fractured-shield - Tumblr blog

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Some small details for a character learning sword fighting for the first time:

- sore wrists

- blisters on hands

- every movement opens you up to be hit

- they will hit the tops of their arm and own sides with the sword while learning

- there is a primal sixth sense when you know you’re being toyed with

And, for your typically nonviolent characters.

You don’t aim for the swords. You aim for the person holding the sword.

It sounds so obvious but needs to be accepted. Actively. When holding a sword you have to understand you’re attacking another person. Even to block you have to aim your blocks at the other person or they won’t be strong enough to actually protect yourself.

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Which OC changed you as a person?

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Characters dynamic that’s like “ they’re not in a romantic relationship but they definitely love each other with all their heart and fucking soul”

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ahhh thank you!! I’m so glad you liked it, and yes definitely!! Although I will say that most of the story is more focused on Therien’s insecurities and her trying to figure out where she fits in during a war, but I’ve written more of the tragic romance stuff with her parents and with her papa and Maithyr in excerpts like these two, if that piques your interest

as promised, the letter from chapter 10, plus part of Therien's reaction to it:

(starts after this section. also, CW for mentions of suicide in the last few paragraphs)

It was a letter, it seemed: written in walnut ink in a firm, slanted hand. The first section was in Ikhanan, and she cursed herself for being unable to read it, or to recognize more than just a few letters. Whoever had written it had switched to Cenaith after a few lines, though, and she started reading.

I will bore you no further with news that will surely find its way to your desk once you return for the next council session. And yet the tides of war move so slowly now, and this dull senseless waiting takes its toll. I expect Linna will be unable to take the long road north until at least next winter, as preoccupied as he is—rightly and admirably so—with affairs in the south. Yet Silorn is so far a distance that his absence weighs heavier.

With this winter barely half passed I find myself growing weary of weathering the mountain cold alone. Perhaps it is weakness, but no doubt Linna would tell us both otherwise. I ask you to have the grace to imagine this weakness is mere practicality instead. The officers seem ill at ease to spar with me with full vigor, whether from fear of breaking themselves or me I cannot say, nor do I know by which to be more offended.

I only jest, though it may surprise you to know that I am able. Yet such frivolity does not extend to this, which I say with full truth: your absence is felt all the more sharply at times such as these, and like Linna’s it is an unwelcome pain to bear. I will speak plainly. I miss our bouts, both in the training rooms and in gentler quarters. Though I suppose any such trysts can hardly be called gentle without Linna’s presence to temper them.

Yet you are far from me, and Linna is further, and even the most stonehearted of folk may find companionship steadies their resolve, or at the least eases the chill of these mountains. I would not ask it of you, not as a lord or even as a friend, but if you are able, I would remind you that you are welcome in Nar-thelyr without cause, regardless of the season, just as you are welcome in my company.

Linna finds this arrangement agreeable as ever, and though I do not expect you to doubt this I offer reassurance just the same. I believe his words at our last correspondence were professed gladness at someone to ‘tend my stubbornness and keep the edges filed down for the council’s comfort,’ which I think unnecessary, but will repeat just the same. He also added that his happiness that such ‘tending’ extends to my bed as well, though he urged me not to repeat it as it would no doubt embarrass you thoroughly. Regrettably, I find such embarrassment to be rather endearing on you, and must amuse myself with the pleasure of imagining it upon your fair features until I may see you again, until the three of us can be joined for whatever time we can find, not through your ever-dutiful deference to those of higher station, but as companions. I wish that—

Therien stopped reading, and folded the letter closed all at once. Despite having exactly no interest in such things for herself, she wasn’t clueless, and at that last line she’d been unable to interpret the letter’s meaning any other way than her growing suspicions had suggested. She felt a bright red flush heating her face and her ears: it was terribly private, of course, but more than that—well, it was sent to her papa, so it was awfully uncomfortable to read in the same way as she’d feigned disgust at her mother’s whispered teasing. Though it seemed she wasn’t the only one so easily embarrassed.

