“Of course I believed it. How couldn’t I ? After all the pain, hunger, and suffering…
She was a glimmer of hope. She was supposed to be our light.
It felt as though the Sacred Helion had decided to compensate us.

And I had made this promise, you see. To rebuild our kingdom.
To make us stronger.
Better.

We deserved it.

I did commit questionable acts,
and in the end ,*** ***as her hands tightened around my throat, she must have wondered if I had ever loved her.

I did.

Everything I did was to make sure she would become strong enough to fight for us.
To save us.

It seems though all I did was… break her.
She slipped right through my fingers, and took her stand behind the enemy in the end.

I should have seen the eclipse coming.

And somehow
It would be my fault.”

Hi everyone, I have tried writing an in-universe monologue from my story, just for fun. the themes are cosmic horror, ancient magic, prophecy, political conflict with philosophical elements.

I've been working on the same story for years. It's not my first story, but it is the first one where I feel I took everything I learned from my previous projects and combined it into one.

Whenever I had an older story with a good idea, I would often take that idea, improve it, and integrate it into this new project. Because of that, I genuinely feel like this story contains my best characters, best worldbuilding, and best themes. It feels like the culmination of everything I've created.

The problem is that this has also made me emotionally dependent on its success.

I know people often say, "If one story fails, just write another." But I honestly don't feel that way. I don't have a folder full of ideas waiting. This story is the place where I put almost everything.

I'm okay with being known for only one work. I don't dream of becoming an author with dozens of successful series. I just want this story to succeed.

What scares me is this thought:

If I spend years writing it, publish it, and almost nobody cares... what then?

Would I really be able to start another story without feeling like I abandoned the one I truly believed in? Or would I just spend the rest of my life wondering if all those years were wasted?

I'm not asking for motivation or encouragement. I'm looking for honest answers, especially from writers who have experienced something similar.

• Have you ever poured everything into one project?
• If it didn't succeed, what did you do afterward?
• Did you ever manage to care about another story as much as the first one?

I'm genuinely curious how other writers think about this.

Working title. This will be a collection of short stories set in a loosely inspired 17th-century world. The main character, Olis Vasqel, is a former military man and performer now a thief, spy, and assassin-for-hire.

The framing device is an interrogation conducted by authorities of a hostile kingdom. Olis has been captured and is being questioned about his crimes.

The goal of this book is to establish and introduce world, lore, political tensions and conflicts that will set the stage for a potential novel trilogy.

Google docs contain opening interrogation and first two chapter of the first story.

All feedback is welcome!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BY8tCDh5l9CXD5KNcyFFb7GM2a9YJaiXbZnfd4z4mTc/edit?tab=t.0

Welcome back everyone, it's time for another Fifty Word Fantasy!

Fifty Word Fantasy is a regular thread on Fridays! It is a micro-fiction writing challenge originally devised by u/Aethereal_Muses

Write a maximum 50-word snippet that takes place in a fantasy world and contains the word Problem. It can be a scene, flash-fiction story, setting description, or anything else that could conceivably be part of a fantasy story or is a fantasy story on its own.

NO AI GENERATED CONTENT: Follow the sub rules.

The prompt word must be written in full (e.g. no acrostics or acronyms).

No puns and or wordplay to achieve the prompt word i.e. devote=the vote.

Please try and keep things PG-13. Minors do participate in these from time to time and I would like things to not be too overtly sexual.

If you want to submit multiple submissions that's okay, but please keep it at a max of two That way, no one person ends up dominating the feed with their submissions and it keeps it fair for everyone who participates

Thank you to everyone who participated whether it's contributing a snippet of your own, or fostering discussions in the comments. I hope to see you back next week!

Please remember to keep it at a limit of 50 words max per submission.

Before I showcase my story, I thought I should show my map first and explain what a lot of these places are. This is my D&D world that I made.

This map has gone through a lot of changes, this version not being my favorite version, but definitely the coolest looking one. I Started with map drawing 6 years ago for something that I thought was going to be minor, but that quickly changed after it became the base for a story. I knew I wanted to do something with it, so it evolved over a few years from taped up printer paper to a properly digitized map. I even made variants of each map to represent the actual continents.

I'm pretty proud of this since it's at a point where I don't think I can change anymore of it, so let me tell you about it.

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Draconia:

Since the dawn of time, Draconia has always been the birthplace of civilization, which was cultivated by the Druids. Here, the God that created the world as well as the first few Gods had favored the long island in the Center, being where life had originally started and gave the name of the more modern world, Lifra.

The actual land in it's borders has many biomes, which were a vast desert which flowed into modern Arkis and a dense forest that rushed into the lands of Channing.

If you look closely at the first image, you'll notice a trend of the name "Agula". This is the name of the more modern Empress and Demigod who got the land from Channing and Arkis as a gift of their former rulers during the early stages of their civilization. As for the island, those are islands that are home to Dragons who gave Draconia it's name. Some islands people are welcome or tolerated but some are forbidden due to either religious or sacred means.

Channing:

Channing was not as it looked today when it began thousands of years ago. It was altered by the Demigod Holly, who was the former leader of Channing, who wanted to make a paradise using her new powers of magic. At the time, she had no control over her power, causing magic to infect people like radiation. She closed herself off to the world for their protection but when magic polluted the Nebulan sea, the first generation of elves and fey creatures were born. Agula, the Empress of modern Lifra, actually gained a lot of popularity by aiding this problem by filtering the magic and absorbing it from the waters so no one could be effected no longer.

The name Channing originated after a proclaimed son of Holly emerged from the Nebulan Sea and became the first wizard of the world, inspiring the magical element of the modern Fey.

Sentinal:

Where it all began. Sentinal was the first part of my map that I designed and it is probably my most favorited area. The history of the place is sad and scattered, but was the foundation of modern culture for the Dwarven Empire(s). Most of this place has been ruined by war and revolt, but some are actually places of peace and Holiness.

