Eddie’s Words

[Edema Rue]

13 minutes ago, Kajsa said:

lol you’re fine this just means that i feel better writing the things mira does to her victims so uh yeah

Hehe if you ever wanna share I’ll gladly read them

[Wierdo]

12 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

GUYS GUYS GUYS

LIZ

MY SWEET LITTLE DARLING

SHE LIVES!!

(thanks @Anguished_One and @The Wandering Wizard)

Empress:

  Reveal hidden contents

The king wasn’t supposed to have a son.

He’d announced no heir, and he was supposed to be too honorable for concubines.

Liz grinned. The boy would have to die. She stalked through the corridors, a dagger in each hand, her torn cloak fluttering behind her. Occasionally, she neatly sidestepped a puddle of blood. A pity that they’d had tried to fight. These people hadn’t needed to die.

A sense of disapproval radiated through her, and she winced. It was strange, being connected to a being that was so other. Death was always hungry, and tonight he was feasting. He wouldn’t have her condemning his meal. Liz murmured a gentle prayer, not apologizing but yielding. As if she’d been given a chance to repent, a soldier came barreling around the corner towards her. She blinked, and then she was pulling her knife out of his neck and wiping it clean on her shirt. Warmth flowed through her, Death’s satisfaction, and suddenly she was laughing. The thrill. The thrill. Her hands were sticky and red, her hair was matted with blood, and surrounded by death she’d never felt more alive. What beautiful pleasure came from serving her god. This high was better than winning a bet. Just for a moment, groveling at his feet seemed to be paradise. Then she blinked and kept walking, forcing the ecstasy away. The others could kill for sport. Liz had a job to do.

But then she was in his rooms, and her hand trembled.

It smelled of flowers. Daisies. A thick bouquet of them, beautiful for their plainness, sat on a small table.

There was the sound of crying, and a woman’s gentle lullaby.

"Rest, my child

Rest, my dear.

The outside is dark

But look, I am here.

Sleep, my baby.

I'll hold you tight,

And always love you."

The screams from outside were dulled by the thick door, and Liz abruptly felt deeply out of place. She stepped further into the room and saw a boy of about five sitting in a woman’s lap. There was no doubt that he was the princeling. The woman gasped, pulling him against her chest.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, don’t hurt him. You can kill me, he won’t ever know who he is. Please, just let my son live, please…”

She could have done it. She could have exiled them, imprisoned them, or just let them be. She could have killed the child and left the mother, or taken the child under her wing and destroyed the mother. But Death was hungry, and though she was loath to admit it, Liz was too. 

Then blood was dripping from pure white petals. The daisies had been a gift from the king. To my love, the note read. I picked them myself. You know I’d give you roses and diamonds. I’d give you palaces and servants. I’d give you the world itself, if you only asked. But these are your favorites, and so I’m learning to love them. They were so full of life. Liz hated them for it. “Your mistress is dead,” she murmured, pulling a single flower from the vase. “So is your master.” She crushed the stem in her hand, letting it fall into the puddle of blood that flowed from the woman’s neck. She watched it for a moment, then spun on her heel, slamming the door shut behind her. 

Slowly, slowly, the vase tipped off the table and shattered.

 

***

 

“Today,” Lord Marsvall intoned, “marks the beginning of a new era.”

Liz was knelt at the head of a column of assassins, head bowed so low that all she could see was the marble floor. Her knees and back ached from holding the position for so long, but she knew better than to show it. Even shifting slightly would result in punishment. Weakness was not tolerated here. 

“You have all performed admirably, and because of it I will be crowned king this afternoon.” He paused, as if waiting for applause, then seemed to remember that his assassins knew better than to make a sound. “Ah. You have all met my son, Iendenn.” Liz tensed, struggling to breath regularly. “He is to be the prince of this new nation. Soon, he will come home to lead you all. It will bring a new era of greatness for us all.”

Again, Lord Marsvall paused, then cleared his throat. “That will be all.”

But before anyone could move, Liz raised her head and met his eyes. “No,” she said. Coldly. Firmly. “It will not.” She could feel the others draw in a breath, almost as one. She could feel their muscles clenching, feel them preparing to reach for hidden weapons. Liz rose to her feet and stepped smoothly towards him. She smiled slyly. “My Lord.” 

“W-what is the meaning of this?” Lord Marsvall stuttered, droplets of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Lieutenants!” But the lord’s most trusted guards didn’t move. Liz nodded to them, and each gave her a nod in return. The assassins were hers.

“Terribly sorry, my Lord,” Liz continued, “but I’m afraid there will be no new king today.” She gazed out at the assembled assassins. “Look up,” she said. No one moved. “Look up!” Her voice cracked out like a whip, and two hundred eyes snapped to her. “Thank you.” Then, Death’s laughter echoing through her mind, she slid her dagger across Lord Marsvall’s throat. I’m sorry, Ien…but you’ll be better off this way. We all will. Or, we all would. If I wasn’t the one doing it.

It was so much easier than she’d expected.  One quick motion and he was dead. For a moment, all was silent. Then Uunz, ever faithful Uunz, bowed his head. “Empress,” he rasped. 

“Empress,” another took up the chant, bowing. 

“Empress.”

“Empress.”

“Empress.”

“Today I rule,” Liz announced, without pretense or preamble. “You’ve all given your loyalty to me. For that, you will be rewarded.” Then she let herself grin, meeting the eyes of several members of the crowd. “For that, you will be fed.”

Her words were met with a deafening roar. It filled her with a strange sort of dread. Or delight. Or…both? What fun this would be. Were they her feelings, or Death’s? She couldn’t quite tell. Poor, poor Ien. I’m going to break this world.

But I trust you to fix it.

 

WOAHHH!!! 
AMAZING- 
idk why- but I like villain stories  

[Kajsa]

9 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

Hehe if you ever wanna share I’ll gladly read them

ooh noted

[Edema Rue]

33 minutes ago, Wierdo said:

WOAHHH!!! 
AMAZING- 
idk why- but I like villain stories  

Thanks!! I love my Liz…villains are my favorite.

[Edema Rue]

Ok sorry I know I just posted

But

Y’all remember my American Wars class?

This is my journal assignment for the (American) Civil War. 

January 1st, 1863:

Spoiler

There is so much blood. I used to choke on the smell, and now I don’t even notice. Now it’s stranger to have my hands clean than covered with the sticky red. Night and day and night and day, there is no escape and all we can do is hope that it will end.

