Flash Fiction Fridays – First Meetings

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This week’s flash fiction is about Leo’s parents and their first meeting. If you’ve ever wondered how his mother ended up stuck in such an awful situation, this answers that. Enjoy!

~~~

She held her head as high as she could and looked him in the eye. Pale violet blended out into a deeper shade of indigo, and she stared just as much as he stared at her. A shiver went down her spine. No warmth lingered in his gaze. He was cold. Even colder than the slave traders who had brought her here.

The way station’s travelers bustled outside the large three room house where they were kept. None of them had any idea what went on in here. None of them knew that she would probably leave this building with one of the men here today. But she held her head high anyway and forced back the tears. No help was coming. No one on the outside could do anything even if they knew, and she couldn’t pull them into this mess. The men here were all powerful in their own rights, and none of them would think twice about killing anyone who intervened. She’d seen it happen.

The violet-eyed man stalked to her position in the line, his gaze never leaving hers. A challenge flared to life there, as if he were daring her to run from him, daring her to find out that she wasn’t so strong after all. She tensed and fought the urge to lower her gaze and to hide from him. He stopped right in front of her and reached out to grip her chin between his fingers. She flinched, and a cruel smile curved his lips. He could’ve been carved from marble for all he cared about how he made her feel. He was even worse than the men leaving with their new slaves. They might afford their slaves some dignity. This man? He would break anyone he chose, and she was the unlucky soul he’d chosen. He might not have bought her yet, but he would. She knew the look in his eye. Saw it all the time, in fact.

“What’s your name, girl?” His low voice washed over her in warm baritones.

His voice didn’t belong with a man so hard. She lowered her gaze, unable to stand staring into those cold, hard eyes.

His grip tightened. “Do not make me ask again. I will take you into one of the back rooms and beat it out of you.”

She bit back a cry at the sudden pain in her jaw. “It’s Anne, Master.”

“It’s Caladhor. From now on, you will address me by sir or by my name.”

She licked her lips. How was she to know which to use when?

“Is that understood?”

“How do I know which to use?” She glanced up at him.

“It depends on my mood. If I look like I might want to kill you, sir might be most appropriate. If I’m pleased with you, my name will do. You’ll figure it out. And if you don’t pick up quick…” He released her with a sharp smile. “Well, never mind that. I think you’ll figure it out quickly enough.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re figuring it out already.” His grin widened. “Though I don’t want to kill you just yet.”

Anne didn’t say anything. If he was hoping for a response, she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. She would do what she had to in order to live, but she wasn’t going to let him break her. She wouldn’t lose her spirit no matter what he did to her. He walked off to talk to the slave traders, and she watched the gold change hands. Inside, she was numb now. When Caladhor returned and grabbed her by the arm, she let him drag her out of the house without a word. Like it or not, a new life awaited, and this man would be the one who decided her fate. She would make sure she found a way to have a good one.

~~~

That’s it for this week, everybody! I hope you all enjoyed. If you have something specific you want me to write for this section of the blog, feel free to shoot me an email or leave a comment! I’m always happy to see new ideas and new writing prompts, particularly if they’re ones that would be more interesting to you all!

Saturday Setups: Language Building – An Introduction

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Introduction

In a post on language factors, we already went over some basics about languages and building them for specific areas as well as basics on how to do it in general. In this post and upcoming ones, we’re taking a look at this more closely. This is a process that is entirely optional, and people do varying degrees of it. Some go all out while others opt out entirely. Neither is wrong. A language you’ve created isn’t necessary to lend credibility to your work in most cases, but it can be very helpful. The goal of this section is to equip you with tools you’ll need to build languages if you choose to do so. I can’t cover everything, but I’ll try to cover what you need to get started. We’ll begin with an introduction to building languages and why you might decide to do so.

Why Create a Language?

First and foremost, creating a language should be done for fun. It isn’t required, even for high or epic fantasies, to make a good story. In fact, it’s easy to end up taking away from the story with this type of world building if you’re not careful. Because of this, the predominant reason to create a language is because you want to for the sake of experimenting, having fun with it, and being able to say you’ve created your very own language. If playing with sounds, coming up with new writing systems, and dabbling in creating grammar or structure rules sounds fun to you, then this area of world-building is for you. If you already know you’ll hate it, move on. It isn’t worth driving yourself nuts. For those on the fence, I encourage you to give it a try. You never know; you may love it. At the very least, you can say you tried it.

Besides fun, another reason to build a language of your own is because you want a naming system (or just the names) for people, places, and things that sound suitably unique but also have some sense of cohesiveness and weight behind them. This could mean you just want names that sound like they could come from the same regional location or it could mean you want names that go as far as having root words from a language that gives the names an actual meaning, much like our names on Earth have meanings behind them. Those two different sides of the spectrum obviously require differing levels of involvement from you in terms of language building, but they’re both valid needs.

Finally, language is so entwined with culture that many times your culture ends up changing with the language. If you’re writing something heavily invested in culture, language–spoken and written–plays a big part in it. You may only choose to add in some exotic names and maybe some insults or curse words to lend to the illusion of depth you create, or you may choose to go all out and create the language that you need to include songs in that language, like Tolkien does with Elvish in Lord of the Rings. How far you go depends on your interest in it and on what your readers are expecting. You can go overboard with this, so it’s important to always have balance. Don’t overwhelm readers with a lot of text in fantasy languages you’ve created. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have some terms or names that are pulled from the language creation work you did.

