#thtmatc

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Some ballpoint pen doodles of a couple of my Tales from Valaria ocs. Left: Reese Takari (The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure), her Magician knife unsheathed and sheathed. Right: Maelyn Sorro (The Watcher and the Thief)

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Write Camp Day 24

Day 24 Prompts

Write Camp Rules/Enrollment

Masterpost

Prompts: the image of ignorance

WIP: The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure

Words: 500

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @agirlandherquill

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Octavian raised his eyebrows. “Hector…?”

“Hector Epsilona,” Draven elaborated, setting down the plate in front of him. “He’s a Watcher, you heard of him?”

The elf just nodded, gaze growing slightly vacant.

Draven fixed his own plate and sat down, sipping at his coffee as he considered Octavian. He hadn’t known Hector well, the Watcher never made a point of making friends with his students or even the other guild founders. But he vaguely recalled hearing that he and his apprentice worked at the elven blockade before the outbreak. It was possible Octavian, an elven messenger for the Draigo, would have encountered him during that time.

“Did you work with him? Before the outbreak?”

Octavian’s eyes flicked towards him, calculating. “Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“No.”

Draven exhaled slowly, hissing through his teeth. “Celestials forbid I have curiosity.”

Octavian ignored him, picking at his food. “He’s part of the guild?”

“Part of it? He helped found it after figuring out what worked best for hunting the lycanthropes. But he’s retired now. I think.”

“Hm. I suppose Luc's running things over in Caenum?"

"Last I heard."

A flicker of relief passed across his face, but it only lasted a moment. Was he... worried? When he found out about the outbreak, did he think they hadn't survived? Was that why he came to me for answers instead of them? Or perhaps... something else?

Draven put the questions on hold for the time being. Octavian was still less than willing to provide answers, and besides, they only had so much time to get to the other side of the district and back before sundown.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Write Camp Day 1

(Here we go! I'm probably going to be using the prompts to work on my ongoing WIPs, with the intention of posting the snippets containing parts relevant to the day's prompt that I worked on)

Day 1 Prompts

Write Camp Rules/Enrollment

Masterpost

Prompts: "You shouldn't have run from me."

WIP: The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure

Words: 370 (snippet: 200)

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @agirlandherquill

CW: chained, captured, taunts

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Octavian inhaled slowly and set his shoulders as they arrived at the office door. No weakness.

It's cute how you do that.

Do what? The question slipped out before he realized he was asking.

Erase any sign of exhaustion or emotion from your face and body on a whim. Her silhouette lurked in the shadows between the windows, invisible to all but him. A farce, but a convincing one. She giggled. When I arrive, you won't have to pretend. I've found some runes that do wonders when it comes to the limits of the body.

Octavian had no desire to respond, nor did he have the chance, as Sagon rapped twice on the door before opening it and striding purposefully inside.

No weakness.

Y'know, you shouldn't have run from me. Then you wouldn't be in this mess.

The guards marched him after the scientist, and Octavian fixed his gaze on the man seated behind the desk. I'd rather die than spend the rest of my days in servitude.

Isn't that how you spent your days before you met me?

He ignored her, focusing instead on his current predicament as the guards shackled him to the lone chair placed before the desk.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Ooooo

idea

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

A collection of fantasy stories taking place on the planet Valaria.

About Valaria

A world with two main continents and a smaller third continent: referred to as the western, central, and eastern continents, and numerous islands.

(map made with Roll for Fantasy map maker)

Valaria is populated by three dominant bipedal species (humans, elves, Draigo) and three known subspecies (devar, lycanthropes, sang) The magic system is based on spells, which are cast by writing or speaking runes. Only two groups can use runes: magicians and Stalkers. Magicians write runes using ink or blood, while Stalkers learn to speak runes through experimentation and thirst for power.

Characters:

Octavian de Silv (description, profile) Draven Cozenson Reese Takari

Stories:

(arranged chronologically but can be read in any order)

The Watcher and the Thief

[1:1] [1:2] [1:3] [2:1] [2:2] [2:3] [3:1]

A Watcher (glorified detective/bodyguard) seeks out a magician to reverse a curse placed upon his apprentice. A thief steals a gemstone from the Draigo that is much more valuable than it seems. And a devar messenger, tasked with an urgent message, is instead drawn into the conflict between a Stalker and her prey. Contains: magic whump, knife wounds, arrow wounds, burns, gunshot wounds.

The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure

"Is that a kid?"