I don’t mean to complain. I have no right to, no right at all. These soldiers, they have it so much worse. It seems as if hundreds come into my tent screaming every day. All but a handful exit cold and silent. And though they’ll never show it, I think the living envy the dead. For all their talk of freedom, these are just boys. They’re just little boys who should be home in their Mamas’ kitchens, not bleeding on this cold battlefield.

One of the men from yesterday keeps sticking in my mind. He was unconscious when they dragged him in, a hole blown through his side. I could see parts of his ribs sticking out, starkly white against all the blood. Little flakes of shattered bone were stuck to his uniform. I knew he wasn’t going to live, knew it the second I saw him, so we didn’t even waste a bandage on him. 

But that’s plenty common. The part that I can’t help but remember is the hand. He was gripping a hand in his own. A friend’s, maybe. They were likely dead now. But he wouldn’t let go. Even as he was bleeding out, even as death started to take him, he wouldn’t let go. That was how we knew he was dead, eventually. I looked away for only a couple minutes, to bandage someone’s arm, and when I looked back the hand was in the mud, and he was gone. 

And the black soldiers. They deserve to be home with their Mamas most of all. They barely seem to feel it. Any time a friend dies, they mourn and move on. That hurts worse than any tears. They’re used to it. They’re so used to the death. They shouldn’t be here. This is the worst place on earth. I’ve almost stopped praying, but when I do it’s that there’s a special place for them on the other side. They deserve paradise. 

It’s getting better, though. It really is. The southern troops are getting weaker and weaker. It won’t be long now. We say that every day, trying to believe it. Clara and I, we see each other, faces and hands covered with blood, and we promise each other that it won’t be long. Oh, I hope it won’t be long. What I’d give to see someone smile, anyone. What I’d give to hear a laugh, or see a child running carefree through the trees. 

Tomorrow, or tomorrow, or tomorrow. One of these tomorrows the sun will rise and no blood will be spilt.

If we can only stay alive until then. 

Spoiler

I wish he would let us write more than a page, there’s so much more that I want to write about.

And…wow. The Civil War was brutal. I could rant about it for hours, but some highlights:

- it’s estimated that a little over 60,000 limbs were amputated over the course of the war.

- one of the major reasons that this war was so bloody was a new kind of bullet called the mini ball. It’s shaped like a torpedo, and has a hollow tip. Upon impact, it shatters bones and the tip mushrooms out. So it enters in a tiny hole, but exists in a huge one. Shrapnel from fragments of bones provides additional damage.

- General Sherman was the leader of the North’s armies. Lincoln told him to do whatever he could to end the war, and so he started along with the “scorched earth” policy. He burned the houses of people all over the south. Only the stone fireplaces were left standing. These are called Sherman’s monuments.

There’s other stuff too, but off the top of my head that’s what you get. So…yeah

 

[Weaver of Lies]

6 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

Ok sorry I know I just posted

But

Y’all remember my American Wars class?

This is my journal assignment for the (American) Civil War. 

January 1st, 1863:

  Hide contents

There is so much blood. I used to choke on the smell, and now I don’t even notice. Now it’s stranger to have my hands clean than covered with the sticky red. Night and day and night and day, there is no escape and all we can do is hope that it will end.

I don’t mean to complain. I have no right to, no right at all. These soldiers, they have it so much worse. It seems as if hundreds come into my tent screaming every day. All but a handful exit cold and silent. And though they’ll never show it, I think the living envy the dead. For all their talk of freedom, these are just boys. They’re just little boys who should be home in their Mamas’ kitchens, not bleeding on this cold battlefield.

One of the men from yesterday keeps sticking in my mind. He was unconscious when they dragged him in, a hole blown through his side. I could see parts of his ribs sticking out, starkly white against all the blood. Little flakes of shattered bone were stuck to his uniform. I knew he wasn’t going to live, knew it the second I saw him, so we didn’t even waste a bandage on him. 

But that’s plenty common. The part that I can’t help but remember is the hand. He was gripping a hand in his own. A friend’s, maybe. They were likely dead now. But he wouldn’t let go. Even as he was bleeding out, even as death started to take him, he wouldn’t let go. That was how we knew he was dead, eventually. I looked away for only a couple minutes, to bandage someone’s arm, and when I looked back the hand was in the mud, and he was gone. 

And the black soldiers. They deserve to be home with their Mamas most of all. They barely seem to feel it. Any time a friend dies, they mourn and move on. That hurts worse than any tears. They’re used to it. They’re so used to the death. They shouldn’t be here. This is the worst place on earth. I’ve almost stopped praying, but when I do it’s that there’s a special place for them on the other side. They deserve paradise. 

It’s getting better, though. It really is. The southern troops are getting weaker and weaker. It won’t be long now. We say that every day, trying to believe it. Clara and I, we see each other, faces and hands covered with blood, and we promise each other that it won’t be long. Oh, I hope it won’t be long. What I’d give to see someone smile, anyone. What I’d give to hear a laugh, or see a child running carefree through the trees. 

Tomorrow, or tomorrow, or tomorrow. One of these tomorrows the sun will rise and no blood will be spilt.

If we can only stay alive until then. 

  Hide contents

I wish he would let us write more than a page, there’s so much more that I want to write about.

And…wow. The Civil War was brutal. I could rant about it for hours, but some highlights:

- it’s estimated that a little over 60,000 limbs were amputated over the course of the war.

- one of the major reasons that this war was so bloody was a new kind of bullet called the mini ball. It’s shaped like a torpedo, and has a hollow tip. Upon impact, it shatters bones and the tip mushrooms out. So it enters in a tiny hole, but exists in a huge one. Shrapnel from fragments of bones provides additional damage.

- General Sherman was the leader of the North’s armies. Lincoln told him to do whatever he could to end the war, and so he started along with the “scorched earth” policy. He burned the houses of people all over the south. Only the stone fireplaces were left standing. These are called Sherman’s monuments.

There’s other stuff too, but off the top of my head that’s what you get. So…yeah

 

You are so good at this Eddie! I don’t know what more I can say.

 The Civil War was absolutely brutal.

[The cheeseman]

2 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Ok sorry I know I just posted

But

Y’all remember my American Wars class?

This is my journal assignment for the (American) Civil War. 

January 1st, 1863:

  Reveal hidden contents

There is so much blood. I used to choke on the smell, and now I don’t even notice. Now it’s stranger to have my hands clean than covered with the sticky red. Night and day and night and day, there is no escape and all we can do is hope that it will end.

