Last Line Tag

Last Line Tag

Thank you @sharkblizzardblogs for the tag! (Post here.)

Gently tagging (no pressure): @hallowedfury @jovialnightmares @awritingcaitlin

From The Queen of Lies:

She had let herself believe for a few inconsequential days that she was the plucky, dauntless heroine of a novel who could carve out her own happy end.

Word Find Tag!

I'm catching up with my tags and asks today, because there were so many and I'm not sure if I'll have the time this week, so please bear with me my mutuals (:

I was tagged by @i-can-even-burn-salad, (here)! I'll go with my newest WIP, Of Starlight and Beasts, for this one!

My words are: hurt, help, mercy, and voice Your words are: loyal, haste, frost, and glory

I'll be tagging (gently, with absolutely no pressure): @lassiesandiego, @unstablewifiaccess, @hrmkingizzy, @elshells, @illarian-rambling, @meerawrites, @tabswrites, @rickie-the-storyteller, @jay-avian, @crowandmoonwriting, @writernopal, @elshells, @thetruearchmagos, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @clairelsonao3, @apolline-lucy, @oh-no-another-idea, @little-peril-stories, @cowboybruncha nd @kaylinalexanderbooks

✨Contains SPOILERS for the WIP Of Starlight and Beasts✨

Read more for the following scenes (below the cut) (:

A very confused magic boy (Arammys) and The Squad tm waking up in an unknown dungeon and meeting someone important who is not in a good mood.

An old enemy becoming a new friend. The characters make a gamble with their fates - this might be another trap, but it also might be the alliance that tips the scales in their favor. Only one way to find out.

The team's usually collected, calm and fearless character losing it for a second and being vulnerable for the first time in front of his friends. He hates it.

An adorable lesbian warrior showcasing an awesome hidden ability to save her newfound friends, and Arammys being terrified of heights.

Hurt

[...] "Are you okay?! Did they hurt you?" He heard a voice, her voice, coming from the other side of the cobblestone wall, muffled but still clear. The lighting was dim enough that he could see his hands, and there was clearly torch light coming from down the hall ahead.

It took little more than a second of adjusting his sight to realize they were trapped in a dungeon of sorts. How quaint.

Through the ringing in his ears, to the other side, he could also hear Tomasa cursing and punching something metallic, while straight ahead the twins quipped about something he could not quite make out. A strange ache flared in his head, and he closed his eyes tightly.

"I think I'm fine. But where-" He brushed his hands over his eyes, trying to refocus on something that wasn't the irritating ringing in his head "...Where are we though?"

"I'm not sure of where exactly - we got ambushed in the forest sometime ago and the next thing I know we woke up here."

"I figured that much pretty quick. But still, where are we? Do we know this place? Who do we get to thank for our undelighfully icky new accommodations now?"

Just as Arammys finished his sentence, there was a soundless woosh of fabric up ahead. He looked up, squinting through the bars, to see a long-haired figure clad in intricate armor standing right outside the door, stone-faced. He closed his mouth into a thin line.

"That would be me." [...]

Help

[...] "Why should we trust you?" Corah leveled her sword at him, the tip of the blade inches from him. Her eyes were unyielding, and behind her, the group watched the new arrival with a mix of shock and fear.

Bastien lifted up his hands placatingly, calmly taking a step forward and letting the sword hit the chest plate of his armor.

"Because I can help. If you go into her realm alone, none of you will make it out."

Corah scoffed, tightening her grip on the blade's hilt. She tilted her head. "That's awfully convenient coming from the guy who tried to kill us in our sleep only a month ago. Now you expect us to be stupid enough to follow you like ducklings right into your Queen's slaughter hall, is that it?"

"No!" He exclaimed, before regaining his calm composure "Look, you have no reason to forgive me, and frankly, I can understand if you won't fully trust me either. I know I wouldn't. That's not what I'm asking for - but consider this, I'm already committing high treason just by coming here. And most certainly for bringing you this."

He slowly reached for his satchel, not once breaking eye contact with the girl, who watched his every move, expecting the worst. His hand reappeared a second later, holding the amulet for all to see. Behind her, gasps echoed around the small clearing.

