but I am told you know a lot about your city's roots, about the pulse of its heart." She thanks the liftman as they come to rest and step out. "It's my job," she tells him as she crosses to the front reception desk. "I have to be able to read my little section of the city with ease. I have to know now where the dark creases collect rubbish so I can clean them out or where things lie bare to the sun and need protecting with some shade." She isn't sure where this analogy is going, but he's nodding along like it makes perfect sense. "I understand. Your Aunt told me much the same thing. Though her purview was things outside the city and – for want of a better term – Foreign Policy, she said that your city was what kept her going. That knowing her neighbours kept her grounded, kept her heart beating with the heart of the city." They have reached the front desk now, and Elo hands over the packet with instructions that it will be collected by a patrolling officer from Precinct 88.

#oc elowyn o'toreguarde #npc thazar clayrmantle #oc secretary evans #npc johan strucker #oc farren breakwood #npc storri nargondsson #writing #HCWL Chapters only #WIP 'Her Countenance was Light' #titan fighting fantasy #fighting fantasy #ttrpg fanfiction #wandering words

[druidx]

Lute for the bard themed asks!

Hi Ray!

(... that makes you sounds like kind of super villain WMD. Take that observation as you will 😅️)

Lute: what OC is most or least like you?

At the moment, the most like me is Millicent Wauters. Short, bubbly, likes to read & write, has a desk job that involves helping and organizing other people. Writes fanfic but noone at her job can ever know this.

Least like me is probably Kicks. He's big and broad, happy to get into fights at the slightest provocation, strong enough to swing a big mace. His job involves swanning around the country getting overly involved in other people's business and casts magic (LBR - if I could, I would also cast magic).

Thanks for the ask! 🫖️🌿️

#answered ask #spiteswallow #oc millicent wauters #titan fighting fantasy #oc gonna-kick ur ass #tes oblivion #meta wandering words

[druidx]

candlelight! 🕯

Good gods that was fast! 2mins from post to ask... 😅️ Careful, 'Mous - we don't want you getting whiplash 😆️

Candlelight: share a gentle scene or talk about a favorite scene you've written.

Hng I want to answer this for Her Countenance was Light, but spoilers, sweety.

So this is from the WIP I was working on prior to HCwL. Young Dagger, False Dream is the fictionalised version of my first Campaign in the Fighting Fantasy World of Titan setting.

The group have stopped off at a tented town at the edge of the Desert of Skulls, and are waking after spending the night at a bar...

Alexis woke to the snuffling of a creature around her head. Long whiskers tickled her face, and she opened her eyes to see a creature, similar to a dog, but with huge ears standing over her, its short fur haloed by the sun streaking in through the tent’s air holes. “Hello,” she said to it in sylvan, reaching out to pet it. The creature made a low purring sound and leaned into her touch. There was a chuckle from the bar. “Tamarind likes you, it seems,” said the barkeeper.

#answered ask #Anonymous #oc alexis dalliance #'wip 'Young Dagger False Dream #writing #fighting fantasy #titan fighting fantasy #wandering words #I think this critter was a fennec fox... #but ofc Lex doesn't know that

[druidx]

bard-themed ask game!

honestly, I can't believe I haven't done this one before:

Lute: what OC is most or least like you?

Tavern: do you have any cozy settings (or, if non-cozy, favorite settings) in your world?

Dice: how could your story have changed if one thing about the plot had gone differently?

Rose: share a romantic snippet or a fun fact about a relationship in your story (how did they meet? do they have any inside jokes?)

Violin: what are your OCs' strengths?

Candlelight: share a gentle scene or talk about a favorite scene you've written.

Drum: share an exciting snippet or talk about a scene you're excited to write.

Song: can any of your OC's sing? how would they fare in a karaoke battle?

Smile: share a funny snippet or a fun fact about the world.

Flute: can any of your OCs dance? how would they fare in a dance-off?

Stage: share a snippet or a milestone you're really proud of.

Wildcard: share anything that's on your mind regarding your OCs/writing! even if it's "hey I'm having a hard time writing right now," that's okay!

#ask away #ask games

[druidx]

Because you perceive all the 'imperfections' in your work, that an outside observer would not or would think a quirk of your style.

The trick is to set it down for a minute and come back with fresh eyes that are less critical.

I promise, even your sketchiest sketch is amazing 🧡️

bro art is so hard why do i hate everything i make LMFAO🥹🥹🥹

#dru is chatty #creation positivity #I believe in you! #i genuinely think you're being too hard on yourself #and am sending all the hugs

[druidx]

Elowyn: *draws her baton and starts chasing after* Come back you punk!

