The Sibling's Writing Thread

[The Sibling she/her]

I have already posted quite a bit of writing, but I figure it might be good to have a dedicated thread. So here it is! All I'll post for now is chapter one of a story I've been planning for a while. Any advice/constructive criticism is welcome, as well as questions, comments, and clarifications. Here it is!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cvfQWP8SL0Bl5YJIsgE-NSdOL49qxK4VxE-AuuKtg1U/edit#heading=h.74jnwedbqp2m 

There is a bit of blood and stuff but not that much.

Edited September 10, 2023 by The Sibling

[Edema Rue she/her]

That was good! I liked it a lot. I thought the dialogue was well done, though one thing to point out is that not all of it has to end in a period, commas are super helpful for dialogue. But yeah, it was awesome! I’m excited to read more, if you ever post it!

[The Sibling she/her]

3 hours ago, Edema Ruh said:

That was good! I liked it a lot. I thought the dialogue was well done, though one thing to point out is that not all of it has to end in a period, commas are super helpful for dialogue. But yeah, it was awesome! I’m excited to read more, if you ever post it!

Thanks! I'm really bad at commas. I always use too many or too few. I wrote the next chapter before I read your post, but for the third I'll try to keep that in mind. Sometimes when I write, I end up over editing and losing track of the story, so this time I'm going to try and wait until I've written a good amount before i go back and edit. I'll try and apply any advice to the new stuff I write, and I'll come back to most of the comments once I start editing.

Edit : Oh yeah, and here's the next chapter.

Spoiler

Chapter Two - Tredron Elkoran of the Lavender Family

Tredron Elkoran of the Lavender Family watched out the window as his carriage pulled into the courtyard of the Lavender Citadel. His eyes were wide as he took in the enormous gray pink castle, with seven round towers that seemed to reach up into eternity. Lavender flags blew and twisted in the dry wind. The Citadel and the city that surrounded it was a welcome change from the dry and arid landscape of bare red and pink rock. The trip from Torridan’s Refuge, Tredron’s father’s land, had taken weeks, and it was a relief to know that he would sleep in a comfortable bed that night. The prince of the Refuge was not well built for traveling.

Tredron stepped out of his carriage with his natural flair and charisma.  Dressed in a white tunic with a gold corset, long stiff pants, and a brown and gold cape, he certainly looked the part. Dark hair and broad shoulders, Tredron was made to be a prince. He swept his cape behind him, boots slapping against the gray cobblestone. The air was dry and hot, and his shirt stuck to his chest. Tredron glanced around, his elk pulled carriage making its way towards a servants entrance where his baggage would be unloaded.

Torridan stepped quietly out of his own carriage. He lacked his son’s easy going nature, turning his head nervously towards the entrance of the Citadel. They had already crossed through the outer walls, and they were now standing before the enormous front door of the Citadel. Well polished wood with silver ornamentation, antlers mounted in the center. Tredron smiled. It was his first visit to his grandfather’s castle, and he could already tell it was going to be… dramatic. 

As Torridan walked towards the doors, Tredron took his place at a respectful distance from his father, moving calmly forwards. The doors opened before the pair reached them, guards dressed in Falconhall purple gesturing them inwards. Torridan didnt hesitate, marching straight into the Citadel. Tredron, however, paused just long enough to hear one of the guards muttering under his breath.

“Cursed traitor.”

Tredron stopped in his tracks, giving the guard his most practiced stare. He raised an eyebrow, and Tredron blushed, hurrying after his father. At 17, he perhaps wasn’t the intimidating figure that he had hoped. Tredron knew that feelings in the Citadel towards his father were likely to be hostile. Only 18 years ago, Torridan had betrayed his father and in doing so caused him to lose the war of Freedom. 

Inside the Citadel there was a huge entrance hall. Towering pillars shot up to the arched cieling. The floor was cold stone with a lavender carpet that led to an enormous throne. The throne was made of wood and gold, with a second set of antlesr above it. Tredron shivered. It seemed strange to him that the King would sit his throne in the entrance hall, but it was certainly intimidating. Especially considering the man who sat in the throne, back straight, arms draped casually over the rests. 

He had an angular face, with a sharp jaw and wide golden eyes. His hair had begun to gray, black and silver mixing in a short ponytail jutting out behind his head. He wore a plain white robe embroidered with gold, open to reveal his shirtless chest. King Aeroveth Elkoran the fourth, of the Lavender family. Ruler of the Falconhall empire, Lord of the South. FFathe of Torridan. Grandfather of Tredron. 

Torridan fell into a bow at the foot of the throne. Tredron mimicked his father, unsure of the proper courtesies. Technically, Torridan ruled a kingdom himself, and therefore shouldn’t have to bow to the ruler of another. But Torridan’s Refuge was small, insignificant. A gift from Mountainkeep, a thank you for Torridan’s great betrayal. And Aeroveth was Torridan’s father. 

“Father, I am glad to see you. And thankful for your welcoming of me and mine to your castle.” Torridan spoke the words as if he had practiced them a hundred times. “And my dearest husband.” He turned to a tall, tan skinned man with a square face and a short crop of brown hair

Tredron’s eyes snapped upwards as he stood carefully. He made his best effort not to stare at his father, his second father, but it was difficult. Torridan had married the man who stood before him now, Illithar Oceanspray, at the behest of Aeroveth. It had been an attempt to bolster relations with Reedpond, and to give Aeroveth an in at Torridan’s court. Torridan had dsiobeyed his father twice in his adult life. One had been the infamous betrayal, and the second had been leaving Illithar behind on his return trip to the Refuge. So Tredron had grown up without ever meeting Illithar, because Torridan had raised him without ever bringing him back to Lavendrin, the capital city of Falconhall. 

Illithar Oceanspray smiled at his son, but his smile seemed forced. He was dressed in southern garb, clearly having taken to the flowing robes that were common in Falconhall. Aeroveth didn’t move, and he didn’t smile. 

“My love.” Said Illithar, moving to Torridans and taking his hand. “We have been apart for far too long.”

“Spare me this charade.” Snapped Aeroveth. “We both know that you are nothing to each other, that Illithar was wedded by my request, and abandoned here once he had lost his usefulness. You are a calculating man, Torridan, and I am weary already of your games.”

Torridan’s face fell, and he pushed Illithar away from him. He smiled faintly then. “The charade was for you, father. I will be glad to dispense with it.” Torridan turned to his husband. “Talk to your son, Illithar. You’ll have limited time together.”

Illithar nodded slowly and nodded towards Tredron, who followed him quietly out of the room. Tredron glanced back for a moment to see Torridan leaning in close to Aeroveth. Father and son reunited, two sides of the same coin. Two cold men who wanted nothing more than to scheme and manipulate. But by his reputation, Tredron knew for a fact that Aeroveth was superior. He just hoped that Torridan didn’t give up too much.

Down the hall father and son walked, turning into a small room. It was a study, filled with papers and trinkets and books. A heavy wooden desk sat in the middle, and Illithar slumped into a dark wooden chair. Tredron sat slowly opposite him, glancing around the room. Most of the books in the room were written in J’hilish, the language of Reedpond. Clam shells and river rocks filled the shelfs, sparkling in the light from the blue stained glass window at the back of the room. Tredron had practically forgotten that Illithar was from Reedpond, a kingdom to the west of Falconhall. 

“It’s good to see you.” Said Illithar, dropping the air of formality. His voice had only the faintest hint of a J’hilish accent. “I was so glad to hear you would be joining your father on his journey south.”

Tredron sat in silence, letting the awkwardness fill the room. “I understand it might be difficult for you, um, to see me as your father. I wish that I could have been more present…”

Illithar trailed off, face flushed, hands clenched. He looked supremely uncomfortable. And Tredron didn’t mind in the slightest. “It’s not like you were any less present than Torridan.” He snapped.

Illithar smiled. “Yes, I have heard that you and Torridan have had a… strained relationship. But perhaps, if you would be willing, I could be the parent that you never had.”

Tredron pushed away from the table. “Don’t act like this is some sort of tearful reunion. I know what you are. I know the kind of men with which Torridan likes to associate. You’re an opportunist. You came here for an alliance, and you got one. And when Torridan abandoned you you found a new one.”

“I’m sure I don't know what you mean. Your father and I are still strongly allied. I act as an ambassador for the Refuge!”

I’m sure it must be lovely for you, to have become just another of the king's whisperers. Hanging on to his every word, I saw the way you looked at him. Why settle for the son when you can have the father? Why settle for the north when you can have the south? I have no doubt that you are securely in the palm of my grandfather’s hand, and for me to become your son, would mean nothing more than becoming another of Aeroveth’s spies.”

Tredron took a breath and made to leave. “You could go far, Tredron.” Whispered Illithar. “If you make friends. If you find allies. Do not be so quick as to dismiss a great opportunity.” The tone of casual informality had left Illithar’s voice. His eyes had gone cold, and in that moment he reminded Tredron of no one more than Torridan himself. Empty. Calculating. Predatory.

“I can make my own alliances, thank you.” Tredron stepped out of the room. Just before he shut the door, he turned back to face his father. “And I don’t need friends.”

 

Edited August 22, 2023 by The Sibling

[Edema Rue she/her]

Ooh! That guy was super cool, I’m excited to see more of him. Lgbtq relationships are always interesting in older books. 

And yeah, don’t worry about editing stuff as you write it. I’ve heard it described as bringing the janitor in in the middle of the party; you need them later, but in the moment they’ll only make it harder to keep going. Super good, though! Don’t stop!

[The Sibling she/her]

4 hours ago, Edema Ruh said:

Ooh! That guy was super cool, I’m excited to see more of him. Lgbtq relationships are always interesting in older books. 

Yeah there are a few lgbtq relationships in this one. Which guy did you mean, Tredron or Torridan? (Or someone else?)

4 hours ago, Edema Ruh said:

I’ve heard it described as bringing the janitor in in the middle of the party; you need them later, but in the moment they’ll only make it harder to keep going.

I love that! Here's the next chapter. It's a bit shorter. It's a Torridan flashback.

Spoiler

Chapter Three - Torridan Elkoran, of the Lavender Family

31 years ago

Torridan Elkoran, of the Lavender Family, slid out of his bed early that morning. Because he knew something important was happening. He glanced at the mirror, taking in his round face, wide eyes, and short, messy brown hair. He smiled. Unlike most days, when he wore a simple robe and chest wrap, today Torridan tried to make an effort. He slipped on a tight binder, followed by a wrap and a pair of baggy pants that cut off just below the knee. He knew that was the style in southern Heatherhold. His belt was black with a huge silver buckle, his sandals were new, with brown leather straps. Torridan grabbed a waistcoat on his way out the door, a long tan thing with beetle buttons imported from Mountainkeep. He left the top unbuttoned. He had to seem casual. And when he met his own eyes in the bathroom mirror, while doing his hair, he knew that today, he looked good. 

Torridan hurried through the Citadel, not even bothering to visit his brother’s rooms like he usually did each morning. Gair could wait. Everyone could wait. The floors were hot from the summer sun and so was Torridan. He knew that the waistcoat was unnecessary, but he didn’t mind. Anything to set him apart. When he arrived at the dining room, a small and intimate place, he found to his surprise that he was the first one there. Torridan was anything but an early riser, and usually he was one of the last to arrive at his father’s elaborate breakfasts. He supposed that today, the urgency of the situation had woken much earlier than usual.

Torridan chose a seat near the east window, So the sun wasn’t in his eyes, but was still shining on him. He lounged in his chair, patiently waiting as the servants set the table. Eventually, people started to filter in. As usual, the first to arrive were the representatives of the Conquered Kingdoms. Aeroveth and Falconhall ruled proudly over the lands that had once been Mountainkeep, Reedpond, and Pinerock. The ambassadors from each nation who had joined Aeroveth’s cutthroat court were nervous and careful. They exuded caution around Torridan, nodding respectfully and taking their seats around the breakfast table. 

After the ambassadors cam the advisors. The treasurers, the high general, and finally Aeroveth himself, who stepped quietly into the room. He nodded to his dutiful followers, who began to eat. The room was filled with a comfortable buzz, deal-making and politicking happening over toast and eggs. Torridan absently listened in as Lavri, the high general, made quiet threats to the ambassador of Mountainkeep. The high treasurer discussed a trade deal with Reedpond, Aeroveth argued with an advisor who wanted to make an attack at Heatherhold, the one of the five southern kingdoms that Falconhall had not conquered. And Torridan watched the door.

Finally late that morning, it creaked open and a woman stepped in. She was dressed in high boots, tight pants, and a shirt with shoulders woven out of fur. Her long hair was held in a tight, complex braid, and she stepped confidently into the room. Treena Taghinashadrik, daughter of Everin and Skotai. She stepped in, sat down, and began a discussion with the ambassador of Pinerock. Torridan didn’t care one feather about her. But after her entered an awkward looking boy, with milky white skin, red hair, and a face covered in freckles. He had made a valiant attempt to dress in Falconhall garb, but had clearly only gone halfway. He was wearing high boots from Heatherhold, and under his white robe he wore a button down shirt, unlike Aeroveth or the high treasurer who were shirtless but for simple thin chest wraps. 

Killaet Krillaedharin, son of Treena and Gathar, sat quietly next to Torridan. Torridan shifted in his seat. “Good morning,” Torridan said. “How are you finding the Citadel?” 

Killaet smiled back, and Torridan felt warmth in his stomach. “It’s good? It’s hot. And loud. And busy. But in good way?” He had a strong accent, and his broken Feathrin made Torridan smile.

“Loud and busy sound about right,” Torridan tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice. “You could come riding with me today. I was planning on getting out of the city.”

“Riding… the elk?”

“Of course.”

Killaet shuddered. “You’ve never ridden an elk before?” Torridan asked curiously.

“In north, we ride bears. Do the elk not scare you? I think they can kill you with antlers.”

“Do the bears not scare you? I think they could kill you with their claws.” Torridan chuckled and so did Killaet.

“I-” Killaet was cut off as he opened his mouth to say something.

“I would like to make a toast!” Announced Aeroveth, standing abruptly.

Torridan sighed. Aeroveth made toasts every morning, and this one was likely to be no different. “To our honored guest from the north!” 

There were a couple of forced cheers. Killaet’s mother smiled politely, though Killaet just looked uncomfortable. Torridan noticed that his fingers were tapping nervously on his chair. 

“I am glad that they both could be here,” Aeroveth continued, “To hear this announcement. For far too long, relations between the Falconhall Empire and the north have been strained. But that ends today.”

“My lord, I thank you-” Treena started

“Not finished.” Aeroveth interrupted. “That ends today. Today, eons of hostility from the north will be answered by the south. Today, Falconhall will take Heatherhold! Today, the blood begins to spill.”

Torridan started, turning towards Killaet as the room exploded into action. Treena stood and cursed unintelligably. The high general spat a threat and the high treasurer smiled. Guards shifted anxiously as Treena pushed away from the table and stormed over to Aeroveth. 

“How dare you, you bastard! How dare you bring us here for this!”

Aeroveth stared down the fuming woman. He shrugged. “Get her away from me.”

Torridam raised an eyebrow. His father was so casual, showing no hint of emotion. He hated him for that. Killaet stood abruptly and left the room. “Wait!” cried Torridan, scrambling to his feet to chase after the boy that he had been so excited to talk to this morning.

Killaet sprinted down the hallway, Torridan at his heels, but was grabbed by a pair of guards in purple. One snatched Killaet’s wrist, the other stepped in front of Torridan. She glanced down at the prince with pity in her eyes. 

“Leave it, boy.” She told him, hand touching the sword at her belt.

Torridan stumbled backwards, his face feeling hot. He turned to run away, refusing to look at Killaet being dragged away. At that moment Torridan hated his father. And little did Aeroveth know, but in attacking the north, he had begun a chain of events that would lead eventually to the fall of his great empire.

 

 

[Edema Rue she/her]

1 minute ago, The Sibling said:

Yeah there are a few lgbtq relationships in this one. Which guy did you mean, Tredron or Torridan? (Or someone else?)

I love that! Here's the next chapter. It's a bit shorter. It's a Torridan flashback.

  Reveal hidden contents

Chapter Three - Torridan Elkoran, of the Lavender Family

31 years ago

Torridan Elkoran, of the Lavender Family, slid out of his bed early that morning. Because he knew something important was happening. He glanced at the mirror, taking in his round face, wide eyes, and short, messy brown hair. He smiled. Unlike most days, when he wore a simple robe and chest wrap, today Torridan tried to make an effort. He slipped on a tight binder, followed by a wrap and a pair of baggy pants that cut off just below the knee. He knew that was the style in southern Heatherhold. His belt was black with a huge silver buckle, his sandals were new, with brown leather straps. Torridan grabbed a waistcoat on his way out the door, a long tan thing with beetle buttons imported from Mountainkeep. He left the top unbuttoned. He had to seem casual. And when he met his own eyes in the bathroom mirror, while doing his hair, he knew that today, he looked good. 

Torridan hurried through the Citadel, not even bothering to visit his brother’s rooms like he usually did each morning. Gair could wait. Everyone could wait. The floors were hot from the summer sun and so was Torridan. He knew that the waistcoat was unnecessary, but he didn’t mind. Anything to set him apart. When he arrived at the dining room, a small and intimate place, he found to his surprise that he was the first one there. Torridan was anything but an early riser, and usually he was one of the last to arrive at his father’s elaborate breakfasts. He supposed that today, the urgency of the situation had woken much earlier than usual.

Torridan chose a seat near the east window, So the sun wasn’t in his eyes, but was still shining on him. He lounged in his chair, patiently waiting as the servants set the table. Eventually, people started to filter in. As usual, the first to arrive were the representatives of the Conquered Kingdoms. Aeroveth and Falconhall ruled proudly over the lands that had once been Mountainkeep, Reedpond, and Pinerock. The ambassadors from each nation who had joined Aeroveth’s cutthroat court were nervous and careful. They exuded caution around Torridan, nodding respectfully and taking their seats around the breakfast table. 

After the ambassadors cam the advisors. The treasurers, the high general, and finally Aeroveth himself, who stepped quietly into the room. He nodded to his dutiful followers, who began to eat. The room was filled with a comfortable buzz, deal-making and politicking happening over toast and eggs. Torridan absently listened in as Lavri, the high general, made quiet threats to the ambassador of Mountainkeep. The high treasurer discussed a trade deal with Reedpond, Aeroveth argued with an advisor who wanted to make an attack at Heatherhold, the one of the five southern kingdoms that Falconhall had not conquered. And Torridan watched the door.

Finally late that morning, it creaked open and a woman stepped in. She was dressed in high boots, tight pants, and a shirt with shoulders woven out of fur. Her long hair was held in a tight, complex braid, and she stepped confidently into the room. Treena Taghinashadrik, daughter of Everin and Skotai. She stepped in, sat down, and began a discussion with the ambassador of Pinerock. Torridan didn’t care one feather about her. But after her entered an awkward looking boy, with milky white skin, red hair, and a face covered in freckles. He had made a valiant attempt to dress in Falconhall garb, but had clearly only gone halfway. He was wearing high boots from Heatherhold, and under his white robe he wore a button down shirt, unlike Aeroveth or the high treasurer who were shirtless but for simple thin chest wraps. 

Killaet Krillaedharin, son of Treena and Gathar, sat quietly next to Torridan. Torridan shifted in his seat. “Good morning,” Torridan said. “How are you finding the Citadel?” 

Killaet smiled back, and Torridan felt warmth in his stomach. “It’s good? It’s hot. And loud. And busy. But in good way?” He had a strong accent, and his broken Feathrin made Torridan smile.

“Loud and busy sound about right,” Torridan tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice. “You could come riding with me today. I was planning on getting out of the city.”

“Riding… the elk?”

“Of course.”

Killaet shuddered. “You’ve never ridden an elk before?” Torridan asked curiously.

“In north, we ride bears. Do the elk not scare you? I think they can kill you with antlers.”

“Do the bears not scare you? I think they could kill you with their claws.” Torridan chuckled and so did Killaet.

“I-” Killaet was cut off as he opened his mouth to say something.

“I would like to make a toast!” Announced Aeroveth, standing abruptly.

Torridan sighed. Aeroveth made toasts every morning, and this one was likely to be no different. “To our honored guest from the north!” 

There were a couple of forced cheers. Killaet’s mother smiled politely, though Killaet just looked uncomfortable. Torridan noticed that his fingers were tapping nervously on his chair. 

“I am glad that they both could be here,” Aeroveth continued, “To hear this announcement. For far too long, relations between the Falconhall Empire and the north have been strained. But that ends today.”

“My lord, I thank you-” Treena started

“Not finished.” Aeroveth interrupted. “That ends today. Today, eons of hostility from the north will be answered by the south. Today, Falconhall will take Heatherhold! Today, the blood begins to spill.”

Torridan started, turning towards Killaet as the room exploded into action. Treena stood and cursed unintelligably. The high general spat a threat and the high treasurer smiled. Guards shifted anxiously as Treena pushed away from the table and stormed over to Aeroveth. 

“How dare you, you bastard! How dare you bring us here for this!”

Aeroveth stared down the fuming woman. He shrugged. “Get her away from me.”

Torridam raised an eyebrow. His father was so casual, showing no hint of emotion. He hated him for that. Killaet stood abruptly and left the room. “Wait!” cried Torridan, scrambling to his feet to chase after the boy that he had been so excited to talk to this morning.

Killaet sprinted down the hallway, Torridan at his heels, but was grabbed by a pair of guards in purple. One snatched Killaet’s wrist, the other stepped in front of Torridan. She glanced down at the prince with pity in her eyes. 

“Leave it, boy.” She told him, hand touching the sword at her belt.

Torridan stumbled backwards, his face feeling hot. He turned to run away, refusing to look at Killaet being dragged away. At that moment Torridan hated his father. And little did Aeroveth know, but in attacking the north, he had begun a chain of events that would lead eventually to the fall of his great empire.

 

 

Oops yeah sorry I meant Tredon, I’m terrible at being specific. I think lgbtq relationships can be incredible in stories, but it’s so hard to do them right, especially in fantasy books. 

I liked the flashback! It’s always interesting to see old dudes when they’re younger.

[The Sibling she/her]

On 8/22/2023 at 2:14 PM, Edema Ruh said:

Oops yeah sorry I meant Tredon, I’m terrible at being specific. I think lgbtq relationships can be incredible in stories, but it’s so hard to do them right, especially in fantasy books. 

 

Well luckily I have tons of relationship experience. (Definitely not lying, what are you talking about?).  At least I know what it feels like to be part of the lgbtq+ community. I hope I don't mess this up but it might take a couple of tries.

On 8/22/2023 at 2:14 PM, Edema Ruh said:

I liked the flashback! It’s always interesting to see old dudes when they’re younger.

Thanks! Didn't really realize how old Torridan was until I wrote the flashback and I was like, wait, that happened 31 years ago!

Here's the next chapter. I started to write the chapter about a new character called Kavika, but their story wasn't really that interesting and it just wasn't working for me. So I gave up, because why would I add a bunch of boring chapters about a character that barely mattered to the plot. This one is from Tavien's perspective. After I got rid of Kavika, the ideas were flowing really quickly and I wrote this chapter in a day, while Kavika's took me like a week to write a half chapter. I wrote this one while listening to the SiSG soundtrack, which is awesome and had the exact right vibes for fantasy writing. Anyways, here it is!

Spoiler

 

Chapter Four - Tavien of the Stone Statue Disciples

When the soul can hold so much Valka, strange things happen. Powers are obtained. A good amount is always dedicated to healing, but extra Valka can strengthen you, empower you. 

Zashin let a strand of solid valka whip towards Javenik. She cursed, spinning away from her and moving into a defensive position. Javenik used her Valka to form a sword, charging her opponent. They exchanged a flurry of blows, weapons changing forms fluidly. Zashin launched several sharp dagger-like pieces of Valka towards Javenik, who blocked them with a makeshift shield. The two young disciples clashed in a large hall full of dueling partners. Afternoon training in the silver caverns could get extremely intense. Only in the afternoon were disciples truly allowed to let loose with their Valka. 

To the left of the girls was Tavien, battling the very same mouse-faced girl assigned to gate duty with him. Both of them were low level blesseds. They didn’t have the ability to control and solidify their Valka, they could only use it to strengthen their bodies.

“Kings!” Shouted Tavien as Dumali, his opponent, heaved a practiced sword down on his shoulder.

She grinned viciously, advancing and pushing him back. Straining against a well placed blow Tavien managed to get out the sarcastic words “I don’t like you very much,” before Dumali slammed him into a wall, practice sword at his neck. 

“I yield,” croaked Tavien, and Dumali released the pressure.

Tavien had never been a good fighter but, brimming with charisma as usual, he took the loss well. “Ow,” he muttered, rubbing his neck before stepping forwards to shake Dumali’s hand.

She smiled again, and Tavien found himself shivering slightly. She just looked so eager to fight him. So happy with the violence that filled the room. “Good fight!” She announced, panting softly.

“Right,” Said Tavien. “Good fight.” He turned towards Javenik and Zashin, battling with solidified Valka. 

Tavien felt a pang of jealousy within him. In the caverns they tought that any blessed was extremely lucky. That you couldn’t choose your level of power, you could only choose to hone and perfect what you had. But Stone Kings, Javeniks glowing white sword looked incredible as she slashed at Zashin’s brilliant whip. The Valka looked like some spirit from a bedtime story. Glowing white light that took the form of whatever the girls willed it to. And Tavien wanted it so badly.

Zashin had Javenik cornered, and was attacking recklessly with a strem of powerful lashes. Javenik dodged and jumped, impossibly graceful, and finally managed to land a blow on Zashin’s cheek. She had intentionally dulled her sword, but Zashin still cried out. It was clear that both combattants were running out of Valka, their weapons shrinking and weakening. Javenik landed another lucky blow on Zashin’s hip, and she stumbled to her knees. Javenik knocked the whip from her hand, where it immediately dissolved. Javenik grinned and tapped Zashin’s neck with her sword, before letting it dissolve and sluumping next to her vanquished foe. They both were panting and laughing, although Zashin was blushing faintly and looked just slightly embarrassed. 

Tavien turned away. “I’m going to the washroom.” He muttered to Dumali as he walked out of the room.

Dumali wasn’t listening. She had walked over to talk to Javenik and Zashin. Tavien made his way down the hall, towards the washroom. He stopped halfway there, leaning against the wall and taking a few steadying breaths.

 “You’re alright,” He whispered to himself. “Just keep going. Just keep climbing.” 

When Tavien made it back to the dueling room, most groups had packed up. He lifted his practice sword and followed Dumali back to the dorms. Tavien dumped his things on his bed and wandered to the showers. The showers were jesarr powered contraptions that used blue lichen and red lichen to let heated water fall from pipes in the ceiling. Although in all honesty, calling it “hot” was being a bit generous. The lukewarm water covered Tavien, and he washed quickly, hoping to make it to the dining room early. 

When Tavien made it to the dining room, he was one of the first ones there. He chose a chair next to where Javenik always sat. He shook his head at himself as he did. But he didn’t move. Just because he hated the fact that he acted like an idiot around Javenik didn’t mean that he was going to stop being around Javenik. 

That evening, the dining room filled with the 24 blesseds under 18 who lived in the Child’s monastery. Tavien was hoping that the queen might come and address the inhabitants of the silver cavern, but no one else seemed to know that she was there. Zashin regaled the table with her dramatic reenactment of the duel with Javenik earlier. She waved her arms and moved about, to the roaring laughs of everyone at the table. They all knew and loved Zashin, the larger than life girl who could command the attention of everyone in a room without effort.

“And then Nik comes at me with the sword, and I’m down on my knees with hardly a breath of Valka to spare…” Zashin said.

Dumali chimed in from another table. “We thought she was done for at that point. I mean, can anyone stand against Javenik without solid Valka?”

The table laughed. Tavien groaned inwardly. Even Dumali thinks that higher level blesseds are practically gods. He thought to himself. But Tavien managed to keep his charismatic smile on his face. And his eyes on Javenik.

Javenik looked terrible. She hadn’t showered since the fight, had barely moved in all honesty. She nervously chewed her fingernail and spun a lock of hair through her other hand. Her foot tapped against the ground. She smelled like sweat and toil. Tavien knew that Javenik was anxious. Of course she was. The perfect little blessed girl caught snooping in the gold cavern. Tavien had been caught performing his shenanigans hundreds of times in his life, but Nik was different. She was so curious, chafing against her limitations, but when she was caught she seemed to shrink. She really did rely on the approval of the elders. It was the basis of all her self esteem. So when Tavien was relaxed about getting caught, she was terrified.

And the bucket was a dead givaway. They were basically caught already, so there was no point in worrying. At least, in Tavien’s opinion. He slurped soup from his bowl, making a conscious effort to appear casual and relaxed, when the head monk’s assistant, a woman with a shaved head and broad shoulders, stepped into the room. Tavien dropped his spoon. Javenik’s face went red with shock. All Tavien had time to think was oh no, before the woman had marched up to the dais at the back of the room. Everyone was silent and still.

The dining room was a large cavern with dark gray walls filled with veins of orange rock. Bushy green jesarr hung from the walls and pooled in lanterns. The chairs were heavy stone, the tables carved out of the natural shape of the floor. Everything was cold and dramatic, harsh and enormous. The woman towered above them all as she opened her mouth to speak.

“Some of the actions of the younger inhabitants of the Child’s monastery have caught the attention of the elders in the gold cavern.” She began talking with no hesitation, more machine than woman.

Javenik flinched at the fairly blatant accusation, glancing at Tavien with pleading in her eyes. Tavien tried to smile comfortingly, but when he did Javenik just turned away. 

“As you know, on occasion the gold cavern allows younger disciples to spend the night with the great statue, in prayer.”

Wait, what? Tavien blinked. So this wasn’t about his and Javeniks little escapade to the gold cavern? Javenik breathed out a sigh of relief as she slumped down in her chair. This was about something completely different. And something very interesting. Tavien leaned forwards, the very real possibility of his being caught already fading from his mind.

All monasteries in Mountainkeep were based around Stone Statues. The immense, sentient beings who were made of stone and towered over man and dragon alike. They prayed to them, cared for them, and on rare occasions, communicated with them. But only someone who’s soul contains enough Valka could communicate effectively with the statues, and that was why blesseds from around the nation were pulled into the monasteries where they might have a chance of communicating with the gods and gleaning the vital information that gave Mountainkeep an edge in this dangerous world.

Only adults from the gold cavern were chosen to spend a night sleeping at the foot of the statue, hoping to get a message in their dreams. On occasion, children were chosen, due to spectacular performance, but it was rare. And rarer still that they would glean anything of nterest during their sleep.

“This is an honor awarded to few of your age,” the woman continued, “and the one who is chosen should hold the utmost pride and gratitude.”

The room was tense as a branch about to snap, a snake about to strike, a wave about to crash. “Javenik Jessarik, you have been chosen to attempt to communicate with the statue.”

The room erupted into chaos, cries of celebration or shock.

 “Find your way to the gold cavern gate before the last bell.” Finished the high monk’s assistant before walking from the room.

“What?” Javenik muttered, looking wide eyed at Tavien as if in search of an explanation.

I just realized that I've been italicising a bunch of stuff to show that it's the characters thinking or to emphasize it, but the italics disappear when I copy it into the shard, so that's weird. 

I might be taking a break from this story to write a short sci-fi murder mystery type thing because I have a bunch of ideas for it, but I might just keep writing this. We'll see how tomorrow goes.

Edit : I forgot to mention that I started doing epigraphs and I'm going to add them to the first couple chapters. To sum up what they would say : Valka is the power of creation and everyone has bit in their soul that heals them, but some people have extra.

Edited August 30, 2023 by The Sibling

[Edema Rue she/her]

5 hours ago, The Sibling said:

Well luckily I have tons of relationship experience. (Definitely not lying, what are you talking about?).  At least I know what it feels like to be part of the lgbtq+ community. I hope I don't mess this up but it might take a couple of tries.

Ok first yeah, I've been trying to write even just a regular romance and it...it's taking struggles, I have zero personal experience. 

5 hours ago, The Sibling said:

I just realized that I've been italicising a bunch of stuff to show that it's the characters thinking or to emphasize it, but the italics disappear when I copy it into the shard, so that's weird. 

I might be taking a break from this story to write a short sci-fi murder mystery type thing because I have a bunch of ideas for it, but I might just keep writing this. We'll see how tomorrow goes.

Yes I hate that that happens!! It's so annoying.

Write what you want, I'm sure it'll be good, or at least fun.

And woah! That was an amazing chapter! I really loved the part about how you can't control what you get, and correct me if I'm wrong from the way it was presented it seems like it might be a theme throughout that story, which I think is awesome. It's a very relatable thing, and I always enjoy a character who's just a little bitter about being inferior to others for things they can't control. I enjoyed seeing some of the magic system too! Well done.

[Ravenclawjedi42]

This is a really cool story so far, the Stone Disciple chapters are really cool. 

[The Sibling she/her]

1 hour ago, Ravenclawjedi42 said:

This is a really cool story so far, the Stone Disciple chapters are really cool. 

 

19 hours ago, Edema Ruh said:

And woah! That was an amazing chapter! I really loved the part about how you can't control what you get, and correct me if I'm wrong from the way it was presented it seems like it might be a theme throughout that story, which I think is awesome. It's a very relatable thing, and I always enjoy a character who's just a little bitter about being inferior to others for things they can't control. I enjoyed seeing some of the magic system too! Well done.

Okay, so this actually made my day. Sometimes I'm pretty nervous sharing writing with anyone but my siblings, but the shard is so supportive and everyone's so nice! Thanks for taking the time to read my story.

And here we go. Chapter five, Tredron of the Lavender family! I wrote this one pretty fast, although I'm not sure that I'm completely happy with the start. 

Spoiler

Chapter Five - Tredron Elkoran of the Lavender Family

Tredron glanced to his left and right as he left Illithar’s room. The hallway was empty, but for a single guard dressed in purple, standing at attention. Torridan stopped and inspected the guard, who kept staring blankly forwards. He wore long pants with plate shin guards and thick boots. His chest was bare, vest open in the heat. He had silvery shoulder guards, with his long hair held back by a purple ribbon. He was sweating. He didn’t move.

Bored by the aggressive indifference of the guard, Tredron shrugged and moved down the hall. He had come from the right, so he went left. He made his way through the castle unattended. It felt odd to be away from the guards who usually followed his every move. But they had left him in the care of his father, and his father clearly didn’t care. So for the first time in a long time, Tredron was free to move wherever he wished. He hummed a tune as he walked, nodding to different nobles that he passed. They looked him over curiously, but no one stopped him. Well dressed men and women in flowing robes, chest wraps, and sandals. The styles fascinated him, but he made an effort not to gawk. The nobility clearly didn’t make that same effort, for the prince of the Refuge drew many stares as  he walked the halls. 

The lower floor of the keep was clearly primarily conference rooms and guest rooms. Tredron wondered if Illithar was sleeping in a guest room, even after 17 years. The thought made him want to laugh. He smiled at a kitchen boy holding a towering stack of plates and slipping into a servants hallway. Eventually, Tredron had made his way down the hallway to the other side of the entrance hall. He glanced at the guards standing in front of teh door, but they looked almost like copies of the man who had guarded Illithar’s studies. They didn’t blink as Tredron stepped back into the room. No one else blinked either. There were only two people in the room, and neither turned to look at Tredron, for they were so engaged in conversation.

Torridan’s entourage of advisors and ambassadors had left. Aeroveth was gone. The room was clear of guards. The only two people left were Torridan, and someone else. A man with a shaved head and stocky build. He was turned away from Tredron, but when he spoke, his voice sounded strangely familiar. The two men were clearly arguing.

“Do you really think that he would leave you in line? You traitor who left us to lose the war?” The man asked.

“I guess I just didn’t think he would leave his throne to some shameful bastard.” Torridan spat.

Tredron raised an eyebrow. Torridon was usually so collected. Who was this man?

“I guess you would know about bastards, wouldn’t you? How’s your daughter, Torridan? Still clawing for power despite all your efforts to kill her?”

Tredron stopped short. What? He knew that Torridan has an illegitimate daughter who was a few years his elder. He knew that his half sister had lived apart from Torridan, and had eventually made her way to the Autumn Isle, where she had recently become betrothed with one of the Coral Princes. But he was woefully uninformed about this part of his family’s history. And he wouldn’t put it past Torridan to do something… dangerous in the hopes of ridding himself of a shameful mark on his honor.

Torridan punched the man. “Stone Kings!” Tredron cursed, forgetting himself for a moment. 

The man took the punch in the face, lip swelling and blood gushing from his nose. He hardly seemed to notice, instead turning towards Tredron with a glare on his face. And it was at that moment that Tredron recognized the man. It was like looking in a mirror. With his sharp jutting jaw and his broad shoulders, he looked almost identical to Tredron. 

“Ah, nephew.” Gair said, nodding respectfully to Tredron. Torridan’s half brother, Tredron realized. Gair glanced back at Torridan. “Seems I struck a nerve.” His voice was soft and smooth. “You should take care to remember your place, brother. You are no longer your father's right hand man.”

Gair wiped his bloody nose on the sleeve of his white cloak and marched from the room. He didn’t spare another glance for Tredron. Torridan spun and stormed from the room, leaving from the other door. Tredron just stood there in the silence wondering what to do, until his guard arrived. Three guards dressed in Mountainkeep gray instead of Falconhall purple. The color of his homeland was a relief. Even though Torridan’s Refuge was technically a separate nation, run by Torridan, it was essentially a province of Mountainkeep, and Tredron himself knew far more of Mountainkeep’s culture and tradition than he did of Falconhall’s.

“King Torridan sent us, my prince.” Said one of his guards, a young red haired man with a thick accent. He was making an effort to speak in Feathertongue instead of Wallian, as was Tredron himself.

“He wanted to make sure you were led to your rooms, and he hopes that you find them comfortable.” Tredron sighed at the news. The guard winced, clearly not wanting to finish the message he had been commanded to carry.

“Your father wanted to make sure that you were sure to… stay in your chambers until the supper feast.”

Tredron rolled his eyes and strode from the room, the guards falling into step behind him. The walk through the enormous keep took a good half hour, reminding Tredron once again how much larger and how much more deadly this castle was then the small fortress of the Refuge.

When at last he reached his rooms, on the third floor of the fourth tower, Tredron was pleasantly surprised. They were enormous, with huge windows blocked by friendly yellow drapes. The bed was made of a pale, smooth wood and covered in pale pink blankets that seemed to match the stone of the castle. There was a sitting room with four plush seats and a coffee table. There was a small dining room and a bathroom with an enormous tub . Tredron could see the expensive illiamnids lining the tub, and he smiled at the thought of a warm and comfortable bath. But first he had work to do.

Tredron’s bags had been brought up, and most of his things had already been unpacked. His clothes were lined up in his closet, his books lined the empty shelves in the bedroom, and his quill sat by an inkpot on a small desk in the corner of the sitting room. Tredron found the rest of his things under the bed. He pulled out a box and set his yavlik on the bedside table. He hoped for a message later from one of his friends, the daughter of Mountainkeep’s ambassador at the Refuge. Yavlik were lovely looking purple flowers that grow in pairs. If well cared for and kept submerged, they could transmit sounds. But they were expensive and often didn’t function properly. Tredron hoped that it still worked, as he added some clean water from a jug in the dining room to the jar which held his flower.

After this chore was done, he moved towards the door. Two guards stood outside, though the red haired man was standing in his room. Torridan handed a folded piece of paper from his bag to one of the guards. 

“Deliver this to Aeroveth.” He said curtly. Torridan had accused him of being too friendly with the staff, so Tredron made an effort to sound distant, shutting the door without waiting for a reply. He felt a stab of guilt but shoved it away. 

Then, finally, Torridan poured water into the tub, which activated the illiamnids to draw more water from down below him. In Mountainkeep there were far fewer of the seemingly magical tubers that could heat, cool, push, and pull when they got wet. He was interested to see the different technologies that could make life more comfortable in the south, where they were common. 

He forced his curiosity away, attempting to clear his mind as the illiamnids heated the water. He slipped out of his clothes and into the bath, shutting his eyes and shutting out the world.

 

[Edema Rue she/her]

46 minutes ago, The Sibling said:

Okay, so this actually made my day. Sometimes I'm pretty nervous sharing writing with anyone but my siblings, but the shard is so supportive and everyone's so nice! Thanks for taking the time to read my story.

 

Of course! Sharing writing is absolutely terrifying, even sharing with my parents or siblings I still panic. And it's worth reading!

58 minutes ago, The Sibling said:

And here we go. Chapter five, Tredron of the Lavender family! I wrote this one pretty fast, although I'm not sure that I'm completely happy with the start. 

  Reveal hidden contents

Chapter Five - Tredron Elkoran of the Lavender Family

Tredron glanced to his left and right as he left Illithar’s room. The hallway was empty, but for a single guard dressed in purple, standing at attention. Torridan stopped and inspected the guard, who kept staring blankly forwards. He wore long pants with plate shin guards and thick boots. His chest was bare, vest open in the heat. He had silvery shoulder guards, with his long hair held back by a purple ribbon. He was sweating. He didn’t move.

Bored by the aggressive indifference of the guard, Tredron shrugged and moved down the hall. He had come from the right, so he went left. He made his way through the castle unattended. It felt odd to be away from the guards who usually followed his every move. But they had left him in the care of his father, and his father clearly didn’t care. So for the first time in a long time, Tredron was free to move wherever he wished. He hummed a tune as he walked, nodding to different nobles that he passed. They looked him over curiously, but no one stopped him. Well dressed men and women in flowing robes, chest wraps, and sandals. The styles fascinated him, but he made an effort not to gawk. The nobility clearly didn’t make that same effort, for the prince of the Refuge drew many stares as  he walked the halls. 

The lower floor of the keep was clearly primarily conference rooms and guest rooms. Tredron wondered if Illithar was sleeping in a guest room, even after 17 years. The thought made him want to laugh. He smiled at a kitchen boy holding a towering stack of plates and slipping into a servants hallway. Eventually, Tredron had made his way down the hallway to the other side of the entrance hall. He glanced at the guards standing in front of teh door, but they looked almost like copies of the man who had guarded Illithar’s studies. They didn’t blink as Tredron stepped back into the room. No one else blinked either. There were only two people in the room, and neither turned to look at Tredron, for they were so engaged in conversation.

Torridan’s entourage of advisors and ambassadors had left. Aeroveth was gone. The room was clear of guards. The only two people left were Torridan, and someone else. A man with a shaved head and stocky build. He was turned away from Tredron, but when he spoke, his voice sounded strangely familiar. The two men were clearly arguing.

“Do you really think that he would leave you in line? You traitor who left us to lose the war?” The man asked.

“I guess I just didn’t think he would leave his throne to some shameful bastard.” Torridan spat.

Tredron raised an eyebrow. Torridon was usually so collected. Who was this man?

“I guess you would know about bastards, wouldn’t you? How’s your daughter, Torridan? Still clawing for power despite all your efforts to kill her?”

Tredron stopped short. What? He knew that Torridan has an illegitimate daughter who was a few years his elder. He knew that his half sister had lived apart from Torridan, and had eventually made her way to the Autumn Isle, where she had recently become betrothed with one of the Coral Princes. But he was woefully uninformed about this part of his family’s history. And he wouldn’t put it past Torridan to do something… dangerous in the hopes of ridding himself of a shameful mark on his honor.

Torridan punched the man. “Stone Kings!” Tredron cursed, forgetting himself for a moment. 

The man took the punch in the face, lip swelling and blood gushing from his nose. He hardly seemed to notice, instead turning towards Tredron with a glare on his face. And it was at that moment that Tredron recognized the man. It was like looking in a mirror. With his sharp jutting jaw and his broad shoulders, he looked almost identical to Tredron. 

“Ah, nephew.” Gair said, nodding respectfully to Tredron. Torridan’s half brother, Tredron realized. Gair glanced back at Torridan. “Seems I struck a nerve.” His voice was soft and smooth. “You should take care to remember your place, brother. You are no longer your father's right hand man.”

Gair wiped his bloody nose on the sleeve of his white cloak and marched from the room. He didn’t spare another glance for Tredron. Torridan spun and stormed from the room, leaving from the other door. Tredron just stood there in the silence wondering what to do, until his guard arrived. Three guards dressed in Mountainkeep gray instead of Falconhall purple. The color of his homeland was a relief. Even though Torridan’s Refuge was technically a separate nation, run by Torridan, it was essentially a province of Mountainkeep, and Tredron himself knew far more of Mountainkeep’s culture and tradition than he did of Falconhall’s.

“King Torridan sent us, my prince.” Said one of his guards, a young red haired man with a thick accent. He was making an effort to speak in Feathertongue instead of Wallian, as was Tredron himself.

“He wanted to make sure you were led to your rooms, and he hopes that you find them comfortable.” Tredron sighed at the news. The guard winced, clearly not wanting to finish the message he had been commanded to carry.

“Your father wanted to make sure that you were sure to… stay in your chambers until the supper feast.”

Tredron rolled his eyes and strode from the room, the guards falling into step behind him. The walk through the enormous keep took a good half hour, reminding Tredron once again how much larger and how much more deadly this castle was then the small fortress of the Refuge.

When at last he reached his rooms, on the third floor of the fourth tower, Tredron was pleasantly surprised. They were enormous, with huge windows blocked by friendly yellow drapes. The bed was made of a pale, smooth wood and covered in pale pink blankets that seemed to match the stone of the castle. There was a sitting room with four plush seats and a coffee table. There was a small dining room and a bathroom with an enormous tub . Tredron could see the expensive illiamnids lining the tub, and he smiled at the thought of a warm and comfortable bath. But first he had work to do.

Tredron’s bags had been brought up, and most of his things had already been unpacked. His clothes were lined up in his closet, his books lined the empty shelves in the bedroom, and his quill sat by an inkpot on a small desk in the corner of the sitting room. Tredron found the rest of his things under the bed. He pulled out a box and set his yavlik on the bedside table. He hoped for a message later from one of his friends, the daughter of Mountainkeep’s ambassador at the Refuge. Yavlik were lovely looking purple flowers that grow in pairs. If well cared for and kept submerged, they could transmit sounds. But they were expensive and often didn’t function properly. Tredron hoped that it still worked, as he added some clean water from a jug in the dining room to the jar which held his flower.

After this chore was done, he moved towards the door. Two guards stood outside, though the red haired man was standing in his room. Torridan handed a folded piece of paper from his bag to one of the guards. 

“Deliver this to Aeroveth.” He said curtly. Torridan had accused him of being too friendly with the staff, so Tredron made an effort to sound distant, shutting the door without waiting for a reply. He felt a stab of guilt but shoved it away. 

Then, finally, Torridan poured water into the tub, which activated the illiamnids to draw more water from down below him. In Mountainkeep there were far fewer of the seemingly magical tubers that could heat, cool, push, and pull when they got wet. He was interested to see the different technologies that could make life more comfortable in the south, where they were common. 

He forced his curiosity away, attempting to clear his mind as the illiamnids heated the water. He slipped out of his clothes and into the bath, shutting his eyes and shutting out the world.

 

That was a fun chapter, I thought it was awesome but, at least to me, it seems like it belongs later in the book. There's nothing wrong with it, in fact it was really enjoyable, but one thing I've been told over and over in my writing is to make sure there's tension in every scene, whether it's related to the main plot or not. And this chapter just didn't seem to have any stakes, so this early in the book where we don't know a lot of the conflict it seemed a little out of place, the thing about the half-sister also seemed to be pushed to the side a little. 

...sorry that was probably way more than was needed. I did enjoy it a lot, and it's always good to show how the protagonists react to and and interact with others.

[The Sibling she/her]

1 hour ago, Edema Ruh said:

That was a fun chapter, I thought it was awesome but, at least to me, it seems like it belongs later in the book.

No yeah... that makes sense! I think that i'll put a flashback in between so you know Gair and the fight makes more sense. I have another thing that I could put in between too that would maybe make it fit a bit better. Thanks for the feedback!

[The Sibling she/her]

Okay, so I'll be moving the chapter I just posted later into the story, so here's the real chapter five.

Spoiler

Chapter Five - Torridan Elkoran, of the Lavender Family, and Killaet Krillaedharin, son of Treena and Gathar

Of course, there is always the other option. A lack of Valka. And when a soul lacks for Valka, dangerous things happen.

31 years ago

“I’ll kill him!” Announced Torridan angrily. “I’ll fight him and I’ll win before I let this happen. What in the name of the Protector is he thinking!”

Torridan was sitting on the foot of Gair’s bed, fuming as he recounted the events at the meal table. Torridan’s half brother listened with a mildly interested expression. He was an attractive man, with a stocky build and a shaved head. His eyes were pale yellow, and there was a depth there that Torridan had never seen in anyone else. Gair’s lip curled into a sneer.

“If you weren’t the heir, Aeroveth would have you killed without blinking an eye. You can’t just go running around the Citadel claiming the king has gone mad!” Gair was older than Torridan, but illegitimate and therefore he came after Torridan in the line of succession.

“He has gone mad! Attacking Heatherhold? Everyone knows that the north is useless, empty, and dangerous. And now he’s leaving on some year-long campaign in the middle of rebellions in Reedpond?!” Torridan leapt from the bed and began pacing around the room.

“The rebellions in Reedpond will be dealt with.” Gair said, glancing towards the door at the sound of footsteps passing by. “And the north is far from useless. Taking Heatherhold will bring us the Autumn Isle, the last place in the east with any real chance of threatening the empire. Besides, Torridan, you don’t care if the decision is tactically sound, you’re just trying to save your little northern friend. What’s his name again, Killaet?”

Torridan blushed but ignored the jibe. “What do you mean, the rebellions will be dealt with. By whom? Father is taking his best commanders with him.”

“Not all his best commanders.” Gair standing and walking to his closet. 

He pulled it open to reveal a uniform hanging on the hook. Long pants with plate shin guards and thick boots. A dark vest with silver shoulder pads. It was an officer’s uniform, and Gair looked proud as he laid the garments out on his bed.

“You?” Torridan blinked.

Gair chuckled, letting his pride slip into his voice. “Don’t be so surprised, brother. Aeroveth trained me for war since the day I was born. He taught you which fork to eat desert with.”

Torridan rolled his eyes. This was a common argument between the brothers. Gair who had been trained to take a roll in the military, and Torridan who had been trained for politicking and politeness. Both seemed to think themselves superior because of this.

Torridan tried to move past the insult. “You’re going to Reedpond? When?”

Gair shrugged. “Few weeks, I assume. I won’t really be leading the attack, but Aeroveth seems to think that it will be a good learning opportunity.”

“A good learning opportunity. You realize that you’ll be rooting out rebels from small towns with menacing comments and threats? Not exactly training for war.”

“I think I’ll be quite good at the menacing comments bit.” Gair’s voice had an edge of cruelty as he spoke. “I wonder what it will be like for you, alone in the Citadel.”

“Probably quite nice. No brother, no father, it will practically be a vacation.”

Gair laughed. “Of course, you’ll be running half the empire by yourself.”

“I think I’ll be quite good at that bit.” Torridan said with a smile. “I should probably go apologize to father.” He groaned. “This is almost certainly going to end poorly.”

Gair nodded, slapping Torridan’s shoulder. Torridan clenched his fists and strode from the room, determined expression on his face. 

Killaet shifted uncomfortably in his cell. It wasn’t too awkward, just a small grey room with a comfortable bed and a rug. Three slate grey walls, and one with a door and heavy iron bars. The bars seemed unnecessary, for it wasn’t as if Killaet was going anywhere. But the room was comfortable. It seemed strange to him that they would have this sort of place in the Citadel, a prison to store people who couldn’t be treated too roughly, lest it ruin the Lavender Citadel’s reputation. Killaet tried not to imagine the cells deeper in the castle. This hallway was comfortable, and that was fine. 

The reason that Killaet was uncomfortable was because he had pressed his face against the bars, straining his neck in an attempt to see down the hallway. The reason that he had positioned himself this way was because of the movement he had seen down the hall. Nothing much, a flicker in the torchlight, perhaps a moving silhouette. But it was the only movement he had seen the entire day, since the guards had unceremoniously dumped hime here. He supposed that that made him a prisoner. And he supposed that his country was now at war. But he distracted himself by focusing on the movement. It likely meant that there was someone waiting just around the corner. Whether it was a guard making the shadow, or someone in a cell with a torch, Killaet wasn’t sure. 

Finally, summoning what little courage he had, he called out “Hello?”

