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writing-is-a-martial-art · 3 years

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Just Your Typical Fantasy Story (WIP re-intro)

Title: Just Your Typical Fantasy Story

Genre: fantasy, comedy, adventure

Genre category: Y/A, N/A

Status: drafting, the first draft currently at 11k

POV: third person.

Themes/tropes: Saving The World, The Chosen One, predetermined destiny, good vs. evil (with subversion of expectations), found family, the world isn't black and white.

Triggers: Blood, fighting, alcohol, minor character death. The list will be updated as it grows.

Description:

In a world that has recently experienced magical disasters, it's hard to maintain peace or even some level of prosperity.

Fortunately, a tired-but-trying-his-best King and a goddess who recently got rid of the overhauling control her religion gained over her are maintaining what remains of a once-powerful empire in acceptable condition.

In these hardly-stable times, a self-proclaimed Dark Empire can do a lot of damage, especially if it was established by the Dark Lord, a terrible, magical menace feared in all of Drognil. They need a miracle. They need a Chosen One. And of course, it's not going to be anyone qualified for the job, because where's the fun in that?

Follow this all-fun, logic-free adventure as:

the Chosen One, a very confused, recently kidnapped 17-year-old girl, sets out on her quest.

A team of a werebear and a spirit-boy search for the mystical Noone of Nowhere.

The Dark Lord's boyfriend, worried by the Dark Lord's absence, goes to find him with a tagalong semi-Eldritch kind-of-monster (very sweet, wonderful cook).

The Dark Lord finds himself on a ghost-pirates' ship with no memory of how he got there, or why the Dark Empire now exists.

Characters:

Team "Chosen One":

Mary, The Chosen One:

Basics: human, she/her, 17, Uzbeki-Canadian, demisexual biromantic

Traits: witty, satirical, skeptical, optimistic.

Yahgur, the werebear:

Basics: human/werebear, he/him, 19, Hetashan, asexual demiromantic.

Traits: aloof, reserved, focused on self-control, a man of few words, secretly nice but don't tell him I said that.

Shimmi, the spirit boy:

Basics: human/spirit, he/them, 16, half-Iktan half-Hetashan, pansexual.

Traits: friendly, outgoing, trusting, caring, sweet, naive, deadly.

Team Dark Lord:

Rukard, Dark Lord's boyfriend:

Basics: human, he/him, 22, Zemugan, bisexual.

Traits: dramatic, overprotective, short-tempered, gloomy, actually cares about people.

Mourisha, Rukard's tag-along friend:

Basics: ??? they/them.

Traits: Caring, reserved, mysterious, friendly.

Others:

Heshiktow, The Dark Lord, currently absent from Team Dark Lord:

Basics: human, he/him 20, one/fourth Iktan two/fourths Hetashan, gay.

Traits: shy, friendly, helpful, tired (almost always), awkward, empathetic.

Ena, the tired Goddess:

Basics: goddess, 200-something, Hetashan/Moograhan, too tired to care

Traits: tired, reserved, disillusioned, disorganized, done with all of this sh*t.

Extra information:

This is pretty slow-burn. You do get lumberjack nuns, ghost-pirate sea battles, jailbreaks, and all that fun, but it starts around chapters 7 to 15. If you like your stories at a nice, leisurely pace, then you'll like this one.

Posted parts:

[1] - Ena and Mary's introduction chapter

[2] - Rukard's introduction chapter

[3] - Yahgur and Shimmi's introduction (this is a link to a masterpost because it's in three parts)

Tag: #jytfs

Taglist (contact me to be added/removed): @chazzawrites @apocalypsewriters @pagesofcursive @47crayons @lady-of-himring @wolfsong02 @annoyingwritingtrash @stardustspiral @zoya-writes @opes-magnas @cookiecutterwrites @run-journalist-run @bryanastar @justapotatowriter

#writing #writeblr #wip #fantasy #writers on tumblr #original story #original content #wip intro #wip re-intro #wtwcommunity #jytfs #writing on tumblr

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writing-is-a-martial-art · 3 years

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I made a u-quiz thingie!

Take a quiz and I'll assign you a fantasy species

#u quiz #quiz #jytfs #fantasy #also I'll cue this to reblog every four fours for the next 16 hours 'cause I love the thing #you have been warned

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writing-is-a-martial-art · 3 years

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Psst.

