#thewriteblrcafe

[sleepyowlwrites]

talking about: writers

some of us write short things first. we sum up a story in a few sentences. we have a conflict and resolve by panning over the top and whispering the secrets of character motivation into the reader’s ears. we give a brief backstory. he used to be this, but now he’s not. then we spend a little bit talking about what he is now. at the end, there’s a question about what he’ll be in the future, but that’s not important right now. maybe another day. some of us take bite-size emotions, lay them out one by one so the reader can follow us into the forest and have a small adventure with a winged creature or the stars. at the end, there are so many ways to go home, and the choice is left open. some of us write short things first.

some of us write long things first. we have so much to say and we’ll take all the time we need to say it. there is a lot of backstory. time moves slowly and rambles a little as it goes, pointing out waystations and picnic spots along the way. the road is paved in places and rough dirt in others, but it keeps going, until finally we arrive at our destination, full of memories and snacks and jeans with holes in the knees. we are fulfilled by leaking our souls into the stories and hope nobody minds and maybe somebody cares. the house at the end is home. some of us write long things first.

some of us play at other people’s houses first. we don’t have that many toys of our own, or we simply enjoy the ones that others have. we bring in our own dolls and teddy bears to another world. we suggest the backyard as a new place to explore. sometimes there are no toys, just words between lips and fingers dancing in the air. we left the backyard and ventured down the street, boots on little feet. we spent long afternoons and time after dinner, too. some of us play at other people’s houses first.

some of us need thoughts, not sentences. we need the journey to be nebulous and wavering. the destination is shaped but not concrete. we want the skies to be the colors of our dreams and the shudder of sound in the floorboards to remind us of childhood and yesterday. we need to skip stones on meter and leave the door ajar. we wander through our spaces with curious eyes, seeking new intentions to blend with a past lesson. some of us need thoughts, not sentences.

some of us are all of us.

thank you for writing your stories the way you write them, writers.

#writing #writing encouragement #writing inspiration #writeblr #writeblr community #sleepy writing #my writing #writing advice #sleepyfam #thewriteblrcafe #thewriteblrhive #talking about #talking about writing #writing thoughts

[bookphobe]

PLUTO BY MARTINA SANTI — A WIP Introduction + Opening Lines

WIP TAG | CHARACTERS

A collection of horror stories set in the mysterious town of Fell Island, told by various characters in a small diner on the edge of town. To scare, or to entertain—at its core, these stories serve as a distraction from the fact that once they get past the entrance, they can’t seem to get back out . . .

Recurring characters include the grumpy (but secretly soft) owner of Pluto’s Diner; a clever, teen runaway; a cheery waitress with a secret; and many more. Send an ask/reply/dm to be added to the taglist!

P.S. I had so much fun making the cover for this that I made another one; still campy 80s horror but more modern & film inspired!!

gen. taglist = @hydrancheas , @hekat-ie , @mxxnwrites , @radiomacbeth , @sprigofbasil , @gutblood​ , @zarinaelahi​ @saltwaterbells

pluto. taglist = @nightmares-and-fireflies

#pinning this since it’s the new wip of the week <3 Ksjdjdjjdd #im tryna introduce all my wips so i could start actly writing for em #creepypastas 🤝 spooky town trope ! #i had sm fun making the cheesy cover for this :) #wip: pluto #wip #writeblr #writing #horror #ofcolourtracking #sunsetdistrict&starfallisland #writeblr community #wip intro #writing inspiration #writers on tumblr #horror stories #horror series #amwriting #thewriteblrcafe

[rhyaxxyn]

Nya crouched as a great boom filled the world, birds and humans screeching as one. Her breathing stopped entirely as she turned around, toward the market. There was too much light there, deadly and hot. Oh gods. She took one step in the direction of the flames. It didn’t hit her siblings. It couldn’t have.

Still, she clutched her throat, willing her scream to die there. 

The shrieking didn’t stop. Not even as she heard something crash. Not as another bomb went off, deeper into the city. More cries erupted. More cruel light.

She wanted to move, wanted to stop it, but the hand in hers was a reminder that this had to happen, no matter how much her heart panged with each blast.

Heather would save them. She’d save everyone. Nya just had to wait. It was eight. Heather said she’d be back at eight.

There was another blast, this time inside the Great Hall.

Nya felt her weightlessness before she realized she was in the air, and then she felt her ribs snap as she struck the ground, gravel cutting into her cheeks. The darkness turned infinite for a moment, snuffing out the fires, the booms. Her fingers dug into the dirt. 

THE NATURAL ORDERS | READ IT HERE | WIP PAGE

Taglist i’ve been on hiatus for a looong time so i just put who i remembered being apart of the original taglist. please let me know if you want to be +/-

@lightningmastertrilogy | @kittykatlizz | @halleiswriting | @paxtonwrites | @stop-that-llama | @maezily | @thegrievingyoung | @riseofthesea | @sautrns | @piyawrites

#↳𝖙𝖓𝖔 #writeblr #writers of tumblr #tno #tno: dark god #my writing #original writing #tw. injury #thewriteblrcafe

[azrance]

NORTH OF POSEIDON. wip by @azrance​.

CATEGORY: young/new adult

GENRE: adventure, high fantasy

POV: third person, multi

FEATURES: pirates, found family, lgbt and poc rep, magic, mischief, curses, sea creatures, witches, mystery, crime, & more!

STATUS: early stages of outlining

SUMMARY: Just off the coast of Telikos lie the islands of Bythos, Pontus, and Tethys, together known as the Isles of Poseidon, which serve as a natural barrier between the mainland and the dark Voreai Thalassa, or the North Sea, beyond. Few are daring enough to journey beyond Poseidon, preferring to travel south along the coast instead, for those who do never return, or are never the same when they do.

Despite this, a misfit band of young pirates aboard The Red Ghost make voyaging beyond the islands their newest goal, looking to prove themselves to the world and to the veteran pirates who often laugh at their amateur raids and sprees. With new members aboard and yet another bounty over their heads, the crew sails North into their most dangerous adventure of all.

CREW:

Charlotte Monroe —  Feisty, protective, and kind-hearted, Charlotte has been a pirate for only two years, after abandoning her boring middle-class life in order to seek adventure.

Gabriel Hudson — Street-smart, observant, and emotionally closed-off, Gabriel has known nothing but the pirate’s life, having grown up as the only son of two notorious pirate lords. 

Parker Gray — Adventurous, daring, and nosy, Parker is anxious to delve straight into the life of a pirate after leaving his crowded, lower class home in search of a way to support his family.

Aera Gray — Cautious, kind, and attentive, Aera is reluctant to join her brother Parker in his latest adventure, but knows it could be a good (if unconventional) way to break out of her shell.

Kya Richards — Bold, serious, and inquisitive, Kya has jumped from ship to ship before landing amongst the crew of The Red Ghost, building a reputation as a headstrong fighter who can’t be fooled.

if anyone would like to be added to a taglist for this wip, shoot me a message or an ask and i’d be happy to! also, feel free to send any questions my way about the story, setting, characters, etc. (although of course i’ll be posting more of that info hopefully very soon!)

tagging a few mutuals just this once, hope y’all don’t mind! @neptunely​ @ninazeniks​ @tindletalks​ @adaparkwrites​ @lovebenders​ @rhyaxxyn​ @noloumna​ @the-ichor-of-ruination​ @sautrns​

#w. north of poseidon #m. intros #m. #wip intro #wip #intro #writeblr #wip introduction #original work #original writing #young adult #new adult #high fantasy #fantasy #adventure #original fiction #fiction #wtwcommunity #demoncandystore #thewriteblrcafe #i've been working on this for like a month and basically only made some characters #and done a little worldbuilding #there's kind of a plot forming #but tbh #it's barely there #sigh #anyways i love pirates

[noloumna]

the slaughter of finches, a semi-serious, semi-not powerpoint presentation.

probably went a little too far, oops. 

( intro. — page — tag — #insp. — prologue — wattpad )

taglist. send me an ask to be added/removed.

tsof. @acrimoneous​​. @valiant-wielder​. @caramelccoffee​​. @semblanche​​. @incipientdream​​. @aquillas​​. @bellenzier​​. @omgbrekkerkaz​​. @maskedlady​​. @valaers​​. @ladyymacbcth​​. @elliewritesstories​​. @jugularss​​. @maeve-am​​. @priyaele​​. @lovebenders​​. @kilkrie​​. @lord-fallen​. @latrantem​​. @scioltezza​​​. @thepeninthestone​. @aepreall​.

general. @divinemouths​. @vandorens​​​. @kiesinger​​​. @ahusaka​​​. @inesnenci​​​. @trueaipha1​​​. @alejwrites​​​. @tormentings​​​. @write-like-babs​​​. @furysreign​​​. @vanzhuo​. @lustminaj​. @stargirlsaga​. @sondials​. @medusaswrites​.

