write of passage

Level 27 English Teacher, fanfic-writer background, Chaotic Nerd alignment. I’m trying to get SomeThing™️of a writing blog going here. Come for the fanposting, stay for the stories ✨ Asobservedbyjay.blogspot.com

[cyelatm]

[galacticjonah]

100 Episodes of Mighty Nein!!! 

 I could not be happier and can’t wait to see where this story brings them next. With everything going on I hadn’t realised how much I missed the show, the characters, the cast. 

 Welcome back <3

[deadcatwithaflamethrower]

people I still want to stab over a decade later:

Creative Writing Professor at a former college: Welcome to creative writing! By the way, you will not write fantasy, ghost stories, pranormal, or science fiction in this class, as this is a creative writing course.”

[morgynleri]

What the ever loving fuck is with “creative” writing professors who think that speculative fiction of any stripe ISN’T CREATIVE?

[thebibliosphere]

I still remember my own creative writing teacher telling me this because he saw the Terry Pratchett book on my desk and got this smug smirk on his face like “aha, gotcha”. He had the nerve to pick it up and call it “popularist fiction”, like somehow being popular and easily accessible made it less inherent in intellectual value.

I had it in my back pack because I did my final thesis on the evolution of mythology and folk tails into fantasy and sci-fi and the societal importance of telling stories (before anyone asks, no I don’t have it, I lost it when I moved continents), and I used Terry Pratchett because there wasn’t a single humanitarian issue the man did not touch on.

Which I told him. And then he kind of floundered and went “ah, well but, it’s…well I mean it’s not exactly high brow”, like neither the fuck was Shakespeare or Dickens you self-important turnip. Dickens was literally selling his stories by the chapter. He was the popular author of his time. Shakespeare was too, he fucking made up words and phrases all the time because the language he needed to express himself didn’t exist in the way he needed it too.

Intellectual elitism is nothing more than a hold over from class warfare and the belief that only certain people should get to be truly educated. And it needs to be smashed.

[socialistproperganda]

A look into the Whiterun Collapse - The Tamriel Economist

A report by Sven Jorgenson of the Vale Times.

The province of Skyrim has suffered severe economic turmoil in recent weeks. The gold standard has sunk to a record low. The replacement is the 'dragon bone' quotient. Unfortunately, only the 1% are in control of the total supply of dragon bone in all of Skyrim.

This fiscal calamity has left experts of Tamriel baffled."We have never witnessed such a catastrophic market crash! Sure, in the days of the Oblivion Crisis things weren't great either, but this? This is unprecedented!" remarked one spokesman of the Guild of Commerce.

An employee of the Aldmeri Banking Commission had this to say: "Unemployment is at an all time high. The septim has failed. The only tradable commodity is dragon bone, and to a lesser extent dragon scale. But there is no government treasury for these! This has resulted in unparalleled inflation."

The vendors are at their wits' end as well. "The dragon trade has ruined us! No merchant has enough gold to trade in for dragon bones, so the customer relies on the black market. We legitimate business people can't afford to keep our shops open anymore. I'm sure this is a Khajit conspiracy. Those desert cats are stealing food from the mouths of our babies!" - Belethor of Whiterun General Goods.

However, recent information has come to light which does indeed hold a particular party responsible for the turmoil. Olava the Feeble, a supposed fortune teller and resident of Whiterun has made bold claims:

"Hail Sithis! It was the Dragonborn! He alone brought about this hell on us! I've seen him many a times from my bench, hauling chest-fulls of dragon bones to his cottage in the city. No one questions him, just because he is Thane he seems to get away with everything!"

The city government has refused to comment on the allegations levelled on the Dragonborn. Whiterun in particular was hit hard by the market slump causing prominent local businesses such as the Bannered Made and Arcadia's Cauldron to declare bankruptcy.

Jarl Balgruff is attending a meeting of local Thanes and Jarls in order to bolster support and organise an aid package to alleviate the suffering of his people.

The Dovahkin, Thane of Whiterun, Slayer of Alduin, was unavailable for an interview.

[socialistproperganda]

When dealing with the negative voices in your head, do a Jojo Rabbit and personify them as Hitler who often has unicorn for dinner and offers cigarettes to minors.

But not as Takia playing Hitler, because Takia is babie.

[foulserpent]

need more media where the irredeemable piece of shit antagonist gets beaten in the climactic final battle and is like ‘heh… are you going to kill me… hero?” and the protags like Ya lol and cleaves their head off with a battleaxe 

[socialistproperganda]

Where my Mistborns at ?

Lord Ruler, more like Lord Lamer.

