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Cathryn sat in the library reading room, eyes glazed, looking at the book her magic instructor gave her. It still made no sense to her, no matter how many times she read it. “…focusing on the metaphysical skeleton of the object, one should be able to discern the mana flows along the pseudo-surfaces and facets of the spirit forms….” What kind of gobbledygook was that? she thought. “…a mage should be an island of calm logic as they twist their mind to guide the flows of mana to bend the apparent rules of reality….” Say what? Bending reality by twisting the mind? “Apparent” reality? This book is full of gibberish! She shut the heavy book with a thump. She leaned forward, groaned, and let her forehead fall onto her crossed arms, which lay across the now-closed leather bound tome. And to think that she joined the Tondene Imperial Army for this. It had seemed so simple when the recruiter explained it to her. She had been a baker, making loaves of bread all day. And she had

"Greetings, recently, I have decided to roll my past journal entries into my Featured folder, I don't know why I didn't include them as such in the first place, but now they're here. If you want to see more; you can find all the relevant images, videos and character profiles of the Sorceress Sisterhood at the link below." Okay, so this group of characters isn't really an adventuring party so much as a group of character concepts/designs conceived with the same general idea in mind, you can see them all here......... The Sorceress Sisterhood Gallery With that said, I have entertained the idea of porting these lovely ladies being into the Heroes of Dakeen campaign as NPCs, members of the noble courts, loyal to different factions, et. al. Heroes of Dakeen Gallery Anyway, these characters fall under category 3 mentioned in my prologue (sorceress character designs/concepts created when I started dabbling with AI art several months ago), in the beginning, there were four such characters

The silver towers glittered in the desert sun. The mirror-like, polished tiles shone like a second sun. Every few minutes, one or another would flash with a message being received or transmitted. Elvan, the ambassador of the trading city of Shadowhaven, looked at it disapprovingly. Not because he didn't like the light show of the spells. It was beautiful. God knows it was beautiful. Why weren't the messages coming through from his beautiful green city? He had to drag himself along with caravans for months, endure attacks by bandits, spend money on protective artifacts, equipment and weapons. The thugs who attacked the caravan threatened to boil him in boiling oil... And all for what? That's exactly what he shouted in the face of the fat, dark-skinned, bearded mage who was eating figs. Because of the heat, the spellcaster was dressed in green trousers with silver embroidery and a ritual dagger on his belt. However, he didn't need a weapon. Four golems with rapid-fire rifles in their

This was the place. Her informant had told her so. She went there. She recited the incantation. She was in. It appeared to be a mound in a forest clearing. On this grassy mound was a ring of toadstools. A fairy ring. Reciting the spell, the lizard beastfolk woman stepped into the magic ring. Suddenly, she was no longer on the mound. She was in it. Slynk nocked an arrow to her bow and took in her new surroundings. It was a terribly original pocket dimension- simply a hallway of a white and grey marble-like substance, with many, many doors. There were no apparent light sources or windows, yet the space was strangely lit and eerily silent. With the speed and grace of a veteran ranger, Slynk made her way down the hall, checking inside the first few doors. All of those rooms were empty. However, when the lizardwoman made her way to her third or fourth door, things became bizarre. This room was filled with children's toys, dolls and books. Three white geese, joined by a

Vitaru Amlet closed the book and turned it over in his hands while looking slowly at both covers with complete attention. They were bound with dark brown leather, worn and faded from many years of handling. He then took out an embroidered silk square from his pocket and carefully covered the book with the clean white cloth. Placing it back on the altar that was made for it on the step beneath one of the pillars around the Great Millstone, he then turned to the group crowded around himself, and Siolla who was now standing next to him. "This book is not to be trifled with. I warn you now if you so happen to become possessed by its powers, or wander into its pages without reason. " "What a strange one that is," Dvalinn said half to himself. The others were too fixated on what they had just heard to give any response. Vitaru reached out and drew forth a round and flat lodestone from a space behind the ancient vestige upon the altar. The lodestone had a hole in the middle

The Sorcerer scowls as she dismisses the screen scrawled with the Oracles text. "She knows full well I'm well versed in both brackets ... But if she knows that; what message is she trying to convey, in something so obviously meant for me to read?" As The Sorcerer checks in for the night; ready for her return to what would likely be rigorous warcraft debate in what seems like a century. "It has to be something like [Secrets before my time]. She must be involved in whatever is going on here... Or she's trying to soothe my memories about the Shit Wizard.... One of the two."