#thepen&dagger #ashenfens #youngmortals #thewriteblrcafe #w. mine. #n. the slaughter of finches. #t. powerpoint. #tw. swearing.

[uraniawrites]

1. DEATHLY PRINCE  — WIP INTRODUCTION.

→ a novel by. a. e. evans.

A book from A Kingdom of Ashes and Stars series.

Genre: high fantasy, fantasy.

Status: first draft.

Themes: faes, dragons, magic, black magic, worldbuilding, death, chaos and order, friends to lovers, mutual pining, high fantasy, power and corruption, war.

Summary: Daryana Markova used to hear these stories about the myths of her kingdom: faes, dragons, supremes, and more creatures that seemed to be taken from fairy tales. But one day, Darya meets someone who will completely change her perception of the world, including her perception of herself, since Daryana is not human as she seems. Daryana is the key to avoid or end a war between magical creatures and humans, but will she be able to handle her power or will choose darkness instead?

Excerpt.

Mom used to say I possessed magic.

I never knew exactly if she meant the real magic or not. But she used to say I did magic with flowers and gardens and stuff: that I brought them to life. I liked to plant flowers everywhere, even in winter. I was the only one who could find flowers that could prevail in any season of the year: in the summer, when the heat was stifling, the sun was shining high and the fields were bright; in the spring, when the trees were lush and strong with fruit, the flowers were full of life and radiant; in the autumn, when the leaves began to fall withered from the trees and formed piles of autumn colors; and in the winter, when a huge, thick white layer covered everything in its path.

Chatacters:

Daryana Markova. 18. fae. Darya has heard these amazings stories, myths of faes, dragons, supremes and more mythical creatures that she has never. one day, she meets someone from who will change the perception of her world and who she is: a fae. daryana has the power to end up the war bewtween magical creatures and humans, but she's not sure if she can handle such a big and dar power.

Aleksandr Romanov. 20. death. Alek is the king of death and the most powerful fae in the world. he is also the winter, known as smert' or voloshna. he finds out the power of darya and takes her with him because the human hunters want to kill her. when alek realizes that daryana doesn't trust him, he tries to be her friend, falling in love with her so slow. aleksandr has to decide if he's willing to start or end up a war.

Denis Slovinsky. 20. fae. Denis is the captain of the royal guard of faes and alek's best friend. they grew up together and denis is willing to give his life for his best friend, but this one does not allow something like this. he is a true warrior and proves it.

Elena Vasileva. 19. fae. Lena fled her home at a very young age and in order to survive, she become a hit woman. she is too close to aleksandr, because they met when elena was running away and he offered her a home. lena helps darya to understand the fae world and finds in darya a true friend.

Stefan Koslov. 21. fae. Stefan is a remarkable soldier who lost his family when he was just a kid, so he swore revenge on humans for what they did to him. he gets very close to darya because aleksandr asign him to be her guard and compain her. stefan and lena find them in the duty to show darya the life of the fae court: the court of the dark.

Irina Dashkova. 19. fae. Irina is a tough girl who was raised in the court: a lady from the royalty who wants nothing but fight and prove that she's not the typical damsel in distress. she hesitates and doubts about darya because she doesn't know her well and through her finds true love and a lot of things from the human world.

PAGE / WATTPAD / AO3 / JOIN TAGLIST

taglist. @incipientdream, @scioltezza, @sondials, @caelum-writes, @nicopeppah, @kilkrie.

#wip: death trilogy #wip: deathly prince #WIP Intro #starpalacefam #thepen&dagger #thewriteblrhive #thewriteblrcafe #my writing #my edits #mine #writers on tumblr #writers community #authornet #original wip #original characters #writeblr #pls give it love

[theinfinitedivides]

we have always / held a noose / of our own / making / around our / necks and it has / rubbed us / raw. there is / not enough / skin left / for you to strangle / us too. we are tired / of hanging. / we are tired / of lynching / ourselves / with all the tongues / that we have / swallowed. all the tongues / that we have killed. (how / can i pray / for the / peace / of Jerusalem / if i have forgotten / the language that is / curled up / in the / marrow of the words. / if i have forgotten / the way my / name / sounds / when it belongs / to me. / when it has sat / in the caverns / of my mouth / and i have not / been ashamed.)

excerpt from my current poem 'the anatomy of a black man,' unfinished. 

#quotes #words #expressions of the human heart #blacklivesmatter #blacklivesalwaysmatter #i with my voices #debating whether or not i should post the full thing y'all #let me know in the replies sksksksk #theacursedfam #mothfam #thewriteblrcafe #youngmortals #thewriteblrhive #violentwavesofemotion

[sakeenahwrites]

INTRODUCING: DRAKONBLUD 2.0 you thought you knew this story. so did i. turns out, we were both mistaken. prepare yourselves for the revamped version of drakonblud

#drakonblud #drakonblud 2.0 #new wip #new-ish wip #fantasy #thewriteblrcafe #sleepyfam #thepen&dagger #aneirin #jade #rosetta #kaeso #sabrione #cleared out the entire drakonblud tag and now we're restarting with this

[jessie-writes-fantea-sy]

Title: How could you ever do this?

Synopsis: Madga is travelling near Northern Suuroo when she comes upon a tribe that has drastically changed since the death of the sun. The air is thick and smells so bad that she has to cover her face, yet she can still feel the grime on her skin. What have they done?

Warning: Some... body horror? A grotesque spirit. Posts: Maps I Don't Want To Fight I'm gonna help her! They're Supposed To Help Us It’s My Shame That I Can’t Protect You

Also on Royal Road: How could you ever do this?

Madga jumped at the sound of a loud snort. Her eyes darted to the two men sitting at one of the other tables.

“I have no idea,” the man who snorted answered. “They called them ‘coins’.”

Out of the corner of her eye she watch as the second man picked up one of the beaten, circular metal pieces. The flat sides flickered dim, golden light as he turned it over in his fingers. 

The man’s lips twisted in doubt. “It’s pretty. I suppose you could melt it down for something.” He tossed it on the wooden table where is landed with a couple of dull thunks. “Throw it in the nearest spring and hope for the best.”

The first man snorted again. “That’s what I said when I first saw it. Told ‘em I can’t eat metal. But they insisted. Figured it’d at least be good for an offering when we need a little extra help against the Tasoragh.”

The second man grunted in agreement.

Madga glanced around. Out of habit she raised her hands to ensure that her black hair was hidden firmly under her wool hat and hood. Then she held the warm, wooden cup on the table between her hands. With unseeing eyes, she watched the water faintly tremble as she listened to the sounds around her.

Every time someone stood from a table. Each time someone rolled over in their sleep on one of the beds. Whenever someone loudly slurped from their soup. And especially when people entered the rectangular house.

The home wasn’t as big as in other tribes. As their chief lived in Southern Suuroo there wasn’t a need to have such a large place. But guests and warriors with homes in the south needed a place to stay while up north, and someone to lead them while holding it all together.

A woman stepped in undoing one ribbon that kept her long hair in place. Her blond locks fell around her shoulders, covering simple line stains of a woman with a spear and cloak. Her neck had imagery of the sun and, though her blond hair now covered it, the sight caused Madga’s heart to slowly creep into her throat.

Her cup rattled on the surface of the table until she managed to remove her hands. She breathed high in her chest, which tightened with every step the woman took. 

Madga stared into her cup, hands in her lap as the woman passed behind her.

Somewhere far to her left the woman laughed and Madga tensed. The woman spoke with a few others and Madga’s chest loosened a little. Without turning her head, she saw that the woman had stopped at one of the tables surrounded by other warriors. She laughed and chatted with them, her sun stain completely hidden from view. No one else seemed to have sun imagery, but Madga knew some people still resented the Gwae for the loss of the sun. And a few thin, dangling threads still worshiped it.

Madga swallowed and stood. She quickly shuffled to the cot she had borrowed and packed her things before pulling on her mitts. She barely managed to remember to grab her snowshoes before running out the door.

Outside Suuroo warriors trained against each other. A few had families that stayed with them all the time, but northern Suuroo was a tribe on the front line against the Tasoragh. It was small and didn’t serve any other purpose. Keeping her head down, Madga quickly escaped beyond the few snow-covered houses.

Her knuckles were white inside her mitts.

“Stupid,” she whispered to herself. She took in a ragged breath. “Stupid, stupid mistake….”

She kept whispering to herself as she trudged through the snow, away from Suuroo and any well-packed paths of travellers.

After some lonely passes of the moon, Madga stumbled and a gust of air burst from her lungs as she hit the snow. She turned over with a grunt and the metal pot  in her bag clanked up against her back.

