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Talin Masterpost

Prologue

Part One/ Part Two

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plaguedocboi

Im weighing in on the discourse. We need to start putting sea monsters on maps again.

Talin Chapter 3 Part 2

Isodore practically screamed for Lenard as she ran at breakneck speed from Talin’s office, as fast as her legs would allow her to go. The circlet could be anywhere in the city, and they only had a few hours to search.

Barreling down the stairs and almost knocking Lenard over, she hurriedly explained the events of the last few minutes. Lenard nodded, instantly rushing after her into the hall. Skirting the edge of the tent, and avoiding the miscellaneous chairs and lounges scattered about, they hurdled through the front door and into the street. Onlookers gave them odd, lingering looks as they continued their leisurely strolls.

The day was much darker and more muggy than Isodore had realized while in Talin’s office, rain began to drip onto both of their heads. Little splashes of water hitting all over their hands and faces.

Lenard climbed up the drainpipe of one of the nearby stately buildings. “A better vantage point” He had told her. Isodore followed him, cautiously testing her weight on the metal.

After clambering up the treacherous pipe the duo finally reached the roof of the third floor, and Isodore could look over the city.

“It would be so much easier to search if we just-” Isodore was suddenly- and rather rudely- interrupted by the whooshing sound of an air vehicle.

A little cart to be precise.

Waving its little wings like a dog wagging its tail, the little wood and magic contraption knocked Lenard flat on his back. He rubbed the back of his head.

Isodore experienced a strong wave of deja vu.

“I must not have secured the shed I put you in, buddy!”

“Is it really him?” She asked, not believing their luck.

“It is- the little cart’s been following me around since your exam season started.” he said, affectionately patting the cart on its front. It stretched out and vibrated.

Isodore took a wild guess: it lost track of Lenard in the sky garden, and flew to Swanhollow as quickly as its little wings could carry it as soon as it sensed Lenard back nearby.

She stroked one of its metal wings, detailed and lifelike things resembling those of a bird which were unlike that of the Airtrains, which had wings closer to a bat.

Moment of gratitude over, Isodore jumped into the little seat of the cart, leaving Lenard to sit on the leftover space, dangling his legs over the rim of the cart.

“A circlet…” She muttered, faced for the first time with the prospect of how huge the city truly was. The trading port to the west held many luxurious items, silks and satins, gemstones, works of art. They flew discreetly over the massive port.

Giant galleons were lined up in a row, some with the same bat wings she had come to expect, and some true seafaring ships, they ducked a little lower at Lenard’s idea to check the carvings on the front of the ships for any hint of an inlaid circlet. No luck.

It was almost an hour of surveying the port before Isodore directed them back toward the city proper.

Lenard strained his eyes at the twisting rows of near-identical houses. Inside the more residential areas, the city had a set of statues, hard stone commemorating the kings and queens of their country, Siregan.

The Sireganian monarchs were placed in chronological order, surrounded by tiered neighborhoods like a statue placed in the center of an arena. Each step holding a house. From a distance it seemed as if hundreds of years of history were lined up like beads on a string.

Catching a highly unusual- at least compared with all the other statues- glimpse of delicate bronze about one of the heads,

Isodore brought the cart to an almost-but-not-quite crash landing at the roof near the elbow of one of the oldest statues.

She patted it as she hopped off, “We’ve gotta work on these landings, buddy.”

Lenard looked to her, the beginning of a question in his eyes.

“It’s King Julius, third star of the empire, and known occasionally as the remaker. He is the one who decreed most of the port cities to be built on this coast.”

She could prattle on and on about King Julius’s reign and his impacts on architecture and trade and how he was poisoned by his second cousin, (so said second cousin could become the seventh monarch of the empire, the short lived Queen Rhea, who was in fact murdered by her cousin…)

All of these things were still fresh in her mind from sitting for her last exam at the academy a mere two days ago.

Lenard, looking only mildly interested in the history, nodded toward the statue.

“How are we possibly going to be able to remove that?”

Isodore nodded in agreement. To “deface” or “defile” a royal statue could mean jail time, or even death in Siregan.

Even though they were disguised with their cuffs, if they were chased down and caught by any of the swarm of civilians mixed with plainclothes guards milling about and under the statue, they would be of no use.

Furthermore, the circlet, like the head of the statue, was massive. Isodore could comfortably stretch out on one of the fingernails occupying the hand, below them. The roofs were much taller here, in order to accommodate more citizens, but they could not even hold a candle to how gigantic the structures were.

“We can’t wait until nighttime either.” Lenard noted.

“We’ll have to have a distraction then.” Isodore responded. “But what?” she mumbled to herself, racking her brain for some semblance of an idea. What could possibly draw all the civilians and guards away from the area?

“I have an idea-” Lenard interrupted Isodore’s frantic train of thought. “A storm, not just any storm, but you could use your illusion magic to make it look like some sort of… tornado?”

He was gaining confidence in his plan now. “Yeah, make the cart invisible, and we attach it to the circlet with some sort of rope, fly upwards, pick you up from wherever you’re hiding to cast the illusion, and we go back to Talin.”

Isodore gave the idea some thought. “Once any of the magic-using guards catch a whiff of illusion coming from the storm, they’ll be after us.”

She hesitated. “And, I think you overestimate what I can do.”

“I don’t know if I'm strong enough to create a believable tornado that somehow won’t inflict any damage at all, and sustain it for as long as we need.”

Lenard grinned. “And what if I told you I only need five minutes?”

Isodore gave him the look.

She sucked in a breath, and looked up. The late afternoon light filtered through the cloudy sky above her and Lenard’s heads, a moment of peace before the storm.

“It’s gonna be risky.”

“Failing is riskier.” Lenard hit back, staring up at the circlet. She watched the light hit his eyes, making them almost glow green from the inside.

“I’ll do it.” He turned to her, his catlike grin spreading across his face, she could read trouble all over him.

“I’ll get the rope if you can go find a spot to start the enchantment.” Lenard said confidently over his shoulder, before plopping down on the cart and flying off to go get some rope. How he planned to acquire this, Isodore knew better than to ask.

Isodore trotted around one or two of the flat roofs they had landed on, searching for some small alcove in which she may begin the illusion. Finally finding a suitable spot, she nestled into a small opening in the corner of an abandoned shed on the roof.

She was momentarily struck by its similarity to what used to be Lenard’s living space; she straightened her back against the hard and slightly damp-from-the-rain wall. Almost as soon as she closed her eyes, she could feel the current flowing through her. ‘

This level of concentration could be hard to maintain.

The clouds, once a light miserly gray, slowly darkened to a bruise-colored purplish blue.

This wound in the sky ripped open and poured rain, a tempest beginning. Isodore did not pay attention to how soaked her tunic and pants were becoming. None of it was real anyways.

She could hear and feel the whole of the rainwater and the clouds above. She sensed the dip in the exposed roofs that created the place for the statue. She felt the little figures moving about under, and running into their houses and shelters. She could sense the object flying through the rain, a boy holding a rope in tow.

She fought herself back from acknowledging his name. To pull this off, she would need absolute detachment and concentration.

She willed a roiling mass of air and puffs of plum colored cloud into a cone, It formed slowly, touching the floor as even the guards, once unfazed by the weather, banged fists on shop and home doors to find a way from the storm.

She could feel the boy attach the rope to the cart he was flying on. A smile flickered across her face and the storm waned, flickering just slightly. That was good.

The boy and the cart were concealed with a low hanging cloud. He flew upwards. Up further and further again, the cart strained against the metal, the cord frayed, but against all odds, the supremely heavy circlet was pulled up into the air. The boy was hooting and hollering now, before a familiar green smoke shrunk the circlet to the size of a human head.

The boy caught the circlet just in time, placing it on his own head as the tornado swirled off, almost reaching the next statue, before fading slowly. The sky continued to rain for some time,before clearing up. By tonight, all the puddles of water and droplets soaking the clothes of the guards and the people would be gone, of course, the real ones would remain.

Her eyes snapped open, looking at the boy, his blurry hand outstretched, face made of a wash of color.

His brown blob of a cart hovered just above the shed in which she sat. Isodore slowly got up, wincing at the unnatural tightness in her joints, and took his hand, sitting sideways on the cart, as she had just a few days ago.

She barely heard Lenard’s instruction, his voice a low buzz, likely an order to the cart to fly them to Talin’s workshop as fast as possible, she barely felt the impossibly fast ride, only the cool, slightly wet metal of the circlet that was forced into her slowly stiffening hands that she held on tight to, tighter than anything else she had ever held.

Getting out of the mischievous wooden cart, and now on the solid tile roof of the building right next to his workshop, Isodore slowly made her way down the drain as best as she could, making her stiffer and stiffer way carefully through the cobblestone, walking through the ornate doors, too consumed with her feeling of stiffness to run.

She tottered up the stairs, Lenard behind her, bracing her the whole way to the twenty fifth floor.

Lenard banged on the door, the sound faint as Isodore lost yet more of her sight, grey darkening the edges of her vision.

As swiftly as her body could carry her, she walked up to Talin, still sitting at his desk. He was a blur, hunched over and clearly still tired from the visitors and requests and commissions of the day. He nodded, as she stretched out her arm slowly to his face, he pulled the circlet free, roughly,from her locked hand. He turned and said something to Lenard she couldn't hear, their voices were as hard to decipher as attempting to string together words in from the incoherent babbling of a brook.

She turned, her slowly locking knees were stiffening even more now, she was like a walking corpse, dead in the throes of rigor mortis.

Smiling faintly at the thought, she felt Lenard pick her up and throw her over his back like a sack of potatoes.