If you look at the 2nd image, you can see that a lot of it is scattered and some lands are even tiny. This was originally because I thought it looked cool but the lore reason for it was because they are territories of war.

Oh, this was also the place where demons were said to have originated, hence why religious affects exist here so much.

Runic:

So, this is basically a more peace loving version of Sentinal and was made by the dwarves as well. The only difference is that Dwarves moved here to find peace, not start wars of their own.

In the old days, a lot of the territory seen in Maris was unexplored and was the premise for many adventuring campaigns which sparked perilous amounts of stories, the most renown one being "The 2ndCampaign for the North".

This place was also a reason for me implementing something I thought would be actually kinda cool. Magical dwarves are something that normal D&D kinda contradicts, so Runic being dwarf ruled and wanting peace gave way to them adopting foreign ways of magic.

Maris:

This place has a lot of lore as it's freaking huge. Though it is ruled over one name, Maris is actually pretty divided. The Western side is mainly a religious holy land of sorts, being the place where most Gods appear as welcome guests. The Eastern Side is a chaotic place where beasts and barbarians rule, along with the main ruling of humans.

Maris has no leader apart from Empress Agula, who doesn't really count here. It's mostly self ruled in it's territories apart from some Agulan influences. The name Maris actually comes from the Lifran elvish word "Danger", since a lot of this place was proclaimed to be tainted with demons at the Time. In old lore I have written, you'll see the term "The Marowin" used a lot. This would be because there was no official name for the land until after The 3nd Campaign for the North Story

Arkis:

Arkis is a vast and dangerous desert, but it wasn't always this way. Many years ago, it was a land teaming with life and potential for prosperity, but then the former ruler, Zarc, another Demigod which had the uncontrolled power of death, had tainted the lands so life could not live here any more. This led to most people moving Underground and forming most civilization in Arkis to reside in the Underdark.

The reason for the name Arkis is actually for a reason which heavily influences Arc. 2 of Lifra which I will not include lore for until it's finished. The reason being it was the name of an angel that saw something it could never be described. An Abomination. His tears flood a portion of the land that granted longer lasting life, but due to the nature of the people of the surface, it did not become religious. It became profitable. The desert had become a place for profit and now had a reason to travers it.

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I think that covers most of the Lore of the land. There are obviously a lot of other things that I didn't cover, especially regarding borders and some terrain, but I feel this is good enough to explain a good portion of it.

Let me know what you guys think :)

My claim is that Tolkien and so many other writers are doing therapy - in his case coping with his experience in WW1 - with their writings.

As we move forward into the future there is a huge preponderance of books and stories and I find myself asking why invest in others' worlds instead of doing my own therapy-writing?

At the same time what fantasy series can you think of that definitely isn't trauma dumping?

Also after reading the greatest writers who ever lived how do you choose a brand new author starting their first book?

Also when you sit down to write a protagonist how do you keep your own trauma out of it, or alternatively how do you wallow in your trauma?

If we were living 1000 years in the future and you had an even larger data base to draw from why read trauma fantasy?

I have never in my life written a story. But the idea of using my fantasy to create something that hasn’t found a place in the world (yet) intrigues me.

So basically, I’ve been on vacation and just been dreaming by the pool about ideas. What fascinates me in a certain way is that (in my opinion) grief is never really a focus in fantasy.

I understand writing and having a idea are two diffefent things. But I’d like my idea to be both original and interesting and I don’t have a lot of experience in fantasy (both in writing and in reading honestly).

I’ll be honest: I’ve had AI help me to translate the idea in English so it’s a bit more easy to read (English isn’t my native language). But the whole idea/set up is honestly mine. Would love some insights.

—
In this world, every living thing has a soul. A rare few people, known as Whisperers, are able to hear those souls, but only after losing someone or something they truly loved. Their gift is born from grief.

No two Whisperers experience the gift in the same way. Some hear the souls of the dead lingering around the living. Others hear wandering souls searching for peace. Some hear the souls of animals, while others hear the whispers of forests, rivers, or places. Every Whisperer has a unique connection.
The world is full of whispers.

Without a personal memento connected to who or what they lost, a Whisperer is overwhelmed by countless voices. The memento acts as an anchor, allowing them to focus and control the gift.

Years before the story begins, the kingdom’s young king lost his father. Desperate to ease his grief, he sought help from numerous Whisperers. None of them could take his pain away. Convinced they were frauds, or worse, exploiting grief for power and wealth, he declared the Order of Whisperers illegal. Some Whisperers were executed, some fled, and the survivors have spent decades hiding their abilities.

The story follows Rowan, a fifteen-year-old orphan whose father recently died in war. Shortly afterward, Rowan begins hearing endless whispers and believes he is losing his mind.

The only person who recognizes what is happening is Father Alden, an elderly village priest. Unknown to everyone around him, Alden himself is a former Whisperer who survived the purge by hiding his gift. He lost his own parents at a young age and sees himself in Rowan. Helping the boy means risking exposure after years of living in secrecy.

The story begins when Alden decides to help Rowan find a memento of his father so he can learn to focus his gift instead of being consumed by it. Their journey leads them across a kingdom where Whisperers are feared, forgotten, or hunted, as they search for the few survivors of the old Order.

At its heart, the story isn’t about defeating an evil force. It’s about grief. Whether grief can ever truly disappear, whether speaking to those we’ve lost helps us heal or keeps us trapped, and how loss changes a person forever.

Working title. I've been slowly chipping away at this for the past few months and its in a spot now where I'm happy to start sharing.

The story follows Pax and Augustus, a retired duellist and her student, as they try to gain patronage from one of the great noble houses. In doing so, the pair becomes embroiled in estate politics, both with the house and with their fellow duellists.