She pushed into a sitting position. Her mitts sunk into the snow a little but she could still see the round arch of her snowshoe. The cords fastening the shoe to her boot had loosened and her boot had shifted off centre.

She moved to better sit up, fighting against her bag like she was a turtle on its back. With a huff she slipped her arms out of the straps and sat up. She removed her mitts and checked the cords and circular wooden frame of the snowshoe, breathing a sigh of relief to see that nothing was damaged.

She got to her feet and untied the cords, placed her boot in the centre, and then retied the cords as tight as she could. She lifted her foot up, down, and moved it around, testing it until she was satisfied.

She straightened and turned to pick up her pack, but paused. She breathed in and out, then breathed in deep and suddenly coughed. She grabbed the edge of her cloak to cover her nose and mouth.

An awful smell lingered in the air. Her brows furrowed as she looked around, but the half-moon revealed little in the dark under the evergreens.

She lowered the edge of the cloak and tentatively sniffed again. This time the air was clear. She paused for a moment, searching the area again, but when she found nothing she leaned down for her pack and mitts.

The snow compressed underneath her snowshoes with dull crunches. Each step left behind a trail of small, rounded teardrops.

As the moon took another step across the sky a gentle breeze tugged milk-thin clouds across it. They thickened, and the breeze descended into the trees.

The smell returned with a vengeance. The stench assaulted Madga’s nose, wriggled and dug into her lungs and smelled worse than rotting food or waste. It was like someone had shoved a dirty piece of cloth into her mouth. She hacked in an effort to get rid of it and covered her mouth and nose. She looked around but found nothing.

A light caught her eye and she looked up. Her eyes widened. The clouds had covered the moon and glowed a dull red. 

She tried to think. Had she gone the wrong way and wandered too close to the Tasoragh? Was it a fight between them and the Suuroo? Had someone’s torch or campfire caught on the trees?

Her fingers opened and closed. She whimpered and looked back, looked forward. She shifted from foot to foot and watched as the glowing brightened for a few seconds.

She whimpered again: curiosity won. 

Her steps turned careful and her eyes flickered upward every time the wind brushed against the tops of the trees. Her brows slowly rose in confusion at the lack of an animal presence. Tracks were missing, signs of feeding were gone. Bird calls were silent.

Her steps slowed and her lips worried together.

A low hum met her ears. She searched the dark, her head turning to find the source of the strange noise. 

It rose to a roar and filled the very air around her. Her eyes widened and her breathing came in short gasps. Between the prickly branches the ominous glowing of the clouds brightened again.

Then as quickly as it came it stopped, leaving only the low hum. 

She panted and little clouds of fog left her mouth. She stood for a long time, listening, with her arms and legs spread and ready to run. 

Eventually her heart slowed and the sweat on her back cooled beneath the layers of clothing. Another whimper escaped her throat.

A faint bang echoed over the hum and her muscles tensed all over again. Another followed, and then relative silence.

She inhaled and released a shaky breath. Reluctant, but still curious, her feet began to move again. She came up a small hill and the sounds grew. Hammers and strange noises drifted into the forest. 

She coughed when the smell grew stronger. Her nose and mouth twisted in disgust. As she walked the smell seemed to stick to her skin, like the grime and fat on metal plates. It seemed to cover the exposed parts of her face where she wasn’t trying to block the smell with her cloak.

She froze at the top of the hill. Below was a wide, circular clearing with a tribe sitting in the middle. The houses were rectangular, but unlike the Suuroo’s they were made of cut stone and stood completely above the ground. Each seemed to perfectly match up with the other, creating harsh angled walkways instead of gentle flowing ones. No central fire took precedence, but every house had a torch, and every window glowed bright with fire from inside. 

Outside people hammered away next to metal shaping fires placed anywhere and everywhere. Occasionally shouting rose above the noise, but beyond them was another hill where the humming seemed to come from. It glowed, and then shifted once. Thick smoke rose from it.

“It’s not Tasoragh, if that’s what you think!”

Madga jumped with a cry. She turned to find a woman walking toward her across the hilltop.

She walked with a long stick, carved with abstract imagery of people in various poses. A similar image of a person had been stained on her face. She wore a dress over leggings and boots, and a bone broach fastened a fur and wool cloak around her. A hat covered her ears and a long blond braid trailed from underneath it and over her chest.

She smiled with a brief glanced over Madga. She came to a stop beside her. “I’m Cressamae, daughter of Neeoa. It’s not Tasoragh,” she repeated, pointing to the tribe. “I believe that’s what has become of Ktrint.”

Madga turned, glancing over the houses and people. 

Madga frowned in confusion. “What? That’s not Ktrint-” She stopped herself and looked up at Cressamae with wide eyes.

Cressamae looked at her questioningly, but when she didn’t speak she repeated, “I believe that’s Ktrint. I’m sorry, I should have asked, have you ever been here before?”

Madga glanced away, quickly shaking her head.

Cressamae paused, waiting again. Her brow briefly pinched, but then she looked to the tribe and straightened, although her foot didn’t seem to respond as it should. 

“I had heard that Ktrint didn’t fair well after the death of the sun.” 

Madga flinched. 

Cressamae didn’t notice, her gaze remained on Ktrint. As she spoke her voice briefly turned hard. “I’m not surprised. Quite honestly I’m more surprised that we have managed to make it this many generations without Suurie to warm our fields. It’s not shocking that any tribe would’ve changed so drastically.” She hummed. “Still, something about Ktrint smells bad.” 

A surprised giggle bubbled up. “Oh, I didn’t mean to make that joke. That was a terrible.” She waved her hand.

“What is the smell?” Madga asked.

Cressamae winked. “That’s what I’m going find out. Care to join me?”

Madga hesitate. She looked at Ktrint. The noise was a lot to handle, and the smell was horrible and everywhere. 

She slowly nodded.

“Great!” Cressamae said, and began down the hill.

Madga took a deep breath and instantly coughed and gagged. Cressamae looked back with concern but she waved it away. She leg go of her cloak and pulled her wrap up to cover the lower half of her face like she would to protect against cold winds. Then she released the broach of her cloak and shifted it, tightening the cloth until it too was snug over her mouth. Once it was secure she followed Cressamae.

Many feet had packed the snow closer to Ktrint. Madga bent to untie the cords around her boots. She paused, frowning at the snow where tiny flecks of black, like strange snowflakes or odd ash, had fallen. One piece was wider than the nail of her pinky finger yet just as thin. 

She glanced up as Cressamae joined her. 

Cressamae grunted as she crouched, shifting to accommodate what must be an old injury in her left foot. Then she inspected the flakes with a deep frown. She removed a mitt and touched one, but it didn’t melt. She delicately picked it up and held it between her fingers. When she pressed them together the black turned to dust that sparkled in the dim light. 

Cressamae bought her finger to her nose and sniffed.  She shook her head. “I can’t smell anything over this stench.” She sighed and brushed her fingers on a clean bit of snow.

Madga rose with her. Cressamae waited for her to secure her snowshoes to her pack, and a moment later they stepped into Ktrint. 

The air worsened to the point where Madga could still smell it through her wrap and cloak. The grime thickened on her skin and her lips thinned. But around her people seemed unbothered. The young ran from place to place, carrying tools or raw metals to be shaped. Someone stepped outside and dipped a sword into a cauldron of liquid, which angrily hissed and steamed. Hammering and clanging resounded between the stone buildings. Madga covered her ears.

Those around Cressamae’s age and a little older were slower. They helped out with the metalshaping, but most appeared to be hobbling from one place to the next. Their hands were covered in black, and they coughed with every other wheezing breath. Madga couldn’t spot any elders.

No one spoke. Occasionally people shouted at each other over the noises, but otherwise mouths remained shut. Instead hands moved. They pointed, rubbed, and made interesting shapes with their fingers. Rather than watching their eyes or mouths, people paid attention to their hands and bodies. Madga slowed to a stop without realizing it as she watched a particularly rapid set of hands in awe.

The sky shattered with a bang. It thudded in her ears and shook her ribcage. She jumped and crouched, eyes wide. Small whimpers escaped her lips. Cressamae shouted wordlessly and her wooden staff with both hands in a defensive position. 

They searched for the source of the noise but nothing became immediately apparent. 

The nearby people stared at them, as though they hadn’t heard the sound and Madga and Cressamae were the ones acting strangely. Some continued what they were doing, unworried about the sudden bang. Others scowled at them.

Madga glanced at Cressamae. Cressamae frowned deeply and they exchanged looks of disbelief.

“-lo? Hello?” Someone touched Madga’s shoulder and she rose, twisting away in blind panic.