[idiopathicsmile]

the trouble with writing is that it’s literally always easier to just lie facedown on your floor and make inarticulate noises

[socialistproperganda]

Sexy word of the day

From Mistborn: The Final Empire

[yambits]

[socialistproperganda]

Well this is goddamn beautiful

[socialistproperganda]

Yeah Eid Mubarak, but can we talk about how we announce the end of the fast with literal cannon fire?

Like I imagine a few centuries ago, some local nobleman with a tiny ass ego goes “yeah the setting sun isn’t a good enough reminder for the *common* folk to understand that they can eat now (as they have since forever, so pedestrian), better fire this giant weapon like 4 times lol (gotta justify the tax collection someway)

[socialistproperganda]

Brave thinks she’s people

But she is onee babie

[socialistproperganda]

Eid Mubarak beautiful people

[alisonzai]

[socialistproperganda]

because we live in a society.

My first YouTube video on multiplayer gaming and why it’s from the darkest pits of hell ✌🏼

[socialistproperganda]

Elf & Mage - Part 3/3

Tulin and Daim stood over the Priest’s still smoking corpse, his wolf-skull helm cracked in half.

Surveying the destruction strewn about the ruins, Tulin contemplated if the threat to Silverglade was over. His moody rumination was interrupted by rustling behind him.

He turned to see Daim straightening up, dusting his robes. Tulin caught his eye, but Daim quickly shifted his gaze, and cleared his throat.

“So, seems like all this is wrapped up. No casualties too!” he beamed.

Daim paused. “Well, apart from them,” he said, waving his arm at the handful of littered bodies.

He walked over and stood by Tulin.

“Nasty piece of work that,” he said, gesturing at the Priest.

With his mask off, Tulin could see how inhuman his features were: dark hairy skin, fangs protruding from his jaw, yellow baleful eyes now staring vacantly. He was not a full werewolf, but something in between.

Tulin shook his head. “What madness grips these fools to play with powers they cannot control,” he said darkly. “So much death, such loss, and for what?”

Daim laughed, and clapped Tulin’s shoulder, much to his chagrin.

“Power! When you aren’t born with it, you fight for every shred of it. Be it good or corrupt, it’s only power which separates the wolf from the sheep. It’s the only thing which can give us what we all crave so desperately.”

“And what is it that you crave?”

Daim smiled.

“Purpose, Elf. Meaning and purpose in this chaotic charade we call life.”

Tulin rolled his eyes. “Battle surely woke the philosopher in you.”

“Life threatening situations tend to give me perspective,” Daim laughed. “Come, let’s take our leave of this accursed place.”

Tulin clasped his arm.

“You were in chains for practicing death magic. What different are you from the Wolf-Priest? Maybe I should put you down too.”

Daim stared wide-eyed; Tulin’s stony face betrayed no thought.

With a snarl, Daim jerked his arm out of his grip. “Maybe because I saved your life, Elf. How about some gratitude instead?”

Tulin watched him carefully, his hand straying to the knife hilt on his belt. “Why did you help me?”

Daim sighed, exasperated. “Because you obviously couldn’t have done this on your own. And yes, I was curious. The werewolf that attacked us were different, imbued with necromancy. I wanted to see what had created them.”

He spread his arms. “But I’m not after power to wreak havoc like this madman. I believe necromancy, like any art, any tool, can be used for healing, for good. This was the work I researched at the College. The simpletons there, much like you, couldn’t see past their black and white idiocy and expelled me!”

Daim’s voice echoed around the cave. Tulin continued to check his every move.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Daim said in a low voice, shoulders sagging. “I consider you a friend and I won’t fight you. I was going to let you buy me a drink for saving your life in the next tavern over, and that offer still stands.”

He stared into Tulin’s steely gaze, the silence between them widening, until he turned and began to walk out of the cave.

“Your choice Elf,” Daim called out. “Shoot me in the back, or shoot down some ale.”

Tulin watched him leave, his thoughts abuzz.

As Daim’s figured receded into the shadows, Tulin exhaled deeply. There had been enough death for one day, he thought to himself.

He took one last look at the ruins and followed Daim.

Behind him, the Priest’s scorched remains lay splayed with limbs twisted and the soulstone distinctly missing from the thick gold chain around its shriveled neck.

Part 1

Part 2

[socialistproperganda]

Elf & Mage - Part 2/3

“Oi! Having a nap, magic-man?”

The guard’s spear clanging against the metal bars jolted Daim awake. With manacled hands he best rubbed his bleary eyes against the late afternoon sun.

“Thought you wizard types didn’t need no sleep,” a voice guffawed from Daim’s left.

“Naw naw, you thinkin’ about them vampires, mate!” cackled the guard who so unceremoniously had woken him.

“Wot you a vampire? You can hang upside down from the top of the wagon, we won’t mind,” he teased, much to the amusement of the other guards in the convoy, who joined him in raucous laughter.