Fading in and out of consciousness as Lenard climbed the stairs, Isodore felt a cold sweat run down her spine. The air was too hot. Her sweat by contrast was like icy water carving a raging path down her spine.

In a rare moment of lucidity, she felt her immobile body be dropped rather unceremoniously on something soft, and she sensed someone leaving the room in her peripheral vision.

She stared up at the ceiling before closing her eyes when the burning began.

It was like a terrible fire destroying her body. Scorching her skin coal black, then turning her muscles and even her bones to soft, dry, ash. She swore she could feel the blood in her veins simmer, then boil, too-large bubbles of heat forcing their way though each vein and artery as her heart continued pumping blood through her body at a speed that could outpace a hummingbird’s wings .

Her breathing was irregular, breaths that could swallow all the air in the room mixed with quick shallow gasps. Her lungs burned at the exertion.

Isodore attempted to scream, to let out some indication of the pain she was in, but her jaw was locked shut, teeth gritting involuntarily.

She still spiraled in and out of consciousness at the blistering heat, realized with some abject horror that she could not even shed a tear, or open her fingers, short nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm hard enough to draw blood to raise her hand.

She felt the sweat’s icy sensation return, this time freezing what was left of her surely mottled and scarred flesh, and burning it again, tracing her bare veins and muscles with cold, sharp claws.

Isodore subconsciously decided that this was worse than the fire, it was another kind of burn, slow and endlessly calculating where to strike next in order to put her in as much physical pain as possible..

Isodore thought glumly about her corpse (or what was left of it after this) rotting in some random room at Talin’s Swanhollow workplace. Maybe it would even turn a sickly greenish brown- her addled mind was sure Talin would be pleased at the color somewhat matching his smoke.

Her body spasmed, and it was at least a half-hour before Isodore noticed she had regained some strength in her back and arms. Sitting up haltingly, as she was still being wracked with bouts of shakiness, she leaned against the edge of the lounge she had reclined on.

In shock that her body seemed intact after earlier events, with the notable exception of some dried blood on her (now-relaxed) hands, came a small wound that would have to be bandaged, though it seemed to have already healed..

Feeling her mouth begin to water at the edges, she let out a strangled retching sound over the side of the chair, face now pointed toward the marble floor, the sudden movement and downturn of her heavy head had her seeing black stars shoot and dance across her field of vision, and had her choking slightly on the mix of blood (liquid and thick-textured) as well as the breakfast chunks she let drop out of her opened mouth.

This happened in bursts for about another torturous hour, she thought of calling for help, but her throat was too weak for her to let out anything louder than a barely-audible rasp. She stared down at the once snowy white marble, now discolored by congealed blood.

Isodore sat up and leaned her head against the plush side of the chair, not caring that some of the residue from her recent attack left a tiny trail on it.

Breathing evenly for the first time in who knows how long, she finally felt strong enough to attempt to stand.

Rising to her feet with shaky ankles and knees, she almost collapsed (at least twice) while making her way to the wood door.

It, unlike the other doors she had seen in Talin’s workshop, was plain and free of the embedded crystals that she had come to expect from a place Talin inhabited.

Starting onto the grand balcony outside her door, she realized it was late at night. So late in fact, that it had likely crossed the bridge into very early morning.

The moon, in all of its scarred and poxy too-close-to-earth glory hung above the skylight, like Talin’s own personal sun. The balconies wrapped around the column-like building descended into oblivion, giving her a sense of lightheaded, dizzy vertigo, as she noticed how incredibly high up she was.

The tent (of what she could see far down) was neatly folded, as had partially been the case yesterday morning. Isodore noticed how cold she was, her clothes soaked with sweat, blood, drool, and some vomit.

She smelled awful. Moving to the next open door she could find, she discovered a bucket of sudsy water and a sponge.

After washing herself off to the best of her ability, and changing into what clothes she could only assume were set out for her, she trotted unsteadily toward the soft white bed located in the center of the next room. She crawled into the cloud-like mass of pillows and blankets located just in front of a window overlooking Swanhollow.

Somehow still tired and yet unable to rest properly, Isodore stared off into the gleaming golden lights no doubt emanating from some party or another, until it all faded again, and she drifted off into a deep dreamless sleep.

Read on AO3 here!

Find the full list of chapters and catch up with Talin here!

#greer dinhr #fiction #writing #authors of tumblr #novel writing #books and reading #book writing #creative writing #writeblr #writers and poets #original novel #original fiction

Talin Chapter 3 part 1

The morning light came through the curtainless windows, bright and harsh against Isodore’s eyelids.

Quickly sliding to a seated position, she checked the room, noting Lenard still sleeping in the bed just a couple paces from her.

She stood at last, feet hitting the wooden floor. She massaged her eyes in gentle circles, the resulting clouds of bright and muted colors faded across her eyesight as she made her way into the kitchen.

Rummaging around for yet another apple, she heard the door click. Before even turning around she knew who it was.

“Good to see at least my apprentice is awake.”

Talin noted, his tone approving. He waved her away from the kitchen- “We will have breakfast in Swanhollow- that is if you can get Lenard out of bed.”

Isodore rushed to her friend’s side, he was already beginning to wake due to the voices echoing in the previously still room. Shaking him by the shoulder, he groaned. Finally sitting up and glancing at Talin, he jumped to his feet.

“I’ll see the both of you in the stairwell. In the meantime, there is a shack outside where you both can take turns changing your clothes.”

Talin nodded a goodbye for now, and left without another word. Lenard looked like he was about to ask where exactly the clothes were, before the two sets of identical clothes appeared on the chairs in a swirl of emerald mist.

Isodore picked up hers and rushed out of the wooden door, placing her finger to the keyhole in the center as Talin had. Her golden wire cuff slid into and unlocked it before returning to her arm.

She raced through the garden’s twists and bends and toward the shack at the other end of the area planted with all manned of odd Flora.

She could feel Lenard loping after her at a high speed. It was just a hundred or so paces to reach the edge of the garden and the solid wood shed. She crashed through the door, flinging herself to the shaded inside.

She chortled smugly at Lenard, Flinging the door closed with a Slam!

He swore, having arrived just a second too late.

She changed into her uniform, a short sleeved green tunic and plain black breeches, with deep pockets. Practical, and not much else. Serving Lenard with another smug smile, she trotted back through the garden over to the place where the three had entered the garden just yesterday.

She unlocked the door and jogged down the stairs two at a time. As expected, the arch downstairs had a deep green mist covering it. After waiting for a couple more minutes for Lenard, she gave up and forged through the swirls obstructing her view, now standing in the atrium of the grand room.

The inside looked like a circus to her, the multicolored pavilion tent brushing against the twisting balconies of gold and marble.

Talin was standing to the side of the tent, holding onto the edge closest to him, his green mist swirling around the edges near the top, and securing them to the sides of the balconies above so that they may cover about half of the levels in the main room. He gestured Isodore over, and insisted she finish the setup, in the way he had done earlier.

Talin briskly walked off to continue whatever else he had to do to prepare for the morning. Isodore took in a deep breath and activated her magic as she touched the edge of the fabric.

The current pulsed through every limb of her body. She could feel the entirety of it like a third limb. Each end sparked with energy.

Her magic.

She raised the top edges of the tent and secured them to the side of the twentieth balcony, the one she could feel the other ends of the top were attached to.

The rest of the fabric insulated the balconies leading up to the now-obscured skylight at the top of the building.

“Good work- now I need your help with this.” Talin stepped under the tent, Isodore followed him with a little jump in each step, rubbing her arm.

Talin gestured to a silver ladder on the hard marble floor. Isodore nodded at him, and Talin left. As Isodore reactivated her energy, rusty brown mist flowed from her outstretched palms like snakes, they grabbed the top of the ladder and dragged it to the iron circlet that kept the top of the circus tent in place.

It is much easier to manipulate metal than fabric. Conducts easier.

“Guess they were right.” She muttered.

Isodore heard some chattering on the outside, and shook out her arm to lift the canopy and exit. As suspected, Lenard and Talin were speaking.

Talin was the one talking primarily, and he handed Lenard a broom. Isodore raised her eyebrows as her friend gave her a glum look.

As he passed her, he muttered “Sweeping the tile.” Isodore nodded as he left to go under the tent.

Talin approached her. In his presence, Isodore stood a little straighter.

Time to prepare for another task. Instead of the expected laundry list of items to do, Talin mentioned something about breakfast being on floor 23, and that Lenard was to join her after he completed his chores.

Isodore thanked him and started up the spiral marble stairs that wrapped around the circular building. Upon reaching the twentieth floor, she was ready to collapse. She noted the room, located on a balcony just a level or two above the tent.

That is, Isodore felt exhausted until she saw the massive array of food balanced on the table, all kinds of pastries, eggs, fruit, anything that would bring the word breakfast to mind. Food has a certain way of tasting better when you’re tired.

She rushed to the table, taking a seat at one of the four wooden chairs, picking the one with her back to the balcony looking over the tent. She quickly served herself with as many fruits as she could gather (some she didn’t even recognize) pastries that were iced and powdered and baked, and used the silver pitcher to serve herself a large glass of iced water.

Isodore was starving. She hadn’t had much to eat since a few nibbles of meat skewers at the night market, before their escape to the catacombs. She waved away the thought and ate.

She ate until she was full to bursting- even eating fast, it was about twenty five minutes ‘till Lenard appeared.

Isodore was slouched over the table, a food coma setting in when she heard the slow, tired steps. Lenard’s.