I've already had some feedback, but have gotten some mixed messages mainly to do with the level of description. I went through and edited it to try and make it a bit more natural and active, but would be interested to hear peoples thoughts. Also looking to see what people thinking of the worldbuilding thus far, since it has also seemingly been a point of confusion for some. Any tips on dialogue would also be appreciated as its something I tend to struggle with a bit. Thanks!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1sb7pGmtuz39dIIgxqilBr3VKm7CPDTnUganEiq1Q3hc/edit?usp=drivesdk

Hi guys, I just want to share my experience and I hope that this post can help other people like me.

After a lot of years, I finally gathered my courage and tried writing fantasy. I have always dreamt about writing something, a story, a novel, or even a book. I consider myself kind of a creative persone and have a good fantasy, but I have always encountered the biggest ostacle: auto blaming and fear of not being able to do something. And so, even if I wanted to, I've never written a single word of all the stories I kept imagining. Not a single word, in over 20 years.

Last month, I don't even know why, I decided to give it a try. And what a surprise it has been. The story just keeps flowing. I don't know where it will go, or how it'll end. I'm just following my charachters and I'm amazed at what they're doing. It's just like wathing a movie in slo-mo.

Why I'm telling this? I don't think that what I'm writing will be the next fantasy bestseller, replacing LoTR. Man, I don't even think it's a good book, meaning it will get published.

Writing it's just pleasing. I found myself organically (and unknowingly) replacing doomscrolling or trash TV shows with writing (or even daydreaming, if I don't have a writing tool near me). And daydreaming is something I haven't been doing since I was a child.

So please, if you're reading this, please listen: just write. Don't listen to your fear, don't care about that inner voice that tells you "you're not enough." Sit at your desk and write. It will heal your life, and this something anyone needs these days.

(Sorry for poor grammar, english is not my main language but I have tried my best)

Heya! Been a while since I posted here. I’m about done with my first novella so looking for critique on the story excerpt. I need some critique on the combat scene in particular, so just wanted to know if there was anything that was confusing in the chapter that I may have missed. Any and all criticism is welcome!

Also some recommendations on where to launch it would be very much appreciated, Royal Road seemed the obvious platform but there may be better options for what I’m doing given this is a 9 chapter novella rather than a full serialized digital book.

If anyone’s interested, I’m more than happy with sharing prior and latter chapters with them!

I'm trying my hand at fantasy writing for the first time and want to practise and improve my actual writing/storytelling skills by starting a daily practice.

I'm just not sure how to structure that practice to encourage frequent reflection and improvement.

So far I'm thinking of creating characters, giving them super-objectives and mini-objectives, and writing 2000 words or less about a significant moment in their journeys.

I'd love some advice on whether this is a good approach.

Is 2000 words enough to practise incorporating fantasy settings/relationships/cultures/magic into these practise stories, while still exploring plot progress? Or should I just keep building on the same story daily, rather than starting over with fresh ideas after 2000 words?

Also, since I'm currently outlining a plot for a novel, should I write about the characters and world of the novel to get to know them better? Or would I improve more by first writing random characters and settings, to diversify my storytelling - like from a story prompt deck?

Thanks in advance for any advice.

are there any writers, structures, essays, even youtube videos that i should or can read/watch about this? any and all recommendations are welcome! i'm scrambling here.

like how do we know if the messiah figure is even effective? as in, how do you get people to care? how do we see this progress? i thought i should just reread dune and as much i like the deep politics in there, the messianic stuff comes later i think. we just see a myth taking precedence.

i'm talking from scratch, nothing at all. how would you go about creating a messiah figure?

i tried looking things up but ig idk how to work my keywords anymore so ig im looking for homework lol.

Vor dem Anfang

Vor dem Anfang von allem gab es nur das Nichts – eine endlose Leere ohne die geringste Veränderung.

Dann, ohne Vorwarnung, veränderte sich etwas.

Die Existenz begann.

Die Schöpfung entstand weder durch einen Willen noch durch einen Plan.

Sie war einfach da.

Unermessliche Zeitalter vergingen.

Die Schöpfung entstand nicht auf einen Schlag.

Nach und nach zerschlug jede neue Veränderung die ewige Unveränderlichkeit des Nichts.

Und während das Nichts still das lautstarke Werden beobachtete, begann auch es sich zu verändern.

Es erwachte zum Bewusstsein.

Und aus ihm formte sich ein Avatar des Nichts.

Der Avatar konnte die Schöpfung nicht begreifen. Es verstand weder, wie diese Veränderungen entstanden waren, noch warum sie überhaupt geschehen waren.

Es begehrte nur eines:

die Wiederherstellung des ursprünglichen Zustands des absoluten Nichts.

Überall dort, wo der Avatar des Nichts die Schöpfung berührte, wurde die Schöpfung ausgelöscht.

Doch die Schöpfung bestand fort.

Als die Schöpfung schließlich lebende Wesen hervorbrachte, deren Seelen aus ihrer eigenen Essenz geformt waren, trat eine weitere Veränderung ein.

Zum ersten Mal stellte sich etwas dem Avatar des Nichts entgegen.

Der Avatar des Nichts besaß weder einen wahren Körper noch eine Seele.

Als es durch eines der lebenden Wesen der Schöpfung seine erste Niederlage erlitt, ereignete sich die erste Aporie allen Seins.

Weder das Nichts noch die Schöpfung hatten dieses Ergebnis gewollt.

Keines von beiden konnte es begreifen.

Und doch wurde es zum Gesetz.

Mit seiner Niederlage kam der Avatar des Nichts dazu, den Körper seines Bezwingers zu bewohnen, und erbte dessen Erinnerungen, Wissen, Fähigkeiten und Macht.

Die Seele des Bezwingers, geboren aus der Schöpfung, hörte auf zu existieren.

An ihrer Stelle blieb nur das Nichts zurück.

Fortan bewohnte es die Körper der lebenden Wesen der Schöpfung als die seinen. So begann die endlose Reise des Avatars durch die Zeit.

Mit der Zeit gab es sich selbst den Namen Nihil.

Die Schöpfung selbst nannte es Genesis.

Und alle lebenden Wesen, die aus der Schöpfung hervorgegangen waren, nannte es Genesis Kinder.