“Alright, alright, quiet down lads,” the Captain called from the front of the pack. “Poor bloke be losing his head soon enough, no reason for you lot to make him pray for it to come sooner.”

His head ringing, Daim tried to make out the Captain astride his steed through the cage.

“Thank you, sir-” he began.

“Oi shut it! Who said you can talk eh?” the guard said, smacking him with the butt of his spear.

Daim stared daggers at him, rubbing his bruised arm and imagining the horrific torments he would visit upon his captors. If only he was not bound, in a cage, in a prisoner convoy, with four armed guards, headed to the city where the magistrate was sure to take his head.

The hopelessness of his situation dawning on him, Daim slumped down defeated onto the dirty straw floor of his pen, as the convoy passed through Wickerwale forest, between the College and Stonehaven city.

His wrists and ankles ached under the heavy chains, and his head hung heavy with dark thoughts.

The forest road turned and twisted between the trees. “Eyes open lads, the road is treacherous,” the Captain warned his men.

The wagon driver nodded grimly. “Aye, there been reports of kidnappings in these parts. Some slaughtered livestock too. Reckon a new gang of bandits moved in.”

The younger guards marching on either side of the wagon smirked to each other.

“Aw bandits know better than to mess with the city-guard,” one of them swaggered, puffing out his chest and clapping spear against shield. “Haha yeah, let ‘em come, bet the magistrate would pay good coin for their heads,” the other chimed in.

Their bravado was cut short as a blood curdling howl echoed through the forest.

Roosting birds flew out of their nests in terror, and the Captain’s horse reared back, neighing hysterically, almost throwing him off.

“Easy, easy!” the Captain yelled, frantically pulling on his reins.

The wagon ground to a halt, as the guards peered through the trees and gloom, weapons at the ready.

Daim sat alert, heart pounding, his breathing quick and shallow.

“W-what was that?” a guard stammered.

“That didn’t sound like no bandit,” another mumbled.

The forest grew deadly quiet. Shadows seemed deeper, the trees taller and more unwelcome.

“Maybe you should let me out, I could help-” Daim began.

“Shut up!” a guard yelled out, hitting the bars with his spear again.

The metallic clang reverberated in the still air.

The Captain glared at the noise. “Quiet you idiot,” he hissed.

“The prisoner was being rowdy, Captain,” the guard drawled, staring accusingly at Daim.

He turned just as a mountain of fur, fangs and claws erupted from the brush, lunging at the guard with a deafening roar.

The werewolf crushed the guard against the wagon with such brutal force, the bars bent under the strain. Daim was thrown against the other side of the cage, and he watched in horror as his captor was disemboweled barely a foot from him.

The horses pulling the wagon screamed, breaking their reins. The driver was yanked off his seat as the horses galloped away, dragging him behind them until he untangled himself a couple dozen yards down the dirt path.  

Maw drenched in blood, the beast growled at the remaining guard, who stood shaking, his spear held out in front of him.

Thundering hooves drew the werewolf’s attention from its hapless prey, as the Captain charged towards the beast. His horse foaming red at the mouth, he bellowed a mighty warcry, drawing his blade.

The second werewolf leapt from the trees, slamming into both horse and rider.

The Captain hurled to the ground, his horse pinning his legs. His cries turned to bloody gurgles as the wolf snapped its jaw shut on his throat.

The last guard turned to flee, but to no avail. The first werewolf sped after him in a flash, and was upon him in seconds. The guard’s shield splintered under its savage claws, as the wolf went in for its second kill.

Daim prayed to whatever gods he could remember, old and new alike, for him to be spared from this grisly fate. His supplications were cut short by twin twangs ringing out from the trees.

The first werewolf paused, as if surprised.

Daim looked on as the wolf keeled over, two green arrows protruding from its thick throat.

A hooded and cloaked figure emerged onto the forest road with bow drawn and arrows nocked. Daim stared silently, mouth agape.

The other werewolf noticing the stranger, left its half-eaten wagon driver, and sprinted hungrily towards its fresh quarry.

Tulin moved faster than Daim could believe, and shot off two arrows towards the swiftly approaching beast.

One missed. The other embedded itself harmlessly in its mangy shoulder.

The wolf swiped at Tulin’s head, claws whistling through the air. He rolled out of the way, and fired another arrow, this one finding its mark in the beast’s leg.

Tulin shuddered and winced, almost losing his footing. Daim saw that he was bleeding through his cloak.

“The elf’s injured,” he realized, with rising panic. “And if he goes down, I’m next!”

Tulin steadied himself, face pale and set in a pained grimace. He cast his bow aside and drew a long curved knife from his belt.