I don’t mean to complain. I have no right to, no right at all. These soldiers, they have it so much worse. It seems as if hundreds come into my tent screaming every day. All but a handful exit cold and silent. And though they’ll never show it, I think the living envy the dead. For all their talk of freedom, these are just boys. They’re just little boys who should be home in their Mamas’ kitchens, not bleeding on this cold battlefield.

One of the men from yesterday keeps sticking in my mind. He was unconscious when they dragged him in, a hole blown through his side. I could see parts of his ribs sticking out, starkly white against all the blood. Little flakes of shattered bone were stuck to his uniform. I knew he wasn’t going to live, knew it the second I saw him, so we didn’t even waste a bandage on him. 

But that’s plenty common. The part that I can’t help but remember is the hand. He was gripping a hand in his own. A friend’s, maybe. They were likely dead now. But he wouldn’t let go. Even as he was bleeding out, even as death started to take him, he wouldn’t let go. That was how we knew he was dead, eventually. I looked away for only a couple minutes, to bandage someone’s arm, and when I looked back the hand was in the mud, and he was gone. 

And the black soldiers. They deserve to be home with their Mamas most of all. They barely seem to feel it. Any time a friend dies, they mourn and move on. That hurts worse than any tears. They’re used to it. They’re so used to the death. They shouldn’t be here. This is the worst place on earth. I’ve almost stopped praying, but when I do it’s that there’s a special place for them on the other side. They deserve paradise. 

It’s getting better, though. It really is. The southern troops are getting weaker and weaker. It won’t be long now. We say that every day, trying to believe it. Clara and I, we see each other, faces and hands covered with blood, and we promise each other that it won’t be long. Oh, I hope it won’t be long. What I’d give to see someone smile, anyone. What I’d give to hear a laugh, or see a child running carefree through the trees. 

Tomorrow, or tomorrow, or tomorrow. One of these tomorrows the sun will rise and no blood will be spilt.

If we can only stay alive until then. 

  Reveal hidden contents

I wish he would let us write more than a page, there’s so much more that I want to write about.

And…wow. The Civil War was brutal. I could rant about it for hours, but some highlights:

- it’s estimated that a little over 60,000 limbs were amputated over the course of the war.

- one of the major reasons that this war was so bloody was a new kind of bullet called the mini ball. It’s shaped like a torpedo, and has a hollow tip. Upon impact, it shatters bones and the tip mushrooms out. So it enters in a tiny hole, but exists in a huge one. Shrapnel from fragments of bones provides additional damage.

- General Sherman was the leader of the North’s armies. Lincoln told him to do whatever he could to end the war, and so he started along with the “scorched earth” policy. He burned the houses of people all over the south. Only the stone fireplaces were left standing. These are called Sherman’s monuments.

There’s other stuff too, but off the top of my head that’s what you get. So…yeah

 

I have ancestors who fought on both sides of the Civil War. I can't begin to imagine the horrors that they saw.

[Anguished_One]

2 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Ok sorry I know I just posted

But

Y’all remember my American Wars class?

This is my journal assignment for the (American) Civil War. 

January 1st, 1863:

  Reveal hidden contents

There is so much blood. I used to choke on the smell, and now I don’t even notice. Now it’s stranger to have my hands clean than covered with the sticky red. Night and day and night and day, there is no escape and all we can do is hope that it will end.

I don’t mean to complain. I have no right to, no right at all. These soldiers, they have it so much worse. It seems as if hundreds come into my tent screaming every day. All but a handful exit cold and silent. And though they’ll never show it, I think the living envy the dead. For all their talk of freedom, these are just boys. They’re just little boys who should be home in their Mamas’ kitchens, not bleeding on this cold battlefield.

One of the men from yesterday keeps sticking in my mind. He was unconscious when they dragged him in, a hole blown through his side. I could see parts of his ribs sticking out, starkly white against all the blood. Little flakes of shattered bone were stuck to his uniform. I knew he wasn’t going to live, knew it the second I saw him, so we didn’t even waste a bandage on him. 

But that’s plenty common. The part that I can’t help but remember is the hand. He was gripping a hand in his own. A friend’s, maybe. They were likely dead now. But he wouldn’t let go. Even as he was bleeding out, even as death started to take him, he wouldn’t let go. That was how we knew he was dead, eventually. I looked away for only a couple minutes, to bandage someone’s arm, and when I looked back the hand was in the mud, and he was gone. 

And the black soldiers. They deserve to be home with their Mamas most of all. They barely seem to feel it. Any time a friend dies, they mourn and move on. That hurts worse than any tears. They’re used to it. They’re so used to the death. They shouldn’t be here. This is the worst place on earth. I’ve almost stopped praying, but when I do it’s that there’s a special place for them on the other side. They deserve paradise. 

It’s getting better, though. It really is. The southern troops are getting weaker and weaker. It won’t be long now. We say that every day, trying to believe it. Clara and I, we see each other, faces and hands covered with blood, and we promise each other that it won’t be long. Oh, I hope it won’t be long. What I’d give to see someone smile, anyone. What I’d give to hear a laugh, or see a child running carefree through the trees. 

Tomorrow, or tomorrow, or tomorrow. One of these tomorrows the sun will rise and no blood will be spilt.

If we can only stay alive until then. 

  Reveal hidden contents

I wish he would let us write more than a page, there’s so much more that I want to write about.

And…wow. The Civil War was brutal. I could rant about it for hours, but some highlights:

- it’s estimated that a little over 60,000 limbs were amputated over the course of the war.

- one of the major reasons that this war was so bloody was a new kind of bullet called the mini ball. It’s shaped like a torpedo, and has a hollow tip. Upon impact, it shatters bones and the tip mushrooms out. So it enters in a tiny hole, but exists in a huge one. Shrapnel from fragments of bones provides additional damage.

- General Sherman was the leader of the North’s armies. Lincoln told him to do whatever he could to end the war, and so he started along with the “scorched earth” policy. He burned the houses of people all over the south. Only the stone fireplaces were left standing. These are called Sherman’s monuments.

There’s other stuff too, but off the top of my head that’s what you get. So…yeah

 

mmmm

i mean no offense but i don't like this one

the writing is good

but

it feels like

all my hallucinations

that one time I forgot my meds

when I went to veil's house

[Edema Rue]

1 hour ago, Anguished_One said:

mmmm

i mean no offense but i don't like this one

the writing is good

but

it feels like

all my hallucinations

that one time I forgot my meds

when I went to veil's house

*hugs* 

[Kajsa]

4 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Ok sorry I know I just posted

But

Y’all remember my American Wars class?