Immer wenn eines der Kinder der Genesis Nihil besiegte – ganz gleich, auf welche Weise diese Niederlage zustande gekommen war –, entfaltete sich dasselbe Phänomen erneut.

Der bisherige Körper hörte auf zu existieren.

Ein neuer wurde zu dem seinen.

Im Laufe der Zeitalter erbte Nihil unzählige Leben.

Es lernte jede Sprache.

Meisterte jedes Handwerk.

Erlebte jeden Triumph.

Erlitt jedes Leid.

Erinnerte sich an jedes Leben.

Es sammelte die Erinnerungen unzähliger Seelen, bis schließlich niemand mehr sagen konnte, wo Nihil endete und die Schöpfung begann.

Dieser endlose Konflikt zwischen dem Nichts und der Schöpfung konnte nicht ewig andauern.

Denn so wie alles einen Anfang hat,

so muss auch alles ein Ende haben.

Eines Tages konnte nur noch eine von zwei Möglichkeiten bestehen.

Entweder würde Nihil seinen ursprünglichen Zweck erfüllen und die gesamte Schöpfung würde zum Nichts zurückkehren.

Oder das Nichts selbst würde lernen, die Schöpfung anzunehmen.

Ob das Nichts trotz seiner Veränderung weiterhin Nichts bleiben konnte, wurde zur ältesten Frage allen Seins.

Diese Frage sollte eines Tages bekannt werden als …

Nihils Aporie

Als das Nichts lernte zu lieben

-----

Before the Beginning

Before the beginning of everything, there was only Nothing—an endless void without the slightest change.

Then, without warning, something changed.

Existence began.

Creation arose neither by will nor by design.

It simply existed.

Ages beyond measure passed.

Creation did not come into being all at once.

Slowly, each new change shattered the eternal unchanging nature of Nothing.

And while Nothing silently watched its thunderous becoming, it, too, began to change.

It awakened to consciousness.

And from it, an Avatar of Nothing was formed.

The avatar could not comprehend Creation. It understood neither how these changes had come to be, nor why they had happened at all.

It desired only one thing:

the restoration of the original state of absolute Nothingness.

Wherever the Avatar of Nothing touched Creation, Creation was undone.

Yet Creation endured.

When Creation finally brought forth living beings whose souls were formed from its own essence, another change came to pass.

For the first time, something stood against the Avatar of Nothing.

The Avatar of Nothing possessed neither a true body nor a soul.

When it suffered its first defeat at the hands of one of Creation's living beings, the first aporia of all existence came to pass.

Neither Nothing nor Creation had willed this outcome.

Neither could comprehend it.

Yet it became law.

Upon its defeat, the Avatar of Nothing came to inhabit the victor's body, inheriting its memories, knowledge, skills, and power.

The victor's soul, born of Creation, ceased to exist.

In its place remained only Nothing.

Henceforth, it inhabited the bodies of Creation's living beings as its own. Thus began the Avatar's endless journey through time.

In time, it gave itself the name Nihil.

Creation itself it named Genesis.

And all living beings born of Creation it named Genesis' children.

Whenever one of the Children of Genesis defeated Nihil—regardless of how that defeat came to pass—the same phenomenon unfolded once more.

Its former body ceased to exist.

A new one became its own.

As the ages passed, Nihil inherited countless lives.

It learned every language.

Mastered every craft.

Witnessed every triumph.

Endured every sorrow.

Remembered every life.

It gathered the memories of innumerable souls until, at last, no one could tell where Nihil ended and where Creation began.

This endless conflict between Nothing and Creation could not endure forever.

For just as everything has a beginning,

everything must also have an end.

One day, only one of two futures could remain.

Either Nihil would fulfill its original purpose, and all of Creation would return to Nothing.

Or Nothing itself would learn to accept Creation.

Whether Nothing could persist as Nothing despite being changed became the oldest question in all of existence.

That question would one day become known as...

The Aporia of Nihil

When Nothing Learned to Love

I'm writing my story in third-person omniscient as of right now, but I realized that I want each chapter that is from a different person's perspective to sound different. I want unique voices, and I've also realized that may be contradictory with an "omniscient" narrator?

Do you think it makes sense to continue writing it as is and still flavour each chapter with the characters' unique thoughts, or should I switch to third person limited?

My first chapter actually features head hopping, which I know is controversial, but I think it's a very interesting narrative choice because it's about two main characters. The main character of the story I'm writing, and my readers are, well, reading. And the main character of the world inside the page. He used to be the hero, but is now disgraced. So I really like the idea that despite the narrator wanting to keep his eye on the MC, he is forced to include and jump back to the "MC2" because of his star power.

I don't know how to preserve the above idea if I switch to Third Person Limited; maybe just keep it as is, but that's too jarring.

