#wwi fantasy

[bureaumantic]

A Peace Militia troopmaster stationed on the frontlines in 1501.

As the CEPP 2nd Army approached the Kondrian capital city of Pripal, Imperial Command grew more and more desperate. Reaching for any and all methods they could find to swell their numbers, they began reaching into the Peace Militias of their western territories. However, most Peace Militias were unsuited for frontline combat, having served as police, paramedic, and firefighting units while at home. Moving onto the frontline, Peace Militia units would see high casualties as they were unfamiliar with trench warfare, despite their uniform. However, as the CEPP 2nd moved into urban zones to fight, PM Urban Order units---formerly a branch of PM law enforcement---became valuable assets in urban combat.

On the topic of uniforms, supplies were often too thin to provide a new field coat for Peace Militiamembers. This meant that PM units would go into combat wearing their standard uniform, complete with sewn on ranks and shoulder rank pins. The purple metal and fabric made PM soldiers easier to target and kill on the battlefields. While the shoulder rank pins were usually taken off, the sewn on ranks remained.

PM units---unused to having to differentiate units, since Peace Militias often operated alone in their jurisdiction---usually stuck scraps of paper naming their militia unit on their helmet, tucked into the PM helmet bands. Even in the last months of the war, soldiers still found time to express their emotions---mostly grief---in song. The song "Unfortunate Militiamen/We Unfortunate Few" was a popular song among PM soldiers that circulated around the last months of the war.

[arctic-hands]

This isn't an attempt at a flex I swear and I recognize people can have different learning experience and still be intelligent even if they don't/can't read, but given my abysmal education growing up I have to wonder what would have happened to my brain if I wasn't such a voracious reader as a kid

[treesarewhispering]

Trenchpunk - Ranger Saint

[fictionadventurer]

I love setting fantasy around and after WWI. It's such a good combination. WWI was a loss-of-innocence on a societal level. There had been this assumption that technology and progress could solve all our problems and make us better people, and then WWI comes and shows us horribly and violently that it does not, and then in the aftermath we have to deal with what this means for us as a society and as people.

Throwing magic into that is a perfect thematic fit, because magic and technology are basically the same thing--people trying to impose their will upon nature. It can do good things or terrible things, but the issue is not necessarily the technology or the magic itself, but the hearts of the people using it, the cost to bring it about, the drain on resources and the effect on the environment and people. In the aftermath of a major conflict, we have to take a long hard look at ourselves and the choices we've made and will continue to make. Are the benefits worth the cost? What is the true nature of man--can we ever trust ourselves again? Have we progressed to a better stage of humanity or reverted back to beasts? There is just so much to explore there. The WWI connection has been built into the genre ever since Tolkien, and it continues to be relevant to our modern world.

[brothersandtragedies]

JJA Harwood, from "The Thorns Remain"

[atendencytotangle]

Book Review: The Warm Hands of Ghosts by Katherine Arden

Sometimes I read a book that makes me either want to quit writing altogether or makes me want to push myself to be a better writer, to put more depth into my research, to really drill down into each word I write in order to avoid cliches. The Warm Hands of Ghosts by Katherin Arden is one such book. It is exquisite in its prose and craft. Set in 1917 to 1918, The Warm Hands of Ghosts is an…

[apoppyforsorrow]

Meet the cast: Aurelia Avramescu (she/her)

Aurelia knows how tough it is to live with a realistic mind and a romantic soul. She is proud to be the lead interpretor of Vestergaard Zavatarri, a position that she secured thanks to her wit and determination, and would do anything for her friend. Both her loyalty and her romantic soul will be given a test after she meets another figure of high politics.

BIO:

--22 yo (29th of February, 1892)

--cis woman/bi disaster/demisexual queen

--born in Gienau, Teyrai-Bacsy

--currently living with her friend Vestergaard Zavatarri in Averrati, Everrton

--178 cm (5.8")

--POV character

[bgmedia42]

Friday Film Short

Poilus, a 2016 3D-animated short by graduates of ISART Digital, a gritty fable about a battle being waged by human-like rabbits in the trenches of their leporine world's equivalent of World War I...