The first quiz went well enough, so I made another one! This one is for which character from JYTFS are you :)

link

#quiz #jytfs #u quiz #fantasy

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writing-is-a-martial-art · 3 years

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Chapter 5. The Dark Lord Returns

A/N: If you think you skipped something, you didn’t. This character never appeared in the story before. This his introduction chapter. I love misnomers.

TW: dizzyness, concussion, ghosts. That’s all I could gather. Please tell me if there’s more

Word count: 1 395 words

For context (not necesarry for understanding but does provide some extra context): Rukard’s chapter

Chapter 5.

Where a very confused Dark Lord tries to understand... anything

“Are you awake?"

Squinting, he tried to understand what was in front of him. Everything seemed blue and blurry. A brown circle was floating in front of his face. His logic processor kicked in and informed him that circles don’t float, and, judging by the fact that it was a skin-colored circle, it must be a face. Okay. Someone was looking at him, bending over. How does he usually react to something like that? He searched for some remains of an established etiquette, but his mind was still far from clear.

“Person. Looking. Caring. Do what?” - that’s the closest resemblance to coherent thinking he could conjure. Giving up on trying to do the logical thing, he did the thing that felt the most comfortable and familiar. Lifting himself up on his elbows, he closed his eyes, ignoring the dizziness, and waited for a kiss. And then some. And then some more. Some part of his mind knew that feeling terrible + concerned face = care and loving support. But something wasn’t working. He opened his eyes, trying to understand what’s wrong. Everything was still blurry, but the face - he could now tell it was a face, so some progress there - was very close. He needed to communicate. His mind, building up its processing power, offered him the brand-new, revolutionary idea of speech.

“No… kiss?” - he constructed a sentence. The words felt like little bricks in his mouth, and pushing them out was hard work.

“That’s a new one” - answered something he identified as a voice “normally people start with a ‘where am I?’ or ‘who am I?’. But you have your priorities in order, don’t you?”

A few more seconds of painfully slow word construction and he said, as carefully as a person trying to multiply a four-digit number by a five-digit number in their mind: “those are… good questions… too”

“Okay, you definitely need some more rest” the face moved away, and, seeing how there was a big, cone-like thing under it, he gathered that it was attached to a body. With effort, he could even separate some details, like hair or arms.

“No, please. Answers?” he asked, and the words came to him easier this time. The figure stopped, its face-circle turned to him.

“Okay, if that will make you stop worrying. I can’t help you with the ‘who am I’ stuff - you can get all existential-crisis-y about it once you feel better - but as for the ‘where’ part, you’re on Marry Axling.”

A pause. He tried to find sense in the words the figure spoke. Those were words. They formed sentences. So there must be some meaning in them, right?

“Marry Axling?” he echoed, testing if the words would click the second time around.

“So you never heard of her?” the voice, much clearer now, sounded surprised, “She’s a bit of a legend around these parts. She’s a ship”

“Oh”, he answered, happy to realize he knows what a ship is. Big, watery floaty thing. Got it. After a little pause, he came up with another question “why am I here?”

“Well, that’s the easy part. We fished you out of the water. You were knocked out or something. Took you a good two days to snap out of it”.

“So you saved my life?!” in a wave of gratitude, he pulled himself up, intending to bow or do at least something to express how thankful he was. The floor made a wave-like motion and welcomed him with a hard, wooden landing.

“About that...” - the figure helped him up and offered their shoulder for support - “I think you should see for yourself”.

They half-dragged him to the wall, where something square and shiny was attached. A bit more concentration and squinting, and he could see two people staring at him. “Window? Door?” the options went through his head. With a quiet ding, the word “mirror” snapped into place. So he was looking at himself and the kind stranger. Now that he was standing and not moving, his vision started to focus again. He concentrated on the image, trying to understand what the figure was talking about.

He recognized the face, even though he couldn’t quite attach a name to it. Skin permanently stuck somewhere between dark tan and light-brown. Brown eyes, staring right back at him with a sparkle of curiosity. His long, dark-brown hair was now a nest-like mess. Looking down, he noticed a white shirt and a green vest - something that felt very familiar. So, no surprises there.