Where to Start

If you’re feeling like this is complicated at this point (or have felt so since you saw the topic of this post), I’m not going to lie to you. It is complicated. But it isn’t impossible, and there are ways you can make life easier on yourself. Let’s just look at the starting point I’ve used for this in the past since a starting point helps to make things seem a little less chaotic.

Usually, I start with the alphabet. I take the time to think about all the sounds available to me in my language and alphabet (English in my case), and I weed through those root sounds. I may take out a vowel or a consonant here and there to lessen the number of letters I have to deal with. I have also, in the past, chosen to incorporate the diphthongs (vowel combinations like ae) found in Latin or other languages. When you’re adding sounds to your alphabet or syllabary that your native tongue doesn’t have, you can look at the sounds of other languages. This is a tremendous help, and it can give a lot more depth to your language, especially if you’re doing this for the first time. Even Tolkien, a well-accomplished linguist in his own right, borrowed from other languages to create the dialects of Elvish.

Starting with your alphabet or syllabary gives you the building blocks for words. It makes it easier to determine what sounds can and can’t be involved, and you’re making a call on what the language will sound like at the very basic level. If it’s going to be soft and lilting, it’ll be because of the sounds you kept, added, or threw out in this stage. If it will be harsh and guttural, it’ll be because of what you kept, threw out, or added at this point. Everything in a language pivots upon two things: its grammar and its vocalization/sounds. Grammar is more complex, so start with what’s simple and build up from there.

Conclusion

Hopefully you have a better understanding now of why you might want to create a language and the uses it can serve in your novel. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, take a deep breath. This isn’t as bad as it seems, and I hope to show you that it can be a ton of fun for creative minds in future posts. You can set up the language in whatever way you choose. Look at the languages we have here on Earth. There’s tons of variation there, right? Well, for your fictional languages, you can use systems just as varied, and you also have the freedom to mash together concepts, sounds, and techniques from other languages around you in real life. If you let go of the stress of thinking everything has to be perfect and just start with your sounds and the premise that this is meant to be a lot of fun for you, you’re going to be fine. You can take it as fast or slow as you need to, and you can choose how much you feel like doing. No author is required to build a complete language, nor are they required to do any language building at all. It really is entirely up to you, so have fun with it and don’t stress! Just like all other areas of world building, this is your chance to do things your way and to have fun while doing it. Take advantage of it!

Flash Fiction Fridays: Dead Men Do Tell Tales

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This week’s is pretty short. It’s based on a writing prompt I saw on Facebook that looked interesting. Hopefully you all enjoy even though it’s short!

~~~

He never should’ve taken the job. Or at least, not without asking a lot of questions first. His target lay bleeding out on the floor, her spirit long-gone and her knowledge his. He wished it weren’t. Swords for hire didn’t have much loyalty or honor, but gods curse it, he had some standards, and this violated them.

He didn’t kill children or innocents.

He didn’t stand for selling out those who hired you.

Until today, those rules had governed his jobs. The woman–General Eilesi Araden–had been staging a coup, one of the largest in her country’s history, to take down her country’s corrupt oligarchy. His client had been her second-in-command, and his client had also lied about her. She hadn’t been guilty of anything except wanting the best for her country and her people.

He stepped away from the cooling body and fought down the bile rising in his throat. Now that she was dead, he would be a target if anyone knew he had her knowledge. Did his client know about his unique abilities? He didn’t generally broadcast it, so he could be safe. But even if he was safe on that front, would they risk the loose end he posed? He doubted it. Which meant he was going to have to run. The hunter had just become the hunted.

~~~

And that’s it. Like I said, it’s short. Do you guys have something you’d like to see on Flash Fiction Fridays? If so, feel free to email me about it or leave a comment below!