A woman had stepped toward them. She wore a too-big tunic with a dirty leather chest piece and too-tight leggings under a skirt. Leather boots crunched in the snow and a dirty hat covered her head.

The woman blinked at her sudden movement.

Madga remembered to breathe and straightened.

The woman collected herself as she looked over the both of them. Her eyes were surrounded by tired lines. Her voice rasped from disuse and the strain to be heard over the noises. 

“You two are travellers, yes?”

Madga nodded.

Cressamae smiled and raised her voice to match. “Yes. I’m Cressamae, daughter of Neeoa. I’m a druid-teacher and I’ve come to learn about your tribe. I’ve-”

The woman quickly cupped both hands toward them, and then scooped the air toward her. She turned and left.

Cressamae briefly frowned. She smiled when Madga glanced at her. 

“I suppose we should follow?” she said.

After a pause of hesitation, Madga shrugged. Cressamae’s smile grew and it smoothed over the tension in Madga’s shoulders a little.

They were led farther into the tribe, passed several more houses which echoed with clanging and banging. The clouds lit up again but this time the hum didn’t grow into a roar. A moment later something flickered around each torch they passed, reflecting the light of the flames but not melting like snow would. Madga felt more grime on her skin and as she walked a black fleck landed on the brown wool of the cloak where it covered her upper arm. She made to brush it off but it crumbled and left a smear of black dust on the wool. She frowned and brushed and batted at it until it seemed gone.

She looked up just in time to walk into someone. She gasped and stepped back, quickly apologizing. The woman glanced at her but didn’t stop.

Madga took a breath, coughed from the smell, and looked around. Cressamae waved from in front of a house and she quickly weaved around people to join her. A torch hung from the side of the stone building. Like the others it burned bright with a strange, dirty flame like that of a fire fuelled by fat.

The mysterious woman shut the door behind them and the outside sounds became more bearable. The calming woodsmoke of a fire masked the foul smell from outside. Dried herbs hanging from the ceiling helped to cover what the fire could not.

The woman removed small pieces of wool cloth from her ears. Then she removed her hat, revealing auburn hair that had been cut short.

Cressamae gasped with a hand over her heart. She took a step back.

Madga glanced at her. Brows raised with concern, she looked at the colour of the woman’s hair and how short it was. She frowned and bit her lip in thought.

“Are you Coo’noam?” she asked.

Cressamae glanced at her, mouth open in an ‘oh’ shape.

The woman stared in confusion. “I’m from here. Godeco.”

Madga stuttered. “Oh-oh… it’s just you have short hair and… never mind.”

Cressamae cleared her throat and stepped forward. She re-introduced herself, and then said, “I’m hear to learn about ‘Godeco’.”

The woman opened her mouth but stopped when someone groaned and babbled without meaning. She turned at the sound with a sigh.

Over her shoulder she said, “You can wait through there while I take care of her. Help yourself to some water.”

She left them to quickly walk over to a raised cot that held a woman a little older than Cressamae. Her hands made a few motions and the woman tried turning them, but a cough wracked her lungs. She rubbed her back and then wiped the blood away once it was done. 

Madga’s gaze travelled around the house. Rows of cots held other patients in similar worrying states. Some as young as her, or rather what she had been before she had stopped aging. Some were injured from tools, but most had a cough. Their chests rose and fell with wheezing breaths.

Suddenly the woman bent, placing a hand on one of the cots to steady herself. Once it passed she pulled her hand away from her mouth. She breathed out in relief and straightened.

Her gaze fell on them and surprise flash across her face. She gestured again to where she had told them to go before. “Over here,” she rasped.

The house thinned. The edges of the walls were sharp, matching the outside of the rectangular house, but instead these bent inward. Madga glanced over the perfect, smoothed walls and a shiver ran down her back. 

The walls soon backed away again as they entered another part of the house. It was smaller than the previous area and filled to the brim. An empty cot sat in one corner while a cook fire, in a stone and metal thing, stood against the wall on the opposite side. Next to it were shelves filled with pots, pans, spoons, knives, and cups. Another shelf had stored food. 

A tall table stood in the middle of the space, with smaller, circular tables around it. 

Madga and Cressamae stared as the woman walked around the tables to grab a few cups. Cressamae removed her mitts and ran a hand along the smoothed stone of the tallest table.

The woman turned. She paused at their confusion, but then her brows rose.

She said in awe, “I’d heard other people don’t use tables like ours, but I never believed it. Please, sit down.”

She padded the top of one of the smaller tables before turning again to grab a container of water.

Cressamae removed her pack and placed it on the stone floor, and she leaned her staff against the table. She put her mitts on top of the table and watched as the woman sat down on the other side of it. Cressamae mimicked her, and in a moment she was sitting without her butt touching the floor.

Madga hesitatingly removed her pack and mitts but kept her hat on. She tugged the smaller, heavy stone and wood table out from under the taller one and carefully straddled it. It felt strange to sit with her legs dangling above the ground, as though she were sitting on a log.

The woman poured them each a cup of water. 

“Thank-” Madga stopped as she stared into the water. Tiny black dots swirled around inside the cup.

The woman’s face fell. She moved her hand, then stopped herself and said, “I’m sorry.” She reached out across the table toward Cressamae. “But that’s why I’m glad you’re here. That anyone is here. We can’t keep going on like this-” As if to prove her point, her breath caught in her throat and she coughed to clear it.

Cressamae frowned. She ran a finger over her forehead and rubbed the invisible grime between her finger and thumb.

“What is all this.… What should we call you?”

“Cioborah. This….” She mimicked Cressamae and wiped her forehead. She looked down at her hand as though she had never thought about the grime before. “I can’t explain what it is.”

Her gaze rose, filled with furious determination. “But I know where it’s coming from and that it’s making everyone sick. It has been for generations, which is why no one can see that it’s happening.”

Madga hooked a finger and pulled down the wrap and cloak around her face. “Since when? When did it start?” 

Cioborah’s frown turned to her and she shrank back.

Cressamae smiled. “We believe you, Cioborah.”

Madga nodded quickly.

Cioborah sighed and rubbed her temple. She gestured again. “I’m sorry. People here think I’m crazy. They don’t want to hear about how the spirit is killing us, yet they still want us healers to work without stopping. We are barely holding on. If they would just listen....”

Cressamae straightened and raised her hand before Cioborah could continue. “Spirit?”

Cioborah nodded. She took a sip of the water and Madga winced.

Cioborah opened her mouth just as another roar shook the house. The water rippled and the flames in the torches flickered. Madga cried out and Cressamae gripped the table.

Again it was over as quickly as it started. 

Madga covered her face. She peeked between her fingers to see Cioborah staring at them. 

Then a weak, hysterical laugh escaped her. She rubbed her forehead.

“We really are in trouble if outsiders are scared by that,” she muttered. 

Cressamae brushed her hand over her hair and down her braid. She glanced down at her braid, rubbing her thumb and fingers again, then looked up.

“I’m not a druid-priest, but maybe I can help. Will you show me this spirit?”

Cioborah immediately got to her feet with her hands on the table. “I can show you now.”

“Oh! Yes, alright.” Cressamae rose and stepped away from the smaller table. She picked up her things and pulled on her mitts and hat again.

Cioborah abandoned her cup. She walked around the table and down the narrowed space. Cressamae began following her, staff in hand.

 Madga hesitated. 

Cressamae looked back. “Will you come?” Her eyebrows turned upward, almost pleading.

Madga swallowed. She nodded and slid off the small table. She replaced her mitts and slung on her pack. Then adjusted her wrap and cloak over her mouth and nose.

Outside the noises assaulted her ears. Cioborah reached into a pocket in her skirt and pulled out more of the pieces of wool cloth. She handed a pair to Madga and then to Cressamae before blocking her own ears.

“Keep your nose and mouth covered,” Cioborah reminded them. 

Madga asked, “What about you?”

A corner of Cioborah’s mouth twitched. “It’s too late for me. But I won’t have outsiders getting sick.”

“Thank you,” Cressamae said. Her words were muffled under a mitt.

The sound of clanging hammers lessened as Cioborah led them through the narrow paths between buildings. The low hum and rumble grew in its place. Although it was still cold out, Madga realized she felt warmer than in the forest. Usually tribes were always a little warmer, but this was enough that some people forwent a piece of clothing. Usually a hat, which allowed her to see that almost no one had anything to protect their ears against the noise.

With Cioborah with them they earned more glances, and a few glares. Others nodded at Cioborah, and one stopped her with a hand gestured. Cioborah shifted on her feet but faced the man and began moving her hands. Neither spoke a word, yet their hands moved quickly and expressions flickered across their faces.

Madga inhaled in sudden understanding. Then her nose wrinkled at the smell.

Once Cioborah was finished she began leading them again.