Draven Cozenson, an infamous lycanthrope hunter, is tasked to capture numerous werecreatures within the city of Zariya. At the same time, a devar acquaintance seeks his aid. A young teen is kidnapped from her home for unknown reasons. Contains: kidnapping, blood drawings, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, magic whump, monsters.

Gunblade Duo Used as Bait One-shot (noncanon)

Net Prison Whump

Magician's Bait

[Read on AO3]

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

[COMPLETE]

Damian has been abducted by a Stalker who seeks to use him as bait for her true prize. Contains: magic whump, captivity, PTSD, deception, knife wounds, death.

Records of the Torrent Watchers

An episodic series of short stories surrounding the adventures of Watcher Luc Epsilona and his not-apprentice Reese Takari.

The Blood Moon Specter: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

A series of murders has taken place up and down the River Torrent, in the villages and towns farthest from Caenum's influence. Luc and Reese are sent to investigate, accompanied by Damian at his insistence. But when all three are kidnapped, they discover that the case runs deeper than any of them realize. Occurs after Magician's Bait. Contains: kidnapping, imprisonment, PTSD, conspiracy, murder.

Misc:

Tag Games

Find the Word [1] [2] [3] Incorrect Quotes OC in 15: Draven Memes Character Voice [1] [2] [3] OC Questionnaire: [Draven, Octavian, Reese] [Luc] Vaguely Summarized WIP: The Watcher and the Thief OC Interview: Reese OC BINGO: Draven OC Interaction: Hector OC Cuddleability Rating [TWatT] [THtMatC] OC Facts [1] Bold OC Facts Tag OC Felony BINGO Acrostic Sentence Writing Share-Type [1] Character Headcanon Generator

Character Asks

Worst Ever Hurt Lost Children Weirdly Alike OCs: Draven and Korfel Knights Radiant Quiz Watcher Apprenticeship Nightmares Jumbo Ask Game [1] [2] Soft Ask Game [1] [2] Emoji Ask Game [1] [2] [3] [4] Waste of time, empathize with objects

Hypothetical Situation Ask Game [1] [2]

Incorrect Quotes

Two Truths and a Lie Consequences of Actions Just a guy Risked your life Wanted Poster Familiar Disappointed Good Idea Sense of humor Young and bitter Remain alive

Worldbuilding

Zariya Magic System No, Octavian's just Like That The Draigo Winter Festivals Valarian Race Heights + Builds

Art/References:

Gunblade Duo (Draven and Octavian) Doodles The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure Main Trio Heights

[thewritingautisticat]

Lol not me realizing I tagged you even though you got tagged at the same time I did 😅

I love this guy he's so sassy! I really love "You know what, I don't want to know. I'm going back to bed." Like, mood.🤣

Tag Game: OC in 15

Thank you to @late-to-the-fandom and @thewritingautisticat for tagging me!

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well!

I've been on a Draven kick lately so I'll choose him. He's got a lot of fun lines. These lines are all from The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure from Tales from Valaria. For context, he's a werewolf hunter with a sarcastic sense of humor and a gun. Two guns.

“What, you haven’t heard of me?”

Enough with the formalities, Fairy. You know who I am and my reputation, you're the one who summoned me here behind the Guild's back.”

"Are we judging each other's fashion choices? Because your fancy vest and dress shirt wouldn't last a day in my line of work."

“You are. So lucky. I didn't shoot you.”

“Try that again,” Draven hissed in his ear,” and I’ll carve out your organs and sell them on the black market.”

"You did say that… are you finally giving me answers a whole" —Draven made a show of checking the clock on the desk— "two years later?"

“The only reason you’re aware of this plan, Fairy, is you’re, unfortunately, essential to its completion.”

“I can name at least three people in the guild who’ll thirst for your blood after seeing this."

Draven winced at the thought. “Ugh, fine. But I will not apologize for the names I will call you.”

“You know what, I don’t want to know. I’m going back to bed.”

“Don’t you think that was a bit much?” he muttered out the side of his mouth.

“You’d think the living legend would know more about the mythical rock.”

“You do realize we’re talking about circumventing the laws of nature, right?”

“I can already tell I’m not going to like this.”

Fun fact: in the very first draft Draven had knives. But then I gave Octavian knives, so Draven got the pistols for more variety. I also love the idea of a character who's just Some Guy in a fantasy story. Just Some Guy with the power of gun.

No pressure tagging: @gamerkats @fourwingedsnake @themswritinwords @faytelumos @chronicallydragons @spitefulbull and open tag!

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Hello! From the Hypothetical OC Ask Game! For any character you want:

3. Your OC unexpectedly wins a prize in a competition or quiz

(referring to this ask game)

Thanks for the ask @houndsofcorduff!