This is my journal assignment for the (American) Civil War. 

January 1st, 1863:

  Reveal hidden contents

There is so much blood. I used to choke on the smell, and now I don’t even notice. Now it’s stranger to have my hands clean than covered with the sticky red. Night and day and night and day, there is no escape and all we can do is hope that it will end.

I don’t mean to complain. I have no right to, no right at all. These soldiers, they have it so much worse. It seems as if hundreds come into my tent screaming every day. All but a handful exit cold and silent. And though they’ll never show it, I think the living envy the dead. For all their talk of freedom, these are just boys. They’re just little boys who should be home in their Mamas’ kitchens, not bleeding on this cold battlefield.

One of the men from yesterday keeps sticking in my mind. He was unconscious when they dragged him in, a hole blown through his side. I could see parts of his ribs sticking out, starkly white against all the blood. Little flakes of shattered bone were stuck to his uniform. I knew he wasn’t going to live, knew it the second I saw him, so we didn’t even waste a bandage on him. 

But that’s plenty common. The part that I can’t help but remember is the hand. He was gripping a hand in his own. A friend’s, maybe. They were likely dead now. But he wouldn’t let go. Even as he was bleeding out, even as death started to take him, he wouldn’t let go. That was how we knew he was dead, eventually. I looked away for only a couple minutes, to bandage someone’s arm, and when I looked back the hand was in the mud, and he was gone. 

And the black soldiers. They deserve to be home with their Mamas most of all. They barely seem to feel it. Any time a friend dies, they mourn and move on. That hurts worse than any tears. They’re used to it. They’re so used to the death. They shouldn’t be here. This is the worst place on earth. I’ve almost stopped praying, but when I do it’s that there’s a special place for them on the other side. They deserve paradise. 

It’s getting better, though. It really is. The southern troops are getting weaker and weaker. It won’t be long now. We say that every day, trying to believe it. Clara and I, we see each other, faces and hands covered with blood, and we promise each other that it won’t be long. Oh, I hope it won’t be long. What I’d give to see someone smile, anyone. What I’d give to hear a laugh, or see a child running carefree through the trees. 

Tomorrow, or tomorrow, or tomorrow. One of these tomorrows the sun will rise and no blood will be spilt.

If we can only stay alive until then. 

  Reveal hidden contents

I wish he would let us write more than a page, there’s so much more that I want to write about.

And…wow. The Civil War was brutal. I could rant about it for hours, but some highlights:

- it’s estimated that a little over 60,000 limbs were amputated over the course of the war.

- one of the major reasons that this war was so bloody was a new kind of bullet called the mini ball. It’s shaped like a torpedo, and has a hollow tip. Upon impact, it shatters bones and the tip mushrooms out. So it enters in a tiny hole, but exists in a huge one. Shrapnel from fragments of bones provides additional damage.

- General Sherman was the leader of the North’s armies. Lincoln told him to do whatever he could to end the war, and so he started along with the “scorched earth” policy. He burned the houses of people all over the south. Only the stone fireplaces were left standing. These are called Sherman’s monuments.

There’s other stuff too, but off the top of my head that’s what you get. So…yeah

 

Chasms Eddie you’re going to be like a real live actual writer someday

youre insanely good at this holy raining scud

Edited April 27 by Kajsa

[Edema Rue]

20 minutes ago, Kajsa said:

Chasms Eddie you’re going to be like a real live actual writer someday

youre insanely good at this holy raining scud

Thanks so much Kajsa, that’s the goal.

[Wittles]

I completely agree with Kajsa's sentiment, cuz it's genuinely really impressive how good your writing is.

[RoyalBeeMage]

On 4/27/2024 at 12:14 PM, Edema Rue said:

Heehee oki, thanks Weaver! Anything in specific you want to see?

can i give a sugestion as to what liz scene would be cool

On 4/28/2024 at 7:13 AM, Edema Rue said:

Thanks so much Kajsa, that’s the goal.

On 4/30/2024 at 6:13 AM, Wittles said:

I completely agree with Kajsa's sentiment, cuz it's genuinely really impressive how good your writing is.

I have to agree with both of these. everytime I try writing it just feels wrong to me. i don't know how to start something. i wish I had half you skill. also I just love your liz scenes. almost makes me want to take one of the characters in my current WIP and make them slowly start to spiral into a anti-hero

edit: is there any place where you have all the liz scenes all ordered in chronological order?

Edited May 1 by RoyalBeeMage

[Edema Rue]

6 hours ago, RoyalBeeMage said:

can i give a sugestion as to what liz scene would be cool

I have to agree with both of these. everytime I try writing it just feels wrong to me. i don't know how to start something. i wish I had half you skill. also I just love your liz scenes. almost makes me want to take one of the characters in my current WIP and make them slowly start to spiral into a anti-hero

edit: is there any place where you have all the liz scenes all ordered in chronological order?

Absolutely, I'd love that!!

Aww, thank you so much. Don't stop writing. It comes from practice and from spending hours alone with good books, and the more you write the better you'll get!

Not quite yet, I'm working on it though and once I finish it I'll put a link here  

[Edema Rue]

Okay here's the link to all Liz things, I think I've posted all the ones on there here but I should have another one later tonight or tomorrow. 

...and if anyone has no idea what's going on, I gotchu just let me know.

Edited May 1 by Edema Rue

[RoyalBeeMage]

2 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Okay here's the link to all Liz things, I think I've posted all the ones on there here but I should have another one later tonight or tomorrow. 

...and if anyone has no idea what's going on, I gotchu just let me know.

Eddie thank you so much. I am looking forward to reading through this. 
 

also for recommendation. What about a scean where the bet is concluded and a winner is announced. I can see it being very traumatic for Liz

[Edema Rue]

29 minutes ago, RoyalBeeMage said:

Eddie thank you so much. I am looking forward to reading through this. 
 

also for recommendation. What about a scean where the bet is concluded and a winner is announced. I can see it being very traumatic for Liz

I’ll definitely be writing that at some point, but I’m 100% a pantser so…

Ah…

I don’t exactly know

How it ends yet?

But I’ll write it at some point!!

[RoyalBeeMage]

4 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

I’ll definitely be writing that at some point, but I’m 100% a pantser so…

Ah…

I don’t exactly know

How it ends yet?

But I’ll write it at some point!!

i look foward to that. looking at the chronology of the doc I think empress comes after a deal with death.