Madga asked, “Do you speak with your hands?”

Cioborah glanced over her shoulder. She smiled at her curious expression. “We do.”

“It’s because of the noise, isn’t it?” Cressamae said in awe, watching as a group of four had a rapid conversation with their hands.

Cioborah nodded. Her smile faded. “Some people don’t know how to talk without it. … Do you have anything like that?”

Madga shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Cressamae agreed. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Her eyes sparkled. “I would love to learn it and share with others, if that’s alright with you.”

Cioborah said, “I could teach you, but if nothing can be done I’d rather you stayed away from Godeco.”

Cressamae nodded in understanding. Then she asked, “Were you once known as Ktrint?”

Cioborah’s steps slowed as she thought. They side-stepped a group of people.

“Yes, I think so,” she answered. “But it’s been a long time since we’ve called ourselves that,” she said with regret and longing.

Soon the number of buildings thinned. Rows of torches led them along a well-packed path toward a small incline, and behind it, the moving hill Madga had seen before.

Her steps slowed. She stared, perturbed as the rumble grew very loud for a few seconds, and sections almost like cracks in the hill glowed red. The clouds in the sky had thinned but smoke rising from the hill replaced them and perpetually obscured the stars. The smoke caught the light and reflected the dim glow. When the rumble lessened the glow dimmed further. 

Madga glanced at Cressamae. She shared a look of worry and caution.

A few steps ahead, with a dread calm Cioborah said, “We’ve been digging for metals and materials for generations. For as long as we can remember, the spirit has always been here.” 

She paused and took a deep breath. “In all honesty, we’re probably the ones hurting ourselves. Not the spirit.”

“Why?” Cressamae asked.

“Because we’re hurting it.” She crested the hill and they followed her, freezing at the top.

In shock, Madga mistakenly inhaled and she covered her mouth with a hand as she coughed.

The same bright, dirty torches surrounded a giant spirit. It’s back—belly?—was the basis of the large ‘hill’ Madga had seen. It skin was blackened, burnt to a crisp and glowed a dim orange-red. A section of skin, thin like membrane, broke and a plume of fire flared up. The sky glowed again and another rumble shook the ground. The flames were like that of the torches, edged with black and anger.

Another loud roar cut through the air. Madga’s hands threw up to cover her ears, crouching with a whimper. 

The spirit shifted and moved. Her eyes darted around until she quickly spotted what looked like a gigantic mouth full of human teeth. The teeth were yellowed, and blackened in some spots. A thickened liquid flowed out of the mouth, catching the light and shining like a rainbow, until a man below caught it in a cauldron. He held the cauldron over his head but most splashed down around him, onto dead dirt where snow refused to accumulate or grass grew. He stepped away and a woman took his place until the spirit stopped vomiting.

The roaring stopped.

Madga wrapped her shaking arms around her stomach.

The rest of the spirit was just as disfigured. A huge human arm with burnt flesh lay limp on the ground. A group of people sat on and around it while they rested from their work. Fleshy ropes with blood pumping out of them came from a sucking rim of muscle. With every second breath the ropes twitched and sparkling pieces of silver trickled out. A man knelt and collected them. 

Another rumble—a groan of pain—escaped the spirit. A hand of half bone and half exposed muscle weakly clawed at the ground. The Godeco walked around it without worry. Once it stopped moving a woman walked up. With a hammer and chisel she chipped away at the bone. What fell away turned to gold chunks in the bowl she had placed on the ground.

Madga turned and yanked down the cloth covering her face. She emptied her stomach on the ground, narrowly missing the ends of her cloak. She panted, staring at the ground. Already disfigured by the horrors nearby, the ground hardly seemed changed by the vomit.

Someone touched her shoulder. She gasped and shifted away only to see Cioborah’s hand raised in the air. Her brows came together as she watched her in concern and sadness, but her expression was heavily tainted by emotional exhaustion.

Cioborah returned her hand to her shoulder, rubbing up and down in comfort.

“How could you ever do this?” Cressamae breathed in horror. Her wide eyes couldn’t turn away from the pained spirit. “I can’t believe that anyone would ever do something like this.”

Cioborah’s hand slowed and then stopped. She lowered it. Madga missed the small comfort but she didn’t say anything.

Cioborah looked down. “…I don’t know. I don’t understand it either. Maybe, once, it was the only way we saw to survive. I don’t know....”

“Cio!” a deep voice called.

Madga turned. A man walked up the incline toward them. Like Cioborah and the rest of Godeco he wore ill-fitting clothes. A metal piece kept his sweaty bangs from falling into his face. He frowned deeply from under a blackened beard.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. He glanced at Madga and Cressamae. His frown deepened but his gaze returned to Cioborah. Madga rose and joined Cressamae as they spoke.

Cioborah put her hands on her hips. “What’s it to you? So long as I help people it shouldn’t matter where I go.”

“But you can’t help people if you stick around here. What about your patients?”

She scowled. “There’ll be more tomorrow. There always is.”

Madga’s eyes widened.

The man huffed. He made a gesture as he said, “How can you say that?”

“Same way you take part in this,” she gestured to the people harvesting from the spirit. “I just don’t care.” 

She glared up at him, tears filling up in her eyes but never falling.

He rolled his eyes and stepped away. “Not this again.”

Cioborah’s teeth clenched at his actions.

Madga stepped back. Her eyes flashed from one to the other. Next to her Cressamae seemed to be waking up from her shock. She lowered her mitt and looked at them, but then quickly covered her mouth again to block the poisoned air.

Their voices rose. The man growled, Cioborah snapped. Cioborah screeched and the man bellowed. While the spirit’s rumbling continued, Madga glanced to see that the people below had stopped and were watching them. On the other side hammers stopped as other Godeco looked up.

Madga took a shaky breath. She looked up when Cressamae put a hand on her shoulder. Cressamae smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. Madga failed to return the attempt at comfort.

Cressamae leaned down to pick up her staff, which she had dropped in her shock. Straightening, she took a deep breath, coughed, and then stepped toward Cioborah and the man. 

“Hello, I’m Cressamae. Why don’t we sit down and-”

Someone screamed. The cry carried across the tribe and over the spirit’s rumbling. Their heads snapped toward the sound. More yells and screams rose up.

Madga searched the dark. She couldn’t make out anything yet, but the reflected glow of the spirit’s fire revealed enough for the others.

The man swore. He turned and called down to everyone around the spirit to grab their weapons and be ready.

As he stormed toward the buildings Cioborah shook her head in disbelief. “Not again,” she said with dread.

“What is it?” Cressamae asked.

Cioborah glanced at them. The lines deepened around her eyes. “A spirit attack.”

Madga’s heart stopped. “What?” she breathed.

“It used to happen once in a generation, but lately it’s been happening more often,” Cioborah explained. “This is the third one in my life. I’m sorry, I need to make sure my patients are okay. Please, run.” 

She turned and bolted down the hill. Once between the buildings she weaved around the chaos of people. Everyone seemed to have a weapon in hand, be it a sword, a dagger, or a metal spear. The torch light glinted off the sharp, metal weapons.

Madga tensed as a flame roared up from one building far at the other end of the tribe. Her stomach twisted, but with nothing to bring up she could only swallow back bile.

The air and earth rumbled again. A shattering roar made her clench her teeth. She spun and she gasped. The spirit was trying to rise up on its damaged, twisted hands. A woman stabbed at its thumb and it fell down with a groan.

A scream broke out from the others, then again louder as another and another house caught on fire. More screams joined it. Between the buildings people shouted. A few yelled orders and people that seemed to be warriors carried them out. 

Another yell tore Madga back to the spirit. The workers were surrounding it, jabbing it with swords and spears to keep it from getting up. But near the mouth of teeth were two more spirits. One a boar with glowing red, artistic swirls and wedges on their fur, another a wolf whose body occasionally turned into similar red swirls.

The grey and black wolf was bigger than normal. It snarled, its teeth dripping with saliva. It glared at the people, slowly circling them, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Madga looked at Cressamae.

Cressamae slowly shook her head. “I… I think they’re trying to help it.”

“What should we do?” Madga asked.

Cressamae shook her head again.

Madga’s breath shortened. The giant spirit groaned loud, and with the wolf and boar occupying the humans it managed to rise to its hands. With a last look at it, she turned and ran along the top of the hill.

Cressamae shouted after her but she didn’t look back. 

Tears stung her eyes and fear gave energy to her legs. She panted as she ran farther into the dark, away from the overwhelming chaos and into the safety of the forest.

She sat against the gnarled trunk of an evergreen, just under its prickly needles. The branches flowed downward, acting like the roof of a roundhouse and shielding her from the outside.