Work-In-Progress Wednesdays #34

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This is a sneak peek at a short story I’m working on for a short story collection that I hope to publish in 2021. I know, a while out, but I like to get a head start so I can make sure everything is finished on schedule. Anyway, this one is about Enlil, a storm god in an alternate universe who has kidnapped a princess who is supposed to be his Chosen, the one to keep him steady and complete him. Things are…not working out as planned. (But really, when do they ever, right?)

~~~

ENLIL watched Nunael from across the table. She wouldn’t lift her gaze from her food, and they had already passed most of the meal dancing around any real conversation. In fact, she had spent most of her words on avoiding any conversation with him at all. He hadn’t envisioned things going like this. His Chosen was supposed to obey and to adore him, and he was to love and to protect her. Had the ring chosen wrong this time? In his long lifetime, it never had. Still, this mulish, raven-haired slip of a woman wasn’t anything like the others the ring had chosen in the previous millenium. He tightened his grip on his cutlery. He’d been happy with all of the previous Chosen. What was the ring doing? Changing up a working system was madness. He frowned down at the ring, and the ruby set into the intricate metal band stared back, winking in the light. He looked up at the girl again.

She picked at her food with a groan. “Why do you insist on staring at me?”

His scowl deepened. “Why do you insist on giving me a headache?”

She snorted. “I’m not a telepath, so I can’t possibly give you a headache.”

“You most certainly can. There are ways to do it without using any magic, and you certainly have managed it in the short time since you came here.”

“Since you kidnapped me, you mean.” She returned to picking at her food, and candlelight flickered over her high cheekbones.

“You came willingly.”

“I came because I had to.”

“You still chose to come. And is it really that miserable here? Have I hurt you in any way?”

“Not yet.”

His grip on the silverware turned vise-like, and shocks flickered over his forearms. He forced himself to take a deep breath and to calm down. “I’m not going to. Do you know what a Chosen is?”

“An individual sacrifices to a god to act as a consort and a tie between mortal and immortal.” She pushed her plate away. “How is this relevant?”

“You are my vessel’s chosen.”

She sat back and slumped down in her chair with a huff of breath. Disbelief, judging by the expression on her elfen features. “Your vessel’s chosen?”

“The Chosen are picked by the ancestors of the deity.”

She frowned at that but didn’t ask the question that was obvious on her face.

He answered anyway. “We’re not really immortal. But it takes someone or something as strong as we are to kill us.”

“And if you aren’t killed?”

“We live for a long time.”

She stared out at the torch-lit courtyard below their window. “How old are you, then?”

“Old enough. You?”

“Eighteen.” She still didn’t look at him.

He watched her, curiosity warring with irritation. This was the least intractable she’d been so far. But even now, she looked for an escape from his presence. “You know you’re stuck here, right? Stuck in this palace with me…”

Her golden eyes finally shifted to him. Still, she didn’t answer, and stubbornness glinted in that shadowed gaze.

He stood and stalked over to her, pulling her to her feet. “You can’t go. Ever.”

Her gaze lowered, shut him out and blocked his words. “So you have said.”

What would it take for her to get it? He yanked her into his arms and caged her in his embrace. “I mean it. Until you and I are Bound and become one, this place will not let you leave.”

She tore from his grip with a mournful, angered cry. “You lie!”

“I don’t.” He crossed his arms. “Test it if you like. But you’ll only prove me right, Princess. Save us both the trouble and accept your fate.”

“Never.” She spun on her heel and fled out the door, her dress fluttering around her ankles.

He watched her go before shoving his hands into his pockets and following behind her. She rushed down the hall to the grand staircase. There, she paused and looked back. Her gaze caught on him, and she froze for a moment. Then she took off again, all but tumbling down the stairs in her haste. He didn’t rush. Why do that when he didn’t need to? She’d see soon enough.

They ended up in the gardens on the border of the castle’s wall. She stepped out of the gate in the wall, and Enlil waited by the burbling fountain. Moments later, she reappeared beside him, stumbling a bit. A confused whimper escaped her, and he steadied her. She tore her arm from his grip and sank to the grass surrounding his fountain. Her tiny frame trembled. “Go away! You won, so just leave me alone.”

He chewed on his inner cheek and crouched down beside her. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

He didn’t know. He just felt terrible about the pain she was in, and he wanted to alleviate it. He reached out to take her hand then pulled back. She wouldn’t welcome his touch. Not right now.

She kept her face turned away from him. “This is your fault. You’re not really sorry for anything. You just feel guilty.”

He wanted to be angry with her, but she was right. He didn’t know what he was sorry for, and he did feel guilty. It was, in some ways, his fault. But not entirely. He stood and glared down at the ring on his ring finger. The ring had chosen her, not him. The ring had decided this headstrong, unsubmissive, and angry woman would be the best match for him. He tore the infernal thing off his finger and threw it into the grass. “If I had my way, I never would have brought you here at all. You’re not what I need, and you’re not what I was hoping for.”

She laughed bitterly. “Then go away! Leave me be. I don’t want you either, so I guess that makes us even. At least we can agree on that.”

He shook his head with a sneer and stalked off. Cursed ring and its wretched judgment. Next time, he’d rather be damned for eternity in the fiery pits of Aratroth’s furnace than let the ring pick another ill-matched, ill-mannered wench. He’d choose his own woman next time, and his ancestors could just suck it up and deal with it. He could make his own decisions.

~~~

Well, that’s it for now, everyone! Hope you guys enjoyed. What are you working on? If you’d like, you can share it in the comments below! I’d love to hear from everyone.

Flash Fiction Fridays – The Shade of Whitsmare

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Okay, so this one is a one-off that doesn’t go with any particular story or world. I got the idea from a prompt on one of the writing groups I’m with on Facebook, and I figured I’d share it. This one’s in first person. I rarely write in first person since I generally prefer third and feel I am strongest in that, but this one is the exception. It’s also shorter than the others have been, but hopefully you guys enjoy it anyway.

~~~

I couldn’t watch this happen to him. He was the light to my dark, and if I lost him, I would lose myself. I’m not even sure exactly what happened in that moment, but at the moment that I heard the report come crackling over the cop car radio that the Shade of Whitsmare was trying to hold off Kyrelon, something inside me snapped. It didn’t matter that he was supposed to be the hero–my hero. I just had to know he was safe. I closed my eyes and did the one thing I had vowed never to do with my power. I shade walked in the mind of my hero. I had promised I wouldn’t ever take over, even if I could wrest control from his conscious mind in order to be in control.

The moment he gave in and let me take over, my heart broke. He stepped back and gave me control, the very thing I’d always craved over him, and now I didn’t want it. I stared up at Kyrelon through his eyes and lifted his hands. He might not be able to beat Kyrelon, but if I channeled my power through him, I could defeat the villain. And I would. Even if it meant I would likely die engaging Kyrelon’s mind, I would do it. After all, a villain is only as powerful as the hero she must battle, and I was no exception. I was as strong as I was because of Shade, and if he was gone, I would be nothing. Life would be meaningless anyway, and he deserved to live.

So I whispered my last farewell into his mind, willing him to live on even if he hated himself for letting this happen. And when I had done that, I cast my mind around Kyrelon, weaving a dream from which neither he nor I would escape. My mental projection thrummed with power, and I felt my mind leaving my body entirely. Then it slipped loose of the tether Shade’s body provided, and I was lost in my dream world, dragging Kyrelon with me.

Loving and saving him were the only things I never regretted no matter how lost I got in that world I’d made and no matter how many times Kyrelon and I battled or died there. They were the only good things I ever did in my life. The only truly selfless things I chose to do of my own volition. I’m glad I did. Even a villain has something they cannot bear to lose. I found that thing. The Shade of Whitsmare.