[Edema Rue]

9 hours ago, RoyalBeeMage said:

i look foward to that. looking at the chronology of the doc I think empress comes after a deal with death.

Aww scud I forgot a scene-

Actually, it doesn't!

So part of the magic system I'm developing is that there are different levels of being connected with the gods. In Empress, she's an Acolyte. After her deal with Death she becomes his Heiress.

[RoyalBeeMage]

7 hours ago, Edema Rue said:

Aww scud I forgot a scene-

Actually, it doesn't!

So part of the magic system I'm developing is that there are different levels of being connected with the gods. In Empress, she's an Acolyte. After her deal with Death she becomes his Heiress.

Oh ok. That makes a lot more sense. I can’t wait to see what happens next 

[Edema Rue]

Hey guys, here's a Liz scene I wrote the other day! It's not my best, but it did help me figure out more about the magic system which was really nice.

Heroes and Dogs:

Spoiler

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

Mari blinked. “What?”

Ien shrugged, looking away. “Being alone. Does it ever get better?”

This time it was Mari who looked away. “No. You always think it will, always think that this time you really are getting better, but it’s never true.” 

Ien nodded. Then, aware that Mari was watching, he let out a quiet breath. His father had always told him not to let anyone hear anything that could someday come back to bite him. But his father was dead now. The world had turned upside down, and he wanted so desperately to trust someone. And here was Mari, quiet and sweet and strange. “It’s my fault,” he blurted. Mari blinked, but didn’t say anything. “All of this.”

“Is it?” How strange. Mari didn’t sound accusatory or even disbelieving: she was just curious. 

“Yes.” Ien laughed bitterly, ignoring the way it made his sore ribs ache. “She loved me, and I loved her, and so he took her and made her into this, and I still love her. Isn’t that stupid, Mari?  The things she’s done are unforgivable, and I still love her.”

“Maybe,” Mari said, looking thoughtful, “it was your fault. But maybe it wasn’t. She’s insane. I think there’s a good chance that she would have become the person that she is without you doing anything. Either way, it doesn’t matter.” Ien looked at her quizzically, and she shrugged. “Liz’s actions are her own. And so are yours. What matters now is what you do next.” Mari paused. “And as for you still loving her…I love a lot of people I shouldn’t. That’s the nature of love. Reckless, unwise, and certain to hurt.”

Ien was taken aback. Mari usually spoke a word or two at a time. For her, this was a raging flood. And she spoke with the wisdom of someone many times her age. “Thank you.”

She gave him a shy smile. “I don’t need thanks. I need to know what we’re doing next.”

Ien took a deep breath, eyes darkening. “She has to die. We  have to make her pay for everything she’s done to them, to us.” Mari nodded, looking pleased, then hesitated. “What?” Ien prompted.

“It’s just…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m talking so much.”

“I don’t mind,” Ien said quickly. “Really.” Mari flushed and looked down. “Mari,” Ien said, careful not to raise his voice. “You don’t ever have to worry about talking too much, not with me. If nothing else, consider it my payment for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Okay,” Mari said. She nodded, as if steeling herself. “Okay. It’s just…I don’t think it’s right to do it just to punish her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Right.” Mari cleared her throat. “That’s her motivation, isn’t it? Revenge, or at least that’s what she thinks. So. Ah. So you don’t want to become her.” Mari flinched, and Ien realized something with a start.

“I’m not going to hit you,” he said quietly.

She flinched again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

Ien tried to protest, but she refused to say anything else, so he finally gave up. But her words itched at him. You don’t want to become her…he shivered. Liz had cared so much. She’d been so full of dreams and fire. If this desire for revenge had overcome even her, could anyone really be safe? “I have to save them,” Mari glanced at him. “I need to save them, and you, and all of us.” Ien smiled, understanding.

“It’s about us. Not her.”

********

Somewhere in the shadows, Liz grinned. How perfect, how absurd, how utterly insane. How heroic. Cloaked in darkness, she left the dungeon, trying to still her pounding heart, to change delight to logic. Ien wanted it now. So she needed to give him a way out. Not too obvious, or he’d get suspicious. A curious puzzle, curious indeed.

Abruptly she shivered, feeling faintly nauseated. Unsure what was happening, and unwilling to be seen, she ducked into a tiny closet. It was perfect timing; she immediately collapsed. Then she sat up, blinking at the pale world that–oh.

“Welcome back,” Death said, not sounding at all welcoming. “Let’s get to work.”

Liz gaped at him, struggling to her feet. “Wha–you can’t do that.”

Death raised a single eyebrow. “You’re telling me what I can’t do. You’re lucky I find it quaint. Next time, you won’t be lucky.”

Liz flushed. “Right,” she murmured. “But we will need to schedule times for this. If I may.” Death nodded, and Liz let out a tiny sigh of relief. But inside she was grateful. She’d needed the reminder that not everyone bowed to her. She needed the humbling, because her pride kept her from learning.

“We start,” Death said, “with the basics. What do you know of magic?”

“It comes from the gods,” Liz started, then winced. “Ah. You can’t use it unless your will is aligned with that of the god you serve?”

Death grimaced. Or maybe it was just a frown. His skin was pulled so tightly across his skull that it was difficult to tell. “So much work,” he sighed. If that could be called a sigh. His huff of air was to a sigh what wrought iron was to soft earth. “Your second guess was better. But that was only when you were an Acolyte. You are now an Heiress, and the rules have changed.” Liz nodded, and he continued, “An Acolyte who displeases me may be put down easily. There would be consequences for doing so to you. Likewise there would be consequences if you were to be improperly trained.” That was definitely a grin. “If the acolytes are my dogs, then you are my child. Understood?” 

Liz swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Death said. “Magic…magic is like the air you mortals need. It’s woven through every rock, plant, person, and animal. But if magic is air, then gods are the only ones who know how to breathe.”

Liz blinked. “But regular people can use magic. Not many, but some.” A sharp pain shot through her, as cool and calculated as Death himself.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he said. Liz nodded shakily and he continued as if nothing had happened. “Gods are lazy. We cannot bear to do all that we must, and so we awaken the minds of chosen mortals just enough to do it for us. These mortals become our Acolytes, our servants, our hands, call them what you will. But to choose an Heir is to choose a replacement. Your awakening to magic can be neither temporary nor conditional. That is the biggest difference between you and them, Heiress. The next biggest is the suffering. My Acolytes run freely through the shadows, but you are to dance in shackles. They can be ended. You must be taught. So listen well, Heiress…”

********

Hours later, Liz awoke in the closet, mind blurring with strange and terrible knowledge that she barely understood. Not even bothering to pull shadows around herself she stepped out. A servant jumped back, shaking with terror. Liz stumbled past, up to her chambers. A pair of assassins–Acolytes–stood outside her door. Liz walked past them. How had Death described them? Dogs…

Somehow, it seemed fitting.