Blood and embers swirled inside the glowing crystal. Corah recognized it immediately - everyone knew the story, a symbol of the bitter love that shook their nations and sparked a war, Queen Meira's best-kept secret.

Corah lowered her sword, eyes still narrowed.

"How did you get that?"

"...Because the Queen also happens to be the liar who called herself my mother." [...]

Mercy

Eidan's shoulders stiffened, and he stared emptily at the destruction ahead. His fingers brushed the bracelet around his left wrist, seeking comfort. "The 'Eclipsed' aren't exactly known for their mercy, that I know well."

Their group went silent as they realized what he meant, the howling of the foggy wind and creaking trees outside the massacred temple being the only sounds surrounding them for a long moment.

Mason, of all people, stopped his bickering with his twin, suddenly aware of the turn the conversation had taken. He reached out a hand, hoping it would be a comforting gesture, but as soon as the tip of his fingers brushed against the fabric over Eidan's shoulder, the young man flinched away violently.

"I don't need your pity." Eidan snapped, distant eyes mixing the current anger he was feeling with the fear his memories brought back to the surface before his expression numbed again, "We should keep going, we'll be wasting daylight at this rate."

"Are you sure-"

"I said we should keep going." Eidan didn't look over his shoulder nor spoke anything else, practically marching ahead of the group and turning back to the trail they should be following.

Voice

"Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my-!" His voice became raggedy as the dragon flew higher, having caught them just seconds before they would've hit the ground. He clings to her golden scales, trying to digest the fact that this giant dragon was the same friend who loved to arm wrestle sailors at a tavern and dance to rowdy music.

Tomasa is a dragon - that should be the most shocking thing at this moment. However, given their distance from the ground and her speed as arrows soared past them, Arammys' main concern centered around not falling to his death.

"Pretty cool, huh?" She turns her long neck to look over her shoulder for a moment, nearly hitting the city wall in the process.

Arammys swallowed, clutching the scales around her neck so tightly he thought the muscles of his hands would snap. "That's - certainly a word. I'm just not sure it applies!" The words faded out into a terrified scream as their dragoness friend purposefully swirled in circles in the air, her hearty laugh rattling through his bones.

"Aw, don't be such a killjoy! This is amazing." Tomasa exclaimed, stretching out her wings. When Arammys didn't answer, she tried to look at him again but was unable to see his face as he held on to her neck for dear life.

She let out a deep sigh, her voice ringing with the kind of deadpan disbelief that only a seasoned fighter could have. "Don't tell me this boy has his eyes closed."

Corah snorted out a single laugh at their friend's tone, placing a reassuring hand on Arammys' back, before answering her. "He's got his eyes closed."

"You've got to be kidding me."

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance." For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND.

If you are traveling in winter or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

Heads Up Seven Up (2)

I was tagged by @indecentpause (here)! Thank you so much for the tag!

I chose to go with a line from a future scene I wrote for my newest WIP - a dark fairytale-style fantasy - Of Starlight and Beasts, (even though I haven't nearly reached that chapter yet, I just had to write down this scene)!

"Love won't save you now, child - well, it certainly won't save him." Meira emerged from the swirling shadows, looming over her - the condescending smile on her lips an uncanny sight. Corah glared, suddenly gasping once she realized what the Queen meant. She swung her sword at the woman, speaking with a furious growl, "You wouldn't dare!" "My dear, I already have," Meira blocked the blade with her bare hand, holding onto it with the ease of someone swatting a fly and throwing the girl across the hall. The Queen grew as tall as the pilasters around her, her shadows swirling fiercely as she became a part of them, voice echoing eerily around her, "You'll never reach the boy on time."

Tagging (gently): @i-can-even-burn-salad, @winterandwords, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @steh-lar-uh-nuhs, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @rickie-the-storyteller, @aziz-reads, @little-peril-stories and @jasperygrace

Maturity is not seeking revenge. It's healing and moving on, so you don’t become like the people who traumatized you.