Her entire body trembled. Her arms were pressed between her knees and chest. Her head was tucked in with her hands covering it. Her fingers dug into the rough wool of her hat; the hood of her wrap having fallen in her haste. 

She sniffed, then flinched and whimpered as another roar echoed through the forest. She tucked her feet in closer.

The earth violently shook and she inhaled with a gasp, swallowing her heart. She stared straight at nothing as she listened.

The sky went dark and she was unable to see the dim red anymore through the branches.

She waited. She listened. 

She took a shaky breath, then another.

After another, long moment of silence she shifted her pack aside and slowly crawled out from under the tree. She tucked back in to grab her pack and looked up.

Still nothing.

She threaded her arms through the straps slung it on before shakily rising to her feet. She stared at the sky and then the direction she had come.

She took a breath and stepped forward. She had sunk into the snow up to her calves but her only care had been to get away. Now they provided a clear path back to Godeco.

Her steps slowed as she walk along the top of the hill and a long puff of fog escape between her lips.

The huge spirit had moved. Where she, Cressamae, and Cioborah had been standing now the hill had been ravaged. Scorch marks further ruined the earth after the snow had melted under the intense heat. The black marks surrounded deep gouges that had been dug into the ground, from one side of the hill, over it, and into Godeco where the spirit had fallen on top of many houses, crushing them in the process.

Numbly, her legs took her down the hill.

Bodies lay on the ground, torn apart or burned beyond recognition. Her stomach churned at the smell of burning flesh.

She carefully avoided the corpses as she wandered farther in. Voices pricked at her ears and she slowly followed the sound.

What once had been Godeco was now completely torn apart. The stone buildings had collapsed, torn into by the huge spirit, and pieces of stone were scattered across the paths between them. Torches had caught on other buildings and those who could helped to put them out with snow or dirt. People who couldn’t sat anywhere they could, bleeding out or curled into themselves, protecting whatever wounds they had gained while waiting for one of the few healers in Godeco.

Madga paused, staring at the giant spirit two houses away. A few warriors stood there. One poked it with a sword. Instead of twitching its skin broke and fire flowed out of it. The woman jumped back with a shout and a man rushed in to douse the flames.

“I should have known.”

Madga turned around. Cressamae sat next to a broken home with a dried trickle of blood along the side of her face. A bruise had formed on her forehead but Cioborah soon wrapped her head with a cloth to help the healing.

“Don’t sleep for a while,” Cioborah tiredly advised. She leaved back and rubbed her shoulder. She winced, dropping her hand.

Cressamae nodded but didn’t look away from Madga. 

“Of course a Gwae would run.” Cressamae’s lips thinned. “Coward.”

Madga stepped back as though struck. Her hand rose, discovering that at some point locks of black hair had escaped from under her hat. 

She took another step back. Although her eyes were already red, tears rimmed them again. She hiccuped, remembering the smiles and brief kindness Cressamae had shown her. But now the woman only looked at her with contempt.

“I… I’m-”

Someone gasped and another shouted.

She flinched. She shrunk and turned, expecting another angry voice.

Instead they were looking beyond her, toward where the spirit had collapsed. She turned and her eyes widened at the mass of swirls. They shifted, slowing expanding out as though filling a human chest with air, and then swiftly shrunk in to one point where they coalesced into a solid form once again

A naked man stood there. Without the body of the spirit holding them up more pieces of stone fell and another building collapsed. While everyone jumped and shouted in shock the man didn’t so much as blink.

He raised his broad hand, and slowly Godeco returned to quiet.

“Do you remember me?” he asked as he lowered his hand. 

Madga’s spine trembled. Instinctively she knew his voice should have been one of safety, but it now lay low to the ground like a predator.

People exchanged glances. 

When no one spoke, his long moustache and beard shook as he he bellowed, “I…ASKED: DO YOU REMEMBER ME?”

The warriors raised their weapons. People stared. Some grabbed the person next to them for comfort.

He glared at them. “No, you wouldn’t. If you did it wouldn’t have come to this.”

“Who- who are you?” a man asked near the front. He held up a trembling dagger.

The man’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re the spirit,” Cressamae answered for him, rising to her feet. She wobbled but Cioborah steadied her.

“I am, druid.”

Madga shakily breathed in. Gasps sounded around her. Whispers and mutterings followed. Horror began taking hold.

Cressamae raised her hand to Cioborah, letting her know she was fine. 

She took a few steps toward the spirit. She lowered her head and asked, “May I know your name?”

His mouth twisted. “I was known as Twrl. I was once one of them. I slept for a long time, and then awoke to my body being torn apart for protection and safety that I once provided for them without a second thought,” he spat.

At his tone the people shrunk back. Madga felt the disappointment like she had felt the grime in the air.

“This is how you would treat your own?” He spat on the ground.

Gazes diverted and people shuffled on their feet.

Cioborah nodded with her arms crossed. The lines under her eyes seemed deeper. “He’s right.” Twrl looked at her and she continued without turning away from his gaze. “I’m a healer. I’ve seen what what we’ve done to ourselves, how we treat each other. We deserved this.”

The Godeco exchanged looks of shame. Some glanced away in frustration. Others closed their eyes.

Twrl’s shoulders relaxed but his hands remained as fists. He nodded at her.

“Good. Perhaps there is some good left in this tribe.”

His gaze left her. It passed what was left of Godeco without much warmth. 

He returned to Cressamae. His amber eyes focused on her for a long moment, considering her. In return she frowned in confusion.

He pointed at her. “How does one ask a spirit for help?”

Cressamae’s frown deepened but she ultimately answered, “Well, I would simply ask, as well as offer something in return. …I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question.” 

Twrl nodded as though confirming something to himself. He lowered his hand and turned away, disappearing into swirls that faded to nothing.

The people were silent for a long pause.

Then a man asked, “What does that mean? Who’s Twrl?”

“An ancestor of yours, if I remember my lessons correctly,” Cressamae answered.

A few people swore. Others muttered to each other.

As they spoke, Madga almost didn’t hear Cressamae murmur, “First the sun, now this. Gwae are bad to have around.”

A breath caught in Madga’s chest. Cressamae’s glare fell on her again and Madga took a step back, then another. Cressamae followed.

Madga’s throat tightened. 

“But what are we going to do now?” someone asked a little loudly.

Another nodded. “How are we going to live if we can’t trade our metals for food?”

“Forget that, where are we going to live?”

People nodded and agreed with this.

Cressamae stopped. She stared at Madga a little longer, then walked by before panic could set into the Godeco. Madga quickly stepped out of her way.

Cressamae put her hand on her chest. “I’ll help you.” Once she had their attention, she said, “I can teach you all I know. I’ll also send word out to other druids and tribes to ask for help.” She smiled tiredly. “We’ll get through this together.”

The Godeco seemed to relax. Madga watched as they nodded and comforted each other.

Her stomach get heavy. She slowly backed away. Her focus was largely on Cressamae’s back, but she often glanced down, taking care not to make a sound as she avoided the fallen debris.

There was a gasped and she nearly tripped.

Someone pointed up and she paused to look. The clouds had opened and the sky was no longer dark. The stars shone as brightly as usual, although the moon wasn’t out.

She looked down, confused, but more and more people were staring at the sky in awe. Even Cioborah looked up, her eyes wide as her hands fell to her sides.

Then it hit her with a start. Madga looked up again, realizing that without the horrifying form of Twrl releasing constantly smoke, the winds were finally allowed to blow away the poisonous clouds.

The Godeco were seeing the stars for the first time in generations.

She felt a smile inside but couldn’t wear it. She glanced at Cressamae and continued backing away until she reached the last of what was left of the buildings. She turned and fled into the dark.