Still using the mirror, he studied his rescuer. It was a woman, slightly taller than him - which was more to say about his height than hers. Four thick, black braids were lying on her shoulders, escaping a tight bandana covering her head. She was wearing a simple, at-some-point-white shirt, spacious black pants, a black coat, sturdy, well-worn leather boots, and a tired expression. This combination triggered yet another chain of associations in his head that gave out the word “pirate”.

“Everything seems fine. What was I supposed to worry about?” he asked the woman, looking at her through the mirror, not risking turning his head. The dizziness eased up, but he knew it was still lurking somewhere near.

“Yeah, it’s surprising how many people miss it the first time. Look closer. You’ll see”.

He obediently stared at his somewhat shabby reflection again, trying to find what was wrong. All of his limbs were intact, and the face seemed in place, nose, eyes, and all. He lifted his hair and checked that his ears were there. Yes, both of them, just as before.

He tried to take in the bigger picture, taking a look around the room. That’s when he noticed it. He could see the bed. The bed he was lying in earlier, the one right behind him. He could see it, even though a little blurry, right through his own stomach. He turned his eyes to the woman. He could see her, and at the same time, he could see the little room behind her, like an aquarelle sketch on top of an oil painting.

“Oh”

“So, you see it now?” the woman looked at him

“Yeah...” he kept staring at his reflection. He remembered that creatures like these are referred to as “ghosts”, but he somehow felt that it didn’t apply to him. Despite all the weakness and the fog in his head, he felt… normal. He experienced this before. In a moment of clarity, he remembered where the kissing routine was from: that’s what normally happened when he was in this state. Someone close… someone very, very familiar took care of him in times like these.

“Is this… something I do a lot?”

“You tell me. I doubt it, though. It’s rare for people to have dying as a hobby”

“I’m not dead,” he tried to smile “I’m sure I’ll be fine after some rest”

“Step one: denial. Gotcha. I’ll give you time to come to your senses. For now, I better introduce you to the rest of the crew. Can you walk?”

“Not without help,” he answered honestly. The objects around him started to gain clarity and texture, but walking was now as difficult as talking was ten minutes ago.

“Okay, I’ll help you walk to the deck - it’s not far - and then you can just… lean onto something. You’ll be fine. What’s the worst thing that can happen to you now, right?”

“I could still die,” he argued. It wasn’t just defiance. Some part of him knew that he was alive. He had to be alive. Someone was waiting for him to return, any day now. He remembered a face - pale and always serious but not cold. Never cold. Not for him. The face had a name to it. This time, he didn’t have to concentrate to remember.

“Rukard,” he whispered. “Oh, no. He’d kill me if I’d die”

The woman, still supporting him, turned her head to look him in the eye, her mouth already half-opened to say something, when yet another transparent figure rushed through the door.

"Captain!" they called, their voice somewhere between panicked and bewildered, "there is an octopus… squid… lion… thing. It's swimming towards us. What should we do?"

Taglist (contact me to be added/removed!): @chazzawrites @apocalypsewriters @pagesofcursive @47crayons @lady-of-himring @wolfsong02 @annoyingwritingtrash @stardustspiral @zoya-writes @opes-magnas @cookiecutterwrites @run-journalist-run

One-time interest tag (I will not tag you again unless you tell me you’re okay with that!): @oblolongue , @drippingmoon, @loopyhoopywrites

#tw concussion #tw ghosts #tw dizzyness #jytfs #writing #writeblr #original writing #original content #wip #original story #oleg's writing

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writing-is-a-martial-art · 3 years

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Chapter 2. The Chosen One

Previous chapter (provides the necessary context): chapter one

A/N: I wrote this a while ago, but haven’t posted because I was still figuring out some of the worldbuilding. Now I’m sure that this chapter won’t likely change much, so here it is!

Word count: 1950 words

TW/CW: mention of religion, mention of injury, very brief mention of cults.

Chapter 2. The Chosen One

Where Mary is introduced to her new role and does the reasonable thing

"Well, I hope we can fire her now".

"Look out!".

Mary woke up from a loud cracking sound. She was lying on something hard and cold.