He looked up, once reaching the balcony. His eyes set on the massive table, heavily laden with all sorts of food. Isodore let out a snicker at the exact same expression of pure hunger on his face that Isodore had when she first encountered the room.

He rushed forward, to the chair across from Isodore. He gave her an invigrated greeting, helping himself to all the food he could grasp. Isodore watched in amusement from her food-induced slouch. Before she could even ask him, she started up talking in between bites.

“I swept the floor- did you know how much dust and debris there was under there by the way? He had me sweep it three times over because there was some microscopic speck of dirt I couldn't tell was there. Said something about discipline.” he humphed.

“I know what discipline is.”

He continued to speak in this manner for some time. Isodore maintained her bemused smile.

She guessed it was hard for anyone to get a speck of effort from Lenard on something he did not want to do. Even Talin himself.

She snapped back into reality with another mention of talin from Lenard “He’s in his workshop on the twenty-fifth level, told me to tell you to meet him up there for your first instructions once you’re done.”

Isodore leapt out of her chair like a rabbit, thanking Lenard who was almost too occupied stuffing his face to wave over his shoulder. Her legs still ached at the prospect at the trudge up four more levels. She took a few steps, before deciding to bound up the stairs two at a time. A decision she dearly regretted once she got to the top.

Adrenaline rushed through her, as well as excitement at the prospect of her first lesson as an apprentice. The thoughts of this coloring her world in bright hues as she reached the top of the stairs, what felt to her impatient mind like years later.

She stood, still slightly unsteady on her legs, shaky like a baby horse standing for the first time. She stared awkwardly at the door in front of her.

It was massive and naked of old brown oak and, as she had come to expect, many gemstones. The door was different from the one leading to the exit on his sky garden, or even the one in the house, as this had many intricate carvings and stones set into the front. They moved and danced, playing out different scenes, a woman dancing with two human sized turquoise eyes, even a tiger and a lion fighting. The gemstones moved to make up their bodies as they sunk their teeth into each other exploding in a shower of rubies to represent blood.

Isodore was mesmerised by the sight, drifting off into the worlds of stories the door held, before hearing a deep voice, unmistakably Talin’s.

“Come in Isodore.” He sounded… tired.

Pushing the door slightly with her hands, she walked in. Timid.

This was the very workshop where the machines powered by magic were pioneered. The place where the technology that lifted her world from its barbarous past was created.

Though now romanticised, the time of kings and castles and wars was gone like sunlight into the dusk. It was snuffed out like a candle, sacrificed to the altar of advancement.

Isodore for one, was not the type to glorify that time. A world without the advancements of proper magically lit lanterns, or even the airtrains she rode on every day made her glad for the events of the last century or so. For what Talin had done.

Inside was a vast room, covered with many machines and parts, all of it arranged in what looked like carved bookshelves lit with the light from a massive window, varied glass panes separated with moving wire, they shaped themselves into different geometric patterns, and Isodore was entranced.

She hardly noticed Talin at first, as he sat at his desk, surrounded with pieces of metal. Around him models of all sorts of inventions.

Her eyes slowly turned to him after some time, noting the metal curios, machines of which she had seen before, and some she could not recognize crowding the area.

He gestured for her to sit at a metal chair formed of all sorts of junk pieces assembled itself in front of his desk.

“You like my study?” Isodore nodded eagerly, still feasting her hungry eyes on the many items of his craft around her. He was exhausted, worn-looking. She could see that plain as day.

His shoulders hunched over, even the snippet of his eyes she could glimpse though the holes in his mask were bright red from each end, little lashes and streaks of blood red spreading toward his black iris.

“You must understand.” He began, uncomfortably-

“I have never had an apprentice before, and so many things about my work and my life are kept secret.” He was thoughtful “Of course for good reason. When you are Talin, you will have many enemies as well.”

Isodore, who did not quite know how to respond to his advice, settled for a simple nod.

He put his hands to where his temples would be under his mask, and leaned back.

Isodore fiddled with her fingers in her lap.

“I have to know I can trust you- the two of you.” Isodore gulped, she had a sneaking suspicion this would happen. She sat up straighter, words on her tongue forming with intent to alleviate his concerns.

He interrupted her thought- “Don’t.”

“If you are to be my apprentice, I need you to be able to prove you can do what is required of you to become Talin.”

Isodore felt like she had just fallen down, the breath knocked out of her chest, no air in her lungs.

“My role is one of great importance, and it is an incredibly fraught political position. The stress is not a burden to be borne by just anyone- You, in the future may be the guardian of our country and its magic.”

He took a deep breath “That is- if you can complete this task for me.”

Isodore was instantly eager to complete the task- any task even, that he would choose to give her. “What is it?” she responded almost immediately, anticipation building in her.

“I have planted a bronze circlet somewhere in Swanhollow. It is enchanted with an illusion making it explode at dusk, in the same way the lights in the catacombs did. I need you and Lenard to locate it and disable the enchantment. Bring it back to me before midnight, and you two will secure your places.”

“If not, I return you two to Graywick, and whatever happens to the both of you is no longer my concern.”

Read on AO3 here! Find the full list of chapters and catch up with Talin here!

#greer dinhr #fiction #writing #authors of tumblr #novel writing #books and reading #book writing #creative writing #writeblr #writers and poets #original novel #original fiction

Talin Chapter 2 part 2

The entrance behind him shifted, deep green smoke no longer obscuring the archway entrance, stone of the catacombs bending into something a bit more visibly man-made, smooth and hewn. A stone staircase able to be seen just beyond Talin..

“Before you enter…” He plucked two wires from his mask, their delicate reflections gleaming in the light of the fire. He dropped them to the floor and they traveled like golden snakes to where Lenard and Isodore were, each wire diverging, slithering to Lenard’s left hand and Isodore’s bandaged right. It wrapped about both of their arms, bicep to forearm, like a vine about a column.

The sharp pain, once tempered by adrenaline in Isodore’s forearm abated, as the bandages shed to reveal soft, new skin, wound about by the golden wire.

Talin, by this point, had already exited the room and quickly up the cramped stone staircase toward whatever lay in wait above them. Lenard paused for a moment, examining Isodore’s arm from a short distance, seeming satisfied with the result, he stepped cautiously onto the stairs, trotting determinedly upwards.

Isodore let out a long breath. She stared at the entranceway, before stepping confidently toward the stairs. As soon as she stepped past the arch, it solidified behind her, smoke fading to smooth stone. Isodore trotted up the twisting stairs, up toward a brown door, old carved wood reinforced with little gemstones, matching the multicolored gems set into the ceiling, providing soft light. Shuddering, she grasped the surprisingly warm iron handle and pulled it open.

The first thing she saw was an expanse of green. It was a rather unremarkable garden, akin to one that would be seen in some rural houses to the south of Graywick. It was daytime here, sun sparkling off of the bronze wire dividing the clear glass that made up the greenhouse. The odd thing, one that took Isodore a far bit of time to truly process, was they were flying. Indeed, some clouds carpeting the far-away-earth could be seen if you were to strain your eyes and look toward whatever continent they were flying above.

Isodore rubbed her eyes, glancing about, to the right, a small house positioned at the corner of the sky garden (as Isodore had begun to call it in her head) , painted a sweet seafoam green. It was of the older style, solid wood and unpainted brick, with only two windows peeking out of the one-story space it occupied, seeming almost like a pair of eyes looking toward where she stood.

She, after looking sharply to her left, spotted two figures, just fifty or so paces away from where she stood, largely obscured by many of the jumbled mix of plants, some tall, some short, a few blooming though most were not.

Lenard and Talin.

She trotted toward them, pace increasing as she neared the sun-drenched alcove in the garden where Talin stood, and Lenard kneeled over head in the nearest patch of vegetation, his shock of red hair tangling slightly with a few nearby plants, examining the leaves of some canary yellow, fuzzy shrub.

Their conversation, stilted and awkward, reached her ears. The voices pausing suddenly as her steps, unusually loud against the packed dirt road reached theirs, Lenard shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off his pants, still dusty from the cave, now with the addition of grass stains randomly coloring all of his attire.

He gave her an uncertain smile, mouth twitching up at the corners as if she had told some not-quite-amusing joke on a hot summer’s afternoon that would fade in both of their minds, likely to be forgotten by the day’s end.

Talin, behind him, nodded to her in greeting. “Lenard and I were just discussing the types of plants I cultivate in my flying menagerie.” Isodore nodded in return, offering Lenard a similar half smile.

Lenard cleared his throat, eyes lighting up just a touch as he spoke. “It’s incredible how many plants from so many different areas of the world he can grow together.” Talin looked to the side. “Each plant is enchanted to grow as if in perfect conditions, unaffected by the others.”

Isodore subtly took a ginger step away from the veritable wall of greenery. Even Lenard flinched slightly. Talin huffed. “There is nothing you two should worry about while here.” Isodore swallowed- suddenly aware of how high up they were. She took in a breath to ask a couple questions that were… pressing to say the least. “Not now.” Talin said, his voice nipping the not-yet-formed question in the bud.

Talin checked his watch, as he looked down, a piece of hair swung over his shoulder. Jerking his head up suddenly, he motioned for them to follow. Trotting down the dirt path, back to the little house Isodore had stood in front of earlier. Talin placed his hand to the wood of the door, looking almost like a mouth between two eyes. A wire from his mask traveled down his neck, slithering its way to the wrist and tip of the finger, before smoothly fitting into the keyhole in the center of the door. A soft clicking sound, as the door creaked open on its own.

Passing through, and gesturing to Lenard and Isodore to do the same, they came upon a rather humble house. The floor was dark, smooth ringed wood, following Talin’s lead, they removed their shoes and dropped them to the ground near the entrance. Now padding along, the modest interior was a jolting distinction from the sumptuous garden, or even the older, yet still aristocratic facade of the house.