[umbranocturnes]

Abendroth Krausse

Another character portrait here! Abendroth is a character from my historical-fantasy war novel series I’m working on. He is one of my favorite side characters and very important to the overall plot. He’s one of only two “Axis characters” (the other is Veit I will talk about him later-) that are ‘decent’ person excluding Setheroth and Valerius who are actually British spies. He also fought in the Great War but, Abendroth is basically Setheroth’s second in command. He is another undead character, a being called a Wraith, which are similar to ghosts but a bit different in my lore. They are incredibly powerful and rare. They can basically harness abilities familiar to ghosts (in my story's case: walking through walls and such) and abilities unique to dead beings, without having to use the large quantities of power (mana) that is required of these abilities by other beings.

I have drawn him here in a WWI undershirt because it was really simple and I was primarily focusing on getting his design down. I have not drawn him in his other uniforms yet. I think my favorite detail about him has to be his eyes.

If you want to know more about his character I have included more below [as well as another version of the artwork!]

CW though for censored mentions of: WWI, WWII, nazis, blackmail, period typical bigotry (not from him but in general), past substance abuse.

Abendroth was born sometime around the 1530s in Austria, during the later part of the German Renaissance to a very religiously-oppressive wealthy aristocratic family who were patrons of the arts. Most of Abendroth’s life was spent rebelling against the expectations of his station. He had not wanted to marry in life and many other wealthy families wanted a stake in his wealth leading to many marriage proposals all of which he turned down in favor of secret relations with men and women alike. Having been largely atheistic his whole life and having ‘scandalous’ attracts led to the upper crust of society having quite a poor opinion of him, labeling him a ‘traitor to his class’ and a ‘deviant’, something his father tried desperately to cover up until his death. Abendroth’s death is a bit of a mystery, most believing he died in a fit of madness having burned his family estate to the ground after a life of many scandals catching up to him, but there’s more to the story than one would think. 

Abendroth came back to life as a undead being then left Austria going to England. There he spends a large chunk of the Victorian era learning English and becoming a Cellist. He becomes a musician to recoup financial losses he suffered upon his death, his family’s wealth now long gone forcing him to live off his own means, but genuinely has a passion for it and loves playing Cello. His vices follow him into this new life, and after burning through his money and over time getting dangerously addicted to various forms of alcohol, tobacco, and drug use especially laudanum. A friend of his (another undead musician) from Germany drags him back to Berlin helping turn his life around. While he recovers, he is set up with an apartment and plays for several orchestras until the start of the Great War.

Upon the outbreak of war, Abendroth is conscripted into the Imperial German Army becoming a notorious sniper. He gains great notoriety for his skill and intelligence and although he moves up in rank his skills are never forgotten. Following WWI, Abendroth decides to stay in the military as a reservist, rather enjoying the rigged lifestyle thinking it helpful in keeping a reign on his wild tendencies. During the era of the Weimar Republic Abendroth thrives in the queer underground spaces of Berlin as a bisexual man himself, feeling he finally has some semblance of control over his own life and can express in small parts portions of his identity that have largely remained a secret. He plays cello in several Cabaret bars in Berlin and sometimes travels between Austria and France jumping from Cabaret to Cabaret performing and making good money from it. 

When the Nazis begin rising to prominence Abendroth grows worried, moving back to Austria thinking he would be safer if he laid low. However when Austria is annexed at the start of WWII, he falls under the mandatory conscription law placed on undead beings and is forced to resume his duties in the army. He was intent on staying in the German army proper not joining the Wehrmacht or SS wanting no part of it, vehemently opposed to Nazi policies and actively engaging in resistance circles against it. He even tries to flee the country for neutral Switzerland but fails. He finds trouble when the SS came knocking on his door offering him to transfer into their ranks as they are ‘more fitting for someone of his acclaim’ wanting him for his abilities as a sniper and a commander. Abendroth refuses several times, but they eventually come back more persistent than before. They give him the option to take the offer to transfer, or face the prospect of the SD digging into his records as they ‘find it strange a man like him would refuse such a privilege’. Abendroth being bisexual with a long list of previous dalliances, friends, and contacts he did not want falling into the hands of the Gestapo chooses to take the offer to save their lives preventing the nazis from digging into his record. 