Her mother—Therien knew her parents had joined only after the third war had ended, waiting until peacetime…and from what she’d read, this was well before then—not that she’d doubted it. She wondered, though—the letter had spoken of Nar-thelyr, the northern fortress where the Alliance’s joined armies had met, where her papa had—as she’d learned from Aestarn—apparently mediated the war-council. Was this apparent past tryst with some council-member there, some lawmaker or tactician of a noble house whose work apparently required year-round presence in the fortress—

The letter continued onto the back of the page, the last few lines visible even though she’d folded it closed. She looked at the signature without thinking. In the same bold hand, with letters small and exact and unadorned:

With considerable fondness, and as an ever-welcoming host,

Dragonbrand

…Dragonbrand. It took a moment for her to recall her studies. That wasn’t a name found often in any book or song: a sensitive topic, probably, for all except the one who used it. There was, of course, only one person who could claim it.

‘You are welcome in Nar-thelyr without cause.’

Huh. Her papa and Warmaster Maithyr. That was certainly a picture, and one she’d prefer not to linger on. But still she wondered what that mighty near-mythic figure had been like in life, even more so now.

Details about the death of Nar-thelyr’s final leader were hard to come by, as touchy a subject as it seemed to be. She remembered reading that his body had never been recovered.

And then—Linna, of course, that would be—Lineirthon, king of Silorn and Maithyr’s husband. He’d slain the Aureate with Maithyr. He’d died when Silorn fell. There hadn’t been a body to bury then, either.

Therien thought back to their conversation in Lairnil, to the broken statues, to the song that had seemed to her like terribly personal grief as she’d looked upon the half-crumbled faces of stone.

Of course. Right. He’d… Oh, gods, and she was sure that hadn’t been the half of it. She’d asked what Maithyr had been like. Her papa had seemed happy to answer her questions. Maybe she should ask more, maybe it was—something like Malin’s form of remembrance of the old kingdoms, almost.

‘I worked in Nar-thelyr for a while. I was there seasonally as a councillor, chosen to be a neutral voice for the unsteady alliance during the last war.’

Oh, you fucking liar. She felt the strange urge to laugh. Yeah, I would’ve wanted to leave out the details too, in a place like Lairnil, and with the new Aureate right there undoing Maithyr’s famous fight and all that. Shit.

‘I spent near another year helping his aides and officers tidy everything up, and then we left.’ No wonder her papa hadn’t wanted to talk about the details.

And—oh, gods, that meant—

She put the book back in its place, with the letter tucked back inside, her hand trembling.

Warmaster Maithyr, Dragonbrand, the stalwart flamekeeper of Nar-thelyr—had, according to all accounts preserved through the centuries, thrown himself from the wall of his fortress on the eve of the final day of the feast celebrating Alliance victory in the third Lochieru war.

Warmaster Maithyr had, according to all accounts, been one whom history had assigned the weighty title of a Forsaker of particular offense as well. By those whose grief was allowed to fade to mere dusty books and children’s stories, his choice marked him a coward even among a people known for weak wills and abandonment.

‘…I don’t mind if you think I’m a coward.’

She wanted to cry.

Somehow it didn’t surprise her to know beyond doubt—which she had for a while, really—that her papa had once found something appealing in that same fate. She wondered if he’d been kept from it by any choice of his own, or just by chance.

tag list: @just-emis-blog @orions-quill @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle

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as promised, the letter from chapter 10, plus part of Therien's reaction to it:

(starts after this section. also, CW for mentions of suicide in the last few paragraphs)

It was a letter, it seemed: written in walnut ink in a firm, slanted hand. The first section was in Ikhanan, and she cursed herself for being unable to read it, or to recognize more than just a few letters. Whoever had written it had switched to Cenaith after a few lines, though, and she started reading.

I will bore you no further with news that will surely find its way to your desk once you return for the next council session. And yet the tides of war move so slowly now, and this dull senseless waiting takes its toll. I expect Linna will be unable to take the long road north until at least next winter, as preoccupied as he is—rightly and admirably so—with affairs in the south. Yet Silorn is so far a distance that his absence weighs heavier.