Bare walls made of sturdy white painted brick, a bed, pushed against the corner, bedframe of wood and a grey blanket. Even the windows looking out into the luxurious garden were bare and without curtains. Talin nodded toward a pair of simple wooden chairs near an unoccupied wall of the room.

Isodore and Lenard each took a seat. Facing Talin, standing by the wall. Talin began his speech as soon as the both of them had sat down. “From today on, you” he said turning to Isodore. “You are my apprentice. And you (spinning on his heel towards Lenard) are my apprentice’s aide” He nodded toward each of their golden arm cuffs. “Those are never to be taken off for any reason. I have enchanted them so your identities may be hidden. I can as well contact you through them.”

Isodore studied her arm cuff a bit closer, eyes narrowed in concentration. .Talin continued on, “Neither of you are to ever disclose what has happened in regards to the catacombs, or what I fear you may now know.” Lenard raised his hand like a child about to ask a question. Talin cut him off.

“There are some things the two of you are not to know at present.” Lenard slowly dropped his hand. “And things you must never speak of publicly. You are to never hint at or clue anyone into the facts of your identity. Or the concealment of what the public must only know as planned explosions from some unknown vagrant.”

Isodore glanced at Lenard. A cover up.

“You must never make contact with anyone from your old life- and yes, Lenard, that includes your mother, the woman known as Leana.”

Lenard looked toward the ground, his growing guilt plain as day on his face. “If it somehow escapes these grounds that has transpired in the past and continues to transpire even today, chaos will ensue.” Talin shifted on his feet,right hand toying with the edge of his mask while he thought for a couple seconds of what precisely to tell them. “Most of the infrastructure in our empire has been enchanted by myself.”

He let out an agitated sigh at the thought, squaring his shoulders and beginning his walk out of the house toward the garden. “The two of you begin tomorrow- sleep here tonight.”

As he fed the little gold wire into the lock in the middle of the door, the wooden floor of the house began to shift back and forth like waves of thick sticky mollases encroaching on the shore and being continually driven back. Out of the liquid floor rose a second bed, the sludge-textured wood melting and shifting before drying suddenly.

Wood crumbled and fell off the bed-shaped shell. Fluid, yet the material seemed dry as sand. And once reaching the floor, it molded exactly back to the pattern of wood it once was.

Neither of them noticed the lock receding into the door.

Testing the floor gingerly, Lenard motioned for Isodore to wait. He crept over the wood, almost completely silent aside from his shallow breaths. After confirming that the area was, in fact, safe. He nodded toward Isodore.

She also took her time traversing the small area. Sitting on the rightmost bed, hand splaying out on the plain gray blanket, which was thick and well made under her fingers.

‘Lenard?” Isodore said quietly, He looked up from his respective perch on the edge of his bed.

“Talin’s enchanted items are dying.” He nodded, "The sudden lack of magic after being enchanted for so many years must be what’s causing them to- you know…” Isoodre massaged her temples.

“I guess it makes sense- blood magic has never been used the way Talin pioneered it- I guess we just don’t know the limits.”

Lenard leaned against the plain wooden headboard of his bed. The sharp edge of the immaculately cut wood digging into the small of his back. He lifted off of it and laid down properly. The silence in the room boomed louder than thunder. Isodore bit her lip. Shoulders tensed slightly as she gazed off to the side. Anywhere but Lenard.

“I’m sorry about Mrs. Leana-”

“There’s nothing either of us can do now.” He muttered, almost the sound so quiet it was almost imperceptible.

“She thinks we’re dead.” He continued- “And that’s all she’s ever going to know. Not like either of us ever really had a choice in the matter” He looked sharply toward the door and let out a small sigh.

The warm gold of spun sunset dripped through the window, like a water clock, each second of silence slipping away into oblivion, never to be returned. Lenard was up and about, rummaging through some small drawers in the makeshift kitchen on one end of the room. light peeking through the other one of the two small windows placed to the front. He pulled a reddish- yellow apple from a cupboard and tossed it to her. Frozen in the space where they were speaking last, Isodore did not notice the incoming projectile. It smacked her right in the nose, after a long, frozen pause, a gush of blood came out.

Isodore grinned. For the life of her she didn’t know why but her shoulders began to shake and chest began to heave with laughter. Lenard was laughing too, little giggles bubbling up into a full-blown belly laugh.

The duo continued to laugh, now almost in a frenzy. Lenard sank to his knees, laughter overtaking him. It petered out into nothingness quickly afterward.

Isodore took the apple from the ground, wiping blood from her face for the second time that day. She joined Lenard in the small kitchen and pulled out a canteen of water from behind a pot.

Splashing some on her hands she scrubbed at her skin. Flicking some cool water at Lenard, the two started up laughing again, this time petering out into a more amicable silence.

Taking a bite of the apple, Isodore looked down to where Lenard laid on the floor, spread out like a cat taking a nap in the sunshine. The quickly fading daylight illuminated his stained clothes and bright hair. She leaned her back against the counter, elbows propped up on the smooth wood. Toying with the edge of her cuff she asked him.

“Lenard?” she said haltingly.

“What’s going to happen to us?” He looked toward the simple ceiling-

“In what respect?” Isodore took a deep breath.

“We’re both going to be working under Talin. We’re not nobodies anymore- if something goes wrong again and it’s traced back to him… we could be punished as well.”

“I wouldn't worry about it too much. Talin must have kept this all under wraps- besides he has a lot of power- and I'm not talking about magic.” Lenard turned over to his side, facing towards Isodore, and treating her with his signature catlike grin.

“Imagine all the things we will see- the people we’ll meet?”

“We’ve left Graywick behind us, definitely.” He gave Isodore a quizzical look at her remark-

“I can’t believe you're unhappy about this- you’re finally an apprentice! And, bonus: we get to finally leave that blasted city.” He rolled onto his back once more, stretching out.

“I know, I know. It's just a little bittersweet.” Isodore stared blankly at the wall.

“I mean- we grew up there, and now we may never see it again? Isn’t that crazy?”

“I suppose.” Lenard conceded.

Isodore’s eyes were suddenly heavy- as if someone had attached two anchors to her eyelids. She trotted across the room toward her bed, and flopped on top of it, without even getting under the covers. Her eyes shut, and without another word, she sank into darkness.

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Talin Chapter 2 Part 1

The sounds of clinking glasses, chatter, and sellers hawking their wares grew as the two approached the night market. Floating glass lanterns, held aloft with magic lit the streets with a warm golden glow. It felt safe here somehow.

The area smelled of spices, and always a medley of things cooking- (likely fake) gold and silver-looking metal shone from the edges of tents. The jewels set in them glinted, some premium pieces even had a hint of magic emanating from them.

As they navigated the crowds, weaving through the tightly packed throng, Isodore laughed. She felt finally free and light as a bird, not noticing Lenard’s shaky hands.

The duo walked down the semi-reflective cobblestone streets. Isodore trotted up to a stall to buy meat skewers. The vendor, a middle aged woman, some slight greys beginning to grow in her hair nodded, dropping the seven heavy silver hectis Isodore had given to her in her simple pocket.

After roughly shoving the food to Isodore, she turned around, her voice gruff, but proud. “You finished the academy?” Isodore nodded slightly. “Good.” As Isodore walked away, she noticed there were a few extra skewers than she had ordered.

Meeting back up with Lenard, he motioned her over with a finger. Grinning his wicked grin, his heart was pounding with adrenaline. He seemed exhilarated in that moment, golden light veiling what was visible of his lanky frame, (hidden under what Isodore thought was the bulkiest jacket she had ever seen. a rather conspicuous disguise looking like a supremely ugly curtain). However, trouble was to come.

A cobblestone road is rarely completely even, and this was certainly the case for Graywick's old marketplace. Lenard had just one misstep, a boot hitting a slightly raised stone and he (as well as his absurdly large jacket) tumbled to the cold rocky ground in slow-motion.

Out from his jacket spilled all manner of items, multicolored purses, about 30 brass pocket watches, cravats in every conceivable color and pattern. Isodore bit her lip to keep from laughing, as she would any other time, but this was certainly not any other time.

This was the night market.

As is by magic, vendors, onlookers, and armed goons with long, curved, gleaming swords materialized from thin air, as Lenard tried desperately to shove his ill gotten gains back into the jacket’s numerous pockets.

Isodore tensed, ready to flee.

The mob continued to gather, and Isodore made a snap decision. She flung Lenard’s jacket from him, casting all its heavy weight to the cobblestoned ground, and, grabbing him by the ear, she took off running. They both knew where to go, the mob, only momentarily surprised, rushing behind them like a tsunami made entirely of people. This swirling mass pursued them down each lane, as they tore through the streets of the market. Sharp turn left near the old temple, right toward where the fish market would normally be, and left again toward their final destination, a (simple-seeming) manhole at the edge of the street.

Having lost them, for a few minutes at least, Isodore let out a sigh of relief before wiping the salty sweat from her face, falling to her knees, she laughed. Before the exhaustion and adrenaline wore off, and she levelled a city-destroying glare at Lenard. If only looks could kill.

He, however, was busy picking at the manhole cover’s lock. Isodore’s admonition to “move it along” was on the tip of her tongue when he finally popped it open. She shoved past him, narrowing her eyes.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think this was your first time down in the catacombs.”

She muttered, beginning her descent down the manhole.

“Didn’t see any attempts to help from you.”

He retorted under his breath, following her into the darkness.