He joins the SS as a lieutenant colonel, and when the undead forces are separated from the regular human forces, he’s transferred to the undead army sector where he falls under Valerius and Setheroth’s command. He treats his position as a supervisor one, situating himself as more of a figurehead letting the men under him make their own command decisions so as to not ‘dirty his hands’ with it. He works at sabotaging the Nazi war effort in secret throughout the war despising the Nazis for branding both him and people he cares for as criminals. He’s also the first one to figure out Setheroth is a British agent and from then on he watches his back, protecting him from the scrutiny of other commanders. He later joins forces with Setheroth and Veit to carry out espionage and assassination operations together. Setheroth manages to get Abendroth transferred back to the now Wehrmacht at his request as well, which causes division among the other commanders but Abendroth could care less not wanting anything to do with the SS to begin with having been blackmailed into it. Abendroth and Setheroth become good friends over the course of the war relating to one another quite a bit and Abendroth helps Setheroth with many issues and is regarded by Setheroth to be one of his closest friends. 

[leonardoeatscarrots]

While goofing around in Discord for a bit, I ended up writing a quick short story the other day. Thought I'd share it here.

We open with the sound of gunfire...

A scraggly little man runs through a bombed out village in the French countryside. With him, he carries nothing but the clothes on his back and the papers in his pockets. Not a weapon on him as his gun was emptied long ago, and it's weight abandoned. His appearance is just as meaningless: brown hair, brown eyes. Streaks of white trailed from his forehead to his chin where a coat of dust and dirt had been carried down by trails of sweat, all that was washed caught in the creases of his face. He couldn't have been more than 20, but his soul felt much, much older. Even as he dodged bullet after bullet with youthful ease, his worn face burned through, juxtaposing the scene into something unbelievable. None of this was believable. None of this felt real.

As the sun stretched a tired hand over the horizon and grabbed the French ruins to pull itself up, the soldier started to worry. There was nowhere to go. The German camps already knew he was here, and without the dark, it wouldn't be long until they found him. Farmland stretched for miles in almost every direction save for the east, where beyond the river, the blackened skeletons of trees stood together in naked unity. The other side was either leveled by artillery or laid with more Germans, but surely the charred posts could provide at least a minute more coverage. A minute more was all he needed.

It was towards the middle of this final sprint where the pavement began to hurt beneath his feet. His boots smacked along the cobblestone almost rhythmically, though he could feel his gait grow clumsy. **Thud. Thud. Thud.** The machine gun followed, blindly reaching its hands through the twilight in hopes of grasping something still alive and squirming. **Thud.** *RATATATATATATATAT.* **Thud.** *RATATATATATATATATAT.* A drop of sweat fell from his chin. The bridge was in view now. It wouldn't be long until-

A light. A pale blue light flashed just beyond the first few lines of trees. Like a candle or lantern it seemed to flicker with a kind of uncertainty. All at once the overwhelming racket of machine fire subsided. The sounds of his feet, the creaking of his bones, the chatter of his teeth all stopped. Even the wind seemed to stop its groans. Someone was there, and regardless of being friend or enemy, they were waiting.

So entranced by the glimmer in the wood he'd made it to the bridge before he'd even noticed, and by that time had paused… As he stared into the glowing light he realized how curious it was, and yet how terrible. And among the hubbub he'd decided how little an extra minute really meant. Robbed of all other options he jumped.

The icy waters took him gracefully. He plunged in like so many of the civilians before, and like them, he dove to touch the river's rocky bed.

The current swept him along for what felt like miles, though it was very likely less than that. Flakes of white fell into the water around him, floating at his side, catching in his hair, only to be swept away again by his continuous thrashing… he never did learn to swim... Ash, he thought. That's what it must've been. Yet it didn't crumble in the waves or disperse into finer particles. And the air was sweet of honey, not the stale smoke of the village.

When the water finally began to thin he caught onto a branch bowing over the bank and started to pull himself out and onto the shore. There he collapsed. His woolen coat was heavy enough when it was dry, while wet it was even more burdensome, and not nearly as warm. With desperate hands he clawed at his belt until he had the garment off, then cast it to the ground with a wet *slop.* Next to come were his boots. It was only then, after being relieved of the cold pressures, that he could put his mind together for a moment.