With this winter barely half passed I find myself growing weary of weathering the mountain cold alone. Perhaps it is weakness, but no doubt Linna would tell us both otherwise. I ask you to have the grace to imagine this weakness is mere practicality instead. The officers seem ill at ease to spar with me with full vigor, whether from fear of breaking themselves or me I cannot say, nor do I know by which to be more offended.

I only jest, though it may surprise you to know that I am able. Yet such frivolity does not extend to this, which I say with full truth: your absence is felt all the more sharply at times such as these, and like Linna’s it is an unwelcome pain to bear. I will speak plainly. I miss our bouts, both in the training rooms and in gentler quarters. Though I suppose any such trysts can hardly be called gentle without Linna’s presence to temper them.

Yet you are far from me, and Linna is further, and even the most stonehearted of folk may find companionship steadies their resolve, or at the least eases the chill of these mountains. I would not ask it of you, not as a lord or even as a friend, but if you are able, I would remind you that you are welcome in Nar-thelyr without cause, regardless of the season, just as you are welcome in my company.

Linna finds this arrangement agreeable as ever, and though I do not expect you to doubt this I offer reassurance just the same. I believe his words at our last correspondence were professed gladness at someone to ‘tend my stubbornness and keep the edges filed down for the council’s comfort,’ which I think unnecessary, but will repeat just the same. He also added that his happiness that such ‘tending’ extends to my bed as well, though he urged me not to repeat it as it would no doubt embarrass you thoroughly. Regrettably, I find such embarrassment to be rather endearing on you, and must amuse myself with the pleasure of imagining it upon your fair features until I may see you again, until the three of us can be joined for whatever time we can find, not through your ever-dutiful deference to those of higher station, but as companions. I wish that—

Therien stopped reading, and folded the letter closed all at once. Despite having exactly no interest in such things for herself, she wasn’t clueless, and at that last line she’d been unable to interpret the letter’s meaning any other way than her growing suspicions had suggested. She felt a bright red flush heating her face and her ears: it was terribly private, of course, but more than that—well, it was sent to her papa, so it was awfully uncomfortable to read in the same way as she’d feigned disgust at her mother’s whispered teasing. Though it seemed she wasn’t the only one so easily embarrassed.

Her mother—Therien knew her parents had joined only after the third war had ended, waiting until peacetime…and from what she’d read, this was well before then—not that she’d doubted it. She wondered, though—the letter had spoken of Nar-thelyr, the northern fortress where the Alliance’s joined armies had met, where her papa had—as she’d learned from Aestarn—apparently mediated the war-council. Was this apparent past tryst with some council-member there, some lawmaker or tactician of a noble house whose work apparently required year-round presence in the fortress—

The letter continued onto the back of the page, the last few lines visible even though she’d folded it closed. She looked at the signature without thinking. In the same bold hand, with letters small and exact and unadorned:

With considerable fondness, and as an ever-welcoming host,

Dragonbrand

…Dragonbrand. It took a moment for her to recall her studies. That wasn’t a name found often in any book or song: a sensitive topic, probably, for all except the one who used it. There was, of course, only one person who could claim it.

‘You are welcome in Nar-thelyr without cause.’

Huh. Her papa and Warmaster Maithyr. That was certainly a picture, and one she’d prefer not to linger on. But still she wondered what that mighty near-mythic figure had been like in life, even more so now.

Details about the death of Nar-thelyr’s final leader were hard to come by, as touchy a subject as it seemed to be. She remembered reading that his body had never been recovered.

And then—Linna, of course, that would be—Lineirthon, king of Silorn and Maithyr’s husband. He’d slain the Aureate with Maithyr. He’d died when Silorn fell. There hadn’t been a body to bury then, either.

Therien thought back to their conversation in Lairnil, to the broken statues, to the song that had seemed to her like terribly personal grief as she’d looked upon the half-crumbled faces of stone.

