Today I was far more distracted while attempting to write, but I’m so dang close to the goal that it feels forgiveable. I’m really proud of making it this far, considering writing at all has been a strugglebus this year.
Word Count: 1115
He turned his face to the sky, where clouds mottled the starry canopy. The half-moons all seemed dull, even when the wisps of cloud moved away from their faces. He sat for some time upon the broken plaza and piles of charred wood and broken weapons in a silent lament. Trace was once again the Empty God.
Another productive day! I’m pretty pleased about that. The week 4 slump was pretty bad up until last night, and I’m hoping I can have another good writing day tomorrow.
Word Count: 1710
“Who’s that, brother? Friend of yours?”
The voice was tired, broken, weak. Trace turned to his twin. Biim barely clung to consciousness, his eyes narrowed against the blood that ran down his face, and yet here he was finding strength to speak. He searched Trace’s look with something like disbelief, maybe distrust.
Trace didn’t lie to him. He didn’t say anything at all. That seemed to get his message across better than words ever would. Biim accepted it with a faint nod.
I missed a couple days due to slow writing ending at Too Late O’Clock and also not liking much of what I wrote. But I’m back today! It’s more Fiorebell today.
Also, Happy Thanksgiving for those of you who celebrate it!
Word Count: 1863
Trace was not quick to anger. In truth, Trace was not quick to feel anything at all.
Rage burned hot and uncomfortable, but he would put it to use. Trace pushed the sword back violently with a stray thought, breaking the wrist of the man that held it. He cried out and dropped the weapon, which splattered blood that stained the cobblestones gray. Trace’s wound healed within a few seconds.
Late post! I was slow to write today. Blame my grocery trip after work. Today I did more work on the Fiorebell story, and got to introduce the titular character. It’s really tough to write love stories oh my god.
Word Count: 1701
Trace wondered, as he sat and wiled away the time, if Fiorebell suspected what he was. Why he could change his shape so readily, and why he was so measured with every expression he offered.
Their next meeting couldn’t come fast enough. He’d never really felt a need to be impatient before, and yet the cloying feeling settled in his core. He wasn’t meant to fall into a routine on his walkabout on the earth. He wasn’t meant to focus too much on one area as he learned about the world.
He wasn’t supposed to mingle too much with the divine, but here he was thinking only of her. She was indeed divine, whether or not she could reside in the Other like he could. He wasn’t sure what that feeling meant. It intrigued and worried and excited him.
I wrote a decent amount today I think! I was kind of wishy washy on what I wanted to work on for a bit, but I ended up doing more work on Fiorebell.
Word Count: 1740
More vines and smaller branches snaked their way after him, tangling his limbs and working their way up towards his face. This, Trace could not allow.
A small jab of purely mental pain lashed out from him, first at the tree and then to the surrounding area. Things faltered for a moment, but still he found himself wrapped up more and more and drawn ever closer to the trunk of that tree.
With a flash of silver eyes, Trace spread a hand wide and conjured up a flame, small and bright and eerily grey, above his palm. The light alone would be enough to scorch paper, and the vines attacking that arm drew back.
I wrote a very small amount last night before conking out with a headache. My brain was like No! But luckily I did plenty of writing today. Today I worked on a story tentatively called Fiorebell, a complete rehash and rewrite of a story I wrote … like 15 years ago. Gosh the old one needed an update.
Anyway, I think this is the first time any writing about Trace, one of my earliest OCs, has made it to my blog!
Word Count: 1914
“I came from the south, I think” Trace mused, making a show of looking over his shoulder at the door. “The fields led me this way.”
The woman nodded. “Well. You’ve come a long way, so it’s no surprise you don’t know. Be careful exploring the woods, won’t you dear? There’s witches and the like up those mountains. Nasty business.”
Trace’s brow pinched. “Oh. Do they come close?”
She shook her head. “Not as long as the fields are in view. So you should always keep us in sight if you decide to explore the trees, and I’ll be sure to keep track; if you go missing, I can let someone know about trying to find you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Trace reassured her. “I don’t plan to do anything stupid.”
