R.M. Archer's Blog, page 51

L: The Last Assassin Contest Scene

The Last Assassin is probably my favorite of my stories, and I look forward to having the other two Dark War books caught up so I can keep writing it. In the meantime, I’ll welcome a chance to look back at some of my favorite scenes, and this is one of them. “Tibessa” is the most-shipped relationship in the trilogy according to Allegra and Siberia, and I pretend I’m not part of the fandom… but I really am. ‘Cause these two are awesome. (I’m totally not the one who came up with their ship name in the first place… *cough*)

Anyway, without further ado, let me introduce you to Catessa and Tiberius. :)

Someone took the stool next to hers and she didn’t glance up.

“This seat taken?” the newcomer asked, voice deep and rich.

She shook her head, still not looking up from her bowl.

“Something wrong, beautiful?”

She grabbed a dagger and whipped it up to his neck in an instant. “No one calls me ‘beautiful’ unless I let them,” she growled.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I should hope not.” She tucked her dagger away slowly and looked him over. Steel grey eyes, black hair shaved short on the sides, a neatly trimmed beard, and enough rings on his fingers to pay for a year’s worth of ale.

“Tiberius Alister,” he said, extending a hand.

She didn’t bother to shake it. “Catessa Regan.”

“Nice to meet you. Are you new around here?”

“Somewhat. You?”

“I come here regularly, but I live at sea. Where are you from?”

She hesitated before answering, trying to decide if it was wise to tell him or not. “Kaloris.”

He nodded. “I’ve been there a few times. It’s a nice place.” His gaze swept over her once. “You’re pretty good with that knife of yours.”

“I’ve been practicing a long time.”

“I believe it. Assassin?”

Catessa narrowed her eyes at him a bit. “What makes you think that?”

He smiled. “There are very few people as well-skilled with knives. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” He leaned close and whispered. “I’m a pirate.”

“I thought so.”

He leaned back. “You came in on a merchant vessel?”

She nodded.

“My ship passed yours several days ago.”

“The fast ship with the skull standard?”

He nodded. “The Speed Demon, I call her. The fastest ship on the sea.”

“Fitting. Where was she made?”

“Here in Roenor. I’m good friends with a shipwright here in Vanore. I’m friends with lots of people here, actually. You’d be surprised how many are accepting of pirates.”

“Then why whisper to me?”

Tiberius nodded discreetly toward Pellan. “Your friend over there. I don’t much like the looks of him. Not that I doubt he already knows what I am. An attentive fellow, that one.”

“He’s an ambassador. I’m his escort.”

“Ah. Most may think it’s the other way around.”

“That’s safer for us. They’ll attack me thinking I’m the target and never know what hit them.”

Tiberius smiled a bit. “I don’t doubt that.” He glanced over at an uneven target painted on one of the tavern walls. “How about a contest? Best of three.” He pointed.

Catessa followed his point and nodded. “Sounds good. Prepare to be beaten.”

“Cocky.” He grinned. “I like that.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Careful, or you might just end up the target.”

Tiberius laughed and got up from his place, standing a ways back from the target. Catessa followed him. The pirate gestured toward the target. “Ladies first.”

Catessa took out one of her daggers and threw it end over end straight into the bull’s eye with a rewarding thud.

Tiberius stepped forward and pulled a knife of his own from his boot, throwing it so that it landed right next to hers, with barely a hair’s breadth between them.

“Impressive,” Catessa said with a hint of a smirk. She drew out a second dagger and landed it right between the two knives. It wedged both outward with its handle.

“Don’t mangle my knife,” Tiberius warned. He grabbed a second blade, this one from his long coat, and threw it directly under Catessa’s first dagger.

She stepped forward with a third dagger and threw it a hair’s breadth away from Tiberius’ second knife.

Tiberius’ last throw mirrored Catessa’s, jamming right between his and hers.

“I believe that would be a tie,” Tiberius said, grinning.

“That was an impressive display,” Catessa admitted.

“As was yours. I have never before met my equal in knife throwing.” He bowed and rose back up, still grinning. “Tell me, do you know any stories?”

“A few.” She regarded him curiously. “Why?”

“Well, I happen to know that the people who frequent this tavern are fans of story. I like to entertain them when I’m here. But something fresh from a new face… I believe they’d like that better than something from an old salt like me.” He winked.

K: The King’s Paladin Opening Scene

As I promised yesterday in the introduction to Ammadeus Maste’s interview, today’s excerpt is from The King’s Paladin, the third book in The Dark War Trilogy. I don’t know this one quite as well, I don’t have it fleshed out quite as well as the other two yet, but I look forward to further developing and writing it in the semi-near future.

Without further ado, here’s the opening scene.