Of course. Right. He’d… Oh, gods, and she was sure that hadn’t been the half of it. She’d asked what Maithyr had been like. Her papa had seemed happy to answer her questions. Maybe she should ask more, maybe it was—something like Malin’s form of remembrance of the old kingdoms, almost.

‘I worked in Nar-thelyr for a while. I was there seasonally as a councillor, chosen to be a neutral voice for the unsteady alliance during the last war.’

Oh, you fucking liar. She felt the strange urge to laugh. Yeah, I would’ve wanted to leave out the details too, in a place like Lairnil, and with the new Aureate right there undoing Maithyr’s famous fight and all that. Shit.

‘I spent near another year helping his aides and officers tidy everything up, and then we left.’ No wonder her papa hadn’t wanted to talk about the details.

And—oh, gods, that meant—

She put the book back in its place, with the letter tucked back inside, her hand trembling.

Warmaster Maithyr, Dragonbrand, the stalwart flamekeeper of Nar-thelyr—had, according to all accounts preserved through the centuries, thrown himself from the wall of his fortress on the eve of the final day of the feast celebrating Alliance victory in the third Lochieru war.

Warmaster Maithyr had, according to all accounts, been one whom history had assigned the weighty title of a Forsaker of particular offense as well. By those whose grief was allowed to fade to mere dusty books and children’s stories, his choice marked him a coward even among a people known for weak wills and abandonment.

‘…I don’t mind if you think I’m a coward.’

She wanted to cry.

Somehow it didn’t surprise her to know beyond doubt—which she had for a while, really—that her papa had once found something appealing in that same fate. She wondered if he’d been kept from it by any choice of his own, or just by chance.

tag list: @just-emis-blog @orions-quill @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle

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character introductions: Idhren

Idhren Athealin

Please don’t ask me his exact age I need to redo the timeline. 800-ish which is middle aged for an elf, looks like 50’s-ish by human standards

Birthday is August 29. Yes I’ve celebrated it for years obviously

He/him

Bisexual

6’4”. According to Therien he used up all the height in the family

Description: brown hair worn to like mid-back length, usually worn loose, brown eyes. Always looks a little too pale, like he hasn’t slept well or eaten all day and it’s probably both. As a councillor, fine clothes are required, but his are as simple and unassuming as possible, in dark colors—and as an officer of Tarnuvin’s Watch, his armor is an old style from Linador’s vanguard, steel and black leather. He’s in a lot of mid-level positions of authority, because he’s the kind of person who overworks himself to avoid thinking about things and gets really good at a lot of things. He doesn’t actively seek out any type of responsibility though, he thinks someone else would be a better, more reliable fit. He wears clothes with high collars, and leather cuffs around his wrists to keep the sleeves in place, but sometimes you can see a faint, healed scar on one side of his neck, among others that he tries not to draw attention to. He injured his knee when he was younger, and while it’s not a major issue, it aches after sitting still for too long. When he’s particularly anxious, his hands shake.

He’s aware that plenty of young people look up to him, and he thinks they shouldn’t, but makes a point of being warm and reassuring. Still, he can seem a bit scary at first: mostly just because he’s quiet and seems so serious. His reputation precedes him, as the mediator of a war-council who kept the peace between kings and warlords. He’s not that scary he’s just introverted and has depression. He’s got a lot of survivor’s guilt from outliving his wife, his previous partner, and also two close friends that died in a shipwreck when he was young, but also is just kind of somber and quick to despair by temperament. He’s from Fairalme, a country that the eastern expanse hasn’t traded with in hundreds of years, so his accent is a bit uncommon there. He has a good singing voice (I have a voice claim if anyone’s curious), but he doesn’t like it very much, because he never got used to the subtle changes as he got older. His favored weapon is the spear, and he also has a single-bladed sword (I have a ref for that too).