Farren: *stubs out his cigarette, sighs and follows after*

Alexis: *draws her crossbow and shoots you in the leg*

*you are arrested for assault, but let go after being yelled at for a solid half-hour and signing an affidavit to say you'll never do it again*

i SMACK your oc in the back and then i run real fast

#oc elowyn o'toreguarde #oc farren breakwood #oc alexis dalliance #meta writing #fighting fantasy #titan fighting fantasy #writing challenge

[druidx]

ugh. I've gotten to the critical part in act 2 of HCWL and it is also the bit that requires most editing, particularly for worldbuilding clarity.

Anyone need laundry folded? I've done all mine...

#writing #WIP 'Her Countenance was Light' #titan fighting fantasy #fighting fantasy #ttrpg fanfiction #wandering words #bitching and moaning #procrastination

[druidx]

Her Countenance was Light - Chapter 14

CW: Small amount of blood, Eye dialect AO3 ; Chapters: 01. 10. 11. 12. 13. Tag list (ask for +/-): @aquadestinyswriting, @hannahcbrown, @jacqueswriteblrlibrary, @babyblueetbaemonster

The roads are quiet as she rides home. The streetlights catch the gold on Auri's faring, sliding off like a lover's caress. Somewhere a dog barks, and an indistinct voice calls out to quiet it. Some people think the city streets are more like a rabbit's warren, but Elo grew up during the rebuilding, the roads forming like pathways in her brain. So she's on autopilot as she guides the bike along the roads, and it's only when she stops, she is surprised to find she is over the canal at Spit Bridge. No one is working this late. The tape is the only barrier stopping people from tramping on the crime scene. From here, Elo can see it sectioning off the alley where the victim was assaulted. The scene is like a loadstone, drawing her to park up the bike and descend onto the towpath. She's tired. By all rights, she should go home and sleep. But she has pushed herself like this before and no harm has come from it. Besides, she tells herself, it's not like she has to engage her brain tomorrow/ later today. She just has to waffle about the city, something that's as natural as breathing. If worst comes to worst, she can always steal Joahn's on-call room. The night is clear and still, almost eerily so. The smallest zephyr, a breath of wind, brushes against her cheek and skims through her hair. Her footsteps sound loud against the paving slabs, amplified in the way all quiet noises are in the dark of night. Beside her, the slick water of the canal is still, and she can smell the fumes of it mingling with the night's mist – there is the heavy metallic smell of engine grease, the pungent green scent of water weeds, and a cold, ice-like scent.

Elo ducks under the barrier tape, scanning the alley in the sodium-orange glare of the warehouse floods. It's exactly as she saw in the vision.

She steps carefully along the alley's length, picking out where her/ Evelyn's foot dragged, where their hand scraped along the rough brick wall. The déjà vue of familiarity is disconcerting. She stops and looks back towards where the canal shimmers darkly. Leaving her car, passing through the alley… The victim had to be on her way somewhere. The killer followed her? Elo looks towards the landward end of the alley, at the bins and the service exit from the warehouse. No – the victim surprised the killer. A surety grows in her bones then – this was an ambush. But maybe not an intended one… The wrench was a weapon of opportunity, of panic. She knows the type – a cumbersome thing used on the barge engines, too heavy to flee with. It would have been lying around, forgotten by some careless deckhand, ready to be grasped in panic, and swung to… To what? Hide a crime in progress, or to stop the vic from being someplace she shouldn't? Elo turns and walks back towards the canal. It's difficult to figure out exactly where Evelyn/ she was stabbed, but close to the end of the alley floor, barely visible in the darkness, is the iron stain of blood. Elo looks back along the alleyway, head cocked in thought, and notes where the victim was struck in the head. Alleys, by their nature, are long and narrow. There's no way the same person would have been able to get in front to stab her through the chest. Then Elo thinks of the vision, of the thing with red eyes between her and the tree. Realisation thrums in her veins – there were two killers. There had to have been. There's no other way around it. The one, further back, panicking. The one on the tow-path, calmly sealing the deal. Two would more easily move the body. One to hide it, the other to scuttle the barge. Two to murder her friend.