I chose Reese Takari from Tales from Valaria for this one, mainly because she would actually participate in a contest without really expecting to win. I also seem to always write angst for her, so something a bit happier is a nice change she deserves some wins.

Words: 1200

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf @the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa

A/N: Takes place pre Magician's Bait, post The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure, minor references to THtMatC but nothing too crazy

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"Knife throwing?"

Reese flipped the provided knife experimentally, getting the feel for the weight and balance. "Yeah, why not? I mainly practice with a knife anyway, I've tried my hand at throwing occasionally."

Luc raised an eyebrow. "Your knife isn't weighted for throwing."

"Well, that's kind of the point. It's unique, and if I threw it at someone attacking me I could lose it. Octavian showed me a few things with his throwing knives, though Draven didn't like it when we practiced at his place." She grinned. "He didn't want to lose his deposit because of holes in the walls."

"That's the first thing I've heard about Draven that makes him sound almost reasonable," Luc muttered.

Reese tossed the throwing knife into the air and caught it before nodding at the attendant who'd given it to her. "Okay, I think I'm ready."

Luc folded his arms. "I'll be watching from a safe distance."

She made a face at him as she removed her personal knife from her belt and handed it to him. No outside weapons were permitted except those provided. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

His response was lost in the noise of the gathering crowd as the contestants lined up at the stations, provided with three throwing knives and a target placed ten feet from a line drawn on the ground. This particular contest was for teenagers between the ages of fourteen and twenty, so Reese was on the older side, next to a girl about her age and a boy a couple years younger. She bounced impatiently on her toes, giving her knife another twirl.

The targets had three bullseyes, one in the middle, one halfway above, and one halfway below. Each bullseye was worth five marks, and every ring spreading out from the center was one mark less until the outer ring was worth a single mark.

A single, shrill whistle split the air. Reese flinched and realized she hadn't been paying attention as the small arena filled with the sounds of blades slamming into wood.

Inhaling sharply, Reese shifted into the proper stance, lined up the knife with her arm and the target, and wound up.

She exhaled. And threw.

Thud. The knife hit right between the middle and bottom bullseyes. It wasn't where she'd intended, but it wasn't a bad throw, either. Three points possibly, maybe four. The knife was a little heavier than she was used to, she should've asked for a warmup. Whatever, she wasn't here to win.

Adjusting her aim slightly higher, she exhaled and hurled her knife at the middle bullseye.

Thud. This time the knife slammed right into the center of the red dot. On Reese's left, the younger boy cursed under his breath as his second throw accidentally knocked his first one out of the target. The girl on Reese's right also had a bullseye in the higher of the three, though her second throw had gone too wide and landed further off to the left.

Reese considered the remaining bullseyes on her target. If she went for the bottom one, she ran the risk of aiming too low and landing in a lower mark ring. If she aimed for the top one, at least if she missed it still might land closer to the middle.

Top one it was.

Reese closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, remembering Octavian's lessons in the Fells so long ago. "This one's only about ten feet away," he'd said, "so you'll only get one rotation, at least with these knives. Always account for the weight and length of the knife, but don't throw unless you're certain it will incapacitate the threat. Because if it doesn't, or you miss, you'll be left without a weapon."

Check, check, check.

She opened her eyes, pulled back her arm, and threw.

Thud.

The tip hit right on the lower edge of the red dot. Any lower and it would have missed. Reese grinned and whirled around, looking for Luc. She found him immediately, at the edge of what the people who'd set up the contest had determined 'a safe distance' by placing a temporary rope fence. He had found a spot behind her and looked... proud?

Two quick blasts of the whistle caught Reese's attention, and she quickly turned back to the target as one of the judges started walking along the lanes, writing down the scores. Reese took a few deep breaths and realized her heart was racing. She began fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. Why was she so nervous? She didn't care if she won or not. Luc didn't care if she won or not.

The judge was skilled at appearing impassive. He could've given Octavian a run for his money in poker, though Reese knew Octavian didn't play. He reached the lane on Reese's right, noted the girl's score, and moved on to Reese. She couldn't tell the number he wrote down, and she didn't know if that made the anticipation better or worse. 

After he finished jotting down the scores, the judge returned to the table with the other organizers, and the girl on Reese's right turned to her. "Hi," she said quietly, eyeing Reese's jacket. "I'm Evanna."

"I'm Reese," Reese said.

"Are you a Watcher?"

"In training." Reese nodded behind her towards Luc. "He's my mentor."