Coraline ran down the hallway, heart pounding. Fear was mirrored in her kaleidoscopic eyes as she wrenched open the door to her mentor’s room. There he was, lying still and almost lifeless on the bed.

She ran to his side and clutched his arm. “Wake up!” she urged him, desperation filling her voice. “Please, you have to wake up!”

The man didn’t stir.

Tears spilled down Coraline’s face as she fell to her knees next to his bed, barely noticing the physician on the other side of the room. “You can’t die,” she whispered. “I’m not ready.”

“You can’t stay,” the physician said.

“I’m not leaving.” Coraline’s gaze didn’t move from her mentor’s still face.

“Your presence will do nothing to help Sir Eliot’s recovery.”

“I’m not leaving,” Coraline repeated, firmer this time.

“Please, Coraline. You have to leave.” There was compassion in the doctor’s voice, but also pleading for her to go.

She knew, as much as she hated it, that he wished to spare her the pain of watching Eliot die.

“He’s my mentor.” She was barely audible. “I’m not leaving.”

“I’ll get the guards if necessary.”

“Go ahead.”

The physician hesitated, to make sure she truly wouldn’t leave on her own, before heading into the hallway and waving a pair of guards over.

They came in and grabbed Coraline’s arms, dragging her up. She wrested one of her arms away, but the guard recaptured it a moment later and both guards tightened their grip.

A moment later Coraline felt a rush of power go through her. A cry ripped from her lips as she wrenched her arms away again, this time as if the guards’ hands were covered in butter.

She took Eliot’s hand, sobbing. He was dead.

“I’m so sorry, Coraline,” the physician said.

Coraline didn’t move, didn’t do anything to acknowledge that she had heard the doctor, just knelt, holding Eliot’s hand and looking down at his worn face. She was on her own.

A minute later a soft hand rested on her shoulder, bringing only minor comfort, and her best friend knelt next to her, mourning alongside her.

J: Jumping the Gun

When you first finish a first draft, it can be easy to think it’s the best thing in the world. You can’t wait to share it with everyone you know and you immediately set about to editing, announcing to everyone that you’re going to publish this thing and maybe start amassing funds for an editor…

And then you look at the book several months later and you just ask your younger self why you ever thought this was good. And after you’ve bought a gorgeous cover and already hired an editor (not the kind of editor you needed, on top of everything else), you decide this is in absolutely no shape to be published in the remotely near future and your only apology is a collection of short stories.

Yeah. This was me. My goal in this post is to help you avoid falling into the same holes I did.

Set it aside

DO NOT go straight from first draft to second. Just don’t. You need to set it aside for at least a month (optimally longer) and come back to it with fresh eyes. Don’t look at it while you’re still on a high with it or you’ll be blind to all its flaws and your edit will be entirely ineffective.

Hire an editor after you’ve taken several passes of your own

Make your story as good as you can on your own before hiring an editor. Don’t give them a disaster to unravel for you. That giant mess is your job; the editor is to catch the issues you only don’t notice because you wrote it and you know things the reader doesn’t. Your editor shouldn’t be a crutch.

I sent House of Mages to an editor after just one rewrite because I knew it was a disaster, intending for the editor to point out all the issues and tell me how to fix them. As someone now going into editing myself, and someone who has had short stories edited multiple times since House of Mages, this is not how an editor is supposed to work, nor is it how you should hope for them to work. An editor will point out your issues, they may suggest a couple of ways to solve the problem to get you started, but in the end you’re the author and you’re the one doing the heavy lifting and deciding what does or doesn’t work for your story.

Communicate with your editor (also, price isn’t everything)

Research editors, pick the best for you, and don’t just jump at the cheapest offer you get. I don’t mean anything negative toward the editor of House of Mages at all, she’s a wonderful person and she did well at what she did, but I took her offer to edit cheap without talking to her at all about the process in advance or knowing what type of editing she was doing. I assumed she’d be a developmental editor, not yet fully grasping that the different editing styles do not all come as a package deal in most circumstances, and ended up with a copy-editor. Always communicate with your editor.

Don’t announce that you’re going to publish until you’re sure you want to publish

This should probably be at least the second or third draft. I still haven’t announced to any of my friends (except my best friend) that I’m planning on publishing a novel later this year, because I don’t want to end up reprising House of Mages and disappoint everyone twice in a row. I’m quite sure I’m going to publish this novel in the fall, and I’m working to get it polished (the first draft was far better than House of Mages, being a year younger, which helps), and I have a whole schedule laid out for getting it ready on time, but I haven’t shared it yet.

