#ember warrior

[gailynovelry]

The key difference between Fennik and Meparik is that Fenn is puntable and Mep is pitable. Hope this helps.

[gailynovelry]

August Writing Dash: Day Two!

Starting Wordcount: 27,000.

Ending Wordcount: 27,750.

Chapter Finished?: Chapter Three!

Feeling: Malaise.

Work's been rough on me (as it always is during the summer), but I managed to eek out a few more words today nonetheless! Ideally, one can expect more writing tomorrow since I've got a couple days off.

In good news, I did what I said I was gonna do yesterday and wrangled Ch 3 into submission, ehehe. But since I have a sweet, soft bit from a later chapter (the later chapters aren't organized). This one made me sad, but mostly in a good way! Meparik is, as always, awkward when it comes to the idea that he could be loved.

Excerpt under the cut;

In an attempt to stave off his boredom — and a desire to do anything besides study one more grammar rule — Meparik dug the letters out of his satchel. He handled the paper carefully, lest he dampen and destroy it with his icy touch.

Crislie’s letters were penned on awkwardly torn scraps. Her handwriting was large, blocky, and reassuringly bold. The actual content of her letters was less sure of itself. She’d killed for the first time recently, and she was oddly torn about it. Meparik thought of the time he had to hold her back from killing Knight Jeidhe and wondered what had changed. Maybe it was just that the knights she was killing now had not threatened him, nor Navaeli. Maybe that made her guilty.

(Gildhe said “hello,” apparently. Meparik had said “hello, jerk” back.)

Navaeli’s letters always took longer to go through. Firstly, her tidy handwriting managed to fit multiple pages’s worth of words in just one, which Meparik had no complaints about. Secondly, she had decided to write mostly in Ulluic to help him with his studies. That was more frustrating. And yet he couldn’t complain about it either, because it was also helpful.

Shouldn’t you have referred to me as khizi there? Isn’t zizi gender neutral? he had asked her.

No, I addressed you right, she’d written back in her most recent letter. Zhizi is the ungendered word for a child. Zizi just means . . . little little? Small small? Ach, the word sounds silly if I explain it. It is a term of endearment. I love you, little one.

Meparik sighed and held that letter close for a moment, a little light-headed from the idea that she could still be so strangely, painfully nice from so far away.

. . . but it just wasn’t the same as having Crislie and Navaeli here for real.

[gailynovelry]

August Writing Dash: Day Four!

Starting Wordcount: 27,750.

Ending Wordcount: 29,000.

Chapter Finished?: None specific.

Playing: Pokemon Reborn.

Skipped over yesterday to recover from work. Made up for it today by plonking down a buncha words in a buncha different chapters in order to flesh them out enough to complete them later! If that makes any sense.

I'm really enjoying writing Silamir this go around. She didn't feature very prominently in Winter Herald, because half the plot of that book was Crislie, Navaeli, and Meparik booking it to try and devise a banishing spell in her absence. And since they didn't get a working one up before she returned . . . well! She gets to try some new tactics to manipulate Navaeli into giving up what she wants.

Excerpt below the cut!

“Relax,” Morekai told her in that ever-reassuring tone of his. “No-one is upset at you for this. And no-one will ever hurt you in Camp Veldin, alright? We’ll work on this. Silamir has told me that you have a lot of fear in you.”

“She has, has she?”

“Most certainly,” whispered a silky, pleased voice.

Navaeli’s heart quickened as the presence of Silamir’s talons hands weighed heavily on her shoulders. Only this time, it felt . . . oddly affectionate, especially compared to the goddess’ usual vindictiveness. The claws didn’t dig so painfully into Navaeli’s skin this time. But it frightened her all the same. That was the trouble with the gods — their pleasure and their wrath often took similar forms.

As Silamir spoke, Morekai smiled, paying attention. Navaeli was used to being the only one who could hear the goddess, but the obsidian bracelet Morekai wore was hewn of stones from one of her fallen temples. It helped him perceive Silamir even outside of her holy sites.

“I must have done something right, to get a Herald like this,” the goddess purred. “So generous, so giving. You should be proud of her too, Morekai.”

Was this sarcasm? It didn’t sound like it. Confused by the praise, Navaeli’s brows furrowed, and she hunched in on herself.

“It reflects well upon my own generosity,” Silamir continued.

Ahh. There it was. The inkling of an ulterior motive.

[gailynovelry]

Ember Warrior Peek!

I'm supposed to be working on Frostbitten Prophet right now, but I had a flash of inspiration for the third book in the series instead, Ember Warrior. Have a bit of Mep accidentally meeting a goddess!

In the middle of the fountain was a statue of a woman, hewn out of celestial quartz. The quartz shimmered in blues, purples, and blacks. Glints of light danced off of it, like tiny stars. While the statue’s carved head was bald, there was a little hole in the top of her skull, and water flowed from it like hair.

The architecture was beautiful but alien to Meparik. He’d never seen anything like it.