There was a payphone up the street, tucked between the tow-path steps and the wall of a warehouse. She turns and sprints. Maybe Farren has already worked it out – if he has, then great – but maybe he hasn't, and she can't take that chance. There is the scuff of pebbles behind her, but she ignores it. It's probably a stray cat, she thinks and ignores the advice of her gut – nine times in ten, it's nothing, but you check anyway because that tenth time it's something – and runs to the payphone. She dials for an operator. "Hello, how can I help?" "I'd like to place a collect call to Precinct 88, to the line of the electronic secretary. Charges will be borne by TPD, authorization code 1-1, 5-0, 4-2." There is a pause while the operator notes down the authorization code, and looks up the number for the dedicated answer-machine line. "One moment please," she says, "Connecting your call now." There is a click, and a whirr, and Elo fancies she can hear the operator moving the plugs to transfer the call across. "You've reached the electronic secretary for Precinct 88," comes the tinny recording of DIspatch-Sally's voice, calm and soft. "This number is for official, non-emergency use only. Please keep your message succinct. Messages will be recovered by the officer on duty every three hours starting at 0800 hours. Please clearly state your name, rank, and number; the recipient of your message; and the message itself. Proceed." "Elowyn O'Toreguarde," she says, rushing through the procedure requirements. "Detective Sergeant in Special Cases, ID 0-6, 0-8, 8-4. Message is for Constable Farren Breakwood, regarding case number 1-2,1-1, 2-0, 1-7. There are two killers. Maybe you already figured it out, maybe you didn't, too bad, I'm telling you anyhow. Time is–" she glances at her watch "–0330 hours, I'm at the crime scene. There's a scuff mark from where the vic was struck in the head, and there's no way that same attacker could–" That scuff comes again. Only, this time it doesn't sound like pebbles. She is tired, she must be imagining things, but it sounds like the scrape of claws on stone. But it doesn't come again, so she dismisses it once more and continues her message. "The first strike," Elo says, having lost her train of thought, "was done in panic. The second was deliberate, cleaning up his fellow's mess, though it could be–" The scratch of claw on stone sounds again, and it is different from the scrabble of a dog. It sounds sharper. She looks out of the booth, and there is something standing there, in the shadows. "–Premeditated. Gotta go," she finishes quickly and hangs up the receiver.

Elo took a slow step outside the phone booth, not taking her eyes from the thing that hid in the shadow. Her gun is locked in the topbox, back on the dragon. "What are you?" she called out. «Youse was told to beat it, kid,» said the thing. «Youse was warned not to get into our business.» Its voice scratches at her ears, all harsh consonants and short vowels, that sends a chill through her body. "I don't believe I was," she responded, and a distant part of her wonders how she is understanding it, and, for all that her voice sounds like English in her ears, what she is speaking back. "I don't recall any of your kind, whatever you are, knocking on my door and telling me so." «Stupid moss-ear. What're you, blind as well as dumb? The signs was clear as night.» "The hell does that mean?" Elo snapped, almost certain that she has fallen asleep in the phone booth and this is all a twisted nightmare. "I don't even know what you are, let alone read whatever signs you think you've posted." «Not posted,» it sneered. There was a flash of twin red glows, vanishing as quickly as it came. «Actions delt. We didn't think a moss-ear like you would know how to swim.» And then she realised that incident the other night – the one where she thought she dreamt the skittering thing in the shadows as she got dunked in the canal – that was real. "A green-skin," she said, and saying out loud what she has called them in her head for all these years sounds peculiar. It snorted. «'Green skin',» it muttered, offended, and finally moves out of the shadow. «She calls us 'green-skins'. Pah! We's Dvasia, dumb-ass.» Elo can only stare at the thing. In her defence, she decides, it does have green skin. It also has narrow pointed ears, and a narrow pointed nose and needle-like teeth. Well-corded muscles wind around thin limbs and sharp joints. Those hands and those legs terminate in knife-pointed claws, and she thinks that must be what she heard before. The thing is not much shorter than she is, and skinny as it is, she absolutely does not want to try it in a fight. For all that it called itself Dvasia, it bears a striking resemblance to a fairytale goblin. It's not wearing a whole lot either, she notices. Ragged shorts that look like they're made of potato sacks, a red cloth cap, and crude shoes that are akin to sandals. "Aren't you cold?" she asked, mouth bypassing brain. It blinked. «What?» "Um." She blinked back. The thing frowned. «S'pose it is a bit nippy.» Elo considers this for a long moment. "D'you want a coffee?" she asks, even as her mind is screaming that there is a fairytale standing in front of her, a fairytale villain at that, and for the love of all the gods, why is she offering it coffee? Because it's cold and alone and wearing sweet Fanny Adams, argues a different part of her, and she was raised to be polite and considerate of the needs of others. «Uh,» it said, clearly as confused as she was, but carefully considering the offer. «Yeh?»

So she loaded it onto the back of her bike, and drove them to the corner of Penfold and Welch, not far from where the clubs are, and pulled up by a kebab van. She buys them both a coffee, and then she walks them down a block to a park. They sat on a bench under a tree, sheltered from the mizzle, watching empty swings sway in the breeze, and drank their coffee.