The air was impossibly clear, the winter wildflowers were impossibly alive on the hill slopes, and the girls’ ears were still impossibly pointed. Niamh was staring again. She’d originally counted eight rings in the princess’ ears but this afternoon had caught a glimpse of a tiny stud hidden in her left helix. A violet gem just below the delicate arch of her ears that identified her as Fae. A people from this side of the mountains who were as much a myth as Niamh was herself. “We need to find a healer, Kerrick” the female - not girl - snapped. “You must rest.” She didn’t turn to her knight as she led their strange trio further along the narrow road. A too-empty pack bounced on her woollen coat with each straight-backed stride she made. “We need to push on, avoid the crowds who would recognise you, and travel to the library,” Kerrick argued from beside Niamh, limping against his make-shift crutch. A husky cough between laboured breaths betrayed his attempt at a strong defence against

"PREPOSTEROUS!" "YOU MUST BE JOKING!" "REMOVE HER FROM THE STAGE AT ONCE!" An older Lordaeronian man demanded. The Spellblade was all alone here, standing under a single, blinding yellow light before a podium on the stage of the ampitheatre.  She faced a mixed audience of University Professors, Elder Magi, Scholars and a few Archmages sitting in the lower seats.  The room was in full uproar and there was no regaining control of it at this point. "Listen to me! I have offered all of you proof roight in front of your eyes! How does this seem so farfetched?! Were you even listening?!" "Young Lady! Making an ordinary lab rat stop glowing purple and suddenly turn gold is proof of nothing! For all we know you achieved that with powdered dye and a gaseous effect!" "How dare you insinuate I am lying! What do you make of this? I know at least ten of you had seen the afflicted state of this cat before, what do you see now!? He has been cured!" Kelli gestured to her son, Karlton, the tabby

Start making myth supplies melt and pour them yerself b4 craft- ing a PER_fect quantity of Land Witches (2 if by sea) who will con- fuse that bunch of evening asses gathered to have their "Slide Down the Hill on a Hell House Show" without sufficient con- cern for prop- er anti-social distancing and for hardly hitting high enough in the head (with a 4H Club) those cases of beer barrel pol- ka dot-commers who happen to wander in thinking it might be the undeadly dawn of a whole new cupcake or chicken wing kind of thing to stand in line for while staring at their phones in- stead of striking up conversations that could possibly lead to a thaw- ing out of the Numb Skull Syndrome most of them have had since childhood when their parents thought they'd have a leg up in the world if they were way too

Practice makes perfect, people claimed. Karen doubted they had any idea how pain practice could be. Each bout of agony lasted less than a minute, the time it took to reshape herself, but time didn’t really count in that situation. She couldn’t stop thinking, her mind needed some concoction of laser focus, widespread awareness, and stubborn willpower.     Even now, she couldn’t truly let her mind rest as she lay, propped up against her nest. Familiar memories of cookies and classwork, guitars and gymnastics, anchored her in stability, even as her vision swam. Karen wiped her forehead of sweat with one sweater sleeve, brushed her fringe out of her eyes, and squinted at the ceiling- or the space the ceiling was meant to occupy. Instead of grey plaster and pale lights, an azure sky wobbled above her like a mirage, distant heavens streaked with smoky clouds. Perfect for swooping amongst, flying in the daytime, fearless and bold. She forced her eyes shut, clenched her fist.  “Stop it.