Likewise, don’t buy a cover until you’re sure you want to publish

Do not spend $80 on a lovely cover if you’re not 100% sure you’re actually going to publish your book. The cover is great, but what use is it without a book? At best, if you let this story go you might come back to it and be able to use the cover. At worst, you’ve wasted a cover (and however much money you spent on it) and it can never be used by anyone else, or you do come back to the story and by the time you’re done rewriting it the cover totally doesn’t fit anymore. I’m hoping I’ll end up in the first camp with House of Mages’ cover, but I don’t hold out a ton of hope for that.

Allow yourself plenty of time

Preparing a book for publication is a lot of work. There are multiple rounds of edits to be done, there’s a cover to be made, a gripping synopsis to be written, marketing graphics to design, giveaways to plan, proofs to be checked, etc., etc., etc. So give yourself a lot of time. The pieces that you depend on someone else for particularly need a buffer space because you never know what may come up. You’ll probably want to give yourself at least six months if not a year between completing the first draft and publication (at least early on, before you have a system down pat). It’s a long time, it can feel like an eternity to wait, but your book will be the better for it.

Be aware that you’re your own worst critic

Your story is probably crap at the first draft stage. I’m just gonna be brutally honest. It’s probably crap unless you’re Wonder Writer. But it’s also probably not quite as bad as you think. (Quite.) Get several readers (I’d say about 3-7 is probably a good number) who you know will be honest with you and tell you what needs work and what needs to stay. This would probably be a beta-reader stage, generally once the first and maybe second draft is done (at least in my experience). These people will help you see your story from a new perspective, whether they’re pointing out issues you hadn’t noticed or pointing out good things that you’ve been blind to after editing for too long and beginning to loathe your story. (If you do start to absolutely loathe your story, find the parts you do like – tiny as they may be – think about those, and take a break for a while. Editing when you hate your story does not go well.)

What is the worst writing mistake you’ve made? How did you grow from it?

Character Interview: Ammadeus Maste

Ammadeus is a mentor character to Coraline in The King’s Paladin (which you’ll be getting an excerpt of tomorrow). You’ll see that he’s pretty brooding and mysterious, and he’s a seer (the only one in the word, I think) which places a lot of responsibility upon his shoulders. I hope you enjoy his interview. :)

Ammadeus: *steps into the interview room and sits across from the interviewer, shrouded in his cloak and sitting rigid*

Interviewer: Good morning. How are you?

Ammadeus: *shrugs his broad shoulders*

Interviewer: I’m not going to hurt you. *laughs, because he’s a fairly small guy and Ammadeus is fairly burly*

Ammadeus: I know. Continue.

Interviewer: *clears his throat* Well then… What’s your name?

Ammadeus: Ammadeus Maste.

Interviewer: How old are you?

Ammadeus: Twenty. *the weariness of his voice indicates he’s far older, but there’s no lie in his tone*

Interviewer: Do you have any siblings?

Ammadeus: No.

Interviewer: Do you have a job.

Ammadeus: *doesn’t answer*

Interviewer: …Does that mean you can’t tell me?

Ammadeus: *still doesn’t answer*

Interviewer: All right then… Do you have a favorite food?

Ammadeus: *shakes head*

Interviewer: A favorite color?

Ammadeus: Anything but red.

Interviewer: Any particular reason for that?

Ammadeus: *doesn’t answer*

Interviewer: All right. Do you read?

Ammadeus: I can.

Interviewer: What’s your favorite animal?

Ammadeus: *doesn’t answer*

Interviewer: Do you have any hobbies?

Ammadeus: *still silent*

Interviewer: Which is most important to you: Kindness, intelligence, or bravery?

Ammadeus: None.

Interviewer: Why not?

Ammadeus: They’re all empty.

Interviewer: What makes you say that?

Ammadeus: *sighs* Intelligence gets you nowhere. Bravery can just as easily be called foolishness. Kindness is the only one that’s any use.

Interviewer: Honesty or selflessness?

Ammadeus: Selflessness. You won’t be around long anyway; why bother advancing yourself?

Interviewer: Well that’s… dark.

Ammadeus: *shrugs*

Interviewer: Um… one last question. What can’t you leave home without?

Ammadeus: I don’t have a home.

Interviewer: Why not?

Ammadeus: *shrugs again* Don’t need one.

Interviewer: Wow. Um… that’s it, then.

Ammadeus: *stands and leaves, leaving the interviewer mildly terrified*

I: The Influence of Writing On Life

When you become a writer, when you devote yourself to all the work it takes to produce a book (or quite a few books), your occupation and the rest of your life become inextricably linked. They feed into each other constantly, and there’s not really any way to stop it, nor do I think you necessarily should stop it. In this post, I’ll outline just a few ways being a writer can influence your “normal” life.

EVERYTHING is a story idea

Y’all writers know what I’m talking about. That little piece of dialogue you overheard while someone was talking on the phone, a vacation site, a line from a movie, even tiny plot points from existing movies (like the fact that King Artaxerxes’ guards wanted to kill him).