“Probably stone,” she thought detachedly. She was staring at the ceiling until something caught her attention. The ceiling was blank, with some old frescoes covered in dust and soot, but in the corner of her eye, she saw a light. She turned her head to find a small hole in the ceiling. Its edges were black and smoking. Her eyes followed the ray of light from the ceiling and down. A lot of people were bending or sprawling on the floor, covering their heads. Almost directly under the hole, a young man was standing. He seemed to be in a state of shock, his hair and clothing slightly smoking.

"She did it. She actually did it," he mumbled, "She lightning-ed me!"

"Tough day, huh?" Marry asked, still not standing up from the floor. She planned to lie right where she was for as long as it takes for the world to start making sense again. Moving was just going to ruin things.

"You can say that again," the man smiled weakly. He froze for a moment and continued in a different, slightly more official tone, "Are you the person Ena sent?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about".

"Are you the Chosen One?"

"I hope I’m not. Look, I’m as confused as you are. About twenty minutes ago I was helping out my little sister, and since then, I was teleported twice already and nobody explained anything to me. The only reason why I’m not having a nervous breakdown right now is that I’m too tired and angry. As soon as I calm down a little, I’ll be sure to lose all of my sense again, so you better start explaining things. First off, where am I?"

"It’s the temple of Ena"

"Which is in?"

"The city of Cruzmaff"

"Which is in?"

"The kingdom of Drognil"

"Which is in?"

"The western continent"

"And that’s?"

"On Earth."

"Whew, that’s good. You had me worried there with all the “kingdom of Drognil” stuff. I’m glad to be on my planet. Now tell me, what’s the easiest way to get to Canada from here?"

"What’s a 'Canada'?"

"Okay, don’t worry. I’m not good at geography either. Can anybody here tell me how to get to Canada, Oxbow?"

The people that were lying on the floor before were now standing around, listening to the conversation. They were not expecting to be addressed directly, but after some whispers, a woman’s voice called out:

"I know what Canada is!"

"Wonderful!"

"It’s a very interesting type of stew. My grandmother used to make it."

"O-kay. That’s… not exactly right," Mary turned to the slightly burnt man again, "can you elaborate on what you mean by 'Earth'?"

"Actually," someone called from the crowd, elbowing his way to Mary. "that’s my job."

"Sorry?"

"As the high priest of Ena, it’s my job to introduce the Chosen One to our current situation. From what I could gather, you are from a world different from ours," the man was now standing in the open area where Mary was lying, trying to look down at her in a respectful way

"I was starting to come to the same conclusion"

"This world is called Earth. It has seven continents, two main species, and a bunch of other stuff. Kingdoms, republics…" the man stopped, then moved his lips as if trying to put words together. "My apologies. I never had to explain the whole world before."

"It’s okay. I was never dragged into other worlds before. It’s the first time for both of us. Let’s start with the important part: why am I here?"

"We have an evil empire problem, so we contacted our goddess. She was supposed to send us a hero from some prophecy she found. That should be... you?" his voice got quieter and quieter as he examined Mary from head to toe.

"Oh, that’s splendid. Now tell me, do I look like a mighty warrior that can take down an empire?"

"Not… exactly," the high priest tried to answer as carefully as possible

"Well, that’s because I’m not one. Your goddess messed up. I’m not fit for any of this. I don’t even know anything about this world-" at this point, Mary decided that it’s better to stand up. The world didn’t seem to be coming to its senses, and the stone floor was far from comfortable. She moved. Something scraped her skin under the shirt. She pulled it out and stared at an old, tattered scroll.

"Can I see that?" - the high priest asked. Mary handed the scroll to him. He unrolled it. - "By the power of… a-huh… Mary Sue, the owner of this scroll, is hereby declared… She, and only she, is the one destined to stop… And in the name Ena, may it be true. They even have a picture of her here."

Silence. The heavy, tense silence of hundreds of untold words filled the room.

"She, and only she?" the burnt man echoed

"In the name of Ena…" - the high priest said, all the tired hopelessness of the world audible in his voice

"Mary Sue?!" Mary asked "Nobody, and I repeat, nobody is allowed to call me that."

"Well, that settles it," a new voice declared in an unexpectedly happy tone.

Everyone turned to the entrance. There, an older man was standing. He was alone, yet the crowd parted before him. He was wearing a simple black attire. No jewelry, no decorations. But the way he was standing, the way he was looking at everyone, showed certainty and calmness accessible only to very, very important people and madmen.