Eventually, though, Elo finds she must say something; she can't just sit here, in silence, drinking coffee with a fairy story. "You know the blond girl?" she asked. "She came down to the canal two nights back." «Say I do. What of it?» it rejoined. "Did you kill her?" It paused. «What you gonna do if I say no?» "Keep looking for the ones that did." «What you gonna do if I say yes?» Elo stared at the swings, the way the rain collected along the cracks in the slabs. She hadn't thought that far ahead. "I guess I'll shoot you," she said finally. "Then go looking for the second killer." «Ain't you an officer of the law?» it asked. «Ain't youse supposed to arrest me or something, send me down the river, and take me to the Big House?» "If you were human, yes." «That's racist.» "No, it's practical. I'm struggling to believe that your kind are real, and yet here you are, sitting drinking coffee and holding a conversation with me. I can't find any way to pretend you are just some hideously deformed human speaking some foreign language. You are real and existent, and I still don't quite believe it. Now, if I feel like this, and I've been exposed to more oddity than most, how am I to expect anyone else to react to your presence?" Elo pauses, takes a sip of coffee. "There's no way I can simply arrest you, put you on trial, and 'send you down the river'. Much as I would like to, it's not feasible. So. I would shoot you." «Huh. Fair enough.» "Did you kill her?" «No. Blood as my bond, I did not.» Elo looks down at it then. It's staring at her with a strange intensity, those red orbs steady in their gaze. She knows, without a shadow of a doubt, it is telling her the truth. "What were you doing down there?" she asked. It chuckled lightly. «Waiting for you, moss-ears,» it said. «The one what did the murder sent me down there. He knows you've unsealed the Nerishklis, and he wants it back.» "You were sent to take it from me?" «Yeh.» "Why are you telling me this?" The creature sniffs but doesn't even pause. «Bought me coffee, dintcha.» "Your loyalties are so easily swayed?" «Nah. I'm on your side now.» Elo looked down at it again and it sniffed, yet again. Its gaze has that same, unwavering intensity as before, but this time it raised the paper cup in salute. "Let me guess. Your blood is your bond?" «S'right. You're getting the hang of things, eh?» I'm really not, Elo thought. "But why?" «Because,» it said slower, «Y'bought me coffee.» "I find it hard to believe that I bought your unwavering loyalty for a fifty-cent cup of joe." The creature – the Dvasia – sighed. «S'not about the amount, or what was purchased. Only that the transaction was done. Youse paid for something from your own stash o'gold for me. Which means, I'm duty bound to you for the rest of my probably short and miserable life.» It sniffs at her continuing look of confusion. «Had youse stolen, or otherwise provided said beverage from another's stash, it wouldn't have counted.» "So if I'd taken you back to the station, and given you a cup from the communal supplies, you wouldn't be beholden to me?" «Nope,» it said. «But, had youse done that, I could have lied through my teeth about whatever I fancied, then happily stabbed you in the back, got the Nerishklis, and gone on me merry way.» "So why'd you accept the coffee then?" «Why wouldn't I? Anyone who can unseal the Nerishklis is someone to be reckoned with. I figure I'm better off with you than I am with my old boss.» "Ah."

Elo swirled her coffee in its polystyrene cup. It makes sense, in an odd way. Not that she'd done anything to the artefact on purpose. "What's your name?" she asked. «'S Snotgrut,» "Pleased to meet you, Snotgrut," she said. "I'm Elowyn." «Charmed, I'm sure» Elo gives a little snort of amusement as she looks up at the sky, to see dawn starting to tint the air. Beside her, Snotgrut makes a little strangled noise. «Uh, moss-ears. You think maybe you can give me leave to bugger off? Only, I ain't too fond of the sunlight.» "Ah hell," she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. "Yeah, of course. I need to get to bed myself. How do I get in contact with you?" she asks, as Snotgrut downs the rest of his coffee and starts away. «I'll have my people call your people,» he calls back, slipping behind a bush, and is gone.

Elo shakes her head. She's trying to solve a murder via proxy, babysit a king, look after her grieving surrogate father… And now this creature, this Dvasia, is speaking in riddles about things she's only just grasping the edges of. Elo drains her coffee and gets herself ready to ride on. What the hell else could happen? she wonders, pumping the kickstart before giving it a swift downward thrust. Auri fails to start.

#oc elowyn o'toreguarde #pc snotgrut #writing #HCWL Chapters only #WIP 'Her Countenance was Light' #titan fighting fantasy #fighting fantasy #ttrpg fanfiction #wandering words