Suddenly, the statue moved. She cocked her head at him, water falling over her face. Her eyebrows and mouth furrowed in calm confusion. When he looked into her eyes, Meparik tasted petrichor and cold water, saw stars when he blinked, and felt an otherworldly comfort envelop him. He felt a strange urge to weep. As if he’d lost a close relative, and needed someone to confide in.

A voice issued from the statue, flowing like water. “Why do you pray to me, child?”

Alluari was talking to him.

Crislie meets a god too, but it goes, uhhhh, a little more poorly than this, which is pretty par for the course for her.

Taglist(?): @viawrites-andacts

[gailynovelry]

I skipped ahead in my writing again and wrote a small scene for Ember Warrior. Merlie and Meparik get to talk a little bit, missing a home they can’t go back to, figuring out where the blame lies. Made me have a bit of good, sad feels.

[gailynovelry]

August Writing Dash: Day 8!

Starting Wordcount: 31,000.

Ending Wordcount: 32,250.

Unusual Occurrence: Almost poisoned by a cake pop today.

Pretty good wordcount addition for today~! I'm reconsidering whether I want to make this month about finishing particular chapters at all. I seem to be doing good just stringing along the various plots, feeling out what the chapters I'll need to finish later will be. So, no specific wordcount or chapter goals; just creative chaos!

That said, I did get some work done on Chapter Three today. Had a fun idea for a low-key scene that will have incredibly AAAAAAA ramifications for the plot down the line, ehehehe . . .

Excerpt under the cut;

Before he let her in, Morekai turned to her, a thoughtful look on his face. “Airasia, do you by any chance know how to write or read ritual spells? The runework, specifically.”

What a curious question. Navaeli had to ponder it for a moment. In particular, she thought about the ritual spell she and Meparik were preparing — the one to banish Silamir from her, and remove her Heraldry once and for all.

Lately, she’d started contributing to the notes Meparik sent, looking over his runework for mistakes he might have made or improvements that could be added in. For example, changes to the formatting of the spell, so that she could prepare it by herself should Crislie not be there to help. It wasn’t nearly as impressive a contribution as actually writing the main body of the spell, though. A lot of the fine details of the formatting escaped her. So . . .

“No, not particularly,” she admitted with a shrug.

Morekai smiled at her. “Ahh. Alright then. Thank you for being honest with me.” And then without further explanation, he vanished between the tent flaps.

Navaeli stood awkwardly outside for a few seconds, twisting the loose fabric of her uen between her hands while she overthought his response. Why did he want to know that? Had he wanted her help with something? The idea that she had disappointed him caused her to wince.

Well, maybe she could correct this lack on her own time. Obviously, Morekai didn’t seem inclined to force her to learn, but . . .

Navaeli shook off her thoughts and followed him into the tent.

Morekai’s living quarters were much like hers; sable fabric decorated with strings of bone beads framing a few lightweight, easily-folded pieces of wooden furniture. The latter’s qualities were there in case they had to leave Camp Veldin in a hurry for any reason. His cot was pushed out of the way, leaving more space for a table and several chairs. Papers, scrolls, and books laid on the chairs and table alike. Navaeli vaguely recognized ritual drafts, along with heavily marked-up maps of Gadhi. Aside from inkwells and quills, and a few errant dirty dishes, the only other thing on the table was a vase of yellow flowers.

It was all so purposeful that Navaeli felt embarrassed by her own living quarters by comparison. A good half of her tent was taken up by pillows, and her great, big bed. The luxury of it had felt like such a comfort at first, but now she just felt childish and wasteful.

Though, Morekai didn’t seem to see it this way. He gave her a half-bow of apology — a Gadhian servant’s custom that he might’ve picked up from Elowen or one of the other attendants — and started organizing the papers into piles. “Lomorma lun ta, niece of mine. I hadn’t remembered what a mess I left this place this morning.”

“It is quite alright. I’ve seen much worse messes. If it is not too rude to pry, though, that are these for?” she asked, picking up one of the ritual drafts.

She recognized a couple of the runes. Goh, ‘to-call-for,’ which Meparik had explained to her was a command to invoke a god’s aspect or power. It was a curious rune that could cause the spell to go awry if the god did not want to work with you. She also recognized the jagged feather that represented Silamir.

Morekai laughed and gently took the spell from her hands, sorting it into one of the piles. “Various things. Some of them are enchantments to fix or enhance weaponry, but those are purely theoretical right now, as we don’t exactly have spare souls just lying around.”

“Souls? To . . . fuel for the enchantments? In the same way that the Irongardhe enacts bloodforging?” Navaeli asked uneasily.

“Unfortunately, yes. In order to win against them, we may have to stoop to their level.” He tsked softly and stared at the papers. “Worry not, niece. Our hope is to use livestock, not mortals. It’s not quite as effective, but the upside is that a slain sheep can be used to feed soldiers as well as fuel spells.”

That relieved her. “Sounds practical.”