"You must be the hero Ena sent."

"And you must be crazy. I’m so obviously not fit… for… this… "

Mary grew quiet as the man approached. He was tall but very thin, so his physique was far from menacing, but something about him indicated that it would be wise to stop complaining. In fact, Mary understood that it was a big mistake to start complaining. And, going to the root of things, getting born in the first place wasn’t the wisest of all decisions.

"The goddess chose you. That means either that you’re up to the task, or that she has a grander plan and you’re part of it. Either way, you have no say in this. "

"Well… I…"

Mary stopped. Until now, she either had no time to think or everyone around her was even more confused and scared, so she had to calm them down. But now her fear caught up with her. “This is it,” she thought, “I’ve been abducted by a cult that claims that Canada isn’t real. I can’t wake up. There’s no way to escape”.

And then some part of her thought “But there is a way to escape. Right there. Where the intimidating guy entered. The crowd split to let him through, and there’s still a clear way. Everyone has no idea what’s happening, so if you run fast enough, you’ll be able-” she didn’t need to finish the thought, because she understood herself pretty well, so by the time she got to this part, she was already outside of the temple, running past the guards.

All the roads leading to the temple were wide, straight, and empty, perfect for spotting anyone trying to escape. After frantically looking around, Mary noticed a small alley that was hardly visible along the radial roads, leading to something that looked like the temple's service entrance. It was winding, dark, and she couldn’t see where it went after a few turns. She didn’t have a lot of time to think things through, and just as she heard voices yelling “that way! She went that way!” she dove into it.

Two turns of the alley, then switch to an even smaller dirt trail, then run through some gateway, then jump over a fence, and another one, and straight forward by the pavement. She didn’t hear the sounds of the chase, she didn’t see where she was going. “No time to be tired. No time to be scared. Run. Run. Run.” she kept commanding herself. Finally, when she couldn’t feel any part of her body but the lungs, that were getting ready to jump out and explode, she stopped.

She looked around, gasping for air. The stone-paved way led her to a big, busy square. Many people were passing by, talking, or just looking around, but very few noticed her. The people who were looking around, who Mary nicknamed “tourists”, seemed to be admiring two main tourist attractions: a big, stone statue in the center of the square, and an even bigger stone building, with columns, statues, balconies, and all sorts of fancy decorations. For now, she referred to it as the palace.

She noticed that there was nothing not made of stone, wood, or brick. No tall, glass business buildings. No cement. No streetlights. Nobody was looking at their phone. Nobody was driving a car or riding a bike. All the people passing by were wearing unusual clothes that reminded her of fantasy-themed movies and video games.

“Okay,” she thought. “Don’t panic. Strange, old-timey place. Europe. This has to be Europe”.

"Souvenirs! Souvenirs!" some woman was selling small figurines and other trinkets near the base of the statue.

“You see? It’s just a tourist attraction,” Mary calmed herself.

"Potions! Amulets! All the magic for your travels!" the woman continued. Still might be a tourist attraction.

While she was staring at the small stand at the base of the statue, the atmosphere of the square changed. Everything went quiet, and the place seemed much more empty as if everyone who could escape did so. The rest of the people were standing still, huddling in a group, looking at a specific spot with a blank, “please don’t notice me, I’m just standing in a crowd” expression.

She hurried to mix into the crowd, then looked where everyone else was looking. There, a person was sitting on… something. It must’ve been a deer: it had the antlers, the hooves, and the right color, but the head looked like the head of a dog. “Just another tourist attraction. They dressed up a horse or something like that” Mary tried to convince herself once more, but a crippling doubt has already settled deep in her mind.

"Rejoice, citizens of Drognil, as the great protector of this world, the warrior of light, the all-powerful Ena, in her endless wisdom chose a warrior," here, the man on the “horse” made a pause and gestured to someone in the palace. A few seconds later, the statue in the center was replaced by a big, translucent figure of Mary. It was rotating slowly.

“Just a hologram” - the few brain cells still clinging to the concept of reality assured Mary.

"Witness all the glory and might of the Chosen One! Alas, the powerful magic that brought her here left her mind confused and clouded. If anyone is to spot the Chosen One, they are to bring her to the temple of Ena carefully, with all due respect, or, if that will prove difficult, report to the nearest town guard. Rest assured, the one to find her will be rewarded greatly!"