The wind rolled low across the peaks of southern Roenden, carving ancient melodies into the jagged cliffs like some forgotten bard humming through stone teeth. Evilyn’s paws crunched against frostbitten moss as she moved higher, alone but for the faint movement of paws behind her, it was Mara. She didn’t turn to acknowledge the soldier. She didn’t need to. Mara would keep pace, as she always did, dogged and smoldering like coal under ash. Evilyn had allowed her to come only because the path ahead was old and cursed. Ysmian territory. Not a place to walk alone, even for someone like her. “Still not talking, huh?” Mara called up from behind, irritation layered under a brittle attempt at jest. “Or is the mountain too loud for your ears?” Evilyn snorted, but it wasn’t amusement. It was frost. A thin wisp of cold mist slipped from her mouth even though she hadn’t breathed out particularly hard. She paused, nostrils twitching, her black-and-white coat bristling as she stared into the

Magic is about feelings. The fantasy (which is in an of itself a feeling) that our feelings can change The Rules. We are all sadly bound to this earth and victims of physics as a whole. Magic lets us ask “What if we weren’t tho?” Magic systems change depending on how writers express these feelings and how what they feel they might impact the world. A persons magic system in a book often tells one about the author, the cost of writing a magic system is the cost of being Known. Is the magic a narrative means to an end? Is it perhaps something that is rigid and must fit The Rules? Or is it a soft magic system that has a small sticky note behind it saying “I do what I want?” 
Magic is about what we feel we need and how we may in the vaunted halls of sorcerous fantasy, accomplish what we need at any given time. Runes, chants, ley lines. Those are all common tropes but not necessarily the whole. We are social animals as human beings, our psyche is impacted by what came before. Is the

The agent walked into the interrogation room. The lone occupant didn't look like much. An 11 year old girl with straight black hair, wearing a school uniform- Mary Janes, white stockings, plaid tartan skirt, white blouse, cardigan sweater trenchcoat. She sat perfectly still, her hands clasped in front of her. They didn't have cuffs that fit her, but the heavy anticaster bracelet on her right arm should neutralize her. Or so they hoped. She was on the pale side, and slender. As the agent sat down across from here, he noted her dark eyes that seemed to bore into him. Those were not the eyes of a child, but something ancient and terrible. For this was Ophelia, The Witch of Seasons. When the new era of magic began, magicians began to slowly go public. New agencies, like his own, had been formed to try and regulate this changing world. The lure of magic caused a great many to go rogue in the early days, and magicians Awakening to their powers without guidance could suffer from delusions

I prepared my sooty cauldron with my hair loose and flowing I shrugged my purple robe from Icy soft white shoulders So with the bones of a grey slug The hands of a shield bug A splash of concrete The breath of bog peat I summon thee Return to me Toil and trouble A loss so sudden I cannot reconcile So I beguile A satyr and some stars Charm the stopwatch to start Until there's a rapping at my door And you're returned to me forever more

A list of my journal entry "Spellbooks" (will be updated as I go) from now ten years of experience working with media design and communication students on their respective projects. Characters 👱 General When a Real Person Becomes Fictional Taxidermy On Children In Stories The Hollow Sidekick (How to (Not) Ruin a Character) Female Characters When a Mary Sue becomes a Mother Sue The 'Flower in the Glass Case' Illusion The False Awakening The Stolen Arc The Craft of Writing Strong Women Male Characters The 'Better Man' Illusion (The Mask of Stoicism) (The Overcorrected Hero) (The Self-Insert Illusion) ... Difficult Characters The Unchanged The Unchanged: The Narcissist, Part I The Unchanged: The Narcissist, Part II The Unchanged: The True Believer The Unchanged: The Fool in Denial The Unchanged: The Tragic Spiral The Unchanged: The Hollow Shell Character Arcs (The Hero's Journey) (The Redemption Arc) (The Healing Arc) (Negative Growth) (Corruption Arc) (Failed Redemption Arc) (The