“As for some of the other spells — well, you will have to promise to keep them a secret if I tell you,” Morekai said with a wink. “I’d rather not have everyone get excited about these ones until I feel certain that they work.”

[gailynovelry]

August Writing Dash: Day 7!

Starting Wordcount: 30,500.

Ending Wordcount: 31,000.

Chapter Finished?: None specific.

Listening to: Flux by Poppy.

Did 500 words yesterday, just forgot to put up an excerpt because I got too distracted reading Gideon the Ninth. (I'm working my way through it slowly! It's good to remember to keep up with your reading and all that.)

I did most of my work yesterday on the second Atevia chapter, and most of my work today on a Mep chapter. Since I don't know quite what order I want the later chapters to go in yet, I don't really have numbers for them. Fleshing out what Ullua is like to live in is fun though.

Excerpt under the cut;

When the letters ran dry, Meparik grabbed a book from his satchel — not one of his language study books. The kvarhev next to him huffed and plonked its face down in the sand as he carefully pried open the disintegrating pages of Meparik the Magnificent.

If you asked him for his opinion, Meparik thought that the little two-copper pirate adventure printed on cheap pulp paper was the platonic ideal of fiction. Well, for the most part. The titular pirate did stop to kiss and kiss and kiss a really boring noblewoman for a chapter, which wasn’t very platonic nor ideal for Mep, as he’d rather get back to the adventuring. But otherwise, it had everything you could ask for in a book. Sea drakons, snarky one-liners, cursed relics of ages long past, booby traps, fights between rival pirate gangs . . .

(And best of all, Meparik didn’t get seasick like he did out on the real ocean!)

The problem was that this was a story written for young and inexperienced readers. Meparik was still young, but no longer inexperienced. He’d practically memorized each chapter from reading it so many times. He even knew the printing rights stipulation and author biography by heart! And so the slim little book was over in a blink, even though he’d decided to slog through the kissing chapter this time.

Meparik supposed that he could go back to studying ritual construction to help Navaeli, or Ulluic again to please Ainzel. But he’d been studying all morning. And all day for most of the weeks before now. Crislie would probably tell him to take a rest.

But what else was there to do? The sun had barely inched up in the sky since Ainzel had left, and he was fully, agonizingly, frustratingly bored.

“Hey, Lumpy,” he signed aside to the kvarhev. It opened one eye lazily at the motion. “If I died of boredom, I think that would be a problem for a lot of people. You mind watching our stuff for me?”

The drakon slapped its tail in the sand and rolled onto its side.

“Thanks.”

Meparik grabbed his water skin and wandered out of the shade of his tent, squinting at the nearest town through the barely-risen morning sun.

[gailynovelry]

August Writing Dash: Day One

Starting Wordcount: About 25,500.

Ending Wordcount: About 27,000.

Chapter Finished?: Chapter One.

Drinking: Fuji Apple Sparkling Water.

Started off by wrapping up some edits I wanted to do to Chapter One, then added more to the wordcount by just skipping around wherever I felt like. Which mostly meant shuffling chapters around to figure out the timeline and working on Chapter Three. I'm just very excited to get a chance to write Inky away from his relationship with Navaeli; the relationship is good, don't get me wrong, but the old man has a life outside of her visits.

And sometimes, it's a pulse-pounding life indeed. A bit dangerous inviting Irongardhe knights into his safehouse, don't you think? But I'm sure he knows what he's doing!

Excerpt under the cut!

It had been some decades since Atevia had last met Inkantik, and he’d aged rather well in those years, though his beauty was marred somewhat by smudges of dirt and the shadow of disdain cast over his features. There was a potted ivy cradled protectively in his arms, and a yellowing bruise over his eyebrow. But it was his hairjeweling that held Atevia’s eye. Dull, wooden beads draped gracelessly around the sides of his head and under his fluffy, white topknot.

The last time she'd seen hide or hair of Inky, it had been when he'd been kneeling before Gardhe's altar, having those beads bestowed to him for betraying his bloodline. He'd been secretly consorting with a peasant. A gardener, she remembered.

In spite of his impropriety, Atevia had some fond memories of him. She'd used to work on the Eguimond's estate as a stablehand, and Inkantik's brother, Lucketh Eguimond, was the one who had elevated Atevia into the Irongardhe Knighthood in the first place. Atevia had known well enough to keep her mouth shut whenever Lucketh had unspecified business near the flower shop. Lucketh had been a good mentor, and if he had wanted to disobey the terms of his brother's disownment for a visit, well, that had been his business and not hers.

But she'd never thought to visit Inky herself. Not even after Lucketh had died.

“Jain?” the old florist finally said – with some surprise as he beheld her in turn.

“Inkantik,” she replied. “I’m sorry if seeing me has gotten your hopes up. It's not that the Knighthood has found your complaint worthy of a Civility Commander, so much as it is that I've been demoted.” Though he could probably see that from her own wooden hairjeweling.