Evanna's eyes widened. "Wow."

Reese shrugged. "We don't really use throwing knives, I'm surprised I did as well as I did."

"Better than me," Evanna remarked, frowning at the off-center knife on her target. She glanced over at the judges. "Oh, they're ready to announce!"

Reese followed her gaze to find one of the other judges holding a piece of paper and waving for silence. The spectators quieted.

"Third place," she called, "at twelve marks, Simeon Alekson!"

Further down the line, a boy of about fifteen cheered and high-fived the older boys next to him, all grinning ear to ear. Applause rang out from the spectators, Reese and Evanna joining them.

The judge waited a few moments before waving for silence again. "Second place, thirteen marks... Evanna Gwynsdottir!"

Evanna blinked as applause erupted around her, her surprise quickly shifting to excitement. Reese shared her smile, even as her mind raced. Evanna got thirteen, and that was second place. Does that mean...? She glanced back at Luc, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion as silence fell across the crowd once more.

"First place," the judge called, "at fourteen marks... Reese Takari!"

Reese barely had time to register her words before cheers exploded around her, not just from the spectators but the other contestants, who crowded around to congratulate her and high-five her or shake her hand. It was almost too much to keep track of.

And suddenly Luc was there, herding the rest of the teens away. "You okay?" he asked, guiding her towards the judges table. "You were looking a bit overwhelmed."

She nodded. "I definitely did not expect to just win that."

He squeezed her shoulder. "You were certainly selling yourself short."

Reese glanced over at Evanna, who stared at Luc with something akin to awe. "I guess so."

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Tag Game: OC Questionaire

Thank you so much for the double tag! @willtheweaver here and @illarian-rambling here!!!

My questions:

What does the perfect day look like?

What time of day is your favorite?

If you were granted one wish, what would it be?

What's the best thing you've ever eaten?

What's the worst injury you've ever had?

Do you wish you looked different?

Gently tagging @fourwingedwriter @faytelumos @writingphoenix @phoenixradiant @agirlandherquill @late-to-the-fandom @cssnder @annakayy and open tag! I don't feel like making up new questions so just pick three out of the list above.

For the trio in The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure:

What does the perfect day look like?

Draven: Any day where I'm not being shot at, mauled, or chased is a good day for me! Octavian: Unfortunately, I have to agree with Cozenson. A day of silence is rare for us. Reese: It's raining, I don't have any obligations, my parents are out, and I have a warm drink and a good book.

What time of day is your favorite?

Draven: Sunrise. It usually means I've survived another day. Octavian: Celestials, you're morbid. I also prefer the early morning, but only because it's better for hunting. Reese: Night. I'm mostly left alone to do my own thing.

If you were granted one wish, what would it be?

Draven: That I wasn't fucking shot! Octavian: That the plague never happened. Perhaps then my people would still be around. Reese: *fidgets with her sleeves* that I could have had a normal childhood.

What's the best thing you've ever eaten?

Draven: Celestials, Octavian, do you remember when we went to that noble party in Zariya and they had that one berry pie that you said looked like blood? Because that was delicious. Octavian: I didn't only say it looked like blood, I said it appeared they used bloodberries, called that because the juice is the same color as blood. But you are correct, though I much prefer the berries fresh. Reese: Agreed on that. Also whoever the genius was that first combined coffee with chocolate, I want to give them a hug.

What's the worst injury you've ever had?

Draven: I've been scratched up many times in my line of work, but none of that compares to a classic gunshot wound. Fucked up my shoulder for weeks. Octavian: Almost drowning in a freezing lake is pretty high up there. Reese: *wordlessly points to the scars on her arms*

Do you wish you looked different?

Draven: Celestials, no. Well, sometimes I've wished I was better at disguising myself. I have the type of reputation that leads to people placing bounties on my head. Octavian: Should I? Reese: *shrugs*

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Today's mood: Octavian breaking into Draven's apartment because Draven wasn't home and Octavian didn't want to wait awkwardly outside in the cold

[tildeathiwillwrite]

What's Left of the Draigo

The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure Chapter 3

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

WIP: The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure (Tales from Valaria)

<- Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ->

Words: 3100

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @libraryofcirclaria @syncopein3d @galactic-dragon-pathex @ashirisu

@writingphoenix

CW: panic attack, mentioned attack, mentioned fire, mentioned death, mentioned blood, held at sword-point, swearing, self-deprecation, mentioned magic whump, distrust

A/N: Sort of lore and worldbuilding-heavy, but fantasy lives for this kind of stuff, y'know? Octavian does get held at sword-point so there's that for you whump lovers too.