 

[Weaver of Lies]

20 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

Hey guys, here's a Liz scene I wrote the other day! It's not my best, but it did help me figure out more about the magic system which was really nice.

Heroes and Dogs:

  Hide contents

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

Mari blinked. “What?”

Ien shrugged, looking away. “Being alone. Does it ever get better?”

This time it was Mari who looked away. “No. You always think it will, always think that this time you really are getting better, but it’s never true.” 

Ien nodded. Then, aware that Mari was watching, he let out a quiet breath. His father had always told him not to let anyone hear anything that could someday come back to bite him. But his father was dead now. The world had turned upside down, and he wanted so desperately to trust someone. And here was Mari, quiet and sweet and strange. “It’s my fault,” he blurted. Mari blinked, but didn’t say anything. “All of this.”

“Is it?” How strange. Mari didn’t sound accusatory or even disbelieving: she was just curious. 

“Yes.” Ien laughed bitterly, ignoring the way it made his sore ribs ache. “She loved me, and I loved her, and so he took her and made her into this, and I still love her. Isn’t that stupid, Mari?  The things she’s done are unforgivable, and I still love her.”

“Maybe,” Mari said, looking thoughtful, “it was your fault. But maybe it wasn’t. She’s insane. I think there’s a good chance that she would have become the person that she is without you doing anything. Either way, it doesn’t matter.” Ien looked at her quizzically, and she shrugged. “Liz’s actions are her own. And so are yours. What matters now is what you do next.” Mari paused. “And as for you still loving her…I love a lot of people I shouldn’t. That’s the nature of love. Reckless, unwise, and certain to hurt.”

Ien was taken aback. Mari usually spoke a word or two at a time. For her, this was a raging flood. And she spoke with the wisdom of someone many times her age. “Thank you.”

She gave him a shy smile. “I don’t need thanks. I need to know what we’re doing next.”

Ien took a deep breath, eyes darkening. “She has to die. We  have to make her pay for everything she’s done to them, to us.” Mari nodded, looking pleased, then hesitated. “What?” Ien prompted.

“It’s just…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m talking so much.”

“I don’t mind,” Ien said quickly. “Really.” Mari flushed and looked down. “Mari,” Ien said, careful not to raise his voice. “You don’t ever have to worry about talking too much, not with me. If nothing else, consider it my payment for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Okay,” Mari said. She nodded, as if steeling herself. “Okay. It’s just…I don’t think it’s right to do it just to punish her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Right.” Mari cleared her throat. “That’s her motivation, isn’t it? Revenge, or at least that’s what she thinks. So. Ah. So you don’t want to become her.” Mari flinched, and Ien realized something with a start.

“I’m not going to hit you,” he said quietly.

She flinched again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

Ien tried to protest, but she refused to say anything else, so he finally gave up. But her words itched at him. You don’t want to become her…he shivered. Liz had cared so much. She’d been so full of dreams and fire. If this desire for revenge had overcome even her, could anyone really be safe? “I have to save them,” Mari glanced at him. “I need to save them, and you, and all of us.” Ien smiled, understanding.

“It’s about us. Not her.”

********

Somewhere in the shadows, Liz grinned. How perfect, how absurd, how utterly insane. How heroic. Cloaked in darkness, she left the dungeon, trying to still her pounding heart, to change delight to logic. Ien wanted it now. So she needed to give him a way out. Not too obvious, or he’d get suspicious. A curious puzzle, curious indeed.

Abruptly she shivered, feeling faintly nauseated. Unsure what was happening, and unwilling to be seen, she ducked into a tiny closet. It was perfect timing; she immediately collapsed. Then she sat up, blinking at the pale world that–oh.

“Welcome back,” Death said, not sounding at all welcoming. “Let’s get to work.”

Liz gaped at him, struggling to her feet. “Wha–you can’t do that.”

Death raised a single eyebrow. “You’re telling me what I can’t do. You’re lucky I find it quaint. Next time, you won’t be lucky.”

Liz flushed. “Right,” she murmured. “But we will need to schedule times for this. If I may.” Death nodded, and Liz let out a tiny sigh of relief. But inside she was grateful. She’d needed the reminder that not everyone bowed to her. She needed the humbling, because her pride kept her from learning.

“We start,” Death said, “with the basics. What do you know of magic?”

“It comes from the gods,” Liz started, then winced. “Ah. You can’t use it unless your will is aligned with that of the god you serve?”

Death grimaced. Or maybe it was just a frown. His skin was pulled so tightly across his skull that it was difficult to tell. “So much work,” he sighed. If that could be called a sigh. His huff of air was to a sigh what wrought iron was to soft earth. “Your second guess was better. But that was only when you were an Acolyte. You are now an Heiress, and the rules have changed.” Liz nodded, and he continued, “An Acolyte who displeases me may be put down easily. There would be consequences for doing so to you. Likewise there would be consequences if you were to be improperly trained.” That was definitely a grin. “If the acolytes are my dogs, then you are my child. Understood?” 

Liz swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Death said. “Magic…magic is like the air you mortals need. It’s woven through every rock, plant, person, and animal. But if magic is air, then gods are the only ones who know how to breathe.”

Liz blinked. “But regular people can use magic. Not many, but some.” A sharp pain shot through her, as cool and calculated as Death himself.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he said. Liz nodded shakily and he continued as if nothing had happened. “Gods are lazy. We cannot bear to do all that we must, and so we awaken the minds of chosen mortals just enough to do it for us. These mortals become our Acolytes, our servants, our hands, call them what you will. But to choose an Heir is to choose a replacement. Your awakening to magic can be neither temporary nor conditional. That is the biggest difference between you and them, Heiress. The next biggest is the suffering. My Acolytes run freely through the shadows, but you are to dance in shackles. They can be ended. You must be taught. So listen well, Heiress…”

********

Hours later, Liz awoke in the closet, mind blurring with strange and terrible knowledge that she barely understood. Not even bothering to pull shadows around herself she stepped out. A servant jumped back, shaking with terror. Liz stumbled past, up to her chambers. A pair of assassins–Acolytes–stood outside her door. Liz walked past them. How had Death described them? Dogs…

Somehow, it seemed fitting.