Once her boot-clad feet hit the ground, Isodore moved out of the way, before rummaging through her pockets to pull out a match. Swiftly lighting it on the rough edge of the box, she held in her hands, a little beacon of light and warmth.

Lenard stumbled a bit closer, still stiff from carrying the products of his theft on his back and the frantic flight to the catacombs not five minutes earlier. Isodore snatched the match away from him, giving him a spiteful look.

“Oh nope nope nope nope. Not this time- You were the one who got us in trouble.”

Lenard bit his lip behind her, and slid down the wall he was leaning against a few seconds prior.

They both shivered in the drafty air of the catacombs.

Clenching her jaw, Isodore marched forward, through the little sidewalk of slippery stone slabs on either side of the small river of sewage flowing past them. Wrinkling her nose at the smell, she bit her lip to keep from gagging. Lenard was having a similarly hard time, to put it lightly. His hands traced a little bone that had fallen off of one of the earlier patterns, a child’s metacarpal to be exact.

“We haven't been down here in a while.” he noted after a few minutes of walking. He was hunched over slightly, hiding his face from some nonexistent passerby. Isodore nodded, keeping her little match firmly in front of her.

After a couple tense moments of silence, Isodore finally snapped. “What were you thinking?” She clenched her fist, stubby nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm. Spinning around so quickly it might have given her whiplash, she held her match aloft, like a little firefly in the dark, smelly tunnel. It went out, and Lenard lit another.

“Lenard.”

“Isodore.” He responded, giving her an equally imperious look.

Isodore sighed, turning around. “I just can't comprehend why you do this…”

Lenard snorted. “Like you would understand.”

Isodore spun around.

“You must be right about that, because I don’t. I don’t understand how you put yourself and others in danger for what? A thrill? A few extra coins in your purse?”

Isodore was angry, angrier than she’d been in a while.

Lenard let out a slow, controlled breath and blinked a couple times, visibly deflating, his mask dropping. But Isodore’s tirade continued.

“What could have happened to Mrs. Leana if you were arrested? She could have had to bail you out- do you not think?”

Lenard looked away, and Isodore sighed, already regretting the harshness of her words, but not their truth.

She blew out her match as they approached the main tunnels of the catacombs. The bone covered walls were warm and wet with condensation, lit with a sickly green set of gemstones, placed into the wall long ago, as one of the first feats completed by none other than Talin himself.

Talin.

Isodore shook her head, desperate to get all thoughts of the night, and what it could mean for her future out of her head. The slabs of stone under her boots gradually became more and more worn as they walked along better lit and maintained sections of the catacombs.

The duo stopped in front of a wall made entirely of femurs. One, however, was an odd color. You wouldn't notice it if you were an inspector simply walking past, but these two were not simply walking past.

Isodore grabbed onto the hard edge of the bone, and yanked it out of the wall, the force sending her stumbling back a few paces toward the endlessly flowing river of sewage and rot.

Balancing herself, she took the end of the not-bone, fit it into the wall’s hidden groove, once obscured and twisted it as one would a key. A metal clanking sound rang out.

The sickly green gemstones on the wall transformed swiftly to a bright emerald color, the natural hue so at odds with their surroundings, destruction and waste so potently man-made you would almost vomit at the sight.

Isodore and Lenard locked eyes.

This had certainly never happened before.

It grew brighter, bright as making eye contact with the sun on an oppressively hot summer day, and then, just as Isodore shielded her face, and reached out to grab Lenard by the arm to run-

Boom.

A thunderous sound like a bolt of lightning struck Isodore. She could hear and feel it everywhere, from her teeth to the soles of her feet. The walls vibrated relentlessly, raining crumbles of stone everywhere, a hail of rock. An unusually large one struck her slantways, its jagged edge making a gash in the forearm covering her face.

The heated blood rushed onto her, it was in her eyes-

At the same time, Isodore could feel the wall in front of them shift backwards, and a little cave forming. Isodore rushed into the crevice, dragging Lenard with her.

He stumbled into the cave, almost tripping in his haste just as the exit quickly filled with grey, infallible rock.

They were now trapped. Stone on all sides, albeit somewhat obscured with the odds and ends of their hideout. Like the stomach of some fossilized monster, it was dark and dry and cool, some little bit of ventilation to them from a set of small holes in the hard, bumpy ceiling.

Isodore cursed, fumbling with the matchbox she ahd swiped from Lenard in the dark, blood still on her face drying and staining her skin. Their saving grace, the hiding spot, had no Talin-made light sources. Luckilyso.

Striking it, the little light was a beacon in their cave. She dropped it into the centerpiece of the room, the small multicolored fire pit. The tinder, piled up and dry from the last time they were there, caught immediately.

Isodore paced around, searching for a canteen of water and a roll of gauze in the jumbled room.

Meanwhile, the fire illuminated a set of mismatched worn wooden chairs and cushions. The walls only partially broken up by folded paper plants and flowers (courtesy of Lenard) and sketches of all manner of buildings and scattered copies of all manner of books (courtesy of Isodore)

Lenard plopped down on the rickety wood chair, his chair, white paint flecking off of it and sticking to his rough and worn tunic and pants. He stared at the ceiling, Silent. Pensive.

His eyes unseeing even Isodore, who was now diligently cleaning her wound.

It was a long moment of silence before any words were spoken between the two of them. “What do we do now?” It was hardly a question, what Lenard muttered to himself. Isodore sat on a cushion, her dominant arm bandaged messily.

She glanced quickly up at Lenard.

“Those gemstones- the ones set into the walls?”

Lenard looked at her, an expression of quiet realization on his face.

“Talin.” Another not-question.

The next few minutes were spent staring into the fire, blossoming like a red and orange flower. Isodore picked up a sturdy silver- colored fire poker that laid on the floor, and used it as a staff of sorts to pull herself up.

Now standing, she decided it was finally time to make her escape. Isodore pulled out her pen, hidden in the pocket of her breeches, and began to draw. Before she could complete her sigil, a familiar green light flowed through the room like a stream of water, swirling in the air.

Lenard stood in awe, shoving his chair roughly into the wall in haste to get up. Isodore dropped her pen in shock.

It clattered to the floor, a welcome audio intrusion in the room, silent as the bones of the dead surrounding the walls of the catacombs. The rocks and flecks of crushed bone obscuring what used to be the exit shifted, the air was now vibrating with energy, little sparks popping from the air randomly about the room.

The stone pile formed itself into an archway that rough at first, smoothed itself. The seal between rocks glowed with a soft green light. And out from the archway walked a man.

Isodore let out a minuscule inhale of shock, her mouth a perfect little O. Lenard’s jaw dropped all the way to the stone floor.

A man emerged from the archway. He was a bit above the average height, and dressed in black silk and leather, studded with diamonds. His mask was hardened green velvet partially obscured with endlessly moving and swirling gold wire moving like snakes and ivy. The wires formed intricate geometric patterns that shifted by the second.

His advanced age, though not able to be seen in the face, on account of it being obscured by his mask, was betrayed by his pure snowy hair, thick braids dripping down his muscular shoulders, contrasting his rich ebony skin. His eyes, a deep black, locked onto Isodore and Lenard.

“The rumors were true- then. My apprentice cavorting about Graywick with a thief.” Isodore shrunk slightly at the unmistakably disappointed tone in his voice. However, a touch of amusement crept in.

“I was incredibly disappointed- you dropped by earlier today and didn’t even bother to say hello.” His imperious gaze, once fixed on the two of them, shifted to Isodore.

He stepped fully into their hideout. The silence still rang loud in Isodore’s ears. “I’ll admit- it’s a nice little place. Must have taken a fair bit of magic, and at your age?” (He was mumbling to himself now-)

“I knew my choice was the correct one.” Isodore’s head snapped up. Shock coloring her face. “But, there are larger things at stake here. The guard of the night market wishes you dead. You embarrassed them, escaping so easily.” Lenard put his face in his hands. Turning at that moment, Talin addressed him. “I am not intending to turn you in. After all- your skill sets may yet be useful.”

He paused.

“But, however, you simply cannot stay like this. If you two are caught, I will be a laughingstock. But, both of you could join me in my workshop- If you would be so kind.” The invitation was not a question. Isodore bit her lip.

“I have not formally announced any intention to take an apprentice yet.” (he was mumbling now, the gears in his head turning visibly by the second.)

“As far as anyone knows, you two were crushed in the cave-in.”

Silence blanketed the room, a suddenly heavier air descended on the trio. “No.” Lenard struggled to his feet, his knees buckling and unsteady. “My mother- she might not recover from this” Talin gave him a long, hard look.

“And what would happen if you returned?”

His voice was darker now.

“What would be easier for her? A son who passed away tragically in a freak explosion within the catacombs, or one who was found to be a thief by the guards of the night market, and hung in front of her?”

Lenard flinched backwards, face as white as a ghost.

“You two were lucky” He said at length.

“The guards don’t have an identifying description of either of you. But there were people at the night market who could recognize and place you there if an inquiry results.”

“But, when you two come with me, the cave in at the catacombs will become a major issue. Resulting in not one- but two deaths? After all, people will assume it is similar to the explosion at the night market just a few nights ago.”

A wave of dread washed over Lenard and Isodore’s faces, their fears confirmed at last.

Isodore interjected suddenly. “Sir, with all due respect…” Isodore’s voice trailed off at the questioning and cold stare Talin gave her yet, she forged ahead, politeness be damned. ”Most of the city is built over the catacombs. They’re nearing a thousand years old. It could cause panic if it is believed they’re caving in due to planned explosions.”

“Exactly the panic that will have the guards rushing to stabilize the market, and in other branches of the guard, the city.