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Ten years.

Give or take a few months, but still. A full decade.

Ten years and the stench of smoke and ash still hadn’t fully faded. Octavian could smell it as he emerged from the swampy woodlands surrounding the Draigo stronghold. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Ten years was a long time, even for elves and Draigo and their long lifespans, a lot could change.

Draven had mentioned that the Draigo had barricaded themselves in their stronghold shortly after the outbreak, so Octavian had hoped, prayed that this one would be no different, that the damages from the explosions in his foggy memory had been repaired. That there would be solutions within its walls. Perhaps they had withdrawn to find the cure for the plague, to devote all their efforts to the research.

He should’ve known such hopes were baseless.

Octavian’s breath caught in his throat his eyes fell on the ruined stronghold. The once-majestic walls had crumbled, the stones not covered in ivy and moss blackened from the flames. With the walls gone, he could confirm that time had taken its toll as he walked between the destroyed buildings on shaking legs.

The Council Hall, which he vaguely recalled having sustained the worst damage in the attack, was little more than a pile of rubble with a sapling peeking out from between a pair of stones. The other buildings weren’t nearly as destroyed, but they all had been abandoned long ago.

No sight, sound, or scent of another living person. 

Just dust. 

And smoke. 

And ash.

Octavian fell to his knees, his entire body shaking, as the blurry memories assaulted him.

Graves. A supposed Draigo from the far east stronghold. Nothing more than a liar, thief, and arsonist.

The dead devar in the archive explosion. The injured and dead Draigo in the Council hall.

The mission.

Maelyn.

Oh celestials, Maelyn.

She’d trusted him, and he’d failed her.

Lead her straight into a trap.

He had no choice.

No choice….

Did she even survive? Everything right after the enchantment broke was a blur. Maelyn had the pendant, it was in her hand. He didn’t know what happened to Graves, but if the thief had survived Octavian would take it upon himself to hunt him down for what he did. As for the Watchers….

He didn’t know. He hadn’t even returned to the stronghold before being intercepted by Kenta. And then….

Octavian reached into his bag and pulled out the slim metal object. A ‘gift’, as the Draigo had put it, before shoving Octavian into the lake. “You will see the world broken beyond your comprehension,” he’d said, closing Octavian’s fingers around the object. “See that this message is delivered.”

Octavian never had time to ask who the recipient would be. He flipped the metal object between his fingers, thumbing the carved symbols. Much of the archives had been salvaged after the fire was put out, he remembered that much, even if the memory itself was about as clear as a muddy puddle. Perhaps the books and scrolls had clues to deciphering the strange language?

It was worth a try.

Wasn’t as though anyone was around to stop him.

Taking a deep breath, Octavian rose and started towards the archives, one of the only buildings still mostly intact, although ivy had attempted to take over its walls. The outer doors were torn off their hinges, a mess of splinters now covering the marble floor inside. The elements had taken their toll on the immediate interior, the shelves and pedestals, devoid of their contents, rotting and worn away by time and water.

The faint noises of small, skittering creatures reached Octavian’s ears as he stepped inside the dim building, the only light coming in from the door and the high windows. Much of the light had been magical in nature, stemming from a certain artifact. Without an archivist to maintain them, they had long ago winked out of existence, the artifact stolen or destroyed by now.

Octavian wandered methodically throughout the depths of the archives, from the highest levels of empty shelves to the lower storage spaces, searching for something, anything, that could aid him. Eventually, his search evolved into one for anything left behind. Had the Draigo fled and taken everything with them? Or had they all been killed, and the archives sacked completely?

The longer he scoured the archives, the more certain he became that the latter was far more likely. Especially when he stood before the storage rooms. He’d ventured down there rarely, only once or twice in his memory to retrieve something for Skylyn when the rest of the archivists were busy, so he only had a vague idea of the sorts of items kept in the maze-like rooms below the archive.

The door, just like the entrance, had been torn from its hinges, and everything beyond was veiled in darkness, the natural light unable to reach. He hovered on the threshold, uncertain. The debris he could make out hinted that the door had formerly been barricaded. 

Barricaded against whom? Who killed them all and took everything? Kenta? The humans? The lycanthropes?

Something else?

And the faint scent in the air… it was partially hidden under the cloying smell of wood smoke and burning paper, but it was unmistakably metallic, coppery. He shouldn’t be able to smell blood, not after so long.