#writeblr #writing community #creative writing #fantasy #loosely celtic inspired #thewriteblrcafe

[sleepyowlwrites]

dialogue tags I love: an evolving list

Chirped - their voice is high, cheerful, energetic, sweet, you likely want to pinch their cheeks

With feeling - that feeling isn’t named, but given the context of the conversation, you don’t need specifics, this person is feeling multiple things and you can hear the multitude in their voice

Blinked - people blink all the time, but you just know this one was caused by being taken aback and those eyelids are heavy with words all by themselves

Indignant - not just annoyed, not just upset, not just “with feeling”, the person is offended and retaliating on behalf of their own pride or another’s and it is likely adorable

Fondly - affectionately, but with nostalgia and a little bit of an ache present, this is exactly what you’d expect from them and you can’t help loving them for it

Blandly - there’s inflection here, but it’s so slight and almost calculated in how slight it is that the only intention can be that they’re trying to make oatmeal but with words

Far too cheerfully - because they have no business being so, not when you’re suffering, and even if they aren’t grinning hard enough to split their face open, that’s okay, you’ll do it for them, the bastard

Deadpanned - a classic, a novelty, too spicy to be bland but with somehow less inflection, it’s weird but you know exactly what they mean

Stopped - you know, in the middle of a thought, sometimes because they’re figuring out what they want to say, but often just because they’re a little bit incredulous over whatever the heck you’ve just done and maybe there are no words to be said

Mildly - like, they definitely could be responding in a more fervent way, but they’re just kinda chill and it does nothing to defuse your temper

Groused - like grumbled, but instead of “grumpy mumbled” it’s the whole demeanor and not just indecipherable curses under their breath

Breathed - because you didn’t want to write gasped, because that sounds stupid, but the character is suddenly short of breath for any number of reasons and the words are coming out like mist on a summer morning, there but hard to see

Interrupted - because it’s dumb, like, if one character was talking and then another one starts talking, clearly they’re interrupting - a more appropriate use is when character A wasn’t saying anything and character B is interrupting the moment or activity, making this word choice possible

Faltered - you can’t hear that a character’s voice is becoming unsteady or trailing off unless you’re told and any of the previous three examples are preferable to ellipses (see post)

Desperately - when their shoulders are hunched over and their eyes are too wide, there are tears clinging to the back of their throat just waiting to make an appearance

Steadily - like, this is a time to panic, or panicking would make sense, but we’re not going to panic because we need to stay focused, and our voice is not going to waver or give anything away, nope

Whispered - because “said softly” is not the same, “breathed out” is not the same, “mumbled” is not the same, a whisper is a whisper, that’s what it is, okay?

Firmly - not sternly, just also not budging on its stance

Protested - maybe you conveyed the protesting in the words you just said, but when you also say the word it edges them properly, and you really know that sentence started with a “but” even if it didn’t

Flatly - not the same as blandly, which is without inflection to a neutral extent, but flatly, which is without inflection but in an arrow-shaped way, like, we’re not rolling down a hill, just over to your feet and staring at you

#writing #sleepy thoughts #sleepy writing #sleepyfam #writeblr #dialogue #intomatter #wtwcommunity #thewriteblrcafe #overthemoonfam #dialogue tags #words #vocabulary #writing style #writing dialogue #character writing #writing advice #writing inspiration #writing is hard

[bookphobe]

GODS, RETURNED -> A WIP Introduction

WRITING & ART BY MARTINA SANTI

SYNOPSIS -> IN THE SMALL TOWN OF HOLY HILL, situated in the frozen Canadian north, newly-resurrected gods from a long-gone era reunite. Accidentally, of course; divine gods, once heavily worshipped during a time when ancient great empires ruled the earth, would hardly ever willingly go to an almost-barren town plopped in the middle of nowhere, and certainly never would have appeared to each other in the forms of teenagers—angsty, moody, no-divine-powers-all-teen-rage teenagers. But that is exactly what happens. That, and the fact that these ancient gods have actually been reborn, wiped clean of their knowledge of their past, and have been reincarnated as new very mortal humans.

Four teens find their lives uprooted when an untimely meeting makes them reckon with that truth: that they are, indeed, modern avatars of ancient dead gods, and that they must stop an ancient evil from coming into the modern times as well.

The biggest problem? That ancient evil may or may not be secretly one of the reincarnated gods themselves.

wip tag | characters

more info below the cut. send an ask/reply/dm to be added to the taglist!

type -> webcomic (might publish on webtoon) or maybe this'll go down the novel route 🧐 still planning abt it

genre -> urban fantasy, romance

status -> first draft

note -> this isn't about greek gods or norse gods or aztec gods or what have you. the gods, and the mythologies and worlds used in the story, are fictional. i made them up. if any similarities occur between this and real life myths, they are just coincidences, or accidental influences (which, well i mean there are so many myths everywhere, and i love reading about different myths myself, so even if i can help it shit's already been ingrained in my mind). that being said ofc i will still try 2 make these as original as possible - if i get really inspired by a real-world myth i Will say so.

also adding the non-gif version here to show it in a better quality (im still not the best at making gifs so it lowered the quality of the pic djsjjd)

gen. taglist -> @hydrancheas , @hekat-ie , @mxxnwrites , @radiomacbeth , @sprigofbasil , @gutblood​ , @zarinaelahi​ (@frauleinschwimm heya i'm tagging u here just to say that i tried to tag ur other @ @saltwaterbells but it won't work :/)

gr. taglist -> @nightmares-and-fireflies​ 

#can u tell by the amount of shading i did which character is my favourite one. LMFAOOOOO #jkjk i love them all.....unless #wip intro #writeblr #writing #wip #writeblr community #sunsetdistrict&starfallisland #ofcolourtracking #new wip #writers on tumblr #wip introduction #thewriteblrcafe #webtoon #webtoons #art #original work #oc art #artists on tumblr #wip: gr

[rhyaxxyn]

𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒐, 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓. 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒙𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒔.

𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎: 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐬

Amaranthine is the most beautiful girl alive, her face masterfully sculpted by Khozyain himself. At least that is the selling point Madame Foruj of the House of Halos has come up with. As the most expensive item in all of Kayala except the crown jewels in the Harvest Palace, she is put under the protection of Soryn--another nameless with a past just as shadowy as hers, making quick friends with him. But when Soryn disappears, suddenly leaving her on her own in a city which means to destroy her, Amaranthine discovers that the embers of magic within her are greater than she ever believed, and she’s suddenly dragged into the world of priestesses, priests, and witches. Now she must make herself formidable enough to challenge the power of Khozyain and his prophet--Soryn Nyf. 

Miykal Seher despises the Major Arcana, a court which rises from the new Year of Power every couple of generations--her own being the year for the new pool of contestants. All she wants to is to stay with her father and brother and one day take over the Blood Court, but when the latest High Priestess dies, opening testing for the population of Usmary, she’s one of two girls selected to compete for the spot. Suddenly in the home of the Major Arcana, Santa Ivyak, Miykal is thrusted into a world of politics and conspiracy, the tides churning all around her. She wants to go back home, but losing means dying, and she’s had enough death for a lifetime. She’ll have to rely on old friends and dangerous strangers to survive the trials--and the voice which calls to her as she sleeps.

These two girls, split by thousands of years, must face the rise of new eras which seem to threaten all of humanity. Their stories will come colliding, and all that which is earthly and divine will know the names of the first and last High Priestesses.

𝐌 𝐀 𝐈 𝐍  𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒

𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄: 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚.

Amaranthine--or Amara--was abandoned at the gates to the village of Viscally, left to die in the snow. However, after seeing her eyes, Madame Foruj took her in, and trained her to be a proper Lady of the House of Halos. Despite living in the brothel, she considers herself lucky, as the price placed upon her is much too high for everyone who has come for her. Amara is passionate and fiery, hating the state of the world and even, in a way, Khozyain for allowing the violence which people wage against one another. Ever since six Amara knew she had abilities, although she always thought they were small elemental manipulation abilities. 

𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐊𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐑: 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔

Miykal was born into a world of gods, the Major Arcana being some of the most powerful beings in Usmary and perhaps the world. After the death of her mother and being rejected to the role of Temperance, she has devoutly hated them, and has even gone so far as to join the Court of Blood in an act of total defiance. By working in the Blood Court, she makes most of the funds for her family, wanting nothing more than to keep her brother and father safe. To her, the legends of the First Arcana are nothing but fairy tales, the existence of magic in her world gone.

𝐒 𝐄 𝐓 𝐓 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆

𝐊𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐀: 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒌𝒉𝒐𝒛𝒚𝒂𝒊𝒏

Kayala is the western nation of the continent Aniveroseá. It is home to the Court of Glory, which serves the whims of Khozyain. The divide between the wealthy and poor is deep and wide, and corruption is spread from border to border. The land here is cold, particularly in Verosi, the village where Amara lives. The Court of Glory lives in the Harvest Palace, built off centuries of wealth gained from imperialism.

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐔: 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔

Shenzhou is the eastern nation of Aniveroseá. Although war has never been initiated with Kayala, it keeps it’s borders against them strong, having seen how desperate it is to gain more and more territory. To most of the world, this country is a mystery, only allowing foreign merchants into coastline markets outside of the main walls. As such, many people are suspicious of Shenzhou, as well as the secrets of magic within. There are a number of rumors regarding the Jianjun, a notorious academy for witches.

𝐔𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚, 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

The nation which is ruled by the Major Arcana and the Minor Courts. Since the rise of Arc, a god around whom the Major Arcana is based,  a Year of Power has been selected to take on the role of his original protectors and guard the nation. It is a rich, and industrialized nation with a diverse landscape that includes plains, large bodies of water, forests, and mountain ranges.

-

i’m only tagging mutuals for this post (if you would like to be added after send an ask!!!)