~~~

There you have it! Hopefully you all liked it. It’s in a different sub-genre of fantasy than I usually use, and if you’ve followed my posts on Allen Steadham’s Mindfire or Superhero Fantasy, you know I’m not usually a fan of the genre. But hey, I think it went okay all things considered!

Have something you’d like to see on Flash Fiction Fridays? Feel free to share the idea with me via email or in the comments, whichever you’re more comfortable with. I don’t bite, I promise! I’m always happy to interact with you guys and any of my readers.

Work-In-Progress Wednesdays #33

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This week’s goes with an idea I’m playing around with for a short story. We’ll see where it goes, but I’m liking the idea and characters so far. Enjoy!

~~~

Eltara reached out with trembling fingers and touched the cold stone base of the statue at the center of the square. This city square held only ivy, crumbling cobblestone, and the unweathered statue. Even though the guards didn’t watch this place, it still held an oppressive air of sorts. Or so she was told. She only felt sadness and longing. The statue was abandoned here just like she was, but unlike her, it at least lived on in whispered children’s fables. If anyone dared whisper of love and soulmates in a world that had outlawed such things.

This place held a draw on her that she couldn’t explain, but that wasn’t why she was here tonight. She was here under the full moon, staring at a statue, because Lutania had wanted her to take a picture with the statue. The girl, despite her father’s attempts to knock some sense into her, retained a strong sense of romanticism, and she’d insisted on sending Eltara to test the stories. Now that she was here, though, she couldn’t bring herself to take Lutania’s picture. She just stared at the forlorn expression on the statue and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Who did you represent when you were carved? Whoever shaped you took a big risk. The person you’re supposed to look like can’t have appreciated that forlorn, lost look on a marble likeness of himself.” She climbed up onto the marble base and sat at the statue’s feet, staring out across concrete yards, rows of tidy houses, and pitch-black roads in the city down the hill from the square.

“What was it like back when your maker lived? Were you formed back when this land was part of America? I wish I could’ve seen it. Equality must have been a beautiful thing. Being free to be whatever you were must have been even nicer.” The breeze snatched her soft words away, and she stood, hands on her hips. While she was asking questions and making confessions, she might as well get the things weighing on her off her chest where no one would hear or hurt her for saying them. “I hate this place. No one wants me, and I have nowhere to belong. But I’m not weak just because of my birth’s circumstances, and I’m not meant to be treated like an outcast.” Her smile dropped, and she reached out to run her fingers over the cold stone chest of the man. “Whoever’s image you were carved in, you’d be just like me. Not quite similar enough to either side to be accepted anywhere.”

The statue remained still and silent.

Sighing, she turned and leaned back against the statue’s chest, placing her hand in his one free hand. Maybe someday, someone besides a cold statue of a man long dead would embrace her. Not likely. An ache spread through her chest and stole her breath, left her with only the pain instead of the air that should occupy her lungs. She’d never be matched with anyone. A half-breed who never should have lived would never be picked for the ranks of the Chosen. Even if she were, her fellow Chosen would hate her, wouldn’t they? Her match would recoil in disgust. Tears filled her eyes, and she sagged down to hunker at the statue’s feet. Would the loneliness and separation ever end? If she could leave and find her own way in the world, maybe it would be better? But it wasn’t possible for one half-breed with no help. She’d be caught trying to escape the Praesaepium’s walls and thrown into the mental hell of the Mors Animi. Her tears spilled over past her lashes. She buried her face in her arms and allowed herself this moment of weakness. Out here, at least, she could have that.

A groan sounded behind her, and she froze. The sound had almost seemed human, but it had a strange grating sound like pebbles or stone grinding against other stone. She hugged her knees to her chest more closely and listened. Was someone else out here with her? Had Lutania sent someone to make sure she actually did what she was supposed to? No, that made no sense. She was to return with a picture.

The groan came again, and she reached out for the boot of the statue to push herself to her feet. Her heart pounded, and she almost missed it because of the adrenaline pumping through her.

Warmth and real leather caressed her palm.

She gasped and snatched her hand back. She scrambled to her feet and backed away from the statue. The moon, standing directly over it, illuminated the cold marble. But that cold marble was slowly, but surely, losing its sheen and becoming something else altogether. A clap of thunder boomed overhead, and lightning split the sky. The statue moaned this time, and she froze in place.

Then the most miraculous thing occurred as she watched. The statue began to shrink. She gasped and stumbled away, but not quickly enough to avoid the statue as it toppled over. She squeezed her eyes shut. Was this how she went? Crushed to death by a giant statue magic was shrinking? Had she done this? She took another step down the stairs before the statue toppled onto her. How could she have done this? She wasn’t a Fortis. She didn’t have magic.

The former statue had, somehow, become a living, breathing man. Clearly magic was involved. Had it been the curse Lutania had gone on about? Her heart hammered in her chest. No, no, no. That wasn’t okay. It wasn’t possible. His warm body pressing against hers said otherwise. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her palms to his bare chest to push him off. She had to get out of here. If the Fortis guards bothered to check the square tonight, she’d be in so much trouble. Emerald eyes met hers, and the man pushed himself up off her, but he didn’t stand. He just hovered over her, a frown furrowing his brow.

She stared too. Mesmerized, she reached out to run her fingers of his face. He’d been cold marble moments ago. How could this even happen? She chewed on her inner cheek. Whatever had happened, if anyone found out she’d woken him up, she’d disappear like any other Infirmi who had Ability. No one would miss her because she wasn’t even fully Infirmi and both sides wanted her gone. She pulled her hand away. Her movement snapped whatever spell he was under, and he moved off her, standing up and staring at the city. The furrow in his brow deepened, and his brows pulled down.

“S-sir?” She scrambled to her feet and looked out across the still sleeping Praesaepium. What was he looking at?

He didn’t answer.

Should she leave him to figure out his own problems? Or stay and help him? Helping him would jeopardize her safety, and it might also mean she would have to attempt an escape even if she didn’t think she’d make it. But if things went sour, she’d be tangled up with him, and they’d end up running from forces belonging to the elite members of the Fortis. She turned away, her steps faltering. Her heart whispered that she shouldn’t go, but she couldn’t let it dictate this situation. Not if she wanted to survive in this society of rules and dictates.

“W-wait.”

She froze.

“Tara?”

Eltara shook her head. “You’re mistaken, sir. I’m not the woman you’re searching for.”

“You have to be. You… You broke the curse.”

She shook her head again and glanced over her shoulder. His malachite gaze rested on her hopefully. She couldn’t leave him here. He looked lost, and she knew what that felt like. She’d never be able to ignore someone in need. Not when she knew what it was like to be there and have no one. She sighed. “I’m Eltara. Please, keep quiet. If the Fortis that check around here catch us, you’ll be in trouble.” And so would she, particularly since this didn’t look very good. They’d think she was trying to seduce one of their own, and that would gain her a quick pass to the Mors Animi. She shivered. “Really, you don’t want to know what might happen.”