Table of Contents Prologue “It doesn't make sense...” the wizard clutched his head in pain, both hands pressing in on his own skull, shaking with the effort. Clean, neat, short blond hair was in disarray. Sweat trailed down a sharp, recently gaunt face to be collected by a curled mustache. His breath came and went in ragged gasps as he stared down at the table. It seemed so large, now – as if it stretched out for miles, and he only a tiny, insignificant speck 'blessed' with a bird's eye view. It was a round, fine table, it's wood stained dark and shined to a polish. The craftsman had been so proud of this custom order – but none of that seemed to matter now. Nothing mattered now. Did it ever? “IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE!” he exploded with sudden energy. Arms lashed out in anger, scattering the table of its contents. Papers rustled and floated in the air. Wooden holy symbols of the chief gods – among them the Holy Pitchfork of Notadae's Defiance. The Flaming Feather Duster of

Chapter 17 — The First War of Astran PREV Smoke curled into the sky, black against the sun, as the valley below churned with chaos. Soldiers clashed, weapons raised. Flintlocks cracked, sending puffs of fire and acrid smoke into the air. Tools meant for building—plows, hammers, even axes—were twisted into instruments of war. Otoko and Onna stood atop the hill, hands clasped, eyes wide with disbelief. “This is not what we built,” Onna murmured, her voice trembling with sorrow. Otoko’s jaw tightened. “We cannot stop them all,” he said. “But we can guide those willing to listen… even if only a few.” Below, a young farmer—plow in hand—hesitated as the smoke of gunpowder stung his eyes. Across the field, a blacksmith wielded a hammer, heart racing. For the first time, humans felt the weight of mortal choice: to take or to spare, to fight or flee. Above them, the elemental sisters gathered. Terra knelt, pressing her hands to the trembling ground, sending subtle tremors beneath the

Rhulan’s Basic tools and spells: While in her current form it is easy to assume Rhulan would resort to some higher dimensional beings, hyper goddess, reality warping power; the reality is as a reminder doing so alters her mental state. Kaguya syndrome kicks in and unless the situation relates to her family or matters of a higher plane these forms are unlikely to assist in the day to day adventure scenarios; and may in fact make the situations significantly worse (see Primal Shadow intrusion events for example). It is best then to view Rhulan the Sorceress as a sorceress. Albeit one with something of an identity crisis due to all the past life experiences, dragon, demon, empress/progenitor of the storm elves, whichever way one wants to look at her (although just an immortal sorceress is probably the best way to think of her from an outsider’s perspective), she is at her roots a “living grimoir” type of individual. Think of the current Rhulan as a few tens of thousands of years old

🌿 The Wishing Tree – “Wish Upon a Leaf” The Reos World Fair in Vitalus was an overwhelming explosion of light, colour, smells, and noise. Booths lined the winding paths, vibrant pennants fluttered in the warm breeze, and laughter echoed high above the canopy where gliders soared and dancers spun midair on silken threads. For someone like Morgaine, moody and intense, it was almost too much. But she'd come for Medeia, and that made it worth it. Morgaine, with her glowing green markings flickering gently in the sunlight, stalked confidently through the fairgrounds, her long wings slightly lifted to make space for the younger Reoseans scampering past. Beside her, Medeia moved more cautiously, her gaze darting between performers and games, soaking in every detail. Her black coat with its white and red markings shimmered in the diffused light, her tail flicking with curiosity. “Stick close,” Morgaine called, her voice low but firm. “I am,” Medeia muttered under her breath, but the

PROLOGUE Adam quite clearly stated in that damn book he authored that Eve was created from his rib. Pure fantasy. She was created from a lock of his hair. As were his children and their children and their children’s children and on and on until such time that they themselves could reproduce, And now look at them, billions and billions of them overrunning one of the true gems of the cosmos. She took full responsibility for that. It was she after all who brought Adam to the cloning machine that her ancestors had hidden away, and taught him how to use it. It was she, with his help, who had tried to build the thirty seventh mirror. However it was he who tried to use the mirror before it was fully stable, demonstrating the impatience and quick-tempered actions of his kind. Result both he and she were cast forward ten thousand years into the future. Cast to different parts of the Earth. Of course she sought him out but was too late to stop him from placing another curse upon the world by

I was before breath, Before word split waters. Before their hands crowned the sky with order. But I am never slain. Behind their veil I wait, A river beneath a river. Stone will crumble. Light will falter. When stars forget their stations, I will reclaim what was mine.