@lightningmastertrilogy @kittykatlizz @talesofthedivine @ladyymacbcth @acrimoneous @wordsofpaintandsmoke @violetcancerian @firesidefantasy @ninazeniks @nicksinsaturn @thethistlegirl @ashesconstellation @tormentings

#↳𝐓𝐌𝐀 #𝐊↳𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐒 #𝐊↳𝐖𝐈𝐏 #wip introduction #wip wednesday #writeblr #writeblr events #weekly events #thewriteblrcafe #tma #new wip #cuz i didn't already have fifty going #also! #sorry for tagging so many people #i tried to make sure everyone here is okay with being tagged #but if i messed up please message me privately!!!

[azrance]

a little something i wrote as a way to get inside gabriel’s mind and understand his perspective on his childhood/life a bit more!! this isn’t something that will be in the actual story, it’s just to help me with the character, but i really liked it so i wanted to share it here <3

transcription and tags under the cut!! (dm/send an ask to be added/removed!)

My parents never expected me. They were too busy to have a family, too preoccupied with fame and fortune and all that was encompassed in what they called “a pirate’s life.” A child just didn’t fit their plans.

But my parents weren’t careful. They never were. So along came me, a blessing and a curse.

Don’t get me wrong, my parents loved me immensely and never let me think otherwise. But I knew it wasn’t the life they wanted. They were no longer just pirates, but parents as well.

However, they never let raising me get in the way of their adventures. They simply brought me along. They wouldn’t give up the life they built just to give their kid a “normal” childhood. (What was normal anyways?)

Where most children grew up playing with neighbors, going to school and kicking balls in the streets, I grew up on the sea. My friends were the dolphins that skimmed the surface and lept through the wake of our ship. They were the men with weathered, sunburnt faces and scars littering their skin, who looked out for me as if I were their own, protecting me when our ship came under attack. They were the women who helped me with my reading and writing when my parents were inevitably preoccupied at the moment I needed them most. They were the few other children aboard, most of them freed slaves or orphans that my parents’ crew took in so they would at least have a place to sleep and food in their stomachs, with whom I practiced my hand-to-hand combat and sword-fighting.

My childhood was far from normal, but I liked it that way.

TAG LIST - @fartistically​ @awheck-herewegoagain​ @sautrns​ @noloumna​ @eloandrianos​ @coralblast​ @rhyaxxyn​ @quilloftheclouds​ @ahowlinwolf​ @apricotwrites​ @scrawlsandrambles​ @estudiamo

#c. gabriel hudson #w. north of poseidon #m. excerpts #m. #sautrnsfam #wtwcommunity #thewriteblrcafe #writeblr #writeblr community

[sondials]

— wip introductions

i. the way of the blade main wip. first trilogy. high fantasy. Not only do challengers compete to be one of the champions of the weapon gods, but there is still a war to be won.

ii. the way of the soul prequel trilogy. high fantasy. Those who study in the field of magic were never truly informed of the horrors of the heavens; a select few take on the journey to stop another mage from becoming a god.

iii. the way of the betrayed sequel trilogy. high fantasy. The major gods of the blade had silenced the old gods long before, and their representations have long been forgotten. A woman seeking revenge, a young orphan, and a man who shelters a god in his mind decide to either bring the betrayed back, or tear the heavens down.

iv. heart of gold single. dystopian/moral. Having a heart of gold is no longer a phrase, and the good and bad are separated by this factor. The greedy and immoral hunt down the innocent for the 24 carat ore in their chests, and it’s the good who go into hiding who know the sins they must commit.

v. the sundial single. dark/paranormal. She had always tried to ignore the wild-eyed woman who would talk to herself, but she finds herself following the woman into the forest to a large sundial. The woman won’t tell her it’s meaning, but a sinking feeling in her gut tells her it’s ticking down, and it won’t be anything good.

vi. wonderings collection of short stories. Ranging from two strangers meeting at a train station to a royal and his escort bickering on a quest, this story holds any scene caught in time and torn from finished thoughts.

— send an ask to be +/- from this taglist

@writeblrfantasy. @sautrns. @tarttisms. @4kidsopfan. @kespada. @caelum-writes. @vanzhuo. @stargirlsaga. @tormentings. @noloumna. @scioltezza. @thedoesystem. @medusaswrites. @sirbeaumains. @leftover-starlight. @acrimoneous. @vioaeon. @adaparkwrites. @viviuyn. @mahalii. @atelierwriting.

#thewriteblrcafe #i tagged everyone from twotb + some who i thought may be interested? im so sorry if you werent!! #i wanted to make this since it looked cool + i also dont have a multiple wip page yet #most are NOT fully flushed out and all are still in the planning process but yeah! i hope i can get around to all of these #writeblr #wip intro #wip introduction #writing #writings #my wip

[noloumna]

*has vague image of two soldiers on a beach, writes it anyway.*

unknown. v. xxix. mmxx.

( writing tag. )

taglist. send me an ask to be added/removed.

+ image text below.

general. @zuiderhaaks​​​. @vandorens​​​​​​. @kiesinger​​​​​​. @ahusaka​​​​​​. @inesnenci​​​​​​. @trueaipha1​​​​​​. @alejwrites​​​​​​. @tormentings​​​​​​. @write-like-babs​​​​​​. @furysreign​​​​​​. @vanzhuo​​​​. @lustminaj​​​​. @stargirlsaga​​​​. @sondials​​​. @medusaswrites​​​. @rcttenduets​​​. @talesofthedivine​​​. @intomatter​​. @scribonaut​​.

text.

“The night once held the sea,” wrote she.

Standing upon that shore, he thought he understood. The sand was a solace, a cushion without conditions, limitations. It crept between his toes and up through his spine, a sort of a borrowed tranquility, the kind you found when settled at the equilibrium of two elements. It held him, looking out at the lovers.

Beyond the coast, fingertips of dusk grappled at the waves, pushing ashore some waterlogged boots, presumably another serviceman’s, and a vacant bottle of liquor, consumed by drunken affairs and the tide. Once, not long ago, there were men and women settled within that ocean, more than he wanted to observe, each with salt dispersed wounds upon dusty knuckles, the watery graves of the slain victors receding with the ebb and flow of the seaweed palace. When evening fell upon them, it was given the strength to pull them home.

Wherever that may be.

Now, it was utterly empty, except for two.

He, standing.

And beside him, his companion, his own waterlogged boots, and a letter, which read, “The night once held the sea, as you will soon hold me.” 

“The sunset sure is pretty,” said the other man. “Reminds me of home.”

“Yeah,” said the one without shoes, “home.”

#— ah! #kinda the basis?? for my new wip?? #i’ll talk about it soon. 👀 #| #thepen&dagger #ashenfens #thewriteblrcafe #theacursedfam #mothfam #userpiff #w. mine. #t. writing. #tw. death. #m. #q.

[uraniawrites]

WIP INTRODUCTIONS.

a. superhumans: 1st generation. (sci-fi). (prequel trilogy of superhumans) world war ii. they have powers and have to decide between leave their homes to fight and save humanity, or perish.

b. superhumans: 2nd generation. (sci-fi). (7 books, main wip for superhumans). she dreams with them, she knows she’s a hero, but she doesn’t wanna become one... and what happens when she seems forced to fight?

c. blood ties series. (fantasy, dark fantasy). (five books, main wip for blood ties series). they are chased for their powers and because they look like somebody who’s supposed to be death. witches, faes, dragons, vampires, werewolves, angels and more.

d. dragon series. (fantasy, urban fantasy). (4 books). she’s new in town. the guys she meet are dragons, and she’s not human, but move on to a new town is not a coincidence.

e. laands series. (high fantasy). (4 or 5 books). the king is cursed by a fae and he has to give away his newborn girls to the faes, due to a prophecy, in which they’ll start or end a war.

f. kingdom of stars and ashes. (high fantasy). (5 books). a war for power and domination, chaos and order is about to start, but she doesn’t want to become a soldier for the enemy. faes, dragons and witches.

g. the dark trilogy. (fantasy, dark fantasy). (prequel trilogy for blood ties). she is a powerful witch, but she wants more. however, will she be able to handle it? or she will succumb for love?

h. short tales. (fantasy, high, urban and dark fantasy). a compilation of tales from: blood ties series, dragon series, laands series, kingdom of stars and ashes, and the dark trilogy.

taglist. send me an ask to be added or removed.

@scioltezza, @kilkrie, @incipientdream, @sondials, @missdulcerosea, @thenataliawrites, @vanzhuo, @tarttisms, @septemberliterature, @percvalx.

#wip intro #thepen&dagger #thewriteblrhive #thewriteblrcafe #mine #my wips #my writing #this is basically what i write about #my edits #i love it #yay #pls give it love #i'm still working on the names of 2 wips yikes