~~~

Well, that’s it for this week! Hope you guys enjoyed it! What are you working on? I’d love to hear about it, so if you’d like to share, please feel free to utilize the comments section to share with us.

Saturday Setups – Magic: Consequences

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Introduction

This week’s discussion is the last on magic for now. We’re going to go over consequences to magic. We’ve already hinted toward this a bit, but a closer look at it is important because there’s so much variation in the topic. So we’re going to examine this area in a little more detail. Since I already covered the importance of having structure to the magic system and the need to have boundaries as well as consequences that limit magic use, we won’t go into that with too much detail. Instead, we’re going to look at some of the kinds of consequences and how they can be used. Let’s get started!

Types of Consequences

Okay, so this particular topic is pretty vast in that the possibilities for consequences to magic and why you have them vary so widely. But let’s take a quick look at some different types of consequences. You can have mental, physical, emotional, or tangible consequences for things. The first three are relatively straightforward. The consequences in these categories will end up affecting the user directly in one of those three areas, so there may be restraint in how much magic is used depending on the severity of the consequences. The last is a little less obvious. Tangible consequences are ones that don’t fall under the other three. They affect the user indirectly instead, usually by affecting his loved ones or by taking something from him that is precious to him.

Examples of Consequences

Obviously, the consequences for using magic change a great deal depending on what category they fall into. A magic system whose consequences are mental might include anything from losing memories to going into a coma. Obviously, the severity may vary depending on the magnitude of the magic used, but the type of consequences allowed will be dependent upon what you choose to use for the consequence category. A physical magic system wouldn’t include losing your mind or losing memories, but it could include illness, losing body parts, blood sacrifices, or some other physical consequence for using the magic or even for making it work. And still yet again, emotional consequences won’t be the same as either of the previous two. This type of consequence isn’t necessarily as common as the first two because it’s a bit harder to come up with things to use. But emotional consequences might include losing the ability to feel a specific emotional, temporarily or permanently, or could even include a heightening of some negative or positive emotion for a time period as well. Or, perhaps the consequences emotionally result in some sort of “mental” illness that affects only one’s emotions or perceptions of the world around them. Typically, emotional consequences are going to go hand-in-hand with mental consequences simply because the two categories often impact each other, even in the real world.

The category that’s most expansive is the tangible consequences category. This is because the consequences are taken out on those around the magic wielder. So, a mage’s sister could go insane because he tried a spell that was really strong. Or, perhaps a close friend dies as a result of the use of magic. Really, the possibilities are endless. The key to note here is that when it comes to consequences, I don’t mean direct consequences that occur because someone used magic wisely or unwisely. Think of consequences here more as a price that is exacted after magic is used. In some systems, that price might be the drain on some sort of extra energy reservoir that the magic wielder possesses or use of life force. In others, the price could be something else entirely. The magic will work, but you don’t get it for nothing.

Practical Use of Consequences

Now that we have a foundational understanding of the topic, we need to understand how to use consequences practically in a novel. This can take many forms because, as noted above, the choices and combinations are pretty limitless. And you aren’t bound to staying with only mental or only physical consequences. You could have differing prices depending on the type and magnitude of the magic. For example, in Pathway of the Moon, I have three different consequence systems for three different situations of magic use.

The first is the normal type of magic almost everyone uses. In this consequence system, people draw on an energy reservoir inside of them. That reservoir will replenish, but those who try to do magic that requires more than what is in that source will end up drawing on their own life force. Obviously, this is a strong incentive for people to understand their own personal limitations and to avoid overdoing it.

The second system is in place for those use dark magic or shadow magic. Since both have similar workings and both can draw on the life force or energy source of other people around, the system is the same for both. In this case, those who have and use this kind of magic pay a different price if they choose to use someone else’s energy instead of their own. They suffer mental consequences as the blackness of the magic used can overwhelm them and will eventually drive them mad.

The final system is in place for, again, those who use magic drawing on the force of others. But in this case, it is for light-wielders because their magic doesn’t operate the same way as the magic of the shadow-wielders or dark magic users. In this system, drawing on the life force of others results in physical consequences, not mental. Using magic this way here results in the loss of physical senses over time, and each subsequent use of others’ life force comes at a higher and higher cost.

All of these systems operate in the same world and series, but they’re all very different types of consequence systems. Hopefully this helps you to see how you can weave consequences into your own book and your own magic system. How you choose to do it will vary to one degree or another from how I’ve done it, but this was just an illustration to underscore the fact that you can combine things as you like.

Conclusion

I hope this article has been helpful to you and has brought you some useful advice on how you can work with this very important area. It’s not a matter of right or wrong in this case, so have fun with this and don’t be too concerned with whether or not it’s “correct”. Have questions or suggestions? Feel free to leave those in the comments below!

Work-In-Progress Wednesdays #32

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This week, I have a scene from Pathway of the Moon’s most recent chapter. I’ve got ten chapters to go in this monolith of a book! Super excited to have the end in sight. This has been my most rigorous project yet, and the sequel promises to be even more complex in its plot and the execution of that plot. Lots of threads are going to be woven into the story’s tapestry, and it’ll be interesting to pull them all together as things continue on through the story. Hopefully I have the skill to pull it off. But only time will tell!

~~~

ALRIAN and Brennan stared down at the blackened, charred path through the grain field. She couldn’t believe the amount of destruction this one creature was capable of. Of course, they had some destructive animals on Alcardia, but most of them were shy or reclusive, and they rarely caused much trouble even if they were capable of it.

Brennan put his hands on her hips with a groan. “This thing is certainly determined to leave a trail behind it.”

“It’s almost as if the creature wants us to find it.” Alrian leaned back into his chest. “Do you think it hurt any villagers this time?”

He raised an arm and pointed to the village nestled in all of the fields. “I don’t think so. The village is still in one piece, and it shows all the usual signs of life.”

She watched the smoke trail up from chimneys and nodded. Her Bond was probably right. He usually was. She craned her neck to look up at him. “You know, I’m very glad I don’t have to track this thing alone.”

“You would find it just fine on your own, especially if this thing were to continue leaving a trail this conspicuous.”

She turned her gaze back to the charred path through the fields with a sigh. “Why would it leave such an obvious path, Brennan? What do you think it wants?”

“No way of knowing.” He ran his fingers through her hair and turned her to face him. “But I think we’re going to find out. Together, as usual.”

She grinned. “Yes, yes, we are. That thing is going to wish it never stepped through that Pathway.”

“Don’t be hasty, love. Besides terrifying some villagers and terrorizing the local livestock population, it hasn’t actually hurt anything.”

“You’re forgetting the field.”

He snorted. “It didn’t burn the whole thing down. Just a small portion of it. Doesn’t really count.”

She smacked his shoulder. “Brennan! That’s someone’s livelihood.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t hurt me over it!”

“Well, alright. This once, I’ll let it go, Captain.” She grinned up at him, not wanting to miss a chance to give him a hard time now that he was running the Imperial Knights.

He dipped his head until his lips almost brushed hers. Almost. But he didn’t close the last little bit of distance, the tease. She whined, but he only laughed. “Isn’t it High Imperial Knight now?”

“Why, sir, I didn’t know you were such a stickler for formality.” She smirked, her hands inching up his back to rest against his shoulders. She had to stand on her toes to reach, but he put his hands on her waist and steadied her, making the task easier.

“You’re the one who’s using formalities and titles.” His breath fanned over her face, and a shiver slipped down her spine. “Although, I’m not objecting.”

She bit her lip and lowered her gaze. “So, you’d accept any nickname I came up with, husband?”

“It would depend. But I haven’t heard one I didn’t like yet.” He finally dipped his head and claimed her lips for a breathless moment. “And I don’t think I will. Not if you give it with affection.”

She tried to hold back her smile and her laughter, but in the end it bubbled out. She dropped back to a flat-footed position and rested her forehead against his chest. Brennan always knew just what to say. He was always there, supporting and listening. He’d even kept her secret for her when he could’ve chosen to turn her in. After finding out she’d lied to him, he would’ve had every right. But instead, he’d loved her as much as her false identity allowed and kept the rest of his love to himself. Until now. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. “Thank you.”

He held her close too. “For what?”

“For caring.” She lifted her head. “For being you. For everything you do for me.”

He stroked her cheek with one large hand. “Anything for you, my love. Now, let’s get going. We have a creature to catch, and it isn’t waiting around. The sooner we catch it, the sooner we get to return to a warm bed and something besides hard tack.”

She pulled away and flipped her braid over her shoulder. “You love hard tack. It’s the best on-the-road food there is. Your words, not mine.”

He groaned. “I never said that. And why would you think I love hard tack?”

“You always ate my share and yours in our army days.”

“Only because you gave it to me. I was doing you a service.”

“A service?”

“The sergeant used to check up on everyone to make sure they ate their share. Do you know how many men got in trouble for not sticking to ration or for wasting their ration? I risked a good caning for you.”

“How come he never checked my share?”

Brennan gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, I may have told him I was taking your portion when you weren’t hungry.”

“You told Sergeant Croops that?” She stopped and stared at him.

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t turn your back black and blue?”

“No. But he told me if I didn’t finish both portions, I’d get two canings for taking an extra share and wasting it.”

“I can’t believe you did that!” She shook her head with a laugh. “So you didn’t really like hard tack?”

“No. I hated the stuff, to be honest.”

She chortled, wiping tears from her eyes. “I never knew.”

“Don’t laugh about my pain, woman! That was three years of misery while we were deployed out in the middle of nowhere.”

She dropped back to walk beside him, leaning into his side with a smile. “I won’t, I won’t. Thank you for eating double your share to save me from Sergeant Croops’ wrath.”

“You’re welcome. Glad to know you appreciate it. Later, you’d better show me just how much you appreciate it too. A massage and a hot meal sound nice.”

Her lips curved up in a smile. When they got to a village that had an inn to stay in for the night, she’d make sure they acquired a hot meal and the nicest bed she could find. And she’d pay for it out of her salary. If he wanted that and a massage, he’d have it. It was the least she could do for him. He’d given her so much, and she wanted him to know how much that meant. “You’ve got it.”