Petals, he realized. All over the ground and clumped along the river's edge. What he thought was ash in the water now appeared to be cherry blossoms. All above him the trees were in bloom, crowning the pink skies with branches black as coal and flowers soft as waves of the sea. The wind rocked them gently but sent no chill down his spine as he took up his belongings and wandered barefoot into those woods, listening as the birds warbled softly. Just one more minute, he thought. Just one minute more and he'd go back…

“Hail! What brings you to this part of the woods?”

Stunned, the soldier turned to locate the source of the call. Just a few meters away another man stood, tall and round. His torso seemed to be a cage built from intricately woven wires. The head and limbs were of similar construction but also displayed simple facial features cut from sheets of weathered brass. He wore no clothes save for a cloth wrapped around his waist. Inside his chest a morning dove rested on a crossbar, cooing gently to itself. None of this seemed to shock the soldier, he simply stared on with hollow eyes, marveling at the monument before him. It was odd, by all means, but shock in this moment would be too much.

“Have you gone mad, friend?” it continued, leaning forward with hands on its knees, moving with such human fluidity. Someone had taken the time to weld on fingernails, he noted.

“Mad? Well… more than probably.”

The brass man hummed, the bird cooed once more, thinking about what he'd just said. “Well, you should come with me to the aviary.”

[williamvapespeare]

You know I have to ask about Fae boy romance

omg freckle thank you for asking this because i LOVE this project so much and talking about it makes me so happy. :)

the most basic premise is: a monster hunter tries to banish some faeries and accidentally binds one of them to him instead. (he's in over his head and needs to take a nap, it's a whole thing). the faerie he binds is obviously not pleased; he is also not pleased. the contract includes lots of forced proximity-relevant clauses and the two of them have to travel to the fae realms to undo it. there is a slow burn, enemies to grudging allies to friends to lovers, bdsm undertones and overtones, etc etc

[bureaumantic]

I realized that I never posted Spirits Room on my tumblr!! well, better late than never!

This took me a month and I published it like a week ago... i still can't believe i forgot to post it to tumblr...

Enjoy this little back and forth between Abraham and William over the ship spirits room. I'm hoping to make it a series that continues after the events of the story.

Read it if you like! It's the first story that I've published on AO3! Feedback and tips appreciated (on drawing and writing)!!

[oracleofmadness]

In the author's note, Katherine Arden calls the time period of WWI "darkly surreal" and I must agree, especially considering the care and knowledge the author put into this recreation of a time that is less understood by many than, of course, WWII.

A brother and a sister separated by this war. Laura is in Nova Scotia when a ship explodes, killing many, including her parents and destroying her home. Soon after, she receives a box of her brothers belongings, including his jacket and tags, a note saying that Freddie is missing and presumed dead. After some strange occurrences, Laura travels to France with a few friends to once again take up the mantel of the nurse and search for her brother.

Freddie, meanwhile, finds himself trapped and only survives with the help of a soldier from the enemy's side. To save this person, he sacrifices himself, but not in the way you may think. Will Laura find him? And, what will she risk in the process?

I have feelings!!!!! Romantic, devastating.. . This book is not just "one of my favorites"... this has to be the best book I have read in quite some time. I can not wrap my head around the author's ability to in this one book, break my heart, and then completely rebuild it. The attention to every single harmful effect of war on all different people juxtaposed with a touch of magical realism that scorched me completely... this is absolutely brilliant. I'm honestly speechless, and I know I'm going to now be searching for the next book that hits this hard, this deeply and yet has me holding onto it for dear life.

Out February 13, 2024!

Thank you, Netgalley and Publisher, for this Arc!

[moiderahart]

So it turns out that opening the door changes history...

A series of commissions for Basheer Ghouse's GUNS BLAZING!

It's a Dieselpunk Alternate History setting where we opened up a path to a different dimension, and weird supernatural stuff came through to our world.

[louisetaylor]

Picrew: Fantasy icon maker

This one doesn't have a name. She was conscripted into a war that never ends. As you can see, she's tired and worn out from the long winter's fight. May be depressing but I find this cathartic somehow. Are the humans fighting fairies or monsters? Does her iron helmet protect her? Iron helmets usually do that...

[emperorambrose1897]

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟐, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐

𝟖:𝟎𝟎 𝐏𝐌

𝙰 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚊, 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝙸𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜.