ERode

Magic in the Park

Gradually approaching Click levels of soon.

Wardens of the Glade: A Light Fantasy RP

The secret for me is that I don't draft, proofread, cross-reference, or revise.

For this particular case, these posts are bolstered by the fact that they are introductory posts, and thus have a lot more narrative 'time' to cover. We can freely yap about the entirety of the journey, our character's internal monologues with regards to the city and/or festival, and don't have to involve any other PCs in the yapper-y. So yeah, there's an acceptance that most of the post that is written wouldn't be addressed ICly by others.

Ultimately though, long posts are more a consequence of someone vibing rather than an objective, especially if you're not in an RP that has strict minimum words per post hijinks.

Iris Ascendis

Could've done this instead, alas.

Iris Ascendis

_{@Nanaya@Estylwen@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses}

Otis nodded as the Doctor passed, pocketing the extraplanar extract for himself. It was a rare thing to get a genuine article for free after all.

It was interesting too though, that the message he had sent via Adapa to the undermage had failed. He himself had confirmed that it was possible to send messages in and out of a Leyline Overcharge, so what had happened after her apparent victory? The Strigidae’s eyes narrowed briefly, considering his options for exploring that particular topic, before settling for the simplest one: the spring-like automaton he had placed within that space. A quick pulse of essence was released through his Adapa, searching for any response or resonance from his creation. And while he waited for the results of that?

Back to work.

Chunji was up, and if Otis was a good doctor, he’d bade his classmate to lie back down and rest. Extra hands were useful though, and so the Strigidae instead said, “Davil has been inflicted with the essence of stagnation, but only conditionally. He loses blood and essence at a regular pace in consideration to his injuries, but cannot intake them at the same rate, so standard transfusions are having decreased effects upon him.”

He glanced back at Ciara and Iraleth. One was rambling, caught in the throes of a nightmare. The other was barely awake, holding on with only the force of will at this point. There had been a creaking sound a moment ago, but no known origin. Shame he didn’t have eyes on the back of his head, but even he had too many things on his list already.

“Work on keeping him stable. I’ll look into locating the root cause of this condition.”

There were no other words needed at that point. The implanting of essence, by nature, was such that the more complex an object was, the more difficult the implantation process became. And what could be more complex than a living being? To have implanted the concept of stagnation, and a conditional variation of that, upon Davil must have taken either extraordinary amounts of time, effort and skill. Time, which could have been spent simply cutting off his head. Effort, which could have been spent simply blowing him to bits. Skill, which that Umbralist clearly did not have enough of, if they could not best or hold their own for all that long against the undermage.

Yes, rather than specifically an implantation of a curse, it was far more likely that the symptoms of ‘reduced recovery’ came from an exterior source. One could not easily implant the essence of ‘fire’ into a human being, but one could accomplish that with ease by tossing them into a bonfire. Essence was complex, but also just made of the world itself. They affected each other in equal measure. And thus…

“Rather than a curse, would it just be poison?”

Poison, laced upon a weapon. Meant to weaken a foe and reduce the probability of their recovery in case of escape. The poison itself could have been concocted with essence manipulation and spellwork, then applied ‘externally’ into the body of another to reproduce those same effects through the world-essence relationship.

It was a better theory than digging through a haystack for a particular needle.

Now then, the Seeker would simply have to test that theory.

Iris Ascendis

Since Nicole's Adapa can no longer be connected to, does that mean Otis no longer has access to the security systems of the Iris Ascendis?

Magic in the Park

Iz k. Technically there’s no delay at all if there’s two people left.

Wardens of the Glade: A Light Fantasy RP

“Your name?”

“Sar-” Her voice cracked. Her eye twitched, cheeks flushing. A hand lifted up, asking for a moment, before she cleared her throat with a decisive, shuddering cough. “Sorry. Sarnai. From Dranabris.”

The attendant looked at her, eyes sliding from the crossbow slung over her shoulders to the decidedly peasant garb she wore. For a moment, Sarnai saw doubt, suspicion. Then, it was glazed over by apathy. Initiates came from all over Lacorron to try their hand at becoming a Warden. What was one more starry-eyed commoner?

He tilted his head in the direction of the painted targets off to the west, the furthest of which barely poked out from a distant hill and yet was already studded with bolts, arrows, and…were those metal cards? The attendant’s voice was decidedly flat. “Make sure no one’s down the range when you’re shooting. Doesn’t matter how good you think you are. Understood?”

Sarnai nodded. She didn’t think he’d say that if she looked like a proper Hahralian Bowman, but she wasn’t going to claim she was all that good either. A nod of her head, and the young woman stepped into yet another part of the world she had never been.

---

It had almost been a month since she had left the Milky Toast Lizard, left her parents behind. She hadn’t told either of them, only left a letter on her bed, but got caught by her mom anyways, just ten steps away from the tavern doors. But her mother understood a desire for adventure, even if she didn’t understand the thoughts swirling in her daughter’s head, so she just gave her blessings, a couple extra coins for the road, and watched Sarnai leave.

Three weeks and four days later, the barmaid arrived at Atutania with those coins still sewn into the inside of her dress. The journey had been eye-opening and nerve-wracking, familiar dunes and patches of greenery replaced by sheer cliffs, suffocating canopies, and sweeping vistas of diverse humanity. Her work as a camp labourer, running chores for cheap in exchange for being able to travel with a merchant caravan, kept her hands busy, but the dread crept onwards as time separated the familiar from the unfamiliar, eating away at her insides.

It was homesickness.

She had trod through Atutania’s roads, the merriment of the festivities like hammer blows against her diaphragm, each foreign permutation of the Day of Heroes reminding her just how alone she was. Break a leg, and there was no one who’d carry her to a clinic to mend it. Get sick, and there was no one who’d boil wheat porridge for her to recover. She had seen nineteen Days of Heroes back in Dranabris, and the twentieth looked wholly foreign. She managed to fumble her way into the proving grounds, but now that she was here?

Nobles, decked in glistening arms, their blades carving graceful trajectories through the sky. Warriors, tattoos stretched over taut muscles, roaring as they broke apart wooden dummies like twigs. Mages, proper, educated mages, calling forth the elements from the aether with a practiced boredom as they looked down upon the simpletons making a racket. Blade-dancers, longbowmen, whale-hunters, the mountain-bred. Even those that Sarnai could pinpoint as commoners similar to herself looked impressive, the evidence of their efforts displayed in the crispness of their movements, the straightness of her spine.

And what about herself?

What had she actually done, before she had decided to fling herself here? Who would have approved of this, if they had known she’d do this? Didn’t she keep all this to herself, because she knew that no one would approve? That it’d be a funny joke, that they’d laugh along and then she’d laugh too, like a tittering bird trying to match the mood?

Sweat beaded down her pale forehead. Her legs felt weaker, her stomach weaker. She stood out too much. Could feel other initiates turn their gaze in her direction, see everything that she was and wasn’t, and then use her pathetic state as fuel for pride or indignation.
Sarnai kept her movements smooth, but only just barely. She strode for a corner, for a stump to sit upon. Swept her dress behind her back as she sat down. Took in one shallow breath, then another. Looked at her hands, callused from fifteen years of labour but insignificant compared to those who she’d have to compete against.

Clenched them. Unclenched them. Then, as if struggling to grasp something, clenched them again, fists pressed against the bridge of her nose.

Her lips opened and closed, as if in silent prayer.

But it wasn’t silent, and it wasn’t prayer.

_{“Tie your boots. Roll up your sleeves. Tighten your belts. Check the lamp oil. Buckle your pouches. Loosen your corset. Count your bolts. Count your strings. Inspect your crossbow. Tie your boots. Roll up your sleeves. Tighten your belts. Check the lamp oil. Buckle your pouches. Loosen your corset. Count your bolts. Count your strings. Inspect your crossbow. Tie your boots. Roll up your sleeves. Tighten your belts. Check the lamp oil. Buckle your pouches. Loosen your corset. Count your bolts. Count your strings. Inspect your crossbow. You can do it you can do it you can do it. C’mon Sarnai, just stand up and go on five, four, three, two, one…two, three, four, fiv-”}

Wardens of the Glade: A Light Fantasy RP

Huh, so was there a Discord server made for this?

ArrowFell: The Wizard Queen's Court

Measured at a length of 5,000 meters, or 5 kilometers

Bruh, we could solve provincial hunger for like, a whole ass decade if we cooked it.

Wannabe Writer Needs Help

Maybe pointless rambling

When it comes down to it, there's no logical method or technique that would make all readers care more or less about what's happening in the story. There's general advice out there that's useful, such as the whole 'start as close to the end as possible' or 'kill your darlings', but when it comes down to it, it's generally going to be a shot in the dark. Badly written and poorly plotted novels get published and become popular all the time, from amateur novelists nonetheless. And unless you posted serialized fiction or doing booktok hijinks to drum up interest by posting excerpts, it's not really possible to get a grasp on exactly what the audience reaction would be.

Basically, it's the kinda situation where it's like: "Yeah, just write what you want, for something you're passionate about, and the audience will naturally come."

That being said, the latter half of that statement could be considered. Narrow who you want your audience to be, figure out what they're into, and then adjust your writing and plotting to align with that audience. Could be adjustments like "litRPG people like seeing game systems embedded into writing, so I'll generate numbers to go alongside the magic system" or "isekai people generally enjoy the sense of escapism and power, so better to keep things breezy and not maintain infinite suffering cycles". Of course, the further you are from your own audience, the more artificial or corporate your attempts at appealing to them would become, which is why genre writing kinda just pops up from people who're into that stuff to begin with...so once again, "something you're passionate about".

Man, what the fuck was even the point of writing all that?

Anyways, don't get caught up in the whole "my story doesn't have themes" trap. Don't overthink in terms of there needing to be a strong message either, because what you think is 'cool' would end up forming a message either way (which would be very telling as to who you are as a person, for better or worse). On some occasions, people have written stories with a strong, intentional message, but those people are writing those stories to get the message out, not to necessarily grab a reader.

In any case, I'd recommend self-publishing on whatever site you're interested in. Off the top of my head, there's Wattpad/WebNovel, RoyalRoad, Honeyfeed, etc. Toss your writing out into chunks; you'll get readers. Some of them might even comment, whether positive or negative. It'd be a real response though. Writing's an inherently lonely activity (which is why we're RPing instead), so stuff like that might help. I used to self-publish on Wattpad myself, and even if I never ended up finishing that story, the comments I got sustained me in a way that just writing cool things didn't.

Kinda like different types of nourishment, perhaps.