~~~

That’s it for this week’s WIP Wednesday. What are you guys working on? Feel free to share in the comments!

Sunday Sub-Genres: Flintlock Fantasy

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Introduction

Most of us know what steampunk and Victorian fantasy is, but I’m guessing most of us haven’t heard of flintlock fantasy. To be honest, I myself hadn’t prior to researching different fantasy genres to discuss for Sunday Sub-Genres. It isn’t one of the more commonly known or widely spread genres in fantasy, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a style of fantasy that appeals to readers and writers alike, so we’d be amiss if we skipped it. Let’s get started!

Defining Flintlock Fantasy

Simply put, flintlock fantasy is fantasy written in a setting with all of the bells and whistles of the early stages of the Industrial Revolution. It received its name because the firearms’ advancement level is usually right around the flintlock stage of gun development. A creative name? Maybe not. But it does serve its purpose. Politically speaking, the scene is more attuned with Napoleonic-era Europe than you see in most fantasy stories, which typically use a more Middle Ages-style structure. So you’re going to see a rise of industry and industrial buildings as well as more technology. This makes things interesting, as you’ll see when you read through the next section of the post.

Writing Flintlock Fantasy

Now we get to the interesting part. We mostly know what to write and expect in typical fantasy genres, but flintlock fantasy is a whole different beast from what we’ve tackled in previous posts on fantasy sub-genres. Still, it makes for some fun combinations in story-telling, so let’s get into it!

Magic

We’re going to start here because this part is pretty unique to flintlock fantasy or any fantasy book that has a more developed society. Magic use can be all over the place in these books. Some have very high magic use while others really don’t. Some may keep the magic hidden away from general society while others may allow it out in the open. But here’s the thing. When you can easily gun down the mage with no magic of your own, things tend to shift in the power balance here. People with magic are no longer the only ones with an edge. They may use the magic to do many things, but if technology can do those same thing or do them more efficiently, then that leaves magic-users with an option: adapt or die in obscurity. Keep in mind that one of the most interesting things in flintlock fantasy is the way the authors end up combining magic and gunpowder. That can create some very interesting combinations and effects. So if you’re writing this genre, you’re going to do some serious thinking about magic and how you want to include it because this is one of the hardest decisions you’ll probably make regarding this type of fantasy.

Society

Here’s a critical one. Flintlock fantasy is set in a society on the cusp of some amazing inventions and changes, as well as some not so great ones. One way of life is slowly dying to give way for another, and depending on how you choose to tell the story, your tale will reflect that. It won’t have much of a choice because of the nature of flintlock fantasy. This opens the door for remarking, through the use of fiction, on the horrors of trends in society as technology began to really barrel forward. It allows writers a chance to make a commentary on history and on what may happen to us in the future because of it.

Steam Power

Okay, this is a little of a weird one to include, but it’s also really important. You might be tempted to think at this point that this isn’t much different from steampunk besides maybe focusing more on flintlock innovations and what not. But that’s actually very far from the truth. While an argument could be made that these two are closely-related cousins, flintlock fantasy is not steampunk fantasy. So no steam-powered machines of gears and cogs that can do wild things. If it was an actual invention during the time period flintlock is based on, it’s probably fine. This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t have anything steam-powered, but it shouldn’t be prominent or the focus because then you’d be writing steampunk, not flintlock fantasy.

Change and Military Might

Remember how I said your society is on the cusp of change? Well, it’s not just technology that changes. When technology changes, everything does. Your warfare tactics have to adapt. Your society alters to adapt to the new amenities and struggles. Most of us probably don’t even realize just how wide-spread the influence of technology is in our lives, and even though the technology in this case will just be gaining the first bit of momentum in a flintlock fantasy’s society, it’s going to create ripples. Nothing is going to be able to remain as it was, especially when it comes to guns and new weapons.

This means that flintlock fantasy often focuses on themes of change or military.