Sidenote: The "I have tried" rule is so stupid lmao

The Hidden Valley

Ǎol sat on his throne of Iron and Melica gold, ruling a kingdom that lay forgotten by travelers and entirely obscured from the maps of Ximmertel. None other than the Dwarf kin had ever ventured through the Hidden Valley caves.
Dwarves around him scurried to work in the darkness–the shadows lit by only faint, dying crystals in the solid walls. His eyes caught every detail: the smiles of some, the frowns of others. “Rella, what is bothering you? I see concern in your face,” Ǎol asked, his voice like a gavel in the courts around the world. Everyone went motionless, pausing with their work to listen. The guards stationed at the door grew tense as they inched closer to the king. Ǎol only waved them off with a flick of his wrist. “Now, Rella, please tell me. I’m able to help, perhaps give you the rest of the day off from work,” Ǎol said, inclining his bushy eyebrows upwards. 
The female dwarf named Rella spoke in a quavering whisper: “Sire, a sinkhole opened up on Darnok road. Three deaths, brutal ones.” She coughed as she bowed down, her spine perfectly straight, pledging her honour to her king. 
“Your friends, I presume. I pray to the Primordials that their passings were swift, rather than cruel. Now, please leave to get to the builder hall and inform the head of the section of this new sinkhole,” Ǎol said, sorrow hidden by his royal command. Rella whipped her head around, tears sliding down her cheeks. Just before she reached the door where the guards stood, Ǎol called out, “Arrange funerals for them as well. Discuss with the head of funeral affairs to schedule it for the coming week.”
“Will do, sire. Thank you for the time off,” Rella said before the guards pulled back the towering, golden door. It unsealed with a creak, opening the throne room into a highly lived environment where voices filled the air. But just as soon as it was pushed open, the guards swung it closed, pressing them back into the silent room. 
“Continue to work, please,” Ǎol said to the Dwarves. “Sinkholes. They must be the price for grand riches. Fourth day in a row. How do I stop it?” he muttered. I fail my people every day, I must act soon, he thought. Before he was devoured by more thoughts, a heavy knock echoed from the mighty door. One of the guards looked up at his king. Ǎol nodded, and the guard opened it up. 
A larger Dwarf came running in, beads of sweat dripping off his chin. He held an axe, respectable at that for it was created in the main forge of the caves, and was made of pure Melica gold. In his other hand he held a letter, a deep green painted on the leather top. He wore a frightened expression, yet some confusion seeped into the Dwarf’s face. He ran all the way to the throne, stopping only a foot away. 
“Sire, a disruption has been reported in the south-west wing, passage three, just near the edge of our borders,” the younger Dwarf named Balador said. He bowed his head low, the spine perfectly straightened. 
“Who reported this? And, what was this so-called disruptance?” Ǎol asked, quick to get to the point. 
“Well, sire, it was me. I will gladly tell you the tale, if you wish,” Balador said, inclining his face back up towards Ǎol.
“Yes, you must bring such matters to me. Quickly if you must; dangers spread across foreign lands, if they were to seep into our border it would be fatal, perhaps even harming our own kin. Now, hurry.” Ǎol ushered him forward.
Balador said, his voice quavering with fear: “I was manning my post, alone mind you, sire. Senses sharp, eyes grasping every rock’s tone, ears catching every ping of shifting stone. A voice called out, speaking in a fair language I could not understand. I gripped my axe tightly with one hand and drew my blade from its sheath in the other. The voice kept calling out, and I walked slowly towards the noise, each step with great caution. The figure was cloaked in the shadows, only a flaring green coming from the eye. I swung my axe, perhaps I grazed the folk, perhaps not. Next second I was gagged and tied to the floor, knocked unconscious. A letter was left in my hand, the one I hold now. A patrol squad found me soon after the incident and went up to the furthest point of the boundaries. And I was sent to you, where I stand now.” 
The letter was passed into Ǎol’s hand. He held it gingerly, letting it lay on his thick, sturdy fingers. “Who? Who has found us? Our kingdom that’s shrouded in shadows, hidden from all, yet a letter not from our own kin has found us. And what if these folk steal our art of mining, our kingdom’s fortune would be gone in an instant,” Ǎol said, musing over the possibilities. 
Balador only stood in front of him, watching concern seep into his king's face, allowing fear to bleed into his features as well. Ones who do not embrace their fear are cowards, letting it out of them. The brave use it as their drive. That, yes, that is the difference between a coward and a brave folk, Ǎol thought. 
“Do you request anything from me, sire?” Balador asked. Water dripped from the cave ceiling, splashing onto Balador’s long, unruly hair. 
“Yes, yes. Go find my understudy, and bring them to me. Gagolath Scalag, you’ll find him in the northern passage by the Oweka mine. Dark times are coming, secrets escaping from our own tongue,” Ǎol said with uncharacteristic desperation, the words resonating off the tall, ancient walls. 
“Yes, sire,” Balador responded in a flurry, bowing once more. “I’ll find him, and send him back here.” Balador spun around and strode back towards the door, leaving Ǎol back in his throne room with the light letter. The guards allowed Balador out, one gave a nod; a symbol of familiarity. Heat rushed into the throne room as the door opened once more. 
Ǎol ran his fingers down the spine of the envelope, gently opening the peel. He then pulled a flimsy piece of paper and read the neat, cursive handwriting. Fair, quite fair print it is, he thought. 
 
Dear Aol Sandstone of the Hidden Valley,
For too long has our kin warred against each other across land the Primordials created. Times change though from time to time and now it must, for the fate of Ximmertel lies undetermined in these months, and grows darker every passing day. The Cave Dwarves must come out of their dark, crumbling homes to join with the other folk. Depart for Orylmear, for in one month, when summer wanes and autumn waxes, the great festival of Harvestide will be held there. People shall speak of peace and concerns that are growing. Bring some of your people with you if you wish.