Goals/arc: He wants to keep Therien safe, wants to be as good a father as he can be, once he’s on his feet enough after his wife’s death to take care of her again properly. He’s trying to find a balance between burdening Therien with too much of his past, and keeping secrets from her. He wants to let her find herself, whether that means following in his footsteps or not, but he’s worried about her safety. He’s also very bound by responsibility to his work, to Tarnuvin. It’s probably subconscious, but another of his goals is the penance he thinks he deserves: for outliving people he loved, for imagined failures. Some part of him is looking for answers, wondering if there was some purpose behind everything that happened.

im so so normal about this depressed middle aged man im never going to shut up about him ever. i wish he was my father

tag list: @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle @just-emis-blog @leahnardo-da-veggie @honeybewrites

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@acertainmoshke aahhh thank you!! she's so fun to write bc she's like...24/7 overthinking everything and caring way too much about the most minute details, so i get to include lots of description when i write her pov bc she has has a whole multi-step thought process about which book to pick up to pass the morning lol

@finickyfelix i'm glad you liked it!! and yeah she's only been away like. 5 years (she's 17) it's just the like...spending her formative years around humans with shorter lifespans, around the time she's starting to age slower than her human friends, and feeling like an outcast there leaning on "everything will be fine if i can just go home" -- and then she *does*, and it's like "everyone's so skilled and capable and mature and i'm none of those things and i feel so behind." like there definitely is a sense of separation just from spending time in another culture, but a lot is just her own self-deprecating perception tbh

Writing Share Tag

thanks for the tag @finickyfelix!

I'm gonna use this to share an excerpt from ch10, which I just finished yesterday!

Therien decided she’d spent enough time on the poetry. She was wasting her time, and it hardly counted as real studying if she was only playing catch-up for her stupidity in forgetting the languages she’d been taught. She got off the sofa, taking care not to knock her mama’s shawl off its arm, and went back to the bookshelf. There was the record of Silorn’s noble houses that she’d picked up the night before, and a history of campaigns in the second Lochieru war, and another for the first. There were three books on Ilgostian law that had clearly belonged to her mother, bound in worn blue cloth, so she left them alone, because it felt like if she touched them, either they would break or she would. There was an unassuming text, bound in dull brown, that seemed to be a printed record of old military law, and then at the back a handwritten ledger of what looked like the reassignment of officers after the third Lochieru war had concluded, if she remembered her dates right. That didn’t seem right. It likely would’ve been nothing, in other circumstances, but the handwritten section seemed oddly hasty, disorganized, out of place for the tidy and well-kept shelves. Therien started flipping through the book without thinking, a moment later justifying her curiosity by telling herself it would be useful, that it counted as worthwhile because it was knowledge she could use, if she managed to keep it in her head. A folded piece of sturdy paper fell out of the book onto the threadbare grey-blue rug. It took Therien a moment to notice it as she thumbed through the pages, names of officers and nobles she recognized from history books she’d forgotten that she’d read at all until the book stirred up memories of Tarnuvin’s library tables and low light, kicking her feet under a too-tall chair. She bent to retrieve the fallen paper and opened it. It seemed very old, at least as old as the book. No, two hundred years isn’t a long time to most people in Tarnuvin, she thought bitterly, once again feeling that strange, uncomfortable barrier between her and the people she’d wanted so much to get back to. That divide hadn’t been there when she was a child. It was a letter, it seemed: written in walnut ink in a firm, slanted hand. The first section was in Ikhanan, and she cursed herself for being unable to read it, or to recognize more than just a few letters. Whoever had written it had switched to Cenaith after a few lines, though, and she started reading.

...any guesses on the letter's contents? I'll probably post it soon, it was a lot of fun to write and it's from a character whose voice I rarely get to write in

i'll tag @willtheweaver @nczaversnick @acertainmoshke @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie + an open tag for anyone who wants to join!

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@finickyfelix tbh that's why i love these kinds of questions so much, it's a chance to flesh out everyone in fun ways like that lol- and yeahhhh he's sure having A Time Of It

OC Questionnaire

thanks for the tag @leahnardo-da-veggie! going to be answering this for my protag and her dad as I still can't shut up about them and this won't be changing anytime soon

1. What was your favorite hobby as a kid?

Therien: Um. I liked reading. If you hear anything from my papa or Hal about bruised shins and a wooden sword I'd like to remind you that my mama gave it to me and I was six so it wasn't my fault.