Nothing that’s even of mild interest slips your notice, and you’re constantly cramming new ideas into notebooks and journals.

You have notebooks everywhere

By your bed, for those late-night bursts of inspiration; by your computer, for when you see an awesome writing prompt; in your purse, in case inspiration strikes on the go. You take your current notebook on vacation, to sleepovers, to events…. anywhere an idea could appear (and we know that’s ANYWHERE), you take a notebook.

You think of everything in story terms

This one can be helpful or detrimental, depending on the situation. You see people as characters, you sort them into Hogwarts houses just like you would with your characters, you make notes of their flaws and strengths for future character development. You describe your first trip to the beach as if you’re a character in a book so that you can accurately describe the ocean if you need to (true story). You decide who would or wouldn’t survive in your books if they were characters. (And often you know the only reason you’d survive is because you know the story.) You might even narrate your life at times. To you, everything in life is part of a story.

You’re constantly examining the stories of others

Picking apart books (not literally. Please do not dismember books) to find out what makes them work, figuring out where bad books went wrong, pointing out plot holes in TV shows (a personal favorite), making fun of tropey fantasy movies, figuring out why you love the characters you love. Your brain is constantly in critic mode when consuming a story, and sometimes you wish you could turn it off once in a while and enjoy a story just for entertainment’s sake for once. On the bright side, it helps you develop your writing skills to an extent.

You’re also constantly examining your own stories

That one plot point you can’t get right, that one character whose flaw you can’t find, that aspect of your world that doesn’t quite work with the rest of the story… You’re constantly thinking about ways to improve whatever you’re working on, whatever stage it’s in.

You’re often off in dreamland (a.k.a. your storyworld)

Due to constantly thinking about writing (as Eugene Ionesco said, “For a writer, life consists of either writing or thinking about writing.”), your mind is often off in another world, working out plot kinks, developing characters, etc. Side effects include suddenly jumping up to write something down, or blurting out something totally random that actually has to do with what you were just thinking about, and thus startling anyone who may be nearby.

People don’t always realize you’re working

I don’t have to deal with this one too much, but lately my younger siblings have been calling me lazy for being on my computer all day when I’m actually working on a blog post or editing. I just tell them, “You have no idea,” and keep working, but it’s incredibly annoying. It can be easy for people to see you working on your computer and think you’re not actually doing anything, which has the potential to throw you off completely if you’ve really gotten into the zone.

These are the main things I can think of. How does being a writer affect your life? Which of these is the best/worst? I’d love to hear from you in the comments. :)

Wildlife in Worldbuilding

Fun fact: I used to HATE developing wildlife for worldbuilding. It fact, I loathed it so much that I just altogether avoided it. Until I found this post by Hannah at Ink Blots and Coffee Stains and realized it didn’t have to be as hard as I was making it. I didn’t have to make everything up from scratch. Now I really enjoy developing new creatures. Plants are a bit trickier and I generally don’t develop those unless I have a very specific purpose in mind for them (for instance, they produce a certain color of dye), but creatures I can do. (You should check out Hannah’s post for more info on plants, because she actually gives them a whole section rather than a measly single point like I did.) So here are some things to consider when developing fictional wildlife.

You can base it on something else

This is the biggest thing I didn’t get before reading Hannah’s post. Reading it was kind of a “Duh” moment, but I totally didn’t get it prior to that post. You can base your creatures on other creatures, be they real or fictional, or you can adapt an existing creature to fit your needs (or interests).

For instance: the Shahr from The Heart of the Baenor are based on panthers, the Caeceus from my Kersir novellas are based on Tauntauns, and I plan to have red-purple phoenixes in Kersir due to an interest in Tyrian purple and everything that goes with that (which I’ll be writing about on Our Mind Palace next Wednesday if you want more information).

You can use existing animals

This sounds really boring, but it can actually be a ton of fun, particularly if you’re writing a story set in a very different climate from what you’re used to. With Kersir, for instance, I was able to look up animals from the Arabian desert and similar places and find all sorts of new animals I’d never heard of before (as well as some that are just cool).

For instance: sand cats are the most adorable things on the planet, and there’s a thing called a siaga antelope that looks like a cross between an anteater, a koala, an elephant, and an antelope (look it up. It’s really crazy). I didn’t use the siaga antelope for Kersir, but if I hadn’t been looking up another variety of antelope I never would have found it. God is super creative, so you find a lot of cool stuff just by looking up animals that already exist.