 

I really, really want you to write faster, my friend. This is all so good!

[Wierdo]

46 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

Hey guys, here's a Liz scene I wrote the other day! It's not my best, but it did help me figure out more about the magic system which was really nice.

Heroes and Dogs:

  Reveal hidden contents

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

Mari blinked. “What?”

Ien shrugged, looking away. “Being alone. Does it ever get better?”

This time it was Mari who looked away. “No. You always think it will, always think that this time you really are getting better, but it’s never true.” 

Ien nodded. Then, aware that Mari was watching, he let out a quiet breath. His father had always told him not to let anyone hear anything that could someday come back to bite him. But his father was dead now. The world had turned upside down, and he wanted so desperately to trust someone. And here was Mari, quiet and sweet and strange. “It’s my fault,” he blurted. Mari blinked, but didn’t say anything. “All of this.”

“Is it?” How strange. Mari didn’t sound accusatory or even disbelieving: she was just curious. 

“Yes.” Ien laughed bitterly, ignoring the way it made his sore ribs ache. “She loved me, and I loved her, and so he took her and made her into this, and I still love her. Isn’t that stupid, Mari?  The things she’s done are unforgivable, and I still love her.”

“Maybe,” Mari said, looking thoughtful, “it was your fault. But maybe it wasn’t. She’s insane. I think there’s a good chance that she would have become the person that she is without you doing anything. Either way, it doesn’t matter.” Ien looked at her quizzically, and she shrugged. “Liz’s actions are her own. And so are yours. What matters now is what you do next.” Mari paused. “And as for you still loving her…I love a lot of people I shouldn’t. That’s the nature of love. Reckless, unwise, and certain to hurt.”

Ien was taken aback. Mari usually spoke a word or two at a time. For her, this was a raging flood. And she spoke with the wisdom of someone many times her age. “Thank you.”

She gave him a shy smile. “I don’t need thanks. I need to know what we’re doing next.”

Ien took a deep breath, eyes darkening. “She has to die. We  have to make her pay for everything she’s done to them, to us.” Mari nodded, looking pleased, then hesitated. “What?” Ien prompted.

“It’s just…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m talking so much.”

“I don’t mind,” Ien said quickly. “Really.” Mari flushed and looked down. “Mari,” Ien said, careful not to raise his voice. “You don’t ever have to worry about talking too much, not with me. If nothing else, consider it my payment for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Okay,” Mari said. She nodded, as if steeling herself. “Okay. It’s just…I don’t think it’s right to do it just to punish her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Right.” Mari cleared her throat. “That’s her motivation, isn’t it? Revenge, or at least that’s what she thinks. So. Ah. So you don’t want to become her.” Mari flinched, and Ien realized something with a start.

“I’m not going to hit you,” he said quietly.

She flinched again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

Ien tried to protest, but she refused to say anything else, so he finally gave up. But her words itched at him. You don’t want to become her…he shivered. Liz had cared so much. She’d been so full of dreams and fire. If this desire for revenge had overcome even her, could anyone really be safe? “I have to save them,” Mari glanced at him. “I need to save them, and you, and all of us.” Ien smiled, understanding.

“It’s about us. Not her.”

********

Somewhere in the shadows, Liz grinned. How perfect, how absurd, how utterly insane. How heroic. Cloaked in darkness, she left the dungeon, trying to still her pounding heart, to change delight to logic. Ien wanted it now. So she needed to give him a way out. Not too obvious, or he’d get suspicious. A curious puzzle, curious indeed.

Abruptly she shivered, feeling faintly nauseated. Unsure what was happening, and unwilling to be seen, she ducked into a tiny closet. It was perfect timing; she immediately collapsed. Then she sat up, blinking at the pale world that–oh.

“Welcome back,” Death said, not sounding at all welcoming. “Let’s get to work.”

Liz gaped at him, struggling to her feet. “Wha–you can’t do that.”

Death raised a single eyebrow. “You’re telling me what I can’t do. You’re lucky I find it quaint. Next time, you won’t be lucky.”

Liz flushed. “Right,” she murmured. “But we will need to schedule times for this. If I may.” Death nodded, and Liz let out a tiny sigh of relief. But inside she was grateful. She’d needed the reminder that not everyone bowed to her. She needed the humbling, because her pride kept her from learning.

“We start,” Death said, “with the basics. What do you know of magic?”

“It comes from the gods,” Liz started, then winced. “Ah. You can’t use it unless your will is aligned with that of the god you serve?”

Death grimaced. Or maybe it was just a frown. His skin was pulled so tightly across his skull that it was difficult to tell. “So much work,” he sighed. If that could be called a sigh. His huff of air was to a sigh what wrought iron was to soft earth. “Your second guess was better. But that was only when you were an Acolyte. You are now an Heiress, and the rules have changed.” Liz nodded, and he continued, “An Acolyte who displeases me may be put down easily. There would be consequences for doing so to you. Likewise there would be consequences if you were to be improperly trained.” That was definitely a grin. “If the acolytes are my dogs, then you are my child. Understood?” 

Liz swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Death said. “Magic…magic is like the air you mortals need. It’s woven through every rock, plant, person, and animal. But if magic is air, then gods are the only ones who know how to breathe.”

Liz blinked. “But regular people can use magic. Not many, but some.” A sharp pain shot through her, as cool and calculated as Death himself.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he said. Liz nodded shakily and he continued as if nothing had happened. “Gods are lazy. We cannot bear to do all that we must, and so we awaken the minds of chosen mortals just enough to do it for us. These mortals become our Acolytes, our servants, our hands, call them what you will. But to choose an Heir is to choose a replacement. Your awakening to magic can be neither temporary nor conditional. That is the biggest difference between you and them, Heiress. The next biggest is the suffering. My Acolytes run freely through the shadows, but you are to dance in shackles. They can be ended. You must be taught. So listen well, Heiress…”

********

Hours later, Liz awoke in the closet, mind blurring with strange and terrible knowledge that she barely understood. Not even bothering to pull shadows around herself she stepped out. A servant jumped back, shaking with terror. Liz stumbled past, up to her chambers. A pair of assassins–Acolytes–stood outside her door. Liz walked past them. How had Death described them? Dogs…

Somehow, it seemed fitting.

 

W o a h

[RoyalBeeMage]

1 hour ago, Edema Rue said:

Hey guys, here's a Liz scene I wrote the other day! It's not my best, but it did help me figure out more about the magic system which was really nice.