“Great! Half an hour without adult supervision and you’ve already got a price on your head” - Mary thought. “Also, you know that having long, informative conversations with yourself isn’t a good thing, right?”.

One-time interest tag (I won’t tag you again if you don’t want to!): @loopyhoopywrites

#writing #writeblr #original content #original writing #story #original story #writing on tumblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #jytfs #oleg's writing

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writing-is-a-martial-art · 3 years

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WIP upbate + cover mockup + masterpost

First, the book cover mockup (I’m pretty proud of how it turned out):

[Image ID: a book cover-shaped dark-purple square with the words “Just Your Typical Fantasy Story” written on top in white, the word “Fantasy” marked out in pink. Below it, there is a simplified pinkish-purple vector image of an open book, the shite silhouettes of a sword on one page and a crown on the other. The sword is giving out sparkles, while the crown is giving out something of a magical wave. The words “Len Bell” are at the very bottom. /end ID]

Current word count: a little under 12k (I had more but I had to erase a chapter draft, so here we are again).

Writing process: As I’m managing a few storylines - three at all times, sometimes more - I figured out how to separate the story into “beats”, each one a part of the story that includes a chapter from each relevant storyline. That caused some editing and reshuffling of chapters. So far, I have planned out 8 beats (20-23 chapters in total, depending on how the writing goes) and written all of beat one, everyone’s introduction, which is 5 chapters in total, and I have a firm plan of what happens up to chapter 9.

New characters:

Aktor

Aktor (accidental similarity to the English word Actor, has nothing to do with acting, honest), is the ghost of a pirate captain, ex-lumberjack nun. Yes, lumberjack nuns are a thing in this universe. She is introduced, even though not yet named, in Chapter 5. She is an optimistic and compassionate person, even though she is quite tired of being a wandering soul decade after decade.

Thing

Thing, full name, now lost to time: A Thing I Made When I Was Drunk And Now Deeply Regret, given to them by the magician-blacksmith that made them. Their name may be either the result or the cause of their temper, which is not a nice one. Even though they are technically an all-powerful weapon that can cut through anything, their defining characteristic is that they refuse to be useful.

Posted parts (they’re in the right order. If the chapter number in the link is different from the one in the name, that’s because it was posted before the chapter reshuffling):

Chapter 1. Everything has to start somewhere

Chapter 2. The Chosen One

Chapter 3. Good deeds have consequences

Chapter 4. Never cry “villain”

Chapter 5. The Dark Lord returns

Planned parts (will be updated as posted):

Chapter 6. The abduction

Chapter 7. Everyone needs help

Chapter 8. Sea lions wear crowns

Taglist (I’m sorry taglist folk): @chazzawrites @apocalypsewriters @pagesofcursive @47crayons @lady-of-himring @wolfsong02 @annoyingwritingtrash @stardustspiral @zoya-writes @opes-magnas @cookiecutterwrites @run-journalist-run @bryanastar @oblolongue @justapotatowriter @red--thedragon

#wip update #update #wip #writeblt #jytfs

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writing-is-a-martial-art · 3 years

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The thing is here!

Remember how I’ve been babbling about this chapter that I’m very excited about and want to post here once I finish it? I finished it, so here it is!

T/W: nothing serious, but there is a hunt scene where an animal is killed, and it’s briefly described. And repeated mentions of alcohol consumption.

Note: Again, not a native English speaker. If you think something sounds strange, please, tell me! This is the first draft, so there’s a chance some details might change, but hardly anything serious. Also this is about 1,900 words - not very long, but you might want to find a comfortable place and maybe get some tea.

Chapter 3. Never cry Villain

Where a sad and lonely person becomes perpetually more sad.

Pitiful. Rukard, The Prince of the Dark Woods, the Wild Hunter, the Nightmare in Green could not describe his current state more accurately than pitiful.

He was staring at the ceiling, wondering if there was any reason to get out of bed today. He wasn't needed for anything. He did not have any obligations. He was supposed to wait, and he doesn’t need to get out of bed for that. Come to think of it, did he ever have a reason? He closed his eyes and tried to find a pleasant memory, but they all seemed to shrink, fade away, hide in the far corners of his mind. However, one memory, one that he did not want to recall at all, let alone now, was nudging him again and again.