Develop them by need

What purpose does this animal serve? What gap do you need filled? Does your character have a pet but you don’t know what kind? Do you want to use some sort of cool mount but you don’t know what? Does your world’s cuisine need some new kind of meat? Is there some sort of material you don’t know the origin of? Develop a creature by beginning with that need. That material is thick and durable? The creature’s going to have thick, durable hide which will affect how easy it is to kill (that would probably also make the material harder to come by). Your character needs a pet? Then that animal needs to be fairly docile or you need to start by figuring out how it’s tamed. If you need a mount, you’ll need to figure out how much bigger it is than the thing riding it. How fast does it travel? Does it have two legs, four legs, eight legs, a million legs? How does that affect its gait? Start with the need and spiral out.

Also think about how it survives in whatever environment it’s in. For a desert-dwelling animal, figure out how often it needs water and where it gets it. For a mountain dweller, make sure it has thick fur or some other way to ward off the cold. The environment may also determine whether it travels alone or with a pack or herd. A lot of the details of an animal will come from its environment.

Don’t ignore the little guys

It’s easy to just think of mammals, reptiles, sea animals, and birds while we’re developing animal life because they’re the big things we see all the time. But what about insects and amphibians and such? Purple dye was original made from a snail called a murex (which is related to the red-purple phoenix in Kersir and will be talked about in the post I mentioned). Bees pollinate flowers. Spiders (creepy as they are) eat pesky flies and mosquitos. The big animals have obvious purposes and perhaps affect the population of your story most directly, but small things you overlook can be just as important.

Concerning plant life

Like I said at the beginning of this post, I don’t tend to do a whole lot with the flora of a world, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s unimportant. Interesting, well-developed flora – even if it’s not shown much – can add an element of depth to your world, and most of the above points apply to flora as well as fauna, and looking up existing plants can be almost as interesting as existing fauna. (If you want proof, go look up a dragonfruit tree. It’s like a small willow with aloe instead of fronds.)

What is the most interesting existing animal or plant you’ve seen? What’s the most interesting you’ve developed for your story? Let me know in the comments!

H: The Heart of the Baenor Tavern Scene

The Heart of the Baenor (as it is currently called. It really needs a new title.) is my Camp NaNoWriMo project. I’m editing it and finishing it, because I stopped last July and it’s now about ten chapters short but the writing is a mess and I need to remind myself what’s happening, so I’m editing it up to that point and then I’ll finish it and edit that. So far it’s actually been pretty fun to edit (editing is a lot nicer when you don’t have to rewrite the whole thing from scratch. ;D) and I’m looking forward to making it as good as I can. Here’s a scene that introduces one of the two main characters. Enjoy!

Catessa stopped on top of one of the tallest buildings in the city and looked over her shoulder one last time for anyone who might have followed her. There was still no one. She made her way to the gutter, sliding down to land on a pile of trash and mud in the alleyway, the familiar sound of laughter and talking muffled through the building’s walls.

She walked around to the front of the tavern and stepped inside, savoring the raucous atmosphere and the sickly sweet smell of alcohol. This place was almost like home.

She made her way immediately to the counter and saw that someone was already in her usual seat. His face was turned away from her, but the light from the nearby fireplace gave his hair a familiar reddish tint.

“You’re in my seat,” Catessa said.

“I know,” he returned, spinning to face her with a smirk, resting his elbows on the counter behind him.

“Scoot over.”

The young man moved to the next stool over and Catessa took her seat, now warm. “How long did you wait?” Catessa waved down the barmaid.

“A while.”

The barmaid came over.

“I’ll have my usual,” Catessa said, the barmaid left again.

Catessa slid the man’s mug down the bar to him and he caught it, lifting it to his lips and taking a drink.

“What’d you get?” the young man asked.

“I got what I went for. Why do you care? It was my job, not yours.”

He shrugged. “Just curious.”

The barmaid set a mug in front of Catessa and left again. Catessa took a sip of her ale before setting the mug back down and turning toward the young man. “Roth, you know I’m not going to tell you anything I don’t want to, so why are you still here?”

“Maybe I’d like to see if I can make you want to.” He leaned closer to her and she smirked, turning to face the main room.

She watched him out the corner of her eye. “Nice try.”

Roth shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

“Go on home.”

“Why? Do you have some secret business to deal with? A dead body you need help hiding?”

Catessa chuckled. “No.”

Roth drained his mug and set it on the counter along with a couple of copper coins. “I’ll see you back at the temple.”

Catessa nodded and watched him walk out of the tavern. He shot her a wink as he reached the door and she rolled her eyes in return. Once he was gone, she turned back toward the counter and flagged down the barmaid.

“Refill?” the girl asked.

“No, just a question. Is-”

The barmaid shook her head. “No, she’s still gone. Sorry.”

Catessa nodded, lips pursed. “Mm. Thanks. Do you have any idea when she’ll be back?”

The barmaid shook her head. “Your best bet is to just keep checking. She’s rather unpredictable. I’ll tell her you were looking whenever she gets back.”