Heroes and Dogs:

  Hide contents

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

Mari blinked. “What?”

Ien shrugged, looking away. “Being alone. Does it ever get better?”

This time it was Mari who looked away. “No. You always think it will, always think that this time you really are getting better, but it’s never true.” 

Ien nodded. Then, aware that Mari was watching, he let out a quiet breath. His father had always told him not to let anyone hear anything that could someday come back to bite him. But his father was dead now. The world had turned upside down, and he wanted so desperately to trust someone. And here was Mari, quiet and sweet and strange. “It’s my fault,” he blurted. Mari blinked, but didn’t say anything. “All of this.”

“Is it?” How strange. Mari didn’t sound accusatory or even disbelieving: she was just curious. 

“Yes.” Ien laughed bitterly, ignoring the way it made his sore ribs ache. “She loved me, and I loved her, and so he took her and made her into this, and I still love her. Isn’t that stupid, Mari?  The things she’s done are unforgivable, and I still love her.”

“Maybe,” Mari said, looking thoughtful, “it was your fault. But maybe it wasn’t. She’s insane. I think there’s a good chance that she would have become the person that she is without you doing anything. Either way, it doesn’t matter.” Ien looked at her quizzically, and she shrugged. “Liz’s actions are her own. And so are yours. What matters now is what you do next.” Mari paused. “And as for you still loving her…I love a lot of people I shouldn’t. That’s the nature of love. Reckless, unwise, and certain to hurt.”

Ien was taken aback. Mari usually spoke a word or two at a time. For her, this was a raging flood. And she spoke with the wisdom of someone many times her age. “Thank you.”

She gave him a shy smile. “I don’t need thanks. I need to know what we’re doing next.”

Ien took a deep breath, eyes darkening. “She has to die. We  have to make her pay for everything she’s done to them, to us.” Mari nodded, looking pleased, then hesitated. “What?” Ien prompted.

“It’s just…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m talking so much.”

“I don’t mind,” Ien said quickly. “Really.” Mari flushed and looked down. “Mari,” Ien said, careful not to raise his voice. “You don’t ever have to worry about talking too much, not with me. If nothing else, consider it my payment for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Okay,” Mari said. She nodded, as if steeling herself. “Okay. It’s just…I don’t think it’s right to do it just to punish her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Right.” Mari cleared her throat. “That’s her motivation, isn’t it? Revenge, or at least that’s what she thinks. So. Ah. So you don’t want to become her.” Mari flinched, and Ien realized something with a start.

“I’m not going to hit you,” he said quietly.

She flinched again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

Ien tried to protest, but she refused to say anything else, so he finally gave up. But her words itched at him. You don’t want to become her…he shivered. Liz had cared so much. She’d been so full of dreams and fire. If this desire for revenge had overcome even her, could anyone really be safe? “I have to save them,” Mari glanced at him. “I need to save them, and you, and all of us.” Ien smiled, understanding.

“It’s about us. Not her.”

********

Somewhere in the shadows, Liz grinned. How perfect, how absurd, how utterly insane. How heroic. Cloaked in darkness, she left the dungeon, trying to still her pounding heart, to change delight to logic. Ien wanted it now. So she needed to give him a way out. Not too obvious, or he’d get suspicious. A curious puzzle, curious indeed.

Abruptly she shivered, feeling faintly nauseated. Unsure what was happening, and unwilling to be seen, she ducked into a tiny closet. It was perfect timing; she immediately collapsed. Then she sat up, blinking at the pale world that–oh.

“Welcome back,” Death said, not sounding at all welcoming. “Let’s get to work.”

Liz gaped at him, struggling to her feet. “Wha–you can’t do that.”

Death raised a single eyebrow. “You’re telling me what I can’t do. You’re lucky I find it quaint. Next time, you won’t be lucky.”

Liz flushed. “Right,” she murmured. “But we will need to schedule times for this. If I may.” Death nodded, and Liz let out a tiny sigh of relief. But inside she was grateful. She’d needed the reminder that not everyone bowed to her. She needed the humbling, because her pride kept her from learning.

“We start,” Death said, “with the basics. What do you know of magic?”

“It comes from the gods,” Liz started, then winced. “Ah. You can’t use it unless your will is aligned with that of the god you serve?”

Death grimaced. Or maybe it was just a frown. His skin was pulled so tightly across his skull that it was difficult to tell. “So much work,” he sighed. If that could be called a sigh. His huff of air was to a sigh what wrought iron was to soft earth. “Your second guess was better. But that was only when you were an Acolyte. You are now an Heiress, and the rules have changed.” Liz nodded, and he continued, “An Acolyte who displeases me may be put down easily. There would be consequences for doing so to you. Likewise there would be consequences if you were to be improperly trained.” That was definitely a grin. “If the acolytes are my dogs, then you are my child. Understood?” 

Liz swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Death said. “Magic…magic is like the air you mortals need. It’s woven through every rock, plant, person, and animal. But if magic is air, then gods are the only ones who know how to breathe.”

Liz blinked. “But regular people can use magic. Not many, but some.” A sharp pain shot through her, as cool and calculated as Death himself.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he said. Liz nodded shakily and he continued as if nothing had happened. “Gods are lazy. We cannot bear to do all that we must, and so we awaken the minds of chosen mortals just enough to do it for us. These mortals become our Acolytes, our servants, our hands, call them what you will. But to choose an Heir is to choose a replacement. Your awakening to magic can be neither temporary nor conditional. That is the biggest difference between you and them, Heiress. The next biggest is the suffering. My Acolytes run freely through the shadows, but you are to dance in shackles. They can be ended. You must be taught. So listen well, Heiress…”

********

Hours later, Liz awoke in the closet, mind blurring with strange and terrible knowledge that she barely understood. Not even bothering to pull shadows around herself she stepped out. A servant jumped back, shaking with terror. Liz stumbled past, up to her chambers. A pair of assassins–Acolytes–stood outside her door. Liz walked past them. How had Death described them? Dogs…

Somehow, it seemed fitting.

 

that clarified so much of the magic system. loved every moment of it. keep up the amazing work!

[Edema Rue]

8 hours ago, Weaver of Lies said:

I really, really want you to write faster, my friend. This is all so good!

I will if you will...

I'm trying I promise

8 hours ago, Wierdo said:

W o a h

8 hours ago, RoyalBeeMage said:

that clarified so much of the magic system. loved every moment of it. keep up the amazing work!

Thanks!! I'm glad it helped.