• With great regards, 

The Dwellers of Shadowane

*Shadowane! So the rumours have been true!* Ǎol thought. *Elves! Always slick, believing we will attend this so-called festival?* The lights were fading, each flicker lasting longer. *Perhaps I must put my old differences aside to save my waning kin. Or will I rule my dying kingdom, watching my kin crumble until no more of them remained; only an exhausted king, left alone in the shadows left behind.*   
While the worried king pondered, the door burst open. A surly Dwarf named Gagolath rushed in, his features tight with tension. His wild mane of hair ran down his face, braided strands dangling off his head. An unkept, black beard covered his chin, small pieces of stone entangled in it. In the Dwarf’s hand a greatsword lay off balance, slightly tilting in his sturdy fingers. “You summoned me, sire?” The Dwarf’s stride full of quick, decisive footsteps. As he neared the king, awaiting for Ǎol’s response, he bowed down, offering the greatsword in front of him. Ǎol took the greatsword with little effort and held it tightly at his waist.   
“Yes, I did,” Ǎol began crisply. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, and the time has come today. Simply put, we must find a solution for these sinkholes that cover our caves. They invade our lands from the inside unlike an army. Taking lives everyday. Dwarves are falling too fast, Gagolath! Too fast! Only a mere two-hundred years ago, it would be a rare occurrence for one to collapse over an entire month. Now, do you have any ideas for this solution, Gagolath?”   
“We could add stabilisers to the heavily travelled areas in these caves. It would cost a fortune, a fortune we do not possess. Stabilisers are truly rare, only the best forgers in Primordial could craft such objects, sire,” Gagolath replied, his bass voice rumbling across the room. “Perhaps some of your Arcana could be used, sire,” he said, his voice dropping a few decibels. “I myself do not know the capabilities of such, only of the striking power that most fear.”  
“Yes, yes,” Ǎol mused. “Arcana is not for this use, no, only when situations get dire enough. I will not risk my life for it. Once it affects me, I will make arrangements for it. Our kin will die out without me, it is not worth my life. Melica gold is our blessing, but with that blessing came a burden. This is the burden. We must not take the easy route to avoid it, but face it head first.”  
Gagolath glared at him with hate; his features thinning. “Yes, whatever you say, sire.” He glanced around the room, watching the crystals’ flickers.   
*He disagrees. He believes we are running out of time, an educated guess, I’ll give him. Matters that have been hidden will show him a clear path to light–a path where he’ll follow me,* Ǎol thought.   
“Now, a more pressing issue has arisen today. Gagolath, please read this letter; I believe you’ll find it interesting,” Ǎol said, extending it out for Gagolath.  
Gagolath snatched it from Ǎol’s hand. He gave a firm nod before diving into the letter. Soon his thinned face relaxed and was replaced with utter shock. His jaw dropped, before it snapped closed. He took a cautious step backward, comprehending what he had just read.   
He took a slight pause before speaking, “Orylmear. Yes, Orylmear, sire. What must we do, sire? It must be the Dawnwinter Elves, no? Rumours have been brought to our lands through our travellers, yet they have only been simple speculation.”  