Idhren: In Fairalme, during the god-wars, the youth whose parents were away kept ourselves busy with dock-work, mending sails and nets and the like, or sailing. Some of us also found work among the musicians, as seasonal festivals and communal meals were typically accompanied by song.

2. How would they take their tea?

Therien: I'm not used to having it with milk. ...maybe a little sweeter than average? [note: that's such an understatement lmao]

Idhren: black, usually. Though I can be persuaded into taking it with a bit of honey on occasion.

3. What is their reason to live?

Therien: Oh, gods, I don't know, I don't have that kind of thing figured out yet. I think I just want to...help out the people I care about, you know? I mean, there's not much I can do, but trying to improve myself so I can help people seems like an okay reason.

Idhren: ...Therien wouldn't like me to say that it's her, and anything else I could say would sound awfully gloomy both to your ears and hers, so let's avoid that question, hm?

i'll tag @willtheweaver @nczaversnick @finickyfelix @honeybewrites @acertainmoshke + an open tag for anyone who wants to join!

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I wish fantasy settings would show more dark magic healing. 

Shadows bandaging wounds

Ice cold shade to cool down heatstroke and fever

Engulfing distressing mental imagery in darkness to calm a patient

Snuffing out the afterlife light so the soul won’t leave the body

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OC Questionnaire

thanks for the tag @leahnardo-da-veggie! going to be answering this for my protag and her dad as I still can't shut up about them and this won't be changing anytime soon

1. What was your favorite hobby as a kid?

Therien: Um. I liked reading. If you hear anything from my papa or Hal about bruised shins and a wooden sword I'd like to remind you that my mama gave it to me and I was six so it wasn't my fault.

Idhren: In Fairalme, during the god-wars, the youth whose parents were away kept ourselves busy with dock-work, mending sails and nets and the like, or sailing. Some of us also found work among the musicians, as seasonal festivals and communal meals were typically accompanied by song.

2. How would they take their tea?

Therien: I'm not used to having it with milk. ...maybe a little sweeter than average? [note: that's such an understatement lmao]

Idhren: black, usually. Though I can be persuaded into taking it with a bit of honey on occasion.

3. What is their reason to live?

Therien: Oh, gods, I don't know, I don't have that kind of thing figured out yet. I think I just want to...help out the people I care about, you know? I mean, there's not much I can do, but trying to improve myself so I can help people seems like an okay reason.

Idhren: ...Therien wouldn't like me to say that it's her, and anything else I could say would sound awfully gloomy both to your ears and hers, so let's avoid that question, hm?

i'll tag @willtheweaver @nczaversnick @finickyfelix @honeybewrites @acertainmoshke + an open tag for anyone who wants to join!

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oh shit @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle actually did this for a lot of my ocs recently!!

If you were around in the early 2000s, you likely were aware of the Warriors series, a long-running (still technically ongoing) book series about cats out in the wild. The names used in this series were special to each character and generally related to their looks or personality. If you're not familiar with the series, a quick Google search will let you know more about naming conventions.

In previous years, we've discussed what daemons are characters would have. If you know that and would like to share it, please do! But with this post, I'm encouraging you to provide us all with the Warriors names YOUR characters would have!

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btw idhren’s birthday is in 4 days (yes I celebrate it dw about that) so I’ll probably be posting the letter from that last excerpt then, plus some other short scene about him if I can

maybe one of these years I’ll be able to draw something for the date but that’s still a ways out

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Writing Share Tag

thanks for the tag @finickyfelix!

I'm gonna use this to share an excerpt from ch10, which I just finished yesterday!