Catching the culprit responsible for two deaths and (for all they know) preventing more in the future will take precedence and have them forget about something as seemingly insignificant as what you two did.”

The last word was said with venom in his voice, as if he was spitting out an ungodly swear.

Slowly, Isodore nodded.

Lenard looked at her like she died and came back to life as a rather ugly chicken. “You can’t be serious right now” His voice cracked slightly. Isodore let out a trembling sigh, her heart beating in her ears, the adrenaline still flowing through her veins, making her leg bounce uncontrollably and her hands tremble.

“It’s exactly what he said- do this or go home and most likely die.”

Lenard laughed. A this-can’t-possibly-be-what’s-happening-right-now laugh. “So we fake our deaths? This is starting to sound like the plot of one of those terrible serialized novels in the newspaper” He mumbled in between little giggles and snorts.

He looked up at last, grinning. His worries seeming to have fallen away in the frank absurdity of it all. “I’m in.”

Talin tilted his head, his expression indecipherable behind his mask. Perhaps he was smiling.

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Find the full list of chapters and catch up with Talin here!

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Talin Chapter 1 Part 2

Boarding the airtrain to get back to Graywick was the most excruciating wait of her life. She sat there, silently fuming, bitten-to-the-quick nails pressed harshly into her palm. She stared at her shoes and tried her best not to sob.

When the Airtrain landed, she zipped off of it once again, though today’s mood was not optimistic.

She strode quickly into her building. A steadily controlled expression on her face, she unlocked the door to her room. Inside was none other than her neighbors. Mrs. Leana, with the worry no longer etched into her face, smiled happily at her from behind the table. Her upstairs neighbor’s son, George, grinned his gummy grin at her, barely tall enough to peek over her table. Lenard, with his shock of bright red hair leaned against her wall, and smiled his self-satisfied smile.

There were at least 20 people, squeezed into her little apartment, crammed in like the fish in a can you could buy at the nearby sea market. Unlike the fish, they were all displaying varying expressions of happiness.

Isodore fought back tears, this time, of joy to be home. She quickly sat down at her chair at the table, and presented (to many deeply curious eyes) the letter.

There was dead silence.

Quiet, disturbed murmuring could be heard in every corner of the room. Whispers of “So unprofessional.” and “Who even is that anyway?” served only to validate Isodore’s growing rage and as her fleeting feeling of happiness dissipated, she noticed a small stack of presents, little trinkets and expensive scented soaps, and even a few exotic fruits adorning her wooden table.

Isodore quietly made her way through the room and thanked everyone who had shown up, ruffling George's hair. Most gave her a pitying smile, and a fleeting hug or kiss on the cheek as they all filled out. All, except, for Lenard. Her best friend, and self proclaimed “Finest among pickpockets” Mrs. Leana’s Good-for-nothing son. (a badge- likely intended to be of shame, he wore like a diamond encrusted crown, plucked right from the head of a king)

He set the letter (which he had likely swiped from Vanessa, her pretty, auburn-haired neighbor) on the table, and gave it a withering glance. Throwing himself dramatically into the chair across from her, they shared a moment of knowing silence.

He sighed.

“Gods above Isodore…”

His expression- one of pure disgust, made her stomach turn, with a terrible feeling of dread.

“I know.”

“After all of this?” He gestured at her room, laden with books and notes. Now indignant, he leaned over the table, looking for all the world like a ginger cat, stretching out in the early afternoon sun.

“It’s not fair. You were supposed to be the most successful out of all of us.”

She sighed. But before her thoughts could get to her, Lenard straightened in his seat. Foot tapping the floor as he gave her his best catlike grin.

“Lets scope it out then! We can scout the area largely unseen if we take the rooftops. If this enchanter who you are apprenticed to is as unprofessional and negligent as he seems, he wouldn't have a shop in Swanhollow.”

“Are you sure we won’t be noticed?”

“People are like sheep. Especially ones who live in Swanhollow. They never look up.”

Isodore’s face broke into a smile.

“Let me get changed.”

Lenard dashed across the room, and toward his little winged cart. It was poorly tied to her window box- and struggling to break free. “It has a mind of its own” he had laughingly said when she saw it for the first time.

Lenard boarded it and -not without some difficulty- had the ornery little cart fly upwards presumably to his little shack on the top of the building.

She changed into a pair of deep brown breeches, and a cream tunic, hair tied into a knot at the base of her neck.

By the time she was done, Lenard had returned. Feeling a smile creep up on her face, she stood on the remarkably sturdy wooden windowsill, and stepped quickly onto the cart. It was barely big enough for the both of them, and Isodore found herself having to dangle her legs over the edge of it.

Holding on tight to its rim, she felt her insides plunge at seeing how far down the ground was.

And suddenly they were off. In the 30 minutes that it took to approach swanhollow, Isodore had never been more scared. The flying cart was barely being restrained by Lenard, both of their bodies being jerked left and right, up and down by the impudent little cart. It was nothing like the steady, dependable airtrain she took every single day.

Even though she was white knuckling the cart, Isodore was almost thrown off it, and into many of the city streets they passed over. This happened at least three times.

The little cart suddenly paused in the air- as if it had an idea. Isodore and Lenard locked eyes.

Oh no.

The little cart took a swan dive toward the rooftops, now the ones of Swanhollow, uniform in their dark grey shingled glory. She had barely enough time to wonder how bad it would look for an apprentice to be crash-landed through some noble’s roof in an unauthorized flying vehicle, with a known thief at her side, before they made the not-so-steady landing.

Paused about a foot over the top of the roof, they came to a stop. Lenard and Isodore cracked their heads together accidentally with the force of the sudden deceleration.

At least nothing was scraped up, Heart thumping in her chest still, she stepped off of the cart, one trembling boot-clad foot at a time. She felt like kissing the ground (or roof) beneath her feet.

“Well that was…. Better than expected!”

Lenard at least had the decency to look mildly embarrassed, as the cart nudged his leg like a stray puppy begging for treats.

“No. You did very badly today! Bad boy!”

Isodore snickered as he admonished the cart, feeling the adrenaline finally diminish. She looked left just as-

BOOM!

An explosion with green fire, and red smoke mushroomed out of a building about three blocks in front of the both of them. Tense and ready to run, Isodore paused. Despite the explosion and smoke, the building was not destroyed or even harmed in the slightest.

Staring in quiet amazement, she noted that the building, at least the side that was facing them was not quite like the rest of the identical buildings looping around it. It was painted a deep scarlet red, offset by the tones of deep blue and black surrounding it, with worn gold sculptures of a menagerie of fantastical animals adorning its outside.

Even Lenard was in shock. His jaw practically on the floor, except for him- it was the gold. Gold plating on the roof, the sculptures, and even some set out into the street. She swore his eyes were sparkling at the sight of so much gold.

Isodore elbowed him.

“Come on- we still need to find…”

She then noted the numbers, emblazoned with gold on the building’s red paint. 9457 Gribble road, and a name. It hit her then- like a full on airtrain crashing into her body.

It was Talin’s workshop.

Talin. The first pioneer of enchanting- who designed the airtrains they use to travel- the enchanter’s academy, even the jewels worn about the young Queen Favia’s neck were painstakingly cut and imbued with magic by him. He was the source of the most famous enchanted armour and objects- but nobody had ever seen his face, under his velvet green mask.

Even as a child she had heard rumours swirling about- that he had used magic to stay young forever- that he was hundreds of years old-

Her mind spun out of control, before Lenard pinched her.

He grinned, a both proud and scheming smile. “Well, Well, Well….”

They both made their way back to Graywick, the jovial mood fading to shock as they soared above cramped cobblestone streets and buildings lighting faded by the not-quite-yet set sun. A wash of color, orange, red and pink blazed over the tile of their roof.

Dismounting the mischievous little cart, she stepped onto the roof, hiking upwards, over to the little hut on the building's top, owned by none other than Lenard. He stayed behind temporarily to put the cart into a second, smaller shack a bit to the left, near where they landed.

Plopping down on one of the floor pillows, patched up and worn, she waited. The room was small, but cosy. Filled with all manner of plants: vines, flowering types, and even a little exotic cactus. All lit by a dilapidated skylight, curling copper rusted green. It wasn't long until he burst in through the strings of multicolored beads he used as a door. He let out a long, low whistle.

“So… Talin?”

Isodore bit her lip. “I knew he worked in Swanhollow, but I didn't memorize his address”

Lenard sat down next to her. “Still ” He pulled the letter (that Isodore certainly had never given to him) from his pocket. Examining it with his catlike cloudy emerald eyes, he flipped over, head hitting his other pillow, examining it in the light of the sunset.

”I never thought he would take one, honestly.”

“Me neither.”

“Who are we telling? Not just anyone can know you're about to be Talin’s apprentice…Then again, it can certainly get us into some rooms we couldn't dream of before” He said, a devil may care grin growing on his face.

Isodore sighed, her brows furrowing. “We can't abuse this- and, more important question… why is Talin taking an apprentice?”

Lenard shot up “I hadn't thought of that.”

“He must be incredibly old now. Even my mother remembers hearing of him being old as a child, before she even met your father…” He trailed off.

Isodore looked toward the faded and multicolored carpet. In fashion just a few seasons ago, but as all things, discarded in the end.

An uncomfortable silence filled the small room. Isodore stared at a long crack in the wall, eyes tracing the minuscule lines, some deep, some shallow.

Lenard cleared his throat.

Straightening his frayed green cardigan over his shoulders he stood, rising to his full lanky height. “I vote we celebrate tonight!” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The night market.”