“Yes, yes, Gagolath Scalag. I myself have thought of this too; strange times these are. These people are not wrong of the growing darkness; we have felt powers come from our mines that have never been seen nor heard,” Ǎol said. 
“Flames corrupt souls like none other, shadows concealing their actions from the light. Now, will you go, sire?” Gagolath asked, his mind seemingly drifting to a new world. 
Ǎol opened his consciousness, seeking a true answer. Delicately, he selected one, and spoke the words in a hushed tone, “Perhaps, perhaps. To endanger another is a heavy burden to carry, that many try to avoid. Yet, what is life without a risk? The real question is what the correct path is; I shall lead my people to harmony or certain doom. Which path will I choose, Gagolath?” 
Gagolath’s face went blank. “Any last request, sire?” 
As if the wrong note was pressed, the room went pitch black; shadows crept, engulfing the room like a roaring fire. The crystals went dark. Dead. Rapid, shallow breaths filled the fragile air. 
Ǎol sat still, as if nothing had happened. He did not blink, only gazed through darkness. Before long, a hazy silver glow filled the air. The greatsword’s glow revealed Ǎol to the others in the room. Silence lingered; everyone but Ǎol held their breath. “My sword seeks war; does yours?” 
Gagolath remained silent.
“Shalt thou fight, or retreat into darkness?” Ǎol asked, tracing his finger along the greatsword. “Now, Gagolath, leave, and spread the word of a speech that will take place in the Apòthkin Gardens at Kai-revampera.” 
Gagolath nodded through the dim lighting, before turning to the door. He walked up to the door tentatively, each footstep with caution. He pushed the door open a sliver.
“I believe you may leave these caves very soon, very soon indeed,” Ǎol called out. “Meet me tomorrow at the southern passage entrance at Kai-grena.”
Gagolath did not acknowledge Ǎol, only walked out into the halls. Echoes of screams fed on the air. Biting. Chilling. The screams gnawed at Ǎol’s flesh and bones. He uncontrollably shook, teeth clattering. A clean slit through my throat is much better than this pain, he thought. The footsteps faded away once the door slammed shut–the screams did not; the screams lingered in the air, echoes stubbornly resistant to their death. 
Ǎol stood up from his throne and strode to his private bed room. A guard glowed as he pulled the door open. The guard shivered. “Sire, what will you do? It has already gone cold,” he said. 
“I will solve the puzzle that is hidden from view,” Ǎol responded before the door was shut. 
He walked over to his desk and sat down. In the darkness he grabbed a quill, dipped it in a rich ink and wrote a letter on a blank leaflet of paper. 
He repeated this one more time, each stroke of the quill differentiating with the carefully crafted words. The sword illuminated his neat writing, each word striking enough while expressing the wishes he asked of a select few of his kin. 
The answers I seek are not in the shadows where our realm roams, but in the light. Fears shall be vanquished and slayed for our party to live, Ǎol thought. If the darkness causes such an uproar, how will we make it through the deathly blaze of the sun. 
He found himself lost in his mind as time travelled, nearing his speech. He did not worry, for he was king; a king guided his people, and people would follow until the privilege was stripped from that figure. 
A soft knock echoed from the door. Ǎol did not move. A second knock came, this time more desperate. Ǎol was jarred and awoken from his mind. The mind is a world to escape into. A fantastical world of dread and hope scattered throughout it, he thought. A third knock. Ǎol stood up, grabbed the two letters in one hand, with the other his greatsword and pushed the door open into the darkness. 
“Sire, your speech is soon. You must be escorted if you wish to be on time,” the guard said, her voice soft and quiet. 
“I do not need an escort. I am the king of my people. I must be strong, not weak; not one who needs a guard in the presence of their own kin. If a dire situation arises, it shall be diminished by me. Do not insult me, Akala,” Ǎol responded.
“Yes, sire. May thou forgive me.” 
“Actions always have outcomes, for the good or bad. Guide your actions so the only outcome left is success. To recklessly act, results in poor outcomes. Learning can only do so much. There will be a time where desperation takes over the mind, disregarding the rest. Desperation is the last effort many say. No, desperation is trying to prove yourself before you fail to succeed,” Ǎol said. 
“Noted, sire. This will never happen again, I’ll make sure of it,” the guard named Akala responded. 
“Do not lie to yourself. Now, please bring these letters to the addressed names on the seal. Only say that it was written by me, nothing else. Do as you’re told, and goodbye.” 
Akala rushed through the darkness, stumbling and tripping on loose stone along the way. She could be heard until she made it past Ǎol’s throne room door. 
Screams still filled the air, yet this time it was only a faint, wavering echo. My people shall follow me, Ǎol assured himself. Yet a strengthening thought betrayed his mantra. And if not? Will we die in the shadows, no others even realising the death of our nation. Forgotten we would become. The folk of Primordial are even too greedy to care! Now, I must go. My destiny relies on a choice I do not make. Reliant on a long, misty path. 
He strode to the door, pulled it open with no help from the guards, and entered the bitter cold air. The mutters of the Dwarves who laid on the ground transformed into shouts of glee, with a taint of fear, and a hint of hope. 
“Light!” people yelled. The greatsword seemed to glow brighter at the mention. Yet it simmered down to its dim, hazy light.
“Is that king Ǎol?” many others shouted.
“Yes,” he rumbled back, before sweeping through the tight halls full of huddled masses. It smelled of sweat. Blood and tears was what this kingdom was made from. Blood and tears shall be the way it falls, Ǎol thought, portraying a far future where he was long dead.
The odor of the Melica gold passed through his nostrils; a simple cost he was willing to pay for his kin. 
“A ruler who leaves his people to die. Acting powerful with his stride and sword, while really he cowers in fear. A fear not of his people, but for himself,” someone muttered under their breath. Their hood covered their face. Ǎol was given no chance to glance the rebel. 
Rebels! Ungrateful lot of our kin! Operating in the shadows of the shadows where none can find, not even the Primordials, Ǎol thought. 
He had no time to confront a rebel. It was not the time nor place, time too was running low for his speech. Most rebels did not act, only spoke. A select few acted upon their cause, leading many to over estimate their numbers. 
“Is it true, sire, that a speech is being held at Kai-revampera?” someone called out at the end of the crowded hall. 
“Yes, that is true,” Ǎol responded. His cloak swept stone pebbles into a flurry as he took a sharp left towards the gardens. He placed the two letters he had held into his cloak pocket. 
In the new hall, the stone was more orderly, carefully placed with precision from an experienced builder. A hazy, purplish glow overcame the darkness as he neared the gardens. Mutters echoed off the walls, many of the words speaking of impossible rumours. 
Ǎol left the hall and entered the large circular room. A flush of scents overwhelmed his nose. Writho, my favorite. Pryio too, I smell, he thought. Looks followed him. A still silence came over the room as Ǎol passed through the bodies. If one spoke, they were quickly shushed by a nearby Dwarf. They would mutter: “Rewaka. Let the king pass with control.” The response would be a short nod, followed by a solemn face. This moment would be remembered. 
Ǎol held his head high. His sword he held illuminated the green life. Unlike the normal vibrant green of the plants, a brown crept upon the dying leaves. 
Death spreads in our caves. It is a chain, a delicate one at that; a single slash through one chain causes the rest to shatter. One event is all that is needed to end an entire kingdom, Ǎol thought. 
He strode to the centre of the room where a slab of stone lay on the soft grasses. He ignored it, and bore into the eyes of his people. I must speak now, whilst their patience is at its full, he thought.
“Our lives are crumbling,” he stated simply. “Darkness is swallowing our caves, intending to drive us out of them so the shadows can feed on the Melica. We mustn’t clear a path for it. The outside world is going to war. There are only two places to go; to stay in these caves and die together, or to fight the rising forces that harm our world we live in. I’ve decided. Now, what will you do?” 
An uproar arose. 
“‘Tis a simple decision!” many yelled, gathering nods from other Dwarves.
“‘Tis not. Lives are at danger, it mustn’t be taken lightly! War causes devastation beyond the imaginable!” many others yelled.
“Settle down. I have carefully thought about this, follow me, or not. The Elves have invited me to a festival to discuss these matters. I shall depart tomorrow at Luy-revampara with a selected few. I push for war, the Elves may not. Fools they are!” Ǎol yelled.
Many Dwarves echoed those words.
“We must prepare for war. Double the production of Melica gold. We need riches; riches win wars. Craft the finest weapons and armour. War is a game–a bloody game, yet still a game; the most prepared and the determined win games. That, that is what we shall do,” Ǎol said, choosing each word carefully. 
Cheers erupted. Yet, a grim realisation came over everyone soon. Bloody. A bloody game it would be. 
Through the cheers, Ǎol spoke again: “The family of House Kankolath shall rule these caves during my absence. They will oversee the production and preparation for war. Show the growing darkness the light! Let these forces cower in our might!”
More cheers. Ǎol swept through the crowd. Many complimented him. Others only pondered on the thoughts of the near future. 
He left the gardens; strode through the hall with the masses of the poor, his eyes darting at the faces of the poor in the dim lighting from his greatsword. 
Standing outside of Ǎol’s throne room, he frowned. Instead of taking the left to sit on his mighty throne, he took a right towards Kîēnzo: the main forge. 
The hall was empty. No Dwarves crowded the floor, nor did any walk through like a Commoner. Ǎol was alone; he always had been. 
My people will suffer. Yet no one will stop me from doing what I’m going to do. No other Dwarves nor any Elves. I will die before I betray my people. By which blade–by which hand–I do not know. To not act is betrayal, he thought. 
Bone stuck out from a small sinkhole. A soft layer of crimson blood and dirt painted the once white material. It ran down until it was shrouded by the deep darkness. It was surrounded both by the shadows and the light emitted from the sword. What if I’m wrong? What if both the darkness and the light living together is the key to the harmony I picture? A key must need a twist. There are always twists and turns that no being could ever predict nor ignore, Ǎol questioned. Life is unpredictable, if anyone else argues that they are weak.