“Thanks.”

Catessa absently sipped at her ale and turned toward the bard stage. There was usually an interesting story being told up there, but today it was the tale of Rosyn Celebar – one she’d heard a million times. The bard was one she’d seen only a few times, but that wasn’t enough to keep her interest.

Catessa turned her attention to the tavern’s patrons, looking for anyone she hadn’t seen before. That was a short list, considering how often she came, but there were a few, most of them younger faces likely just come of age. Half of them were slobbering drunk and the other half were staring at their mugs as if they’d be kicked out if they even took a sip. She smirked a bit, amused.

She turned the other direction, toward the fireplace, where the more interesting patrons tended to gather. Adventurers, bards, and anyone else with a story to tell would speak in hushed tones of long-ago wars and almost-wars, reminiscing of the old days and embellishing their own tales of adventure. Tonight, however, everyone’s attention was turned to the old bard telling Rosyn’s Ballad.

Catessa turned back to the old bard up front and he met her gaze with light gray eyes that seemed to stare straight through to her soul. She turned hastily back to the bar and took another swig of ale. Her soul was too dark to be seen.

The old bard completed his tale and his words took an altogether different tone. “Now, I have need of someone to go on a quest for me.”

Catessa felt his eyes on her, but refused to return his gaze.

“You there, at the bar, come here please.”

Catessa looked down the bar. There was no one else sitting there. “If you want to talk to me about a job,” she said, “we can talk business privately here at the bar.”

The bard came over and sat next to her. “Very well.”

Catessa set one elbow on the bar, facing the old man. His eyes still seemed to see deeper than she’d like as she met his gaze. “Why me?”

“Because I can tell you’re perfect for the position I need filled.”

“And how would you know?”

“You’re wearing nine daggers right now, you’ve already drawn a tenth in case my mission turns out to be a scam, and you know how to properly talk business.”

She considered his words a moment before speaking. “I’ll need to know particulars.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you here in the morning to discuss things.”

“Why not now? It seems better to tell me what all this entails and let me sleep on it than to wait unnecessarily and potentially lose my interest.”

The bard’s eyes glittered. “Let’s see if I lose your interest, then, shall we? Anytime before noon tomorrow I’ll be here.” He rose and headed up the stairs to the inn above.

Catessa drained her mug before heading out into the dark streets to head home. All was still in the city since it was past midnight, and only a few sporadic street lamps lit the street, most of them threatening to sputter out by now.

She started down the street, her feet making very little noise on the stone, instinctively moving from shadow to shadow.

 

G: Grantech Opening Scene

Here’s another opening scene of a story I’m not ready to write. I think this is my favorite yet, and the character relationships gained a wholly different dynamic than I’d expected. I also love my POV character, having written her. She’s a lot of fun. Enjoy. :)

By the way, this world and organization just so happen to be heavily featured in two of the four stories in my Short Story Collection Vol. 1, so you should totally go check that out if you’re interested in this universe.

When Ash came to get me, I was already expecting it. He knocked more to alert me of his entry than anything else before opening the door in his usual crisp Grantech guard uniform and telling me what I already knew.

“Your powers have failed to manifest and you’re to be cut from the program.” Killed. I was going to be killed.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I brushed a stray bit of hair behind my ear – one of those annoying bits that never fits in the ponytail but still constantly falls in your face – without looking up from my game of pyramid solitaire.

“We’re going now.”

I looked up at the tall guard – six one, if I remembered correctly, thus half a foot taller than me, and yet no longer intimidating after all these years – and pursed my lips. “Not until I finish this game.” I turned back to my cards.

I could tell Ash was trying not to roll his eyes. “We have to go. Ms. Class won’t be happy if I deliver you late.”

I sighed and scooped up the cards, tucking them back into their box and sticking the box in my pocket as I stood up and walked out the door of my “quarters.” My room was nice and all, but I wasn’t so naive as to mistake it for anything other than a cell. I headed toward the labs and it only took Ash a couple long strides to catch up and grip my arm to escort me like a loyal Grantech guard.

When we reached Lab Zeta – the only lab that was strictly off-limits to all but top-level personnel – Ash stopped and we stood around waiting for Miss Erdiana Class or one of her minions to arrive and let me into the room where I’d die.

After five minutes spent twiddling our thumbs, one of the scientists finally arrived and swiped their ID chip. The door buzzed and the three of us stepped into the room, Ash closing the door behind us.

“Please have a seat.” The scientist – who I noticed had a bulbous nose – gestured to a padded chair in the center of the room and I sat, tapping my booted feet on the air. If Ash let them go through with this, those lovely combat boots would end up with some other oh-so-fortunate test subject. I hoped they’d appreciate them.