Therien decided she’d spent enough time on the poetry. She was wasting her time, and it hardly counted as real studying if she was only playing catch-up for her stupidity in forgetting the languages she’d been taught. She got off the sofa, taking care not to knock her mama’s shawl off its arm, and went back to the bookshelf. There was the record of Silorn’s noble houses that she’d picked up the night before, and a history of campaigns in the second Lochieru war, and another for the first. There were three books on Ilgostian law that had clearly belonged to her mother, bound in worn blue cloth, so she left them alone, because it felt like if she touched them, either they would break or she would. There was an unassuming text, bound in dull brown, that seemed to be a printed record of old military law, and then at the back a handwritten ledger of what looked like the reassignment of officers after the third Lochieru war had concluded, if she remembered her dates right. That didn’t seem right. It likely would’ve been nothing, in other circumstances, but the handwritten section seemed oddly hasty, disorganized, out of place for the tidy and well-kept shelves. Therien started flipping through the book without thinking, a moment later justifying her curiosity by telling herself it would be useful, that it counted as worthwhile because it was knowledge she could use, if she managed to keep it in her head. A folded piece of sturdy paper fell out of the book onto the threadbare grey-blue rug. It took Therien a moment to notice it as she thumbed through the pages, names of officers and nobles she recognized from history books she’d forgotten that she’d read at all until the book stirred up memories of Tarnuvin’s library tables and low light, kicking her feet under a too-tall chair. She bent to retrieve the fallen paper and opened it. It seemed very old, at least as old as the book. No, two hundred years isn’t a long time to most people in Tarnuvin, she thought bitterly, once again feeling that strange, uncomfortable barrier between her and the people she’d wanted so much to get back to. That divide hadn’t been there when she was a child. It was a letter, it seemed: written in walnut ink in a firm, slanted hand. The first section was in Ikhanan, and she cursed herself for being unable to read it, or to recognize more than just a few letters. Whoever had written it had switched to Cenaith after a few lines, though, and she started reading.

...any guesses on the letter's contents? I'll probably post it soon, it was a lot of fun to write and it's from a character whose voice I rarely get to write in

i'll tag @willtheweaver @nczaversnick @acertainmoshke @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie + an open tag for anyone who wants to join!

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First sentence tag

thanks for the tag @acertainmoshke! First line (shh I know it's more than one) of Fractured Shield's book 1:

Regardless of what the city guards thought, Therien hadn’t actually planned on causing trouble—or more accurately, being in the same place as trouble someone else had caused, not that the guards saw much of a difference. But it was the first day of the regional trade council in Durnthain: a date that, for one girl, was more eagerly anticipated than any holiday. It wasn’t her fault the market street decided to go up in flames the same day, and she certainly couldn’t be blamed for getting caught up in it, either.

i'll tag @willtheweaver @nczaversnick @finickyfelix @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie + an open tag for anyone who wants to join!

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there's definitely other pairings in FS but like. Leithren my beloved (my mc's parents that i regularly joke are my emotional support ocs)

black cat husband and golden retriever wife my beloved. also there's like a foot of height difference btw

We’re making moodboards about love today! If your story has a romantic pairing in it, make a moodboard about them! If not, make it about whatever form love shows up in your story!

[fractured-shield]

it sucks so bad that 'lightning magic' in every media is just some pathetic little strands of electricity. i wanna see some LIGHTNING. show me a magic setting where lightning magic lights up a room like the sun, and the bolt is only visible as an afterimage burned into your vision. I wanna see someone cast lightning and have the thunder rattling the room and shaking everyone to their core. i want lightning magic to be a split second blast of so much power it leaves everyone's senses reeling. c'mon guys don't you know what real lightning looks like? we can be doing so much better than this.

[fractured-shield]

Since I am back from my Tumblr break now, this will mean that I will resume doing tag games at some point soon. However, I don't want to keep leaving everything open tag like I used to before my break. Because now I want to do things right. So please interact with this post if you want me to tag you in tag games. Also, if you'd like, please specify if there's any kind of tag game you don't want to do because I am terrified of tagging people in things they don't like, which is the main reason why I leave everything open tag. Yes I made a post similar to this months ago but several of the people who interacted with it seem to have disappeared/haven't interacted with me in weeks/don't seem to do tag games anymore, so let's start over.

Please do not interact with this post if neither of us follow each other. The last time I made a post like this I had a bunch of people I have never seen in my life interacting, and I am not comfortable with tagging people I don't know at all in tag games.