Isodore bit her lip. “Mrs Leana is going to kill us- did you hear what happened two days ago?!”

“Mother can be mad all she wants. We’ll just avoid the south side of the market-“

“Fine- but I’m not going to get exploded because of you-“ Isodore began to remark before Lenard cackled with joy and practically lept through the beaded door and into the night air.

Isodore followed him to the roof, the cool wind tickling her skin with its small fingers. The stars were luminous and curtained by shadowy grey clouds blown by the wind.

“We aren’t taking that cart though.” Isodore said sternly.

Lenard pretended to be upset.

Read on AO3 here! Find the full list of chapters and catch up with Talin here!

Talin Chapter 1 Part 1

It was one of those slightly lukewarm days- somewhere in the middle of spring and summer when the seasons couldn't make up their minds who was to reign- when exams let out. The massive brass bell rang out over the city heralding to its inhabitants the midafternoon and to Isodore, the start of her new life.

She rushed down the worn and somewhat cracked stone stairs and into the sunlight falling like honey in the midafternoon. Her brown leather boots hit the uneven brick streets, running in her excitement to return home. She stopped near the large copper (now green) pole showing the place where passengers may wait for their Airtrain.

She was finally going to be an apprentice.

Isodore boarded the Airtrain, its large mechanical wings steady and prepared for flight. She took a seat nearest the yellowed glass window, on one of the threadbare sage sofas, the wood used to create the frame’s once ornate embellishments now worn away. The sunlight dripped through the window like water, casting ever-changing shapes onto the couch and sturdy (but discolored) wood floor below it.

“Approaching south Graywick station!” The conductor- a tall, freckled youth shouted.

When the Airtrain finally landed she zipped off of it and into the crowd.

Tall buildings set together like pastries in a bakery window loomed over the narrow cobblestone streets crowded with people of all stripes. Street sellers hawking their wares, thieves clutching a stolen purse (or three), and everyday people milling about, each focused on their own location and objective.

Isodore kept up her brisk walk, cobblestone bumpy under her feet, until she reached her building. An older one, intricate cast iron balconies framing windows whose view inside was poorly obscured by sheer linen and cloth curtains.

She entered through a nondescript wood door, with exactly three brass locks arranged one on top of the other.

She scrambled for her little key that always seemed to find itself at the bottom of her bag, and used it to undo the very tippity-top lock, and after a series of clicking sounds the door creaked open. Inwards she went on her own brisk path, toward the deep green and gold painted door at the end of the hall.

Inside was a mess. Stacks of haphazardly placed books and strewn pages of notes piled in near-toppling towers over every surface there, from the small kitchen to her nightstand in the corner, old oak wood creaking and bending under the weight of it all.

Isodore snapped out of her reverie, just as a stout woman of about fifty five popped in through the (still unlocked) door Isodore had mistakenly left open.

“My goodness Isodore, look at the state you’ve let the place get to….” She hmphed in joking indignation.

“How did it go, dear? I’ve heard that this year’s test is the hardest yet- you know that neighbor boy, Alex? I think that was his name at least- he moved out quite a while ago ... said that it was that hardest thing…….”

Isodore chuckled. “He moved out two years ago, Mrs. Leana” she removed a hefty stack of notes from one of the two humble chairs near her equally heavily laden table- and silently invited Mrs. Leana to sit.

“Oh don’t mind if I do- why I’ve just been on my feet all day… running errands and such.” She leaned forward on the rickety table. “Did you hear about the explosion in the south side of the market earlier? Why it was only a block or two away from us!” Mrs. Leana drummed her fingers nervously on the table. Isodore winced, wondering if her landlady would get a splinter from the old wood, but before she could invent a way to escort her off of the table, and to a perhaps safer seating place, the older woman jumped up.

“I really must be on my way now-” the elder woman fiddled with the frayed hem of her burnt umber colored apron, nervousness evident on her face. She waved goodbye and exchanged farewells with Isodore, her brow still wrinkled in worry as she left.

After Mrs. Leana was gone, and the door was locked, hopefully to prevent any more unexpected encounters with her other neighbors, Isodore collapsed onto her narrow bed. Patchwork quilt and cotton sheets, combined with the warm sun on her back almost luring her into a midafternoon nap.

Almost.

That night Isodore could not sleep. The light of the warm candle casted shadows like the endless storm of thoughts in her head. Isodore sighed. The most important day of her life was tomorrow, where her apprenticeship would be finalized to (almost certainly) one of the finest enchanters in the city.

Her nervousness was not due to how well she did on her test- but who she would be matched to. She steepled her fingers and rested her forehead against her hands with a sigh.

Isodore sighed and dragged her tired body from the chair at the table, and dusted her day dress off.

She started to collect the notes that were strewn in disorganized piles, putting them into large boxes, and stacking all the books she could carry painstakingly lining them up under her bed, as one would a bookshelf.

Now the one-bedroom living space seemed a degree cleaner, and with most of the debris and leftovers of studying for finals cleaned up, she finally decided to go to bed. She quickly washed herself standing up with the water basin (ceramic- and only a bit chipped) and her half- used bar of soap.

Now fully changed into her frayed but clean white chemise, with hair combed and braided, she made the short walk to bed placed right in front of her window. Stretching out and finally under the covers, she stared at the moon till it sank into the tops of the buildings, and the tendrils of warm pink and orange embraced the sky as morning approached.

It was Apprenticing Day.

Isodore leapt out of bed, eager to be dressed and out the door. Her heart made a home in her throat as she went through the daily motions of her morning. Breakfast, brushing teeth, rebraiding hair, a little bit of face cream, and fiddling with the buttons on the sleeves of her best dress. Robin’s-egg blue with puffed shoulders, and sleeves reaching down to her wrists. She hurriedly slipped on her neat black heeled shoes.

She set out the door, trusty leather knapsack at her back and a sense of nervousness that made her hands shake as she locked the door for the last time before she became an apprentice.

It was less than an hour later when she finally jumped off the airtrain to Swanhollow, where she walked down the new brick road, quietly absorbing the newly painted buildings, seemingly identical in style, and complimenting each other in color. There were no thieves here, simply well-dressed people walking down the street looking like scattered marbles, leisurely in their pace, assured and firm looking.

She at last stopped outside of what seemed to be the only standout building in the town. It was tall and shiny, and made of glass, each pane painstakingly separated with wires of copper. The courtyard was made of smooth uncracked stone outlining the sigil of the enchanter’s guild. A geometric design which looked a little to Isodore like a facet of a gemstone.

With great impatience, Isodore hurried to the entry doors, but was suddenly self-conscious of her quick gait and slightly hunched shoulders. She straightened and attempted to walk into the foyer like the people she had seen before.

The glass walls, stairs, and tinted ceilings amazed Isodore, the entire area outside able to be seen through the walls unlike any structure she had been inside before. Quickly she snapped back to her goal, approaching the busy young man who seemed to be the only person manning the desk toward the front.

He was dictating to an enchanted device fed with thick (and expensive) parchment.

He looked down his nose at her. His black hair and dark eyes being a dead giveaway of his eastern isles ancestry. As Isodore had come to expect, he too was glossy and immaculately dressed, cravat and suit matched precisely to the shades of blue and green glass used to create the enchanter’s guild headquarters. He was the perfect epitome of a Swanhollow citizen. Suddenly shy, and painfully aware of how slovenly she seemed, she managed to croak out an embarrassed greeting.

“Uhm- excuse me sir. Do you happen to know where the matching of apprentices will take place?”

She said, silently cursing herself for her voice cracking at the end. The man relaxed instantly, faintly smiling at her before returning to his typewriter and parchment. “Of course, Up the stairs and in the room straight ahead. You must be Isodore Gryffiths.”

Isodore nodded, and thanked him, and when she received no response, started up the stairs, and toward the massive glass and copper doors.

As her black boots clicked across the deserted hall, she felt her heartbeat in her chest. All she had worked for, so many sleepless nights and long hours, so many evenings and afternoons , and here it was.

She stepped into the quiet room, the only one there, aside from a clockwork diamond. All bronze and gold and silver, it was quite an ugly thing with exposed wires and cogs and gears, so unlike the rest of Swanhollow she had seen before. But in approaching it she felt a sense of awe.

Silent as a mouse, she put her calloused hand to the panel of the machine, which had a handprint placed on it. And then she closed her eyes. It started to turn and spin before her. She contained her nervousness and a sharp ding! Sound rang out in the airy room.

Slowly- haltingly, she opened her eyes. A little slot she had not seen before in the machine pushed out an envelope, made of thick, quality parchment, with her name scrawled on it in midnight blue ink.

She opened it, gingerly like it could explode at any moment, practically vibrating with curiosity. Inside was not, as she expected, a long letter with the cordial invitation she had come to expect- a gesture that would be practiced by any respectable enchanter or enchantress of swanhollow.

Instead, inside was simply an address, 9457 Gribble road, messy handwriting and an inkblot the size of a large marble.

Isodore felt like she was going to cry.

She took a deep breath and composed herself, before walking as fast as possible out of the Enchanter’s Guild Headquarters, no longer caring about what the beautiful, wealthy people around her thought, making no attempt to fit in she marched herself to the airtrain pole, and clenched her jaw.

This was the last straw.

Read full chapter on AO3! Find the full list of chapters and catch up with Talin here!

#fiction #writing #authors of tumblr #novel writing #book writing #creative writing #writeblr #writers and poets

Talin Prologue

Nights in Swanhollow were dark, but tonight was darker than most. Inky black claws of shadow ensnared the city, and flakes of snow spread across the once-golden sky. The uniform, looming buildings blocked out most of the faint starlight that could hope to peek through to the very bottom of its winding streets.