As the scientist prepared a syringe of poison, I glanced over at Ash, standing straight and still next to the door. He spared me a glance just long enough to wink.

F: The Faerie-Elves Duel Scene

Okay, this one was a ton of fun to write. This is a set of characters I know really well, plus it employs a lot of the information I’ve been working on redesigning for the Aleruus Star System (a vast universe I’ve had since I was seven), so I got to employ both the new and the old. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

Sarabrina, Sphene, and Chevon stepped into the amphitheater and saw Julen standing in the center of the grassy floor, hands folded in front of him. He smiled as they entered, as if he’d been waiting for them.

“Welcome back, Sarabrina,” he said. He turned his attention to Sphene and something seemed to soften in his eyes for a moment. “And Sphene. I didn’t expect to ever see you again.”

Sphene shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Julen’s attention shifted to Chevon. “And who’s the boy?”

“Why would I tell you?” Sarabrina asked.

Julen sighed and another man stepped into the amphitheater from a side entrance, harsh ice blue eyes giving him away immediately as Cordier.

“Father.” Sphene nearly spat the title, a ferocious glare focused entirely on him.

“Hello, Sphene. I thought you were dead.”

“What a way to greet your long-lost daughter.”

“Please. I melted your ring long ago.”

“Enough of the family reunion,” Julen said, rolling his eyes. “What do you want? ‘Hi, sis, I’ve missed you’? Let’s just get on with this.”

“And what exactly is ‘this’?” Chevon asked. “How did you know we’d be here?”

“Sphene was bound to need an anchor at some point. Since this place holds so many memories for her it seemed only fitting.” Cordier grinned.

Sphene muttered to herself lower than Sarabrina could hear.

“So, dearest, what do you say we have one last dance? Like old times?”

Sphene looked up at Cordier and Sarabrina saw deep hurt in eyes that matched Cordier’s.

Cordier stepped over to Sphene and rested his hands on her shoulders. Sarabrina stepped to the side, closer to Chevon.

“Dearest Sphene,” Cordier said, “won’t you dance with your father just once more? I may be cruel, but I’m still your father.”

“You haven’t been my father in years.” Sphene’s voice was strangled.

Cordier flinched as if slapped. “Fine. You want a fight, then? I’ll give you one.” He turned and walked back to where he’d stood, gesturing toward the ampitheater seats without taking his eyes from Sphene. “Have a seat, Julen.”

Sarabrina and Chevon both walked over to the opposite seats, sensing this wasn’t something they wanted to be close to.

Cordier flourished his hands and soil from beneath him swirled into a ball between his hands. “Careful, dearest. We wouldn’t want these roses to wither under the heat of that blue fire of yours.”

“Since when do you care about roses? You disregard life as if it were dust.”

“And it is. Dust that will be blown away in due time… Or perhaps undue time.” He grinned. “Now, won’t you call up that fire of yours? I don’t want to fire before you’re armed.”

Sphene swirled one hand and a blue flame hovered over it. “Let’s get this over with.”

Cordier threw his ball of soil, keeping it on a trajectory straight for her face, and Sphene threw her fire into a protective shield, the soil turning to motes of dust under its heat. A mix of grass and leaves met the same fate.

“You won’t beat me with your earth manipulation,” Sphene said.

“But I can keep you busy.”

Sphene raised an eyebrow and released her shield. It remained in place as she summoned another bulb of fire in her hand and threw it at him. He darted to the side and threw a ball of soil at her from his new side angle. The shield at her front slid to intercept it and she sent five more bolts of fire in close succession. He was too slow to evade the last two and they struck him, but the burns melted away in seconds. Sphene’s eyes widened and Sarabrina wondered how familiar the two of them were with each others’ powers in reality.

“Ah, didn’t know I had that trick, did you?”

Cordier grinned and tossed another ball of soil her way. It was as easily deflected as all the others and Sphene retaliated with a heavy stream of fire. Cordier planted himself and Sarabrina watched as he was garishly burned, turning away after a moment at the sight. When Sphene’s fire ceased, however, everything that had been burned was rebuilt.

“It won’t be that easy, dearest. You won’t make me vulnerable.” He raised his arms and bits of stone cracked from the ampitheater, urged toward Sphene from the front and sides with his will.

As the stone came crashing toward her, Sphene increased the power of her fire and heavily backpedaled, barely avoiding being struck. Cordier laughed and pulled apart more of the building, this time bringing stone from all sides. Sphene curled into a ball on the ground, throwing up the strongest flames she could around her in an already-futile attempt to protect herself.

Julen leaped from his place in the stands and lunged for Cordier. “Father, no! You’ll bring down the ampitheater on top of us!”

“Whatever it takes to get rid of this foul Dywen.”