- That idiot! - Rukard couldn’t help but growl, - Running off all on his own!

“Wait for me here,” he said. “It’s too dangerous,” he said. “Someone has to feed the snake-lions,” he said. Feed the snake-lions! Any servant could do that! It was just insulting, leaving him like that, like some fair maiden waiting for the knight to return with a dragon's head. Does he expect him to make tapestries?

Well, someone does have to feed the snake-lions. Rukard tossed and turned some more before finally getting out of bed. He looked around the room, wondering if he could find some clean clothes. His choice was quite limited: most of the things he owned were, at their core, fancy armor. Armor that looks wonderful when its wearer is on a horse, wielding a sword and a whip, ready to kill and awe. Armor that isn’t anything but uncomfortable clunking metal and stuffy leather when you’re trying to cook breakfast.

Oh. Oh no. He shuffled through the messy piles on the floor, again and again, unable to detect anything he could even consider putting on without disgust. There really were no clean clothes left.

He could think of two options. One, he could go about his day in his nightgown until he finds someone and makes them wash his clothes. Two… he hated option number two. He hated that he even thought of it. He hated that he kept thinking of it.

He reluctantly made his way over to an old, abandoned chamber.

Everything was just like when he was here for the first time as if he didn't leave at all. How long ago was that? Five years? Six? Seven? It didn’t matter here. Here, only dust and spiderwebs acknowledged that time still worked.

But enough about that. He wasn't here for nostalgia. Rukard wandered around the room, looking for something. Ah, here it is. A small closet was wedged between two bookshelves, a pile of hay in front of it giving off a strong scent of wild animals and serpents. Of course. In Heshi's room, it's only natural that all space would be given to books and snake-lions, leaving only the bare minimum for its owner. Rukard carefully moved the odorous pile of hay and opened the closet. The good news was that the moths didn’t get to the clothes, probably repelled by the smell of snake-lions. The bad news: these were, in fact, Heshi’s clothes. His "casual" clothes. His “tremble before this Dark Lord, as he brings doom and despair upon the world” clothes. Oh well. Still better than a nightgown.

He put on the least extravagant attire he could find; a garnet-red shirt and a pair of black pants that could be considered normal if you would ignore the skull incrustations. His old shoes were still wearable, but the light-brown hunting boots clashed so much with the rest that he decided to take a pair of batwing boots to match the outfit.

Now, having something to wear, he could carry on with his day. He carefully examined the pantry. Of course, plenty of dried meat for the snake-lions. Various groats and grains he could hardly tell apart, let alone cook. Salt, spices, oil. Vegetables were kept in a special section, deeper underground for cold storage. Heshi really made sure that Rukard would have everything he could need for a long time. But how long, exactly? How much longer?

Rukard shut the pantry’s door. To Aaa’s way with breakfast. He has to kill somebody, and while that idiot is running around, trying to save the world, he can’t risk crossing water, which would be necessary to get to any living (i.e. killable) people. Hunting it is, then.

Half-way to the main entrance, Rukard stopped in his tracks. Equipment. Hunting equipment. He needed that. The weapons he had with him - a sword and a whip, his usual arsenal, would not do. But this wasn’t his castle, where he had anything and everything needed for his favorite pastime. Was there any equipment here at all?

A memory flashed through his mind. There has to be a bow here somewhere. He searched every dim, dusty room until he finally found it. In terrible need of care and maintenance, a simple maple recurve bow. His old bow.

It was unstrung, the bowstring loosely tangling from the top limb. The quiver was lying nearby, a few arrows still in it, gathering dust with their fletchings. He didn't expect to leave it for this long.

No. No flashbacks, no nostalgia. He is going to string this bow, go out, kill somebody, and feel better. And then maybe raid the wine cellar.

With that - after stringing the bow, of course, which was trickier than he remembered because he was out of practice - he stomped his way over to the main entrance, threw the door open, and started to make his way edge of the forest, staring right at the tips of his boots, determined not to look at anything that could trigger…

- Hello! Beautiful day today, isn’t it? - a cheerful voice made Rukard flinch and frantically look around

A grey, cloaked figure was sitting cross-legged on the grass, only a few steps away from the main entrance, waving at him, so wrapped up in grey cloth that only its eyes and the tips of its fingers could be seen. There was a book on their crossed legs. They were holding a pencil in the hand that wasn’t occupied by waving.