Killaet had to remind himself to speak in Feathrin, wincing at his own accent. Only silence responded. He shifted back onto his bed, sighing. What was the point? What was he doing here? He remembered the morning, stepping shyly into the dining room, noticing a kind looking boy with a warm round face. Smiling, chatting, and then everything has gone cursed. Torridan had probably known about his father’s announcement. He had probably been manipulating Killaet from the start.

“Hello?” A voice responded. Male, but high and melodic, friendly and sarcastic at once.

“Who- who is it?” Killaet called.

No response. “Hello?” He repeated.

“Is that a northern accent?” The voice called. “I visited the north once. Heatherhold really is lovely.”

Killaet started. The voice had switched languages. He was speaking in Safryn. “Who are you!?” Now Killaet was speaking Safryn too. He found himself immediately more comfortable in his own language. 

“Oh, no one in particular.” Said the voice. “Just a wind’s whisper trapped behind iron bars.”

“Killaet felt the room get colder, just a little. He shivered, and debated just shutting up and leaving this strange voice to its own devices. 

“What should I call you then?” He asked instead, voice wavering slightly.

“That depends, my dear child, on what I should call you.”

He coughed. “Killaet Krillaedharin, son of…” He trailed off. Why would he give his name to some stranger? 

“I knew a man named Killaet, once.” The voice reminisced. “He died in a rockslide climbing in Mountainkeep. Climbed too high, too fast, too far. I don’t suppose you’ll have that problem though.”

Killaet wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or not, but he pressed on. There was nothing much else to do in this cell anyways. “Your name?” He prompted.

“Dumaldrik.” Said the voice. “Son of Aeroveth the first.”
Oh. Thought Killaet. So he’s mad. That’s nice.

 

[The Sibling she/her]

Chapter whatever chapter this is :

Spoiler

Chapter Six - Spider

When it can’t get Valka from the intended source, the soul finds another way. A far more dangerous way. Humans are not the only ones who can hold Valka in their souls.

The Child loomed above Javenik. She craned her neck to see the enormous Statue, twirling a finger nervously through her hair. Night was falling, the green jesarr fading round the edges of the gold cavern. Javenik had been sent  to the Statue immediately after her name had been called. Nervousness radiated through her, and she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the Child. The statue was smooth and slate gray. Not a single vein of color flowed through it. The Child took the form of a girl with flowers in her hair, hand reaching up towards the sky. She was beautiful.

Everyone in Mountainkeep knew that the Statues were sentient. That they could communicate with anyone who held enough Valka. That they could deliver information vital to the survival of the continent. Floods, fires, deepling attacks, the Statues could predict them all. Some spoke more than others, but the Child spoke least of all. So Javenik did not hold high hopes as she curled up in the comfortable nook carved beneath the statue. There was warm red jesarr and blankets, and a few tufts of green jesarr that sent a soft glow over the place. It was so small that Javenik couldn’t stand, so she crawled into the bed. And laid there, eyes fixed on the stone ceiling.

For hours she sat, thoughts swirling through her mind. Strange how simple everything had seemed, only a moment ago. A clear path laid out before her with plenty of time for combat training and hours spent lounging around the tunnels with Tavien and Zashin. What was she doing here? 

Javenik squeezed her eyes shut, calming her breathing as she settled in for the night. As far as she could tell, there was no trick to communicating with the statues. If they chose you, they chose you. It took several hours for Javenik to fall asleep. Her exhaustion felt like a weight on her soul, but insomnia was stronger than sleepiness, so for a good while she simply stared upwards at the ceiling. The dreams started the moment she fell asleep. 

---

Javenik was standing in a yellow field a light breeze playing with her hair. She glanced upwards, basking in the sunlight as it tickled her face. She had spent so long under ground, living by the light of the jesarr, that she had forgotten what blue sky looked like. Javenik heard a giggle behind her and spun. A child with pale skin and long hair woven with flowers was running through the field. Her hand held tightly around a purple kite that zipped about in the winds.

“Come on!” The child shouted happily. “I have to show you something!”

She ran off into the distance. Stomach twisting, Javenik followed. She waded throughthe tall grass, and around her, the landscape changed. It felt unnatural, even in a dream. The sky darkened, gnarled dark trees sprouted fron the ground. The grass shriveled and died, and the air filled with the stench of bog. A worn and faded purple kite blew by, and then the wind died and everything fell silent.

“Where are we?” Javenik whispered.

The Child looked up at her with fear in her eyes. “The north. Stay quiet. We don’t know who might be listening.”

Javenik shivered and followed the Child deeper into the woods. Night had fallen, but there was no moon or stars. Javenik knew darkness well, but this was something deeper. Something far more unnatural. 

“Prepare yourself.” Whispered the Child. “Darkness and death will come from the north.” Javenik turned to meet her eyes and screamed.

Blood spilled from her eyes. The Child’s mouth dripped with red, her fists clenched and blood slid through her fingers. 

 

“The end is coming!” She cried, her voice twisting and warping. And then she was gone, and Javenik was alone in the woods.

A voice sounded in her head, loud and clear. “The spider is coming.”

 

The dream sped up, little scenes and sights flashing by almost too fast to comprehend. A girl playing in the snow. The same girl pulled a golden dress over her head. She was growing up. She was standing in an arena facing a grown man in full armor. She was stumbling through a winter scene, wrapped in furs. She was standing in a room full of bodies, covered from head to toe in blood. She was a woman now, sitting on a throne made of ice. She was blessed, dueling another woman with Valka. She was fighting, smiling, crying, and so was Javenik. This woman’s entire life was being thrown at her in the span of a few minutes.

 

The Child’s voice. “The spider is coming.”

The woman stood in front of an army, spinning a curl of valka between her fingers. “The spider is coming.”

 

The woman lifted a glowing sword above her head and killed a man, blood spraying across the room. “The spider is coming.”

The woman lifted her arms and valka sprayed out of her in every direction. It settled across the land like a spider’s web. “Such power.” Javenik whispered.

“The spider is coming.” 

The woman sat in a circle of flowing valka. Her legs were crossed, her hands were folded in her lap, her eyes were rolled back so only the whites were visible. She whispered a prayer to the pantheon under her breath. And then her eyes snapped into focus. And she was staring right at Javenik. Valka condensed in her hands as she sent a swirling whip pf glowing light at Javenik. She screamed.

 

“The spider is coming.”

---

 

Tavien awoke as he fell from his bed. He hit the stone floor with a thump, wincing at the pain, and scrambled to his feet. Adrenaline spiked within him as he glanced left and right, looking for a threat. He saw nothing. He was stanidng in a dark room filled with sleeping teenagers curled on their cots. No threat, but there was a sound. A low thrum that seemed to vibrate him to his core. Tavien had never heard the sound before, but it had been described to him many times. It was the sound of a Statue waking up. 

 

“Javenik!” he cried.

It's too short, but for now I think it works.

Also I switched to just having a link in the original post, so that way I can edit minor stuff for continuity while I write.

[Edema Rue she/her]

Ooh, that was good! I really liked the story part of it, the dream and the way the statue communicates, though some of the wording was a little confusing, but that's fine for a first draft. I like spiders  

[The Sibling she/her]

On 9/10/2023 at 1:16 PM, Edema Ruh said:

Ooh, that was good! I really liked the story part of it, the dream and the way the statue communicates, though some of the wording was a little confusing, but that's fine for a first draft. I like spiders  

Thanks. I definitely think that some of the wording is a bit confusing here. The spider vision was something I was really exited about writing, but in the end it's not quite coming out exactly how I want. I am starting to realize that I need to break from writing for a bit to work on more worldbuilding and story planning if I want the book to actually be cohesive and make sense. This will probably be the last chapter for a little while, but I do have a map that I will post, and also maybe a short sci-fi story which I have decided to call "The Algorithm"