“You’ll kill all of us!” Sarabrina was surprised to see genuine fear in Julen’s eyes as he looked at the quickly-crumbling ampitheater. He looked back at his father. “Would Mother have wanted this place to fall?”

Cordier turned to Julen. “Your mother is dead. The dead mean nothing.”

Julen stood stock still for only a moment before seizing his father’s arm and wrenching it toward him. Stones flew toward the far wall at the sudden change, crashing and shattering upon impact, blowing a hole in the wall and causing a section of it to fall. As it struck the front seats, Sarabrina was almost surprised to find that she was glad Julen was no longer sitting there.

Chevon grasped Sarabrina’s arm and she looked over at him, eyes wide. “We need to get out of here,” he said. He tugged her toward the nearest exit, but she resisted.

“No. What about Sphene and Julen?”

“It’s too late, Sarabrina! They’re gone.”

Sarabrina wrenched her arm away and Chevon screamed after her as she ran toward the crumbling walls and the three people in the middle of it all. She felt like someone else’s voice was yelling as she told Sphene to let down her shield and collided with Julen, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward an exit.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Saving you.” Sarabrina risked a glance over her shoulder and saw Sphene running after them. Chevon was just disappearing through an outer door, and the ampitheater was beginning to crumble from its very foundations as Cordier, mad with rage, threw the stones he still had control over in all directions and struck the supports. She looked back at where she was going just before she would have been smashed by a piece of falling debris and pulled Julen through a door out into the forest beyond. She kept running for several feet before turning back and looking to see where Sphene was.

As Sphene appeared in the doorway, the ampitheater crumbled, leaving her pinned underneath. Sarabrina’s breath stopped and she shrieked, still gripping Julen’s arm.

E: The Elementals Opening Scene

I had no idea what to do with this scene at first, because I hadn’t looked at this story in more than two years prior to this post, and reading it to refresh my memory can be fairly well summed up in this pin:

Also, that moment when you can tell something you mentioned is super important but it’s been so long that you have NO IDEA where you were going with it… #writerproblems

I decided to give it up after a couple hundred words and work on figuring out the world instead and after that it went much better. I’m still not a huge fan of the writing itself, but at least I know where the story’s supposed to begin at this point. Enjoy. :)

I stepped into the dorm room where I’d be staying and looked around. There was a bed against each of the side walls and a wide window let in plenty of natural light that turned the room orange due to the color of the curtains. I was observing a red flame sculpture when a deep voice sounded behind me.

“You must be my new roommate.”

I wheeled to face the tallest, most muscular elf I’d ever seen, with a shock of white-blond hair and piercing gold eyes. I couldn’t keep my voice from shaking ever so slightly as I nodded and held out a hand. “Skandain.”

He shook my hand and I felt certain he could have pulled my arm from its socket if he’d wanted to. “Brant.” He smiled.

“Nice to meet you.” I let go of his hand and fiddled with the rock in my pocket.

“You too. Liking the school so far?”

“I haven’t really seen much…” I glanced around the room. “Is there a clock in here somewhere?”

“No. Shale makes sure we’re all up bright and early in the morning and there’s a loud bell for classes – can’t miss it – so clocks aren’t really necessary.”

“Ah. I was going to see how long I have before… initiation? Is that what Shale called it?”

“Just a few minutes. If you want to be really on time we can leave now.”

“You haven’t been initiated either?”

“Oh, no. I’ve been here for three years. I’m a fire elemental. But I can show you where the building is, and older students tend to watch too.”

“Oh. Right.” I continued twirling the rock between my fingers in my pocket.

Brant gestured for me to follow him and led me out of the dorms onto the packed wood paths that linked all the buildings in Elferion Academy. As we passed I noticed again, as I had on the way in with Shale, that all of the buildings bore the school insignia: It was like a squiggly tic-tac-toe board with a flame in the center box and a diamond in the upper right corner. The same emblem that was carved into the rock I was playing with. We walked all the way across the school to where the administrative buildings were and entered a short building with windows all the way across the front. Apparently this place loved natural light.

The room we entered was filled with benches from the halfway point to the back. The front had a row of four desks with a chair in front of all of them facing out toward the benches.

“That’s where you sit for them to determine what element you are.” Brant pointed to the lone chair. “The desks are for element studies later on.”

I nodded and Brant directed me to a bench near the front. A moment after we sat the door opened and four adults walked in, two men and two women. All of them were elves. They moved to sit behind the four desks and began talking in hushed tones.

“That’s Caelum the headmaster, Arianthe, Baara, and Galen.” Brant pointed to each one in turn and I nodded. “Air, earth, fire, and water. There’s never an unbalanced number of any one here at the school.”

“Why not?”

“That causes… a lot of issues. Caelum figured that out pretty early on.”

“Issues like what?”

“Let’s hope you never get to find out.”