Plot

Flintlock fantasy is one of those sub-genres that has very high plot complexity. Because it draws on readers’ understanding of history, the time spent setting up the world is not as heavy as it would be for other types of fantasy. As such, more time is then devoted to the plot and making it full of action and battle. Since military is often a theme in flintlock fantasy, it’s quite usual to find that flintlock fantasy is more focused on a linear plot surrounding soldiers or military characters of some sort. Things are still changing in this genre, but one of the best ways to explain the plot is to say it’s high-powered. Lots of momentum, lots of forward movement. That’s going to be important if you want to write in this genre. There’s room for you to make it your own, of course, but these are some guidelines generally used for the genre.

Conclusion

Flintlock fantasy can be a lot of fun for the right writers. But it’s also specific in its requirements. If you want to have dwarves facing off against elves with bows, arrows, and swords, well… That’s not going to work in a flintlock fantasy for obvious reasons. They’re going to die because they’ll be up against guns, not bows and arrows, when they face off against the enemy. If you want to write this genre, I cannot stress enough how important it is to read books in the genre! These books can be pretty high violence and can get dark depending on the theme of change that’s focused on or what type of military themes are brought in. But if this is what you want to write, you absolutely must read it! I’ve included some recommendations below.

Brent Weeks’ works in particular are ones I’ve read some of, and I feel he’s a good author to learn from. Reviews are mixed, and there were certainly some things that weren’t the best about some of his earlier work, but he had a good grasp on how to write flintlock style fantasy. His societies are definitely ones on the cusp of change, and the one book I read through entirely (first in the Night Angel Trilogy) had very strong political and military themes. You don’t see as much of the guns side of things, but you definitely get an industrial revolution feel from it.

Sanderson is another very good author to learn from. I personally have learned a great deal from dissecting his work to learn from it, and I highly recommend you read his work, regardless of what sub-genre of fantasy you want to write. He’s a must-read fantasy author in my opinion, and you rob yourself of some seriously useful learning opportunities if you don’t take the time to read his work and digest it. His Mistborn series, Elantris, or Warbreaker are great places to start.

If you’re more of the epic fantasy sort, I can’t recommend his Stormlight Archives more highly. You’ll learn more about writing fantasy, phenomenal world-building, and superb characterization from reading his work and looking at what he does than you will from a lot of writing guides. Almost everything I know and nearly every technique I utilize for world-building in my novels came from what I learned reading the Stormlight Archives. I’ve since added to that knowledge, of course, but I haven’t seen a more valuable example of how to use extensive world-building well than I have in his work.

Further Resources and Reading

Brent Weeks’ Night Angel and Lightbringer series (Two separate series. Based on what I’ve read from Weeks, I don’t recommend this for kids. It would be best if readers are fifteen or sixteen at least because it gets pretty violent and has language.)

Brandon Sanderson’s Alloy of the Law (Sanderson is a phenomenal fantasy author to learn from! If you only read one book on the list here, read his. His books are generally suitable for those fourteen and up.)

*Bradley P. Beaulieu’s Lays of Anuskaya

*Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell

*Michael A. Stackpole’s At the Queen’s Command

Flash Fiction Fridays – The Goal

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This week’s flash fiction is from the universe of Aurelai. Hopefully you all find it interesting!

~~~

He tapped his long, bony fingers against the stone arm-rest of his throne. His bulbous eyes focused in on the connection he was maintaining between himself and his denizen. The creature had found the ruins in that other place, had found the source of power, and was waiting for the pursuit to catch up. It wasn’t the smartest of his subordinates, but it was the only one who wouldn’t appear too threatening to the beings of that other planet.

Non-threatening was key here if they were to deliver their message to these humanoid creatures. And it had been ingrained in them that they were to bring the son of shadows here. He didn’t know who that was, but this seemed like the best start on it. Up until recently, they’d been unable to make any headway at all. They had fought with Aurelai’s surface dwellers for a place in this world, for a way to access the Gate that would lead them to the son of shadows. But he hadn’t been able to use it.

The way to that other place and the coordinates given had been useless. The Gate let the surface dwellers go other places, but it never admitted him or his men when those numbers were entered. He knew the Gate worked. He could feel the hum of energy right up until he fed the coordinates in his mind into the machine. And then the magic sputtered to a stop and the gears inside ground to a halt.

But after centuries of surviving against all odds, they finally had broken through. The Gate had flashed and sent out a beacon with those coordinates, and he’d sent someone through. Now, he just had to wait.

Waiting was the hardest part, of course. He reached out with his mind, breaking the link with his subordinate. Nothing special going on over there. Until the Gate brought someone else to this world besides returning surface-dwellers and their goods, he didn’t care too much about what his liaison did. The runt was always a bit on the dull side, but it knew how to communicate well enough, so it served a purpose.

Heaving himself out of his chair, he clopped across the hall on his hind legs before dropping to all fours. Walking like the surface-dwellers became easier every day. Maybe if he kept working at it, he could finally gain freedom from this wretched prison. But until he looked like them, they would never accept him. And while his projection allowed him to appear human enough to them, he couldn’t hide a strange gait or awkward speech. But someday. Someday, he would be free to mingle up there. Free to find out what all the fuss was about in that cloud city. And he would find out himself. Maybe if he could understand them and their culture, the senseless killing of his people could stop. They were different, but that didn’t mean they were inhumane. It wasn’t their fault their creator made them with a goal that overrode any sense of humanity in them. But the goal didn’t control everything, and someday, once the son of shadows came, it would be gone. He would be free.

~~~

And there you have it! That’s it for this week. Have something you’d like to see in this section of the blog? Feel free to leave your suggestion in the comments below!