It was quiet then as it is now.

Aside, of course, for one building. Gold glinted in what little light filtered down through the very tops of the structures to strike the walls causing it to shimmer like a chest of some long-forgotten-about treasure. Similarly abandoned was the street it laid on.

Except, of course, for a single person.

He (for it was almost certainly a He) trotted swiftly down the smooth stone road. His black leather and sheepskin boots, emblazoned with little gemstones like the hidden stars above, padded against the cool rock as he approached the building.

Stepping up from the curb to the street, he looked about furtively, drawing his cowl about his face, before hurrying into the warm lantern-lit opening before him. He dropped a small bundle of cloth into a basket near the doors.

And what doors they were!

Encrusted with small jewels in the oak wood, and filling the almost imperceptible crevices.

Little gold statues lined the door’s frame, and if you looked into the scratched eyes of one for just long enough, it may wink at you.

The air was buzzing with electricity and something more.

Magic.

The kind that makes your whole body buzz with excitement, the sensation burning its way from your scalp to the very ridges of the pads on your fingers.

It’s more raw here than it is elsewhere. Fresher, in some way.

The man removed his dark cowl and dropped it in a puddle of fabric on the head of a bust he passed by (which was in fact rather old, carved from cool stone and missing its ears, but retaining a little smirk on its chipped face.)

Having moved into the grand reception room, if you were to follow him you would certainly notice it was much larger inside than it appears on the outside, where above your head a kaleidoscopic circus-like tent provided ample insulation from the cold night outside, each little patch in the canopy being a different vibrant color and pattern, If you were to look up, you might even note that it cloaks only the first twenty or so of the many balconied levels of the building.

However, if you looked through the fabric just right, if you were lucky enough to catch a glimpse through a stray shred (or three) of gossamer towards the top, straining your eyes just so, you could even see the moon.

It was larger than could possibly ever appear on earth, in fact, it was large enough that you could pick out every crater and scratch on its surface, seeming almost close enough to reach up and cut the very tips of your fingers on its scarred face- of course, only if you so wished.

Little bird cages, made of intricately wound wire, were attached to pulleys held with fraying rope, raised and lowered through holes in the fabric that ripped themselves open just in time.

As our man of interest stumbles to the center of the room, finally in the warmer lamplight, you could quickly ascertain his ebony skin, his white coiled hair and most importantly of all, the man’s preferred method of concealing his face. It was a thin mask, made of green toughened velvet, with gold wire detailing all over.

Twists and coils, swirling and spinning on his mask, animated with raw power. They wandered and traveled within the confines of the green velvet, never staying in one space, like a lapse of all the places ivy climbs up and covers walls.

He limped a couple more steps, his knees giving out as he dropped (rather unceremoniously) onto a lounge of blue velvet and honey-brown wood.

He let out a shriek, as if in pain, before his voice suddenly cut out. The room lost its light, some floating lanterns flickered, others flat out exploded before dropping from their delicate rope perches in the sky, raining glass shards and brittle wire to the marble floor through the fabrics openings.

If you were to take a closer look, you would notice even his mask’s gold stopped its elegant

dance.

The man laid there with a new resolve in his chest. He had held out too long- it was time to take an apprentice.

Read on AO3 here!

Find the full list of chapters and catch up with Talin here!

#creative writing #fiction #writing #authors of tumblr #novel writing #writeblr #writers and poets #serial fiction #original fiction #original novel

dangerouslyfleetingmanticore

Still not over the lesbian jumpscare. Eugenie Danglars, you are the love of my life.

memesonnets

Hi my name is Don Quixote of La Mancha the Knight of the Rueful Figure and I have a rueful figure (that's how I got my name) with purple bruised ribs and tall stature and gaunt features and hair turning gray and a rather hooked aquiline nose and large black drooping mustaches and a lot of people tell me I look like Amadís of Gaul (AN: if u don’t know who he is begone!). I’m not related to Lady Oriana but I wish I was because she’s an incomparable flowering beauty. I’m a knight errant but some of my teeth and grinders are missing. I have long lank limbs. I’m also a defender of damsels, protector of orphans, succourer of the needy, righter of wrongs, undoer of injustice, and I wander a magic countryside called the mountains of Spain where I’m in my first year of knighthood (I’m forty-nine). I’m a gentleman (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly armor. I love my great-grandfather's forgotten corner of the house and I cobble together all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a doublet of fine cloth with matching shoes and velvet breeches and a helmet, morion, visor, breastplate and backpiece. I was riding outside La Mancha. It was early morning so the rays of the sun fell obliquely and the heat did not distress me, which I was very happy about. A lot of giants stared at me. I put up my pasteboard visor at them.

nymphoutofwater

Here's a remade masterpost of free and full shakespeare adaptations! Thanks @william-shakespeare-official for this excellent post. Unfortunately, a lot of the links in it are broken, so I thought I'd make an updated version (also I just wanted to organize things a bit more)

Antony and Cleopatra: ~ Josette Simon, Antony Byrne & Ben Allen - 2017

As You Like It: ~ At Wolfe Park - 2013 ~ Kenneth Brannagh's - 2006

Coriolanus: ~ NYET Alumni - 2016 ~ Tom Hiddleston - 2014 ~ Ralph Fiennes - 2011

Cymbelline: ~ Michael Almereyda's - 2014

Hamlet: ~ David Tennant - 2009 ~ Ethan Hawke & Diane Venora - 2000 ~ Kenneth Branagh's - 1989 ~ BCC's Part One & Two - 1990 ~ Broadway - 1964 ~ Christopher Plummer - 1964 ~ Laurence Olivier's - 1948

Henry IV: ~ BBC's Part One & Two - 1989 ~ The Brussel's Shakespeare Society's - 2017

Henry V: ~ The BBC's - 1990 ~ Laurence Olivier's - 1944

Julius Caesar: ~ Phyllida Lloyd's - 2019 ~ The BBC's - 1979 ~ John Gielgud - 1970

King Lear: ~ The RSC's - 2008 ~ Laurence Olivier - 1983 ~ The BBC's - 1975 ~ James Earl Jones - 1974 ~ Orson Wells - 1953

Love's Labour's Lost: ~ Calvin University - 2016

Macbeth: ~ Stockbridge Drama Society's - 2019 ~ The RSC's - 2019 ~ Antoni Cimolino & Shelagh O'Brien's - 2017 ~ Ian McKellen & Judi Dench - 1969 ~ Sean Connery - 1961

Measure for Measure: ~ Hugo Weaving - 2019 ~ The BBC's - 1990

The Merchant of Venice: ~ Al Pacino - 2004 ~ Trevor Nunn & Chris Hunt - 2001 ~ The BBC's - 1980 ~ Lawrence Olivier - 1973

The Merry Wives of Windsor: ~ The Royal Shakespeare Company's - 1982

A Midsummer Night's Dream: ~ Oliver Chris & Gwendoline Christie - 2019 ~ City of Columbus's - 2018 ~ Julie Taymor's - 2014 ~ The Globe's - 2013 ~ The BBC's - 1988 ~ Lindsay Duncan & Alex Jennings - 1986

Much Ado About Nothing: ~ Shakespeare in the Park - 2019 ~ David Tennant and Catherine Tate - 2011 ~ Kenneth Branagh - 1993 ~ The BBC's - 1984

Othello: ~ The BBC's Part One & Two - 1990

Richard II: ~ David Tennant - 2013 ~ Deborah Warner's - 1997 ~ The BBC's - 1978

Richard III: ~ Ian McKellen - 1995 ~ Laurence Olivier - 1955

Romeo and Juliet: ~ Simon Godwin's - 2021 ~ The BBC's - 1988 ~ Laurence Harvey & Susan Shentall - 1954

The Taming of the Shrew: ~ Ontario production? ~ American Conservatory Theater - 1976 ~ Richard Burton & Elizabeth Taylor - 1967 ~ Mary Pickford & Samuel Taylor - 1929

The Tempest: ~ Gregory Doran's - 2017 ~ The BBC's - 1988

Timon of Athens: ~ Barry Avrich's - 2024

Troilus and Cressida: ~ Audio Production ~ This one I found on youtube? - 2016

Titus Andronicus: ~ Anthony Hopkins - 1999

Twelfth night: ~ Texas Shakespeare Festival's - 2015 ~ Alec Guinness, Joan Plowright & Ralph Richardson - 1970

Two Gentlemen of Verona: ~ Katherine Steweart's - 2018 ~ The BBC's

The Winter's Tale: ~ Antony Sher - 1999 (Warning: they don't have a bear...)

Bonuses:

Time Loop Hamlet! (A personal fav of mine)

Rock Opera Hamlet???

Shakespeare animated tales

The Complete Works Of Shakespeare Abridged comedy

Romeo and Julieta: A Día de los Muertos Love Story

There’s also many other Latine Shakespeare adaptations listed in this archive

MacChef, a retelling but well... in a kitchen!

The Flying Karamazov Brother's comedy of errors part 1 & part 2

Overly Sarcastic Productions' zoom performances of Julius Caesar and Macbeth

From the original post:

A Midwinter's Tale, about a man trying to make Hamlet.

Russian Hamlet here

Here's Scotland, PA, the 2001 modern Macbeth retelling.

Rave Macbeth for anyone interested is here.

This one is the Taming of the Shrew modern retelling.

The french Romeo & Juliet musical with English subtitles is here!

Here's the 1948 one,

the Orson Wells Othello movie with Portuguese subtitles there

A Lego adaptation of Othello here.

Here's commentary on David Tennant's Richard II

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