Octavian’s stomach churned and he turned away, unwilling to investigate any longer. “Coward,” he muttered to himself disparagingly as he stalked back through the archives to the entrance. “Damned coward.”

“‘Damned coward’, hmm?”

Octavian jumped and whirled around, drawing his borrowed knife, and found the point of a sword centimeters from his throat, wielded by someone dressed in dark clothing, their face veiled. Their voice was unfamiliar. Not Kenta.

“What have we here?” The veiled figure, teased, cocking their head. “You’re far from the border, elf. Are you an exile, come to seek sanctuary? A seeker of knowledge? A… traitor?”

Octavian swallowed, fighting the urge to back away as the sword lightly touched the veins on his neck. One thrust, and he would be dead. “My… my name is Octavian de Silv,” he forced out, heartbeat hammering in his ears, “I am… I was… a messenger for the Draigo, but I have been in captivity for the past ten years.”

The figure’s hand tightened on their sword. “A messenger?” they repeated, “hmm… your name is familiar to me, why is your name familiar to me? Are you perhaps a devar messenger?”

“I am, yes.”

“Ah! I remember now! You were sent on that mission to capture the thieving Draigo with Maelyn Sorro, correct?”

Octavian hesitated, but he suspected lying would do him little good here. “…correct. Is Maelyn…?”

The figure shrugged. “You both disappeared during the mission. But I would assume if you survived, she had as well. The question of her being still alive, however….” They rotated their wrist, the sword point turning, a constant reminder of just how quickly they could end Octavian’s life. “Everyone assumed you turned on her. Or, at least, that was Kenta’s theory when he left to hunt you down for treason.”

Octavian’s eyes narrowed. “The punishment for treason is execution. That is what I expected him to do when he found me wounded in the Fells, mind and will shattered by a magician’s runes.”

“Oh? And yet here you stand.”

The memories of Kenta were clearest. Octavian could almost see him standing before him, helping him to his feet and leading him to shelter. He could almost feel him bandaging the mutilated runes on his back, listening to Octavian’s side of the story. He had seemed disappointed when Octavian mentioned that he didn’t know where Maelyn had gone. “He did not kill me.”

Octavian slowly held out his hand, revealing the metal object. An artifact, perhaps? Whatever it was, he suspected it had been instrumental in implementing his stasis in the ice. “He gave me this, right before leading me over a lake and shoving me in. I remember the water freezing over, and I thought I passed out for a few moments before waking up and breaking free of the ice. Except Kenta wasn’t there.”

The figure slowly moved their sword away from his throat and sheathed it, but kept their hand on it as they examined the object. “May I?”

He nodded, and they picked up the object, running their fingers over the symbols. “A human lycanthrope hunter was nearby,” Octavian continued, “and he was kind enough to allow me a place at his fire in exchange for aid in tracking down his target. It was through him that I discovered ten years, not a few moments, had passed in my time beneath the ice.” He gestured at the ruins around him. “And so much has changed.”

“Much has changed, indeed,” the figure agreed, handing back the object. “This could be one of our artifacts, but I do not know enough about the inventory to confirm. It put you in some sort of stasis?”

“Yes.”

“And clearly it protected you from the fate of the other devar.”

Octavian’s mouth went dry. “I… what?! What happened to the other devar?”

The figure glanced around, an air of sorrow about them. “How do you think there are no Draigo here? We cannot be infected by the plague, little good that did us.”

“They… they attacked you?”

“…not of their own accord. Please, at least allow me to show you some hospitality. It’s not often I encounter other survivors, even if you missed the turning. Wish I had that luxury.”

The figure turned and walked back into the archives. Octavian hesitated, but soon followed, his curiosity outweighing his apprehension. They threatened me with a sword, he reminded himself, slowly sheathing his borrowed blade. They haven't shown their face, but I don’t think I know them. How can I trust them?

They already know what any Draigo would know. And yet even Graves somehow knew that. But I don’t think anyone would play at being Draigo now. Not when there’s no one left to fool.

“Your voice is unfamiliar to me,” Octavian said softly as they moved back through the archives, “you know of me but I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“Sounds about right,” the figure agreed, pausing before the door to the store rooms. They clicked their fingers twice, and light suddenly erupted from inside, a small fabric ball not far from the door lighting with an inner glow. The ball illuminated the dark corridor, revealing branching rooms with doors similarly destroyed and dark brown streaks staining the walls and floor. “To be fair, you got incredibly famous shortly before the attack happened. The Council made a big deal about your ‘trial’.”