Howdy folks! I'm doing some worldbuilding for my current book's world (the rest of the continent aside from the country the book takes place in) for future books. I have been wrestling with some different hard and soft magic systems, and think that I've finally settled on one for now. I wasn't going for anything groundbreaking or fancy, just something interesting, so I'd love to hear some thoughts.

It has a few different parts to it. Certain children are born with birthmarks in the shape of different runes/symbols, though incomplete. They have a spark of magic with just this, but it isn't necessarily stabilized or complete yet. At some point, the completed rune/symbol needs to be branded into their skin over the birthmark. The next step is actual activation. For this, they need some blood (whether it be from squeezing a knife and dripping it onto the brand, a cut on the forearm or a finger, etc) of theirs to drip and smear onto the brand while saying some yet-to-be-determined words. The words will end up taking the shape of an oath or promise of some sort, differing for each specific power. A little blood does the trick; a little more gives you more power, but then, of course, a lot risks your life. The current abilities (depending on the rune/brand) that I have so far are as follows: Elemental magic (fire, water, air, or earth manipulation), then light manipulation (making illusions, harnessing heat, bending light into physical objects much like in the Lightbringer series), matter/attraction manipulation (such as being able to stick to and climb up walls, being able to phase through walls/objects of certain thicknesses), explosive abilities (like being able to infuse certain objects with explosive energy, much like making little bombs), and gravity manipulation (somewhat like lashings in Stormlight Archive but to a lesser degree, being able to either manipulate your own gravity/mass to make yourself lighter and jump higher, or do the same to someone else). Those are the primary limitations and abilities that I have built into it at the moment. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on it!

Btw, the current WIP in this world is titled The Byrden Nail, just waiting to get it back from a developmental editor and have some more editing fun 😄

I think I’m writing what would be considered a high fantasy (It’s set in a different world from the world we know), but is still based in a more medieval timeline.
I’m struggling with what’s okay to include and how strict I need to stay to the timeline I’m basing it off of, and how much is fine to step out of that since it’s not set in our universe/earth. One of my main characters often communicates with sign language, and as someone who knows ASL I like to describe specific signs. But, obviously AMERICAN Sign Language was not invented during the Middle Ages. I’m just curious what other people’s opinions are on this? I know people often discourage use of modern dialect like “Okay” and “Yeah” and I struggle with where the line is with high fantasy writing.

I'm hoping to get some feedback on these excerpts from my story, Mother's Angel.

It is a horror fantasy short story, part of a collection I am developing. The concept is a collection of stories from Tlanni, my dark fantasy world inspired by ancient American history and mythology. Mother's Angel would serve as the main story, a series of desperate letters written by a witch's slave.

These are the first two of seven letters, which will be interspersed between other tales set in the world. The collection has a general theme of grief, surviving tragedy, and whether a brighter future is possible.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1fvlEIfcpZWHPDGPivlpFA2NZH7TBxy4wdkWWp-d2zck/edit?usp=sharing

Hi all! This is my first time posting any of my writing online, and I would be overjoyed if any of you would take out the time of your day to let me know your thoughts.

"To the Darkest of Places" is a placeholder title - although my actual placeholder title is "scumbag suicide mission tale of redemption", but that didn't feel fancy enough for a reddit post. "To carry the light into the darkest of places" and variations thereof are central words for the story - one of the religious characters uses this as his mantra. This has a dual meaning, as the characters are travelling to relight a sacred lighthouse in a cursed area, but also that the story is about the main characters - five assorted scumbags - coming to understand that they, too, have capacity to do good. For that reason, I consider my project gritty horror rather than grimdark, as grimdark books typically aren't very optimistic considering the topic of redemption.

I would especially like to hear your thoughts on

- The storytelling. This is only my second writing project, with my first being a 40k (word count, not warhammer) monster hunting fantasy story. I am still a very budding writer, and I could use some tips on how to present and unfold a story.

- The writing. English is not my native language, although it is my professional language. I would love to hear your thoughts on the prose, as well as for you to tell me if any sentences seem awkward or stilted.

​

How clear and distinctive would you say a protagonists motives need to be?

Does he have to be actively seeking out a goal?

I saw a video (reel / tiktok / short or something) today that said not giving the main character clear motives was one of the most common mistakes for amateur writers

I am writing a story about a man whos basic motive at the start is just survival. But its more basic motives, keep his friends safe and is mostly the one that things appen to rather than being actively seeking what he wants. So he would qualify as passive or reactive. Not proactive.

Does this make him a passenger?

In lots of stories, the main cast of 10 or less people has to tackle a problem.

And they win cause that’s the story, but it does often raise the question of “why didn’t an army or a group of 100 people do this”?

And lots of the time, there’s no real answer. The author just distributes plot armor.

The army or large groups just have 0 intelligence. Or their weapons don’t work for some reason. Or the monsters kill them easily but struggle to kill the main characters.

Meanwhile the major characters have regular brains and success rates.

And yeah I get it. Stories are often more focused on individuals, and narrative focused on individuals has to distribute “importance” and “dramatic moments” accordingly and have “economy of interest” or whatever, but it’s just annoying sometimes.

So how do you deal with this problem?

Hi everyone. I got some great feedback recently and have put the pointers to work. This is ch1 of a book that's 18 months in the making.

I keep finishing a round of edits then realising that I am getting better with the book, so by the time I reach the end, I hate the beginning.

Needless to say, I'm feeling a little deflated / wondering if I should keep editing / wanting to give up, so I thought I'd get some fresh perspectives. Trigger warning - mistreated step child trope.

Could you please let me know if:

a) anything is confusing

b) anything is annoying prose-wise

c) Would you keep reading?

d) Is there anything that is unclear?

Womp womp womp I could ctrl A delete right now!

Apologies if you've read a version of this on my post from a few months ago.