The werewolf surveyed him carefully, pacing back and forth, eyeing the five feet of earth between them, and the slow trickle of blood dripping from his side.

With a vicious howl, it charged at him. Tulin steeled his footing and braced for the onslaught.

The air suddenly burned and an explosion blasted the werewolf off of its feet.

The stench of burned fur and flesh assaulted Tulin’s nose as he saw the smoking ruin of the wolf's back, melted down to the bone.

He turned to see Daim kneeling in his cage, hands outstretched and pulsating with arcane energy.

“You’re welcome,” he panted.

Tulin paused. He tipped his head in gratitude, and turned to leave without a word.

“Hey hey! Where are you going? Help me out of this!” Daim cried out behind him, rattling his chains.

Tulin continued without looking back. “You’re a criminal. You probably did something to deserve being in that cage.”

“What!” Daim yelled incredulously. “I saved your life, you owe me Elf!”

That made Tulin turn. “And I killed the other werewolf, I’d say that calls us even. Besides, a resourceful mage like you can make your own escape.”

“No no,” Daim shook his head, tired. “That was my last spell-scroll. I don’t have any left, I’m defenseless. And I’m not a criminal! My name is Daim and I am a member of the College of Misthold.”

“This situation,” he continued, gesturing around him. “Nothing more than a simple misunderstanding.”

“They put you in chains with an armed escort over a simple misunderstanding?” Tulin asked with raised brow.

Daim grew visibly exasperated.

“It doesn’t matter! Without me you would be a pile of meat and bones. I saved your life, you owe me!”

Tulin stared hard at him. Daim held his breath.

“Alright.”

Part 1

Part 3

[socialistproperganda]

Elf & Mage - Part 1/3

The forest was unnaturally quiet.

The leaves barely rustled as Tulin rushed past the trees, bow drawn, eyes piercing through the gloom. Moving silent and unseen, the wood-elf tracked his quarry, following clumps of matted fur caught on scratching brambles and snapped branches left in the beast’s wake.  

A shimmer caught his eye: blood glistening on stone. A cursory prod of Tulin’s finger confirmed its sticky freshness.

Lips twisted with disgust, he quickened his pace, feet weaving swiftly through the precarious forest floor. The beast was close.

He smelled it before he saw its hulking form crouched over in a glade. Dark drool dripping from bloody maw, rotting meat stuck in glistening fangs, cruel claws rending flesh from the torn carcass of its latest victim the werewolf savagely feasted on the missing hunter from the village.

Brimming with bile and hate, Tulin silently nocked a barbed arrow, coated with hornviper venom. The bow creaked softly as he locked it in place.

He held his breath. The forest barely stirred.

TWANG!

The arrow buried itself deep in the beast’s shoulder. The wolf bellowed, sending birds shrieking into the sky from nearby trees. In a snap it turned and barreled towards Tulin. Its claws left furrows in the dirt as it closed the distance with terrifying speed.

Tulin had another arrow drawn as the hurtling black mass of the wolf filled his vision. Instinct taking over, he leapt out of the wolf’s reach as its claws swiped where his head had been a moment before.

He barely recovered and the wolf was upon him again. Unfazed by the poison coursing from its wound, the wolf’s attack found its mark. The blow gashed through Tulin’s bow and caught him in his side, sending him flying in a shower of blood and splinters.

Tulin landed hard, and struggled to stay conscious. One hand gripped his side, attempting to staunch the blood flow. With his other he drew a long silver knife from its sheath, as he unsteadily tried to find his footing.

The wolf paused, standing primed on its hindquarters. Its eyes clouded over as the hornviper venom began to blind the wolf.

The reprieve was for but a moment.

The wolf caught the scent of Tulin’s fresh blood and sprang towards its quarry, roaring with rage and bloodlust.

He gritted his teeth from the pain, and uttering a guttural scream, slashed at the beast as it surged on top of him.

The wolf pinned him down, its stench overwhelming. Tulin writhed under its crushing weight, the wolf’s jaws snapping inches away from his face.

Slashing and stabbing wildly, he finally plunged his blade into the wolf’s thick black hide. Dark putrid blood gushed out, drenching him underneath. The wolf gargled, blood filling its lungs and throat, Tulin’s desperate aggression and the poison taking its toll.

He held on to the hilt, as the beast choked on its final breath and collapsed on top of him. He pulled himself out, his breath ragged, soaked in both his own and the wolf’s gore.

Pain and relief flooding him, he hobbled to the unrecognizable corpse of his kin. Slumping onto his knees, Tulin muttered a prayer. Sorrow gave way to anger as he sat in ruminated the dark machinations that had gripped his forest home of late.

The werewolf wasn’t the first unnatural horror to attack the Silverglade, his home. Tulin knew that it would not be the last.

Part 2

Part 3