The figure continued down the corridor, the fabric ball fading as they passed, but an identical one illuminated further along. The unmistakable script of runes decorated the surface of the paper balls. Octavian frowned at the artifact. “‘Trial’?”

“A mockery of justice is what it was,” the figure clarified, stepping through a doorway into another hallway illuminated by another paper ball. How many of those did they have? “They took your and Maelyn’s disappearance as confirmation of a traitor within the ranks, the person who admitted the thief who somehow caused the Council chambers and many of the other buildings to spontaneously combust. Kenta insisted that you were behind the whole thing, and murdered Maelyn on your mission.” 

They stopped outside a door. Nothing remarkable about it, except it was the first Octavian had seen intact here. “He similarly insisted on being the one to go and exact justice. I suppose the stasis you describe is what he decided. He never clarified, everyone assumed execution.” Opening the door, they waved Octavian inside. He entered to find a surprisingly cozy hideout, decorated with glowing paper balls and a multitude of other artifacts lying amidst tattered blankets, carpets, and scorched cushions.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home, despite the… conditions outside,” he remarked as the figure closed the door.

“It’s not much, but it’s the only home I got left,” the figure agreed, unbuckling their sword and setting it on a nearby crate. “I don’t think anyone tried to hide here, otherwise it would’ve gotten similarly destroyed. Please, sit.” They followed their own instructions, plopping down on a cushion and unveiling, revealing a woman, younger than Maelyn, with dark skin and braids tied up elaborately to keep them from her face. Her markings were a light blue, almost white shade, scattered across her face like freckles.

She stuck out her hand in the human greeting. “My name is Aster Kyr. I was on retreat south at Loch Vika when the attack happened.”

On retreat. Loch Vika? Oh…. Octavian hesitantly shook her hand and seated himself on the cushion opposite her. “You had only just come of age?”

Aster nodded sorrowfully. “I was there with two other Draigo, Kassia and Leon, and a devar, Dorian. That night… my dreams won’t let me forget when Dorian started acting strangely, like he was in pain. Kassia was talking to him, trying to figure out what was wrong, when he suddenly transformed into his other form. His was an owl. But that time… it was certainly owl-like, but it was all wrong, like someone who only had a vague idea of what an owl looked like had tried to put one together and gotten some parts mixed up with a savage bear.” 

Aster took a shaking breath.  “She… she didn’t even have time to scream. Leon was the next closest, and the… creature… thing… pounced on him. He couldn’t get to his knife, but he was always better with his fire anyway…. I had to put it out of its misery. It was the only thing I could do. And Leon… Leon died in my arms as the sun rose. The moon turned red that night. I think that might be what had caused Dorian to… to….”

Her voice broke, and she turned away, tears glistening in her eyes. When she spoke again, her tone was harsh. “I buried them all overlooking the loch and returned here. I hoped… I hoped that whatever happened with Dorian was a fluke. I was incorrect.”

“What happened to the devar?” Octavian asked softly.

“Some of them had died while transformed, their bodies remaining in that cursed, twisted form. Some had managed to change back in the sunrise, I assume, and succumbed to the injuries by the Draigo fighting for their lives. The rest… from the clues I gathered and the garbled stories from the survivors, they ran off during the night and attacked the nearby villages. After that, I don’t know. We found out later that whatever curse befell them was transmittable to the humans. And thus started the plague.”

Octavian drank all the information in, his heart pounding. All in a single night? Transformed into some sort of monster? “There were other Draigo survivors?”

“Yes,” came the shaky reply, “all in varying states of injury. We regrouped, buried the dead, cared for the wounded the best we could. Since then, everyone else drifted away, keen to escape the reminder of that night. I stayed. Sometimes I go to Valdove for supplies.”

“What happened to the archives?”

“I don’t know. Vulir had his theories, that someone in the chaos stole what they could and fled using one of the artifacts. Whoever that could be, though, I can’t—”

“Kenta,” Octavian interrupted, hands closing into fists, “He knew something like this would happen, maybe he caused it.”

Aster gave him a quizzical look, her eyes glittering with unshed tears.

Octavian sighed and shook his head. “I can’t do anything about him anymore. I don’t know where he could have gone after imprisoning me. Some of the artifacts were left behind?”

“Yes,” Aster said, pointing to the paper balls. “Those, a few I can’t figure out that I keep in crates, a scattering of scrolls and books. I don’t think any of the archivists survived, none of us could make heads or tails of what was left. Part of the reason I stayed is to guard the ruins from potential looters and thieves, but when the others scattered they spread rumors about the stronghold being on lockdown, and that kept the humans away for the most part. The rest…” she waved at the sword absently.