The plants of Muunfel are many and varied, though I haven’t invented many of my own for it yet. Instead I’m going to use this theme to give some details about the Steward of Plants/Saint of Growth, Fiorebell.
Fiorebell was a daughter of the earth god and the titan of earth. Her domain was over growth and plants, and she tended to them all the best she could. She had the ability to heal and nurture growth in even the most barren lands, and her soft-spoken kindness made her a favorite among gods and mortals alike.
The reason she’s written of in past tense is because she was murdered, which came as a shock to even the gods. Up until her death, no one realized that stewards (children of gods and titans) even could die.
It wasn’t too long after she had met Trace, the god of mind, and the two had fallen in love. Humans, wary of the gods and their like walking the earth, discovered Trace in their town and attacked him. Despite being one of the first gods, he was surprised and overpowered in his physical form through the use of Korvasin grey metal. The humans were very close to dealing enough wounds to destroy his corporeal form for a long time, when Fiorebell intervened.
Though her command over large, thorned vines was quick and effortless, they overpowered her as well with sheer zeal. Trace was helpless as the humans burned Fiorebell at the stake, one of the few beings he has ever been known to truly care for. In the end, he cursed the humans and their descendants, and Fiorebell’s death caused the land all around the town to die away, and still nothing can grow there. It’s been dubbed Fiorebell’s Blight.
Throughout history, the people of Muunfel have found reasons to fight one another and drive rifts between them. One of the most violent rifts is between the people who can channel magic directly (Tamkind, gods, and fairies) and those who must direct it some other way (wizards and sorcerers, etc).
This fighting saw a turning point when scholars of Korvasin discovered and developed what they simply dubbed “Grey Metal”. This material, created through alchemy, enchanting, and rigorous rituals, can be shaped into almost anything. It is an absolute bane on magic channellers.
When it comes into contact with someone with magic in their blood, it floods them with its own strange, false magic. The afflicted person cannot use this Grey Magic, and are rendered almost helpless because of it.
Grey Metal has been made into chains and manacles as well as weapons. In some regions, it is common for magic folk to be detained using Grey Metal, while in others there are those who lobby against its use at all. The ethics behind its use are often brought into discussion, and many of the naysayers cite some of its more catastrophic uses as reasons to ban it without considering its usefulness:
- Manacles made of Grey Metal were used on Trace, Biim, and Fiorebell in the incident that resulted in Fiorebell’s death. The land surrounding the village where this took place still cannot support any growth, and Biim himself received an incurable curse thanks to the way his and Trace’s godly magic fled.
- The previous Una of the Fae was shot through the spine with an arrow tipped in Grey Metal. Because she was unable to heal, she spent the rest of her days unable to walk. The Aubry placed a curse on the entire empire of Korvasin for this, and it has yet to recover from it.
Regardless of anyone’s stance on the subject, Grey Metal is dangerous and not to be used lightly in any scenario.
Near the eastern border of the country of Rutan, the land is fertile grassland before giving way to the massive desert that takes up the bulk of the nation. In the northeastern corner of this region, however, is a significant patch of land that has not grown a single plant in centuries. Even the banks of the river winding through this area are barren of life.
This region is known as Fiorebell’s Blight.
Muunfel is known as the land of the gods because the pantheon often appears there in corporeal form. Ages ago, there were sects of mortals that resented this, seeing it as an intrusion. Resentment towards the gods was stronger in some places more than others.
Trace, the god of mind, wandered more easily among the people than his siblings. In his travels, he met Fiorebell, a demigod of plants and growth, and the two fell in love.
However, not long after this, the mortals of the area caught wind of gods in their presence and attacked. Trace was badly injured, and even though gods can’t truly die, his corporeal form could have been destroyed for quite some time.
When Fiorebell intervened, the mortals managed to take the upper hand against her. She was executed, in a public affair that caught the attention of much of the pantheon. Trace was especially devastated by her loss.
Before she passed, Fiorebell laid her curse on the people, promising that their descendants would receive nothing from the land. The curse remains in place, and no amount of gentle care can coax even the toughest of plants to grow in Fiorebell’s Blight.