- Why are you here, mortal? - Rukard asked, slipping into his usual demon-of-the-forest act, mostly out of habit. The figure scratched its head

- I am looking for something.

- What? - Rukard asked sharply, his hand searching for the whip’s handle. If they were here to rob Heshiktow’s old house, then deer-wolfs and birds aren’t going to be the only ones dying today.

- I do not remember - the cloth on the figure’s face moved, indicating that it must have smiled

- Then go look someplace else! Any place is good enough if you don’t know what you’re looking for

- Of course! If I’m bothering you, I’ll leave. Just let me finish drawing, okay?

Rukard studied the stranger’s book more closely. On the open pages, he could see a few sketches of the castle. But not only that. Almost half of the page was full of snake-lions. No sane person would be willing to approach those beasts if they didn’t bond since childhood - to anyone but their owner, snake-lions could be aggressive and extremely dangerous. The only person he knew willing to approach wild, abandoned, or lost snake-lions, or simply snake-lions belonging to others, was Heshi. And apparently, this quaint creature.

Seeing that Rukard was looking at its book, the cloaked figure raised it above its head so that Rukard could see it better.

- Do you like my drawings? - the figure asked in a slightly worried tone. Rukard didn’t quite know what to answer. The drawings were good, but he wasn’t in the mood for giving compliments.

- Why did you draw them? - he asked, instead

- Because they’re beautiful, of course!

Rukard had no idea how to continue this conversation, as it has gone badly off the usual intimidation script. The figure didn’t seem to pose much of a threat, so instead of continuing this strange and tiresome endeavor, Rukard recomposed himself, scoffed, and headed off into the forest. Kill someone, raid the wine cellar, feel better. He had a plan, and chatting with deranged strangers that like to doodle wasn’t part of it.

First, he worked with the arrows. Some were fine, but some, probably those that had contact with the sunlight, warped and lost their balance. He heated them on a fire he started and carefully straightened them out. He practiced with the arrows that seemed fine from the start and then with those that warped after they cooled down. If there was a difference, it wasn’t as blatant as it was before.

He practiced some more for the muscle memory to kick in until he was happy both with his tools and his reflexes, then began the tracking. It was the summer’s peak, the worst time for tracking - the fresh, boisterous vegetation covered any tracks that were more than a few minutes old. Still, from broken twigs and bald patches on the ground that indicated common animal routes, he found a place where he could wait and listen. Listening was the best part.

A few birds stopped singing, waiting for someone to pass by. A small squirrel-hare rushed away, causing some grass and saplings to rustle. The forest was his friend. The forest was willing to tell him where and how to find anyone inside it if only he would be willing to listen. And he was.

After the forest showed him where the deer-wolf was, catching it was hardly a problem. It wasn’t used to people. When it was shot, a look of innocent surprise crossed its muzzle, which quickly got distorted by pain before finally freezing in a peaceful, meaningless expression. Rukard felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He didn’t really need the meat. He just wanted to distract himself. But leaving the animal now would make its death even more meaningless, so Rukard went to the stables, took a soiled carrier-sled, and dragged the body back.

Originally he wanted to cook and eat what he’d catch, but he still remembered the deep surprise in the now-glass eyes of the deer-wolf. Some of those grains Heshi left would do. And wine. The strongest wine he’d find in the cellar, and as much of it as possible. He may be able to eat that meat later.

- Pull yourself together, you slob - he scolded himself while dragging the body - this isn’t your first kill. This isn’t even your tenth! You can’t start regretting these things now! Come on, you did this to cheer yourself up! Be cheerful, damnit!

When he returned, he felt that something was missing. He studied the castle and yard, again and again, trying to understand what it was. The castle was quiet. The edge of the forest was black in the twilight. The snake-lions were hissing and roaring in their paddocks.

The cloaked figure was gone. But that can't be it, can it? After all, he told them to leave. He wanted them to leave. He shouldn't feel this empty.

Rukard stared mindlessly at the deer-wolf's frozen expression. In a way, the beast had it better than him.

#writing #writeblr #original story #wip #wip snippet #story chapter #jytfs #just your typical fantasy story #writersociety #oleg's writing

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