“…may I look through them? The chance is small but they might hold clues about the object Kenta gave me.”

Aster indicated one of the crates leaning against the wall, a blanket and a paper ball resting on its surface. “Everything’s in there.”

Octavian rose to his feet, but before he could move over to the crate, Aster jumped up and grabbed his arm. Her gaze was hard, almost accusatory. “Wait. What happened to Maelyn Sorro if you did not kill her?”

“I…” Octavian remembered the moments after the runes had been disrupted by the Watcher’s hand, remembered when he finally came to himself after what felt like years of enthrallment when it couldn’t have been more than a couple weeks. It was all a foggy blur, he wasn’t fully awake until after Kenta found him, but one thing was certain. “The last I saw of her, she was alive. After that, I do not know. The runes the magician used on me caused my memories to be uncertain, but she was alive.”

“Do you think she’s still alive?”

Octavian hesitated. “…yes. It would take more than a magician and a thief to kill Maelyn Sorro.”

“What about the devar?”

“You said she disappeared before the attack? I think she either went somewhere to lie low or she just hadn’t arrived back when it happened. And after that, it doesn’t really matter. She could be anywhere.”

Aster glanced at the door. “If you’re so certain…” she let go of his arm. “I must apologize. I wasn’t sure if I was going to arrest you for treason or not. My people are… I must try my best to uplift their legacy. You understand, right?”

She’s so young. He nodded. “We are what remains of our peoples.” He glanced down at the artifact in his hand. “I do not know if I should stay for long. There is much I must investigate.”

“Of course,” Aster recognized, settling back onto the cushion. “I will welcome your company for as long as you choose. I can’t offer much, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you. For not arresting me for treason.”

She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.

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Something interesting that I'm attempting to go for in the latest revision of The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure is how the other POV characters' perceptions of each other change over time.

Draven often thinks of Octavian as "the elf" or "the devar".

Octavian thinks of Draven as "the hunter". Both call each other by their last names for much of the novel.

But Reese doesn't do that. Not to the same extent, anyway. She learns their names and clings to them, even before she trusts them fully.

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The best thing by far of this new draft is that I'm naming the side characters I killed off in earlier drafts.

Oswin and Mar's days are fucking numbered

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How this chapter's going

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the loredump is getting heavy in this chapter. sure we gotta catch our resident former cryogenically frozen person up on current events but still

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[based on this post by @your-incorrect-quotes]

*Playing two truths and a lie* Reese: Okay my turn! Um... okay. My eyes are green. I can speak some Elven. And one time I escaped a Stalker's clutches by stabbing her with her own knife. Luc: Right idea, Reese, but it’s got to be more challenging for everybody... Octavian: Her eyes are brown. Luc: Luc: You did WHAT?!

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Tag Game: OC in 15

Thank you to @late-to-the-fandom and @thewritingautisticat for tagging me!

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well!

I've been on a Draven kick lately so I'll choose him. He's got a lot of fun lines. These lines are all from The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure from Tales from Valaria. For context, he's a werewolf hunter with a sarcastic sense of humor and a gun. Two guns.

“What, you haven’t heard of me?”

Enough with the formalities, Fairy. You know who I am and my reputation, you're the one who summoned me here behind the Guild's back.”

"Are we judging each other's fashion choices? Because your fancy vest and dress shirt wouldn't last a day in my line of work."

“You are. So lucky. I didn't shoot you.”

“Try that again,” Draven hissed in his ear,” and I’ll carve out your organs and sell them on the black market.”

"You did say that… are you finally giving me answers a whole" —Draven made a show of checking the clock on the desk— "two years later?"

“The only reason you’re aware of this plan, Fairy, is you’re, unfortunately, essential to its completion.”

“I can name at least three people in the guild who’ll thirst for your blood after seeing this."

Draven winced at the thought. “Ugh, fine. But I will not apologize for the names I will call you.”

“You know what, I don’t want to know. I’m going back to bed.”

“Don’t you think that was a bit much?” he muttered out the side of his mouth.

“You’d think the living legend would know more about the mythical rock.”

“You do realize we’re talking about circumventing the laws of nature, right?”

“I can already tell I’m not going to like this.”

Fun fact: in the very first draft Draven had knives. But then I gave Octavian knives, so Draven got the pistols for more variety. I also love the idea of a character who's just Some Guy in a fantasy story. Just Some Guy with the power of gun.

No pressure tagging: @gamerkats @fourwingedsnake @themswritinwords @faytelumos @chronicallydragons @spitefulbull and open tag!